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Kevin's life had been... Busy? Intense? Challenging? Privately, he might say difficult or really shitty, but he couldn't say that to anyone interviewing him.
That the media falsely believed he broke his hand skiing for so long was unusual. They normally knew Kevin's schedule and opinions better than he did. When he was little, Kevin had gone months without knowing how his mother had died, right up until a reporter asked him about the car crash.
Losing his mother had been devastating. He'd felt unmoored, deprived of her steady, reassuring presence, a feeling that was only worsened by immediately moving into the Nest. It was so different to where he'd lived before that Kevin almost felt like a different person, as if on the day his mother had died he'd been transplanted into someone else's body.
It had been devastating, but it didn't break him. Mostly because Kevin wasn't allowed to crumble. There was no breathing room before Kevin was expected to conform to the Master's standards, and practice exy until he physically couldn't anymore.
The Master was stern and merciless. Riko was better, for a while.
Kevin had been given to him the moment he moved into the Nest, and that would have been weird and scary if he'd had the capacity to worry about it. Still, he'd known Riko before. They were friends, maybe brothers, now they lived together. Riko was demanding and sometimes rough, but he was a safer presence than the Master.
Until, of course, Riko snapped.
Kevin had long since lost track of the days in the Nest. He wasn't sure how long they'd shared a room before Riko came storming into it one day, snarling and bleeding.
He'd been in his uncle's office, Kevin knew. The Master didn't hold back his wrath for anyone, not even his nephew, but he'd never seen Riko return so badly hurt.
"Riko!" Kevin threw his book down, running over to check on him. "Are you-"
Riko struck him across the face, and it wasn't the first time but he'd never doubled down so harshly before. Kevin reeled back and Riko followed, shoving him to the ground. He kicked Kevin's ribs several times before grabbing Kevin's neck with his hands, squeezing.
Kevin stared up at Riko's crazed eyes, bruises framing his face, torn between trying to shove him off and the knowledge that that would only make things worse.
Riko would let go soon enough. Except that he didn't, and spots danced in Kevin's vision, chest burning from his efforts to breathe. Kevin's nails scratched at Riko's arms, mind overtaken by panic, but it did nothing to move him.
Kevin didn't really remember the rest of the day. Riko must have let go eventually, but the next coherent memory Kevin had was sitting on his bed, curled into a ball and shaking.
After that day, Riko hurting Kevin that badly became normal. Maybe that had always been inevitable.
Being hurt was a fact of life in the Nest. The only people that didn't often hurt Kevin were the Ravens. When he was younger, that was probably because they didn't know how to act around actual children, but as they got older, Kevin imagined it was because of Riko establishing himself as their King.
The coaches, though, weren't offput by things like that.
If someone performed well at practice, they were less likely to be disciplined. If they didn't, the coaches would hit them with their fists if they were lucky, and a racquet if they weren't.
Something that no Raven could miss was the turnover rate of their coaches. Several of them stuck around, working for the Master as long as Kevin had been in the Nest, but every so often a coach would quit (Or maybe 'quit'. Kevin couldn't be certain). They'd then get a new coach, and it took them a while to adjust.
Kevin stood at attention, waiting for practice to start. The current coach in charge was announcing what they'd be doing today. The other coaches stood nearby, and one of them was unfamiliar. Younger than most of them, probably in his thirties, and he had a messy black haircut. The most noticable thing about him was the way he looked around the court, visibly unsure.
The first time another coach struck a player, he jolted in surprise, before shaking himself out of it. No coach would be allowed in the Nest without knowing what they were signing up for, but maybe this guy wasn't the violent sort.
Several weeks later, Kevin was practicing a new drill. It was tough, and as time ticked on and he continued to mess it up, his hands got sweaty, anxiety settling in his gut.
They were near the end of practice now, and the coaches were reviewing the players' performances, handing out punishment where required. Across the court, the Master was snapping at Riko, who had his head tilted toward the ground, gripping his racquet tightly.
The new coach appeared next to Kevin, telling him to show him his progress. Okay, this was fine. This coach wasn't as volatile as the others, so if Kevin was properly respectful, he could leave practice with only minor bruising.
He ran the drill again, his best attempt today, and turned back to the coach-
His racquet was snatched out of his hands and slammed into his shoulder, making Kevin gasp in pain before he could even blink. It was hard to move his arm, deadened by the hit, and Kevin could already imagine the ugly bruising he'd find there later.
The coach looked at him, gaze hardened, and Kevin kicked himself for his naivety.
New coaches always went the same way. Even if they seemed softer than the others, it was only a matter of time.
Kevin had a theory, by the time he was in his later teenage years. It was that everyone would snap, eventually. The newer Ravens often proclaimed that they wouldn't hurt others, but Kevin had yet to meet anyone that didn't. It didn't matter who they were, everyone had a breaking point.
On one horrible night in December, Kevin thought he might have reached his. Without his hand, without exy, violence seemed like the answer, even if it was directed at himself.
He could have broken, so easily. He would have, if not for the screaming inside his heart, yelling that there might be a chance to play again, if he left here, and who was Kevin Day without exy? He couldn't not try. Even if he could, if he could stand to give up there on the floor, he feared what Jean would do. Kevin had never been able to protect him as much as he deserved, but if he was dead there would be no one to hold Jean to his promise.
Kevin didn't break that night. Sometimes it felt like he had, through those awful days where Abby couldn't tell him if his hand would heal enough to play, where he panicked at every phone call, wondering if this would be the one where the Master demanded him back, because even if he was useless he was still theirs-
He didn't break, and the Foxes gained a new striker in Neil Josten, shifty and nervous and so, so incredible on the court, even unpolished as he was. He was a shining light through the stress of the Ravens district change and every other shitty day over those months.
And then one day Kevin looked at him, sitting on the Foxes exy court, and he could see the Nathaniel inside him. Neil should have been court, and that he could never be tore Kevin's heart up, a terrible, sickening weight on his chest. A part of him shattered then, knowing Neil would be dead by May.
Months passed, and Kevin steeled himself against the inevitable. At least, he thought he did. It didn't matter what he told himself, finding Neil gone after that riot brought him to his knees. Everyone else frantically searched, but Kevin knew there was no point. Neil was...
It was one of the worst moments of his life. That was true for someone else, too.
In the midst of all the chaos, Andrew's gaze landed on him, registering his lack of surprise. Andrew must have realised then that Kevin knew what happened to Neil.
Andrew asked, once.
He was always going to lose him.
Everyone always snapped, eventually. Maybe that was just how people were, or maybe Kevin was the problem. Either way, Andrew hit his breaking point that night, and he crushed Kevin's throat under his hands, pouring every drop of anger and grief into his grip.
Andrew had promised to keep Kevin safe, and maybe he would've been devastated when he broke that promise so violently. But Kevin's hands laid on Andrew's, reaching automatically but not trying to push him off, and if Andrew felt anything like Kevin right now, broken and aching for a boy they'd never see again, then he couldn't blame him one bit.