Chapter Text
Shane stomped the snow off his boots as he came back to the hotel after a long day of team meetings and practice. He made sure to carefully set his shoes on the doormat. Shane always made good on following his pre-game rituals no matter how late it was. He had to make the same salad he always does before games; call him superstitious, but he felt better when he did it, so he just kept it in his routine. Shane would be reluctant to admit, but it wasn't just his pre-game meals he was strict about, but his whole diet. Shane hung his coat up, making his way to the kitchen to start chopping up the carrots he needed, the first of many vegetables he’d prepare. Shane would be even more reluctant to admit that he had issues with food. He would never go as far as to label his particular eating as such, giving it a label made it something real. No matter how much Shane suppressed it, the memory sometimes crept up, the one that was suspiciously aligned with when he started becoming strict with his diet.
The rink air felt cooler than normal as the peewee game progressed. Not that any of the children noticed, with the sweat they were all working up as they skated as fast as they could after the puck. All the team's effort seemed remiss, as they just couldn't stay focused on the game. Shane's skates weren’t as steady under him as they usually were, and the whole team were leaving easy plays on the ice and fucking up passes. It wasn't all that serious in the grand scheme of things, but little Shane was still upset when they lost 5-2 to the other local peewee team. Shane wasn't the only one upset, but the little C patch ironed onto his uniform made him feel like he had more to bear than the rest of his team, and as they were headed off the ice, their coach didn't look too impressed. Little skates were tugged off and put in bags; their gear, which they would all grow out of in a year's time, went in as well. When the team had finished stuffing their duffel bags, everyone filtered out back to their parents. Shane was the last out of the locker room, and instead of just brushing past their Coach and down the hall to meet his parents, he was pulled aside, Coach staring at him with a wrinkle between his brows and pursed lips.
“What happened out there, Shane?” Shane swallowed hard, eyes drifting to the rubbery mats that lined the way down the hall from the locker rooms to the rink. Shane didn't know what happened; they just had a bad game.
“Why are you asking me? You didn't ask anyone else.” A quick displeased downturn of lips and a sharp tone followed Shane's challenge, not that he'd realised that's how it came off. Shane always seemed to cause a fuss unintentionally, words with blunt edges that should have been ground off by socialisation.
“Because you wear the C Shane. You should be able to tell me why you were all off.” Shane let out a breath before replaying the game in his head, trying to pinpoint the why. They hadn't started off too badly, getting the first goal of the game. It all shifted after Matthew fucked up a pass, sending it to the other team's player and leading to their first goal.
“I would say after Matthew accidentally passed it to the other team, it messed with our flow, we all kinda got in our heads and weren't fully on the ice.” Coach seemed pleased with the answer, but Shane could tell he missed something; he just couldn't figure out what he’d missed.
“What about you, Shane? What was your part in this?” Shane was confused but tried his hand at answering again.
“I failed to get the flow back; my head was out of the game.” Coach seemed to consider his answer before responding, leaving Shane to stew in the silence, which made him feel vulnerable. He distantly thought that it was probably akin to the vulnerability the fish he and his father caught felt when they were lifted out of the water, and faced with a creature and environment they'd never seen before.
“All true, but you know what will help you keep focused, especially coming on from the off-season? Keeping up with your training and what you eat, even in the off-season. You bring your habits on the ice, Shane and with your talents, you will make it big, but only if you take care of yourself.” With that, Coach pushed off the wall and down the hall, walking by Shane with a pat to his stomach, which was a little pudgy from his enjoyment of the off-season. Shane followed Coach down the hallway, walking past the rink quickly up the stairs and to the lobby. Shane knew his Coach was right, but he felt weird, not like he usually did after being reprimanded. He usually took criticism in stride, working tirelessly to improve on his flaws, to improve his skills for the sport he loved. This reprimand left his stomach weird and his face hot, which, retrospectively, he knew was shame.
“Are you ready to go?” Yuna asked with a smile as she watched Shane approach with his duffel bag over his shoulder and, much to her dismay, his hoodie string in his mouth.
“Yes,” was the neutral response she received before Shane mumbled a small apology as she tugged the string out of his mouth. He remembered that the cold night air hadn't made him feel better, didn't penetrate the heat that had settled over him, the shame of letting himself go. Shane hadn’t slept well that night, and when Yuna asked him why he seemed so tired the next morning, he shrugged and muttered something about catching the flu that had been going around; it was early winter after all. She’d fussed at Shane, rarely one to get sick and let him stay home. When she and his dad were away for work that afternoon, he snuck into their bathroom and weighed himself for the first time.
Shane snapped out of his rumination as he almost sliced his finger off alongside the carrots he was cutting up. Shane didn't have time to dwell on the past; the Prospect Cup was tomorrow, and he still had some preparation to do. Shane finished chopping the vegetables for his salad, weighing and tracking them to make sure he stayed within the right calorie count and hit all his macros. Shane didn't put any dressing on it, but he did add two chicken breasts on top to bolster up the protein and help him hit his protein goal. Shane brought his salad to the couch, setting it and a glass of water on the coffee table. His laptop powered on with a whirl as Shane quickly flipped through the tabs he had open for the Team Russia players. He sat hunched over his salad, observing everyone's different play styles, solidifying his strategy for the game, and cataloguing everyone. Unfortunately for Shane, he deduced they'd be a strong team, where one was weak, another made up for it. Shane had long finished his salad, and once he'd finished his clips, he let his eyes slide to the clock on the hotel wall, cursing himself slightly when he realised he'd only have a few hours sleep if he wanted to complete his pre-game routine on top of getting to their first team meeting on time. Shane quickly did the dishes before he ran through the steps of his night routine. Shane tossed and turned for a while before he finally fell asleep, anxious for the big game that lay just over the horizon.