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Kevin was a clingy kid.
His aunts claimed he'd been a 'velcro baby'. Even as he got a bit older, Kevin had a habit of climbing up his mother and cuddling into her warmth whenever he got tired. She never objected, running her hands through his hair so gently that anyone that knew her by her 'take no shit' media personality would've thought she'd been replaced.
Yes, a young Kevin had been clingy. Even as he spent more time playing exy, even when he spent more time with Riko and his uncle in America, he was very physically affectionate. Riko looked at his strangely whenever he hugged him, and his uncle looked so stern that Kevin never tried it. Summers at the Nest felt very long, but his mother and her warmth always returned eventually.
Until, of course, she was gone, and Kevin moved into the Nest permanently.
Kevin didn't remain clingy for very long. He couldn't, when every attempt at a hug provoked Riko's anger. The Master, too, dissaproved of stupid, whining children, get back to practice or-
He learned to live without warmth. It wasn't like he and Riko never sat against each other, but most touch was functional, now. Contact sport training required it, and so did medical treatment.
And, after a while in the Nest... Kevin was okay with that.
Touch hurt.
Riko's hands in his hair, dragging him around. Riko's hands balled into fists, hitting Kevin again and again until he begged for forgiveness, and he still didn't stop. The Master's harsh grip on his arm. The nurse holding him down and stitching up his wounds. Riko pinning him against the wall, head aching with the impact, fingers pressed against his throat-
Jean arrived at the Nest, one day. Kevin was near him a lot, since Riko was, but he didn't really interact with him unless he was patching him up so Riko could hurt him again.
Kevin's fingers burned as he bandaged his cuts. Jean had no wish to make any more contact than necessary, and Kevin was grateful. Supporting Jean's weight back to his room made Kevin blink back memories of Riko's arms around him, restraining him. It would have been bearable in his protective gear, but Kevin's regular clothes were thin enough to feel the press of Jean's skin against his, and it was all he could do to try and control his shaking.
It had been a few months since Riko broke Kevin's hand. He lived with the Foxes now, and they were strange.
Well, Wymack claimed that Kevin was the weird one, most of the time. Other teams didn't practice eight hours out of sixteen, and no one controlled what they ate.
Still, among the Foxes, they thought some of their teammates were weird. Mostly the monsters. It wasn't lost on Kevin how half the team seemed to hate his roommates, but he didn't care. Relationships off the court were irrelevant.
The others thought Nicky and Aaron were strange, but not nearly as much as they did Andrew. He was either manic or stone faced, depending on the time of day. He carried knives everywhere. And he did not like to be touched.
Andrew wasn't subtle about protecting his personal space, so Kevin noticed pretty quickly. It was a relief. The Foxes were weird, always putting their arms around other's shoulders or casually grabbing eachother. Kevin had watched them at a distance, in those early days, and found his chest tightening. He hoped he wasn't expected to do the same. But if Andrew hated touch, too, then at least his pseudo-partner wouldn't inflict it on Kevin.
"Andrew, you've given Kevin you're 'Don't even come near me!' illness." Nicky said one night. "He won't even sit on the same couch as me!"
"Maybe you smell."
"You're one to talk, with those sweaty armbands..."
Nicky didn't smell. He just tended to sprawl out when he sat down, and Kevin didn't want him to accidentally touch him. It wasn't personal, even if Nicky played pathetically at practice. Kevin didn't sit too close to anyone except Andrew.
He was okay, because Andrew tended to keep still. If he did move, it was controlled, not coming any closer to Kevin. So even sitting tightly next to him, almost able to feel Andrew's warmth on his arm, Kevin's heart stayed calm, not racing like it often did in anticipation of touch.
Kevin thought they were on the same page about that, but one day, Andrew broached the topic.
"Why don't you ever touch anyone?" He was laid across the sofa, legs hooked over the arm.
"I don't want to."
Andrew eyes searched Kevin's, unreadable. "Don't you? You never move away from me. If you hated physical contact that much, even being that close would bother you."
"...I-"
"I see you at practice. Watching the others hang off of each other like some sort of kicked puppy."
"I do not!"
"I don't think you hate being touched." Andrew swung his legs around, standing up. "I think you're scared. Probably because of the sadists you grew up with."
"What's the difference?" Kevin's hands dug into the couch cushion.
"The first one means that touch would make you feel worse. The second means it would make you feel better, if only you weren't afraid."
Andrew walked closer to him, and Kevin barely had enough time to panic before Andrew's arms were around him, squeezed against his side.
"Andrew!" Kevin's voice came out strained, breaths quickening as his body burned everywhere Andrew touched.
"No one's gonna beat you here." Andrew said. "Even if they tried, I wouldn't let them."
Andrew's arms were unmoving as Kevin tried to shove them away, from a combination of the goalkeeper's strength and the weakness of Kevin's attempts.
The others complained that Andrew barely paid attention to anything, but he saw more than anyone. Even, annoyingly, that Kevin could only associate touch with pain.
Kevin's body burned in contact with Andrew, but maybe it wasn't the bad kind. As Kevin got his breathing back under control, it almost felt... Warm.
Andrew let him go soon enough, which was fortunate, since Kevin was a jittery mess. Whatever he'd been focusing on before was long gone from his mind.
Andrew had claimed touch would make him feel better. It was hard to tell, through the adrenaline, but Kevin thought that maybe, maybe, it had.