Ryan Waikaloa skated off of the rink with a woosh, their skates digging into the foam that led into the locker room. Their knuckles stung and Ryan could feel a bruise blossoming on his side. Their ribs were going to hurt tomorrow, but the grin on their face and the alive feeling would be worth it.

Walking into the locker room, Ryan was greeted with cheers from his teammates.

"Waiks!" their closest friend, Damian, called out, walking towards Ryan, his skates already in his locker. "Dude, that forecheck was sick as hell."

Ryan grinned in response as they pulled their helmet off and dropped it next to his locker. Sitting down their goalie, Killian, dropped down next to Ryan.

"Okay but Dames, your Saucer was really good in that second period," Killian said, sweeping his long brown hair out of his face and into a longer ponytail. "God! That was such a good game, you guys!"

Damian grinned in response and Ryan started pulling off his gear. They absolutely needed a shower after that shit. Hopefully, the shower schedule the three boys had made in their apartment would hold up after their first game of the season. Last year the three had lived on the sports floor of their dorm room and the showers were always clogged with all the stinkiest teenage boys.

At least this year they had their own apartment that might make things a bit easier.

"Who's making dinner?" Damian asked, looking away from Ryan. He let them have their space as they undressed from their gear and pulled on their large hoodie.

Ryan sighed, "Dude, can we not just grab some Burger King on the way home? I genuinely cannot think about cooking dinner tonight." It was already around 10:30 pm with the game having started at 7:00 pm.

"Okay, but Burger King isn't, like, healthy," Kill said, shooting Ryan a sharp look. Kill had been getting really into health food, probably because his mom was one of those WASP-y white ladies with a total obsession with her health. Ryan had heard them being called almond moms? They weren't sure. But either way, Kill had been trying to cook and eat more healthily.

Damian shrugged, "Okay but I'm tired and we have classes tomorrow."

"Might just skip my history class," Ryan muttered just as Coach walked out of his office and loudly cleared his throat. This was how Coach addressed the entire team.

"Boys!" Coach said at an average volume as the team quieted down. "I've got to talk to a few of you before you leave. Ryan, Chris, and Lev, in my office in 3. The rest of you, good game. I'll see you all at practice on Tuesday, don't fuck up, don't die, don't do drugs. Good luck."

Kill and Dames looked over at Ryan. Killian raised his eyebrows and Damian ran a hand through his hair. "What do you think Coach is on about?" Kill asked, his lip curling up a little bit in a way that Ryan knew meant that Kill was a little bit nervous.

There were a few things that Ryan thought Coach might want to say, namely that Ryan really needed to stop forechecking guys with absolutely no precedent. And probably stop throwing down with other players. And maybe Ryan hasn't been to their fucking history class since the semester started because it was at 9 am on Monday and Wednesday and Ryan knew he could get an A in the class even without showing up. They weren't stupid.

There were a lot of reasons for Coach to need to talk to Ryan. However, very few of them could involve other teammates.

"No idea," Ryan said, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and grabbing his water bottle. Pouring water into his mouth, Ryan knew they couldn't get in trouble for fighting on the court again. It had happened so much during his first season that their therapist had to get involved and well... Ryan couldn't do that again. It was humiliating.

"We'll wait out in the car for you, Waiks," Kill said, grabbing his duffle and patting Ryan on the shoulder, Damian followed.

Ryan packed his things in his bag and watched as Lev and Chris moved towards Coach's office. Well... it was finally time to face whatever noise was coming.

"What's up?" Ryan said as they walked into the office, the permanent smile on his face almost widening as they made eye contact with Coach. He couldn't have a repeat of last year and this smile was one way of showing Coach that they were for real.

Coach was a large man, wide but with the height to go with it, he stood right in front of his desk, taking up a large amount of the small office. The three athletes had nowhere to stand except directly in front of the door. So that's where they stood, sort of awkwardly with their duffles full of sweaty clothes in hand.

"Boys, you are three of my best players," Coach said, starting this intervention with a compliment. His rumbling voice would have Ryan shaking in his boots if he was more of a wimp, but he wasn't and they stood strong. Next to them, Lev seemed a bit shaken but didn't open his mouth to speak or move at all from his spot planted in the floor. "And I know you're all entirely committed to this team and you all really want to be here."

Each of them nodded, Ryan especially. They'd been through too much to just give up on this team. If they walked away, too much of Ryan would be left on the rink. That just wasn't possible and Coach knew it.

"And the three of you understand exactly what is needed for you to continue to be on this team? You understand the stipulations of being a college athlete and you understand the conditions of your scholarships?"

All three of the boys in the office nodded, but Ryan knew exactly where this was going now. They could tell the Coach was on a rampage, and they knew that the two boys next to them were about to understand a side of their Coach that they had never seen before. They were about to see the Coach in a rage, a real one, not one ignited by sports but one ignited by the deep care the Coach had for his players and his need to see them succeed outside of the rink.

"So if you know that," Coach started, his face getting a bit red as he reared up to yell at them, his voice booming, not rumbling this time. "Then why the fuck have you been skipping classes?"

The two boys next to Ryan made a squeaking noise. Looking over at Chris, who seemed red in the face and near tears. Ryan wasn't. He probably wouldn't ever be unphased by it, but it had happened before, and it would happen again, and they were prepared for the yelling.

Coach looked at them as if expecting answers but none of them opened their mouths to say anything, the other two were probably scared by Ryan, just didn't have a good excuse. I know I can get an A isn't acceptable in any sort of world and certainly not in Coach's.

Sighing at their closed mouths and quiet stares, Coach put his head in his hands. "All three of you are scheduled for tutoring in the classes you've been skipping. You show up to class and to tutoring and you'll be good, you skip one more class and miss a single tutoring session and you're benched. You're not playing a single game until you go to those classes and tutoring. Do I make myself clear?"

The other two said, simultaneously "Yes, Coach."

Ryan stayed silent, their mind running so far away from them that they might as well be in another dimension.

Tutoring? Is he fucking serious? Tutoring? In a fucking history class? A fucking history class that Ryan could pass in his sleep? Is Coach absolutely fucking nuts? Ryan could feel something inside him boil over. Coach was an absolute dickhead if he thought that Ryan couldn't pass that class on his own. A TUTOR?

"You two, out," Coach pointed to the other two and Ryan barely waited until they closed the door behind them to explode.

"TUTORING? What am I a fucking baby? I know this shit, I understand it, the teacher could take fucking notes from me to teach the goddamned class, are you kidding me."

"Ryan–"

"I'm not dumb and if you seriously think I am then you need to get your brains checked because I DO NOT need tutoring. Come on, tutoring?"

Coach put one of his large hands on Ryan's shoulder and, with any other human being Ryan would smack them, push them off of him and beat the shit out of them but not with Coach. He knew how shitty of an idea that was but the instinct still stayed and Ryan's hand came up to push Coach off of him. His hand connected with Coach's chest and then stilled.

The deep breaths that Coach was doing were evident in the way his shoulders moved with his chest. A deep in-breath, four counts, a puff of an out-breath, four counts, repeat. Ryan followed the pattern, his mind calming and the thoughts of being or seeming dumb slowly seeped out of the front of their mind and into the subconscious.

"Ryan, this isn't me being an asshole or hating you or thinking you're dumb," Coach said, his voice slow and calm and not a single remnant of his anger remained. "These are the rules and I can't bend the rules for you, even if I wanted to or if I thought it was the right thing to do. You have to do the tutoring if you want to play. You have to go to class if you want to play."

He tried to control the immediate burst of anger they felt. It was there but low in their body and he acknowledged it but didn't let it control him. Ryan was in control, not the anger. "Okay. I can do that. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Ryan," Coach said, his eyes brown and kind and his hand still on Ryan's shoulder. "You're a good kid and you've worked hard for your place on this team. You'll be fine."

They'll be fine.

He nodded and grabbed his duffle, which he'd dropped as the emotions had overtaken them. They had to get home for dinner, it was late, and the guys were probably waiting. And he had class tomorrow, and, Ryan sighed, tutoring to look forward to.

Leaving Coach's office, Ryan had only one thought, The tutor better not be a jackass.