The Study Session

The housing inspections were still the talk of the hallways, but Coach Mike had a different kind of pressure to apply. Apparently, our mid-term grades in our shared elective: Philosophy of Ethics , were concerningly inconsistent, and the athletic board was breathing down his neck.

"I don't care if you're the Captain or the new star winger," Coach had barked, slamming a folder onto his desk. "If you don't pass the mid-term, you don't play the playoffs. Period. From now on, every Tuesday and Thursday, you two are in the study hall. Three hours. No phones. Just books."

So, that’s how I found myself sitting in the Quiet Room of the Northwood Library. It was a small, wood-panneled space tucked away in the back, far from the bustling student center.

Jax was sitting across from me. He looked different without his gear. He was wearing an oversized black hoodie. The bruise on his temple had faded to a light yellow, and he smelled like a mix of strong coffee and clean laundry; a scent that was starting to become far too familiar to me.

"So," Jax said, his voice sounding loud in the small room. He tapped his pen against the textbook. Virtue Ethics. You’re the Philosophy major, Captain. Explain to me why we’re supposed to care about Aristotle."

"Because Aristotle believed that your character is defined by your actions.” I didn't look at him. I kept my eyes on my notes. "He thought that being good isn't something you are; it's something you do until it becomes a habit."

Jax leaned back, crossing his arms. "So, if you spend your whole life pretending to be the Golden Boy, does that eventually make you one? Or are you just a really good actor?"

I finally looked up.

"It’s about the intent, Jax. If you intend to be a leader, you act like one."

"And what if your intent is just to stay safe?" Jax asked. He was leaning forward, his hoodie sleeve brushing against the edge of my notebook. "Is it a virtue to hide who you are just to keep a scholarship for instance?"

"It's practical.”. The silence of the room felt like it was pressing in on us. "Not everyone can afford to be a rebel, Jax. Some of us have people counting on us. My father... he’s already calling the Chicago scouts every day. If I fail him, I'm not just losing a game. I'm losing my entire identity."

Jax watched me for a long moment, his gaze intense. He reached out to slide my laptop toward him to check a reference, at the exact same moment I reached for the corner of his textbook.

Our hands brushed.

Usually, we would pull away instantly, making some jagged joke about personal space or interference. We would laugh it off and go back to being rivals. But this time, neither of us moved. My fingers stayed resting against the back of his hand, and he didn't flinch. For a few long, agonizing seconds, the only thing in the world was the heat of his skin against mine. I could see the pulse jumping in his neck, and I knew mine was just as frantic.

He didn't pull away. Instead, his fingers twitched, almost as if he were going to turn his hand over and lace his fingers with mine.

"You think your identity is a jersey and a last name but I saw you on the ice when I went down. That wasn't Captain Simpson running to help a teammate. That was just Liam. And Liam didn't look like he cared about what his father thought."

I pulled my hand back, "We're supposed to be studying, Jax."

"We are studying," he countered. "We're studying the difference between a mask and a face. Aristotle would be proud."He was being mischievous now.

For the next two hours, we didn't talk much. We sat in that small room, the only sound being the turning of pages and the occasional scratch of a pen. Every time he shifted in his seat, I felt it. Every time I reached for my coffee, I was aware of him watching my hand.

I was tutoring him on Logic, but I was the one losing my mind. I was supposed to be the teacher, the one with all the answers, but sitting there in the dim light, I realized I didn't know anything at all.

When the clock finally hit 9:00 PM, I started packing my bag with trembling hands.

"Liam," Jax said as I stood up.

I stopped, my back to him. "Yeah?"

"You don't have to be perfect in here," he said. His voice was right behind me. I could feel the heat of him standing just a few inches away. "The walls are thick. Nobody is listening."

He reached out and straightened the collar of my hoodie, his fingers lingering on the fabric for a beat too long.

"See you at the apartment, Captain," he whispered.

He walked out first, leaving me alone in the quiet. I stood there for a long time, breathing in the scent of coffee and laundry he had left behind. I had come here to help him pass a class, to help us improve,but as I looked at my messy notes, I realized I was the one failing the most important test of all.