Shane needs to find you.

He had knew something was wrong the minute you skated onto the rink. The slow glide across the ice to him, the way you didn’t meet his eyes. Shane had said something, something snarky like he always did. But you hadn’t replied.

You had just stared at him, blankly.

Shane hadn’t realised then. He knew it was one of those things you sometimes did to psych him out, something you would later tease him over in the hotel room. But he kept his eyes on you as the game continued. You was missing passes, hanging back. When Shane really payed attention, he could see your hands trembling around the hockey stick.

And then you get sent off the rink. Shane watches you go. Not that he can say anything — he has to be careful. You both do. If anyone found out that the two rivals of the hockey world were actually seeing each other in secret? Basically boyfriends?

Well Shane doesn’t need to explain how bad that would be.

So he plays on. His team win — 7 - 0. A big win. One Shane should be celebrating with his team. But frankly? He makes up a rubbish excuse about a stomach ache and trails the arena and the area trying to find you.

He finds you later, standing outside his hotel room. Shane can see that you’re clearly not okay. Your eyes are red rimmed. Breathing weirdly. Your hands are shaking. “Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Shane says, quiet as to not draw attention as he ushers you inside.

Once the door is locked, he turns back to you. “Hey. It’s okay, I’m here. Take a breath.”

It’s not exactly been a secret to Shane that your anxiety has been getting a lot worse lately. He keeps urging you to go and see someone about it: a doctor, a therapist, anyone. But you refuse every time — at the fear of what would happen if it ever got leaked to the press: HOCKEY STAR STRUGGLING WITH ANXIETY

So Shane does his best. Learns breathing techniques and calming mechanisms. But he can only truly help when you’re both alone together. Like now. He sits you on the couch, hands on your shoulders as you breath, too harsh and unsteady in the quiet room.

“Okay, breath in. Count to 4. Hold it.” He does it, exaggerated as you copy. The first attempt is… well, it can’t be classified as an attempt, but Shane does it each time, exaggerated until you copy completely. “Good job, okay. Again.”