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The last thing Kevin wants to do right now is a post game interview. His team had just been swept 0-4. Losing isn't a feeling he’s used to, not something he ever wanted to become accustomed to, but with their sixth straight loss, he’s beginning to grow numb to it.
As if the loss hadn’t been embarrassing enough, the game theme had been a tribute to his mother. During half-time people came up to talk about her and the organization created in her name.
He stands there and listens to a reporter talk about their line chemistry, asking what they can do to try and improve it.
He gives some bullshit answers on team unity and how he tries to be a positive voice in their locker room.
“Tonight's game was about honoring your mother.” One of the reporters says. “What can you say about the impact Keleigh had on this sport and on your life?”
“Yeah, I mean, her impact meant everything. This sport wouldn’t exist without her. I hope to honor her legacy and-“ He pauses, his breath hitching. He had been doing a shitty job at honoring her lately; he was an awful captain, he wasn’t playing like knows he should be.
The only thing he had managed to do tonight was disappoint her.
One of the reporters is talking again, trying to ask him a question, but Kevin isn’t understanding anything they’re saying.
He feels a tear slide down his face, and he’s suddenly aware of the fact that he’s crying right here in front of the press with a dozen cameras pointed at his face.
“Can we- can we stop the interview?” he says his voice sounding small and shaky even to his own ears.
He pushes past the media and into the hallway. It’s hard to find his way to the locker room with how blurred his vision is. His padding suddenly feels like it's suffocating him, so the first thing he does when he gets to his stall is start removing his equipment piece by piece. His hands are shaking though, and he can’t seem to get his shin pad off.
“Do you want me to help you with that?” He looks up to see Derick Thompson standing by his stall.
Part of him wonders if Jeremy asked Derick to try and be friends with him or if Derick just felt sorry for him. Either way, Kevin didn’t want his pity right now.
“No, I’m fine. I just need some space.”
“Alright,” Derrick says “just let us know if there's anything we can do,” he pats Kevin’s shoulder before going back to his locker. He wants so badly to lean into the touch, but he knows he can’t. Him and Derick aren't friends, they’re coworkers at best; he shouldn’t be needing to rely on his teammates like that, especially when he was captain.
When Kevin pulls onto the highway that night, he knows the logical thing to do would be to go straight home.
He doesn’t do that, instead he pulls off at the store, the lights of the building illuminating down on him as if mocking his existence.
He checks his phone to find about a dozen unanswered messages and a few more missed calls.
He had cut Jean and Jeremy off a few weeks ago. Jean had signed for a team in California with Jeremy. They had offered Kevin a spot too, but New York was willing to sign with him for more money and willing to give him Captaincy. At the time that seemed more important.
He hated lying to them, pretending like his life and everything he worked for wasn't coming crumbling down around him. They both seemed so happy in California, he refused to burden them with his own issues.
Andrew and Neil were a different story. He knew he couldn’t cut them off completely, but he only called them once a week, keeping it brief every time never saying much of anything.
He rubs at his eyes furiously; they burn slightly from the crying, and he can physically feel how bloodshot they are. He sniffs, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. He’s still not used to the color, and sometimes if he squints hard enough the dark green looks almost black. Whenever that happens, it throws him off kilter, nauseating his senses, and for a second, he truly believes he’s back at the Nest.
It embarrasses him immensely to know that he’s still not past this. He wasn’t naive enough to think the memories would fade completely, but he had hoped by this point they wouldn’t feel so suffocating.
He pulls on a baseball cap that he has in his glove drawer, along with a pair of sunglasses that he stole from Andrew. He truly hopes no one notices him; he doesn’t know if he could stomach the knowing glances. He knows by now the clip is already out there circulating the internet, he’s already received enough pity for one night. The last thing he wants is strangers trying to offer him sympathy.
His feet find the liquor aisle without him even having to try. He picks up the strongest vodka that he can find, tossing it into the cart. For some reason, he pauses when he gets to the ice cream section. His eyes lingering over the options. Before he can think too hard about it, he grabs a chocolate monstrosity that has far too many toppings mixed in. He recognizes the flavor, Andrew would keep pints of it in their dorm. He was always threatening to throw it away, annoyed at how much space it took up in their freezer.
When he gets to the checkout, he freezes. He shouldn’t be buying these things. What if someone recognizes him, what if it gets back to his coach? Would he be mad? Would he try to scratch him from the lineup?
He realizes suddenly how ridiculous he’s being, his coaches in New York aren't anything like the ones in the Nest, they don’t carefully monitor everything he puts into his body. Sure they had a meal plan, but the trainers always reminded him it wasn’t a set guideline that they trusted them to make their own decisions. Of course, he’s betraying that trust tonight, but he pushes that thought to the side.
The person ringing him up is a young boy who couldn’t be older than seventeen. Luckily he doesn’t even bother sparing Kevin a second glance, tossing his items half-hazardly in a bag.
When he gets home, he changes into one of Neil’s old sweatshirts. It used to smell like him, the acrid cigarette stench and Axe deodorant he always wears comforting in some strange way. It’s since lost its scent from how often he’s worn it, it’s about two sizes too small, on him. He pulls down on the sleeves trying to get them to reach his wrists.
He never bothered to decorate his apartment, and the blank walls stare back at him. It was fine no one came to his place anyway, trying to find things to hang up would simply be a waste of time.
When he gets to his bedroom, he unscrews the vodka, tipping his head back as he drinks straight from the bottle.
At some point, he remembers the icecream, realizing he doesn’t have a spoon, he gets up and goes to the kitchen to retrieve one. He must be drunker than he thought, because at some point, he trips over his feet, slamming down and hitting the edge of the kitchen island.
He feels like crying for the second time that night, not because the fall was particularly painful, but because of how utterly pathetic he’s being.
Eventually, he manages to scrape his dignity together enough to get his spoon and retreat back into his bedroom.
The mixture of the alcohol and the ice cream doesn’t dull his senses in the way he had hoped. He thinks of the interview and feels the pressing ache of it all around him.
The way his teammates had looked at him after made him long suddenly for the palmetto locker room. Not that any of the foxes would have known what to say, Nicky would have tried to make a joke out of it, and Andrew would toss him a look that shut him up completely. Andrew and Neil would have been careful with him, not overly fragile like he was made out of glass, but perhaps more attentive. They would have let him watch whatever he wanted on the TV and ramble on about the game like it mattered, would have pretended not to notice his tears.
The more he drinks though, the more he misses his mom. He hasn’t missed her like this in so long. He feels eleven years old again, sleeping in a twin sized bed across from Riko, trying so hard not to cry, to bury any weakness he might feel deep inside.
At some point, he must fall asleep because he wakes to the sound of keys turning in a lock, and the door being loudly pushed open.
He looks up to see Neil standing in his doorframe, and for a second he’s not entirely convinced he’s not still dreaming.
“Kev hey,” he says, shaking him awake. He curls in on himself, wanting to disappear. Neil shouldn’t have to see him like this, so raw and exposed.
“Why don’t you get up? I can't imagine the floor is very comfortable.”
It dawns on him then that he fell asleep on the hardwood. He can already feel a pinching in his neck; his whole body is probably going to ache.
He helps Kevin sit up and hands him a water bottle. He struggles with the cap for a second before Neil eventually takes it back from him, opening it himself.
There's a stain on his sweatshirt from the ice cream, another thing he’s managed to ruin.
“It’s ok, I can get you another one,” Neil says as if reading his mind.
He doesn’t understand why Neil is being so nice to him; it’s not something he deserves, especially not after the way he acted last night.
“Why don’t you go shower, Andrew’s making us food, but it will probably be ready by the time you get out.” He’s not surprised Andrews here too; Neil hardly ever travels alone.
“Are you saying I smell bad?” Kevin says his voice is an octave higher than it usually is, he’s vaguely aware of how childish he sounds, it's just that he really doesn’t want to have to get up.
“No, I'm saying you would probably feel better if you showered.”
“Why are you even here, you're supposed to be in Carolina.”
“Well, you had a breakdown on live TV, and then went radio silent immediately after, so forgive me for being a little concerned.”
Kevin stands up, turning around to dig through his drawers in search of something to wear. He doesn’t want to have this conversation with Neil, not now, not ever.
To admit he saw the clip was one thing to draw attention to it like this was another. He shouldn't have to fly to New York every time Kevin felt sad. It made him feel like a child who couldn’t take care of himself.
He grabs one of his old hoodies and a pair of sweatpants before turning towards the bathroom.
He hates how Neil is technically right because he does feel slightly better when he gets out of the shower.
The smell of eggs and bacon wafts through his apartment. He finds Andrew standing over the stovetop and Neil sitting on the countertop beside him. They’re already making themselves at home, slotting themselves into his life as if they belong here.
He has the sudden urge to demand that they leave; he wants to go back to his wallowing, to be left to his silence.
Andrew pushes a plate of food to him. He stares at it for a second, there’s cheese mixed into the eggs, and the bacon is covered with grease.
“I’m not hungry,” he says, pushing the plate away. It’s a lie, and they both know it. He hasn't had an actual meal since he got back from the court last night. It was just that he didn’t allow himself to eat these kinds of things. He usually didn’t allow himself to eat an entire carton of ice cream either. But it was fine, he was going to make up for it, he was already planning on going to the gym later today, so he could burn off the extra calories.
“You have to eat something.” The way he says it makes it feel like it’s not up for discussion. He hates how, after all this time he’s still letting Andrew boss him around.
He pushes the food around his plate for a while before taking a bite. It makes him realize how hungry he actually is, and eventually he gives in finishing the whole thing.
“Good job,” Andrew says, taking the empty plate from him. The words are slightly mocking and it’s humiliating just how much he clings on to that small line of praise.
Neil turns to him as if taking him in for the first time since he showed up at Kevin’s place.
“Jean called me the other day. He says you stopped responding to his messages.”
“Yeah,” Kevin says, not even bothering to deny the statement.
“Are you guys fighting?”
“I don’t really see how that's any of your business.” They weren't fighting, they didn’t do that on account that Kevin couldn’t ever make himself get truly mad at Jean. Maybe on the surface level, he could make himself feel some resentment, but he knew it wasn’t actually anger that he was harboring.
“He’s worried about you, we all are.”
“Is this something you do now? Call one another so you can discuss how pathetic I am.”
Genuine hurt flashes across Neil’s face, and he wishes suddenly he could take the words back.
“I’m not going to let you do this?”
“Do what?”
“This thing where you deflect, so you don’t have to talk about anything real.”
“Wow, deflect. That’s a big word Neil. Did Bee teach you that one in therapy?”
He doesn’t know why he’s being so cruel. It’s easier though, to be mean than to say how he’s feeling and perhaps in doing that he’s just proving Neil's point.
“I’ve been fucking miserable here is that what you want me to say. And for some reason, I thought last night that if I did good I could maybe turn it around. But I somehow managed to fuck that up too.”
“I’m sorry,” Neil says, “for not noticing earlier.”
He’s taken aback because in all the years that he’s known Neil; he doesn’t think he’s ever heard him apologize for something.
“It's fine, I know you’ve had your own season to worry about.”
“No, it’s not fine. I want to help you."
“I need you to tell me what to do, to fix this,” he gestures forward with his hands. He hates asking for help, but Neil's the only person other than himself who can see the whole of the court. Who understands the intricacies of this sport?
“Kev, it’s ok, it was one bad game.”
“No, it’s not just one game, we’ve had multiple shitty games, and I’ve been a terrible fucking captain.”
“You know everyone gets quiet whenever I walk into the locker room, it’s like they're scared of me.”
“And last night with the loss..” He trails off.
“The drinking last night that wasn’t just because of the loss, was it?”
He shakes his head, looking at the floor.
“I hated that everyone had to see me like that. That everyone knows now.”
“Knows what? That you're an actual human being with emotions. That you’re not just a robot whose only job is to play Exy.”
“My only job is to play Exy. Don’t you see that, I’m not allowed to stand up there and cry about my mom like I’m five years old. Especially not when my team is falling apart.”
“Maybe not, but maybe now your teammates won’t view you as Exy's queen, Kevin Day, and will view you as the Kevin I know.”
The one who drowns himself in alcohol and falls asleep on his bedroom floor. “I don’t think anyone wants to see that.”
“I’m being serious, you said they're scared of you right, well, it’s kind of hard to be scared of you now that they’ve seen you like that.”
“Your issue is that you guys are playing Exy like it’s your first time playing together. You aren't reading or anticipating anyone's plays.”
“I don’t know how to fix that. I try to tell them what to do to improve, but it’s not like anyone's listening.”
“Well, maybe they don’t trust you. You should try getting to know them off the court.”
“I mean, are you even friends with any of the guys on your team?”
“It’s not about making friends.”
“How are you supposed to have line chemistry with people you don’t even know?”
Maybe Neil had a point, but there was a reason he didn’t let anyone in, why he kept people at such a distance.
“I’m scared that if they get to know me, they won’t like who I am anymore.”
“Kevi, you don’t mean that.” The nickname pulls at him; his mom used to call him that.
“I do. I’m not kind or funny. I don’t know the right things to say to get people to like me.”
“Well, I like you plenty.”
“You don’t count.”
“Sure, I do. I don’t know who told you that you're unlikable, but they're wrong.”
It was Riko. He was always telling Kevin to be quiet. ‘No one wants to hear the sound of your voice all the time.’
“Will you try,” Neil says, “to get to know them?”
He thinks about the irony of Neil, this runaway kid who didn’t let himself be known by anyone before he came to the foxes, trying to get Kevin to make friends.
He nods, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I can try.”
He notices Andrew shuffling around in the kitchen. For a second, he considered switching to French so he couldn’t understand their conversation, but he realizes he doesn’t care much if he overhears, Andrew had witnessed him at his lowest with his newly broken hand those first couple of weeks when he came to palmetto, had witnessed the nightmares when he hadn’t been able to get through a single night without waking up in terror.
Andrew walks over to where he and Neil are sitting in the living room and hands him a packet of frozen peas. Kevin stares at him, confused.
“For your knee.”
He looks down to see the purplish bruise snaking up his leg. He had completely forgotten about his fall last night.
Andrew sits down on the couch, turning on the TV. He flips through the channels for a while before he eventually lands on the history channel. He used to watch it in college, when he grew tired of studying old games, he would turn to this instead. He could sit there for hours watching segment after segment and never get bored. He hasn’t watched it in a while. He has a stack of history books piled up on his coffee table, and those lay untouched too.
He listens to someone on the screen as they talk about the French Revolution. When he’s sitting like this, it’s almost impossible not to make contact with Neil and Andrew. He feels the press of their bodies on either side of him. Andrew’s ankle brushing up against his own, these faint touches that feel like fireworks.
He manages to fall asleep like that with the faint hum of the TV in the background, his head resting on Neil’s shoulder.
In his dream, he finds himself back at the court. Playing the memorial game that they inevitably lose. When he gets back to the locker room, though, his team is gone. The only people in the room are Neil and Andrew.
“What are you guys doing here? Your supposed to be-“
Before he gets to finish, Neil is kissing him softly.
“We came to watch you play.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have, I played like shit.”
“That’s alright,” Neil says, “we’ll let you make up for it.” There's a suggestive lilt to his voice, and he’s desperate to figure out what he means by that.
“Yes or no,” Andrew says that familiar phrase he always uses with Neil.
“Yes,” Kevin says breathlessly.
In the next second, Andrew falls to his knees, pulling down the fabric of his shorts as he presses his mouth closer-
He wakes suddenly, jolting forward, forgetting for a second where he is. It all comes back to him at once; he’s achingly hard, his shorts feeling far too tight. There's no point in trying to cover it up, Andrew and Neil have both noticed by now.
He feels his face heat up; he can't even look at them as he leaves the room.
When he gets to the bathroom. he quickly locks the door before throwing himself on the tile floor. He briefly wonders if he can spend the rest of the afternoon here, if they will eventually grow tired of waiting for him to come out, and just leave him be. Of course, he’s not that lucky because, a few seconds later he’s startled by the sound of knocking.
“Kev, come on, open up, it’s really not that big of a deal.”
It was a big deal. It’s not normal to have sex dreams about your friends, and it’s definitely not normal to get that turned on by them.
A few seconds later the knocking starts up again. He begrudgingly stands, opening the door slightly. He’s surprised to find Andrew standing there a bored expression plastered on his face.
He doesn’t ask to come in, just sits down on the floor and gestures for Kevin to sit beside him.
“I can hear you overthinking. You're going to work yourself up to a panic attack if you keep at it.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.
“For what?” Andrew asks.
“You know what for.” Why was Andrew making him spell it out for him? It was already embarrassing enough that it happened.
“What a normal bodily reaction.”
“It’s not normal.”
“Look, I know you were raised in a cult where you were taught to suppress every possible desire.”
“It’s not just that,” Kevin says. He had long come to the conclusion that he liked guys. It was liking Neil and Andrew that was the issue.
It wasn’t something that came to him all at once. It was slow, so gradual, he wasn’t even aware it was happening. But then it was as if one day he looked around and realized how much of their life was woven together. He never wanted to have to untangle the pieces. He didn’t trust anyone else with his heart.
“I had a dream,” he says.
“Ok,” Andrew says, “about the nest?”
“No, about you and Neil.”
“I feel gross. Like I betrayed your trust,” saying it out loud, he realizes how stupid it sounds, but he can’t deny how it had felt.
“Maybe we should have this conversation with Neil in the room.”
It’s fine, he tells himself, Andrew didn’t want to deal with him or his incessant spiraling; he was asking too much from him.
“But let me get this out of the way so you can stop freaking out. You didn’t betray our trust. No one’s going to get mad at you over a dream.”
“But what if I liked it?” What if he woke up desperately wanting more?
Andrew’s eyebrows raise slightly as if this whole thing is amusing to him.
“I’m still not going to be mad at you.”
“Come on,” Andrew says, standing up, and Kevin has no choice but to follow him.
In the living room, Neil is sitting on the couch, biting at his nails.
He looks up when he notices them.
“Kevin has something to tell you.”
He throws a look at Andrew, annoyed that he’s throwing him under the bus like this.
“I’m going to say something, and you have to promise not to be mad ok.”
“Ok,” Neil says, glancing between the two of them, looking slightly confused.
“I don’t want to be friends with you or Andrew. I mean, of course I want to be friends, I just don’t want to be all we are.” God, he should have thought about what he was going to say beforehand.
“You like us, is that what you're trying to say?” Neil asks.
He nods.
Neil looks over to Andrew, and he can’t help but feel they’ve talked about this before without Kevin in the room.
“You already knew,” he says, throwing Neil an accusatory glance.
“I mean, you're not exactly the most subtle person.” He’d like to think that up until that point, his feelings hadn’t been that obvious, but clearly, he was wrong.
“Can I,” Neil asks, scooting closer to him. Kevin nods, and in the next second, Neil is cupping his face in his hands, kissing him softly.
It’s only a kiss, but it feels instrumental, like an electric current that sends shock waves through his whole body.
“How was that?” Neil asks, brushing a stray hair out of Kevin’s face. He asks the question so casually as if he’s talking about the weather or making a comment on his footwork. “Good, yeah, it was really good.”
“I had no idea you guys felt this way about me.”
“Kev, I had a binder filled with photos of you. And Andrews has been obsessed with you since forever.”
“No, he hasn’t.”
“I thought you guys were dating when I first joined the Foxes.”
“Not very observant, this one,” Andrew says, gesturing towards him.
He feels his face heat up; had it been like this all along?
He had never been very good at reading social cues. Riko had made him very aware of that fact, made him feel like there was something wrong with him.
He thinks back to a time during his fifth year when Neil and Andrew had been making out in their small, shared dorm room. He had gotten up to leave, but Neil had caught his arm, ‘You can stay,’ he had said, whispering the words like an invitation. He hadn’t understood at the time what the offer meant. Why would he want to watch the two people he wanted most in the world and have to pretend like it wasn’t killing him inside.
He thinks about how badly he wishes he could kiss Andrew. He realizes suddenly that he can just ask him.
“Can I?” he says, and it comes out awkward and much more unsure than when Neil had asked him earlier.
“Yes, just don’t touch anywhere below my chest.”
He nods. Andrew trusts him, and Kevin's not going to do anything to betray that trust.
He leans forward, brushing his lips against Andrews.
“You're not going to break me,” Andrew whispers, so Kevin kisses him again, this time like he really means it, until eventually they're full on making out. When he pulls away, he’s panting slightly as if he just played a full ninety minutes without breaks.
“How long have you wanted this?”
“A while,” he says, and Kevin believes him because Andrew doesn’t trust easily; he doesn’t give parts of himself away unless he truly means it.
He knows that eventually Andrew and Neil will have to go back to Carolina and that the court is waiting for their return. But just for tonight, he can let himself have this. The press of their bodies underneath him, this night that feels like something out of a dream.
When he wakes up in the morning, the bed is empty, he glances at the clock to see its almost noon. He can’t remember the last time he had slept in this late.
When he makes his way out to the living room, he half expects Andrew and Neil to have left already.
They’re still there, Andrew sipping his coffee, well, Neil tosses an exy ball against his wall, catching it in his other hand with one of Kevin’s minny sticks.
“You're going to wake my neighbors.”
“Why do you even own this?” he says gesturing to the stick, “Did they not give you keys to the court when you moved here?”
“They did,” Kevin says he just didn’t have anyone to practice with. He hated going to the court at night by himself, the darkness reminded him too much of the nest. With Andrew and Neil it had been different, even if all Andrew did the majority of the time was sit on the bleachers watching them play.
When he drives them to the airport that afternoon, he doesn’t want to think about coming home to his empty apartment.
“You’ll call,” Neil says and it’s more of a statement than a question.
“Yes.”
“Every day?”
“I think you’d both get sick of me.”
“Not a chance,” Neil says.
Before they leave, Andrew presses something into his hand. It’s a key, identical to the one Neil wears around his neck.
He knows what it opens. Their house in Columbia. It’s a silent declaration, a reminder of home.