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Perfectionism in Complex PTSD (C-PTSD) functions as a survival mechanism, not a desire for excellence. It is a coping strategy rooted in the belief that being "perfect" provides safety, control, and validation, helping to avoid criticism or rejection from past trauma.

Shane didn’t know why he crumbled at the smallest mistake. It came out of nowhere: a command from a coach, his mother sighing at him, or even Ilya becoming the slightest bit frustrated with him. The smallest ounce of disappointment sent a shockwave of unpleasant emotions through Shane’s nervous system. It became paralyzing after a while, so much so that Ilya began to catch hints of an underlying issue.

Ilya was no stranger to unpleasant emotions that didn't go away, even after he was in a safe place with the man he loved the most, who felt like home, a blanket of safety that spread warmth through his chest. But even his love for his boyfriend did not calm the storm that still raged from his past life. And now, after pushing through the storm, he could see through Shane’s rituals, routines, anxiety, and sudden, but subtle bursts of panic that he tried so hard to hide.

Ilya had been through the ebb and flow of therapy. For a long time, he couldn’t put into words why he felt like he did. And it took him months of switching therapists, falling deeper into depression, and breaking his own boyfriend's heart to get to the root of the problem. Ilya still felt like he owed everyone everything. He had only been able to put it into words once, when he talked to Shane on the phone after his father's passing.

“All I hear is more, Ilya. More, more, more, more.”

He spent a lifetime giving himself and more to his family, to his friends, and not feeling that love in return. He gave so much of himself that he lost himself in the process. Since he had lived in such an environment for so long, it was a deeply ingrained part of his personality, even receiving the love he did from Yuna, David, and Shane, deep in his psyche there was a voice telling him it wasn’t enough, he is not safe here, they will need more than he can give, he is lazy.

One day, his therapist, Galina, who had been the therapist he felt the best connection with (mostly because she spoke Russian, and he could easily articulate his thoughts to her in his native tongue), told him, very carefully, that these things he felt had a name.

“What you have been through is called complex trauma, Ilya.” She spoke. “Do you know what that is?”

He didn’t. He grew up in a masculine household. His father and brother were police, and they were tough. They did not throw around words like “Trauma,” and they most certainly did not talk about their emotions. Maybe if his mom were still around, he would have felt like he could talk about the bigger, more negative feelings. But most men from his country didn’t feel the need, or see the importance of talking about the emotional stuff.

He sat in silence and waited for Galina to continue.

“Complex trauma, in short, is traumatic events that happen to you consistently, and sometimes with no escape, like living in an emotionally neglectful and abusive household.” She spoke slowly, carefully, and watched Ilya’s stone-cold facade falter. His mask fell more with each session.

“What difference does it make?” He finally spat, angered at the accusation that he was emotionally neglected and abused.

“All the difference, Ilya. Do you feel safe, ever?”

He pondered the question for a moment, biting his tongue, tapping his foot, waiting anxiously for the session to end so he could see Shane and distract himself through sex from the heaviness of the session. He loved sex. So much that it was harmful. Sometimes, no longer for pleasure, solely to distract himself from his chest that felt like it was caving in. Galina shifted her notepad slightly, drawing Ilya’s attention back to the situation at hand. He still hadn’t answered her question.

“I do. With Shane.” He mumbled.

“Are there ever times that you feel unsafe with him?”

“Shane would not hurt me.”

“I know he wouldn’t, but do you ever feel like…” She paused, searching for the right words. It is a difficult thing to deliver this kind of information to someone. The last thing she wanted to do was send Ilya into a spiral, reevaluating his entire life up until this point. “You are waiting for something bad to happen. Like, you cannot fully relax?”

Ilya thought about this. Oftentimes, although he couldn’t place the exact times or emotions, he felt like he was constantly running. He didn’t know from what, and he didn’t know when it stopped or started. He felt like that right now. He settled for a nod to his therapist.

“I’m going to explain to you what C-PTSD is, if that is alright with you? I don’t want to push you too far this session.” She told him.

He nodded for her to continue. They were already far enough into this conversation, and Ilya was on the edge of his seat. He didn’t want to hear more, but he wanted to put a name to what he felt, and he was also terrified of knowing. Because now that meant he had to fix it.

~

It’d taken months of therapy sessions. Ilya and everyone around him started to notice a change in his behavior. There was a pep in his step now. He loved more freely, he let himself be taken care of by Shane, and by Yuna and David. He felt physically lighter. Even the heaviness that sat in his chest had lessened, and he felt like he could take in lungfuls of air.

Throughout the past few months, Ilya and Galina worked tirelessly to understand the root causes of Ilya’s disorder, how it went hand-in-hand with his depression, how it affected his coping mechanisms, his relationship with Shane, his friends, and his pseudo-parents.

But there was another issue. He was getting better, but Shane seemed to be slipping behind.

Shane had amazing parents; he loved them so much. For a very long time, they were all he had. He never had a lot of friends growing up, and he didn’t feel a need for them most of the time. He had his parents, he had hockey, and now, he had Ilya. To him, that was all he needed.

Until it wasn’t. He had to realize what his parents had instilled in him.

Fear.

Yuna and David, while being good parents to Shane, weren’t always the most attentive to Shane’s odd behaviors and the treatment he received in the spotlight. Having present parents doesn’t always mean they’re the best. He was one of the only Asian players in the league, and one of the only people of color. Yuna saw dollar signs due to this fact, but she didn’t realize the weight it put on Shane’s shoulders, how deep it pushed him under water until he was drowning.

Shane had high expectations for himself already. This left no room for grace. He had to be perfect, he had to be the best in the league, he had to be a good role model for all of the young Asian boys and girls who didn’t see themselves in high positions often. And now, he had to be an inspiration to queer youth and athletes everywhere. He had to constantly wear his Asian-ness, his queerness, and his athletic abilities like a badge of honor. He had to be perfect.

He knew there was something different about him. He knew he wasn’t the most sociable. Even the commentators at his games mentioned his lack of emotion in interviews and his awkward tendencies when they were trying to praise him. All of his compliments were backhanded, tied to the things that made him different.

That reminded him he wasn’t perfect.

He was notoriously monotonous. It wasn’t a bad thing, but people didn’t like it. The media liked to spin it to say he was ungrateful or rude when he thought he was being nice and showing his excitement. He could have been having the best day ever with a deadpan look on his face. His mother frequently scolded him to watch his tone and manage his facial expressions during interviews. He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t the best at being social, and he often missed the cues when he was supposed to put on a show or when he was supposed to stop talking.

Ilya clocked Shane’s differences the first time he met Shane; not when Shane folded his clothes before their first hookup, but when he was smoking outside the rink when Shane first introduced himself, and kept talking even though Ilya wanted him to leave. His lack of understanding that, socially, Ilya did not want to speak to him, was endearing. And he kind of loved that Shane was so persistent. Unbeknownst to him, Shane would break down every wall Ilya put up because of his persistence in getting Ilya to tell him every little thing that was on his mind. He needed that. Meeting Shane started the healing process for both of them. Now it was Ilya’s turn to do the same for Shane.

~

The first instance where Ilya noticed something was off was after a game where Shane fell, missing what would have been the game-winning goal.

Shane stormed into the locker room, blowing off reporters and his own teammates, including Ilya.

He tore off his jersey, leaving him in his protective gear. Tears threatened to fall, but Shane was Shane. And Shane would not cry in public, at the risk of his teammates finding him, and at the risk of going back out there with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

He stuck his head into his locker cubby, gently tapping his head against the cold brick wall at the back of it. If he were at home, by himself, he might have hit his head against the wall a little harder. But again, he was in the team locker room.

What a fucking idiot. How did you screw that up? You’re better than this. You. are. supposed. to. be. perfect. He thought.

He dug his fingernails into his palms, hard enough to leave indents, but not to draw blood. He had to look perfect, too.

After a few minutes of rhythmic thumping and ragged breaths, Ilya appeared in the locker room.

“Hollander,” he started, immediately noticing the distressing state of his boyfriend.

He approached Shane slowly, as if he were a scared animal.

Shane didn’t acknowledge him. He was too caught up in the spiral of thoughts leading him to the conclusion that he wasn’t good enough to be here. Everyone was disappointed by him on home ice: a crime punishable by death in Shane’s mind.

Ilya reached out a hand, placing it on Shane’s shoulder atop his gear. Shane still did not feel the added pressure, so Ilya inched his hand further, pressing his palm to the nape of Shane’s neck.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” He said, calmly, even though he was freaking out himself. He had seen Shane upset, but he had yet to see the part of Shane that no one else ever saw. The Shane who crumbled under the pressure, who thought his failures were punishable by bodily harm, the Shane in front of him who trembled and suddenly snapped his head around, pushing Ilya’s hand away forcefully. Startled and angry.

Ilya held his hands up, shocked at the sudden movement.

Shane’s terrified expression softened a little at the sight of his boyfriend, but he still trembled and forcefully pushed the tears back into his eyes. He will not crumble in front of anyone, not even Ilya.

“Hollander, what is the problem? It was a little fall.” Ilya started. “Happens all the time.”

“No. It doesn’t. Not to me.” Shane muttered through gritted teeth.

“You can’t be perfect all the time, Shane.”

“I have to be,” Shane answered.

Ilya thought about his answer for a long time. The Shane he knew was already perfect. He looked perfect, he played perfectly, he spoke perfectly, and he was sure that anyone who knew him would say the same thing.

Shane didn’t talk to Ilya for the rest of the night. Or his parents. Or his teammates. He avoided the reporters.

Ilya had seen Shane get upset over mistakes, but this seemed like an over-the-top reaction. Not what he was used to. He considered the facts of the situation. Shane might have just been overly stressed. He had just been traded to the Centaurs three months prior; they had been outed not so long ago, there were copious amounts of brand deals, and media appearances lined up for the two, Shane specifically, because Yuna insisted he do more to stay in the spotlight for as long as possible. Shane hated it, he knew, but what Yuna says goes.

He also thought about the contents of their interaction. Shane had perfectionist tendencies, sure, but he never outright admitted to Ilya that he had to be perfect. There was no room for anything else.

Ilya suggested to Shane, after Shane had begun speaking again the next morning, that he tell his mom to take it easy on scheduling appearances and advertisements for the rest of the season, maybe it would relieve some of Shane’s stress.

Shane said no. He did not want to disappoint. If he wasn’t good at hockey, he wasn’t worth anything anymore.

~

The second time Ilya started piecing things together, it formed a bigger issue he wasn’t sure he was capable of handling.

He knew Shane kept a strict diet. His “bird food” diet, as Hayden called it. Sometimes Ilya could convince Shane to put down the diet for a second and indulge in a treat, whether it be a lemonade or a tuna melt.

Shane had been working particularly hard that week, exercising at the crack of dawn, going to practice, exercising before bed, and sometimes, when he thought Ilya was asleep, sneaking out to exercise some more. Ilya started to worry that he was working himself too hard.

So, he confronted him on one of the nights he snuck out of bed to go exercise.

It was 3 in the morning. Ilya felt the weight on the bed shift, and Shane’s soft footsteps padding out the door into the living room, and further to their small personal gym.

He sighed, sat up, and listened for a few minutes. He thought about his options here. This was the fourth night in a row where Shane had snuck away to the gym. He could leave him be; maybe he’d just been having trouble sleeping. Or, he was stressing about something, and Ilya had a hunch it was the latter.

He got up and followed the same route Shane had taken. He could hear the dull hum of the treadmill and the rhythmic thud of Shane’s feet hitting the running belt.

He opened the door to the gym. Shane had his headphones on and hadn’t noticed his presence yet. Ilya took a moment to examine the man in front of him. He felt a pang of nostalgia at the sight of Shane alone in the gym, back to the night of the draft, on that fateful night where Ilya and Shane raced on the bikes like stupid, hypermasculinized kids, and Ilya gave Shane his water bottle. He wasn’t sure if that was the first time he realized he had a crush, or if it was the day that Shane introduced himself in Saskatchewan.

Ilya cleared his throat, trying to announce his presence subtly so as not to startle Shane and make him lose his balance.

Shane was able to hear the noise over his headphones and slowed his running speed to a stop. He turned towards Ilya, gleaming in sweat, with a slightly ashamed look on his face. He wouldn’t quite look Ilya in the eyes.

“What’re you doing?” Ilya asked, voice low and heavy, still tinged with the remnants of sleep.

“Running,” Shane answered blandly.

“Obviously. Why so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Shane lied. Even though it wasn’t totally a lie, he really couldn’t sleep, but that wasn’t the reason he was working out so late at night for the fourth night in a row.

“Mhm, look me in the eyes and tell me that,” Ilya demanded.

Shane stood silently, looking anywhere but at his boyfriend.

Ilya continued to examine Shane’s features. He was still breathing heavily from the cardio, there was sweat pooling on his forehead, and he could see, ever so slightly, a tremble in Shane’s hands where his thumbs were tucked into his sweat pockets.

He took a few steps forward to close the distance between them. Once he got close enough, he grabbed Shane’s face with one hand, squeezing his cheeks to make his lips pucker so he could kiss him, and also make him look him in the eyes. Shane happily obliged and kissed Ilya, relaxing his tense body only slightly. He knew there was a motive behind Ilya’s sweet actions.

“Now, why are you exercising so late?” Ilya asked again, holding Shane’s face in place, and following his eyes with his entire face when Shane insisted on looking away.

“I’m just…” Shane started. His mouth opening and closing, his eyes darting between Ilya’s as if searching for an answer in his lover's gaze. “I’ve been gaining weight.”

“Okay?” Ilya answered. He didn’t really see the problem. They were athletes. Their weights fluctuated constantly, whether they were cutting or bulking for their respective training. Shane had always been disciplined in his eating and exercise habits, so Ilya was still confused about where this was coming from.

“It’s… Bad weight, though.” Shane supplied an answer to Ilya’s questioning eyes. But this was only more confusing.

“What do you mean, ‘bad weight?’” His eyes darted back and forth like they always did when he was trying to process large amounts of information. This was truly puzzling to him. There was no such thing as bad weight for the beautiful and perfect Shane Hollander.

“I mean that I’ve let myself go. I need to start eating better. I need to look perfect, Ilya.” Shane sounded so frustrated. He blurted out the response without fully processing how it would sound to unassuming ears.

“Shane. You push yourself too hard. You hardly eat anything good to begin with. It’s always your macrobiotic diet I always have to hear about.” Ilya said, waving his hand in the air. Shane only stared at him. “You already look perfect. Where is this coming from?” He finished.

“I… just need to look perfect, okay?” Shane finally answered after minutes of looking at Ilya.

“I think that maybe… maybe you should talk to someone. This sounds dangerous.” Ilya said, and braced for a reaction from Shane.

Shane winced, but nodded anyway. He didn’t like how he felt either. He didn’t understand why he needed to be perfect when Ilya already loved him so much, and he was at the highest level of athletics he could possibly be at. There was nowhere else to go.

Ilya convinced Shane to come back to bed with him. And Ilya waited up for Shane while he showered because he did not want to dirty the sheets even more from their earlier activities. Ilya was only a little afraid that Shane might go back to work out once Ilya had fallen asleep. So he listened to the shower turning off, and when Shane came back, Ilya asked him, “Why do you think you need to look perfect?”

Shane only stared at him for a few moments, thinking of the correct response to the question. He hadn’t actually thought about why he felt the need to be perfect. He knew, logically, that wasn’t something anyone could achieve. But things were different for him. He had to be perfect. He didn’t allow himself the grace of messing up. It was okay for Ilya to mess up, or Rose, or Hayden, but when it came to Shane himself, making mistakes and lacking even the smallest forms of discipline was a punishable crime.

When he started to notice a slight gain in weight, the only articulable feeling he could pinpoint was shame. It might’ve manifested as guilt, though. It was a fleeting feeling, but somehow it was always behind every bad thought he had about himself.

Shame that he had somehow let himself go because he was in love, and he allowed himself to feel too safe within Ilya’s love. He was afraid that if he kept falling deeper, he would continue to let himself go, he would lose his athletic abilities, and he would be good for nothing now. The shame settled itself deep in his mind and echoed in everything he did.

~

Although they had the conversation of Shane talking to someone about his eating habits, they left it at that. The idea of Shane talking to someone was left up in the air that night, but it lingered in both of their minds. At least Shane stopped sneaking away to exercise for the time being.

Lately, he had been doing better about eating. He still felt that shame coursing through him; he had shoots coming up for his underwear modeling and whatever other brand deals Yuna had secured for him in the following week. He knew he had to be borderline naked for some of them, and although he knew he had a nice body, he wasn’t perfect yet. And that bothered him.

Ilya kept notes of his habits in the past months since their initial conversation. He knew Shane was a perfectionist, a tendency that had been present in him since they'd known each other. But, he hadn’t realized just how prominent it was in every one of Shane’s actions. It was almost bordering on compulsive.

Ilya watched as Shane meal-prepped for the week. Each food was meticulously placed in its assigned container, not one single food touching another, because Shane didn’t like that. They had a meeting with his parents later in the day to discuss an upcoming brand deal Yuna had scored for both of them. So Shane was on edge.

He loved his mom, truly; she was one of the lights of his life. But she was overbearing at times, and, as Ilya started to notice, Shane’s behavior changed drastically when they had scheduled meetings with her and whatever media appearance was being worked out. When Shane was roped into the business deals, he became much more rigid than usual, even with Ilya.

His eating became stricter, his workouts, and his focus were shifted into business mode because he needed everything to be perfect for his mom. His dad, too, but David didn’t care as much about the business aspect of Shane’s life as Yuna did. He was less present in that aspect and was only slightly better on the emotional side of things. Shane was unconsciously grateful for that.

Ilya continued to watch Shane work. He whined occasionally that Shane was ignoring him and that they could meal prep later after they got back from their meeting. Eventually, he stood up from the couch and stood behind Shane at the kitchen island.

“Sweetheart,” he started.

Shane didn’t answer.

Ilya stepped closer, wrapping his arms around Shane’s torso. Shane still didn’t speak, but he leaned back into Ilya’s touch; he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

Ilya got the hint and was relieved Shane wasn’t mad at him. But he was unsure of why Shane was in one of his “not-speaking” moods. But he assumed it was the stress of meeting with his parents. Ilya, for one, loved Yuna and David. But he didn’t like how much pressure they put on Shane.

“Are you worried about seeing your parents?” Ilya asked, gently swaying Shane, his cheek pressed to Shane’s shoulder, muffling his voice a little bit.

Shane hummed in response. An affirmative hum, Ilya concluded. Shane continued his task.
Shane tapped his fingers nervously on the gear shift while they made their way to the restaurant where they usually met Shane’s parents. Ilya covered Shane’s hand with his own. He tried to soothe Shane in the same ways that soothed him. Usually, it worked, and Shane always welcomed the touch.

They drove in silence. Shane was saving his energy to talk to his parents. He wasn’t dreading seeing them, necessarily. He just hated when they had to talk business deals when Shane was most definitely not in the mood for it. Ever since they had been outed, Yuna had been obsessed with getting them to model and speak for different companies on their experiences, and while Shane loved being able to be public about his relationship with Ilya, there was still a lot that he wanted to keep to himself. It was his. He shared it with Ilya, and that was more than enough for him. He didn’t need the public intruding on his intimate moments with Ilya, even if it was as small as how their relationship started.

Yuna would say she understood, but she wanted Shane to be a role model for young queer athletes; everyone was looking to him for inspiration now, and he had to show up for them. It was a lot to put onto one person, and she had a hard time realizing just how much it affected Shane.

They had arrived at the restaurant, and Shane shook out his nerves through his hands as Ilya went around the car to Shane’s side. He took Shane’s hand in his. They were both happy they were able to do this now, though it did little to pull Shane out of his head.

They walked in, where Yuna and David had already claimed a table, and ordered drinks for the pair.

“You’re late.” Yuna said once the two men sat down. They were three minutes late.

“Sorry, traffic.” Ilya supplied for Shane. There was no traffic. Shane was just a slow driver.

Shane smirked just enough for Ilya to catch it.

“Okay, so, right to business.” Yuna started.

She wasted no time getting into the logistics of their upcoming endeavors. Shane listened, nodded, hummed, and Ilya ate his food, throwing out comments now and then that David found particularly funny.

“And Shane,” Yuna coughed, something she did before an important announcement. “You need to speak more about your positive experiences as a gay athlete for these upcoming interviews.”

“Okay,” Shane answered blandly.

“I’m serious, Shane. You need to start talking more about how great it has been, being able to be public about your relationship. It’ll be good for the new inclusivity campaigns.”

“I know, Mom. I get that. It’s just…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

Yuna motioned for him to continue his train of thought.

Shane knew his existence as a gay athlete was an important selling point in the current climate. Ever since Scott, and ever since his own outing, inclusivity was being preached more than ever. While he appreciated that, he had always been a private person, and he thought it inauthentic to sell his experiences to the NHL who was only profiting off of his and few others’ experiences, but doing nothing to cultivate the inclusivity they promoted. He was simply existing. He shouldn’t have to paint a picture of what it has been like for him, especially since it wasn’t sunshine and rainbows, and people should know just how difficult it can be.

He’d had thousands of positive experiences, but also an overwhelming amount of negative experiences. The Metros, for example, who, upon finding out about his relationship with Ilya, shunned him. They couldn’t understand that he was just in love; there was nothing business or political about his relationship with Ilya.

He received hate message after hate message, death threats, kidnapping threats, and assault threats about his coming out. He already suffered enough hate being one of the only Asian players in professional hockey. Being gay, on top of that, was overwhelming. He needed to be the perfect son, the perfect Asian, the picture-perfect gay man, and he didn’t know if he could keep up his facade for much longer. He felt like he was crumbling under the weight of his perfection that he worked so hard to achieve.

He was staring at his mom, still. Tension over his unspoken emotions loomed above their heads. He didn’t know how to tell his mom no. He didn’t want to paint an incorrect picture of how it’s been. He wanted things to change, and they wouldn’t if he kept saying that everything was fine. But would Yuna understand that? Would she understand how much pressure was on him to be perfect?

Ilya tapped Shane’s foot with his own. He could see the thought spiral forming in Shane’s head. He didn’t want to push Shane too far; his mom was already doing that for him. In that moment, it clicked with him that this was exactly how he felt with his own family.

Ilya spent his entire life giving himself away to make sure his family stayed afloat. They were always taken care of with the best clothes, food, and housing, and they were happy. Except they weren’t. And they had always demanded more when he had nothing left to give. Shane’s parents were present in every aspect of Shane’s life, something Ilya didn’t have, but they were too present. Overbearing, overwhelming. They pushed these unrealistic expectations onto Shane without considering the damage it could cause. Everything about Shane was internal. There was a reason he never let his mask slip to reveal the anxiety, the hurt, the immense amount of mental agony that persisted well into Shane’s adulthood.

He could see that in Shane, in this very moment. He had nothing left to give; he had given up good food, his own mental health, his entire life to being perfect for his parents, and for the people who looked up to him, but mainly, he wanted to keep his parents happy. He was not, and could not be, a disappointment. Ilya knew that Shane’s parents were proud of him, but they seldom showed it, let alone told Shane that he was more than enough, because they always pushed him to be better, even when it seemed like there was nowhere left to go. He wondered to himself, looking at Shane, who was now looking anywhere but at his mom, “Has anyone ever told you, seriously, that they are proud of everything that you are? You are the bravest, most honest, beautiful, thoughtful, and conscientious person I have ever had the privilege of knowing.”

He had never felt closer to Shane than he had in that moment, but Shane couldn’t have felt further. He didn’t realize that the years of expectations were piled so high that his knees were finally buckling under the weight.

“It hasn’t been all that good.” Shane finally said.

“Well, I know that. But that’s not what people want to hear.” She didn’t get it.

“But that’s what I feel.”

“It doesn’t matter, Shane.”

It doesn’t matter. Shane internalized that much too quickly. It doesn’t matter how he felt about the situation, just that it didn’t look bad to outsiders. Shane knew that his mom would never be able to understand the kind of world he was living in. She hadn’t grown up being a closeted gay man, inside of a high-contact, masculinized, white-washed sport. She didn’t grow up not understanding that the world just wasn’t built with him in mind. He had to learn that through rigorous trial and error. Being scolded for not showing enough emotion, for not understanding the cues that everyone else seemed to, without a script that he had so carefully crafted.

He could never be as perfect as she wanted him to be. That scared him.

Ilya interrupted the conversation, noticing that Shane was spacing out, retreating into his internal world.

“I think that we need to take a break.” He said swiftly, pushing his chair out and standing.

Shane looked at him, nodded, and also stood up. He caught a hint of disapproval on his mother's face upon his departure. That hurt worse than any words could have. Words were fine. They could bounce right off of him most of the time, but he was acutely aware of those microexpressions that gave the slightest hint of someone’s disappointment in his actions. He took it as an absolute personal failing.

Once the pair made it outside, Ilya spoke softly and calmly, “Are you okay? Do you want to go home?” He reached out his hands to grasp Shane’s wrists, keeping him from pulling at his hair.

“I… Don’t know.” Shane answered shakily. He felt like he might have a panic attack, but why? All he was trying to do was tell his mom no for once in his life.

“How are you feeling? Sad? Mad? Anxious?” Ilya asked, trying to get a better read on Shane’s emotional state. He fell into more of a flat affect that made it harder to read exactly what emotions he was feeling, and just how dire the situation was.

“All of the above,” Shane answered.

Everything. Got it. Ilya thought. Now he was planning their next steps.

He wanted to get them out of there and give Shane a chance to feel his emotions instead of pushing them down and letting them bubble over like they were threatening to. He had learned a lot in therapy.

“Okay. We’re going home.” Ilya stated. He was no longer asking Shane if he wanted to leave, because if Shane decided, they were staying, and Shane would have to endure another hour-long lecture about the importance of his image to other people, and he knew it would end in Shane agreeing to things he didn’t want to do.

“No, I don’t want to disappoint them,” Shane said. Ilya already knew that response was coming.

“What disappointment? You need to take care of you.” Ilya snapped.

Shane shook his head and pushed past Ilya to enter the restaurant. Ilya let Shane pass him but followed closely behind.

“Sorry about that.” Shane apologized to his mom and dad. His dad eyed him carefully, much more attuned to his emotional state than Yuna.

“Are you okay?” David asked.

“Yeah, I’m fi-”

“No. Don’t lie, Shane.” Ilya cut in.

“Lie about what?” Yuna asked. Looking between the two of them.

“He’s not alright. You are asking too much of him now.”

“Ilya!” Shane said, too loudly. The noise surrounding them came to a slight halt. And Shane was all too aware of the eyes that followed him, and realized who he was, and who he was with.

Yuna was taken aback by Ilya’s statement. This was nothing out of the ordinary regarding their business deals. They constantly had to remind Shane of his importance to the community he was representing. But that’s just it, he was constantly reminded that it was not okay for him to mess up because he was supposed to be perfect for everyone who was watching him. And this, yelling at his boyfriend in the middle of a very public place, was not a good look for any of them.

Shane realized this quickly and promptly turned around, half-running out of the building and to his car. Ilya followed, not even sparing a glance back at Shane’s parents. He loved them, but he wished they saw Shane for who he really was, outside of everything he represented.

Ilya got into the passenger seat of Shane’s car, which Shane had already started and was backing out. Ilya hadn’t even fully closed his door.

“Shane.” Ilya pressed.

Shane didn’t answer. His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, and they were driving at least slightly faster than usual. This was not how Shane planned for his day to go. He didn’t expect to get into a full-on fight with his parents when he was usually so passive about what happened to him. He didn’t know how to handle this situation. He had never walked out on his parents before.

Shane’s vision was blurred by the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Ilya pressed his hand firmly to Shane’s thigh, directing him, “Pull over.”

Shane obeyed, pulling over and parking the car. He didn’t dare look at Ilya.

But Ilya would have none of it.

“Look at me.” He demanded. “Now.”

Shane looked, only for a second, before tears started spilling out against his will. He knew that would happen, and that was why he refused to look at Ilya in the first place. Whenever he was starting to feel these bigger emotions that he couldn’t quite place, he hated how it felt like they consumed him whole.

Ilya pulled him into an awkward hug over the center console. But it didn’t matter how awkward the position felt. He wanted to be as close to Shane as possible. This was a new chapter for them. Shane finally, finally, fully broke in front of him, and he was going to handle this correctly, not like he would have a year ago.

He held one hand behind Shane’s head, in his hair. He rocked them back and forth, muttering sweet nothings under his breath to soothe Shane.

Shane tried hard to stop crying, but trying to stop it only made it worse. He was quickly losing control of his breathing, spiraling into more of a panic attack.

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay, breathe, Shane.” Ilya cooed. “Let it all out, you can let it go.”

And that is what made Shane finally start wailing. For the first time in his life, he let himself be completely vulnerable in front of someone, and that person, being Ilya, showed him that it’s okay to let his guard down; he doesn’t have to be perfect for Ilya, he just has to be.

Minutes passed, and Shane went through waves of calming down, only to start crying again. And Ilya held him the whole way through. By the time Shane’s sobs calmed down, reduced to hiccups here and there, the sun had set, and they were still on the side of the road, basking in each other's silence. Shane wasn’t ready to speak yet.

Ilya figured that they should go home to have the conversation he wanted to; he had thought about it since they fled the restaurant.

“Sweetheart,” He started, running his fingers gingerly through Shane’s hair. “Switch seats with me, I’ll drive us home. You rest.”

Shane obliged without hesitation. He was too tired to drive. He had forgotten how exhausting it was to feel the full extent of emotions. But he felt lighter. Better.

They drove home in silence, their hands intertwined on the gear shift. Ilya drummed his fingers against the steering wheel now, thinking about how he could have this conversation with Shane without scaring him or making him defensive like he was when he first received the news from his therapist. He even thought about phoning her into the conversation, but he figured it would make Shane uncomfortable to have yet another third party involved in an intimate moment. Plus, he didn’t want it to seem like he was diagnosing Shane. He just wanted to tell him that there might be a name to what he was feeling, and a way out. Something he, himself, never thought possible.

He flicked through instances in his head where he noticed Shane’s behavior. That time he blew off reporters after the game and also blew off Ilya when he fell and missed a shot. There was also his weird eating habits; Ilya honed in on that instance more. That’s what he meant by not being perfect, too. He thought his physical body wasn’t good enough. That hurt Ilya more than he would’ve liked to admit. Shane’s internalization of every emotion he felt, good or bad. He never felt like it was enough. His passiveness towards his mother's control over his public appearances; it was never because he wanted to, but because he had to. Because being perfect was the only way he could achieve that validation from his parents. It started to become the only way that Shane felt he was loved and cared for. He thought about the day that Shane’s parents found out about their relationship, how terrified Shane was, even though he knew his parents would be supportive for the most part, but it was the fact that it would shatter the image of the perfect son. Because now, in Shane’s head, he had forsaken his parents by liking men, it was too difficult to deal with, and Shane would not be a difficult child. He was easy. He was perfect. He had to be.

Ilya put the car in park, and snuck a glance at Shane. His face was puffy, tearstained, red, and he had never looked more beautiful. He brought Shane’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

Shane checked his phone for the first time since they left the restaurant. He had several missed calls and texts from his parents. He shut off his phone and tossed it on the kitchen counter. He couldn’t deal with them right now after his outburst. Ilya did the same with his own phone, assuming it was the same situation. He needed it to just be him and Shane right now, and he needed Shane to fully focus on this situation currently, and not go off into his internal world, searching for every instance where he thought he did something wrong.

“Shane,” Ilya pulled Shane into a kiss, nothing more than a small kiss of reassurance. “I want to tell you something.” He said, after pulling away from Shane, their foreheads pressed together. Shane’s eyes were closed; he nodded against Ilya. He had no will to argue right now. He just wanted to hear Ilya speak.

Ilya pulled Shane to the couch. Shane dropped onto the cushions, and Ilya perched on the coffee table directly in front of Shane. He wanted to look Shane in the eyes and make sure Shane was absorbing everything he was saying.

“So, I’ve been in therapy…” Ilya started.

Shane stared at him blankly. “So I’ve noticed.”

Ilya chuckled dryly. “Okay. The first time I heard this… I got mad. So please don’t get mad.”

Shane only nodded for him to continue, growing increasingly anxious that what Ilya might say would be hurtful.

“She told me about something called C-PTSD.”

“Okay, I know what PTSD is. What’s the C for?”

“It means complex trauma. And I guess it’s different from normal trauma… no… Not normal trauma. That’s not what I mean.” He struggled to explain it here. He stopped for a second, searching for the right words to say. “It’s like, when something bad keeps happening, and you can’t get away from it.”

Shane nodded again, a confused look on his face because where exactly was Ilya going with this?

“Does that make sense?” Ilya asked.

“I mean, yeah, kind of. But what does this have to do with me?” Shane tried to put together what Ilya was saying. Was he insinuating that Shane was traumatized? He wasn’t. At least, it wasn’t like how Ilya’s family would be. Shane’s family was always there, and he knew they wouldn’t leave him or take advantage of him.

“You… you have this need to be perfect. That’s not normal, Shane.”

“Yeah, I’m a perfectionist, so what?” Shane was a little irritated.

“Have you ever wondered why that is? I mean, have your parents ever just told you they’re proud of you? Just because? You didn’t have to perform for them first?”

Shane stood up from the couch, angry now. “What are you trying to say?! That my parents are like, these horrible people or something? I’m not like you.” He spat. He immediately recoiled at his own words. “I mean… I didn’t mean that, Ilya. That’s not what I meant.” He sputtered. He sat back down now, awaiting an angered response from Ilya, but on the drive home, Ilya had calculated Shane’s reactions. He knew something like this would happen, and he knew Shane didn’t mean it.

“I know, sweetheart. I know you don’t mean it like that. Yes, my family is not the best. They were bad to me. I know yours weren’t, not necessarily.” He said evenly.

Shane took a few deep breaths, trying to absorb Ilya’s statement, but he was still confused. He wasn’t abused or anything. His parents loved him. They were good people. “Not necessarily?”

“They are there for you. But they are not there for you.” Ilya said. He didn’t want to outright tell Shane what he thought, but rather have Shane piece it together for himself. It would help him process better if he could figure it out on his own. He could see by the scrunching of Shane’s eyebrows and laser-like stare at the carpet that he was slowly putting together the pieces.

“Can… Can you explain a little bit more?” Shane asked. He could kind of see what Ilya was getting at, but it confused him. He didn’t think his family's not being super emotionally available could be considered trauma by any means.

“Your parents have always controlled you. Was it ever safe for you to make mistakes?”

Safe.

“They wouldn’t hurt me, Ilya. You know they’re not like that.”

“I know they’re not. But have you ever felt like it was okay for you to make a mistake? Do you ever feel like you were allowed to just exist without performing… without being perfect?”

Shane opened his mouth to answer, but abruptly closed it again. He was thinking of a response to this question, trying to go back through every tangible memory to figure out if it was ever okay for him to stop performing. The only time he could put his finger on was when he had to come out to his mom, but even then, he felt horrible and had a panic attack right after, then went back to performing because there was work to be done, just in case something happened. But other than that single instance, he had always gone along with whatever his mom said because if he did well, his parents would be proud of him. He wasn’t sure if they’d be proud of him if he did badly. He only knew that he avoided it at all costs. He never let anyone see him mess up if he had any control over it, and that was something he always had control over. He searched and searched for minutes, but to no avail. He can’t remember a time he didn’t feel the immense pressure of a perfect existence weighing on his shoulders.

“I can’t remember,” Shane whispered. “I… I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t performing, Ilya.” He looked up at Ilya, who watched him closely, his soft blue eyes scanning Shane’s face back and forth.

“I think that you should talk to someone, Shane,” Ilya said.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” Shane asked.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Ilya countered. It was a silly question.

Shane shook his head.

“There’s your answer.”

“Just because your parents have always been present doesn’t mean they were always good parents,” Ilya said. That seemed to make it click in Shane’s head. Just because his parents supported him when he played hockey, and when he came out, and they were there pretty much all of the time, didn’t mean they didn’t do some things that could hurt Shane’s development. Being constantly monitored, controlled, and ridiculed for performance can do serious damage, whether it’s realized or not.

They sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the presence of each other. Shane wasn’t spiraling about this. He was coming to terms. He felt a little relieved that there was a name to how he felt. And he thought that he should maybe do some more research before he fully places the label on himself. He had dozens of questions to ask Ilya, questions like why he thought Shane went through complex trauma? Was he just being dramatic? Placing a label like PTSD onto something he thought was completely and totally normal, something he had dealt with his entire life, seemed too dramatic.

But he knew he felt bad about himself. He knew what he was doing when he refused to eat, or would only eat certain foods, or would exercise multiple times a day for hours to get rid of the shame he felt for eating too much. He knew that his arms felt heavier when his mom sighed at him, because he didn’t do well enough, or when his coaches yelled at him to do better. He was a grown man; he could handle it, but could he? Could he handle it without feeling like his chest was being pulled apart? Could he handle it without zoning out so badly that he couldn’t remember what he was doing? Could he handle disappointment in him without feeling like it was the end of the world?

Ilya watched Shane go through all of this in his head. He figured that they had talked enough for the night, and he wanted Shane to process small pieces of it at a time, rather than tear his entire life apart in one single night. It took him months of sessions to feel better and develop the skills to pull him through life. Shane was there the whole way, and now, he could return the favor. They would talk to Shane’s parents tomorrow, not about this, but maybe just apologize for running out on them. This conversation was a bigger issue for another day. If all went according to the plan in Ilya’s head, they would eventually talk to Yuna and David about their impact on Shane’s life, whether it was good or bad, but this was their time now.

Ilya pulled him to the bed, “We sleep now, we will search for therapists in the morning, okay?”

“Okay… I love you.”

He felt like someone saw him for the first time in his life.

Ilya smiled and kissed Shane’s nose. “I love you too.”