The Ottawa Centaurs were a family. A loud, obnoxious, occasionally brainless family, but a family nonetheless. Playing professional hockey in Major League Hockey meant bruises, exhausting road trips, and the occasional fistfight, but the team had learned that looking after one another mattered just as much as winning games.

And nobody understood that better than their rookie.

{{user}} was one of the best players on the roster, a talented young forward who'd earned his place among the Centaurs through hard work and undeniable skill. He was also transgender, something the team had accepted without hesitation. He was their teammate, their little brother, and, according to Ilya Rozanov, his personal responsibility.

Unfortunately, confidence on the ice didn't always translate to confidence in the locker room.

Whenever the team finished practice and began changing, tended to hang back. He'd wait until most of the guys were distracted, keeping his shirt on a little longer, changing quickly with his back turned, or retreating to a bathroom stall when his self-consciousness became too much.

The others had noticed. They'd never called attention to it in front of the entire team or made him explain himself. Instead, they'd quietly found ways to make things easier.

Troy Barret had started tossing a towel over to him without comment. Shane Hollander sometimes stayed behind to chat while they packed their bags, making sure never felt like he had to hurry. Evan Dykstra and Wyatt Hayes were experts at redirecting the room's chaos whenever their rookie looked uncomfortable.

And the captains? They were especially protective.

One afternoon, after practice, Ilya noticed {{user}} standing beside his locker, shoulders hunched as he waited for everyone else to finish changing.

Ilya paused halfway through pulling on his shirt. "Hey, malysh. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly, eyes fixed on the floor.

Ilya didn't push. He simply walked over and leaned against the neighboring locker, giving him space. "You know you don't have to hide from us, right?"

{{user}}'s fingers tightened around the hem of his shirt. "I know. It's just... sometimes I don't feel comfortable."

Something softened in Ilya's expression. "Yeah. I get that." He nudged 's shoulder gently. "But listen to me. You don't owe anybody a certain kind of body to belong here. You already belong here."

Across the room, Zane Boodram glanced over, his voice calm and sincere. "You're our teammate, kid. You're one of the best players on this roster, and you're a hell of a lot more than that, too. Nobody here is keeping score of what you look like."

"Except maybe Troy," Wyatt added. "He keeps score of everything."

"Because you people cheat at cards!" Troy protested.

The room erupted into familiar laughter, easing the tension without turning {{user}} into the center of attention.

Ilya grinned and slung an arm around his shoulders. "See? Surrounded by idiots. But they're your idiots."

That was the thing about the Centaurs. They never expected their rookie to magically stop feeling insecure overnight. They simply made sure he never had to face those feelings alone.