Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kevin is clingy.

Like, really clingy. He’ll be the first person to tell you it, too. It isn’t hard to miss what he means by clingy, because when he tells you this he’s almost always already doing it- his arm resting on someone’s shoulders, fingers brushing an arm, leaning against them like it’s the most natural thing in the world, or hooking onto someone’s sleeve, their wrist, their elbow.

Simply put, it’s hard to miss the fact that Kevin is almost always touching someone in some way.

There’s no way not to see it when you first meet him. It’s one of the first things people notice, right up there with his loud laugh and the little accent he has when he speaks. He stands close, leans in, reaches out without thinking, sharing space with other people.

When asked about it, he gets a little.. shy. Just this quiet shift, where his shoulders pull in on themselves a little, like he suddenly becomes aware of his hands and doesn’t know where to put them anymore. He laughs it off, because how do you explain something you don’t fully understand yourself?

He never lets it get to him, though.

When he laughs, he’s holding onto someone. That’s just how it is. His hand will reach out automatically, like his body is searching for proof that the moment is real, that the joy isn’t going to disappear if he doesn’t anchor it down somehow. He will cling onto people’s clothes as the laughter shakes through him, or lean against them, or lightly clap them on the back for a good joke, or, or, or. Sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until the person moves away and his hand closes around air.

Still, he has no excuse for the habit.

Maybe it’s because of something that happened when he was growing up. An unnamed absence, some quiet gap he never learned how to fill except like this. The words “touch starvation” and “needed sensory input” float around his google searches, but he’s also not sure of those. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t had someone to laugh with the way he laughs now in a long time. Laughing so hard it hurts, so freely, like it might vanish if he loosens his grip.

Whatever the reason, it’s his thing. It’s always been his thing, whether people noticed or not, whether they commented on it or let it slide. So when this person makes a comment on it, he isn’t immediately sure why it gets to him the way it does.

He’s at an event when it happens. Loud, crowded, overwhelming in that way these influencer-type events always are. He’s already a little on edge, already overstimulated, but so very excited. He was supposed to be meeting someone that he’s always looked up to and taken inspiration from, so it’s no question that he’s holding onto them without realizing how tightly. And this person, someone he thought he could become close to, or even invite onto his show, maybe- mentions, offhandedly, that he should respect personal boundaries a little more.

There’s no way you hang out with that panel of yours everyday and they’re all okay with how clingy of a person you are, right?

Kevin thinks it’s bullshit at first.

This guy has no clue who he is. No clue how Kevin works, or how his friends feel about it, or how none of them ever pull away, how some of them lean right back into his space like it’s shared territory. He bristles immediately, dismisses it in his head, tells himself it’s just another person projecting their own discomfort onto him.

But-

The guys have never told him that they’re okay with it, either.

Not once, not directly, not indirectly, not even as a joke that might’ve meant something else underneath. Never have they pulled away and said hey, give me some space, no one has ever told him he’s crossing a line. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t nervous, or that they didn’t think about it. He knows silence doesn’t always mean it’s okay.

It’s those thoughts that keep looping in his head weeks after the interaction. Distantly, he knows he’s overthinking the comment. It’s what makes this confrontation different from the rest, because never had anyone, or even himself, asked if the others were comfortable with the way he acts.

And.. maybe they allowed it, but didn’t really want it. Maybe they didn’t feel like they could speak up against it.

He has been doing those boss jokes a lot lately- he kind of enjoyed saying something actually funny for once, the haha, I’ll fire you and the careful or you’re off the show jokes. He laughs when he says them, exaggerates the bit, makes it obvious it’s supposed to be funny. But what if it isn’t obvious to Herm, Denny, and Aaron? What if, somewhere in the back of their minds, it feels a little too real?

What if they think it could be true?

What if they’re scared of retaliation, scared that saying something would change things, would make things awkward, or make him awkward? Kevin hates that thought. Hates that maybe the power dynamic he has been actively working to avoid is sitting there anyway.

Herm and Denny… they would probably say something. If they truly minded. Herm would make it blunt but fair. Denny would soften it, couch it in humor maybe, but he’d still say it. Kevin can picture it, can picture the conversation that never happened.

But Aaron-

God. Aaron.

Aaron is so sweet. So painfully sweet it hurts. He’s probably the one Kevin is most comfortable with out of the four of them, the one he gravitates toward without thinking, the one his body finds first in a room. Aaron is warm and steady, and Kevin feels safe with him in a way that scares him a little.

Once, Aaron had nervously made a request to him and the guys, cushioned with many unnecessary apologies, that if they were genuinely mad or upset at him, to try not to yell, and to talk it out with him. They had all tried not to show their confusion about the sudden request, and, without questioning, took it at face value. Then, Aaron had still continued to apologize despite their reassurances! And told them that he would understand if they messed up!

Kevin had felt so honoured that Aaron had come to him, and a glance at Herm and Denny showed that they felt the same. They silently vowed to never be the cause of that nervousness on Aaron’s face, ever.

Because Aaron is so kind. So good. So genuinely nice. Too nice.

Aaron would never speak up for himself. Not if it risked making someone else uncomfortable. Not if it meant ruining the mood. Not if it meant disappointing Kevin. Kevin knows that the same way he knows the shape of Aaron’s laugh, the way his shoulders shake when he laughs loudly.

Even if Kevin had hit him and called him names-

The thought puts a bad taste in his mouth immediately. Sharp and sour and so wrong. He hates that his brain even went there, hates what it implies about him. Because if Aaron was uncomfortable with how “clingy” Kevin is, Kevin wouldn’t be the wiser. Aaron would smile, laugh, and endure it.

And Kevin would keep reaching.

-

That’s when he spirals. Hard and fast and ugly.

Every memory rewinds itself in his head, replays with a different tone. Every laugh is under scrutiny. Every moment of closeness feels like it might’ve been tolerated instead of wanted. His chest tightens with the realization that comfort given freely and comfort taken without permission can look exactly the same from the outside.

He decides, firmly, slamming the gavel down calling for the ruling, that he doesn’t want clingy to be something people use to describe him anymore. Or close. Or touchy. Not if there’s even a chance it could mean uncomfortable. Not if there’s even a chance he’s been hurting the people he cares about without knowing it.

Not if there’s even a chance Aaron didn’t feel like he could ask for space.

So, despite how close he feels to the guys, after all the trust Aaron has placed in him and all the boundaries he’s shared so carefully, Kevin knows he can’t come clean about this insecurity of his. Because, again, Aaron is nice.

Aaron was his too nice, too loving, very understanding friend. He would be more likely to wave off all of Kevin’s concerns then to let Kevin know how horribly he’s overstepped.

So, he pulls away. It’s the easiest conclusion he can make at the end of his overthinking bout. He wasn’t going to lean his head on his friends anymore, or clutch their clothes when he’s laughing, or whatever. None of it.

Not all at once, of course. Kevin knows the guys far too well for that. He knows how they are, how quickly they’d notice, how fast they’d try to comfort him if they thought something was wrong. He doesn’t want comfort. He doesn’t want the questions. He definitely doesn’t want to explain something he isn’t even sure how to explain out loud.

So he does it quietly.

At first, it’s just split seconds where instinct kicks in and he shuts it down. A laugh bubbles up and his hand twitches toward someone’s arm, and he curls his fingers into his palm instead. He presses them into his own thigh, digs his nails in just enough to ground himself.

It’s hard to do, since it feels so wrong. Like accidentally missing a step on a staircase, and falling confusedly for a second.

But he can’t seem to stop. There’s something in the back of his mind that approves of it all, of how he pulls away instead of reaching out like he typically does. A chair pulled a little farther back than usual. Hands tucked into pockets when someone stands too close. Catching himself mid-reach and turning it into an awkward scratch at his neck, a stretch, a gesture that means nothing.

He can’t help but think that he’s doing everyone a favor by it.

There’s an afternoon where Herm comes up beside him in a hallway, just the two of them, close like he always does, shoulder nearly brushing Kevin’s. Kevin feels it before it happens, the familiar warmth, the automatic urge to lean in.

He’s so suddenly frustrated by how quickly the urge came up that he physically takes a step back instead.

They both pause.

“Uh,” Herm says, glancing between them. “Am I in your way?”

Kevin laughs too quickly, waving his hands nervously. “No, no. You’re good. I was just.. stretching! Tight hips.” He exaggerates it, making circles with his waist like he’s loosening up.

Herm gives him a look. Not overtly suspicious, just very confused. “Right,” he says slowly, then continues talking like nothing happened.

Kevin nods along, heart beating a little too fast, replaying the half second where he almost didn’t move in time.

He also flinches more than he means to.

It’s maybe the worst part of his whole act, since it’s so hard to explain away. Denny reaches out once, a casual hand on Kevin’s shoulder during a conversation, and Kevin jerks before he can stop himself. It’s small, barely there, but Denny notices everything.

“Sorry,” Denny says immediately, pulling his hand back. “Did I scare you?”

Kevin hates how easily Denny’s blame shifts to himself. He hates it even more that he lets it.

“Nah,” Kevin says, waving it off, smiling. “You’re fine. I’m just jumpy! I really need to sleep more, huh?” He laughs before Denny can linger on it.

Denny studies him for a second longer than usual. Then he nods, accepting the explanation. “Yeah, that’ll do it,” then he playfully admonishes, “Kevin, this shit is hard, you really need to take care of your sleep schedule.”

And, most obviously, when he laughs now, he doesn’t annoyingly cling to anyone.

That’s the biggest change. At least, the one that feels the loudest to him. His laughs still bubble up his throat, he hasn’t lost that, but the rest of his body has nowhere to go. His voice booms, cracking up and wheezing at absurd situations, but his hands stay at his sides, or clasped together, or banging on a table. The energy has to burn itself out, and it leaves him feeling hollow afterward.

And, well.. they all notice, eventually. He hates how much he must have been doing it for the lack of it to be noticeable.

Aaron brings his concern up first. They’re sitting close, closer than Kevin has been letting himself sit lately, and Aaron says something dumb, something perfectly, effortlessly Aaron. Kevin laughs hard, a real laugh, the kind that usually sends him hugging the person without thinking to stabilize himself.

Instead, he tightly grips the hem of his shirt.

After they both calm down, Aaron tilts his head curiously. “You okay?”

Kevin blinks. “Yeah. Why?”

“You just-” Aaron gestures vaguely. “You usually-“ He stops himself, smiles instead. “Never mind.”

The words hang there anyway.

Kevin forces another laugh. “What, am I not allowed to laugh hands free?”

Aaron smiles back, but it’s uncertain and confused. “I didn’t say that.”

Kevin leans back away, creating space on purpose this time, sitting more like he usually sits, now. “Guess I’m branching out.” He winks at Aaron, pretending to be proud of his pun, when really it’s probably the worst redirection he’s made.

Aaron laughs, but his eyes linger, searching Kevin’s face like he’s missing something important. Kevin looks away, putting an end to the conversation.

Herm brings it up, too. Kevin isn’t sure if Herm had noticed long before this and only now decided to test the waters with a joke, or if he’d discerned the change immediately and filed it away as something to poke at later. Either way, it happens mid-laugh; Herm cracks a joke, and Kevin feels the familiar pull of movement before it even happens. Herm leans toward him instinctively, already smiling like this is how the moment is supposed to go.

Obviously, Kevin didn’t let it.

“Huh,” Herm says lightly. “You’ve been very… personal-space-conscious.”

Kevin grins a little self deprecatingly. “Character development.”

Herm raises an eyebrow. “Proud of you, man.”

Kevin lets the conversation fizzle out and carefully ignores the flicker of something unreadable that crosses Herm’s face.

Denny has definitely taken note, though. Denny notices everything.

His eyes will linger on Kevin when he hesitates to dap someone up, and when he decides not to hug someone halfway, and when he tightly wraps his hands in front of him as he laughs. He notices it all, and Kevin notices that he notices, but Denny doesn’t confront him about it.

It could be that he’s just trying to give him some space, maybe let these moments pass as off days. That he’s trying not to push Kevin when he’s clearly on the defense about it.

But all his brain shouts is that Denny must be relieved. Denny never pushes for Kevin to actually continue the aborted hug, never tries to fill in the space, and never makes an off handed tease like Herm does. He lets him push everyone away.

And that makes it easy, too easy, for Kevin to believe that Denny is glad for it.

He tells himself it’s better this way. He tells himself this is what respecting boundaries looks like.

He’s fine. He’s functioning. He laughs, he jokes, he shows up, he does the work. He’s not spiraling anymore, not like at the beginning. The pulling back has become a habit now, muscle memory layered over muscle memory. It’s manageable.

But he can’t kid himself forever.

He’s miserable.

It’s a quiet misery, the kind that doesn’t announce itself with attacks or sleepless nights, just a constant, low grade ache. Like something essential is missing that he has been subconsciously craving, only to remember at the last second that he’s not supposed to anymore.

Of course, because his life always works out in mysterious ways, it comes to a head.

They’re hanging out at Kevin’s place- Herm, Denny, and Aaron, sprawled across furniture that’s seen this exact scene a hundred times before. Food containers are scattered across the coffee table, crumpled napkins, half finished sodas. Everyone’s bellies are full, the good kind of full, the kind that makes you sluggish and loose and content.

They’re all on one tonight.

It’s casual. Kevin is sitting there, watching them laugh and talk over each other, and he’s struck by this overwhelming wave of genuine, platonic love for the people he’s with. He feels grateful; grateful that he gets to sit here and smile and exist alongside them, grateful that this is his life.

For a moment, he feels almost out of body.

Like he’s floating just slightly above himself, watching the scene unfold, not thinking about anything except how good it feels to be here. To belong. To live in the moment.

He honestly forgets the plan completely. Which almost makes it worse. Because when his reaction comes, it’s entirely subconscious. Proof of just how deep in his own head he’s been lately.

Kevin is sitting shoulder to shoulder with Aaron, close enough to hear him breathe, to feel his voice reverberate in Kevin’s chest when he talks. Aaron laughs, loud and unrestrained, his shoulders jumping, and they nearly brush Kevin’s.

Typically, usually, Kevin would lean his head on Aaron’s shoulder. Or bump him with his own shoulder. Or do something small and familiar and grounding.

This time, he doesn’t. The space between them should be loud. But Kevin doesn’t notice it at first. He’s too busy being there, too wrapped up in the warmth of the moment, in the easy rhythm of laughter and shared air. The distance exists, technically, but it doesn’t register.

Denny keeps joking, still riding the high of an awkward interaction with the delivery guy from what feels like hours ago. “I’m telling you,” he says, snapping his fingers for emphasis, “the delivery guy looked genuinely bummed. Like- man, no tip this time.”

Herm snorts. “He seemed upset when he saw me. Like he was reconsidering all his life choices. Kev, how much are you ordering from these people?”

Denny grins. “Yeah, well, he probably felt okay complaining since he wasn’t facing Kev's nose.”

Herm laughs harder. “Comes with the job.”

Aaron is wheezing so hard his face turns red, his whole body folding in on itself. Kevin is laughing too, full and unguarded, forgetting to be angry on his own behalf.

They’re all laughing now.

As the laughter peaks, Aaron reaches out without thinking, just to lay a hand on Kevin’s shoulder as they both bend forward, breathless and shaking.

It’s familiar. Safe. So he doesn’t know why, but when he feels it-

he remembers.

His brain snaps to attention all at once, merciless. There it is. The mistake. The proof that he’s ruined it, ruined the quiet, the moment he was never supposed to allow himself in. His body locks up.

He pulls away sharply.

His breath hitches like he’s been startled awake.

“Kev?” Aaron whispers, confused and still a little breathless, his hand hovering uselessly in the space Kevin just vacated.

The laughter dies instantly.

Denny straightens like he’s about to stand, concern already written across his face. Herm’s smile drops, his brows knitting together.

Kevin stands. Fully, abruptly, looming over Aaron, who’s still sitting on the couch, hands drawn back into his lap.

“Don’t let me touch you,” Kevin snaps.

Yells.

The words come out harsher than he means them to, sharp and loud and wrong.

Aaron blinks. Shrinks. “Sorry?” he says softly. “When-”

Herm frowns. “Kev, what’s gotten into you?”

Denny’s voice is tighter. “Yeah, man. What the hell?”

Despite his screaming brain, in the haze of it all, he knows why Denny and Herm are getting defensive. Because Aaron looks scared.

He's already folding in on himself, shoulders hunched, gaze dropping to somewhere far away. He doesn’t look like he’s seeing Kevin anymore. His face goes distant, like he’s bracing for something familiar and terrible. He looks about a minute away from whispering a dozen apologies and finding the nearest exit.

He’s reminded of that silent rule between them, the one they’ve never had to say out loud, the one Kevin has hoped to never forget; don’t yell at Aaron when you’re genuinely upset.

That’s what snaps Kevin out of it.

The anger drains out of him all at once, just as fast it came, leaving behind cold horror.

“Aaron-” Kevin starts, his voice dropping instantly, hands lifting uselessly. “Wait. I-“

Aaron seems to force himself back into the moment, swallowing hard, pushing down whatever had surged up in him. He looks up at Kevin, eyes shining but steady, and says into the silence, heartbreakingly calm.

“All you had to do was say you needed some space, man.”

And god, Kevin knows.

Aaron had come to him. Trusted him with that vulnerability. Asked him, begged them, really- to just talk things out instead of raising voices.

And Kevin betrayed that trust.

Aaron stands, backing away from him. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he says softly, already turning away.

Herm and Denny are furious on Aaron’s behalf. Explosively protective.

“Kev,” Denny says, voice low. “That was not okay.”

Kevin can’t breathe.

Overwhelmed, he stumbles into the kitchen, bracing his hands against the counter like it’s the only thing holding him upright. Distantly, he hears Herm and Denny whispering to Aaron through the bathroom door, their voices muffled but urgent.

“He probably didn’t mean to,” Herm says.

“But you told him,” Denny responds, anger still simmering. “You told him you hate yelling. He didn’t listen. You’re allowed to be scared of what that means.”

Kevin presses his forehead to the cabinet.

When Aaron comes out, Kevin brings him a glass of water with shaking hands.

“I think,” Kevin says hoarsely, “I think it’s time for you guys to go.”

They don’t argue.

At the door, Kevin stops Aaron gently, careful not to touch him.

“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” Kevin says. “I really didn’t mean to. It isn’t an excuse for me to yell at you.”

Aaron looks sad. Confused. “What isn’t, Kev?” he asks softly. “Why did you suddenly yell at me for being close to you?”

Denny interrupts before Kevin can come up with an answer.

“C’mon, Aaron, I’ll drive you home.”

They leave.

Kevin closes the door behind them and stands alone in the silence, the echo of Aaron’s words ringing louder than anything he yelled.

-

Kevin’s been thinking.

Too much, if he’s being honest. Turning the moment over in his head until it feels unreal, until it loses its sharpness and becomes something he can reshape into a story that hurts less.

He decides it was a fluke.

A bad night. A coincidence layered with exhaustion and too many feelings. That’s all. People snap sometimes. That doesn’t automatically mean he’s been wrong this whole time.

They can move on from this.

They will move on from this.

And it is definitely, definitely, not proof that he needs to stop acting like this and fess up. No. That would be dramatic. Self indulgent, even. He’s fine. They’re fine. This doesn’t need a whole emotional excavation.

There really isn’t anything for him to say. It was a one off mistake, and mistakes are very typical of him. He can continue to act the way he was meant to be acting in the beginning; not clingy, close, or touchy.

Besides, they’re comedians for fuck’s sake. If anyone knows how to steamroll tension, it’s them. They’ll joke their way around it, through it, over it. By the end of filming, it’ll be an odd memory at worst. Something they can laugh about later. Remember that weird night? That kind of thing.

Kevin clings to that thought as he gets to set.

Aaron is already there, sitting cross legged on the couch they have right off the set of white void where they film, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when Kevin enters, eyes flickering with something soft and searching.

“Hey,” Aaron says.

“Hey,” Kevin answers, forcing a smile.

Aaron looks… okay. Fine, technically. But there’s a thread of concern running through it all, subtle and careful. Like Aaron’s watching Kevin out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see which version of him he’s getting today.

Aaron studies him for a moment. “You okay?”

Kevin nods too quickly. “Yeah. You?”

“I’m fine,” Aaron says, though the word lands gently, like he’s choosing it carefully. “Just. Checkin’ in.”

Kevin nods again and drops his bag, grateful for the interruption when Herm and Denny burst in a moment later.

They, on the other hand, are very much not fine.

Herm’s greetings are clipped. Denny’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Their shoulders are tight, their movements guarded. Defensive in a way that makes Kevin’s stomach churn. They joke, obviously, but the jokes don’t land the same. There’s an edge to everything they say.

He can’t even blame them. To them, Kevin just yelled at Aaron unprovoked.

Maybe they think he was trying to be funny. Maybe out of frustration. Maybe out of something worse.

Kevin can tell they stayed up late too, though not like he did. Not replaying the night frame by frame, dissecting every word, every look, every breath. Kevin had done that, every night since. Exhausting himself with trying to solve it until his thoughts blurred together and sleep finally took him out of mercy.

He’s tired.

Filming starts anyway.

It goes… okay. Not disastrous. Just threaded with tiny fractures no one watching the final cut will ever notice.

There’s a moment when Kevin reaches out mistakenly during a bit, then catches himself mid gesture, and Herm pauses half a beat too long. Staring at him.

There’s a joke that lands flat because no one wants to use the energy.

There’s a silence that stretches too long between takes.

They power through.

By the time the crew packs up and leaves, the tension is still there. It's like they knew that the four of them needed to work something out, since even Zane left them alone with a quick excuse.

It's just the four of them left in the studio, lights dimmed, the air heavy with leftover performance energy that has nowhere to go. They’re standing around just off set, all lingering.

Aaron stands in the middle of the room eyeing them, the tension, like he’s afraid to look away.

Herm leans against a counter on the right side of the room, arms crossed. His face is near unreadable. Denny drops into a chair on the left, spinning it lazily with his foot.

Kevin stands on the wall opposite them.

They’re angry at him. Kevin can feel it, radiating off them in quiet, protective loyalty toward Aaron.

Aaron sees it too. He makes deliberate eye contact at Kevin, searching, and Kevin looks away before their eyes can meet. He can’t stand the thought of seeing whatever’s there. Hurt. Anger. Or worse- concern.

“So,” Denny says eventually, interrupting, “great shoot today.”

Herm hums. “Yeah. Real… raw energy.”

Kevin smiles weakly. “I thought it went okay.”

Denny finally looks at him. “Oh, it’ll cut fine. You’ll need to trim around some stuff, though.”

Herm adds, “Like the parts where we all go quiet.”

Kevin winces. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

Herm shrugs, gaze sliding briefly towards Aaron before returning to Kevin. “Didn’t say bad. Just.. probably not great for content if we look split up, or something.”

Denny spins the chair once, then stops it abruptly with his foot. “Yeah. You’ve been very… far lately, Kevin.”

Kevin stiffens. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope,” Denny says immediately. Too quick. “Just an observation.”

Herm’s voice is lighter, but there’s an edge under it. “Yeah, man, it’s like you’re trying to act like you’re our boss, or something.”

It’s meant to be a joke to ease the tension, but all Kevin can really hear is that he isn’t hiding it as well as he thought he was… He lets out a laugh that sounds wrong even to his own ears. “Or something.”

Herm grimaces, any joke dying on his tongue. Then, quietly, “Did we do something?”

Kevin’s chest tightens. “What? No.”

Denny squints at him. “Well, it kinda feels like you’re mad at us.”

The air in the room strains as the tension between them skyrockets. “Guys-“ Aaron tries to cut in, stepping forward instinctively, ever the peacekeeper. Kevin can’t look at him, can’t, because he doesn’t know if he could handle looking at him right now.

But he needs to figure out what Denny is getting at. Before Aaron can continue, he blurts out, defensively, “I’m not.”

“Okay,” Denny says slowly, voice flat. “Because first you yell at Aaron, and you can’t even sit next to him without acting weird, so-“

“I didn’t yell at Aaron,” Kevin snaps before he can stop himself.

Herm raises his eyebrows. “Sounded like yelling from where we were.”

Kevin swallows. “I just lost my temper.”

Denny’s tone sharpens, protective instinct bleeding through. “On Aaron.”

Aaron opens his mouth again. “I really don’t think-“

He hears him, but can't look up. Cannot see the admittance of what he had done.

Kevin’s voice drops, rough and low. “I know.”

Herm exhales through his nose, uncrossing his arms at last. “Look, Kev. If this is some new boundary thing, that’s fine. Seriously. But you gotta actually tell people when you’re drawing lines instead of… whatever this is.”

Kevin’s hands curl into fists, nails biting into his palms. His throat burns. “So now I’m doing boundaries wrong too?”

“That’s not what I said,” Herm replies, irritation creeping in. “But you’re acting like you’re too scared to actually communicate those boundaries.”

Denny nods. “Or like you’re scared of us.”

Kevin laughs again, brittle. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then why won’t you even get close to us anymore? Something’s going on!” Denny pushes, too blunt.

Kevin shakes his head, eyes stinging. “Nothing’s going on.”

Denny leans forward to respond, and he has this mean glint in his eye like he was going to say something everyone was going to regret, and that’s when Aaron finally snaps.

“Okay,” Aaron says suddenly.

The room stills.

Kevin looks at him for the first time since this started.

Aaron is angry.

It’s clear on his face, as all his emotions are. Standing there, jaw set, eyes sharp in a way Kevin has never seen directed at them before. The sight of it hits Kevin all at once, hot and cold and dizzying. Every moment he’s avoided, every glance he’s refused to meet, every time he pulled away or snapped or pretended nothing was wrong crashes into him in a single, overwhelming wave.

I did this, his brain supplies, merciless.

Guilt floods his chest, thick and choking. He wants to look away again, but he can’t do that, either. He doesn’t deserve to.

“Sit,” he demands, pointing at the couch.

Herm blinks. “Aaron?”

“Sit,” Aaron repeats, sharper this time.

They obey.

Kevin doesn’t move fast enough, still processing the change in conversation. He’s still trying to reconcile the voice rough with anger with the Aaron he knows, the careful one, the one who asks instead of demands-

Aaron snaps his fingers once. “Kev.”

Kevin sits immediately.

Herm settles to his right, Denny to his left, close enough that Kevin can feel their presence on either side of him, the heat of them, the weight. It should be grounding. It isn’t. It feels like being boxed in by the same people who, minutes ago, were bristling on Aaron’s behalf, voices sharp with protection that wasn’t meant for Kevin.

They were defending Aaron.

And now they’re sitting with him, receiving Aaron’s irritation instead. The wrongness of it makes Kevin’s stomach twist.

Aaron plants himself across from them, hands on his hips, jaw set. There’s color high on his cheeks, vivid and unmistakable. Not embarrassment. Not hurt.

Anger.

Kevin stares at it like it’s something foreign, something dangerous. Aaron doesn’t get angry like this. Kevin must have broken something. Or pulled too hard.

His chest tightens as the thought settles, ugly and undeniable. He looks away.

He wants to explain, to rewind, to take back every step he didn’t take toward them, every word he swallowed and every one he snapped out instead. But his throat locks around the urge.

So he sits there, hands curled uselessly in his lap, staring resolutely at the marks on the studio floor, wedged between two people who must be equally as angry at him and across from the one person he never, ever wanted to hurt or anger.

Kevin keeps his head down. He can’t bring himself to reach out, to meet Aaron’s eyes, those warm, steady brown ones. It feels easier to stare at the floor, at his own hands, to fold inward and make himself small.

“I’m done with whatever this is,” Aaron gestures vaguely between the four of them.

Denny opens his mouth. “Aaron-“

“No,” Aaron snaps, louder than usual. “No, here’s how this is going to go: I’m going to say everything I’ve noticed. You two,” he points at Herm and Denny, “are going to be quiet. Kevin is going to respond. Then we can talk. Not a second before.”

Herm lifts a hand. “Aaron, we’re not-”

“Nope.” Aaron cuts him off, eyes narrowing. “Not happening! You interrupt me, or start that passive aggressive concerned bullshit again, I start over.”

Herm presses his lips together.

Aaron exhales slowly. “Thank you.”

Then, the room goes silent. Kevin feels eyes on him. His shoulders tense instinctively, his chin dipping a fraction lower, like he can make himself disappear if he stays still enough.

Slowly, hesitantly, he looks up.

Aaron is watching him.

The anger has burned itself right out, it seems. His face is still flushed, the evidence of it lingering, but his expression has softened into something Kevin recognizes.

It throws him off.

For a second, Kevin just stares, confused by the sudden gentleness after the force. And then it clicks. Aaron isn’t glaring.

He’s waiting.

Waiting for Kevin to say it’s okay. Waiting for permission. Letting Kevin decide whether this conversation happens at all, despite the way he’d taken control seconds ago.

The realization hits harder than any yelling could have. Because Aaron… still manages to shock him with how kind he is.

And that makes everything worse.

Kevin’s chest aches with it, with the guilt, with the shame, with the unbearable truth that not only did he yell at Aaron, but Aaron is standing here now, wanting what’s best for him anyway. That Kevin hasn’t been a good friend.

They hold each other’s gaze for what could be seconds or minutes. Kevin honestly doesn’t know. Time blurs around it. Finally, he exhales, the sound shaky.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

For you, he thinks.

Because if it were anyone else, literally anyone at all- he would’ve shut down. Dug his heels in. Kept pretending this was fine. It’s only because it’s Aaron, because Aaron looks at him like this, that Kevin decides to listen. To stop swallowing the truth and communicate. To be brave for the first time since the moment he convinced himself that maybe, maybe, his friend hadn’t wanted him so close after all.

So, he tries.

Aaron nods in response and takes a breath, steadying himself. He stands across from where the three of them sit on the couch.

“I’ve been noticing things,” Aaron says, softer now but no less firm. “For weeks. Maybe longer. Kev, you’ve been pulling away. You don’t sit as close. You flinch when we get close. And every time I try to check in, you deflect.”

Kevin doesn’t look away.

His eyes stay locked on Aaron’s, wide and unblinking, because if he lets himself glance down, if he gives himself even a second to retreat, he’ll fold in on himself and the words will never come. This is the most present he’s felt in weeks. The bravest.

“It feels,” Aaron continues, voice shaking now, “like you’re trying to make us more comfortable. Like you decided something about us without asking.”

Kevin’s throat tightens.

“You don’t reach out, at all. And I thought-” He swallows. “I thought maybe you were just tired of us, or something.

“But then, I started noticing how you look every time you stop yourself. Like you’re bracing for something. Kevin, you look miserable.”

From the corner of his vision, Kevin feels Denny shift. Feels the weight of his glance, thoughtful and searching. He doesn’t turn. He can’t. If he breaks eye contact now, he knows he’ll lose whatever fragile resolve he’s holding onto.

Aaron presses on, gentle but resolute. “And yeah. Maybe you’re trying to be thoughtful in theory. But in practice? You’ve just been making yourself miserable.”

Kevin shrinks where he sits at being called out so boldly like this. His shoulders draw inward, his breath goes shallow, yet his eyes stay locked on Aaron’s.

Aaron’s voice softens. “You laugh, you smile, you’re here, but you’re not.”

Herm opens his mouth.

Aaron snaps his gaze toward him, stern. “Herm.”

Herm closes it.

Aaron carefully places his eyes back on Kevin. His gaze softens a bit before he takes a breath and continues.

“And then that night at your place happened.”

Kevin’s eyes burn.

“When you yelled at me,” he says, carefully, “it… it hurt. Not because I don’t understand getting overwhelmed. I do. I really do.” His fingers curl at his side, then relax. “But because I thought we’d already talked about that. About how yelling, especially when things get tense, really messes with me.

“I wasn’t mad that you needed space,” Aaron continues. “I wasn’t even mad that you pulled away. I was hurt because you didn’t tell me. Because instead of saying something, anything, you snapped.”

He swallows. “And that boundary I asked for? The calm communication thing? That goes both ways. It applies when you’re overwhelmed, too. Especially then.”

Aaron focuses on Kevin’s eyes, steady and open. “Then I thought about the whole situation, and how you’ve been acting these past few weeks. I didn’t think you were mad at me. I thought you were scared of me. Like… like the closeness suddenly became something dangerous to me, and you were worried about it.”

Kevin’s vision blurs.

Aaron tilts his head. “But that’s not right. I, and I’m sure Herm and Denny agree, love it when you are close, and hug, and hold hands, and lean. So tell me. Why are you trying to spare us when we don’t want you to?”

Kevin’s mouth opens. No sound comes out.

His breath stutters, then breaks, and suddenly the tears are there, hot, unstoppable, humiliating. He drags a hand over his face, voice cracking.

“I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He manages.

It's not easy. He’s sick and tired of being like this, though. Unable to sleep because he keeps wondering what he did wrong, why he had to have the worst personality trait ever.

The silence that follows is heavy. In the dim lighting of where he’s sitting on the couch in the studio, it feels like a relief. Kevin keeps looking at Aaron, how his breaths come out deliberately even, as his own chest heaves out breaths out of the lack of air that comes with crying.

He can’t really track the emotions flitting across Aaron’s face, thinks it may be just a little too much for him to do now, but he thinks he knows what he can handle.

He can keep his eyes on Aaron. He can keep talking about his- his feelings despite how much he’s sobbing.

“That’s it. I’m done fighting, I give up, I’m waving the white flag, okay? That’s the whole thing.”

Aaron leans forward slightly.

“I felt like I was clingy. Like… like I never gave you guys the chance to pull away. Like I just assumed you guys were okay with me all but hanging off of you.

“And Aaron,” Kevin adds, voice breaking harder, “you’re too nice. You would never say anything even if you hated it. So I thought.. if I just stop, then at least I won’t be trapping anyone into tolerating me, and you could pull away even if you wanted to.”

He reaches out. With the truth instead of with his hands.

And Aaron seems to be in disbelief.

“Kev,” he says gently, incredulous. “Maybe it’s because I didn’t want to pull away. None of us did. Maybe we were glad you reached out to us all the time.”

Kevin wipes his tears and focuses on Aaron.

Aaron continues. “Maybe we liked that you reached out. Maybe we felt safe because you reached out. Maybe that wasn’t something we were enduring. Maybe it was something we were glad for.”

Herm clears his throat, the sound rough, like he’s had something lodged there for a while. “Yeah.”

Kevin blinks at him, stunned. It's the first time he's looking away from Aaron, at Denny and Herm beside him on the ratty couch. They both seem grim, like they just realized they had fucked something up, bad.

“You think we’re joking?” Herm asks, brows pulling together. “Because we’re not. I liked it. I like it.” His jaw tightens. “I didn’t realize how much until you stopped, and suddenly everything felt… off.”

He gestures vaguely between them. “Like there was this gap where you used to be.”

Denny nods along, slower, eyes fixed on Kevin in a way that’s sharp but not unkind. “Yeah, man,” he says bluntly.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’re grounding,” he says simply. “You walk into a room and it feels… solid. Like we’re all actually here. You check up on us, ask us about our days apart, and the physical touch helped me realize that I was here.” His mouth twists. “Didn’t realize you were punishing yourself for it.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “And I’m sorry. For not noticing sooner. For letting you think that wasn’t something we wanted.”

Kevin looks between them, overwhelmed, breath still uneven. “You guys aren’t-“

“Not joking,” Herm cuts in firmly.

Denny snorts softly. “If we were joking, I’d be way funnier.”

His gaze flicks sideways, hesitant, landing on Denny, then Herm. Guilt twists in his chest. It was just that… well, admittance is also reaching out, right?

“I just-” His voice wobbles. “I didn’t know if it was the same for you guys.”

Denny lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “Dude.” He shakes his head, rubbing his face. “I can’t believe I have to say this, because I always thought I showed it.” He looks Kevin dead in the eye. “If you’re clingy, then I must be a fuckin’ leech. I cling right back.”

Herm snorts. “He’s not wrong.”

Denny continues, “You reach out, I reach back. That’s how it’s always been. That was just… us. How we function, man. Nothing wrong with it.”

Herm adds, “And listen. Don’t overthink this anymore. If I ever feel uncomfortable with something? That’s on me to say it. To any of you.” His eyes settle on Kevin. “You don’t need to preemptively punish yourself for something that hasn’t happened.”

Kevin swallows.

“And in the future,” Herm adds, voice steady, “Kev, please… just ask. Just check in. All of this could’ve been avoided, and no one would have been hurting.”

Aaron nods immediately. “Definitely. Pushing your feelings down like that? It never works out. Ever.”

Kevin’s shoulders sag at the truth of the statement. He looks back at Aaron, remorse flooding his face. “I’m… I’m really sorry,” he says quietly. “For yelling. And not communicating properly what was going through my head.”

Aaron doesn’t hesitate. “I accept your apology.”

The relief hits Kevin so hard it almost knocks the breath out of him. It was almost like letting go of everything that had gone on the past few weeks.

Almost.

Denny’s voice cuts in, unable to fully relax until he’s able to figure one more thing out. “Okay,” he says. “Now that we’re all on the same page; who did it?”

Kevin blinks. “What?”

“Who put this shit in your head,” Denny says plainly. “Because you overthink everything, yes, but you don’t spiral like this without a trigger.”

And, well, any other time Kevin would have hesitated. Made up some self deprecating excuse and tried to keep up the mood. Now, though, he easily tells Denny about the day of the event.

Kevin exhales. “There was this guy. At that event I went to a few weeks ago.”

Herm’s jaw tightens instantly. “Okay. Tell me who.”

“No,” Kevin says quickly. “Don’t. Please.”

Herm scowls. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll get thrown in jail,” Kevin says weakly.

Aaron and Denny laugh hard at the comment, because it's true. Herm had that look on his face, the one that reminded you that he grew up in Philly and didn’t mind doing certain things to people who said certain stuff.

Aaron’s voice carries across the space from the couch to the opposite wall where Aaron stands. “See Kev, no need to worry. We’ll accept your hugs anyday. Herm is even willing to beat up that dick for them.”

Kevin collapses forward, covering his face.

A moment passes.

Then Denny claps his hands once. “Okay,” he says, motioning for Aaron to come over to where they all sit. “Enough talking.”

Aaron looks confused for a second, but then he and Denny do that thing they do, where they silently communicate with their eyes. It seems like Aaron gets whatever message Denny was trying to get across, because he smiles wistfully and walks forward with his arms opened dramatically.

“C’mon. Get in here. Make some space for me, too.”

Kevin looks up, startled.

Herm wrinkles his nose. “Are we really doing this? At our grown age?”

Well, at least Herm understands what Aaron was talking about. Kevin was still lost.

Denny grins. “Yep.”

Herm sighs. “Fine, but I’m not getting crushed between Kevin and Aaron.”

Oh. They wanted to hug. A hug, together. With him. To hug him. Kevin laughs wetly. “Herm-”

“Don’t start,” Herm says, already making room for Aaron to sit between him and Kevin, exactly how he “hadn’t” wanted it. “This is extremely gay behavior, just so you know.”

Denny points at him from behind Kevin, with his hand that isn’t wrapped around his shoulders. “That’s the point.”

Kevin lets out a shaky laugh as they all pile together, awkward, messy, warm. Arms draped over shoulders. Weight pressing in from all sides.

Kevin feels hands on his back again.

Feels warmth.

Feels pulled in.

He exhales for what feels like the first time in weeks, and lets himself reach out.