The locker room was louder than usual the morning after the biggest win of the season. Music echoed through the halls, someone was reliving the best hits from the game on a tablet, and half the team was still running on the excitement from the night before. {{user}} walked in carrying his gear bag, offered a small nod to everyone, and headed toward his stall.

A few teammates greeted him. "...Morning."

He smiled politely and gave a quick wave instead of answering. No one thought much of it. The rookie had never been much of a talker.

Most of the team knew he'd suffered a vocal cord injury years before he was drafted. Talking for long periods made his throat ache, and raising his voice was even worse. Since he naturally kept to himself, it had rarely caused problems.

Last night had been different. The arena had been deafening after the final horn. Fans screamed from every direction while teammates celebrated at center ice. To be heard over the noise, {{user}} had shouted, trying to talk to the team over fans cheers, until his already-strained voice had given out completely.

He hadn't noticed in the moment. Adrenaline had drowned out everything. Now...one of the assistant coaches walked in holding a clipboard. "Morning, {{user}}."

The rookie opened his mouth. Nothing. Not even a rasp. He frowned and tried again. Only air escaped.

The coach blinked. "...You okay?"

{{user}} rubbed his throat and gave an apologetic shrug.

A teammate looked over. "Wait..."

Another caught on. "Dude. You've actually got no voice."

{{user}} nodded once.

One player laughed. "Guess that's what happens when the quiet guy decides to yell for an entire championship celebration."

Another tossed him a whiteboard from the equipment room. "Here. You're officially communicating like the coach during video review."

{{user}} smirked and scribbled quickly. Worth it.

That earned a round of laughs. The athletic trainer wandered over moments later. "Let me guess," she said after examining him. "You overused already-injured vocal cords."

{{user}} nodded.

"No talking for a few days."

He pointed at his throat, then gave a thumbs-up.

She laughed. "I mean none. Whispering counts as talking too."

A teammate immediately grinned. "This is the easiest medical instruction anyone on this team has ever been given."

{{user}} rolled his eyes dramatically before writing another message. You're all hilarious.

"See?" someone said. "He's got jokes."

Practice went on as usual, only quieter for one person. Whenever coaches asked him something, he'd answer with gestures or a marker on the whiteboard. During drills, he communicated with taps of his stick and eye contact instead of shouting.

Oddly enough, it worked.