Shane realizes how much he’d gotten used to being mistreated when none of the Centaurs so much as glance at him during a random bar trivia night.
It occurs to Shane that the Metros are a walking, talking, sentient amalgamation of microaggressions. Or just plain aggressions, honestly. He knows his team—his former team. He knows that after a few drinks, Comeau couldn’t be trusted not to ask JJ whether he sacrificed chickens for voodoo rituals. He knows the rookies would ask him what wait staff at Chinese restaurants were saying, despite multiple reminders that a) he’s not Chinese, b) the people working here aren’t necessarily Chinese, and c) someone speaking another language doesn’t mean they’re talking shit about you. He knows at least three of his former teammates would randomly stick a hand in JJ’s hair and ask if he could wash it “like normal people.” He knows that Hayden (well-meaning and generally receptive to criticism, but still lacking in some areas) would direct math questions his way, like he was a human calculator.
Sitting with his new team, with Ilya slightly tipsy and completely relaxed at his side, Shane realizes that he’s just…a guy. He’s any other guy at the table. No one’s checking for him, with him, or on him in particular. When a science or math question comes up, they’re not deferring to him for the answers because he’s Asian and they assume he’s a STEM whiz.
He is, to be clear. He’s an everything whiz. Shane was a straight A student in school and could’ve gone to any university of his choice had hockey not been his goal/passion/obsession. It’s just not because he’s Asian—it’s because Shane Hollander refuses to give or be anything less than his absolute best at anything. His perfectionism runs deep and is quite possibly genetic (yes, Ilya always says, because I have seen how you and your mother play board games), but it has nothing to do with being Japanese.
“Okay,” Bood mutters to himself as he reads the clues again. “Genetic disorder, shortens lifespan. Featured on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy and associated with…stones?”
“Stone disease,” Ilya considers aloud. “That sounds familiar. F-something?”
“Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva,” Shane and Wyatt say simultaneously.
The table goes silent for a moment before erupting into laughter and questions.
“Why and how do you know that?” Harris shouts over the ruckus. “Who just has that knowledge ready to go?”
The questions are directed at just Shane. The table assumes that Wyatt—known nerd and husband of a physician—can pull random medical knowledge out of thin air on command. Nobody assumes that Shane’s supposed to know everything. Nobody’s disappointed when he doesn’t have the right answer and saying “I thought you guys were supposed to be smart” if he can’t answer a math question correctly in 5 seconds. Harris is genuinely amazed that Shane pulled the answer out of nowhere and curious about where he learned it, instead of just rolling his eyes and saying something like “of course he knows.”
He shrugs. “I fell down a YouTube rabbit hole once.”
Ilya laughs loudly and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “We should play doctor later. I have this problem with my di—“
Shane shuts him up with a kiss and makes a mental note to invest in scrubs. For science. Again, not because he’s Asian. Because he’s horny and creative.
dailybridgerton
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