A/N: This story is set in an alternate universe where Peyton Leverett attends East High with the rest of the cast, and based off of a story written by a dear friend of mine that takes place in that universe.
Take A Walk
Tip-toeing around the topic of love and relationships is to be expected when you're in the closet, or when you're pining after someone you can't have for various reasons. But, watching his sister and Peyton Leverett live in self-inflicted denial over their blatantly obvious feelings for each other has gotten to be more exasperating than teaching uncoordinated freshman how to execute a proper jazz square.
This is why Ryan Evans finds himself with a third- or is it fourth?- red Solo Cup, filled with some foul, bitter tasting beer, in hand, at the Halloween party of a girl who has never spoken a word to him in the almost four years they've been going to school together.
Her name escapes him, but that's beside the point.
To either side of him sit Chad Danforth, dressed rather insensitively as serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer, a choice that definitely didn't deter Ryan from seeking out the nearest drink repository, and Chad's best friend and near polar opposite- the ever impossibly, unearthly beautiful Troy Bolton. Troy's long, dirty blond dollar store wig and ripped, grungy, Guns N' Roses tank top do nothing to subtract from his ability to be the immediate focus of Ryan's attention.
When Troy is around, it's like there's no one else in the room, or the world, for that matter. Ryan's compulsion to seek Troy's company, his irresistible magnetic attraction to the brunette athlete- the very taken brunette athlete- drives him to drink, and his terror of saying something he'll regret because of the alcohol in his system lowering his inhibitions, forces another drink down his throat.
Before he knows it, words are flowing freely past his lips, Sharpay's mouth is hanging open, her eyes blazing, and Ryan finds himself being escorted out of, is it Monica's? kitchen, a warm and strong hand that could only be Troy's on the small of his back, guiding him forward, out of the house, through the gate in the backyard, and down the sidewalk.
"That party was getting a bit stuffy, huh?" Troy's voice- low, rich, inquires.
Ryan doesn't answer.
"Kind of a surprise, really," Troy goes on. "Monica's parties have a reputation for being all-nighters, but you couldn't tell, based on that scene, back there."
Ryan is comparing Troy's voice to Lindt chocolates, and the softest, cushiest pair of socks he owns. Smooth, comfortable, something he wants to sample, or slip into forever. Warmth from Troy's guiding hand and close proximity pools out from Troy's body, sending ripples through Ryan's suit and epidermis, and directly into his nervous system. At least, that's what it feels like. Any of the other party guests would have left Ryan to face his sister's wrath for whatever he said to cause her mouth to hang open, and her eyes to blaze with fury.
But, Troy… wonderful, wonderful Troy…
Why does he have to be with her? Ryan's internal monologue agonizes. She broke up with him. That was the hot topic among the kitchen staff at Lava Springs- "Gabriella dumped Troy! What could he have possibly done to drive her away? He must be such a raging asshole! True Love is dead. It doesn't- It's non-existent!" And, how did East High's "Primo Couple" reunite, again? That's right, me. I= The diatribe is cut off as Ryan's foot catches against an uneven section of sidewalk, sending him tipping forward.
"Whoa!" Troy exclaims. He grabs Ryan around his midsection, preventing his face-first collision with the concrete.
The shock to the system the situation provides is sobering. Ryan blinks, aware of his heart beginning to pound. He almost humiliated himself in front of Troy. Maybe, he already did.
"Are you okay?" Troy asks. His eyes, those breathtaking, heart-ensnaringly blue eyes, pour over Ryan, his dark brows knitting under that ridiculous wig. "I've never seen you drink like that, before."
"Just…" Ryan clears his throat and slaps on a smile. He wills his pulse to slow down before he has a heart attack outside of a stranger's home at what has to be after midnight on a Friday. "I'm just having sort of an off night, I guess."
Troy's stare is skeptical. "I didn't see you eat anything at the party." His mouth twitches in contemplation. Without shifting away from Ryan, something Ryan can't help but note with a sickening sensation that feels vaguely like hope surging into his chest, Troy pulls his phone out of his back pocket.
The serious expression on Troy''s face as he punches numbers into the keypad on his cellphone causes Ryan to ask in a small, timid voice, "Are you calling the police on me?"
Troy's eyes widen slightly, his expression softening. "Oh, god, Ryan. No. Of course not. I was just about to call Gabriella to see when her curfew is. "
"Oh." Gabriella. Of course. Ryan prays his dismay isn't evident, even as his heart sinks.
Troy holds the phone up to his ear. "Hey, Gabriella… It's Troy. " His forehead creases. "It's Troy," he repeats. "What time does your mom want you home?" He pauses. His mood seems to shift, as if suddenly weighted down. "Alright. See you tomorrow?"
Ryan hears Gabriella's giggle through the phone. Nothing Troy said strikes him as particularly funny. His stomach turns, as he, once again, recalls that Troy is dating that girl, and he makes a noise of disgust at the back of his throat.
Troy jolts. He pulls strands of the wig away from his face, eyes wide. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Ryan assures him weakly, though his insides scream "no".
"Gabriella says Taylor offered to drive her home, so that frees me up to take care of you."
"Really?" Ryan turns to meet Troy's eyes, like social protocol demands, and becomes aware of how close his face is to the brunette's. If he leaned in just a bit more…
Troy swallows audibly, drawing attention to the strong, square shape of his jaw. "Yeah." He smiles, pink staining his cheeks. "Really." He hauls both himself and Ryan into upright positions. "You okay to ride in my truck? You're not going to get sick or anything?"
Ryan shakes his head. "I would never get sick in your truck," he promises.
Troy lets out a soft laugh. "Alright. Come on."
His hand returns to the small of Ryan's back, guiding him back toward the house. This time, Troy warns him in advance of uneven sections of sidewalk.
Within what feels like seconds, Ryan is seated in the passenger side of Troy's pickup. At Troy's warning to "watch your legs", he moves his legs to allow Troy to close the door. He remembers that he had a top hat partnered with his costume, and begins to panic, groping for it, wondering if it fell off of his head, at some point. "My hat! Troy, have you seen my…?"
Troy jumps into the driver's seat. He points to his own head, where a bandana holds his wig in place.
Ryan takes the signal and reaches up to find the hat exactly where it should be. Heat floods his cheeks. "I'm such an embarrassment," he murmurs, his chest tightening.
"Nah, you're not so bad," Troy assures him. He shifts the gear into drive and checks the mirrors for incoming traffic. "Chad got so drunk at a party, last year, he didn't even notice people slipping food into his hair. He kept asking what everyone found so funny."
"Oh my god. Really?" Somehow, hearing this makes his condition seem less like something that will haunt him for the next ten years, or so, the memory of it popping up to torment him while he's running lines, reading a book on a rainy afternoon, or washing his hair in the shower.
"Yeah," Troy goes on, backing out of the driveway. "Aaron, the former team mascot- he passed out in a pool of his own puke, once."
"Oh no."
"That was not fun to deal with. So many people squeezed into the bathroom to take pictures, I had to shoo them out."
"That's awful." Ryan, being the one who took up Aaron's position as Wildcat mascot after the gangly blond boy gave up the title, is familiar enough with Aaron to feel his heart twisting sympathetically at the story. No one deserves to wind up in such a position, of course, but Aaron was nothing but kind to Ryan while going over what Ryan would need to know to fill those furry shoes- paws.
"Yeah… people can be cruel, sometimes." Troy says, wistfulness pervading his voice. He turns out of the upscale neighborhood where Megan? Monique? Monica, that's her name, resides, and onto the freeway. His eyes leave the road only briefly to trail to Ryan, and Ryan feels his chest clench.
He doesn't want Troy to be sad. "You could put on some music," he suggests. Music is good. It always helps him take his mind off of upsetting things, like how cruel high school kids are, and how much being in love with someone you can't have really, really sucks.
"That's a great idea." Troy switches the radio on, and flicks through the stations, finally settling on one that plays classic rock.
Ryan hears the chords of Semisonic's "Closing Time". He barely registers that he's singing along. It just happens. And, with every repetition of, "I know who I want to take me home", he has to war with himself to keep his eyes off of Troy, to stop his chest from constricting further, to keep the tears that sting his eyes from spilling over and opening up the floodgates.
His center of balance is completely thrown off, and Ryan knows he can't hold love and its tendency to sweep people off their feet accountable. He curses alcohol, and parties, and the entire teenage experience as it's presented in pop-culture as he steps out of the passenger side of Troy's truck, and promptly lands on his ass.
Troy, ever the Prince Charming that this town doesn't deserve, rushes to Ryan's side and helps him to his feet.
Ryan wishes he had been able to come up with some excuse not to attend the party, in the first place. If he had just stayed home, he could drink himself into a melancholy stupor without Troy having to take time out of his life to look after him.
No wonder Troy is with Gabriella, instead.
As they enter through the front door, Troy propping Ryan up much more than Ryan would like him to have to, the household staff give Troy snide looks with upturned noses that make Ryan consider "accidentally" knocking over the sugar bowl, just to give them something better to do with the excess free time they apparently have.
"Thank you so much, Troy," he says, reaching out to squeeze Troy's shoulder. It's firm, solid. Ryan wishes he was back in Troy's arms, being held against his safe, nice smelling chest. He wishes he could make a home for himself there.
"No problem, Ry." Troy smiles, and Ryan's heart aches. He imagines kissing Troy's full lips, tracing Troy's cheekbones with his finger, pressing a feather-light kiss to the beauty mark near Troy's jaw, tasting Troy on his tongue.
But…
Troy turns to one of the maids. "Could you please make sure he eats something?"
Ryan doesn't see the maid's response, but he hears the sound of someone rummaging through cupboards. His stomach has a reaction at the prospect of food- a reaction that feels less like hunger pangs, and more like a sign that Ryan is about to spend the rest of the night hunched over the toilet.
Fab. U. Lous.
"Hey." Troy's hand is on Ryan's shoulder, squeezing it. "Are you gonna be okay?"
I need you. Please stay, Ryan thinks. "Yeah," is what he says. He plasters on a reassuring smile for good measure.
Troy's gaze remains trained on Ryan, searching his eyes, his brows crinkling around the edges. Maybe, he…
No.
That's the alcohol talking, Ryan tells himself. Troy has a girlfriend.
"Alright," Troy finally says, nodding.
As Troy turns to leave, Ryan almost calls after him, "I love you."
"Drive safe," is what he tells him, instead.
Troy smiles and gives a jaunty salute to show that he heard. Once he's out the door, the house falls quiet. Quiet enough that Ryan can hear the engine of Troy's truck splutter to life.
The smell of toasted bread fills the air, setting Ryan's stomach churning.
He imagines that he's still in the passenger seat of Troy's truck, feeling the vehicle rattle beneath his feet, feeling every pot hole the pickup hits, sharing in Troy's brief panic every time the rumble of the engine cuts out before, thankfully, resuming. He's singing along to the radio, staring at Troy's profile until Troy diverts his gaze from the road long enough to shoot Ryan a carefree, easy smile. Troy's eyes are shining, his voice blending with Ryan's in a perfect harmony, and, at every stop, he places his hand over top of Ryan's…
The clatter of a glass plate on the counter yanks Ryan back to reality.
To the reality where he just barely makes it to the bathroom to hunch over the toilet, and Troy's solid chest isn't there to lean on, and his rich baritone voice isn't there to offer soothing words as Ryan's stomach upheaves…