Chapter Text
If Kevin Day was good at one thing, it was wanting something he couldn't have.
People thought he was dependent on alcohol, but really, his most dangerous vice was the thrill of the chase. It didn't matter if it was sports, academics, relationships; Kevin needed to be in pursuit. He loved the exhaustion that lived in his body when he ran drills into the ground. He loved taking lost causes and making them into pro Exy prospects. He loved reviewing dates and editing his papers mercilessly into the early hours of the morning. He loved pushing himself impossibly harder to become faster, stronger, sharper, then moving the goalposts once he got there.
It shouldn't have surprised him then, that in a world where teammates and fans all but threw themselves at him, that he found himself chasing after someone who didn't care about him at all.
*****
Before she’d taught him to play exy, his mother had taught him lacrosse. She said it was part of his heritage, that lacrosse and long hair were in his blood as much as exy and St. Brigid’s crosses and momijimanju. His bedtime stories included Ga-gaah, and Aos Sí, and Momotarō. While running her fingers through the little hair on his head, she told him that the world was wide and wild and wonderful.
There’s beauty everywhere, darling, she’d said, bouncing him on her lap by a fire in the pub down the road, if you're clever enough to look for it.
When he whined about practicing in the perpetual rain, she told him to look at the raindrops in the puddles and how they formed perfect circles, wasn’t that strange? She told him to tilt his head back and close his eyes, to make a game of guessing where the drops would hit his skin. She told him to roll in the mud and delight in the sensation and look forward to a warm bath. She told him to look at the mist and rolling hills and imagine what kind of magic and mysteries might be there.
Even when she died and he couldn't see much through his heaving sobs, he tried to admire how peaceful she looked in her casket, how beautiful the gravesite was. Even when the Master ordered his hair buzzed and kept short, and his best friend became a monster he didn't recognize, and everyday was a battle for survival, he tried to be cleverer and find the pockets of gold in the red and black.
He found stony gray eyes and dark curly hair. He found big hands and gentle touches, whispered French lessons and lingering glances, meaningless oaths and secrets he couldn't keep.
When that too became tainted, irreparably damaged by horrific sins and trauma he couldn't stop or undo, he found tan skin and bright smiles. He found an unsaved phone number and unwavering kindness, time zones and comeback stories.
He didn't need to be burned himself to figure out what happened when he started looking for that kind of beauty. He wasn’t stupid; he watched the press rip Jeremy to shreds, he heard the whispers among the other Ravens when Jean was moved to the starting line. He saw Jeremy’s dead gaze in the photos, the teeth marks on Jean’s neck and hunch of his shoulders. It wasn't wise to look for pretty faces when his life was on the line.
Exy was beautiful, and that was enough (it had to be). The ache in his legs as he outran everyone, the weight of his arms when he drilled rebounds and accuracy to perfection, the pain of bodies slamming him into the floor and walls. It made him feel alive, and after long enough, the line between feeling alive and living became thin enough that he didn't care to notice the difference anymore.
Beatings and punishment blurred with matches and practice, and even that came with its own kind of thrill. How good could he be without threatening Riko’s position as number one? How much praise could he accept before he had to pass them to his partner? How charming and charismatic could he be, and what could he get for it?
It got him a major he wanted and deep welts on his back. It got him books and postcards and blind eyes turned. It got him tastes of freedom that he gulped down like water in a desert and wounds that pulled and itched under his uniform. It got him the knowledge that his father was out there and mindgames with ever-shifting rules. It got him long curly hair and dark skin and delicate hands and a pretty face he was allowed to look at even as he felt the burn of jealous eyes over his shoulder.
It was almost good, and he had contented himself to making a feast out of scraps, when all too quickly he didn't have anything. The beautiful thing he had, the beautiful game his mother had given him, was ripped away in a flash of anger and a crack of bones. The beautiful thing he found, he broke that himself in a plea for help and a moment of weakness.
So he left. He ran with his tail between his legs and his left hand wrapped in bandages to the next best thing; a father who didn't know who he was, but took in strays and cared as best he could. Kevin had made better out of worse.
His body healed slower than he wanted. He itched with the need to move, poured his frustration and fear and anger and grief into a collection of hopeless cases. He knew they could be good. He saw the diamonds in the rough, he saw the potential and glimmers of excellence, and he couldn't fathom why they wouldn't chase it. A perfect game could be a substitute for anything.
Kevin knew he had an addictive personality, and he was addicted to making a shit show look like a Broadway debut. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stop frantically searching for beauty, trying to be the clever boy his mother thought he was.
Looking for it again led him to an immovable object with blonde hair and a manic smile. It brought him sharp blue eyes and red hair and more trouble than he bargained for. It brought him two more pretty faces that might have wanted him if he was willing to walk the road to hell; but that was one impossibility he wouldn't chase and instead he watched them find each other. Even when he doubled back for the love he let die, his addiction to pursuit meant watching them find beauty in each other (he was more comfortable chasing things than having them). They were all happy, perfect couples, and that was beautiful in itself, and Kevin could make that enough.
He had a championship team, friends in love, a burgeoning relationship with his father, and as close to freedom as he could get from the mafia. And the itch under his skin, the one that made him grab a bottle of vodka, the one that made him run midnight drills, the one that made him chase impossible standards, came back with vengeance. He was at the top of his game and frankly the amount of alcohol he could put away before feeling drunk was starting to mess with his self-imposed meal plan. There was nothing to run after, and sitting still felt like being a sitting duck. He needed to overcome something.
Kevin was, in a word, self-motivated. The consequences of laziness were bloody lines across his teammates' knuckles, a tapestry of bruises on his ribs, so in the absence of a task, he would make one for himself. He could always stand to be better, and his life had been a series of reminders that he was not yet good enough. With all this energy with nowhere to go, he could finally start forming himself into the kind of person who knew how to find and keep the beautiful things his mother told him to look for. He knew he was handsome, tall and fit, and he’d never been above using his body to get the job done.
(Maybe along the way, he could figure out what made him so intrinsically unloveable. If he could only perfect his personality, tweak his soul, he could finally, finally, be good enough for someone.)
It was much easier than he thought it would be. Just looking around his team, he found silky blonde hair and pouty lips and an attitude and grief to match his own. It didn’t feel like a win to sleep with Allison; she didn't think he was charming or interesting, he was pretty sure she didn't care who he was at all. He could have been any reasonably attractive person who wasn't interested in replacing Seth and that would have been enough for her. To her credit, it wasn’t like he was looking for a wife.
The sex was good enough, and the thrill of sneaking around satisfied his urge to do impossible things. It was easy to shoot a text asking her to stay after practice, easy to say he wanted to stay late to run drills, easy to meet her in the women’s locker room and fuck like animals on the floor. She didn't like having her hair pulled, or bruises and marks, or doggy style; she liked him eating her out on his knees in bathroom stalls and being thrown on to her bed when her roommates were out. It suited Kevin fine; callous as it sounded, sex with Allison was something to pass the time rather than a passionate embrace. Kevin sometimes doubted sex could be anything but a way to prove someone wanted him.
They got bored before classes even started. The secrecy lost its appeal around the time Allison’s gaze started catching on Renee, and Kevin gently asked her if she wanted to end things one day while they were making out distractedly on her couch out of boredom. He hadn't expected her to burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry,” she wept, wiping snot on his shirt. “I feel like such an asshole, using you to forget about Seth, and turning around and falling for Renee.”
She was still pretty when she cried. The redness in her eyes made the color pop. Kevin shrugged and reached for a box of tissues on one of the side tables. “Don’t feel bad for me. It was casual, there's nothing wrong with that.”
She sniffled, gratefully accepting the tissues. “I know, but we always did what I wanted.”
“Allison, you’re a gorgeous woman and I came every time,” he said, resting a hand on her leg. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
Allison shook her head and blew her nose. “I’m a fucking disaster. My last boyfriend died, I have Kevin Day right in front of me and I don't want to fuck him, and I’m falling for my best friend who is way too good for me.”
“I sincerely doubt she would agree with that assessment.” He stood and started looking through their cabinets for a water cup, the motions of comfort and repair as familiar as breathing. “I’m sure you know more about her past than I do, but there's a reason she’s on this team.”
“I guess,” she tracked him as he returned to the couch with a glass of water. “I just don’t know what to do now.”
“I’d start with a therapist,” he responded, gesturing to her crumpled and crying form.
She reached out and smacked the side of his head. “You’re a dick.”
“I can leave.”
“No,” her hand shot out and she grabbed his left wrist. “You’re the only person I can talk to about hooking up with you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You never told anyone? Not even Dan?”
She scoffed. “Yeah, and have the whole university calling me a slut for getting with the most famous person on campus after my boyfriend died? No, thanks.”
Kevin paused and settled back into the couch. “I never thought about that.”
“Welcome to being a woman. If you’re not a bitch, you’re a slut.” She crossed her arms, eyes still glistening with tears and lower lip jutting out.
“That sucks,” he responded, tracing her face with his eyes. How lovely to see someone feel something so openly when he spent his days mostly surrounded by closed books. “Do you wanna talk about it? And you know, all this?” He gestured loosely to them on the couch. “And Renee?”
Allison sighed heavily and dropped her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Fuck it. It’s not like either of us have anything better to do.”
They spent the next hour or so laying out Allison's guilt about Seth, her nascent flirtation with Renee, and every other issue under the sun. Kevin found himself surprisingly relating to her, talking about Jean and Riko and the odd experience of getting the best of a bad lot. At the end, they were actually laughing, making fun of Neil’s abysmal fashion and the guy on campus who kept juggling shirtless when it was sunny. He felt more satisfied than when they hooked up, and he didn't really know what to do with that.
His fling with Allison ended with a kiss on his cheek and a promise to hang out more. It felt like more of a victory than getting into bed with her ever had. It didn't stop the itch to overcome something, to compete and accomplish.
So he started searching outside of the Foxes for that satisfaction. He grit his teeth and downloaded dating apps, dragging through bland conversations and to find anyone worthwhile. It was a sweet woman named Bethany who blinked up at him with wide hazel eyes and offered to take him back to her place after a few hours at a coffee shop. She fidgeted with her keys and smiled shyly at him over her shoulder.
“I’ve never done anything like this,” she said sweetly, leading him to her bedroom. “But gosh, you’re so handsome, and you’re freaking Kevin Day. I’d be insane to turn you down.”
He smiled back, perfectly stretching his cheeks across teeth that felt too big for his mouth. They didn't say much else, and he delicately folded her knit cardigan and floral dress when he took them off. He landed on top of her, between slim thighs and arms thrown over his shoulders, mouths open in base pleasure and coffee brown hair haloed on white pillows. Part of the accomplishment for Kevin was making sure his partners came, and with callused fingers and a warm tongue, he made sure Bethany hit her peak before he slipped out to dry heave in her bathroom.
She was nice, politely making him a cup of tea and offering to order takeout for them. It was uncomplicated and easy; she texted him but not too often, she liked exy but not too much, she fucked him but not too hard. It took three weeks for him to feel suffocated by the promise of a steady relationship, for the discomfort of staying in place to creep up his spine.
And yet, he couldn't take her big eyes full of tears or her wobbling voice assuring him it was okay when he told her it wasn't going to work out. He had to pull over twice on the drive back to Fox Tower to throw up at the idea of another person out there who hated him.
The razor’s edge of euphoria and misery sharpened in the realm of romance; Kevin couldn't resist the siren's call of that challenge. He wasn't heartless; people like Bethany were too far invested in the dating side and the thought of being someone's villain made him nauseous. He wanted the thrill of the will-they-won't-they, the secrecy, and the dancing around - he wouldn't bring an unwilling participant into that dance. Instead, he found people like Jess, Nicole, Sabrina, and Chloe.
Jess was in his history seminar and invited him back to her place to study. Kevin liked her jet black hair and gold bangles that jingled together when she typed or raised her hand. She coyly suggested strip studying, and purposefully got questions wrong until she was riding him on the floor. Jess took control and didn't ask him what he wanted, and when they both got back glowing grades on their midterm assessments, she winked and asked if he wanted to come over again sometime.
Nicole was another student athlete - maybe track and field based on her lithe build and elegant limbs. They had the occasional team lift alongside other sports, and her full lips and sweet smelling perfume drew his eyes on more than one occasion. She was as dedicated to her sport as he was to exy, so they often found themselves alone in the gym with no one else around. They exchanged heated glaces, then flirtatious touches while spotting, then making out by the racks late at night. It was rushed, sloppy handjobs and furious fingers, but she was a pretty good lifting partner and made it abundantly clear that she cared more about being an athlete than being a girlfriend, which worked just fine for Kevin.
Sabrina was probably the riskiest one, just in terms of logistics. She was a Vixen, a bottle blonde flyer who frequently got in trouble for putting pink streaks and tinsel in her hair. They’d known of each other vaguely for years, but it wasn't until a post game party in September when they ditched the whole scene to smoke weed on the roof and bitch about the soccer team that he leaned in to kiss her. Her smile spelled trouble, and meant that he spent half the matches wishing she’d bother to look at him and the other half dreading that she’d be waiting outside Fox Tower when they finished. Aaron had given him a knowing frown when he hesitated to follow everyone else upstairs. Kevin brushed him off.
It wasn't until Chloe that the real problems started. He was seeing her most casually of all; they’d met by crashing into each other mouth first at Eden’s and she’d blown him in the back alley ten minutes later. He saw her some weekends in Columbia, and they exchanged racy texts during the week. Unfortunately, her being at Columbia meant that other, very nosy parties quickly noticed, and once they noticed Chloe, the whole thing started to blow up in his face.
He was pretty sure Aaron was the first to notice. Somewhere in between fighting for their lives on the Court and in the courtroom, and chasing morsels of attention from someone who viewed them with disdain, he and Aaron had forged a sort of understanding. Aaron frowned when Kevin downed shots like water, but danced near him anyway, the two of them making sure no one was getting too handsy or dangerous. Some nights they danced with each other, usually in some sort of makeshift dance circle interspersed with strangers.
(There was one night, Halloween, if Kevin remembered correctly through a fog of alcohol, where they'd danced together. The room was packed, hot, and spinning; and Kevin ended up with his arms wrapped around shoulders topped by blonde hair and sharp eyes, swaying and grinding with a thick thigh between his legs. It had taken him several days to realize the arms around his waist and the neck he'd admired thrown back in laughter belonged to Aaron Minyard. By that point, he'd had enough practice with half-regretted flings to know that avoiding the topic was the best course of action. No one would be surprised to hear he didn't remember anything from that night.)
All this to say, Kevin had no doubt Aaron saw him drunkenly follow Chloe into bathrooms and alleyways, and for some unknown reason, said nothing to anyone else. It didn't really make sense, all the Foxes were gossips.
(If he let himself think about Aaron too long (something he tried very hard not to do), he noticed how Aaron withdrew from the team, hiding behind sneers and stoicism. The mystique was addicting; Kevin wanted nothing more than to peek behind that mask and figure out what made the Other Minyard tick. It was impossible with how Aaron isolated himself, but God, didn't Kevin love a challenge.)
Then, Nicky saw him pressed against a wall with her one Saturday night. In the moment, he hadn't thought anything of meeting his eyes for a second over her head; the next morning, hungover and groggy on the couch, it became a source of entertainment for everyone else.
“So,” Nicky started, bringing over a mug of coffee like a Trojan Horse. “Someone had fun last night.”
“I always have fun at Eden's,” he grumbled back, accepting the brown liquid. He sniffed at the mug, irritated. Contrary to popular belief, he did not like black coffee, and he usually splashed the tiniest bit of sugar free creamer in - Betsy said it was a powerful revolution against the limiting choices of the Ravens; Kevin was pretty sure it was a powerful revolution against store-brand burnt beans.
“Too much fun,” Neil quipped, bounding down the stairs. “You always feel like shit in the morning. Do you understand cause and effect at all?”
Kevin grunted and reached out to pinch his elbow as he strolled by, making Neil yelp in response. He was rewarded with a hard flick to the back of his head, courtesy of Andrew.
“I’m not talking about that,” Nicky waved them off. “I'm talking about that girl who was eating your face last night.”
The room grinded to a halt. Kevin froze, gripping his mug so tightly he could see his knuckles turning white, but he couldn't force his hands to relax. Andrew and Neil leaned in from the kitchen with raised eyebrows and judgemental stares. Nicky leaned forwards on his knees, eyeing up Kevin with a glimmer of mischief. He’d spent his whole life in front of cameras and spectators, thousands of people observing his every move, yet this was the most watched he'd ever felt in his life. Their eyes burrowed through his skin and into his brain and he felt like he’d been turned inside out and left for vultures. His hands were starting to hurt, and fuck, what would they say about him to their teammates, to the press, to their other friends? A pit opened in his stomach, and he wanted to put the mug down and run all the way back to Palmetto, but he couldn't unclench his fucking hand.
“Can't you say ‘kissing’ or ‘making out’ like an adult?” Aaron was walking over to the couch with a cup in his hand. Kevin blinked stupidly; he hadn't even noticed Aaron coming downstairs.
“Imagery, rubito. I’m setting the scene,” Nicky responded, pouting at Aaron's interruption.
Aaron rolled his eyes, deftly leaning over and pressing his mug into Kevin's free hand. He wrapped his fingers around Kevin's left hand, pulled them free, and took the black coffee for himself. He curled up next to Kevin, tucking his feet in between the cushions and appropriating the blanket for himself. “Well, you sound ridiculous. Plus, you and Roland were getting pretty comfy last night. Sloppy seconds aren't cute, Nicholas.”
The cousins launched into an argument and Kevin could breathe again. He mindlessly sipped his coffee, trying to force himself back into the pilot's seat of his body. The drink hit his tongue and he tracked Aaron out of the corner of his eye. Coffee, with a splash of creamer in it. If Aaron saw him staring, he didn't show it.
“I’m just surprised Kevin found a straight person to make out with at Eden's of all places.”
Kevin jolted and scowled at Nicky. “Why would I make out with a man? I only fuck women.”
Since he got to Palmetto, it had quickly become clear that he had a tone problem. In the Nest, it was next to impossible to be worse than Riko. Sometimes his words felt like abandoned World War II bombs, unpredictably explosive and damaging. No one believed that he was trying to be kind; no one had taught him how to love gently. (His mother almost had, but she died before any of those lessons stuck. Riko was a crash course in violent affection.)
He meant to deny the implication that he could kiss a man, (he couldn't, he wasn't allowed, he would suffer for it) but judging by Andrew's purposefully blank expression, Neil's crossed arms, and Nicky's shuttered joy, that wasn't the impact. He hunched in on himself, staring at his slightly milky beverage.
Aaron recovered first, though Kevin never saw his initial reaction. “Kevin's been meeting up with that girl for weeks now, I’m surprised it took y’all this long to notice.”
Kevin braced himself for another round of teasing, but Andrew's voice cut across to Aaron. “You knew about this?”
“Yeah? So what?” Aaron said, blasé and uninterested. Kevin now openly turned to stare. Aaron wasn't dumb; he knew that withholding information about any of his twin’s charges was a betrayal in Andrew’s eyes. It didn't make sense for him to put a target on his forehead willingly, but even less for him to do so unknowingly.
“You didn't think that was worth mentioning?” Andrew ran a hand over one of his arm bands, expression bored and eyes lit up with irritation.
(It was moments like these where Kevin questioned his own sanity. Andrew's eyes always looked so lovely when he was angry, practically glowing even in broad daylight. (Aaron's eyes glowed the same when he was happy, but Kevin saw that significantly less.))
Aaron shrugged and sank into the couch. “Kevin's a big boy. Nicky, can we go out to breakfast?”
Nicky agreed hesitantly, watching Andrew over his shoulder, who was definitely fuming at the clear dismissal from his brother. He slammed his mug down on the breakfast bar, uncaring of hot coffee splashing over the side, or the way Aaron and Kevin flinched. Neil followed him as he stormed upstairs, throwing a dirty look at the two on the couch.
Kevin still needed time to thaw, but Aaron was already standing with a slap to his thighs as if nothing animus had just happened. “I guess they won't be joining us. You coming?”
(Aaron and Neil might have gotten along better if they acknowledged their shared familiarity with living with a specific breed of danger hanging over their heads. The ease with which both could pretend everything was fine when someone in their family was all but holding a knife to their throats was impressive and unnerving. If only Aaron wasn't desperate for Andrew's attention; if only Neil knew he was stealing it.)
After a greasy diner breakfast, they packed the car for an early return. Aaron had a lab on Monday mornings, and Kevin was ready for this weekend to be over. He was all set to sleep the whole drive home, when Andrew smacked his knee and glared at him with a smile like mania and medication.
“Kevin, be a peach and go check the fridge? I think I forgot the milk.”
It was posed like a question, but Kevin had gotten good at reading between the lines. He didn't know what game Andrew was playing, but he knew better than to break the rules.
The fridge was completely empty, barring a single pint of milk. The errand still seemed pointless as Kevin grabbed it, but when he straightened up to see Neil leaning on the breakfast bar, casually blocking the front door, it made a lot more sense.
He was too tired for this particular game. “What do you want?”
Neil cocked his head. “Since when do you hook up with random girls?”
He forced himself to shrug. “None of your business. Does it matter?”
“When you let Aaron take the fall to avoid talking about it, yeah. If you’re so sure this is the right move, why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”
“Don't know what you’re talking about,” he said, attempting to brush past Neil before he threw up in the sink.
Neil's hand shot out and grabbed his bicep with a bruising grip. “Don't play dumb. You can’t do casual.”
“Maybe I can now.” Kevin ripped his arm free, but he couldn't make himself leave the house. Turning his back on Neil reeked of danger. “I don’t need your permission.”
Neil narrowed his eyes. “Bold words from someone who still can’t be alone without having a panic attack.”
“Fuck you.” Anger was safer than fear.
“I’m on your side, dumbass,” Neil said, bullying into Kevin’s space, ice blue eyes boring into him. “Andrew may have tolerated it with exy, but I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself in your psychotic pursuit of perfection.”
“It’s just sex, Neil.”
“It’s a race to nowhere, and you're going to lose.”
Kevin scoffed and stormed out of the house. He didn't check to see if Neil was following, throwing himself in the backseat and fixing his gaze out the window. He ignored the other occupants the whole ride back.
(Except when Aaron poked his leg with a plastic container of dried pineapple, and softly asked him if he wanted to study in the library that night. They spent Sunday nights in quiet company, finishing up readings for the week. Usually, they met up in Kevin’s dorm, but he was already plotting ways to avoid Andrew and Neil that night. He nodded stiffly, and returned to his window.)
Within days, the whole team heard about Chloe. Still more time than Kevin thought he’d get, and he’d prepared himself for the teasing. Dan and Matt playfully asked when they’d all get to meet the lucky lady who took his eyes off exy. Allison didn't have to say anything, just wiggling her eyebrows and shoulder checking him. Even the new freshmen made jokes about celebrity privileges.
That he could have tolerated, but it was like the universe was conspiring against him. In a single week, Matt made a late night run to the weight room to pick up his water bottle and saw Kevin and Nicole, Renee walked out of the elevator to see Kevin leaving Sabrina’s room, and Jess texted Kevin right in the middle of showing half the team a new play on his phone. He felt himself go red, stuttering over his words, while the team erupted into whispers and raised eyebrows. The onslaught of mockery that followed made Kevin want to run away again.
“Kevin, you dark horse,” Dan laughed, clapping his shoulder. “I always thought you were too focused on exy to see anything else.”
“Who would have thought Kevin Day would have a roster?” Nicky crowed, searching through Facebook to find photos of the girls.
“Man, it’s not fair,” Jack whined. “All he has to do is look at someone and they'll be sucking his dick in a second.”
Allison popped him in the back of the head, hard, for that comment. “You’re crass, ugly, and annoying. You can’t be all three and expect anyone to be interested in your sad, shriveled dick. At least Kevin has something going for him.”
Jack scowled, rubbing his head. “What, you want to be the next slut when he's whoring around?”
For once, Kevin was grateful for Jack’s obnoxious behavior, if only because it took the heat off Kevin’s questionable choices. Everyone else ripped into him for his sexist bullshit, and briefly, Kevin had a moment to collect himself.
His secret was out; but now he started to wonder why it had been a secret in the first place. The Foxes were gossips, sure, but they’d get bored and move on soon enough from the news that Kevin Day was a whore.
He flinched involuntarily at the thought. He knew what happened to anyone who was thought of like that. His skin crawled with memories of snide stares and off-hand remarks about you and Riko going to Paris, Day? when he had the nerve to be kind to Jean. He also wasn't too certain his serial monogamist best friends would take too well to his exploits, and his blood ran cold at the thought of their judgement.
He dared to look around, sneering at the team to disguise how naked he felt. He sometimes thought they should be called Sharks instead of Foxes: they all loved blood in the water.
No one was really paying attention to him, focused on their own sidechats and whispers. Neil and Andrew were giving him side looks, but it wasn't until he got to Aaron that his heart stopped. He was looking at Kevin behind wire frames, head tilted and squinting, the way he did when he worked on math sets when they studied together. In his surprise, Kevin dropped his veneer, just for a second, but he knew that was enough for Aaron to read him like a book.
(He wasn’t really embarrassed about sleeping around; he was still far and above the most prudish person on their team. It was the fact that Kevin wanted to be wanted, so, so badly, that he’d settle for a pale imitation of love. It was desperate, it was pathetic, it was taking the easy way out, but at this point, he was pretty certain no one could ever actually love him back. They kept leaving, (they kept being men), and he wasn’t strong enough to do without.)
In the week following Kevin’s minor armageddon, more people asked him if he was okay than the week after his mom died. I suppose that’s a good thing, he thought bitterly.
The first was actually Allison. She linked their arms on the way to practice, pulling him easily away from the Monsters with the excuse of “princess talk.”
“I am not a princess,” he pouted. “What does that even mean?”
“Okay, Queen,” she responded, poking his cheek. “Anyway, it's not really about that.” She picked up the pace, powerwalking them away from everyone else. It was pretty easy, given how much taller they were than the rest of the group.
Kevin let himself be pulled along (wasn't that just a metaphor for his life), until Allison bent in close and quietly asked, “Are you okay?”
He furrowed his brows. “Why wouldn't I be?”
“That's not the reassuring response you think it is,” she arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I mean, that this whole sleeping around with a bunch of girls isn't really your MO. You usually do the booze and exy routine when you're all fucked up about something.”
It probably wasn't a good sign that Kevin fell back to the stiffness of his Raven days to avoid reacting. He didn't like that Allison could so easily pluck out his coping mechanisms and lay them out, like it was obvious. If she could see that, could she see what else he was pushing down and praying it went away?
She nudged him with her elbow. “Kevin, seriously. This isn't normal for you. Is everything okay?”
Kevin could put on a good face. He did it everyday for twelve years; it wouldn't hurt to do it now. He gave a soft smile and patted her hand like a gentleman (like a liar). “I’m all good. Just in my ‘trying new things’ era. Never really could date much with the mafia hunting me.” He bared his teeth at the last part, like a joker (like a faker). “Tell me about Rachel from accounting. Is she still text-fighting with her boyfriend during class?”
Allison looked at him sideways but accepted the change in topic. “Well, it turns out she’s actually the problem. I was reading her messages over her shoulder and it looks like she used to date his brother.”
“No way,” he grinned. “Which brother?”
Matt, Dan, and Nicky all followed up with soft questions and gentle prodding over the next day, but let him off with pitying gazes and empty promises to reach out if he needed anything. He smiled, put friendly hands on shoulders, and made them feel like they did something. Kevin had always been good at getting what he (thought he) wanted.
Andrew and Neil cornered him in the car on Thursday after night practice. Kevin threw himself in the backseat, shaking off the last drops of water from his shower.
“That was a good one. Thanks for playing, Andrew,” he puffed, pushing his damp hair back with a hand.
Andrew grunted, starting the car without another word. That should have been the second warning sign. The first was him playing with them at all, but Kevin should have known something was coming when Andrew didn't smack him or make a comment about him acting like a wet dog in the backseat. He was still riding the high of a good practice, too excited to brace himself for the coming storm.
The locks clicked and it rang like a death knell. Andrew started driving, out of campus, no clear destination.
“Hey, you missed a turn,” Kevin said, still hoping against everything that this wasn't going where he thought.
“We’re going on a drive,” Neil said, not facing Kevin.
“Why?” Hope always was his greatest weakness.
Andrew glared at him in the rearview mirror. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not a good look on you.”
Kevin sighed and slumped into the seat, resigned to his fate. Neil twisted in his seat, boring into Kevin. The streetlights passing by cut stripes of light across his face and eyes, illuminating Neil like a painting. He cursed himself for being unable to stop noticing beauty when he was about to be ripped to shreds.
“Are you okay?” Neil asked.
“Why wouldn't I be?” He shot back, one last ditch effort to deflect.
Andrew rolled his eyes in the rearview. “Those are definitely the words of a man who’s okay.”
Neil shot him a look and Andrew responded with a raised eyebrow and Kevin yearned. He missed the days when he could have a conversation without words, and he mourned that he was missing out on it now.
“Kevin, seriously. You don’t sleep around. The casanova playboy bit is not you.”
He shifted awkwardly in his seat, gnawing on the inside of his cheeks. He’d learned to bite his cheeks and tongue to stay out of trouble, and he was better now at avoiding biting to bleed.
Neil prodded again. “If they have something on you, I can have someone take care of it.”
Kevin scowled in confusion, then in annoyance. “Not everything I do is about the mafia.”
“I beg to differ, Mr. Exy or Die,” Andrew shot back.
“Whatever.” Kevin waved him off. “They aren't blackmailing me. I’m just letting loose, what’s so wrong with that?”
He knew that was a mistake as soon as he said it. It was a sarcastic question, a casual dismissal that dared Andrew and Neil to criticize Kevin's coping skills. With more tactful people, it may have worked; but Andrew and Neil were not ones to hold back.
“You’re kidding, right?” Neil started. “You’re already an alcoholic, we don't need you being a nympho too.”
Andrew reached over and gently tapped Neil’s arm. Neil snapped his mouth shut, silently fuming but letting Andrew control the conversation anyway. Kevin crossed his arms tightly, digging his fingers into his forearms. He knew he was an addict, but it stung to think that's all he’d ever be in Neil’s eyes: someone who needed to be held back from deadly obsessions.
He huffed to himself. Neil had no idea how much Kevin’s obsessions saved his life.
Andrew snapped over his shoulder, drawing Kevin’s eyes to the rearview mirror. “What the rabbit over here means, is you already have less than ideal coping skills. Adding a new one sounds like something new is going on.”
Kevin scoffed, pressing his fingers in hard enough to bruise. It reminded him of home in some way, whatever home meant.
“We can’t help you if you won't tell us anything,” Neil added, frustrated but as gentle as he ever said anything.
He chewed on his cheeks again, saying nothing. It would be so foolish, so pathetic, to say he was jealous of their happiness, to say he was desperate for love and affection. It would be ungrateful to confess he missed Riko, he missed his mom, he missed having something to aim for. It would be horrible to admit that he was more comfortable playing with his life than living in peace, that he’d rather blow up everything than spend another second in this terrible stability where he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Andrew shifted his hands on the wheel. “Bee has some time slots on Sunday evenings.”
“I study with Aaron on Sunday evenings.” There was no way they didn't notice he was occupied on Sundays.
Neil rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you two can handle studying alone.”
Andrew said nothing, which meant agreement, and Kevin moved from uncomfortable to irritated. If he had a clearer head, he might wonder why it bothered him so much that they were acting like studying with Aaron didn't matter. An uninterrupted hour of quiet was a rare commodity in Fox Tower, one that was guaranteed when he delved into his history books alongside Aaron. He supposed he could study elsewhere, he didn't need to be next to Aaron, but it was safe and reliable. Even thinking that, he couldn't make himself disagree with them. He couldn't explain why Sunday nights were precious and irreplaceable.
(He couldn't explain how he loved falling into stories of past people, escaping his life into tales of excitement that actually happened. He couldn't explain that he clung to hope like a fraying rope, and he needed to know other people made it through hell. He couldn't explain that the only way he could fall asleep some nights was by pushing his brain past the point of thinking, they just usually fell asleep before they saw him obsessively rereading his essays to perfection and handwriting his citations.
(He couldn't explain that Aaron didn't roll his eyes when Kevin sighed over history, that Aaron got a furrow in his brow when he was focused, that Aaron mouthed the words as he read, that Aaron did tricks with his pencil when he was bored, that Aaron lit up like a sunrise when Kevin answered the door and welcomed him in to study.))
“Why would I go to Bee anyway?” It was a stupid question, he knew that, but God, he would throw up if he had to tell them how sick and twisted he was inside, how much time they’d already wasted on him.
Andrew huffed, like a dog had just run onto his yard. “I just said dumb isn't a good look on you.”
“Oh, it isn't? Then what is a good look on me? I must’ve looked pretty good to you when you agreed to our deal.” It was cruel and unnecessary but if dumb wasn’t working, vicious would (Riko taught him that). He jerked his head to stare at Neil. “I’m sure I looked even better in a million articles in a binder. Don't get upset just because you couldn't fuck me when you had the chance.”
The words felt like boiling water in his mouth, like he had to spit them out or risk being burned. It didn't make it less painful to watch them scald Neil and Andrew. Neil’s jaw snapped close and he glared at Kevin with tightly furrowed brows. Andrew's face was stony on a good day, and now it was like he’d wiped any trace of emotion away. It was straight out of their classic playbooks: anger and apathy were better than pain.
Kevin leaned back, forever wondering what they could have been if he wasn't afraid, always regretting how he'd sooner hurt his closest friends than face his fears and vulnerabilities and secrets. He crossed his arms and stared at the passing streetlights.
His mom was brave until the end, feral and free. It was a shame to think that died with her.
They came to a red light and Andrew looked over his shoulder at Kevin. “When exactly would I have had the chance? Aren’t you straight?”
Kevin stiffened, gripping the door handle until his hand turned white. Andrew said it like an accusation, like he knew Kevin was lying. Technically, he never lied; he never explicitly said he was straight. But the line between a lie and an omission, between what he wanted to be true and what actually was, was too thin.
He squeezed the handle tighter, trying to stay present, to not float away and hide in his mind. Here was the chance to let the truth of who he was and what he wanted take form, but he was a coward to the last. He couldn't have this, he couldn't have Jean, or Jeremy, or Andrew, or Neil (he couldn't have had Riko, or Mark from his freshman history lecture with the cute glasses), and even if he could, how could he possibly make up for years of being too terrified to do anything?
His palm was starting to hurt. “Let me out,” he said with a confidence he didn't feel.
Andrew whipped off the side of the street and Neil unlocked the doors. “Gladly.”
Kevin spilled out of the car, tripping onto the sidewalk. He pointedly stared at the grass until he heard the telltale squeal of the Maserati peeling away, then promptly vomited on the ground. Eventually, he sank down to sit on the curb, uncaring of the occasional car passing by. He’d survived a broken hand, it would take more than a car to kill him.
(Sometime later (who cares how long, he could have sat there forever until the grass grew over his limbs and the concrete cracked and the sun exploded), he had the vague thought he should probably go home. His pride wouldn't let him crawl back to Andrew and Neil, and in spite of better options and assurances he would call if he needed help, he ended up on the phone with Aaron.
“I’m sorry, where are you?” Aaron asked for the third time, sounding more confused than when he studied biomechanics.
Kevin craned his head around. “I don’t know, there’s a Texaco across the street. I don’t think we went that far.”
“And they just left you there?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, what inflammatory bullshit did you say?”
Kevin frowned. “Why is this my fault?”
“It’s not your fault, it’s a dick move to abandon you out there. I’m implying you said something inflammatory that made Thing One and Thing Two act like that. Where are your keys?”
“Gross.” Kevin wrinkled his nose. “Aren't Thing One and Thing Two related?”
“I don't think it says. They could be boyfriends for all we know. Keys, Kevin.”
“On the hook next to the door.” Kevin heard the sound of doors opening and closing. “They’re identical. It’d be more accurate to say you and Andrew are Thing One and Thing Two.”
“It’s metaphorical. They have the same personality, that doesn't mean they're twins.” Kevin could hear the distaste in Aaron’s voice. “Where’d you park?”
“Where I always do. Is the Cat in the Hat not their father or something?”
“I think he’s their pimp. He’s got the bigass hat and the cane.” Aaron huffed. “It’s not by the oak tree.”
“He definitely doesn't have a cane.”
“He definitely does. When’s the last time you read the book?”
“When’s the last time you read it?” Kevin shot back, unable to stop himself from smiling.
“Whatever. Where's your car so I can come get your sorry ass?”
“I think I moved it a few spots down, that dick with the white Jeep took my spot.”
The sound of his car unlocking clicked faintly. “Nate Filbrick?”
Kevin threw an arm out. “I don't know the guy’s name. He’s a dick.”
“So are you,” Aaron laughed.
Kevin had nothing to say to that, immediately feeling shame flood his body. “I’m trying not to be,” he said petulantly.
“I know,” Aaron replied softly. “I’m sorry they left you out there.”
“No, I had it coming.”
“Doesn’t mean you deserved it.”
Kevin almost laughed. When did he ever get what he deserved?)
He’d woken up the next day to a post-it note with Betsy’s number stuck to his protein bars. He’d thrown it in the trash, and Andrew hadn't spoken to him since.
That was over a week ago, and the silence was killing him. Kevin had always had someone by his side. Even when he was furious with Kevin, Riko never left him alone for longer than what it took to bandage a particularly nasty cut. Even when he betrayed Jean, he still picked up the phone when Kevin called. He’d be buffeted by people for as long as he could remember, never alone long enough to think. When he wasn't with Neil, he was with Andrew, and when he wasn't with them, he was in class, or practice, or studying with Aaron, or hooking up with someone despite the bile in his throat.
Take Andrew out of that equation, and Neil swiftly followed, and he was left with more free time than he ever wanted and a sharp reminder that he would always be number two.
The first day or so had been fine. He met up with Jess in between classes, and spent the evening getting ahead on a research project for a class on the history of languages. The next day, he went for a long run instead of meeting Andrew and Neil for lunch like they usually did on Saturdays, and texted Sabrina to do shots until they had sloppy sex on her floor. He was pretty sure her roommate walked in at one point, but the night was mostly a blur of sweaty skin and pink hair in his mouth.
He slept in on Sunday, then dragged his hungover ass to Aaron’s room to study with vodka in his water bottle. He didn’t say anything about Kevin’s increasingly rosy cheeks and slightly slower typing, so Kevin convinced himself he was faking it perfectly, until he ended up puking in their bathroom and spending a second night on someone else's floor.
Kevin was undeniably Type A. He lived by calendars, lists, spreadsheets, training plans, and a strict discipline to control exactly how he would get everything he wanted. Uncertainty was a monster shaped like a brother with unpredictable moods and sharp knives. It was like he went to sleep one night with the world on a string and woke up with that string choking him.
Everything spun out of control. He couldn’t remember whether he texted Sabrina or Nicole, was surprised when either of them showed up at his room. He asked Jess to coffee and they didn't fuck afterwards, and he was only half-disappointed when she smiled sweetly and said she had to run, she’d see him in class. Chloe texted him complaining about her roommate and he didn't know what to make of the rush of relief when he didn't have to sext her back. He put away at least a few shots every night, imagining that the vodka could burn a hole through his throat so he could never speak again.
Then Jess asked what he was doing at eleven p.m. and he didn't hesitate to throw on his coat and stumble to her apartment. He was sober enough to make her come, but drunk enough that he went to suck her nipples, only to remember that Chloe liked that, not Jess. She not-so-gently kicked him out with an apologetic smile, thanked him for the stress relief before her test tomorrow, and he was left ruffled and confused on her doorstep. He didn't have time to feel much of anything before Nicole was calling him, tipsy and bored of the lacrosse team party.
(“You know how Landon’s been flirting with me? I just saw him talking to Kayla G. and he was telling her he hasn't dated since April. Like, dude, hello, you were begging me for nudes three weeks ago and asked me to put a finger in your ass over the summer, what the fuck are we talking about?”
Kevin swallowed. “Uh, wow.”
“I know,” she huffed. “Anyway, you should come over.”
He was still staring at Jess's closed apartment door. “Yeah.”
“Great, text me when you’re close.”
“For sure. Um, wait, sorry, one thing,” his feet were already pulling him to the street, “why are you mad at Landon if we’re also hooking up?”
Nicole laughed, not unkindly. “That's different, we’re not serious.”
Kevin didn't have enough self-respect to not show up at her dorm anyway.)
His ringtone started to haunt his nightmares. If it wasn't a salacious text, it was a demand to come over, have mindless sex, perform. Except when it wasn't, when it was coffee and studying, just to the left of friends. Except when he had the audacity to text first and didn't get a response until the next day. Except when he was hoping it was Andrew or Neil, but it never was.
Nausea was a constant companion, and Sabrina scrunched up her nose when he gagged while they laid in bed together after arguably the best blowjob of his life.
“Jesus, what's your problem? Did you even like it?” She said, throwing his jacket at him. “I give you head, and you’re acting like I killed your mom or something.”
Kevin opened and closed his mouth like a fish. There was no media ready way to explain that she was a dream girl, and he was a broken set piece standing in for everyone's rehearsal, waiting to be tossed out before the real thing. Always an understudy, never a headliner. Sabrina rolled her eyes.
“Whatever, Vixens have practice early tomorrow. I don't need more shit for hooking up with randos.”
He nodded stiffly, shoving robotic limbs into loose athletic clothing. He wondered for a moment if he had fashion sense. His whole life had been lived in dark colors, practical fabrics; Sabrina had asked if he liked getting head, but as lycra and spandex closed around him like a net, he wasn't sure if he liked anything at all. Or disliked anything. Or felt much of anything these days, besides sick to his stomach and unable to force anything down but alcohol and protein powder.
The weekend passed in a haze of warm bodies and cold liquor, trapped in Palmetto because Andrew and Neil had decided this weekend was for them alone at Columbia. Another place removed from the shrinking list of space places for Kevin.
His phone kept ringing, and he kept picking it up like an idiot, lapping up scraps of affection from people who just didn't like him that much. He couldn't even hate them for it; if he was stronger, he'd walk away. He knew what they wanted, it wasn't their fault he didn't know what he wanted.
At least he could count on Aaron, studious as always, with a highlighter and a laptop charger, sitting at his kitchen table on Sunday night. Words rarely passed between them in the silent apartment, just the scratch of pencils and the soothing tapping of keyboards. Aaron’s phone lived on silent, facedown on the table. There was a photo of him and Katelyn tucked in the back of the case. Kevin's practical black case felt void of personality in comparison, which seemed fitting, as Kevin wasn't sure he had a personality to begin with. When it started ringing midway through their session, Chloe's name lighting up the screen, he stared at it blankly until the sound stopped and his phone helpfully informed him he had one missed call. She didn't call a second time.
Aaron raised an eyebrow over the frames of his glasses, but said nothing. Kevin reached over and set his phone to silent, hoping to ignore the outside world in this reliable bubble of academia and purpose. For once, he hadn't poured vodka down his throat, and though he was nursing a fierce headache and dry mouth, he wanted to remember these few hours of peace before he descended back into hell.
For a moment, he paused to admire Aaron. He saw him at every practice, but that was different than this. On the Court, he was good, no doubt Class I material, but it was like hammering a nail into a board of wood. It would happen with effort, but it wasn't like sliding a nut and bolt together. Here, surrounded by books and papers, this was where Aaron belonged. He easily flicked through notecards, referenced essays, and mouthed words to memorization. It was like watching a perfect machine.
(Kevin hoped Aaron felt the same when he watched Kevin play exy, like he was watching him do what he was born to do.)
His mother was full of aphorisms and quotes. He didn't remember many of them anymore, but whenever he was being a layabout, she would poke his cheeks and tell him that idle hands are the devil's playthings, love. His pencil stopped moving and his phone started buzzing. He couldn't stop himself from flinching.
“You gonna answer that?” Aaron asked casually.
“No.” Too harshly, too defensively.
Aaron closed his book on a pencil and folded his hands, leaning over the table to stare at Kevin. Aaron didn't ask, didn’t give Kevin a chance to deflect. “You’re not okay.”
Kevin floundered. He could twist a question like second nature, but he was a terrible liar, and he couldn't contradict Aaron even if he wanted to. Aaron pushed his glasses up into his hair, the blonde strands poking up like daybreak, and whatever defense Kevin was starting to make died in his throat.
“I’m not gonna lecture you about sleeping around. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure my self-righteous brother and his condescending pet already covered that.”
“Be nice, they’re my friends.”
Aaron scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’m never nice.”
“You picked me up the other night. That was nice.
“That was kind. It’s not the same.”
Kevin rubbed the pages of his book between his left fingers, pointedly rereading the same line over and over, hoping Aaron would get annoyed with him and move on (everyone else did). He scanned his eyes across the words, taking in nothing, but remembering all too well how to fake reading when he wanted to disappear into the background.
Based on Aaron's sigh and impatient rhythmic tapping, Kevin was center stage.
“When you and Allison were doing whatever the hell you were up to over the summer, y’all were at least friends.” Kevin barely had time to think, he noticed?, before Aaron was continuing, heedless of his companion's silent mental collapse.
“I don’t know the others, but Sabrina doesn't really care about you,” his sharp gaze snapped to Kevin's, and Kevin couldn't help noticing how the shitty overhead lighting reflected bits of gold and green in Aaron's eyes, “so I’m guessing the others don’t either. Knowing you, you’re pretending that’s fine, but really you’ve made it into some game where you try to get them to like you. It won’t work, and honestly, I can't figure out what you get out of it besides disappointment and self-loathing.” Aaron sat back, crossing his arms and looking Kevin up and down like a problem he couldn't quite solve.
“It’s just sex. It’s for fun and stuff.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, you seem like you're having loads of fun.”
Kevin sniffed down his nose and said nothing, turning back to his book. He could act like he was too good to respond, but he really just didn't know what to say. Aaron continued staring at him for a few more minutes before sighing and giving up. Kevin congratulated himself on another successful deflection, when Aaron tapped his pencil on the desk.
“Just because you aren’t slitting your wrists doesn’t mean it’s not self-harm,” Aaron said bluntly, barely looking up from his textbook.
“That – it’s not –” Kevin floundered.
“Self-harm is easy to hide if you can make it look like success. Trust me,” Aaron flashed a wry smile and Kevin’s heart skipped a beat, “I got straight As on tests I don't remember taking.”
Kevin swallowed thickly and looked away, unable to make himself look at Aaron anymore. He already felt like he was constantly putting on a costume and performing for everyone; he'd rather not know who was in the audience looking for the seams. He was drawn back to his book, and caught a line he must have read six times over.
One of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds.
He stared at the words, pushing down discomfort and shifting awkwardly in his seat anyway. The Foxes were a collection of trauma and damage, put together in a small room and shaken like a beehive. If they weren't hurting each other, they were hurting themselves; at a certain point it was inevitable they would recognize their own coping mechanisms and failures in their teammates. Most of the time, Kevin was content to pretend nothing happened to him, because, really, what did he have to complain about? He was Riko's favorite, he never got the worst of the beatings and violence, his parents loved him, and he wasn't involved in any really bad drugs. Screams echoed in his dreams, but at least they weren't his own.
Everyone around him was battered and bruised and cut open and repaired. Kevin was the only one who was (mostly) okay. Alone in a world of wounds.
(He didn't know how to be alone. He didn't want to be.)
“Andrew and Neil told me to talk to Betsy,” he blurted out. He forced his hands still and his face neutral as Aaron slowly put his pencil back down.
Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Josten told you to talk to Betsy?”
“More or less.”
“Wow. He must be really worried about you.”
Kevin wasn't totally sure why he told Aaron that, but that soft tone and kind response weren't what he expected and he suddenly felt hot. “He’s asexual, he doesn't get casual sex,” Kevin dismissed, hoping to appeal to Aaron's knee-jerk dislike of Neil. “He just wants me to only focus on exy. He called me an alcoholic and a nympho.”
Aaron didn't take the bait. “Since when do you not want to only focus on exy?”
“Exy isn't everything,” Kevin snapped back. He didn't understand what Aaron was doing, why he cared about what Kevin focused on, or if he was hurt, or if he was okay. His chest tightened and his skin burned.
“It is to you.” Aaron scowled.
“Then why the fuck am I here killing myself over a midterm? Why do I even need a degree if scouts are begging me to drop out? Maybe if you put a little more effort into exy, you could have earned your own scholarship instead of riding Andrew's coattails.”
His breath came too quickly, and his legs bounced uncontrollably under the table, and if he wasn't panicking before, he was now. He just wanted Aaron to stop, and now it was the car all over again, and god, why couldn't Kevin just let someone care about him without pushing them violently outside the little circle he'd drawn around himself.
Aaron screwed up his face, and Kevin was immediately reminded that this was not Andrew, and this was not the car. Andrew deflected Kevin for the most part; Aaron hit back.
“Fuck you. Maybe if you put a little less effort in, you’d have friends, or a personality, or a functional left hand. You wouldn't have to work so hard if you weren’t dragging Riko’s dead body around behind you.”
Something like regret flashed across Aaron's face like lightning, there and gone in an instant. He glared down at Kevin, daring him to say something back, but the vicious words caught like thistles in his throat. Kevin stared blankly back, lips tight and eyes avoidant. Aaron scoffed, and started gathering up his books.
His heart leapt to his mouth and he slammed a hand down awkwardly on Aaron's when he went to grab his pencil case. Aaron darted up to look at him, but Kevin was still too embarassed for anything but an apologetic glance at his eyes, then a half a second too long stare at his lips.
Aaron sighed and sat back down. He wasn't sure what it said about them that he didn't have to say anything for Aaron to know exactly what he meant. He didn't let himself think about what it meant that Aaron didn't push his hand off.
“Andrew and Neil drive me insane,” he started, flipping his hand to gently hold Kevin's, “but like you said, they're your friends. Give them some credit. They know you pretty damn well, and they want what’s best for you. Might be worth thinking about therapy.”
Kevin nodded, swallowing around burrs digging into his esophagus. Therapy was for people who were really damaged, hurt and carrying baggage that weighed on them so heavily they could barely move. Andrew had been through unspeakable things, Neil had gone through hell, Jean had lived a nightmare - therapy made sense for them, but he had to be strong enough to carry his burdens, they were so much lighter than his friends. Surely, it would be a waste of precious time to whine to a shrink about almost being abused.
(Surely, it was an absolution that he didn't deserve. He carried his grief as penance, and therapy was too close to forgiveness.)
“What do you think?” He blurted. Aaron cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brows. Kevin sucked on his cheek and looked down at their hands. “You’re my friend too.”
Aaron's hands were smaller than Kevin's, naturally, his skin paler with pink fingertips and nails bitten unevenly to the quick. Long nails were impractical in exy, but Aaron perpetually had a finger to his teeth and ripped off hangnails until they bled. Kevin started carrying bandaids in his pockets at practice for how often Aaron needed one to keep playing. He could swear he felt sparks when their fingers met over a bandage, and his hand felt like it was on fire now. Aaron's fingers traced thoughtfully over Kevin's hand, his writer's bump meeting the calluses along Kevin's palm and joints. He still couldn't make himself meet Aaron's eyes; he wondered if he could pick out Aaron's hand with his eyes closed for all the time he wasted looking at them when he should’ve been studying.
Aaron pulled his hand back and crossed his arms. Kevin mirrored him like there wasn't an icy chill climbing up his spine. Behind simple plastic frames, Aaron watched him sympathetically.
“I think it’s been two years since you’ve left the Nest, maybe six months since you actually got free of it, and you still brace yourself every time Nicky and Matt watch anime.” Kevin choked on nothing, felt himself go pale. He was convinced no one had noticed that.
“I think you’ve forgiven Andrew for attacking you in Binghamton, but you don’t stand next to him in any room if you can help it. I think you feel everything so deeply, and you don't know how to handle that, so you drink until you can't feel anything.” He glanced quickly at Kevin's water bottle, and Kevin flushed with the memory of a few weeks ago. “I think you have ways of getting by, but I don’t think you're really happy.”
He nodded slowly, gagging on a rush of emotions he couldn't unpack. There was so much to feel about Aaron seeing all the little cuts and bruises he tried to hide, about his neutral tone, like he wasn't listing off every way Kevin failed, about the implication that all he wanted from Kevin was his happiness. It was a snarl of weeds, too thorny to touch. Normally, Kevin would imagine setting the whole thing on fire, or cutting it out like a tumor. It was too difficult, too impossible to untangle his desires from his fears, his needs from his feelings, his childhood from his future.
“It doesn't have to be Betsy, but it might be a good idea to talk to someone. At the very least, you’re going to kill your career if you keep destroying your liver. And God, I hope you're using condoms, it would be so embarrassing to die of syphilis.” Aaron gave him a teasing smile, kicking at his shin under the table playfully. Kevin's lips twitched against his will.
Happiness was a far-flung wish of his youth, one he'd stopped hoping for when he stopped looking for falling stars and four leaf clovers. His mother was dead, his friends easily became foes, his father was a stranger, and his lovers didn't love him. What good would lightening his load be, when it got heavier with every breath?
Aaron's encouraging, almost hopeful, expression, threw him into a memory, and he frantically flipped through the pages of his book until he found the quote that reminded him so strongly of his mother’s optimism that he underlined it in careful pencil.
That the situation is hopeless should not prevent us from doing our best.
He stared at it, ignoring Aaron's concerned noise and tensed posture. He thought of rainy days made better by warm tea, of exhausting practices soothed by easy victories, of impossible odds defied by mouthy redheads and unshakeable blondes, of a messy, dysfunctional family that was a family nonetheless. It wasn't perfect; it also wasn't nothing.
Running his fingers over the words, he stared up at Aaron. He knew he was making that “intense” face that made people uncomfortable; Aaron met him unblinkingly.
“I’ll give it a try.”