#physio

Sidney adjusted her glasses as she took notes.

The sound of skates scratching the ice, the slice of the puck and the buzz of the board echoed around the junior who sat deep within the stands, watching the private practice.

Courtesy of Coach Jensen, she was only allowed to do so due to her silence and focus.

Plus, she was too sweet to say no to.

She raised her gaze, zooming in over her notebook to see her boyfriend.

He was sitting on the team bench, wet curls framing his charming face as he was huddled between his friends, looking her way longingly.

Sidney lightly waved when she caught his stare, then gestured for him to focus.

The boys playfully nudged him, gaining his attention again.

She had another test in a few days for her Pathophysiology class. It was what interested her the most in her foundational class: how disease and injury alter normal bodily functions—that and, of course, Neuromuscular & Musculoskeletal Rehabilitation.

The body was a funny thing, and how many sports-related conditions affect the nerves, muscles, and bones fascinated her.

The way the body could break and heal, or forever be altered, both in and out of sport, was something she knew she wanted to study even at a young age. Her dad's few but impactful injuries only pushed her closer to what she felt was her calling in life.

Bang!

Sidney physically cringed at the clash between Garrett and Birdie when they hit against the shielding.

Coach Jensen immediately sent Garrett to the team doctor, seeing that he had taken the harder tumble.

Sweat dripped from his hair as he sat on the table like a child who got put in time-out. His aggravation was evident when Sidney wandered into the medical room.

The Hawks' physiotherapist was Daniel Matlin, AKA Matlin, who was one of the best, and would hold a two-hour lecture each week for the Gross Anatomy & Biomechanics foundational class, during which Sidney would spend most of the time asking questions. So often, whenever she would drop by, he would allow her to stay only with his patients' permission.

And the sports teams in Briar, such as the track, ice hockey, football and volleyball teams, didn't have a problem with a pretty lady watching them be patched up.

Speaking of, Garrett was too high on adrenaline to feel the flushed and freshly earned bruise on his shoulder.

She already noted the slight swelling pulsing on his flesh.

A shirtless hockey player didn’t faze Sidney, especially not Garrett.

Matlin had already used cold therapy: an ice pack and painkillers, ibuprofen that Garrett washed down and bandages that taped up his bruised limb.

Sidney cast the physiotherapist a smile as he left the room momentarily.

She stood in front of the hockey player, then glanced at her notes.

“…an acute injury, the immediate medical consequence is uninhibited localised swelling and inflammation.”

Garrett just stared blankly at her.

“In other words, just keep icing your shoulder, as you already know.”

Garrett snorted, “Thanks.”

Sidney happily nodded before her phone went off.

trinity❤️

ordering pizza tonight.

read

Her smile spread on her face.

She liked the text from her best friend before pocketing her phone.

"Trinity says we're getting pizza, so I won't be raiding your fridge tonight," She said.

"Well, it's not like that would stop you, or the guys would tell you no," Garrett murmured, then tossed the ice pack aside and plucked up his thermal as she shoved her notebook and pen into her handbag. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Thanks." Sidney nodded, "So are you. Three-game streak, could be four.”

“Will be four.”

The ambitious edge only made her tilt her head, “Not unless you ice that shoulder.”

He fake-laughed and put on his uniform.

“How many notes have you taken this time?” He nodded to her bag.

“Two and a half pages.”

“Not bad." Garrett drawled, “You’re lucky Coach lets you watch our practice.”

“Track, Volleyball, and football coaches let me watch. I can’t help that I’m likeable.”

“Well, the whole team knows.” He replied, smirking slightly, “Even the puck bunnies are jealous.”

Sidney groaned, muttering, “I hate that fucking name.”

“It’s above us, Watkins," he said wryly.

“Well, now I need to go to the gym. Thanks for today.” She called out when she walked toward the door, “And try not to tackle my boyfriend.”

“He can take it.”

“Yeah yeah, ice that fucking shoulder!”

a/n:

just wanted to add some more of sidney in her element. i liked writing her with garrett; they can definitely relate to each other in ways I'll highlight in my next update!

Ah. You recalled Anderson had picked up a minor strain from the Argentina match, after being on the receiving end of one too many fouls, and you thought you'd resolved any pain when you'd treated him at the time. Apparently something plagued him still.

"Sure, sure, I'll look into it, thanks for bringing it to me, Anthony," you replied, dismissing him, and returning to your notes, firing off emails and updating plans. The Role of team physio was as much admin as it was physical treatment.

Hauling yourself out of your chair, you went in search of Elliot Anderson.

He'd been illusive since the last match, and members of the training camp helped narrow your search, reporting last sightings of him disappearing into his room some time ago.

Knocking lightly on his door, you called his name, before testing the door and finding it unlocked.

Nudging it open, not wanting to intrude but unsure if he'd heard you, you stuck your head into the room, and called his name out again.

Your only response was the sound of water running from the adjacent bathroom, tendrils of steam beckoning from the cracked-open door. But no sign of the actual footballer himself.

You paused in the main doorway, pricking your ears for signs of life, intrusive unsettling thoughts of Elliot having slipped and knocked himself out piercing your mind.

A pained groan, muffled by the water, met your ears.

Feeling your stomach do that distinct flutter, you took another hesitant step into the room. Another noise: you recognised this from your physio sessions as an agonised whimper forced through clenched teeth.

"Anderson? You ok?," you called out louder, wanting to make your invasion known.

There was a thud as if a bottle had been knocked over or someone's elbow had collided with the wall, before a shaky "y/n?" Came through the adjar door.

"Yeah..its me.. sorry to catch you off guard like this, Gordon thought there was something wrong with you.. Sorry for intruding, I'll come back later," you rushed out in a bashful haste. You turned to leave, a wave of clarity reprimanding you that the longer you lingered, the more unprofessional this got.

"Y/n- wait- Ah- wait..." came the quick response.

You paused, hand on the door handle between you and pretending this never happened.

"y/n... I need you... can you come in here, please?" It sounded like each word pained him to breath out, a hint of desperation creeping into his plea at the end.

Ah, the point of no return.

You shut the bedroom door with a resounding click, making your way hesitantly to the bathroom door, and nudging it open with your foot.

Taking in the sight before you, you were acutely aware your cheeks were burning red.

Elliot was hunched on the floor, body coiled with tension, just out of the spray of the shower. One leg sprawled before him, the other bent at the knee.

His fingers were digging into his calf with the same intensity as trying to squeeze every ounce of juice out a lemon.

A towel had been haphazardly tucked across his waist in a rushed attempt to preserve his dignity. It did nothing to stop your eyes tracing the contours and angles of his muscled body of their own accord.

Droplets of water dripped from his hair down the torso smattered with freckles, and your wide eyes locked on them like a kitten following a laser.

You swallowed hard. This was seriously not helping the soft spot you'd developed for him.

Elliot gave out an anguished moan, slamming his head back to hit the wall in frustration, as though creating pain there would pull it away from his leg.

Catching your gaze, his eyes wallowing in helplessness and conveying the depths of his torment, "please, y/n, do something, I don't know whats wrong with it, it just keeps seizing" he trailed off.

Damn. He looked so... vulnerable. Your heart ached for him.

With a great power you did not know you possessed, you buried your churning embarrassment and knelt carefully beside him, feeling a static in the air jumping between your clothed body, and his naked glistening one.

"May I?" You murmured, reaching out to the calf he was grasping so tightly.

He relented his grip, and you maneuvered his leg straight, moving with the utmost caution so as not to disturb the towel.

However, the corner of the treacherous cloth had another agenda, slipping from his thigh down between his legs. You cursed internally, momentarily gripping his leg harder, making him wince and shift under the pain. Fortunately, it still covered him. Unfortunately, in such a lewd figure-hugging way that your imagination did not even have to try in order to conjure images of what lay beneath.

Compelling the shreds of your composure, you shook the images from your mind and focused on the task at hand.

You began working your thumbs hard into the muscle, testing for weak spots. As you mapped out the cords of muscle, you tuned in to every sharp inhale, every small grunt, each tightening and tensing of his other limbs, assessing the scale and origin of the injury.

Having determined the severity as just a bad cramp brought on by sudden movement in the already overly knotted muscle, you changed tact, making swooping motions across his lower leg, massaging out the injury, coaxing the tendons.

"So. Want to tell me why you didn't come to me sooner?"

"I didn't think it was- ah-" his whole body seized and he writhed slightly as your dextrous fingers prodded a particularly sensitive spot, his body caving in on itself, "a big deal," he finished off, sullen.

You suspected there was a deeper issue at hand following England's exit of the World Cup. It wasn't unknown for players to endure an injury as a kind of self-induced-purgatory, thinking everything was their fault and by suffering through an injury it'd make them feel better about the loss.

"Mm," you murmured in assent, your unimpressed tone telling him you were unconvinced. Feeling as though you'd already crossed enough boundaries today, you opted to indulge his excuse for now.

"Well let this be a lesson to you then. You're no help to anyone if you can hardly move. You get hurt, you tell me, and I'll fix it. Its what I was hired for. I don't want to catch you nursing your own injuries again, yeah? let alone finding you immobilised on the bathroom floor."

Elliot pouted in response to the chastising, and your heart clenched at his expression. He looked like a kicked puppy. You dug deeper into his flesh, prompting him to flinch and hiss out a "Yeah, yeah, sure."

Deeming his leg fine, you sat back on your heels, watching him flex his feet, testing out his rejuvenated leg.

He beamed up at you, "thanks y/n," grin splitting his face, and you smiled back on autopilot.

Now free of pain he appeared to suddenly become aware of the situation.

Coming to his senses his face surrendered to a crimson blush, and he reached down for the safety of the towel, clutching it more securely.

"Right, right, you know where to find me" you rushed out, tripping over your feet in your scramble to get out.

"Shit!"

You brace yourself and breathe through the pop as Mark relocates your shoulder. The sharp pain subsides into a dull aching discomfort and your jaw unlocks as he steps back to let you shake it off.

"That's the third time this week y/n."

You sigh. "I know. I know."

You hiss out a breath as he starts taping you up, keeping everything in place and testing out your range of movement. Your shoulder rotates fine but it still feels unsteady and you know you’re going to have to address this soon.

"It’s getting worse."

You stay still as your brother slips your arm through another brace and straps you in carefully. His hands are warm, sure and steady. This has become a routine between you and your brother is good at what he does. His movements practiced, deft, but gentle as he traces the sore spots around your upper back and around your collarbone that already feel bruised. He knows just where the tender skin is and where he can grip tighter to pull the brace into just the right level of tension. You wince slightly as he adjusts the device one final time before stepping back to take you in. The pressure is reassuring. The silence between you weighs harder.

"You really need to start taking up physio or something to work on stabilizing the muscles around your problem areas." Mark lectures.

You've heard it before. Your massage therapist brother has helped you through many partial dislocations, subluxations and more over the past few years. Mark has seen your body deteriorating since your teens and made it his mission to be your own personal one man pit crew. He's typically releasing knots or working the stress from your legs as your calves and hips overcompensate for your shitty joints. Lately your lower body has been doing well but for some reason you can't seem to keep your shoulder from sliding out of place. Even just sitting or standing still seems to pop it out these days.

"Did you sleep on it funny last night?"

You shake your head. "I sat on the couch to read a book and my right side was leaning against the back cushion. I guess my weight resting on it was enough to shift things and now it doesn't want to stay in the socket."

Mark runs a hand through his hair. "I'm serious about the preventative work y/n."

You offer him a soft smile. "I know."

You're nearly two years apart, not a huge difference, but Mark has always acted like you’re closer. He loves you to a fault and unfortunately that involves being a bit overbearing about making sure you're taking care of yourself. You'd be more annoyed about it if you didn't know it came from such a good place. From good intentions. From his big soft heart that hated seeing you in so much pain and discomfort all the time, and his fear that some day he'd wake up to a call that this was all so much more serious. You couldn't berate him for worrying about you. Even when it made you roll your eyes because he was being particularly overbearing.

And you know he makes a good point. He usually does. He's taken to his chosen profession like a fish to water, thriving in the field he had originally chosen to learn how to help you. He had grown to love it over the years, and it showed. You were glad he'd found so much happiness in it. Lord knows he had sacrified enough just trying to be a good brother. You'd gotten pretty lucky, even when you wanted to shake him sometimes.

You sigh, rolling your neck as you adjust to the way the brace limits the movement around your shoulder. It’s an odd relief rather than feeling restricting.

"I just can't seem to find a personal trainer that has the type of physio background I'm looking for and the typical pts keep trying to train the wrong things and making it worse." You admit.

Mark considers this. "I might have an idea about that actually. Let me look into it and I'll let you know tomorrow but Jaebeom's been working with this new guy and I think he might just fit what you’re looking for."

"Mark..." you shake your head. "I'm not taking another handout. Beom-ah has already donated more than enough of his time and ressources. He has a gym to run."

Your brother rolls his eyes and cleans up his supplies. "He's already hired the guy so it's no skin off his back if you want to book his time but I think I remember Beomie saying something about his background being in kinesiology and physical therapy. I need to ask a few more questions and I'm not saying you have to commit to anything but if he seems like a good fit maybe it'll be worth giving him a shot. At least meet him and have a consultation, maybe book a test session and see how it feels and then go from there?"

His suggestion is reasonable and you really don't have a better solution. "Okay. Let me know and I'll think about it."

He grins. "That's all I'm asking."

"y/n."

You're not going to admit it, not if Mark asks, but the new guy is exactly what you'd both been hoping for. He's disarming, kind and innocent looking. Charming. A big smile he wears like a shield as he shakes hands with everyone while he walks into the building. You've already had three sessions with Jackson, and you know you're going to keep coming back for as long as he lets you. His rate isn't too different to most of Jaebeom's personally vetted trainers, and he seems friendly with Jinyoung and Yugyeom already. That was the first good sign. He nods, flashing you another one of his blinding smiles as he steps into the office. Usually you'd meet him in the hallway outside of the change rooms but you'd popped in to have a quick chat with Jaebeom while he sighed over his pile of paperwork and Jackson catches you on your way out.

You take the hand he offers, shaking it warmly rather than tugging you into the easy bro hug he favours with Jaebeom and the other trainers. Partly because you're not that close yet and partly because he knows it might be enough to yank your shoulder right out of its socket no matter how gently he does it. You've only managed to keep it located for about a week now, and neither of you wants to tempt things so soon.

"Jackson."

His smile is warm as he turns it on your friend, a wave to the man sat behind his desk while he leans one hip against the corner.

"Jaebeom-ah."

Your brother's favourite junior, a friend he'd made in his last year of high school and who had somehow become the third point in your little trio since, sighs and leans back in his chair. He has a soft spot for the new guy already and you can see why. Jaebeom might be kind of a hard ass but he was a good judge of character. He ran a tight ship, always on top of everything at the gym that was his pet project, but he had to be a little obsessive sometimes to be a good businessman. You let them fall into easy conversation as you threw them both a wave and headed out to change.

You're not sure you'd say that you can feel the progress yet, not so soon, in fact if anything you leave every session with Jackson feeling more wobbly and shaking than before. Mark however has noticed something. He's already remarked on your hips and calves being less tight. Your back holding less tension. It's too soon to get your hopes up but those seem like good signs. You'll see if it lasts.

Jackson's already waiting, leaning against the wall arms crossed over his chest, when you step back out into the hallway. You nearly match today. White tank tops, loose black basketball shorts, scuffed running shoes. Only you also sport athletic tape along one forearm, looping around your elbow, and a matching swatch of it supporting the same knee.

Jackson's eyes linger on the tape for a moment and one eyebrow raises in question as he meets your gaze. "Bad day?""

You offer a tired smile. "Long week."

He nods. "We'll start slow today then. Don't expect me to go easy on you just because you're looking all sad and pathetic though."

That makes you laugh. The way he says it in the same tone Mark uses when he's teasing you. You like Jackson's playful attitude. He keeps you accountable but in a way that's still enjoyable. Even if you do want to curse him out by the end of your sessions. His attitude is part of what keeps you coming back. That and the way his eyes stay laughing, even when he pushes you, and you come back to every new session feeling just a little more confident.

"You're in a good mood today."

"My favourite client is back for another session."

You hold a hand to your heart, keeping pace as he leads you towards the studio to start with some stretches.

"You have other clients?"

He laughs as he holds the door open for you. "I have to pay my bills somehow."

You nod, stepping through and grabbing a mat. Jackson heads around the corner, coming back with the bosu balance trainer. You groan.

"I thought you said we were starting slow."

He just grins. "We are. Slow doesn't mean easy. Now come on, warm up first. Torture once your muscles are ready to work with me."

You just sigh and set your water bottle by the mirrors. Yeah, he's so like your brother sometimes. Jaebeom might not be the only one developing a fondness for this man.

"Let's get this over with then."