Chapter Text
Aaron was pretty.
Kevin had established this as a fact the first night he saw the short blond standing beside his twin. With Andrew and Aaron standing right next to each other, it was easy for Kevin to point out the minor differences between them. He noticed the simple things first, like how Andrews's hair was a little longer and fell over his eyes differently than Aaron’s or how the bags under Aaron’s eyes were significantly darker than the ones under Andrew’s.
With Andrew drugged, it was even easier to distinguish the two.
He also noticed similarities, like the rare moments when Andrew would frown during the short times between his meds; it would be nearly identical to the one Aaron always seemed to wear. The two could also switch moods faster than lightning, which Kevin had to learn the hard way.
For a while, he was the only one to notice these things; everyone on the team thought they were identical down to each strand of hair. So Kevin observed alone, using his ability to tell them apart to his advantage whenever possible.
Despite their rocky relationship at best, the twins loved to do the old twin swap. They did it randomly, usually when Andrew’s medication bored him. Most of the time, Aaron didn’t try enough to fool the team for over a few minutes, eventually giving into his constant urge to cuss people out.
Kevin was the only one who could tell them apart until Neil joined the team.
Kevin gave up trying to understand Andrew and Neil’s relationship after their first trip to Columbia. He passed out on the couch as Nicky carried Neil upstairs, only keeping his eyes open enough to see Aaron tripping up the stairs on his way to his room.
The morning after was a blur of horrible takeout and a now-familiar hangover headache. Kevin does remember sitting at the breakfast bar next to Aaron, though. He had watched as the blonde shoved food in his face before a door breaking in startled them both, and an angry Andrew stomped down the stairs moments later. Kevin didn’t remember the drive back to campus, too distracted by the blur of blonde hair from the backseat in the side mirror.
As time passed, something about Neil steadily made Kevin more uncomfortable. A nagging feeling of familiarity hit Kevin like a bus at random times, leaving him even more anxious than usual whenever the striker smiled eerily.
It all made sense on the day of the Fall Banquet.
-
Kevin couldn’t breathe.
Neil was the missing son of the Butcher of Baltimore, one of Lord Kengo’s closest men. Kevin should never have recruited him; he should have thrown out his file the second he saw the sad lack of information his coach sent on him. But coach Wymack took one look at the note Hernandez had clipped to the tape of Josten playing and was already planning the cost of the tickets.
He couldn’t breathe.
Abby was with him—at least, he thought it was Abby. The hands leading him down a hallway away from the banquet felt like hers—gentle and guiding. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but soon, he was walking back out to the banquet with a concerning amount of alcohol running through his veins.
-
A calm settled over him a few weeks after the banquet. There was almost a routine that set in between everyone. They practised every morning and went to classes and then the dorms. Kevin and Andrew picked up Neil on weekdays and went to night practices. Despite learning who Neil was, everything stayed the same between them. If anything, an overwhelming sense of understanding fell over Kevin. Neil would be dead by the end of the year.
They went to Columbia every Friday.
Kevin liked routines; they helped calm his always-running mind. He liked knowing what he was doing the next day and how many hours of sleep he was estimated to get. He wanted to know who he was going to be around.
Back in the Nest, he was never alone. The Ravens worked in pairs; if one used the bathroom, the other did too. That's just how it was.
Leaving the Nest was hard, but adjusting to a “normal” life was even worse.
So he turned to alcohol.
-
Kevin got used to waking up on Saturday mornings with a horrible headache. He got used to the cracked white ceiling above him and the uncomfortable couch cushions beneath his aching body. He would blink tiredly as his eyes adjusted to the dim light; he always woke up at precisely five in the morning.
Usually, the clanking of pans and the smell of food would convince him to drag his body into the kitchen and practically throw himself onto a chair at the breakfast bar. He would rest his head on the countertop, hoping the cold granite would shock his headache away. It never worked, but he still tried.
Aaron was always the first in the kitchen.
Kevin would watch as he searched for something edible while the coffee machine grumbled in the corner, silently observing how the rising sun made his hair look like gold. Most of the time, he would fall back asleep and wake up to a cooling mug of coffee beside his head, made just how Kevin liked it.
Aaron would usually disappear somewhere, getting ready for the day.
-
Some nights, Kevin couldn’t sleep. Memories of dark hallways and 12-hour days flashed through his mind every time his eyes closed, keeping him awake.
One night, it was worse than others; it wasn’t the typical memories of exhausting practices; instead, it was images of broken bones and blood spilling from his hand. It was the sound of bone crunching.
Kevin somehow found himself on the bathroom floor, panting heavily while he struggled to breathe. He was staring at his left hand, the jagged scar that wasn’t there a year ago. He could feel the blood, the warmth of it trailing down his arm, dripping off his elbow as angry Japanese sounded nearby.
He knew it wasn’t real, but it was so vivid. He was living his worst nightmare again. It felt like he was back in that room, on his knees and clutching his hand like he could repair it and shield it from the world.
The air seemed thin, like no matter how much he inhaled, it still wouldn’t be enough. His vision was blurry, and the darkness of the bathroom made trying to see even worse. He was on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the sink. The door was open, barely letting in the glow from Nicky’s stupid nightlight.
Suddenly, the bathroom light turned on, causing Kevin to snap his unfocused eyes to the door and catch a glimpse of grey sweatpants and a black hoodie.
“Kevin?” A voice said, scratchy from sleep and whispering. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Kevin froze; he knew that voice, and the blur of blonde hair only confirmed his guess.
“Aaron,” he mumbled, knowing the difference between the twins immediately. If it were Andrew, he would’ve simply flicked the light off and returned to bed.
Aaron was quiet, as always, but this time, his silence was thoughtful, not his usual mix of annoyance and judgment. He leaned against the doorframe, gazing down at Kevin, precisely how he held his hand.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
The question was bizarre, at least coming from Aaron. He wasn't the type to outwardly care about others' problems, besides maybe a worried glance from across the room or a subtle tilt of his head in question.
There was silence for a few beats as Kevin’s mind ran a million miles a second, the warmth of blood still tracing its way down his arm.
His voice was quiet, bouncing off the tiled walls as he whispered, “My hand.”
Aaron hummed, slowly leaning up from the doorframe. He took a tentative step towards Kevin, continuing when there was no reaction. The blonde took his time kneeling in front of Kevin, his hand palm up between them.
“Let me see,” he said softly.
Kevin didn't know he was capable of such a voice.
Aaron patiently waited as Kevin slowly calmed down enough to look at his hand. It was clean, with no blood in sight. The bones looked normal, except for a light scar across his pale skin.
It wasn't the hand from moments earlier, and panic started creeping up Kevin's spine. He felt sick all over again.
“Kevin.”
Aaron’s hand was still waiting, inches from Kevin's own. His face was calm and oddly patient.
Kevin took a deep breath, focused on breathing, and moved his hand above Aarons’s.
They stayed like that for a few moments, both silent, until Kevin lowered his hand. Aaron's hand was cool, the tips of his fingers almost frigid against Kevin's flushed skin.
Aaron gazed down at Kevin's hand with so much focus it looked out of place. It was the look someone would give a complex math problem, not a person's hand.
Kevin sat quietly, confused, as Aaron continued whatever he was doing, carefully moving his hand to see all angles.
“It looks alright,” he finally said.
Kevin was even more confused.
Aaron sensed this and looked up. The shadows cascading across his face made his eye bags look even darker than usual.
“Your hand,” he explained, “It looks fine.”
Kevin looked at Aaron in awe. The light above them was flickering slowly, sometimes dimming for a few minutes before blinking back to its brightest. It made Aaron’s hair look gold like any light did.
“It hurts,” Kevin said, like the genius he was.
“I bet,” Aaron said, still holding Kevin’s hand. “You broke it, and it didn’t heal correctly. It's normal to feel phantom pain after a big injury.”
Kevin sucked in a breath. His hand hurt, deep, deep under his skin, between and in his bones; it certainly felt broken. The warmth from Aaron’s hand seemed to help, though, in some strange, unexplainable way. It was a different warmth than the feeling of blood.
He looked down at his own hand, trying to see what Aaron saw. Kevin scanned his skin, how it pulled tight above his knuckles, the blue tint of his veins beneath, carrying blood back to his heart to keep him alive. He remembers when those veins had broken, spilling blood down his arm.
His breathing started to speed up.
Aaron noticed.
“Kevin,” he said for the second time, trying to get the others' attention.
Kevin looked up from his hand, still surrounded by Aaron's, and tried to focus on his face instead. His gaze settled on his amber eyes before flickering to the bags beneath them and the golden stands falling into them. He scanned the other's face, memorising all the details he could.
Aaron sat calmly as Kevin stared at him, silently watching him back. His thumb gently traced Kevin's knuckles, creating shapes and patterns on his skin.
The light dimmed again, casting shadows across the small room. Water dripped from the shower head, echoing in the silence. Kevin did what he always did to calm down: He admired Aaron's beauty.
“How often does this happen? Aaron asked, his voice soft. Kevin looked away from the others' hair, instead focusing on Aaron's eyes. Everyone thought the twins had the same eye colour, but Kevin and Neil knew Andrew's were lighter.
“It hasn't in a while,” Kevin said slowly, looking down at their interlocked hands. They were now resting on Aaron's knees, his grey sweatpants warm against Kevin's skin. “When I first came to Palmetto, it was almost every night.”
Aaron nodded, following Kevin's gaze down to their hands. His thumb had stopped tracing shapes on Kevin's knuckles.
“I don't like bathrooms,” Aaron admitted after a few moments of silence. Kevin took a deep breath, thinking the words over carefully.
“You don't have to be here,” he said softly, his eyes still focused on their hands. “You can leave.”
Kevin didn't want him to, but he knew Aaron was uncomfortable in bathrooms—especially the one in Columbia. Kevin had timed Aaron's shower once; when he was hungover on the couch, the blonde was in and out of the bathroom in less than ten minutes.
“I know,” Aaron said, but he didn't move to leave.
“Did you know Alexander the Great was accidentally buried alive once?” Kevin muttered, not knowing what else to say.
Aaron let out a breath.
“No,” he said, “I didn’t.”
Kevin nodded, swallowing once before leaning back against the wall entirely, his eyes on their hands. Aaron had started tracing circles over his knuckles again.
“Some scientists think he suffered from a disorder that temporarily paralysed him.”
“Really,” asked Aaron, his voice somehow softer.
“Yeah,” Kevin stated, “They think he was aware of everything the whole time.”
Aaron hummed softly, stretching one of his legs out from underneath him and resting his elbow on his knee, his hand propping up his head. His gaze never left Kevin’s face.
“What else?” Aaron asked.
Kevin looked up from their hands and took a deep breath.
“The Anglo-Zanzibar War lasted 38 minutes,” he said, “between Britain and Zanzibar during 1896.”
“Who won?”
“The British,” Kevin answered immediately.
They went back and forth for so long that Kevin lost track of how many facts he said and how many questions Aaron asked. It was the first time someone had listened to his historic ramblings since joining the Foxes. In the Nest, Jean had listened to Kevin but never seemed too interested.
Eventually, Nicky’s alarm rang from their bedroom, interrupting Aaron mid-question. Neither moved, both listening as Andrew threatened something until the ringing stopped. After a minute or two, someone kicked their blankets off, signalling the beginning of the day.
Aaron stood up, his hand slowly slipping out of Kevin’s. They shared a long look before Aaron left the room, heading for the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
Nicky stumbled into the bathroom, yelping when he saw Kevin sitting on the floor.
“Kevin! What are you doing, man?”
Kevin ignored him, his usual scowl weighing down his features.
His hand was cold again.