MLB Imagines

[...Juan Soto...] - The Perfect Prescription

Juan Soto - "The Perfect Prescription"

Y/N's POV

I had just settled into my office when my phone rang, disrupting the quiet morning. It was Mark, the head athletic trainer for the Washington Nationals.

"Y/N, we need your help," he said, urgency lacing his voice.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, immediately alert.

"It's Juan Soto. He just had an X-ray after a game, and the results aren't good. He's going to need intensive treatment. Can you handle him at our facility?"

I felt a rush of concern. Juan was a star player, beloved by fans and teammates alike. The thought of him injured hit me harder than I expected. "Of course. I'll prepare the treatment room."

When Juan arrived later that day, I was struck by his presence. He walked in with a grim expression, his shoulder wrapped in a bulky brace. The room felt heavy with unspoken words. I could sense his frustration even before he spoke.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

"Hi, Juan. Let's take a look at that shoulder." I gestured for him to sit on the examination table, my heart aching for the athlete who was so full of life just days before.

As I began my examination, I could see the worry in his eyes. "What's the prognosis?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with anxiety.

"It's a severe injury. We'll need to do some intensive rehab to get you back on the field," I replied gently. "But I'll be with you every step of the way."

"Great," he said, a mix of sarcasm and determination in his tone. "Just what I wanted. More time in rehab."

I couldn't help but smile. "I promise it won't be all bad. We'll make it as enjoyable as possible."

Over the next few weeks, our sessions became a routine. I pushed him through exercises while he shared stories about his career, his family, and his love for the game. Despite the injury, I could see the passion in his eyes, and it fueled my commitment to help him recover.

One day, while we were stretching, I decided to lighten the mood. "You know, Juan, I think I could be a professional athlete too. I'm really good at stretching... people," I joked, wiggling my fingers.

He laughed, a sound that lit up the room. "As long as you don't compete with me on the field, I think we're safe."

As our sessions continued, I noticed something shifting between us. There was an ease in our conversations that felt different, deeper. I found myself looking forward to seeing him each day—not just as a therapist, but as someone who genuinely connected with him.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling workout, Juan leaned back against the wall, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Do you think I'll be back for the playoffs?" he asked, his tone serious.

"I believe you will be," I said, meeting his gaze. "But it's going to take hard work. You have the dedication to get there."

"I guess I need to trust the process," he said, his eyes searching mine.

"It's a tough journey, but you're not alone in this," I assured him. "I'm here to help."

He smiled, a mixture of gratitude and something more, something that sent a flutter through my chest. "I appreciate that, Y/N. Seriously."

Days turned into weeks, and each session brought us closer. I started to see glimpses of his true self behind the athlete façade—the vulnerability, the fears, and the hopes he held close. One evening, as we wrapped up a particularly intense session, Juan caught my eye.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice soft.

"Sure, anything," I replied, curious.

"If I weren't injured... would you want to grab dinner with me?"

I felt my heart skip a beat. "I... I would like that. But you need to focus on your recovery first."

He nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "I promise I will. But can we at least set a date?"

"Okay," I said, unable to hide my smile. "Let's say after your first game back. If you're ready."

The day of his return came faster than I anticipated. I watched him take the field, my heart swelling with pride and nervous energy. When he hit a home run in the seventh inning, the stadium erupted, and I couldn't help but cheer along with the crowd.

After the game, I found him near the team exit, beaming with excitement. "Did you see that?" he exclaimed, breathless.

"I did! You were incredible!" I replied, feeling a rush of joy.

"Now that I've proved I'm back, how about that dinner?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with hope.

"Absolutely. You deserve a celebration," I said, grinning.

That evening, sitting across from him in a cozy restaurant, I felt a mix of nerves and excitement. Our conversation flowed naturally as we shared stories and laughter, both of us shedding the roles we had worn for so long.

"Y/N," he said, his expression serious, "you've seen so many athletes struggle after an injury. You need to promise me you'll never let it define you."

"I won't," I said, squeezing his hand, the warmth spreading through me. "You helped me realize that it's about more than just baseball. It's about the connections we build."

"What about us?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I want to explore this," I replied, my heart racing. "Whatever this is."

As we moved forward together, I began to understand that healing was more than physical. It was about love, trust, and the courage to open up to someone who had seen you at your most vulnerable.

In the following weeks, our bond deepened. Juan's recovery became a shared journey, and as he regained his strength and confidence, I found myself cheering him on—not just as his therapist, but as someone who genuinely cared for him.

Watching him play again, I realized that true healing came from embracing love in unexpected places—on the field, in the training room, and in the heart of someone you never expected to connect with. And I knew, in that moment, that we were healing together, building a future neither of us had anticipated.

Written for: @lexiromanooo :)

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