Chapter Text
The Centaurs’ medical room always smelled like disinfectant and coffee.
It was the middle of playoffs which meant everything felt important.
Every ache mattered more.
Every bruise got examined twice.
The team rotated through physicals like clockwork, one after another, taped wrists and tired eyes and quiet tension.
Shane sat on the edge of the exam table, fingers laced together, foot tapping lightly against the metal leg. He felt fine. Or fine enough. A little tired, maybe. That was normal this time of year.
Dr. Terry glanced at the chart, then back at him.
“Any pain you’re not reporting?” Terry asked.
“Nope.” Shane said. “Nothing new.”
“Sleeping?”
“Enough.”
“Eating?”
Shane’s shoulders tightened just slightly. “Yeah.”
Terry hummed not quite convinced and made a note. He moved through the rest of the exam methodically. Reflexes, range of motion, checking for lingering strain. It was routine. Shane knew the rhythm of it by now.
“Hop on the scale for me Shane.” Terry said.
Shane did.
He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. Last thing he needed was to let it get back to anyone he was looking at the number.
There was a small pause.
Terry looked at the number, then at the chart again.
“Okay.” he said slowly. “Step down.”
Shane did, jaw tight.
Terry set the clipboard down. “You’ve dropped a bit since last check.”
Shane shrugged, aiming for casual. “Playoffs.”
“Playoffs usually don’t knock you below your baseline, Shane.” Terry replied.
Shane didn’t answer.
He could feel where this was going. The familiar dread settled in his stomach.
“Shane.” Terry said, gentler now. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on.” Shane said quickly. “I’m playing. I feel fine. It’s not affecting my game.”
“That’s not the only metric we look at.”
“I know.”
“Then you know why I’m asking.”
Shane looked away, jaw flexing. He hated this part. The explaining. The way it always sounded like excuses even when it wasn’t.
“I’m eating, Terry.” he said finally. “Three meals. Dessert on Fridays.”
Terry’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
“That’s the structure you’ve been working with?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And you’re sticking to it?”
“I’m trying to, every fucking day.” Shane said, and there was the crack in his voice.
Terry nodded once. “Okay. I appreciate you being honest.”
Shane let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“But.” Terry continued, “you’re still under where I’d expect you to be at this point in the season. Especially in playoffs.”
Shane’s stomach twisted. “I know.”
“I’m not saying this to criticize you.”
“I know.”
“I’m saying it because we need to make sure you’re supported.”
Shane’s hands tightened in his lap. Supported always meant more food. More eyes. More conversations about how he felt about his feelings. More fucking food.
“I’m already working with my therapist.” he said. “And my nutritionist.”
“I’m aware...” Terry fixing his glasses. “And I’m going to reach out to both of them. Just to check in. Make sure we’re aligned on what you need right now.”
Shane’s chest tightened.
“They’re going to want me to eat more...” he said quietly.
“Maybe..” Terry said. “Or maybe they’ll adjust something else. We won’t know until we talk.”
“I’m already trying.” Shane said, voice thinner now. “Like. I’m actually really fucking trying.”
Terry’s tone softened further. “I can see that. This isn’t about effort. It’s about making sure the effort is enough to keep you healthy through a very demanding stretch.”
Shane nodded, but the shame was already there, creeping in under his skin.
“Am I benched?” he asked.
“No.” Terry said immediately. “You’re cleared to play. This isn’t a disciplinary thing. It’s preventative.”
Shane swallowed.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Terry echoed. “We’ll check back in after I talk to your team. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing. And if anything feels off, you come to me.”
“I will.”
The appointment ended like that.
-------
Dinner that night was supposed to be normal.
That was the plan anyway.
Shane stood in the kitchen staring at the plate in front of him.
Chicken. Rice. Vegetables.
Exactly what he was supposed to be eating.
He’d made it himself. He always did, when he could. It made it easier to control. Easier to follow the plan.
Easier to not think about it too much.
Ilya moved around behind him grabbing a drink from the fridge.
“You cooked.” Ilya said. “Smells good.”
“Yeah, the chicken was-um. Baked and breaded perfectly...just like the recipe.” That was Shane basically telling Ilya he didn't do any substitutions. That it had all the calories it was supposed to.
Ilya gave him a sweet crooked smile and Shane nearly ripped his eyes out for having to disappoint him.
They sat.
For a few minutes, it was quiet. Just the sound of forks against plates.
Ilya talked about practice.
About a play they’d been working on.
About something Luca had done that was either impressive or ridiculous depending on how you looked at it.
Shane nodded in the right places.
He took bites when he was supposed to.
His chest felt tight.
“You are quiet.” Ilya said eventually.
“Just tired.”
“Playoffs tired or something else tired?”
“Playoffs.”
Ilya studied him.
“Shanya..” he said softly.
Shane’s grip on his fork tightened.
“Don’t.” he said.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do that voice.”
“What voice?”
“That voice where you already know something’s wrong and you’re waiting for me to say it.”
Ilya leaned back slightly. Setting his fork down and taking a sip of his coke.
“Okay.” he said. “Then I’ll ask directly. What is wrong?”
Shane stared at his plate.
“Me.”
Ilya didn’t respond right away.
“Shane.” he said after a moment, quieter now. “Talk to me.”
“I'm trying Ilya I really am...”
“I know you are, now can we calm down maybe breathe..”
“I am.” Shane took some exaggerated breathes
“You’re not eating much tonight..” Ilya said.
“I am.” Shane snapped, a little too sharp. “I’m literally eating right now.”
“You’re picking at it.” Ilya replied, just as quickly.
Shane’s chest tightened further.
“I’m trying..Jesus.” he said, and his voice wavered.
Ilya’s expression shifted immediately.
“Hey.” he said, softer now. He tapped Shane's sock covered foo under the table. “Hey hey hey. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Shane shook his head, eyes fixed on the table.
“I had my physical today..” he said.
Ilya stilled.
“And?”
Shane swallowed.
“I’m under..” he said. “A little.”
Ilya didn’t react right away. Not outwardly.
“Okay.” he said carefully. “What does that mean?”
“It means Terry noticed I'm losing weight despite me eating all this bullshit” Shane said waving at the plate below him and grabbing tuffs of jet black hair, pulling on them firmly. “And he’s going to talk to my therapist. And my nutritionist.”
Ilya nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
“They’re going to make me eat more..” Shane added, voice barely above a whisper now.
“Maybe.” Ilya said. “Or maybe they’ll adjust something else.”
“That’s what he said.” Shane muttered. “But it always ends up being more food.”
Ilya watched him for a second.
“And that scares you.” he said.
Shane let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t really a laugh.
“Yeah.” he said. “It fucking does.”
He pushed his plate slightly away, appetite gone.
“I’m already trying so hard.” he continued. “Like. I’m doing the three meals. I’m doing the Friday thing. I’m not skipping on purpose. It just… it’s hard.”
“I know sweetheart.” Ilya said quietly.
“And now it’s not enough.” Shane said, voice cracking. “And I just…I don’t know how to do more without feeling like I’m—”
He stopped, breath hitching.
Ilya leaned forward.
“Like you’re what?” he asked gently.
“Like I’m losing control,” Shane said, the words rushing out now. “Like everything’s going to spiral if I push too far. Like it will start with eating one more snack then one more meal. Then they'll keep fucking feeding me until I'm too heavy to fucking play. They already make sure I can't work out too much so there's no way I can lose the weight they might make me gain and-and. And I know that sounds stupid but it doesn’t feel stupid when I’m in it.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid. It sounds like you have a mental disorder that makes you think things that are not true. Just like me. That is why we help tell each other the truth.” Ilya said immediately.
Shane shook his head, blinking hard.
“I didn’t want to tell you.” he admitted. “I thought you’d think I wasn’t trying. Or that I was…I don’t know. Failing.”
Something in Ilya’s expression softened in a way that made Shane’s chest ache.
“Shanya..” Ilya said, very quietly. “Look at me.”
Shane hesitated then did.
“You think I’d be disappointed in you for struggling with something I know is hard?” Ilya asked.
“I don’t know...” Shane said. “Maybe.”
Ilya shook his head.
“No.” he said. “Absolutely not.”
Shane’s throat tightened.
“You’re trying,” Ilya continued. “I see it every day. This isn’t about effort. It’s about a problem that doesn’t just go away because you want it to. I am never going to be mad at you for showing signs of the disorder you were diagnosed with.”
Shane let out a shaky breath.
“I hate that it’s still a problem.” he said.
“I know..” Ilya replied. “But hating it doesn’t fix it. Taking care of yourself does.”
Shane looked down again.
“I’m scared they’re going to push too hard.” he said.
“Then we tell them if it feels like too much.” Ilya said. “You don’t have to just accept whatever they say without talking about it.”
“They’re the professionals.”
“And you’re the one living in your body.” Ilya countered. “That matters too.”
Shane was quiet for a moment.
“I don’t want to mess up playoffs,” he said.
“You won’t.” Ilya said.
“What if I do?”
“Then we deal with it.” Ilya replied. “Together.”
Shane’s eyes burned.
“I don’t want you to worry, you have so much to worry about as captain.” he said.
“I’m going to worry a little.” Ilya said, honest. “That’s part of loving you. But I’m not worried about you failing. I’m worried about you being hard on yourself.”
Shane’s shoulders slumped slightly, tension easing just a fraction.
“I don’t know how to do more..” he said quietly.
“Then we figure it out.” Ilya said. “With your therapist. With your nutritionist. With Terry. And with me.”
Shane glanced up.
“With you?”
“Da.” Ilya said. “I’m part of your team too, remember?”
A small smile tugged at Shane’s mouth.
“Yeah..” he said.
Ilya reached across the table, resting his hand over Shane’s.
“Eat a little more.” he said gently. “Not everything. Just a little.”
Shane picked up his fork again.
“Can you…sit with me while I finish?” he asked.
Ilya’s grip on his hand tightened slightly.
“Always.” he said.
And he did.