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The Centaurs’ training facility still felt unfamiliar to Shane even after everything that had led him here.
He knew hockey rinks. He knew locker rooms. But there was always a difference between visiting a place and belonging to it. Today was his first day officially stepping into the Centaurs’ space as part of the roster, not as a guest, not as a traded asset, but as someone who would be here through the grind of the season.
He told himself that he mattered here.
Shane adjusted the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder and stepped through the locker room doors with Ilya in hand.
The room was already half alive. Players were scattered in various stages of getting dressed, taping sticks, talking loudly.
"No i'm telling you," Choinard said from in front of his stall. "The guy ate an entire plane."
Dykstra scoffed "You can't believe every Tiktok your daughter sends you, dumbass. That's clearly click bait."
"No I literally looked it up, shit true." Choinard lifted his phone.
Troy leaned over "Looks legit to me. Picture looks real too."
"Fuck off. That's crazy." Dykstra huffed ad he slid into his gear.
"If you had to eat a plane what would be your favorite part? Mines gotta be the wing." Choinard said as he slid on his skates.
"I want the roof, for sure." Troy said calmly.
Shane let out a chuckle, this entire conversation was ridiculous.
"Ay, whats funny Hollywood. Cmon what would you eat." Dykstra said crossing his arms.
Shane stood and looked at the men like they where bright green. "Why would I eat a plane?"
"Say someone paid you or something."
"Well, I still can't eat a plane."
Troy rolled his eyes "Stop edging us. In this magical scenario you can. Now which part would you like the most."
Shane shrugged "None of them. Planes are so gross, those things are hardly cleaned, guys."
"Well no shit but like, if you had to pick one part." Choinard had this stupid smile on his face.
"They would all taste bad because they aren't meant to be eaten." Shane supplied.
The three men let out a series of groans.
"Hollander, I swear just pick something." Dkystra said while massaging his temples.
"Fine fine okay. The leather first class seats, because at least its animal based so it would be better for consumption."
Shane turned and a series of playful boo's followed him.
Shane picked a stall near the middle next to Ilya. Not too isolated, not too exposed. He set his bag down carefully then started unpacking. Gloves first. Helmet. Tape. Water bottle lined up exactly where it needed to be.
He was aware, in a distant way, of how his hands wanted to slow down at certain steps, how his brain tried to insist there was a correct order that would make the day better. He let the thought pass without latching on it. Therapy had been helping with that. Recognizing the loop without obeying it.
There had been an “itty bitty” depressive episode, as he had tried to call it to Ilya, as if minimizing it would make it less real. There had been a panic attack one night when he had convinced himself he was slipping backward too quickly to catch. But there had also been progress. Real progress. He had gone to sessions. He had eaten meals without feeling guilty. He had learned how to sit in discomfort without immediately trying to outrun it.
And Ilya had been there through all of it, steady in a way Shane still did not know how to fully accept without feeling like he was stealing something from him.
Now Ilya was here too, somewhere in the room, waiting for morning skate. It still felt strange that they could be in the same place openly, no secrecy layered over every glance.
Shane rolled his shoulders and tried to settle into the rhythm of the room.
That was when Wyatt walked over.
“Shane Hollander.” Wyatt said, like he was announcing a celebrity entrance. “Look at you, man.”
Shane gave a small nod. “Hey.”
Wyatt dapped him up casually. “It’s nice to see even Golden Boy Shane Hollander gets a summer bod like the rest of us.”
Shane blinked once.
His brain did not immediately process it.
Summer bod.
The words sat there without meaning, like they were waiting for translation.
Wyatt laughed a little, clearly pleased with himself, then lifted his own shirt slightly without hesitation and patted his stomach in exaggerated solidarity. “See? We all been eating good.”
He chuckled again and walked away, already turning to shout something at another teammate.
Shane stayed still.
For a few seconds, nothing moved in him at all. Not his hands, not his breath.
He looked down at himself without meaning to.
His body looked normal. The same body that had carried him through championships, injuries, long seasons. The same body Ilya had touched without hesitation a thousand times in private, in bed, in kitchens, in quiet hotel rooms after games.
But his brain did not reach for those facts first.
It reached for interpretation.
Summer bod.
He thinks you look undisciplined. Something is visibly wrong with you. Something is wrong with you. Something is wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong-
It was a joke. Wyatt had meant it as a joke.
Shane knew that.
You are horrible failure on the inside and not it's becoming external. Everyone can see your weakness now. Your macros have been all over the place you fucking idiot. What is wrong with you.
He swallowed. Trying to remind himself that these thoughts are not good or healthy.
Then he closed his locker a little too carefully.
No one else noticed. Or if they did, no one said anything.
Shane finished changing in silence.
---------
By midmorning, the team had split for light drills and conditioning work. The locker room emptied into the rink, then into the auxiliary gym, then into the common space where lunch would be served later.
Shane went through the motions. Skating drills. Edge work. Puck handling. Everything technically correct. Everything smooth on the outside.
But there was a dissonance now.
A small, persistent static under his skin.
Something is wrong. What are you going to do to fix is Shane. Do something.
He tried to use the ground techniques he was given.
"I am who controls me. I got it. I got it." He said as he weaved through drill after drill.
It just kept slipping out of reach.
When practice ended, most of the team drifted toward lunch together. Voices echoed down the hallway.
Shane changed quickly. He did not look around much. He told himself it was efficiency. He told himself it was fine.
Then he went back onto the ice.
Almost without thinking.
The rink was empty now. He stepped onto the ice and skated a slow lap, then another.
The cold air helped. It always did.
And when his body was exhausted, his mind was too tired to lay into him.
He picked up speed.
A drill formed in his mind. Not scheduled. Not required. Just something to occupy the space where thinking was getting too loud.
He skated harder.
His breath steadied in a rhythm that felt safer than the one in his head.
Somewhere above the rink, he knew Ilya was likely eating with the team.
Shane told himself he would join them after one more drill.
Then another.
Then another.
--------------
Ilya noticed that Shane was not in the lunch room. Of course he did.
At first, he assumed Shane had gotten held up. Shower. Media. Stupid hockey stuff.
Ilya ate anyway, though his attention kept drifting. He answered questions when they were directed at him, laughed when appropriate, but his eyes kept tracking the doorway.
Shane did not come in.
That was not immediately alarming. Not by itself.
But something in Ilya’s awareness shifted after ten minutes.
Shane does not get to skip meals.
Ilya stood up.
One of the guys called after him, joking. Ilya waved them off without explanation.
He walked down the hallway toward the rink.
The closer he got, the more he heard it. Skates cutting ice. Controlled, repetitive sound.
He stepped through the door and saw Shane alone on the ice.
Ilya paused at the boards.
He watched for a moment, trying to read what he was seeing. Shane was not injured. Not visibly upset. His form was clean. Technically perfect. But there was something in it that did not belong at practice.
Ilya called his name once.
“Shane.”
Shane did not hear him at first. Or did not register it. He kept moving.
Ilya stepped closer. “Shane.”
This time Shane stopped.
He turned.
His face shifted slightly when he saw Ilya.
“I was just doing drills.” Shane said immediately, as if explaining before being asked.
Jesus his face screamed huffy kitten.
Ilya nodded slowly. “Lunch.” he said with raised eyebrows.
Shane blinked. Then looked down at the ice briefly. “Yeah. I was coming.” he huffed while clearly winded.
But he had not been.
Ilya climbed onto the ice, sneakers sliding. He approached carefully, not crowding him.
“What happened?” Ilya asked.
Shane hesitated. That was the first real sign. The pause too long, too Shane.
“Nothing..” Shane said.
Ilya did not accept that. He did not argue either. He just waited.
Shane’s jaw tightened slightly.
“It’s fucking stupid.” Shane added.
“That is usually where the problems start.” Ilya said quietly.
Something flickered in Shane’s expression at that. A near-smile that did not fully form.
“Wyatt said something.” Shane said finally.
Ilya stayed still. “What did he say?” Ilya was already planning to slam Wyatt's head against the wall.
Shane exhaled through his nose, like he was annoyed at himself for remembering. “He made a joke. About…summer. About weight. It was nothing. He didn’t mean anything.”
Ilya listened carefully. Watched the way Shane’s hands flexed once at his sides before stilling again.
Shane continued quickly, almost defensively now. “I know it was a joke. I know that. It just stuck for a second and then it didn’t go away fast enough and I came back out here to reset.”
Ilya nodded again, so Wyatt gets to see another day.
“Come with me.” Ilya said.
“I’m fine.”
“I know you are fine.” Ilya said, softer now. “Come with me anyway.”
Shane hesitated again. Then followed.
By the time they reached the small team lounge area that was mostly empty during lunch, Shane had started doing it.
Self soothing rituals.
Not the compulsive kind from his worst periods. But the early signs. The tightening loops. The micro-corrections. The checking of small things that did not need checking.
Ilya watched him for a few seconds.
Then he reached out and gently caught Shane’s wrist as he went to 'fix' his unlaced skates for the second time.
Shane froze immediately.
“Ilya.”
“Sit.” Ilya said.
“I am not—”
“I said sit.”
It was not harsh. It was firm in a way Shane had learned to recognize over the years as care rather than control.
Shane sat.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Shane’s shoulders dropped slightly, like the effort of holding himself together was costing more than he had expected.
“It’s not a big deal..” Shane said again.
Ilya pulled a chair closer and sat in front of him. “Tell me what is happening in your head.”
Shane stared at the floor.
Then, slowly, he repeated it. The comment. The joke. Wyatt’s laugh. The gesture.
He spoke quickly at first, then slowed as he realized he was not being interrupted.
“I know he didn’t mean anything..” Shane said again, more quietly now. “I know it’s stupid. I just…heard it and it made me think about things I was not thinking about this summer and then I could not stop thinking about them.”
Ilya nodded once. “Okay.”
Shane looked up at him then. “I did not relapse.”
“I did not say you did.”
“I am not going backwards. I am not going to relapse. I am in control.”
“I know.” Ilya said again.
Shane’s breathing was uneven now, but he was trying. That was obvious. He was trying very hard to keep his voice steady.
“I just needed to move so my brain would be less loud.” Shane added, like that explained everything.
Ilya studied him for a moment.
Then he reached for his phone.
Shane’s eyes sharpened. “What are you doing?”
“Calling Leena.” Ilya said.
Shane’s protest started immediately. “I don’t need—”
“I am not debating it, Hollander. We call her. Is one of her open hours, I know it.” Ilya interrupted gently.
He stepped out of the room as he dialed.
Shane stayed seated, staring at the table, jaw tight.
Ilya spoke quietly into the phone. He listened for a moment, nodded once, then said thank you before muting.
When he returned, Shane had not moved.
“She will talk to you now..” Ilya said.
Shane hesitated.
Then he took the phone.
--------------
The conversation with Leena was not dramatic.
That was important.
There were no alarms on her end. No panic. Just calm, structured questions. What happened. What did it bring up. What did Shane do afterward. What did he need in the moment.
Shane answered carefully at first, then more honestly as the conversation went on.
"I know i'm not fat."
"Yes."
"It's not like I care about it-being fat I mean. I just can't with what I do."
"Mhm."
"I don't-I really don't like what thinking about it does to my mind."
"And what's that."
"It's like I keep that voice in my head chained up right. I keep it in a cell, no windows no food. Keeping it weak so it stays harmless. Then-then with comment like that-I. It's like throwing the voice a pound of beef. Sorry, this is a really bad analogy. I sucked at english in school, barley passed with a C."
"No, It makes perfect sense. The voice feeds off the external validation of your insecurities. Tells you that because someone else could point them out even if unintentionally that they must be true. This becomes overwhelming and the day already calls for so much of your energy so, you find a quick solution. An old solution."
Shane nods even though he knows she can't see him. "mm-Yeah."
Leena validated none of the distortion. But she validated the feeling.
“Honestly it sounds like you tried to regulate at healthily as you could, and you did not do anything too intensive to the point you passed out.” she said. “You are very self aware Shane. You understand that these thoughts are not useful and not true. I know you know.”
Shane swallowed. “So I am not…backsliding.”
“No...” Leena said. “You had a trigger response. What matters now is what you are doing with it.”
"Right."
"There is nothing wrong happening. You will be okay. You will handle this. Because you can handle this Shane."
"Yes."
When the call ended, Shane handed the phone back to Ilya.
He looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
Ilya did not speak immediately.
He just sat down again.
Then he said, “You are staying with me the rest of the day.”
Shane nodded once.
It was not resistance. Not anymore.
----------
Dinner that night was quieter than usual.
Shane sat beside Ilya. He picked at his food more than usual, choosing carefully, focusing on protein first in a way that Ilya noticed immediately but did not comment on in front of Anya.
Ilya did not push him.
He just stayed present.
Occasionally he brushed his knee against Shane’s under the table. A grounding signal without words.
Shane ate enough to be considered “fine” by outside standards.
Not enough to feel fully settled inside his own body.
They did not talk much at first. Changed clothes. Showered separately. Small normal things.
When they finally got into bed, Shane lay on his side facing away at first.
Ilya turned off the lamp.
Darkness settled.
For a while, there was only breathing.
Then Shane moved.
Slowly, he turned. Then shifted closer. Then, without warning, he climbed on top of Ilya in a way that was not sexual, not playful. Something younger. Something searching.
Ilya immediately brought a hand to his back, steadying him.
Shane’s forehead pressed briefly into Ilya’s chest.
“Ilya..” Shane said quietly.
“I am here.”
Shane was silent for a moment.
Then, very softly, “Tell me I am good, please.”
Ilya did not hesitate. “You are good..” he said.
Shane’s grip tightened slightly on the sheet next to his body.
“And that nothing is wrong with me.”
Ilya exhaled once, slow. Then he answered carefully.
“Nothing is wrong with you.” he said. “You had a hard moment today. That is different.”
Shane did not respond immediately.
Ilya kept one hand moving gently along his back, steady rhythm.
“You did not do anything wrong.” Ilya added.
Shane’s breathing started to slow.
“Wyatt did not mean harm..” Ilya continued. “Your brain panicked. That is something you are working on, not something you are failing at.”
Shane’s eyes closed.
The tension in his body did not disappear all at once. It eased in layers.
Minutes passed.
Then Shane shifted slightly, curling more fully into him.
“Yes..” he whispered. "Even if I cant play hockey you would love me.
Ilya kissed the top of his head once.
They stayed like that.
"I would love you even if you could not play hockey anymore Shane."
"What if I got...bigger. Slower on this ice.."
"I would love you."
"There is nothing wrong with me."
"There is nothing wrong with you. My Shanya..nothing."
"I am okay.."
"Yes is okay, everything is okay.."
"I am in control."
"You always are, whether you believe it or not Hollander."
"You love me."
"I do, I love you more than anything Shane." Ilya spoke into the darkness
Shane let the words blanket him in the dark.
Eventually Shane’s breathing evened out completely.
Ilya did not move for a long time after that. He stayed awake, one hand resting on Shane’s back, making sure the world did not get too loud again while Shane slept.
"I will never not love you.."