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The morning air outside the stadium was heavy with disappointment. The foxes filled out in silence, the footsteps thudding on the concrete. Kevin hadn’t had that bad of a practice since he left the nest. He couldn’t stop replaying every shot he missed, every step he did wrong, every mistake he made drew out more and more memories from his time at the nest. He started to feel on edge, anxiety creeping in, and he was waiting for the smack of a racquet across his back in punishment. He glanced around at the other foxes outside, all chatting with each other happily–carefree. But Kevin, his shoulders were rigid, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, the anxiety building in his chest he couldn’t breathe. The foxes must’ve sensed something was off as no one dared speak to him, not even Nicky, who usually tried to lighten the mood with a joke or a story. Andrew was trailing on the back of the group, hand shoved in his pocket, eyes narrowed on him.
Back at Fox Tower, the team scattered into their rooms to grab their stuff before heading off to class. Kevin and Andrew had a free period so they made their way to their room just down the hallway. The air inside was stale, heavy with the scent of sweat and old laundry. He dropped his bag by the door without a word and stalked over to the fridge where he pulled out his hidden bottle of vodka from behind the stock of protein shakes. He downed almost half of the bottle before stopping for air. Andrew kicked off his shoes and flopped onto a beanbag, pulling his hood up and turning on the TV.
“It’s 8 in the morning” Andrew announced deadpan
“So?” Kevin snapped back
“So? Why the hell are you drinking at this time in the morning, you have classes later.”
“Yeah, well it’s 5 o’clock somewhere…” Kevin said weakly before he headed for the bedroom and shut the door behind him. From the living room, he heard Andrew turn on the TV.
Kevin sat hunched on the edge of his bed, the half-empty bottle of vodka heavy and cold in his hand. The room was cast in the morning light, the bright rays peaking through the blinds. He stared at the swirling liquid, watching the way it caught the light, and took another burning swallow. The vodka didn’t numb the ache in his chest or quiet the relentless churn of his thoughts, but it was something to hold onto, something that made the silence less unbearable. The morning replayed in his mind in jagged flashes: the missed passes, the sharp words from his teammates, the disappointment in the coach's eyes–his father's eyes. Every mistake felt magnified, echoing in the hollow space inside him. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but the memories pressed in harder, refusing to be ignored. His jaw ached from clenching it, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the bottle tighter.
He glanced around the room, searching for a distraction. Andrew’s bed was neatly made, everything in its place, a stark contrast to the chaos Kevin felt inside. The air felt thick. He could hear faint laughter from outside the open window, distant and unreachable, a reminder that the world kept moving even as he felt stuck.
Restlessness clawed at him. He stood abruptly, the sudden movement making his head spin. He began to pace, each step heavy and uneven. He moved from the window to the door and back again, shoulders tense, breath shallow. The bottle dangled from his fingers, sloshing with each pass. He muttered under his breath, fragments of arguments and apologies he’d never say aloud.
He stopped in front of the mirror above his dresser, staring at his own reflection. His eyes were bloodshot, his face drawn and tired. He barely recognised himself. The urge to escape, to get away from the suffocating pressure and the mess of his own thoughts, grew stronger with every heartbeat.
Without thinking, Kevin set the bottle down on the desk with a dull thud. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, then turned and strode out of the bedroom. He walked down the hallway, the bathroom door just a few steps away. He pushed it open, desperate for solitude, for a place to fall apart where no one could see, away from the suffocating weight of the day.
Kevin closed the bathroom door behind him and with a quiet click, shutting out the world. The fluorescent light flickered overhead, casting a harsh, unforgiving glare over the cramped space. He braced his hands on the edge of the sink, head bowed, breathing coming in shallow, uneven bursts.
He could still hear the echo of the team's disappointing remarks, the relentless replay of every mistake he made on the court. His chest felt tight, like something was pressing down on him, squeezing until he could barely breathe. He tried to swallow it down, but the panic only grew, clawing up his throat.
He looked up, meeting his own eyes in the mirror.
His reflection stared back, pale, sweat-damp hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wild and rimmed red. He barely recognised himself. All he could see was a failure.
You’re supposed to be better than this. You’re supposed to be the best.
His hands trembled as he gripped the sink, knuckles whitening. The pressure in his chest built and built, a storm with nowhere to go. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the memories wouldn’t stop; Riko’s voice haunted him, telling him he was worthless. The pain he felt when he got punished for the mistakes he’d made. Jean and him hiding away in Jean’s room as they helped patch each other up after particularly rough days
Today, he failed. He’d seen it in the way Neil’s eyes flickered with worry. He felt it in the silence of the locker room, the way his teammates' looked at him with disappointment, they were meant to be getting better. He was supposed to be their anchor, their champion, but all he'd done was drag them down.
The next moment happened in a blur. He drew his fist back and slammed it into the glass with all the force he had left. The mirror shattered, splintering into spiderweb like cracks. Pain exploded in his hand, Sharp and immediate, it was almost a relief. An ache to match the one inside.
He punched the mirror again and again and again. Shards rained down into the sink and onto the floor. Blood welled up from his knuckles, bright and vivid as it dripped down against the white porcelain. Kevin staggered back, clutching his hand, breath short between broken sobs. He wanted to believe Neil, to believe Andrew, to believe that he was more than his failures. But the doubt was louder, heavier, and tonight it was winning.
The crash of glass echoed in Kevin’s ears, louder than he’d intended, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His fist throbbed with pain, sharp and immediate, grounding him in the moment. He stared at the fractured mirror, at the blood running down his knuckles, at the broken reflection staring back at him with wide, desperate eyes. Shame burned in his chest, hot and suffocating. He hadn’t meant to lose control, not again, not where anyone could find him. But the pressure had been too much, the disappointment too heavy, and now all he could do was try to breathe through the panic.
He barely registered the sound of footsteps in the hallway until the bathroom door creaked open. Kevin’s heart lurched. He wanted to hide, to disappear, but it was too late. Andrew stepped inside, eyes sharp and unreadable, taking in the scene with a single glance. Kevin looked away, unable to meet his gaze, blood dripping onto the tile. The silence pressed in, thick with everything Kevin couldn’t say.
“What the hell did you do?” he asked.
Kevin didn’t answer, his shoulders shaking as he tried to catch his breath. His knuckles were slick with blood. Andrew crossed the room in a few strides, grabbing a towel and pressing it firmly to Kevin’s bleeding hand.
His chest felt tight, breaths coming in short, uneven bursts. Shame and panic tangled together, making it hard to think, hard to move.
Then Andrew’s voice cut through the haze, steady, low, impossible to ignore. “Hey. Look at me.”
Kevin hesitated, but something in Andrew’s tone made him lift his head. Their eyes met in the mirror, and for a moment, Kevin felt exposed, raw and vulnerable. He tried to turn away, but Andrew’s hand found his arm, grounding him with a gentle, unyielding grip.
“Breathe, Kevin. Just breathe with me.” Andrew’s voice was calm, almost soothing. He inhaled slowly, exaggerating the motion, and Kevin tried to follow, matching the rhythm as best he could. In… and out. In… and out. The world narrowed to the sound of their breathing, the warmth of Andrew’s hand, the steady presence beside him.
“Sit down,” Andrew ordered, guiding Kevin to the closed toilet lid. He crouched in front of him, assessing the damage with clinical precision.
“You’re lucky you didn’t cut deeper,” Andrew said, voice low. “You could’ve hit a vein.”
Kevin stared at the floor, silent and trembling. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “I just–I couldn’t stop myself.”
Andrew didn’t push him for an explanation. “Hold this,” Andrew instructed him, gesturing to the towel. “I’m going to grab the first aid kit.”
Kevin did as he was told, he watched as Andrew walked over to the cabinet under the sink and pulled out the well-stocked kit.
He watched as Andrew snapped open the kit, laying out the supplies with a reassuring calmness; Antiseptic, gauze, tweezers, everything in a neat line.
Kevin felt himself pale as he looked at his hand when Andrew peeled away the towel. Blood welded up, bright and alarming.
“Not going to faint on me are you, Day?” Andrew’s eyes flicked up to meet Kevin’s. Kevin just shook his head in answer. “Good.”
Andrew went back to inspecting the wound. “They look like clean cuts, I don’t think they’re going to need any stitches, however there is some glass still in there. Are you okay with me taking them out?
Kevin nodded at him but Andrew just replied “I need you to tell me yes, Kevin. This is going to hurt a bit and I’m not doing it without your verbal consent.”
Kevin was taken aback by that sentence, he knew Andrew and Neil had this thing about yes and no but he hadn’t realised how seriously they took it. “Yes,” Kevin said finally. “Yes, you can take it out.”
Andrew just nodded and picked up the tweezers and began pulling glass from Kevin‘s hand, Kevin tried to pull away but Andrew‘s grip was on yielding.
“Don’t” Andrew said, voice softer than usual. “You’ll make it worse. I told you this was going to hurt.”
Kevin‘s breath hitched. “Just… just get it over with” he breathed, defeated.
Andrew worked in silence, dropping each bloody shard into the sink. Kevin was trying to hide the pain on his face although he could tell he was failing by the way Andrew kept glancing up at him.
When Andrew finished pulling the glass out of Kevin‘s hand, he grabbed an antiseptic wipe and with a touch softer than Kevin ever imagined he was capable of began cleaning the blood around the cuts. He wrapped Kevin‘s hand in gauze, movements careful and precise. He tied it off and finally looked up at Kevin “You’re lucky,” Andrew said, voice flat but not unkind. “I was right, no stitches, just a lot of blood and a lot of stupidity.”
Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, jaw working. “I didn’t mean to–” he cut himself off, voice cracking.
“Come on,” Andrew said, “I’ll make us some hot chocolate and take you back to the bedroom.”
Andrew led Kevin back to the bedroom. The world outside the bathroom felt distant, muffled by the pounding in Kevin’s head and the lingering sting in his hand. He let Andrew guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.
Kevin stared at the floor, feeling hollow and exhausted. He heard Andrew moving around the room, and heading towards the kitchen. Every sound was oddly comforting, grounding him in the present.
Andrew came back and pressed the warm mug into Kevin’s good hand. “Drink,” he said quietly. Kevin obeyed, the drink warm and soothing against his raw throat. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was until now. Andrew sat beside him, close but not crowding. He draped a blanket over Kevin’s shoulders, the warmth seeping in slowly. For a while, neither of them spoke. Kevin focused on the steady rhythm of Andrew’s breathing, the quiet strength in his presence.
After a moment, Andrew broke the silence. “You want to talk about it?” His voice was gentle, no pressure, just an open door.
Kevin hesitated, staring at the bandages on his hand. “I don’t know where to start,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
“Anywhere,” Andrew said. “Or nowhere. I’ll listen either way.”
Kevin let out a shaky breath. “It’s just… everything feels wrong. I keep thinking I should be able to handle it. That I should be stronger by now.” He shook his head, frustration tightening his jaw. “But I’m not. I’m just… tired.”
Andrew nodded, his gaze steady. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. No one does.”
Kevin looked away, blinking hard. “Back in the Nest, it was different. There was always someone watching, always someone telling me what to do, where to go. I hated it, but at least I knew what to expect. Here, it’s like–” He broke off, searching for words. “It’s like I’m supposed to know how to be normal, but I don’t. I don’t know how to do this.”
Andrew was quiet for a moment. “I get that.”
Kevin nodded, a small, bitter laugh escaping him. “Yeah. The Nest was hell, but it was predictable. Now everything’s just… noise.”
He hesitated, fingers tightening around the mug. “I miss Jean,” he said quietly. “He always knew what to say. Or he didn’t have to say anything at all. Just being there was enough.” His voice cracked, and he looked away, ashamed of the tears burning in his eyes. “I thought it would get easier, being away from him. But it doesn’t.”
Andrew’s hand found his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Missing someone doesn’t make you weak. It just means you cared.”
Kevin swallowed hard. “He was the only one who ever really understood. Even when I hated him for it.”
Andrew was silent for a moment, then spoke softly. “I lost someone, too. Not the same way, but… I know what it’s like to feel alone in a room full of people. To want someone back so badly it hurts.”
Kevin looked at him, surprised by the admission. “How do you deal with it?”
Andrew shrugged, a sad smile flickering across his face. “Some days I don’t. Some days I just get through the next hour, the next minute. But it helps to talk about it. Or just… not be alone with it.”
Kevin nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “I don’t know how to talk about it. Not really.” “You’re doing fine,” Andrew said. “You don’t have to have the right words. Just… let it out, however it comes.”
“How do you know all this? And what’s with the hot chocolate and blanket?” Kevin asked in a small voice Andrew didn’t reply for a while but when he did all he said was, “Betsy.”
Kevin sat there for a minute, thinking about everything Andrew had just said to him. “I think I should give her another chance.”
They sat in silence for a while, the weight of their confessions settling between them. Kevin felt lighter, somehow, for having said it out loud. He glanced at Andrew, grateful for the quiet understanding in his eyes.