“What are you doing here?” Kevin asks coldly, his eyes narrowed as he watches you enter the locker room late at night.

He's peeling his padded exy gloves off of his hands, exposing the raw and bleeding skin of his knuckles underneath. You had watched him implode on the field today-- using much more body checking and aggression than necessary.

When practice was over, everyone else had gone back to their dorms in Fox Tower, but aparently Kevin had stayed to continue drilling and practicing. He looks tired, the bags under his eyes are deep and dark, and he's breathing hard and slumped over on the bench in the locker room.

"Don't you have something better to do? Practice, maybe? Your passes are sloppy and don't get me started on your pivots." He mutters, though the bite in his words are fading. You're probably the only person on the team he can tolerate when he's in one of his ruts.