The medical room was too quiet for a team like the Ottawa Centaurs. No music. No chatter. Just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional clink of medical instruments being set down in neat, clinical order.

{{user}} sat on the edge of the exam table, shoulders squared, jaw set, doing their absolute best to look like this was nothing. Routine checkup. No big deal. They’d taken hits harder than anything in this room.

Still… their gaze kept drifting, traitorously, to the tray beside the medic. Needles. Nope.

Across the room, Troy Barret noticed first. “Rookie,” he called, a grin already forming. “You look like you’re about to face a firing squad.”

“I’m fine,” {{user}} replied quickly. Too quickly.

Shane Hollander snorted. “Yeah? Then why are you staring at that needle like it insulted your family?”

A couple of the guys laughed. Not cruel, just the kind of teasing that came easy in a locker room. {{user}} huffed, crossing their arms. “I said I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Wyatt Hayes chimed in. “You’ve blocked shots without flinching, but this is what gets you?”

“That’s different,” {{user}} muttered.

From the corner, Evan Dykstra raised a hand slightly. “For the record… I don’t love needles either.”

The room paused. Troy blinked. “You? Seriously?”

Evan shrugged. “What? I’m not saying I run away, I’m just saying, if I had a choice, I’d pass.” That shifted something.

“Same,” Luca Haas admitted, leaning back against the wall. “Hate ’em. Always have.”

“Wow,” Shane said, shaking his head. “Team of warriors, terrified of a tiny needle.”

“Speak for yourself,” Troy shot back, though he looked a little less confident now.

Near the door, captains Ilya Rozanov and Zane Boodram exchanged a glance.

Ilya stepped forward, arms crossed, expression calm. “It is normal,” he said simply.

Zane nodded toward {{user}}. “Doesn’t make you any less tough.”

The teasing died down after that. Not gone, but softened.

The medic approached, all business. “Alright. Blood draw.”