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His eyes were fixated on the exy match on the TV screen in front of him, but he was not listening to the commentator – who was probably providing a mediocre narration at best anyway, so it was not like Kevin was worried about missing out on anything of importance. Instead, he was caught in the ongoing chatter in his head, neither dialogue nor monologue, but rather his sermon of shame. Sometimes, he still heard his mother’s voice in his head, softly correcting him with her melodic, Irish accent. More often, it was Riko’s sharp voice that told him what to do, what to think, what to say. But other times, very rarely, there was another voice, deep and warm, that simply provided some caution. Today, this voice had been echoing the same warning since before the start of the game, repeating again and again, “You have bitten off more than you can chew.”
His thoughts were usually louder when he was alone but somewhat more persistent when he was in company, reminding him of his inadequacy when it came to the people surrounding him. Right now, Kevin was quite literally surrounded by people, though not by his own choosing. It had been his idea to watch this upcoming major league exy match and when he had proposed this to Neil, he had fully expected Andrew to be part of that evening. However, Neil just had to go and talk to Matt about this, who had in turn brought it up to Dan, and now here he was, stuck between the two couples. Kevin had voiced his annoyance at this situation more than once, but it was not like anyone cared for his opinion. So here he was, sitting on the couch in his room, Andrew and Neil on his left, and Matt to his right with Dan sitting between her partner’s legs, laying her head against Matt’s thighs while watching the game. So here he was, listening to the never-ending loop of “you have bitten off more than you can chew”, reminding him that while he may have proposed spending the evening like this, he would never be a real part of whatever was happening in the room.
The striker on the screen missed a shot that should have been an obvious goal, and on Kevin’s left, Neil snorted, while on Kevin’s right, Matt softly laughed. Kevin wondered if whatever emotion that was bubbling inside him right now was sadness. He knew that it was important to name his feelings – see, he was paying attention in therapy, but unfortunately he felt like there had been no word invented in any of the languages he knew to express that feeling. The goalkeeper brought the ball back into the game, and in his peripheral vision, Kevin saw Matt pressing a kiss on Dan’s head. Maybe Kevin was simply lonely.
No one was touching Kevin. He glanced to his left, where Neil’s eyes were glued to the screen, but Andrew was already staring at him, using his seventh sense for quiet breakdowns happening at any time. Not that Andrew was willing to help; he just raised a judgemental eyebrow before Kevin looked back to the screen. He had seen Andrew’s hand resting on Neil’s thigh. Thinking about it, it surprised Kevin that no one was touching him. The couch definitely shouldn’t have been big enough for three and a half athletes, but Matt had put an effort into folding his large body into a corner, and Neil had moved closer to Andrew, who was actually sitting on the armrest. “See, no one wants to touch you,” chirped one of the voices. It was followed by another one, asking, “Do you even want someone to touch you?” The voice sounded too much like someone he had once known to be of any comfort. Maybe Kevin was simply lonely. Maybe he truly had bitten off more than he could chew when he agreed to spend his evening like this, boxed in between two couples who could not care less for him. A tiny, rational part of his brain knew that he was being unfair right now. Surely they cared. Just not like that, which was completely fine with Kevin. Did he even want them to care like that? It sent shivers down his spine when he saw Matt press kisses on Dan’s hair. It felt like a fist in the stomach when he saw how Neil leaned against Andrew. When does longing feel different than fear?
No one was touching Kevin. But now there was this thought again: did he even want to be touched? It was not like he had the best track record with attention. And God knew it was not like he deserved his teammates’ attention either. Kevin tried to redirect his focus back on the screen, where the same striker as before managed to miss another easy goal. What an embarrassment to the sport, he thought, but he did not say it out loud, although he could feel Neil’s glare on his left. Kevin had endured knives that had been softer than Neil’s eyes on you. Of course Neil had caught on, realising that Kevin was staying more quiet than usual. Not that it mattered; the rest of the group was probably grateful. Just thinking about the people next to him made Kevin’s skin feel too tight for his body, itchy and wrong. It wasn’t a sudden onslaught of this feeling but a sensation that had sneaked onto him while he was rotating the same words over and over in his brain. Did he bite off more than he could chew? Was this a situation he needed to get out of? Was this loneliness or jealousy – or fear that anyone could perceive him like this? Kevin Day was not meant to be perceived in any way that was romantic or sexual or filled with any kind of empathy. Was it hubris to believe that he wanted something like this?
No one was touching Kevin, and he tried to ignore the implications of what this could mean. Unfortunately, it was difficult to kill an idea once it existed. Kevin Day was living proof, more idea than human. There had been nights where he wished he could just kill the idea of Kevin Day, get rid of this concept, slip out of his own skin, and see what lay beneath. But the Kevin Day was unkillable. The Kevin Day, a perfect idea performed on court, was more alive than whoever lived inside this body. And with this godhood came the feeling of being untouchable, lonely maybe, and completely on his own even though he was settled between people he should call friends. All these thoughts settled in as ideas that he could not kill. And maybe he did not want to, too afraid to see what he would be without them. Based on these ideas, he could be good enough. In general, being good at what he did was something that came surprisingly naturally to Kevin. He was born ambitious, born talented, and born wanting to please. Working hard to achieve the goals he was supposed to achieve never felt like a burden, especially because he possessed the drop of luck in his blood to make him truly one of the best. Dedication and resilience are important when you try to succeed at something. But they will never be enough if there is not a speck of pure talent. Kevin understood this, because there were other things which came less naturally to him, but he learnt how to do these things nevertheless, how to smile at the deafening crashing of waves in his ears when the panic settled in, how to hold onto bodies that were never meant to be held, least of all by him. How to endure loneliness in a room full of people.
Kevin took a breath to find some balance in his chest, but it came out a bit too loud, a bit too shaky. Now, he felt everyone’s eyes on him. It was Neil who offered him a hand. Just that, a hand, palm turned up, carefully presented to him on his left side. Not touching, of course, never touching. Not even breaching his personal space. Kevin shook his head.
“Just a horrendous game. Was hoping for something worth watching.” He knew this was a weak explanation for his mood, but the rest of them took the excuse for what it was, a plea to stop focusing on him. Most eyes turned back to the TV, but Kevin was too scared to check whether or not Andrew also decided to ignore him again.
There was a real fear associated with Andrew’s eyes on him. He did not want to bother Andrew, did not want to make him worry – although Andrew, of course, would never admit to being worried about anything, least of all Kevin. He also did not know how to explain himself if it came to that. Whatever was happening to him right now wasn’t even a breakdown due to a respectable reason, just this feeling fed by spiralling thoughts, thoughts that he wasn’t even sure were his own or just had been installed at such a young age that they felt natural to him. It made Kevin yearn for Riko’s voice to make an appearance in his head, merely so he could focus on something that was a more legitimate thing to be scared of.
Sometimes Kevin worried that he was obsessed with his own fear. Vodka burned on the way down, but his fear tasted like sweet wine, like an old promise (one he broke), like an old friend (one he left behind). Fear had been the dominant emotion in his life for so long, it felt more familiar than his mother’s smile. Fear had been his companion when every other person had left him behind. And in moments like this, when he could not understand his feelings, there was nothing he yearned for as much as good old-fashioned, bone-shattering terror. It was so easy to get drunk on his fear, to let it flow over him, until there was nothing left but domestic despair.
Maybe this was all he was only ever going to get. No kind touches, but his routine of fear, singing his shame’s song. Kevin couldn’t do anything but stare at Andrew’s light-skinned hand softly resting on Neil’s darker thigh. He wonders if this all that kindness is. He wonders if he would even recognise a kind touch. Kevin did not flinch from movements the way that some of the other Foxes did, and he did not go out of his way to make sure no one ever brushed their body against his. He just did not know how to understand a touch in terms of friendship, of love. The Kevin Day was not trained to do that, and his mother’s son had long died, buried somewhere below Evermore. All that was left was this confusing feeling of being caught between people who, no matter what had happened to them, seem to have read the manual on human companionship a bit closer than he did.
Kevin did not doubt for a second that Matt and Dan were that picture-perfect couple that so many described them as, although he had no frame of reference. And he doubted even less that Andrew and Neil truly meant the world to each other, call it love or whatever you wanted. He saw it. He wouldn’t ever dare to hold a grudge against them for this relationship. But he couldn’t understand it. Isn’t love just the feeling of bumping heads in helmets after a goal well-scored? Isn’t it just an elbow buried between your ribs in the name of a joke? Isn’t it just a fierce hand around your throat? His understanding of love was captured between pain and despair and mostly drenched in shame. Kevin didn’t remember a lot of touching, but he could recall different moments that had tasted like love. He remembered their shared secrets, always sealed in blood, although not on their own choosing. Does this make a secret more or less powerful, he wondered, tracing the scars on his left hand, when the blood you spilled wasn’t blood you wanted to share with each other?
The striker missed another goal. “If the trainer is not going to take him off soon-” grumbled Dan. Kevin made a murmur of agreement. On his left, in his peripheral field of vision, Neil’s hand appeared again, offering him his palm. He probably had caught on to Kevin fiddling with his scarred hand, such an embarrassing tell on his own nerves. The Master would have called him out for that. Kevin Day is not anxious. So Kevin didn’t take the hand. He sat there, steeping in his humiliation, listening to the words in his head that remind him of his incompetence as a human being. He closed his eyes for a second and allowed the shame to wash over him, to drown in the familiar voice repeating again and again, “You have bitten off more than you can chew.”