Another short TF2 story, featuring my two OCs Klein and Miles. Klein can't shoot for shit, so Miles offers advice. Klein has minor gay panic lmao

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The syringe bounced ineffectively off the metal rim of the target. A string of foreign curses followed the projectile. Klein tossed the gun to the side and kicked at the dusty ground, pacing back and forth angrily.

His little outburst brought Miles slinking out of the base, the sharpshooter amused at his coworker’s shortcomings. “Yelling isn’t gonna make ‘em fly straight, you know.” Klein glared at him and sighed, dropping himself onto an old crate and setting his chin in his hands. “Thanks for that wonderful commentary, quite helpful,” he growled. He kept the same frustrated expression as Miles pulled up a second crate, but didn’t protest to the other’s presence.

“Your posture was off.” Klein glanced at the gunner, raising an eyebrow slightly. He continued. “Your arm is too locked up. You don’t give yourself a chance to react. Which wouldn’t be an issue in a nest, but… not so great on the move.” Miles gestured with his arms a bit, trying to demonstrate his point, but Klein was clearly struggling to grasp his admittedly awkward display. The medic shook his head and stood up.
“Just show me with the gun instead, you look like a drunk raccoon.” He picked up his syringe gun and offered it to the marksman. Miles took it, choosing to ignore that raccoon comment.

The smaller weapon felt odd in his hands, but he shifted the weight and settled into a firing position. “Like this. Keep light on your feet, keep your head straight, and-“ he fired, and a syringe lodged itself close to center. He let out a pleasantly surprised cry. “Oi not bad for never having shot this thing! See, not impossible after all,” he remarked proudly.

He offered the weapon back to its owner. “You’re up, doc.” Klein snatched the gun back and took a position in front of the target again. The medic raised it to aim, ready to fire, when Miles stopped him. “Here, let me. You and your old habits.” The doctor started to ask what he meant but was caught off guard by Miles’ face suddenly, alarmingly, close to his and the other man’s hands on his. Miles guided his arms into a better position, lining up a shot; Klein tried to ignore the sudden flush he felt in his face and pretended to focus on the target instead. A second of quiet, aside from his resounding heartbeat, and then-

“Now doctor, fire!”

The gun fires. Bullseye.