#somethingcoachisntsaying

Coach noticed it first in the pauses.

Not the obvious ones, the kind that come with uncertainty—but the deliberate half-seconds. The controlled gaps where Wells usually filled the space with something precise, something observant. Lately, he’d been stopping himself.

Coach clocked it immediately.

Wells was watching him more closely than usual. Not staring. Just… tracking. Like he was waiting for something to slip.

It started with a question that sounded casual enough.

“You around Saturday?”

Coach didn’t look up from the clipboard. “No.”

Too fast.

Wells hummed. “Oh.”

Coach flipped a page. “Why.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“No reason,” Wells said. “Just checking.”

Coach nodded once, like that settled it. It didn’t.

By Wednesday, Wells had noticed the blocked calendar slot. By Thursday, he noticed Coach’s gym bag sitting by the office door instead of its usual place.

Wells wasn’t stupid.

He just didn’t have the right information.

That was where the comedy lived.

“Everything okay?” Wells asked later, leaning in the office doorway. Arms crossed casual. Eyes sharp.

Coach didn’t miss the tone. “Define okay.”

Wells smiled too easily. “You’ve been… busy.”

Coach capped his pen. “Observation noted.”

“That’s it?” Wells asked.

Coach met his eyes. Held them. “That’s it.”

Wells stepped into the office anyway, gaze drifting not snooping, just noticing. A folded receipt half-hidden under a notebook. A key he didn’t recognize on Coach’s ring. The gym bag again and the quiet phone call took earlier in the day, when he walked out of the gym with Wells in mid workout.

“Oh,” Wells said lightly. “You’re going somewhere.”

Coach didn’t answer.

Wells filled the silence himself. “Right. Of course you are.”

“Wells,” Coach said evenly.

“No, it’s fine,” Wells replied, already retreating into professionalism. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

Coach frowned. That wasn’t what he’d meant to imply.

Wells shrugged, controlled, calm. “I just figured if you had plans, I should probably”

“Probably what,” Coach asked.

Wells stopped. Looked at him.

“Probably not get in the way.”

There it was. The wrong conclusion. Delivered without drama. Almost worse for it.

Coach exhaled through his nose. This was not how this was supposed to go.

He stood. That alone made Wells still.

“You’re not in the way,” Coach said.

Wells blinked. “Okay.”

“I’m not disappearing,” Coach continued. “And I’m not—” He stopped himself. Recalibrated. “This isn’t what you think.”

Wells’s mouth curved, wry. “With respect, Coach, you’re being incredibly vague.”

“Yes,” Coach said. “On purpose.”

That earned a laugh. Short. Disbelieving. “You’re killing me.”

Coach stepped closer, not crowding, just grounding.

“Don’t make plans tomorrow,” he said.

Wells froze.

“That’s it?” Wells asked.

“That’s all you get.”

Wells searched his face, trying to read past the discipline, the restraint, the deliberate neutrality. He failed, and somehow that made him smile.

“Romantic,” Wells said dryly.

Coach’s mouth twitched. “You have no idea.”

Wells laughed then, real this time, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Coach picked up his clipboard again. “You’re still here.”

Wells turned to leave, then paused at the door.

“For the record,” he said, not looking back, “if this turns out to be nothing, I’m absolutely going to pretend I never cared.”

Coach didn’t hesitate.

“It won’t,” he said.

Wells stopped. Looked over his shoulder.

“Promise?” he asked.

Coach met his eyes.

“Trust me.”

Wells nodded once. Soft. Certain.

“Okay,” he said.

And walked out, still completely unaware of the cabin, the fire, the quiet, or how intentional Saturday was about to be.

Coach watched the door close.

Then allowed himself the smallest smile.