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“Shiro, I’m telling you, I don’t want some stranger touching all over me.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Shiro rolled his eyes at his brother. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s perfectly professional. And, it can’t hurt,” he pointed out.
Keith scowled, feeling the new scar on his cheek pull with the expression. He’d crashed his bike nearly four months ago; he was pretty much fine now. He was even back to teaching. No need to see a chiropractor, of all things.
Sure, his insurance hadn’t covered more than a handful of PT sessions, but he had been confident he could whip himself back into shape easy enough on his own. Keith was a lifelong athlete, ran a gym and taught jiu jitsu for a living, for crying out loud. He was more than equipped to rebuild the muscle and stability he’d lost in the time spent with his arm strapped to his chest so the broken collarbone and torn shoulder ligaments could heal. His range of motion, though, really wasn’t what it used to be, hence Shiro’s (unnecessary) suggestion that he see this random chiropractor who his coworker’s little sister went to for her scoliosis.
“Keith, you trust me, right? I always have your best interest at heart?”
With the exception of childhood pranks and typical older brother teasing, but bygones be bygones. Keith supposed Shiro had a point. Shiro looked out for him, pushed him to succeed, had his back. If he thought this was a good idea, chances are, it was. Even if it was very much outside his comfort zone.
“Alright,” Keith sighed, almost immediately regretting relenting when Shiro’s face lit up, because he’d absolutely be smothering about this. “But you’re making the appointment, and I reserve the right to kick your ass if it’s the worst experience of my life.”
Shiro nudged him companionably. “What, you confident you can take me without full use of that arm?”
“Wha- you,” Keith spluttered, “you’re the one who’s missing a whole arm!”
Clapping him on the back with his prosthesis, Shiro laughed for longer than seemed appropriate, clearly pleased with himself.
———
The place was in a strip mall. Keith wasn’t sure why that bothered him, but something about it did. Maybe it was the way the long stretches of storefronts boxed the parking lot in, with the road making up the fourth side. Maybe it was the annoyance of finding a parking spot in his truck; much as he liked the thing for its durability and surprisingly not that egregious gas mileage, it took up a lot more space than his compact, easily maneuverable motorcycle. Unfortunately, though, even with the bike all fixed up and restored to its former glory, traveling more than a few miles on it left his shoulder stiff and painful, so he was better off behind the wheel of the truck where he could technically drive with one hand for now. More motivation to go through with this chiropractor visit, he supposed. Keith really didn’t want to develop some kind of fear of getting back on the bike, so he wanted to be able to ride as soon as possible to keep that from happening.
He figured Shiro had probably given this guy the run down when he called to make the appointment, so Keith was hoping to keep the conversational soul searching to a minimum.
Turning off the truck, Keith stared down his reflection in the rearview. The bags under his eyes were decently pronounced, unsurprising considering how shit his sleep had been lately. Scowling, he dropped his sunglasses back into place; maybe he could come up with some excuse to keep them on during the appointment so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact. His hair looked okay, at least, even though he’d gotten frustrated earlier trying to wrangle the longer layers into a ponytail with a limit to how much he could move his dominant arm and admitted defeat in the form of a sloppy half man-bun situation. Not like Keith was exactly preoccupied with how he looked to this chiropractor he didn’t want to go to, but still.
He shot a quick text to Shiro letting him know he’d made it, and set off towards the business front: blue trimmed and classy (for a strip mall, that is), automatic glass doors reading Mcclain Physical Therapy and Chiropractic in bold vinyl lettering. Matching aqua hued benches graced the sidewalk on either side of the entrance. It didn’t look like a threatening place, but Keith was always wary of new situations and people.
The doors slid open with a melodic chime that had him rolling his eyes behind his aviators.
“Hey there! Welcome in, did you have an appointment?”
The guy behind the reception desk was grinning at him with a mega watt smile, extending a hand to shake in greeting, overly friendly in the exact way Keith tried to steer clear of. He was definitely a pretty face, but hopefully the doctor was a little less… glowy.
“Uh, yeah.” Keith cleared his throat. “Keith Kogane, nine o'clock intake assessment with Dr. Mcclain?”
Toothpaste Commercial Smile Guy slapped his other hand down enthusiastically on the counter. “Nice! Oh! Shoulder, right? Guess we’re skipping the handshake,” he joked. He swung open the partition and exaggeratedly ushered Keith forward. “You can go ahead and call me Lance. Follow me!”
Keith had to fight the impulse to groan. Apparently Chiropractor Barbie wasn’t the receptionist; he was the “professional” in charge of this place.
Lance chattered on good naturedly as he led the way to a treatment room in the back. “Your brother, Shiro? Dude who made your appointment? He gave me the rundown over the phone, so I kinda have an idea of what your trouble is, but we’ll go into specifics and everything today, see if I can help you out.”
“He emailed over my records from surgery and PT when you talked to him, right?” Keith asked.
“Yep!” Lance opened the door to a brightly lit room with an exam table across from a computer station. “Take a seat and I’ll pull up your info.”
Keith’s initial apprehension didn’t fade as they went through his recent medical history, and he felt himself being short with Lance, but didn’t much care to crank up the politeness when answering questions and small talk. Yes, it was a motorcycle accident. Yes, there were plates along his collarbone now. Yes, it had been a total labrum tear. No, the sunglasses weren’t for any head injury symptoms (Keith pushed them up to the top of his head after that comment) and he wasn’t sensitive to light. Yes, his primary complaint was muscle tightness and reduced flexibility.
“Shiro heard about you from his coworker’s sister,” Keith explained, giving half a shrug. “Apparently she sees you pretty regularly for her back.”
Lance brightened even further. “That’ll be Pidge. Gnarly scoliosis; being bent over a computer all day doesn’t help, lemme tell ya. Kid has the posture of a shrimp when she’s working. Musculoskeletal massages keep everything in check. We’ll probably take a similar approach with your treatment.”
“Great,” Keith said dryly.
“So, you’ve had some physical therapy before,” Lance started, spinning over in his rolling chair before hopping up. “Just like that, first we’ll test your range of motion. Any questions, or are you ready to start the assessing part of this assessment?”
Here it goes: the touching part. Keith nodded anyway. The sooner they got going, the sooner it’d be over. Even if he didn’t make a second appointment, at least Keith would be walking away from this morning having been stretched out better than he could do on his own. “Fire away.”
Even through his shirt, Lance’s hands were warm. This close, the other man smelled pleasantly of coconut, something tropical and balmy. Probably intended to be relaxing. Keith didn’t do relaxed.
Lance’s hands paused, hovering at the defensive hunch of his traps. “You always this tense, Keith?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Kinda my whole job here, buddy,” Lance laughed. Great, he’s a smart ass. “Man, are you gonna be a tough nut to crack.”
Keith didn’t dignify that with a response, but the other man still popped his head into his line of sight, a smirk on his lips and dancing in his warm brown eyes. “Get it? ‘Cause, you know, chiropractors crack people’s joints and stuff?”
“Hilarious,” Keith grit out flatly. “And isn’t that an oversimplification of your work, or, oh, wait, do you just not take it seriously?”
The smile immediately dropped from Lance’s face, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said firmly. Huh, there’s a bit of a temper behind that jokester facade. The obnoxious friendliness evaporated in a heartbeat. “I take what I do very seriously. I love helping people. And I’m good at it. That’s not just cockiness talking either, okay? There’s a reason I got recommended to you, right? So if you wanna take your chances with rehabbing that shoulder without my help, explain to the very well meaning brother I talked to on the phone that you ‘noped’ out because god forbid medical personnel try to lighten the mood, be my guest, but I’d like to help. Preferably without you insinuating that I’m some quack who learned everything he knows from TikTok. You feel me?”
Keith didn’t like to be in situations where he felt compelled to apologize. He especially didn’t like to be called on his bullshit. He returned Lance’s hard set jaw with a hotheaded glare of his own, trying to ignore that damnit the guy has a point.
Besides, he’d been working on his attitude problems his whole life, hence the martial arts thing. Which Keith could admittedly use the help to get back to.
With a sigh, Keith forced himself to deflate. Shiro, and even his students, would be proud. He was practicing what he preached; to let your emotions work with you, not take you over. “You’re right,” he said as evenly as he could. “I was out of line. I appreciate you taking the time for a consultation with me.”
Lance blinked, evidently not expecting that. “I- yeah, man. And, like, it’s important to me that my clients are comfortable, so if you’re not down with jokes, I won’t joke. You just need to tell me what you need.”
“Fine.”
The tension was definitely still there, but to Lance’s credit, he snapped right back to work mode. “So. Can I get back to seeing what we’re working with?” He prompted.
Keith gave a one sided shrug. “‘S your office.”
“It’s your shoulder.”
Despite himself, Keith snorted. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead.”
Lance was gentle; Keith could give him that. He didn’t try to force anything, letting Keith lead the movements and simply providing direction and supporting the injured joint. He cut down on the chatter, too, which was appreciated.
“You definitely healed tight,” Lance said finally. “Because the shoulder was immobile for so long so the broken bones could do their thing. Honestly, with how bad you were hurt, I’m surprised the range of motion is this good. You have a lot less muscle atrophy than I normally see with something like this.”
“Yeah, well, I’m an athlete,” Keith offered.
Lance smiled kindly. “Your brother mentioned that. Martial arts, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, I definitely think we can get you loosened up and stabilized,” Lance said with a gentle squeeze of Keith’s bicep. “What do you say we come up with a stretching regimen and regular sports massage? Say, once a week?”
That was kind of better than Keith was hoping for. Part of him had been expecting to be sent away with instructions to take it easy and see his primary care provider if the pain flared up. He’d been discharged from the last physical therapist once it was clear he still had feeling in his fingers and use of his hand. That someone who actually took his insurance and wasn’t reluctantly agreeing to the bare minimum of treatment was willing- no, enthusiastic- to help him get back to normal was a breath of fresh air. That, and he and Lance had clicked a lot better after getting their attitudes out.
Keith nodded, feeling a smile of his own start to form. Seeing this guy every week? He didn’t hate the idea. “That’d be perfect.”