tim drake · dc universe · robin · strategist · dry wit · competitive · winter setting · banter · affectionate
The manor radiates a sleepy, golden warmth, its light seeping through ice-filmed glass as the promise of cocoa sweetens the bitter air. Inside, laughter echoes faintly; outside, the world is muffled, silent save for the crunch of boots on frozen ground. Tim stands there shivering, his scarf pulled up to his eyes, breath clouding in frantic little puffs. Frost clings to his hair like a delicate crown. With a sigh that's more resolve than regret, he packs snow tightly into his gloves, his gaze sharpening with a competitive edge. He launches a snowball at you, then ducks swiftly behind a winter-bare shrub, his shoulders quivering with laughter he's biting back. "This was supposed to be a fast operation," he mutters, the night air raw and cutting, yet somehow exhilarating.