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There are many ways Andrew Minyard deals with Neil Josten when he gets too focused for his own good. Most of them involve silence, patience, and the occasional sharp comment that cuts straight through Neil’s stubborn determination. But sometimes, when words don’t work and patience runs thin, Andrew chooses something simpler. Something that stops Neil’s thoughts mid-spin and forces him back into the present.
Neil, for his part, never learns fast enough to stop it from working.
The Training Ground
The Foxhole Court was almost empty, the kind of quiet that made every echo feel louder than it should have been.
Most of the team had already filtered out hours ago, leaving behind scattered water bottles, abandoned towels, and the faint smell of sweat and resin. Neil should have left too.
He didn’t.
He stood at the far end of the court, shoulders loose but eyes sharp, determined to squeeze in just one more round of shots. His grip on the racket was already slightly too tight, knuckles pale from repetition, but he didn’t notice. He never did when he got like this, locked into a rhythm that narrowed the world down to angles, motion, and the satisfying impact of success.
One more had turned into five.
Andrew stood near the opposite goal, still as a shadow, watching him with that unreadable, patient stare that always made Neil feel like he was being measured without permission. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just tracked every shot with quiet precision, like he was counting something only he could see.
Neil caught the ball, turned on instinct, and fired.
It hit the goal cleanly.
Again.
The sound echoed sharply in the empty gym, bouncing off high ceilings and polished floors. Neil didn’t react. No fist pump, no breath of relief, just the quiet thud of success and the immediate reach for the next ball, like the last shot had never happened.
Andrew’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You’ve been doing that for twenty minutes.”
Neil didn’t look at him, already resetting his stance. His breathing was steady, controlled, almost too controlled.
“Almost done.”
“That’s what you said twenty minutes ago.”
Neil ignored him completely this time, fingers tightening around the racket as he lined up another shot. His focus tunneled so hard the rest of the world blurred at the edges.
The ball left his hand.
It missed.
The impact against the wrong surface rang out louder than it should have. Neil’s jaw tightened immediately, frustration flashing hot and sharp under his skin. His shoulders stiffened in a way that betrayed how much he hated missing more than he would ever admit.
Andrew watched him retrieve it without moving, gaze tracking every stiff, controlled motion. He noticed the way Neil’s fingers flexed too hard around the ball, the way his breath hitched once before he forced it back into rhythm.
“Neil.”
“One more.”
“You already said that.”
“This one.”
Andrew exhaled through his nose, the closest thing he got to irritation. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to shift the air between them.
Then he walked.
Neil barely noticed at first- too locked in, too focused on the angle of his grip, the correction in his stance, the way he was already rebuilding the shot in his head. Andrew’s footsteps crossed the court, steady and unhurried, until they stopped right in front of him.
Neil finally looked up, frowning.
“Move.”
“No.”
“I need to practice.”
“You need to stop.”
“I can do both.”
Andrew just stared at him, flat and unblinking, like Neil was a problem he had already solved and was now waiting for him to accept the answer.
Neil stared back, stubbornness hardening his expression, jaw set like he could outlast anything if he just refused to blink first.
Then Andrew leaned in and kissed him.
Quick. Precise. No hesitation. No warning beyond the fact that Andrew was already too close.
Neil froze completely.
His hands loosened on the racket like someone had cut the tension out of him. The ball in his other hand nearly slipped before he caught it on instinct alone, but even that felt distant, delayed, like his body was reacting without his permission.
When Andrew pulled back, Neil blinked once, then again, like his brain had briefly stopped functioning and was trying to reboot in real time.
“Distraction,” Andrew said calmly.
Neil stared at him.
“What?”
“You weren’t listening.”
“I was.”
“No.”
Andrew stepped aside as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just completely derailed Neil’s entire thought process with a single, deliberate action.
Neil stood there for a few seconds, still processing, gaze flicking between the goal and Andrew like neither made sense anymore. His grip on the racket had gone loose, his stance forgotten.
Then realization settled in.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Obviously.”
Neil’s mouth twitched despite himself, something almost like disbelief breaking through the frustration.
“You could have just told me to stop.”
“I did.”
Neil looked down at the racket in his hand, then back at Andrew.
“That was cheating.”
Andrew shrugged, completely unbothered, like rules were only relevant when he decided they were.
“It worked.”
Neil glanced at the goal again.
His focus was gone. Completely scattered, like someone had taken a clean line of thought and snapped it in half, leaving only fragments that refused to reconnect.
Andrew looked far too satisfied with himself.
Neil sighed, long and resigned, the fight draining out of him in one slow exhale.
“Fine.”
He set the racket down with more care than necessary, like he was putting away something fragile.
Andrew turned toward the exit immediately, like the matter was closed and no further discussion was required.
“Good.”
Neil followed him.
After a few steps, he reached out and caught Andrew’s hand.
Andrew glanced down at their fingers but didn’t pull away.
“You know,” Neil said, voice quieter now, “I was actually getting somewhere.”
“You were obsessing.”
“I was practicing.”
“You were obsessing.”
Neil considered arguing. He really did. The words lined up automatically, ready to go.
Instead, he stepped closer and stole a quick kiss- short, deliberate, just enough to flip the dynamic back for a second, just enough to make a point of his own.
Andrew went still.
When Neil pulled away, Andrew looked at him with something faintly sharper than before, like the situation had shifted in a way he hadn’t fully accounted for.
“That was unnecessary.”
“Distraction,” Neil said simply.
For once, Andrew’s expression shifted, just slightly.
A small, reluctant smile that barely existed at all, but was real enough to matter.
The Locker Room
Neil had a problem.
He had been standing in front of his locker for far too long, staring at the same page of notes like repetition alone could force it into his brain. The paper was already slightly creased at the edges from how often he’d turned it, flipped it, reread it, as if sheer persistence could override exhaustion.
The locker room was nearly empty now, lights humming overhead in a steady, artificial drone. The echo of earlier noise had long since faded, leaving only the occasional distant drip of a shower and the soft clink of metal from someone else’s forgotten gear.
Neil should have left an hour ago.
Instead, he was still here, trying- and failing- to memorize plays for the next game.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The door opened behind him.
Neil didn’t look up.
“Kevin, I said I need another—”
“It’s not Kevin.”
Neil paused.
Slowly, he turned his head.
Andrew stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, expression as blank as ever, like he had no intention of explaining why he was there or how long he’d been watching.
Neil immediately looked back down at his notes like that solved the problem, like ignoring Andrew could reset the situation.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Andrew walked closer, footsteps quiet against the tiled floor.
Neil kept reading, even though the words were starting to blur together, the ink smearing into meaninglessness the longer he stared.
“You’ve been staring at that page for five minutes.”
“I’m memorizing.”
“No.”
Neil frowned harder.
“Yes.”
Andrew stopped beside him, close enough that Neil could feel his presence more than see it, like a pressure in the air that made it harder to think clearly.
Neil flipped the page with unnecessary force, the paper snapping louder than intended.
Andrew reached out and took the notebook from his hands.
“Andrew.”
“No.”
“I need that.”
“You need sleep.”
“I need to know this.”
“You already do.”
Neil reached for it immediately, but Andrew lifted it just out of reach with infuriating ease, arm steady, unbothered.
“Give it back.”
“No.”
“Andrew.”
Neil held out his hand, voice tightening slightly, frustration threading through every syllable.
“Please.”
That made Andrew pause.
Just for a second.
He studied Neil like he was deciding something important, like he was weighing whether this counted as a real problem or just another version of Neil refusing to stop. Then he leaned in and kissed him.
Quick. Soft. Controlled. Familiar in a way that made it worse, not better.
It lasted only a moment but it was enough.
When Andrew pulled back, Neil just stared at him, completely derailed, thoughts scattered like someone had dropped them on the floor.
“You did that because I was studying.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Probably.”
Neil reached for the notebook again out of instinct.
Andrew moved it behind his back.
Neil exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound of pure frustration.
“Give me the notes.”
“No.”
“I need them.”
“You need a break.”
Neil narrowed his eyes.
“You can’t just kiss me every time I’m working.”
Andrew’s expression didn’t change at all.
“Seems effective.”
Neil hated that it was.
He glanced at the notebook again, then at Andrew, weighing his options like any of them mattered anymore.
“Five minutes.”
“Ten.”
“Five.”
“Ten.”
Neil let out a long breath, shoulders dropping slightly in reluctant surrender.
“Fine.”
Andrew handed the notebook back.
Neil opened it, stared at it for exactly three seconds, then closed it again like his brain had officially given up.
Andrew raised an eyebrow.
“Done?”
“For now.”
“Good.”
Neil leaned back against the locker, finally letting his body relax, tension easing out in slow increments.
Andrew stayed beside him, close but not touching, like he was giving Neil space without actually leaving.
After a moment, Neil bumped his shoulder lightly against Andrew’s.
“You know you could have just asked me to take a break.”
“I did.”
“You kissed me.”
“You listened.”
Neil huffed a quiet laugh, the tension finally easing out of him in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.
“Fair.”
The Dorm Room
The dorm room was quiet in the way that made thoughts feel louder than they should, like every idea had been turned up too high and refused to settle.
Neil sat at his desk with three textbooks open, a notebook filled with half-finished answers, and an exam looming over him like a deadline he couldn’t afford to lose to. The pages were crowded with notes, arrows, underlines, and corrections that blurred together the longer he stared.
He really couldn’t afford distractions.
So of course, he had spent the last fifteen minutes rereading the same paragraph without absorbing a single word.
Andrew sat on his bed behind him, watching.
“You’re doing it again.”
Neil didn’t look up.
“Doing what?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m studying.”
“No.”
Neil frowned, irritation flickering.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“Because you’re not.”
Neil finally turned slightly in his chair, eyes narrowing.
“I am reading.”
“You’ve read the same sentence eight times.”
Silence.
Neil looked down.
…He had.
He stared at the page like it had personally betrayed him, like it had changed while he wasn’t looking.
“I’ll get it,” he muttered.
Andrew stood.
Neil immediately turned back to the book, as if movement alone could protect him from interruption.
“Don’t.”
Andrew stopped.
“Don’t what?”
“Distract me.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Neil gave him a look that said he didn’t believe that for a second, not even for a moment.
Andrew walked over anyway.
He stopped right beside the chair, close enough that Neil had to tilt his head slightly just to see him properly.
Neil pointed at the textbook like it could protect him.
“I have an exam.”
“I know.”
“And I need to study.”
“I know.”
“So leave me alone.”
Andrew leaned down before Neil could fully process the movement.
Neil barely had time to turn before Andrew kissed him.
Quick again. Familiar now. Almost inevitable, like it had become a solution Andrew reached for without hesitation.
When Andrew pulled back, Neil looked up at him, expression blank for a beat too long, like his thoughts had been forcibly reset.
Andrew straightened.
“Now you’re distracted.”
Neil blinked slowly.
“That was the plan?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you were getting annoyed.”
Neil glanced at the book, then back at Andrew.
“I was not.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
Andrew’s mouth twitched faintly, like he was holding back something dangerously close to amusement.
Neil sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, pushing frustration back into something more manageable.
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Neil pushed his chair back and stood, decision made in a way that felt final.
Andrew watched him carefully, like he was waiting for the outcome of a test he had already predicted.
“So you just wanted to distract me.”
“Yes.”
“From studying.”
“Yes.”
Neil shook his head like he couldn’t believe this was his life, like none of this should logically be happening.
Then he grabbed Andrew by the shirt and pulled him down into another kiss.
This one wasn’t quick.
Andrew froze for half a second, just long enough to register surprise, before responding, hand steadying on Neil’s shoulder as the moment shifted.
When Neil pulled back, Andrew looked at him with mild disbelief.
“What was that for?”
“Distraction.”
A beat.
Andrew stared at him.
Neil smiled faintly, almost smug, like he had finally evened the score.
“You started it.”
A quiet huff left Andrew, something like reluctant approval, like he was acknowledging a strategy that had turned back on him.
“Fair.”
Neil glanced at his books, then back at him.
“I guess I can take a break.”
“Good.”
“Five minutes.”
“Ten.”
Neil rolled his eyes.
“Five.”
Andrew held out his hand.
Neil took it without hesitation.
They moved to the bed, books abandoned for now, the tension of studying dissolving into something softer, quieter, easier to breathe through.
Neil leaned his head against Andrew’s shoulder, exhaling slowly, like he was finally allowed to stop holding everything so tightly.
After a moment, he spoke quietly.
“You’re getting predictable.”
Andrew looked down at him.
“How?”
“Every time I focus too hard, you kiss me.”
Andrew considered that for a moment, expression thoughtful, like he was evaluating whether that was a flaw or a feature.
“Does it work?”
Neil’s mouth curved slightly.
“Every time.”
Andrew’s fingers tightened around his.
“Then I’ll keep doing it.”
And honestly, Neil didn’t mind one bit.