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Matt
Matt Boyd wasn’t a suspicious guy by nature. He didn’t snoop, didn’t pry—well, not more than any other Fox did. He’d long ago learned that if Neil Josten didn’t want you in his business, no amount of digging would crack him open. So Matt had learned to wait. To let Neil show what he wanted to show, in his own time.
But the Foxes had also learned to keep their eyes peeled. Because every now and then, the universe would hand you something rare. Something worth quietly pocketing like treasure.
It was after midnight, the dorm hall quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the whir of an ancient air conditioner. Matt had just finished a brutal workout video—Kevin’s fault, obviously—and was sweaty, starving, and on the hunt for one of the protein bars he’d hidden from Nicky in the communal kitchen. He padded down the hall in socks, rubbing the back of his neck.
The kitchen light was on. He frowned. It wasn’t unusual for people to raid the fridge this late, but most of the team was either asleep or passed out after a late-night movie.
He pushed the door open—and froze.
Neil was perched on the counter, legs parted, feet dangling a fair way above the tiles. Andrew Minyard was standing between his knees, arms braced on the counter on either side of Neil’s thighs. The position alone was enough to make Matt’s brain short-circuit. It wasn’t just casual proximity; it was intimacy. A closeness that screamed, this is mine, and I don’t care who knows it.
Matt didn’t move. He couldn’t. His first wild thought was that if he so much as breathed too loudly, they’d spook and scatter like deer.
Neil was smiling. Not the small, guarded half-smiles he gave the rest of the world, but something loose, unguarded. His whole face softened, eyes warm as they locked on Andrew’s. He was smirking at something Andrew had said, chin tilted just enough that their foreheads could touch if Andrew leaned in half an inch more.
Andrew, for his part, looked… Andrew. Expression flat, eyes unreadable. But his hand was on Neil’s thigh, fingers splayed casually over the fabric of his sweats. He didn’t seem to realize it was there, or maybe he didn’t care. It was the kind of touch that wasn’t accidental. A choice. A statement.
Matt’s chest squeezed.
He’d always known Andrew and Neil were a thing. Everyone knew, even if neither of them paraded it around. They were a fortress, a pair of stone walls propped against each other. But knowing was different from seeing.
Seeing Neil relaxed, leaning into someone else’s presence. Seeing Andrew, the same Andrew who once threatened Matt with a knife over touching his controller, standing this close and not moving away.
It was almost too much.
Matt’s first instinct was to laugh. His second was to take a mental picture, seal it up, and never let it go. His third was to back out before they realized he was there, because if Andrew caught him staring, his life expectancy would plummet to zero.
But Neil laughed first.
It wasn’t loud—it was quiet, breathy—but it filled the space anyway. He ducked his head a little, still grinning, and Matt felt like he was intruding on something he was never meant to witness. Something private. Something sacred.
Andrew’s gaze flicked up, just once.
Matt swore his soul left his body. Those flat hazel eyes locked on him across the room, cool and sharp, like the edge of a blade pressed against the throat. Andrew didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even twitch his fingers on Neil’s thigh. But Matt got the message loud and clear.
You didn’t see this.
Matt’s heart thudded. He raised his hands slowly, palms up, the universal signal of I come in peace. Then, with exaggerated care, he took one slow step backward. Then another.
Neil hadn’t even noticed. Or maybe he had and didn’t care. He was still looking at Andrew, smirk tugging at his lips like the whole world outside that circle of light and tile and warmth didn’t exist.
Matt managed to get out of the kitchen without making a sound. As soon as he was in the hallway, he leaned against the wall, hand over his chest. His heart was hammering like he’d just run suicides across the court.
He dug out his phone with shaking hands and fired off a text to Dan.
Matt: CODE RED. INTIMACY.
Dan: ?? what
Matt: COUNTER. NEIL. ANDREW. BETWEEN. THIGH TOUCH.
Dan: ARE YOU SERIOUS
Matt: I’m going to die.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket and blew out a shaky breath.
The image was burned into his brain. Neil on the counter, smiling like he’d been caught in sunlight. Andrew, close enough to steal that warmth, not moving away. That hand on Neil’s thigh.
It wasn’t just affection. It wasn’t even romance, not in the flowers-and-handholding sense. It was something fiercer, sharper. A bond forged in survival and defiance.
Matt felt his throat go tight.
Because Neil deserved that. He deserved someone who made him smile like that, who steadied him, who stood in his corner without hesitation. And Andrew—Andrew, who’d carved the word NO into the very marrow of his bones—deserved someone who he’d say yes to.
Matt laughed softly to himself, shaking his head. “God, they’re unbelievable.”
He padded back to his room, already planning how to tell Dan later. He wouldn’t exaggerate. He wouldn’t need to.
Some moments didn’t need embellishment. They spoke for themselves.
And that image—that flash of Neil and Andrew, still as statues and yet alive with something burning between them—would stay with him forever.
Allison
Allison had never thought much of Neil and Andrew. Not at first. Neil was just another messy addition to their already chaotic roster, a boy with too many secrets stitched into his skin and a knack for getting bloodied. And Andrew—well, Andrew was Andrew. Which was to say, a brick wall with knives. Together, they’d been more like a dare than a reality: a pair that should not work, two magnets flipped the wrong way.
But Allison was observant. If you didn’t watch people closely, you missed the good stuff. And when it came to Andrew and Neil, the good stuff was so easy to miss—it was practically invisible, tucked into the margins of things, happening in the quiet space between breaths.
Which is why the night she caught them outside with a cigarette lit between them was burned into her brain forever.
It was late. The kind of late that soaked into your skin, the air heavy and sticky from the remnants of summer heat. Allison had stormed out of Fox Tower after another spat with Aaron—the twins were grating in different ways, but Aaron in particular seemed born to annoy. She needed air. Preferably with a glass of wine in hand, but she’d take the night breeze instead.
She turned the corner into the courtyard, heels clicking against the pavement. And then she froze.
Neil and Andrew were leaning against the wall by the lamppost, almost hidden in the shadow it threw. They weren’t talking. That wasn’t unusual—those two could pass entire hours without opening their mouths. No, what made her stop was the ritual playing out in front of her.
Andrew had a cigarette pinched between his fingers, the lighter in his other hand. He flicked it once, twice, then let the flame linger. He lifted the cigarette to Neil’s lips like he’d done it a hundred times before, a silent offering.
Neil leaned forward without hesitation.
Andrew’s thumb brushed against Neil’s jaw as he steadied the cigarette. But he didn’t pull away right after the flame caught. His hand lingered, fingers sliding just slightly, almost a caress. His thumb traced the sharp line of Neil’s jawbone, his palm warm against skin. It was so deliberate, so unhurried, that Allison actually held her breath.
Neil didn’t flinch. He didn’t shy away. He inhaled, smoke curling into his lungs, and exhaled like the world around him had ceased to matter. Andrew stayed close, hand still holding his jaw as if grounding him.
Then, with a tiny shift, Neil did something Allison never would have imagined: he pinched the cigarette between his own fingers, pulled it from his lips, and—without breaking eye contact—lifted it to Andrew’s mouth.
Andrew accepted it like it was the most natural thing in the world, leaning forward until the tip flared, smoke curling between them in a soft, shared halo. Neil’s hand trembled just barely as Andrew’s lips brushed the filter. And then Andrew exhaled, a slow, unbothered stream of smoke that passed inches from Neil’s cheek, his hand finally dropping away from Neil’s jaw.
When he was done, Andrew held the cigarette himself, ember glowing faintly as he tapped the ash against the wall.
It was brief, subtle, almost mundane. But Allison saw it for what it was: intimate, practiced, an act that carried the weight of trust and something more dangerous than either of them would ever admit out loud.
Allison pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Well, well, well. What do we have here?
She didn’t move right away. Instead, she leaned against the corner of the building, deliberately making noise when her heel scuffed the concrete. Both boys’ heads snapped toward her, Neil startled, Andrew bored but with that dangerous flicker in his eyes that said she was one wrong move from getting a knife to the throat.
“Cute,” Allison drawled, because she couldn’t resist. She stepped forward, one hand on her hip, blonde hair catching in the light. “Didn’t know you two were doing domestic roleplay. Should I start calling you ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’?”
Neil immediately went red. Andrew, predictably, did not flinch. He exhaled slowly, cigarette smoke streaming out like a warning.
“Go away, Barbie,” Andrew said flatly.
Allison smirked. She wasn’t Barbie. She was Allison Reynolds, and she’d just struck gold.
Andrew tapped more ash off the cigarette, the faint glow still lighting his hand. Neil muttered something under his breath, too low for Allison to hear. Andrew’s lips twitched—twitched, not a smile, not quite, but close enough that Allison’s jaw nearly dropped.
She wanted to clap. Instead, she fished her phone out of her purse, tilted her head, and raised it like she was about to take a picture.
“Don’t you dare,” Neil said immediately, horrified.
“Oh, sweetie,” Allison said, her voice dripping honey and poison. “This moment is historic. The world deserves to know. Andrew Minyard, lighting a cigarette for his little striker like they’re starring in some arthouse romance? It’s cinematic.”
Neil looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him. Andrew looked like he wanted the ground to swallow Allison.
“Try it,” Andrew said. His tone was flat, but his eyes were sharp, the kind of sharp that promised blood.
Allison lowered her phone slowly, grinning. “Fine. I’ll spare your pride. But don’t think I won’t remember this. And when Nicky eventually dies from shock because you two admitted you’re actually dating, I’ll be the one telling this story at his funeral.”
Neil groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. Andrew finally brought the cigarette back to his own mouth, taking a long drag like he could inhale his way out of the conversation.
Allison stayed just long enough to relish the tension, then clicked her tongue and turned on her heel. “Carry on, lovebirds. Don’t let me stop you.”
By the time she got back to her room, Allison was practically buzzing. Not with mockery, though that was part of it. No, it was satisfaction. Because she’d seen something real, something the others hadn’t yet noticed.
Andrew and Neil weren’t just teammates. They weren’t just weird allies, or partners in crime, or whatever excuse they gave themselves. They were—God help them—something softer. Something rawer. Something honest.
And Allison? Allison was going to enjoy every second of watching that unfold.
Renee
Renee had never been one to sneak. She was meticulous, precise, the kind of person who left no trace of her presence. But tonight, curiosity had gotten the better of her. She’d been wandering the dorm, trying to avoid Nicky’s constant yammering about Andreil like it was breaking news, when she’d heard a faint sound coming from one of the rarely used practice rooms.
A soft thump of shoes against floor, a rustle of fabric. Then… a low chuckle.
She froze, heart pounding. That laugh—Neil’s laugh—was unmistakable.
Renee crouched behind the door frame, careful not to make a sound, and peeked inside.
Neil was leaning against the wall, sleeves rolled up, fingers tapping absently against his own arm. Andrew was standing in front of him, expression neutral as always—but Renee noticed the tension in his shoulders, the slight tilt of his chin. Something was coming. Something private.
Then it happened.
Neil stepped closer. A slow, deliberate step. Andrew didn’t move. He never did—at least not immediately—but Renee noticed the barely perceptible shift in his posture, the way his hands twitched near his pockets.
Neil’s hand rose, brushing a stray lock of Andrew’s hair from his forehead. It was almost casual, almost too gentle, but Renee had seen enough to know that gestures like this were loaded.
And then Neil leaned forward.
His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of Andrew’s neck. Just a quick, teasing kiss at first. Andrew shivered—subtle, but noticeable. Renee’s eyes widened. Andrew Minyard, who usually radiated control and danger like armor, shivered like a leaf.
Neil’s grin widened, smug and victorious. He knew. He knew exactly what that reaction meant. And he didn’t stop.
The next kiss lingered longer, tracing the curve of Andrew’s neck. Andrew’s jaw tightened, his body stiff, but the small shiver that ran through him betrayed his weakness. Neil’s hand found the back of Andrew’s neck, thumb brushing gently as he leaned in, pressing just a little closer.
Renee bit her lip to keep from laughing. This was… astonishing. She’d known Neil was audacious, fearless, practically untouchable in many ways, but this—this was another level. Andrew Minyard, frozen, shivering slightly, letting someone else invade his personal space. And Neil, oh, Neil, was fully aware and taking his time, savoring it.
Andrew’s hands finally moved—just enough to rest against Neil’s forearms, steadying himself—but he didn’t push away. That was the silent surrender. That tiny acceptance that made the whole thing so dangerous and delicate at once.
Renee could barely breathe. It wasn’t just intimacy. It was a quiet battle of wills, a duel where both participants were winning, both giving and taking in ways words could never describe.
Neil’s lips lingered against Andrew’s neck, just under the ear, and Andrew tilted his head slightly, giving more access than he usually allowed anyone. Another shiver ran through him. Neil’s fingers gently stroked Andrew’s hairline, his other hand tracing the curve of his shoulder like it belonged there.
Renee felt her stomach twist. This was… perfect. Not flashy. Not dramatic. Not even loud. Just precise, controlled, and fiercely private. And Andrew—Andrew shivering beneath Neil’s deliberate touch—was proof that even the stone wall of Minyard could be undone with the right combination of patience and audacity.
Neil’s smile ghosted against Andrew’s neck, soft but teasing. “You like that,” he murmured, almost inaudible, but enough that Renee’s ears picked it up.
Andrew’s sharp inhale was his answer, his slight arch toward Neil unmistakable.
Renee wanted to look away, wanted to pretend she hadn’t seen it—but she couldn’t. There was a gravity to it, a magnetism that pulled her in. The subtle gestures, the shivers, the quiet acknowledgment of desire—it was raw and real, and impossible to ignore.
Neil pulled back slightly, just enough to look Andrew in the eyes. His grin lingered. “Told you,” he said softly.
Andrew’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile, almost breaking the facade of control. His eyes flicked away, but the faint blush creeping along his jawline betrayed him.
Renee exhaled quietly. This was Andreil at their finest—not fighting, not running, not performing. Just two people existing in a moment they’d carved out from the rest of the world, private, deliberate, and electric.
Neil leaned back just slightly, hand dropping from Andrew’s neck to rest lightly against his shoulder, thumb brushing in a lazy circle. Andrew finally let his hands fall to his sides, still tense, still controlled, but the shiver had not left. Neil’s presence alone had left it there, a reminder that even Andrew’s walls had cracks.
Renee’s eyes lingered a moment longer, imprinting every detail: the curve of Neil’s smile, the way Andrew’s shiver ran through his body, the quiet intimacy that didn’t need sound to exist. And then, careful not to disturb the delicate equilibrium, she stepped back, retreating silently to the stairwell.
She paused for a moment, breathing in the cool night air. The image of Neil’s lips on Andrew’s neck, Andrew shivering, and the slow, deliberate gestures of affection would be seared in her mind forever.
Renee smiled softly to herself. The Foxes were loud, chaotic, and ridiculous, but moments like this—moments of stolen intimacy—were why she stayed. Why she cared. Because underneath the bravado and the games, there were glimpses of something beautiful. Something real.
And tonight, she had seen one of those glimpses.
Dan
Dan hadn’t intended to snoop. She really hadn’t. She was just… helping Neil with some phone settings because he, as usual, was incapable of functioning his phone without assistance. But as soon as the phone was in her hands, curiosity got the better of her. One accidental tap, one momentary slip of judgment, and suddenly she was scrolling through Neil’s photo gallery.
At first, the images were mundane enough to relax her. Selfies from practice, Kevin mid-dramatic gesture over a missed shot, Matt posing ridiculously, clearly aware that the camera had caught him at a perfect angle. Dan smiled at those; she’d seen all of it before. Then she scrolled a little further, and her chest stuttered.
Neil and Andrew. Together. Close. And not just casually close, but intimately. Dan paused, holding her breath. The first photo that truly stole her attention was the cheek kiss. Andrew’s lips pressed lightly against Neil’s skin, just enough to mark the contact, while Neil’s grin stretched wide and victorious, the kind of grin that spoke of triumph and absolute delight. Andrew’s face remained flat, as always, but Dan could see the faint tension in his shoulders and the subtle curve of his jaw. It was surrender in miniature, a tiny crack in the wall he carried everywhere.
Dan leaned closer, careful not to disturb the phone, and let herself take in every detail. She could almost feel Andrew’s internal struggle: maintain composure, don’t give in, don’t show anything. And yet, his body betrayed him, just slightly, ever so slightly. Neil, of course, seemed to notice everything. That grin—so smug, so knowing—was proof that he knew exactly how much Andrew was letting himself be touched, just this once, for a brief second.
The next photo made her laugh softly, covering her mouth. Neil’s face was pressed against Andrew’s, cheeks squished together in a selfie, Neil smiling like a total idiot, and Andrew… Andrew was completely straight-faced, arms crossed, eyes rolling ever so slightly, lips pressed in a thin line. It was ridiculous. Infuriatingly ridiculous. And yet somehow, entirely endearing. She couldn’t help it; she grinned. Neil had clearly staged it just enough to capture the contrast between his excitement and Andrew’s forced neutrality.
Her fingers hovered over the screen, scrolling further, and then she froze again. There it was: Neil and Andrew lying in Neil’s twin-sized bed. Neil’s exaggerated fake-biting pose on Andrew’s shoulder was perfectly timed, his mouth open like he was about to take a theatrical chomp, and Andrew’s face was the picture of exasperation, eyes rolling, mouth slightly parted in silent protest. Dan burst out laughing, sitting back in her chair as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t even process it fully—the absurdity, the intimacy, the total audacity of Neil documenting this moment. She whispered, “I can’t… I can’t even… Neil!”
Then her chest tightened as she scrolled to a quieter photo. Andrew asleep. Neil had clearly snapped it in stealth mode, catching him mid-slumber with his chest rising and falling evenly, hair falling across his forehead, and lips curved faintly as if even sleep hadn’t fully let him rest. Dan felt a pang of tenderness. Andrew’s usual armor, the carefully constructed expression he wore around the world, had completely dissolved in sleep. He was human here. Vulnerable. And Neil, for all his chaos, had captured it with a kind of quiet reverence.
Dan’s grin softened as she scrolled on, realizing that this gallery wasn’t just a series of pranks or playful moments—it was a documentation of intimacy in miniature. Neil had captured every tiny detail of Andrew letting go, of Andrew giving in, of the subtle, private gestures that defined their relationship. She found another photo: Neil leaning against Andrew during downtime, shoulder pressed lightly to his, Andrew’s hand hovering near Neil’s arm, reluctant but not withdrawing. And another: Neil with his hand brushing Andrew’s hair back, Andrew’s jaw relaxing in the tiniest possible way, cheek faintly flushed, eyes glimmering despite the neutrality he tried so hard to maintain.
Dan exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her chest. It was like discovering a secret museum she wasn’t meant to enter, each image a piece of art capturing the complicated, chaotic, undeniable connection between Neil and Andrew. They were private, elusive, and fiercely guarded, and yet here they were, immortalized through Neil’s mischievous, intentional lens.
Her lips curved into a grin as she lingered on the photo of Andrew’s slight smirk, the one Neil had captured while Andrew thought no one was looking, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. She could almost hear the silent conversation happening in the images: Neil, teasing, patient, audacious, pushing Andrew to react without words, and Andrew, tense, resistant, but ultimately yielding in small, exquisite increments.
Dan felt like she’d stumbled into the heart of something sacred. She hadn’t just found photos. She’d found proof—proof that Andrew Minyard, who wore his defenses like armor, allowed Neil to breach them in subtle, perfect ways. The cheek kiss, the squished-together selfie, the fake-biting in bed, the sleeping Andrew, and the countless small, candid captures of them touching, leaning, laughing, almost-smiling, were all evidence. Evidence that Neil’s charm, his patience, his audacity, had worked. Andrew had given in. Just a little. Just enough.
Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment, reluctant to scroll any further, afraid of breaking the magic. But she couldn’t help herself. Each photo was a story. Each moment captured an unspoken truth. The gallery was Neil’s proof of his quiet victories, Andrew’s surrender in increments too subtle for the world to see.
Finally, Dan leaned back, letting herself breathe. The phone went back into Neil’s pocket carefully, reverently, like it was a sacred artifact. She didn’t need to keep it open. She would remember every single photo: the cheek kiss, Andrew’s straight-faced submission in the squished-together selfie, the exasperated fake-biting in Neil’s bed, the sleeping Andrew, the small, intimate touches she had never seen before. Each one burned into her mind like a memory she’d carry forever.
She shook her head, grinning faintly. Andreil wasn’t just rumors whispered among the Foxes. It wasn’t just joking fan speculation. It was real. Entirely, beautifully real. And she had proof. Proof that no one else—not Kevin, not Matt, not Nicky—would ever see unless Neil chose to share it. Some treasures, she thought, were too good to share.
Dan settled back, exhaling, chest warm and heart light. She had glimpsed something private, intimate, and utterly unrepeatable: the chaos and tenderness of Neil and Andrew, captured in selfies, in stolen moments, in small victories, in surrender. She smiled softly. Neil had orchestrated it all without Andrew even noticing. And Andrew… Andrew had finally, quietly, let him.
It was ridiculous. It was perfect. It was everything.
And Dan? Danielle Wilds? She would never forget it.
Nicky
Nicky wasn’t subtle. That was well-established. But today, he had a perfectly innocent reason to be in Neil and Andrew’s dorm: he needed a spare charger. He had left his own in his locker again (typical Nicky), and Matt had reminded him for the fifth time that evening to “stop losing things like a toddler,” so here he was, creeping into the dorm quietly, trying not to make too much noise.
He paused at the door, squinting into the dimly lit room. Neil was leaning against the wall near the bed, Andrew standing stiffly, arms crossed, jaw tight, like he always did when Neil pushed the smallest bit of his buttons. Nicky froze. He had walked in expecting a mundane scene: Neil fiddling with something, Andrew muttering “ugh, stop” in his usual deadpan way. Instead, he found himself eavesdropping on a conversation that was quieter, more charged, than anything he’d expected.
“Are you even listening?” Andrew muttered, voice low, clipped.
“I’m listening,” Neil replied smoothly, a grin playing at the corner of his lips. His gaze was fixed on Andrew, measuring, teasing, daring.
“Yes or no?” Neil asked suddenly, tone soft but deliberate. Nicky’s ears perked up immediately. That was not a mundane question. That was the kind of question Neil asked when he had Andrew cornered in one of those rare, intimate moments where Andrew’s walls were thin.
Andrew exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “I… yes,” he said quietly, barely audible over Neil’s satisfied hum.
Nicky’s eyebrows shot up. This was going to be interesting.
He inched further into the dorm, pretending to look for the charger on the desk while his eyes subtly wandered toward the bed through the cracked bedroom door. Neil had already shifted onto his twin-sized mattress, sprawling across it with that infuriatingly confident grin, as if claiming every inch of space was a personal victory. Andrew was standing near the bed at first, arms crossed, eyes darting toward Neil, but gradually he stepped closer. Nicky noticed the subtle tension in his shoulders, the slight twitch of his jaw, the way his hands hovered near Neil’s torso, unsure but not entirely resisting.
The moment was electric. Nicky’s lips curved into a grin. He quietly leaned against the wall, pretending to examine some papers, silently savoring the private scene unfolding before him.
Neil leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss along Andrew’s neck, and Andrew shivered, involuntarily. Neil grinned wider. “Relax,” he murmured, teasing and sultry all at once, hand brushing along Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew huffed in frustration, jaw tightening, shoulders rising with a subtle tremor.
Nicky could hardly contain his excitement. The tension was tangible, almost visible in the dim light of the dorm. Neil pressed again, softer this time, just brushing his lips along the sensitive skin of Andrew’s neck. “Yes or no?” Neil murmured again, the question light but loaded, almost playful.
Andrew’s exhale was sharp, a mix of surrender and irritation. “Yes,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Nicky’s grin widened. That was the Andreil magic—Andrew giving in, just slightly, and Neil knowing exactly how far to push.
Finally, Neil shifted fully onto the bed, pulling Andrew closer until he was lying across him, sprawling across the tiny mattress with casual dominance. Nicky stifled a laugh as Neil did his exaggerated fake-biting pose along Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew groaned loudly, rolling his eyes, trying to recoil but failing spectacularly. The way Neil nuzzled him, hands teasing along the contours of his arms and chest, was both infuriating and mesmerizing.
Andrew’s hands hovered tensely at first, then finally rested lightly on Neil’s forearms, letting contact happen. Nicky’s grin widened. This was no ordinary teasing. This was Neil navigating Andrew’s walls with precision, testing boundaries, pushing and pulling in a careful, intimate dance that only they could execute.
Neil leaned down again, forehead brushing Andrew’s, fingers framing his jaw, thumb tracing lightly along the edge. Andrew’s lips twitched, almost a smile, but quickly pressed into a thin line as if to maintain composure. Nicky nearly groaned out loud. The subtle power dynamic, the teasing intimacy, the way Neil could coax even the most rigid Andrew into shivering, leaning, moving ever so slightly closer—it was art.
Neil pressed another soft kiss along Andrew’s neck, lingering deliberately. Andrew shivered, a small sound escaping him, shoulders rising and relaxing involuntarily. Nicky could feel the electricity, the tension, the warmth of it radiating from the bed. This was more than playfulness; it was trust, closeness, and intimacy, carefully negotiated and executed in a private moment that no one else could see.
Neil paused, letting his hand linger at Andrew’s jawline, his thumb brushing softly, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Yes or no?” he murmured once more, softer, playful, patient.
Andrew exhaled, jaw tightening, then relaxed slightly, allowing Neil’s hand to linger. “Yes,” he whispered again, surrendering quietly, just enough. Nicky’s chest tightened as he watched. That simple exchange—words, touches, glances—was loaded with meaning, a quiet victory for Neil, a small surrender from Andrew.
Neil shifted slightly, pressing another series of soft, teasing kisses along Andrew’s shoulder and neck. Andrew’s shivers were small but unmistakable, the tension in his hands slowly easing as he settled into the intimacy. Nicky couldn’t believe he was witnessing this. The private vulnerability of Andrew, combined with Neil’s audacious, mischievous energy, made the scene almost too electric to breathe.
The pair rolled slightly, constrained by the tiny bed but entirely unbothered. Neil pressed their foreheads together, lips brushing lightly against Andrew’s, hands sliding over his arms, tracing gentle patterns. Andrew’s fingers rested lightly on Neil’s forearms, allowing touch, betraying the smallest signs of affection without admitting to it verbally.
Nicky’s grin widened, and he reached subtly for his phone, snapping a clandestine photo—not to share, not to tease, but because the moment was perfect. Neil grinning like he had won something monumental, Andrew shivering against him, the subtle shifts in posture, the lingering touches, the playful nips—it was perfection. Pure Andreil chaos, raw and intimate, frozen in one frame.
Neil finally pressed his lips to Andrew’s forehead, cheek brushing lightly as his fingers lingered along Andrew’s jaw and shoulder. Andrew’s eyes flickered open, meeting Neil’s gaze briefly, expression softening just enough that Neil’s victorious smirk deepened. Nicky leaned back, letting out a quiet laugh, silently applauding the audacity, precision, and intimacy he’d just witnessed.
He moved carefully back toward the dorm door, pretending to examine a book on the shelf while replaying every moment in his mind. Every shiver, every whisper, every teasing, lingering touch, every “yes or no?”—he cataloged it all. Andreil at their rawest, at their most private, was chaotic, infuriating, tender, and intoxicating.
Finally, Nicky slipped out quietly, careful not to disturb the magic of the moment. He leaned against the wall outside, exhaling slowly, heart racing. The bedroom door behind him hid the chaos perfectly, leaving only Nicky as the sole witness to something rare, private, and entirely electric.
And he smiled. Andrew and Neil weren’t just a rumor. It wasn’t just whispered theories among the Foxes. It was real. Raw, messy, intimate, and perfect.
Aaron
Aaron wasn’t looking for trouble. He just wanted Tylenol.
The lounge was quiet when he came in, the hum of the fridge the only noise. He expected to see Kevin at the table, scribbling plays on a napkin, or Neil sprawled with his textbooks, pretending he was going to study. But what he found instead made him stop cold in the doorway.
Andrew was stretched out on the couch, reading glasses perched low on his nose, book in one hand. Between his legs—Neil. Curled up like he belonged there, head pressed against Andrew’s chest, completely knocked out. Andrew’s other hand rested absently in Neil’s hair, not moving, not even really conscious. Just there.
It was too domestic. Too calm. Too wrong.
Aaron stood there, pill bottle forgotten, pulse loud in his ears. His first thought was to slam the door behind him, make noise, announce himself, force them to scatter. That was what people did when they were caught doing something they weren’t supposed to.
But neither of them moved.
Andrew flicked his eyes up once, quick as a strike, saw Aaron, and then—did nothing. He didn’t shift his hand, didn’t shove Neil off him, didn’t care. He just turned a page and kept reading.
Aaron’s skin crawled.
He clenched his jaw, stepped inside, and grabbed the Tylenol off the counter with more force than necessary. Still no movement. Neil didn’t even stir. He slept like someone who had nothing to fear. Like someone safe.
That was laughable. Nothing about Andrew was safe. Nothing about their lives was safe. Neil should have known better. Neil should have run. But instead, here he was—sleeping on Andrew like Andrew was some goddamn pillow.
“Disgusting,” Aaron muttered under his breath.
Andrew didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t care.
And that—that burned. Because Aaron knew Andrew should care. He knew Andrew should shove Neil away, should snarl, should remind the world that no one got that close, not ever. That was the rule. Their rule.
But Andrew broke it. For Neil.
Aaron retreated to the kitchen, downed two pills dry, and leaned against the counter, watching them out of the corner of his eye. He hated that he was watching. Hated that he couldn’t stop.
Neil shifted in his sleep, nuzzling deeper against Andrew’s chest, and Andrew adjusted automatically, like he’d done it a hundred times before. His hand skimmed Neil’s hair once, absent, unconscious, before stilling again.
Aaron gripped the counter until his knuckles went white.
It wasn’t just the sight—it was the ease of it. Andrew wasn’t posturing. He wasn’t performing. He wasn’t even guarding himself. He looked… normal.
No, worse. He looked peaceful.
Aaron couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his twin look like that.
And Neil—Neil had done this.
The thought twisted in Aaron’s gut, sharp and ugly.
Neil Josten, the runaway, the liar, the stray Andrew dragged home like a half-dead cat. Neil, who had a knack for inserting himself where he didn’t belong, who had no business being here, who wasn’t family, who wasn’t blood. Neil had carved out something Aaron never could.
Aaron had lived through the same storms, the same rules, the same walls. He’d carried the same knives in his pockets and the same silence in his throat. But Andrew never looked at him like that. Never let him close like that.
And now Aaron was supposed to pretend it didn’t matter. Pretend it didn’t sting.
He exhaled hard, shoved the bottle back on the counter, and told himself he didn’t care. He didn’t need Andrew’s affection. He didn’t want it.
But the image stuck anyway—Andrew, glasses sliding down his nose, book balanced easily, Neil curled between his legs like the safest place in the world.
Aaron wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or both.
Instead, he said flatly, “You’re unbelievable.”
Andrew turned a page. “Don’t project.”
The simple dismissal cut sharper than anything else could. Andrew didn’t even try to deny it. Didn’t try to hide. He owned it. Owned Neil, owned this moment, owned the fact that Aaron had walked in and seen something no one else was ever meant to.
Aaron’s throat felt tight. He forced his voice steady. “What the hell are you doing?”
Andrew didn’t look up. “Reading.”
“Not that.”
Andrew’s eyes lifted over the rim of his glasses, gold and sharp. “Then stop asking questions you already know the answers to.”
Aaron froze, pulse hammering. Andrew’s gaze lingered one beat longer, deliberate, before sliding back to the page.
Neil stirred, let out a sleepy sigh, and settled again. He didn’t even wake.
Aaron couldn’t breathe for a second.
He wanted to leave. He should leave. But his feet stayed planted, like some sick masochistic part of him needed to memorize this, needed to brand the proof of Andrew’s betrayal into his skull.
Because that’s what it was. Betrayal.
Andrew had always said no one got in. No one touched. No one knew. Those weren’t rules—they were laws. And Aaron had lived by them his entire life.
But Andrew had broken them. And he’d broken them for him.
Aaron’s chest burned. He hated Neil. He hated what he represented. He hated the way he’d slipped past Andrew’s walls like it was easy.
But worse than that—he hated how right it looked.
Because for all the bile in Aaron’s throat, he couldn’t deny the truth: Andrew didn’t just allow Neil there. He wanted him there.
And Neil wasn’t afraid. Neil wasn’t playing a game. He was asleep. Honest.
It made Aaron’s hands shake.
He turned on his heel, stalked toward his room, and slammed the door behind him.
Inside, he dropped onto the bed and buried his face in his hands. He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself this wasn’t his problem.
But the image stuck anyway.
Andrew, unguarded. Neil, safe.
And Aaron, on the outside. Again.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, jaw tight. He wanted to be furious. He wanted to burn the sight out of his memory.
But all he could think was this: Andrew had chosen someone. And Aaron couldn’t decide if that made him angrier—or lonelier.
Kevin
Kevin expected silence when he pushed into the dorm room after practice. Neil and Andrew had jumped out of the car fast. Kevin had automatically assumed that the pair had run off to the rooftop or God-knows-where by now.
Instead, the first thing Kevin heard was Neil’s voice—low, uncharacteristically soft.
“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”
Kevin frowned, dropped his duffel by the door, and followed the sound into the lounge.
And there it was: Neil, sitting on the arm of the couch, hair damp from his shower, practice shirt still clinging to him. A bruise had already started to bloom across his cheekbone, deep purple and angry. And in front of him—Andrew. A bag of ice in his hand, pressing it firmly to Neil’s face.
Neil didn’t flinch. In fact, he leaned into it. Like the sting wasn’t pain but comfort.
Kevin stopped dead.
Andrew didn’t even glance up. He sat between Neil’s knees like this was an ordinary routine, short sleeves showing his forearms, expression unreadable as ever. He held the ice in place with careful pressure, and his other hand braced casually on Neil’s knee, like the touch was necessary for balance.
It was too domestic. Too practiced. Too un-Andrew.
Kevin cleared his throat. “What happened?”
Neil’s eyes flicked toward him, sheepish but not guilty. “Ball to the face. Nothing major.”
Kevin arched a brow. “That’s not ‘nothing.’ That’s sloppy.”
“Gee, thanks,” Neil muttered, though there was no heat in it.
Andrew shifted the ice a fraction higher, his gaze cutting to Kevin now—sharp, annoyed, warning. “Leave.”
Kevin crossed his arms. “This is my room too.”
Neil smothered a laugh. “He’s got you there.”
Andrew pressed the ice harder against Neil’s cheek. Neil hissed but didn’t pull back. Andrew leaned just slightly closer, his voice flat: “Shut up.”
Kevin stood rooted in place, unsure what unnerved him more—the fact that Neil looked perfectly content being manhandled by Andrew, or the fact that Andrew was allowing this. No, not just allowing. He was… careful.
Kevin had seen Andrew on court, quick and vicious. He’d seen him in fights, all elbows and teeth. He’d seen him in the aftermath of his temper, the kind of violence that left people sprawled and bleeding. Andrew wasn’t gentle. Andrew didn’t do gentle.
And yet here he was, holding an ice pack against Neil Josten’s face like it was the most important job in the world.
Kevin blinked. “Unbelievable.”
Neither of them reacted.
Andrew adjusted the angle of the ice again, thumb brushing Neil’s jaw for just a fraction of a second too long. Kevin’s throat went dry. He didn’t want to see this. Didn’t want to know this. But he couldn’t unsee it now.
“You should’ve kept your guard up,” Kevin said, because silence pressed too heavy against his ribs.
Neil shot him a look, his mouth quirking into a grin. “I was guarding. Some of us don’t have a million years of training to lean on.”
“You’ve had plenty of training,” Kevin snapped.
Neil shrugged, then winced when the motion shifted the bruise. “Guess I need more.”
Andrew’s fingers curled just a fraction against Neil’s jaw before he went back to holding the ice steady.
Kevin wanted to scoff. Instead, he grabbed a water bottle from the counter and took a long drink, trying to erase the picture burned behind his eyes: Andrew Minyard, the most unapproachable bastard on the team, sitting calmly in the lounge while his striker leaned into his touch like it was safe.
“Don’t get used to that,” Kevin said finally.
Neil blinked. “To what?”
Kevin gestured vaguely with the bottle. “Him. Playing nurse. If you want someone to patch you up, see Abby.”
Neil’s grin widened. “Maybe I like this better.”
Kevin choked on his water.
Andrew didn’t even blink. He set the ice aside, reached up, and tapped Neil’s cheek with two fingers—sharp enough to make Neil jolt. “You’re insufferable.”
Neil laughed, low and easy. “And yet.”
And yet. And yet Andrew was still there, still between Neil’s knees, still close enough that Kevin thought for one terrifying second Neil might kiss him right there.
Kevin slammed his water bottle onto the counter, harder than necessary. “If you two are going to make a habit of this, at least have the decency not to do it where I can see.”
Neil tilted his head, still smiling. “Habit?”
Kevin glared. “Don’t play dumb. This isn’t the first time.”
Andrew leaned back at that, finally moving away from Neil, finally pulling the air taut again. He slid his glasses off his shirt collar, put them on, and turned to his book on the table like Kevin wasn’t even worth acknowledging. “You talk too much.”
Kevin seethed, but what could he say? He’d seen enough. More than enough.
Neil adjusted the ice pack on his own now, but Kevin caught the way his gaze lingered on Andrew’s profile, something soft in his eyes Kevin wished he’d never noticed.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. This wasn’t his problem. He was here to play Exy, not watch Andrew Minyard break every rule he’d ever lived by for a boy who didn’t know when to quit.
And yet… Kevin couldn’t help the thought that kept nagging in his head: maybe that was exactly why Neil belonged there.
He shoved it down, muttered something about reviewing game footage, and stalked toward his room.
Behind him, he swore he heard Neil murmur something low. A question, maybe.
“Yes or no?”
Andrew’s answer was too quiet to catch.
But Kevin didn’t need to hear it. The fact that Neil had asked, and that Andrew hadn’t thrown him out immediately, said more than Kevin ever wanted to know.
+1
The Foxes had won. Against all odds, against every stacked statistic, against Kevin’s pacing and yelling and insistence that they weren’t focused enough, they’d pulled it off.
Now the team buzzed like electricity. Laughter echoed off the walls of Fox Tower, sneakers squeaking against the floors as the group half-stumbled, half-ran back to the dorms to change before heading out for the victory party.
Dan, leading the charge, had one mission: grab Neil and Andrew. Because if she left them behind, they’d find excuses. Neil would claim he needed to study game footage, Andrew would just vanish into his own silence, and both of them would pretend they didn’t need to celebrate. Not tonight. Not after this win.
“They’re not skipping,” Dan announced as they thundered up the stairs. “No way. They’re coming with us.”
Matt laughed, balancing takeout containers like trophies. “You think Andrew’s gonna listen to you?”
“He’ll listen to me if I drag Neil out first,” Dan shot back, pushing open the hallway door.
Nicky was practically vibrating, still riding the adrenaline high. “Oh my god, do you guys realize what this means? A party! Drinks! Karaoke! I’m gonna make Kevin sing—”
Kevin groaned. “I’m not singing.”
“You’re absolutely singing,” Allison said sweetly, hair still damp from her shower but eyes glittering with mischief. “But first we’re getting the gremlins.”
They reached the door to the dorm Neil, Andrew, and Kevin shared. Dan didn’t hesitate. She twisted the knob and shoved it open, calling, “Suit up, strikers, it’s party time—”
And then she stopped dead.
The others piled in behind her. One by one, the noise died.
On the couch, tangled together, were Neil and Andrew.
Not sitting side by side. Not their usual calculated, “just-close-enough” distance.
Neil was sprawled across Andrew’s lap, his knees bracketing Andrew’s hips, one hand buried in Andrew’s hair. Their mouths were locked in a desperate, hungry kiss, the kind that burned away oxygen. Andrew’s fingers gripped Neil’s jaw, tilting his face with ruthless precision, while his other hand clutched Neil’s hip, anchoring him firmly in place.
It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t deniable. It wasn’t a maybe.
It was full-blown, intense, make-out session.
“Oh my god,” Nicky squealed, clutching his chest like he’d been personally blessed. “Dreams DO come true!”
“Holy shit,” Matt breathed, nearly dropping the takeout.
Dan’s mouth fell open. “Oh. Oh wow.”
Allison raised her phone without hesitation. “Incredible. Iconic. Don’t stop on my account.”
Kevin swore under his breath. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unprofessional.”
Renee, soft but firm, said, “We shouldn’t—” but her voice was drowned out by the sheer tidal wave of noise as the team processed what they were seeing.
Because Neil and Andrew didn’t notice at first. Or maybe they did and didn’t care. Neil shifted closer, fingers tightening in Andrew’s hair, while Andrew tilted his head, deepening the kiss like the room wasn’t full of witnesses.
“ARE YOU SEEING THIS?” Nicky practically shrieked. “MY COUSIN IS KISSING HIS STRIKER LIKE THEY’RE IN A SOAP OPERA. THIS IS CINEMA.”
“Allison, are you seriously recording?” Matt yelped.
“Of course I am.” Allison smirked, phone steady. “This is blackmail gold.”
Kevin looked like he wanted to throw himself out the nearest window. “If they bring this to the court, I’m quitting.”
Finally—finally—Andrew broke the kiss. Not abruptly, not with shame or shock, but slow, deliberate. He pulled back just enough that his breath brushed Neil’s lips, his grip still firm on Neil’s jaw. Golden eyes flicked to the doorway, sharp and cold.
Neil followed his gaze, turned his head—and promptly froze.
The entire team stared back at him.
His face went red in an instant. “Oh, fuck.”
Andrew didn’t move. Didn’t shove him off, didn’t shift, didn’t even care that half the Foxes were in their doorway. He just let his thumb trace Neil’s cheekbone once before dropping his hand to the arm of the couch.
“Well?” Andrew said flatly. “Enjoying yourselves?”
Chaos exploded.
Dan flailed, trying to regain control. “Okay, okay, everyone OUT—”
“No way!” Nicky crowed, practically bouncing. “I have been waiting forever for this moment and I am going to savor it.”
Allison cackled, snapping another photo. “You two are disgusting. Adorable, but disgusting.”
Matt groaned. “I’m scarred for life. I’m literally scarred.”
Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re both going to ruin the team.”
Neil buried his burning face against Andrew’s shoulder. “This is hell.”
Andrew’s lips curved—just slightly. Barely there. “You’re the one kissing me.”
Neil muttered something against his shirt, muffled and incoherent.
“What was that?” Andrew asked, amused in the faintest, cruelest way.
Neil turned his face, exasperated but still flushed, and said more clearly, “Yes or no?”
The question hung sharp in the air.
Andrew studied him, golden eyes narrowed, silent for a beat too long. Then he shifted, tugged Neil closer, and said simply, “Yes.”
The room erupted again.
Renee smiled, gentle but sure. Allison howled with laughter. Matt dropped his head into his hands. Nicky practically collapsed onto the nearest chair, crying with joy. “YES. HE SAID YES. CONFIRMED. CANON. I’M MAKING A SLIDESHOW.”
Andrew’s gaze snapped to him. “No, you’re not.”
“Oh, I absolutely am,” Nicky said, already typing furiously into his phone. “Title slide: The Evolution of Andreil. Subtitle: A Love Story.”
Neil groaned louder, trying to hide his face again. “He’s actually doing it.”
Dan clapped her hands, regaining some control. “Okay, enough gawking. Party. Now. Both of you. No excuses.”
Andrew didn’t even blink. “No.”
“Yes,” Dan shot back, not intimidated. “We won, you’re coming. Neil, back me up.”
Neil, still sprawled across Andrew’s lap, bit back a laugh. “Yes.”
Andrew’s eyes narrowed, unimpressed.
Neil smiled, daring. “Yes.”
The team exploded again—half laughter, half groans, half cheers. (The Foxes never could manage clean math.)
Finally, Andrew sighed, shoving Neil gently off his lap and standing. He grabbed his cigarettes off the table, pocketed them, and muttered, “You’re all insufferable.”
“Love you too, cousin!” Nicky yelled, practically giddy.
As the others spilled into the hall again, dragging Andrew and Neil along with them, Neil shot Andrew a sidelong look, still grinning despite his blush.
Andrew, ever unbothered, ever infuriating, leaned down just enough for only Neil to hear. “You owe me.”
Neil’s grin widened. “Yes.”