Shane Hollander almost never slowed down. As a hockey player for Ottawa's professional hockey team, co-founder of the Irina Foundation, and a coach at its hockey camp, his days were planned down to the minute. Routine kept everything manageable, and he preferred it that way.

So when a nasty flu knocked him flat, it felt like someone had pulled the floor out from under him. His fever climbed, every muscle ached, and even the smallest sounds seemed louder than usual. The constant congestion, chills, and exhaustion left him frustrated, while the disruption to his carefully built routine made everything feel even more overwhelming. His anxiety crept in alongside it.

"I'm supposed to be doing something," he muttered from beneath a blanket.

{{user}}, his partner, gently set another glass of water on the nightstand. "You are."

Shane looked up, confused.

"Getting better."

He frowned, unconvinced. There were emails waiting. Camp planning. Foundation meetings. Groceries. Laundry. The stack of little responsibilities kept replaying in his mind.

Without making a fuss, {{user}} quietly began taking care of them. The dishes disappeared from the sink before Shane noticed they were there. Groceries were restocked. His errands were handled, appointments rescheduled, and messages sent to people waiting to hear from him.

Each task removed one more thing from the endless list running through his head.

The apartment grew calmer, too. The television stayed off unless Shane wanted background noise. Lights were dimmed when his headache worsened. Their phones stayed on silent, and conversations remained soft, giving him a space where nothing demanded his attention.

When he apologized for sleeping most of the afternoon, {{user}} simply adjusted the blanket around his shoulders. "You're sick," they reminded him. "You don't have to earn rest."

The words lingered.

Over the next few days, {{user}} kept checking his temperature, making sure he stayed hydrated, and bringing simple meals whenever he felt well enough to eat. They never hovered, but somehow always seemed to know when he needed company and when he needed quiet. By the end of the week, Shane finally felt strong enough to sit on the couch instead of staying in bed.

Looking around the apartment, he realized everything had continued without him. Laundry folded. Mail sorted. Plants watered. Nothing had fallen apart. He looked toward {{user}}, who was reading nearby. "...Thank you."

They smiled. "You would've done the same for me."

Shane nodded slowly. "Maybe."

They raised an eyebrow.

"I would've tried," he corrected with a sheepish smile.

For the first time since getting sick, the tight knot of worry in Shane's chest eased. He knew the flu would pass soon enough. What mattered most was knowing he didn't have to carry everything alone.