#where brasso will traitorously allow him to be scanned

[distressednoise]

Three sentence fic suggest: Brassian (obviously), and for the AU take your pick of previously discussed hockey scenarios, Arctic exploration, or, hmmm, extreme nature documentary filming of some sort.

I'm going to point you at this article re: the nature documentary AU because yes, YES. But I cannot pass up the opportunity to write a bit more goalie!cassian and his intimacy speedrun. Sure this isn't "three" "sentences", but it's tender, and ain't that enough?

They don't even bother to give him the tests; he pukes in the tunnel then starts crying in the locker room and when he tries to get his pads off nothing is in the right order. He thinks he might have yelled at Xanwan about it, or done something, because now they've herded him into one of the side rooms the PTs use for rubdowns and they're talking about him outside the door, unintelligible but far too loud.

It's Brasso who comes to get him. Cassian would be worried that he's being managed - that people have noticed he can be managed, if it's Brasso - but Brasso immediately shuts off the lights and lets Cassian tilt forward until his forehead meets Brasso's crinkled tracksuit, chill like he's just come from outside, so all he can muster is a kind of pathetic gratitude.

He can feel his pulse in his skull and he thinks he might be crying again, but none of that matters to Brasso, who hands him one of the polos the staff wear and says, "We'll get you changed and I'll drive you out. We'll go in my car, OK? No-one's watching for my car."

Cassian wants to object because they're in Canada now and someone's always fucking watching him, but Brasso's so sure. He's so sure and he's being so careful as he unhooks Cassian's gear; he came in and made everything quiet and dark. It'd be easy, Cassian thinks, to sink into a world where everything Brasso says is right.