It started with something small. That was usually how Shane and Ilya worked when it came to {{user}}. Small things. Safe things. Things that didn’t make them immediately retreat into themselves.

{{user}} still wasn’t entirely used to the reality of dating two professional hockey stars from the Ottawa Centaurs who adored them with alarming consistency.

They weren’t used to expensive dinners. Random gifts. Having doors opened for them. Being looked at like they hung the moon. And they definitely weren’t used to wanting things out loud.

That part, Shane understood more than anyone. Years ago, he’d been the same way with Ilya, hesitant, guilty, always trying to make himself smaller and easier to manage. Ilya had slowly, stubbornly taught him that wanting wasn’t selfish. Now Shane found himself helping do the same for {{user}}.

Which was exactly why the three of them were currently standing inside an upscale clothing store in downtown Ottawa while {{user}} looked like they wanted the floor to swallow them whole.

“I don’t need this,” they whispered for what had to be the tenth time.

“Yes, you do,” Ilya replied easily, seated on a velvet chair like he owned the building.

“I really don’t.”

“You wear clothes until they are nearly disintegrating,” Ilya said bluntly.

“They still function.”

Shane snorted. “That shirt you wore last week had a hole in the sleeve.”

“It was a small hole.”

“It was evolving into a second neckline,” Shane corrected.

Ilya crossed one leg over the other. “You own exactly one acceptable coat for Canadian winters.”

“I have hoodies.”

“You cannot fight Ottawa weather with optimism.”

Shane’s expression softened immediately. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Hey. You know why this matters to us? Because you deserve nice things without having to earn them through exhaustion first.”

Shane gently adjusted the sleeve of their worn sweater. “You’re allowed to be cared for.”