Summary: Gabriella gets sick and misses school. Troy gets worried. TxG one-shot.

A/N: This begins in Troy's POV, and later switches to Gabriella's.

Disclaimer #1: The High School Musical trilogy belongs to its producers, Don Schain, Bill Borden and Barry Rosenbush, writer, Peter Barsocchini, director, Kenny Ortega, and the Walt Disney Company. As for the cast, well . . . they're their own individuals. No copyright infringement intended.

Disclaimer #2: The quote/line used here belongs to Stephenie Meyer. It's from her partial draft of Midnight Sun which SMeyer herself had released after the 'leak'. Therefore I don't own it.

"She could run into a bear . . . or get hit by a car . . . or lightning . . . or fall down the stairs . . . or get sick—get a disease!"

- Edward Cullen, Midnight Sun

Chicken Soup

". . . where 'a is eaten; a certain convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet; we fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots; your fat king and your . . ."

In spite of the awfully tedious hour that I'd most unfortunately been beheld upon, I ask myself . . .

What the heck is this woman talking about?

I didn't understand a word that came out of her mouth, but I was pretty sure it was cheerleader gibberish. I mean, how many times has she spoken the word, 'fat'? Was she trying to prove a point? She knew cheerleaders had some sort of phobia with that certain word, so why would she take up a very significant part of the hour solely to insult them? Didn't she know what cheerleaders can do to people? And their claws? They don't get manicures every five minutes for nothing.

But let's skip the pronoun basis, shall we? Miss Darbus had been incessantly reading through a certain Shakespearean novel called . . . what was it again?

"These lines are spoken by Hamlet in the play written by William Shakespeare of the same name . . ."

Hamlet. That's right.

But what really annoyed me at this early hour of the morning, was the fact that my best friend since I met her in a New Year's Eve party at a Mountain Ski Resort when we were coaxed into singing karaoke, after which we'd switched cellphone numbers, both completely oblivious to the fact that we would—like fate—meet again and eventually win the lead roles in a winter 'musicale' entitled Twinkle Towne, thus breaking the whole of East High School's status quo, Gabriella Montez was inevitably . . . not here yet.

Gabriella Montez is the eccentrically intelligent, immensely beautiful woman with an amazing sense of humour that never failed to take my breath away. Yes, you could say I've fallen a teeny bit head over heels in love with her—don't tell Chad I said that; he would hold it against me for the rest of my sorry excuse for a life. At first I'd tried to allure myself into believing that what I felt for her was only teenage infatuation; you know, hormones? But as days, weeks and months went by I realized it was more than that—way more than that.

Cliché, isn't it? Best friend one falls for best friend two, but best friend one is scared of admitting his feelings because he thinks best friend two didn't return the same feelings that best friend one possessed, and best friend one knows that if he tries to admit his feelings, he would be forced to exile himself in a cave somewhere far, far away. Well, it's not my fault. After all, you can't choose who you fall for.

But anyway, we're starting to fly off topic here. Gabriella is, like I said, eccentrically intelligent and therefore holds a squeaky-clean record for perfect attendance with no tardy whatsoever so it's very unlikely that she'd suddenly decided to skip school and stay in bed, watching TV and sleeping her eyes out. That was me.

". . . his humour grossly grim; it is also cruel since Hamlet shows immense insensitivity in laughing at the father of his beloved Ophelia . . ."

Reverting my eyes onto the giant clock that hung over Miss Darbus's head, I conjured up any likely chances in what could possibly be the reason for Gabriella's sudden disappearance.

Option number one: She forgot to set her alarm clock.

Option number two: She was trying to avoid someone that could be stalking her. If that was the case then I would like to cordially invite this someone to a harmless tea party in an abandoned warehouse or factory where he would, accidentally, tremble painfully from an epidemic that had unexpectedly contaminated his tea, until shortly after, he dies. All unexpected and by accident, of course.

Option three: Aliens had decided to invade Albuquerque and claim my poor Gabby as their hostage in order to get President Barack Obama to give them one billion dollars and advanced technology to fix their whacked out spaceship.

And option number four: She'd gotten sick from our late night rendezvous the previous night wherein we'd managed to sneak into a private park when the grey clouds and lack of stars clearly marked the coming of rain. I'd almost vented out my feelings for her that night, too, had it not been for the park dogs that chased us all the way back up to Gabriella's balcony. We were lucky enough to have made it back alive, but unfortunately I couldn't say the same for my new jeans.

All options seemed very unlikely. It would be very careless to forget to set your alarm, and Gabriella was anything but careless. If she had a stalker, she would tell me. And we all knew there were no such things as aliens. Educated people—such as myself—prefer to call them, 'extra terrestrials'.

Which left one possible option: she was sick.

I spared a glance at Miss Darbus from the corner of my eye where she was mindlessly circling the room, still reading Hamlet, and subtly fished my phone out of my front pocket. I flipped it open, and a notification caught my eye:

One new message

It was from Gabriella. And her message confirmed my theory.

Can't come to school. Stuck in bed, sick. My record's ruined. Can you write down all my homework for me? Thanks.

I chuckled. It was just like Gabriella to start a perfect attendance record and then get upset when she ruins it. Well, it was mostly my fault. If I hadn't invited her so late at night when it was raining, she wouldn't have been sick in the first place.

"Despite the savageness of his wit, Hamlet does depict the grotesque reality about . . . Mr. Bolton?"

My head snapped up at the sound of my name. "Hmm?"

She stopped and walked over to stand in front of me. I suddenly felt queasy. "Would you be so kind as to share with the rest of the class what is it that you find so amusing?"

I quickly shoved my phone back in my pocket. "Ah . . . Shakespeare . . . Ch—Hamlet. Very cool subject, Ms. D. Hey, have you done something with your hair today? Cuz you're looking awfully young for someone so . . ." I couldn't think of anything suitable to say.

"Old? Aged? Ancient?" she bargained. I heard laughter behind me.

I gulped. "Er . . . I was gonna say . . . underage?" By now, Chad was kissing his basketball to stifle his laughter.

She nodded. "Yes, how flattering. See me in detention; the stage crew needs some help with the backgrounds."

Chad burst out laughing.

"Mr. Danforth, fifteen minutes."

His laughter subsided. Karma is sweet.

Ms. Darbus cleared her throat, pushing her oversized glasses up the bridge of her nose before continuing, "Despite the savageness of his wit, Hamlet does depict the grotesque reality about existence and death . . ."

Right now I wanted to get out of my existence and escape to death.

". . . because every human being from the richest to the poor . . ."

I groaned inwardly. Gabriella was in bed, sick because of me and I would be stuck in detention, painting sets, instead of being there, by her side, taking care of her. I mean, what if she caught something serious? An illness—a disease! What if she caught pneumonia? Or malaria from all the ugly mosquitoes flying around all night? It made me frustrated knowing I couldn't do anything about it.

". . . has to ultimately meet the same pathetic end." She took a deep breath. "Now, students, wasn't that just breathtaking? The way Shakespeare's method of writing has the ability to blow your young minds. As eloquent as the ugly duckling blossoming into a beautiful swan, as graceful as an eagle soaring high into the sky, as swift as—"

The school bell rang for second period. Everyone stood from their seats—including me—and shuffled toward the nearest exit.

Miss Darbus didn't seem to notice the sudden dispersion, "—a shark in water and—no running in the hallway!" Finally, she caught on.

I let out a large breath, blinking my eyes a dozen times in an attempt to regain my spirit which had somehow been sucked out of me in the previous hour.

"Troy!" I heard a voice call from behind me.

Turning around, I caught sight of Taylor McKessie, one of my few good friends, panting and rushing towards me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

She took one last deep breath before replying, "Have you heard from Gabriella?"

I nodded. "She said she's sick and can't make it to school."

That seemed to confuse her. "Sick? With what? She never gets sick."

Guilt washed through me. "Yeah, I may have something to do with that."

She glared at me. "What did you do to her?"

Her question took me by surprise and I help my hands up in defense. "I didn't do anything, I swear," I told her. She didn't seem convinced. "We were just hanging out last night."

"Hanging out? There was like, a huge storm last night,"

I shrugged, and suddenly her face lit up in horror as if there was a shiny beacon of light gracing her face in realization. She glared at me again. Daggers, this time, and then she slapped me on the back of my head.

I winced. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"

"I swear, Bolton, if Gabriella misses the Scholastic Decathlon competition next week and Sharpay's sleepover on Saturday," she stepped closer to me, jabbing a perfectly straight pointer finger at my chest with every word she spoke next, "I am going to chop your balls off and feed it to the dogs in the park."

I gulped. Those dogs. Those vicious dogs. Well, we certainly didn't want that.

"I know, I know, and I feel guilty about it, too," I assured her. "Look, I'm heading over to her house after school today and I'm going to do everything in my power to make her feel better. I'll visit her in a purple dinosaur costume that says 'get well soon', for all I care."

"You have detention after school,"

I rolled my eyes. "All right, after detention. So quit nagging me, woman!" I clarified, shoving her hand away from my aching chest.

She threw one last dirty look at me before turning around and heading back to the direction she came from. Even from where I stood, I could still feel her eyes penetrating my head, burning through my skull. I stared after her, making sure she wouldn't launch a surprise attack when my back is finally turned.

And then she stopped all of a sudden and turned to look at me. "You know Sharpay won't be happy about this, right?"

Yikes. Now, all must come to an end, I ask for one thing.

Pray for me.

I was dreaming. Really, there was no other explanation for it. There were clouds everywhere; white, puffy ones. I looked down, and I was sitting on one of them. And I was moving. I squinted my eyes so I could see more clearly and caught sight of another cloud, this time the passenger had floppy brown hair that fell over his striking cerulean eyes. He was smiling that cute lopsided grin at me and I couldn't help the giggle that escaped my lips.

Yep, I was definitely dreaming.

"Gabriella!" he called, waving.

I opened my mouth to call back, but nothing came out.

"Gabriella!" he called again. And I could hear glass colliding with… rocks?

Troy! I screamed in my head. Suddenly there was a wall in front of me, and the clouds were disappearing. Soon I was standing in mid-air and Troy was gone. But his voice was still there, calling.

"Gabriella!"

My eyes snapped open at the sudden disturbance. I half expected to see clouds and nothing but blue when I woke, but I came face to face with the ceiling.

"Gabriella!"

I was suddenly aware of the voice calling from across the room and I turned to the left and saw my best friend, Troy Bolton standing on my balcony, tapping on the French doors.

I rubbed my eyes, getting up and opening the door. "Troy?" I asked groggily, still disoriented from my dream. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, stepping into the confines of my messy room, a giant shopping bag in hand. "Oh, you know . . . just droppin' by to say hello," he placed the bag on the floor beside my bed and wrinkled his nose. I snuggled back down on my bed, leaning against the headboard.

"You look like crap," he commented.

Well, that was a very nice thing to say. "Gee, thanks,"

He laughed, "I didn't mean it like that," he sat beside me, placing his palm flat against my warm forehead. The feeling was magical. "I meant, how're you feeling?"

I blinked, and it was my turn to shrug, feeling an itch climbing up my nostrils. "Eh . . . I've been better. You know, this is all—" I grabbed a tissue from my tissue box—my third tissue box—and sneezed, blowing my nose into it.

"Bless you," was his response.

I tossed the scrawny piece of paperweight into my overflowing trashcan across the room. "—your fault." I finished.

He sighed, leaning over to kiss my forehead. I felt my heart rate multiplying rapidly at the feel of his soft lips against my skin. It almost made me feel better—as good as new. "I know," he said, standing up from my bed. The loss of contact brought back the itch in the sinuses. I sneezed again, repeating the same process as I'd been doing all day.

"Which is why I came here," he paused, swooping down to pick up the bag he'd brought and placing it on the foot of my bed. "With backup,"

"What is that?"

"I stole one of the shopping bags my mom keeps in the kitchen cabinet whenever she goes grocery shopping so I have some place to put the big guns,"

What in the world was this boy talking about? "Big guns?" I asked.

He nodded, reaching inside the bag and bringing out a packet of what seemed like uncooked soup. "Chicken noodle soup," he confirmed. "Guaranteed to make you feel loads better once a noodle starts to enter."

I giggled. "What, you made that lame joke, too?"

"No, it says right here," he showed me the cover. "Guaranteed to make you feel loads better, once a noodle stars to enter. Honestly, it has its own advertising commercial. When's the last time you watched TV?"

I took that as a rhetorical question and rolled my eyes at him. "Great. Chicken soup. Yum."

He smiled. "Aw, I know you hate chicken soup, Gabs, but I promise, this will make you feel loads better. Or at least help you feel loads better," there was an annoyingly cute pout on his lips and it was hard to tell if he was doing it on purpose or not. "Besides, I have tons more activities in here to make up for making you eat something you don't like."

He reached inside the bag again and began pulling a dozen board games. My eyes widened at the capacity of the bag he used. "Let's see here, I have . . . scrabble . . . chess . . . monopoly . . . dominoes . . . oh, and we can even watch those chick flicks that you, Taylor, Sharpay, Kelsi and Martha like so much."

My eyes lit up. "Titanic?"

He smirked and pulled out the object of my happiness and waved it in my face. "Deluxe Special Edition."

I didn't know what happened next but I was suddenly squealing and throwing my arms around his neck as he grabbed my waist to try and steady himself. Apparently, that was something he didn't expect.

"You're welcome," he laughed. "But would you mind staying implanted in bed? Because if you go and get yourself strained and even sicker than you already are—no pun intended—Taylor's gonna have my head."

That confused me. "Taylor?"

"Yeah," he laughed again. "She attacked me earlier at school today and basically threatened to take my life if you miss the Scholastic Decathlon competition next week and something about a sleepover with Sharpay,"

"Ooh, Sharpay's not gonna like that,"

"Yes! And I'm too young to die," he exclaimed. He grabbed the packet of chicken soup and clicked his tongue. "So what do you say I set up the DVD and you can watch the first part while I cook your soup?"

Cook? Troy Bolton? C-O-O-K? Ha! Don't make me laugh. "You? Cook? Since when?" I smirked.

He glared at me and then flushed a deep red. "Since I asked Zeke to teach me," he mumbled, looking at the East High collage on my wall.

My eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "You what?"

By now his ears were as red as his face. "We were bored, okay? I was hungry and it was raining real hard," he admitted. "Now, enough embarrassment on my behalf. I'm gonna go cook this thing before I reveal anything else," he put the DVD in the player before turning back to me with a stern glare.

"I'm watching you," he warned before disappearing through the door.

I giggled. "Don't burn anything!"

A few minutes later, a sickly moist smell was making its way through my nostrils and I felt bile in my throat. That was when Troy came bouncing in my room with a tray of food containing a bowl and a glass of milk. I glared at the culprit. Chicken soup.

He put the tray on my nightstand and took the spot beside me before scooping up a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it and then shoving it under my nose.

I stared blankly at the spoon, feeling all contents of my stomach rising up my throat.

"Eat it, Gabs," Troy insisted. "It'll make you feel better."

I frowned at him. "But… but… it's… it's all… yellowy and… down right disgusting…"

He didn't say anything. Instead, he pushed the spoon further towards my face.

Glancing at the TV screen where Jack and his Italian friend, Fabrizio were currently in the middle of a poker game, I looked back up at Troy and smiled at him. "Trooy…" I cooed. "Have I ever told you how much cuter than Leonardo DiCaprio you are? I mean, really, he's got nothing against you! Nothing!"

"Aw, Gabs, you don't have to tell me that," he smiled, humoring me. "I already know. Now eat."

I sighed and glared at him. "You know for the record, Leonardo DiCaprio is much nicer than you. And much less cockier."

"Enough with the compliments already; you're making my head grow big," he smirked. "Eat,"

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened my mouth, allowing him to pour the gooey liquid in my mouth and down my throat. My taste buds went haywire and I felt like throwing up a cow.

"You can swallow any time now, Gab," he reminded me. I thought about nice things. Nice, delicious, tasty treats. Ice cream, chocolates, candies, Zeke's crème brulée… I let my imagination fill my tongue as I swallowed, feeling the liquid slither down my throat.

I opened my eyes and peered at him.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," I huffed. "It was worse,"

"Yes, but it's making you feel better; I can see the improvement," he pushed the bowl in my hands. "Finish it."

In the corner of my eye, I could see him smirking like an idiot, his eyes implanted on the TV as I picked on my soup, glaring at it as if waiting for it to drain itself somehow. A part of me wanted to conjure up an excuse to go to the bathroom and flush the soup down the toilet, but another part of me was euphoric and touched at the fact that Troy had went to all this trouble—chicken soup and all—in an attempt to make me feel better. Me, Gabriella Montez, his best friend, and best friend only. Surely he couldn't care that much, could he? But either way, I didn't care.

I was happy.

And vaguely aware of the fact that a goofy smile was creeping its way up my face. I coughed in an attempt to hide it.

His eyes instantly flew to me, searching for answers. "What? What's the matter?"

I shook my head. "Nothing; it's the soup."

He nodded and turned back to the TV. "Keep eating, Gab."

I rolled my eyes. "Can't I just… eat it later?" I asked. "I'm not really very hungry right now. Especially not for chicken soup. Besides, I'd probably puke it all out if I force myself to eat and you wouldn't want that, would you?"

He seemed to be deliberating for about half a second before sighing and taking the bowl from my hands and putting it back on the tray. "You're lucky I love you."

Wha? My eyes multiplied in size and I snapped my head to see him red in the face, his eyes as wide as saucers. Apparently, that wasn't part of his to-do list when he planned to come here.

"What did you say?"

He coughed and began fiddling with the thread of his jeans—a habit I've recently noticed him do whenever he was nervous. He looked like he was having some sort of internal battle with himself. "I-I said… well, I…" he sighed. "I don't know…"

"What do you mean you don't know? You just said—" he cut me off.

"—that I love you," he finished and ran his hands through his chestnut brown hair. "God, now you probably think I'm such a creep…" he stood up from the bed and began making his way back towards the balcony.

He said it again! I didn't know what to do. I was frozen in my spot and everything seemed to be happening simultaneously. My heart was beating so fast it was like it was going to rip through my chest in a matter of seconds, and my brain was going haywire too wildly and I lost all train of logical thought.

I was never one to do things on impulse. I've always considered that foolish. But now that everything was out of place and I didn't have any other alternative, I jumped out of my bed, not even caring about the sudden flow of blood in the action that made my head spin, and ran just in time to stop him from opening the door.

"Why didn't you tell me?" my voice came out as a hoarse whisper, and I didn't know if it was because I was sick, or surprised, shocked and in love all at once. I was pretty sure it was the latter.

He sighed and looked down. "I didn't tell you because… because I couldn't risk losing you…"

"Losing me? What are you talking about? Why would you lose me?" all the questions came out in one breath.

"Because I knew you didn't feel the same! Everything would get awkward and complicated and you'd freak out and things would never be the same! And then there's Chad going off about how much of a chicken I am and telling me to tell you, all the while saying if I screwed things up I'll never be able to get you back and putting so much pressure on my shoulders. As if I need any more of that! Now I'm sorry if I'm wrong but I would much rather live without your love in my life than live without you at all." His confession struck me.

Have you ever been on a rollercoaster? With the feeling in your gut and you feel like throwing up because of all the butterflies in your stomach? Well, if you have, welcome to my situation. His words took me by surprise, hitting my like a helpless pin in the middle of a crazed bowling alley. I still had questions in my head that needed answers and I didn't know which one to begin with. So I chose the first one that came to mind.

"How do you know?"

He was still looking at the ground. "Know what?"

I stepped closer to him. "How do you know… that I don't feel the same?"

He shut his eyes painfully. "I don't… I just assumed…"

"Assuming doesn't get people anywhere, Troy," I shook my head at him, taking one of his hands and enveloping them in mine.

He finally opened his eyes and raised his head to look at me. "Was I right?"

I let out a breath. "Well, you were right about one thing."

"What?"

"That you were too chicken," I smirked.

"That was Chad,"

"Oh," I remembered. "Then you were wrong about everything,"

"What?" he repeated.

I took his other hand and intertwined our fingers together. "Nothing's awkward or complicated, I'm not freaking out, and things are still the same except… on a much higher level," I could see the smile slowly gracing upon his face. I tightened my grip on his hands and smiled. "I feel the same and you will never lose me."

"You do? I won't?" I smiled wider at the cuteness in his tone.

"Yes, I do, and no, you won't," I assured him.

A comfortable silence overtook the room as we gazed deep into each other's eyes before I noticed his cerulean ones trailing down to my lips and I found myself doing the same. Slowly, as if taunting, he leaned in.

Often times I've found myself daydreaming about this moment. I imagined it happening some place romantic, like at the beach while the sun was setting, in a beautiful pavilion where all sorts of wildflowers and roses covered the pillars with pretty bright lights everywhere, under the rain, and it even went as far as the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the most romantic city in the world.

I didn't imagine our first kiss being in my messy room, with me, sick, in my pajamas and bunny slippers and Titanic playing in the background. But it didn't matter. We could've been inside a trashcan, for all I care. I was here, he was here, and it was all happening. That's all that mattered.

And then… just as our lips were about a centimeter apart, I remembered.

I pulled away before it could happen.

There was a mixture of shock and disappointment in his face. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"You can't kiss me," I told him, frowning.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm…" I sneezed. "…sick. You'd get sick, too."

He smiled, relief written all over his face. He stepped closer to me and wrapped his arms around my waist. "I don't care. I don't care if I catch your flu or if I get pneumonia or whatever. I'm as happy as I've ever been and will ever be. Well, after we seal the deal, of course. And what better way to do that than to…" he finally closed the gap between our faces.

His lips were just as soft and tender and gentle as I'd imagined them. Just as perfect… and pretty soon I was kissing back. I didn't need sunset or a pavilion or even Paris. Fireworks and electricity were shooting through my veins and I couldn't be any more content.

Finally, he pulled away, much to my disappointment. "I love you,"

My heart skipped a beat. It was funny how three little words could make me feel on top of the world.

"I love you," I whispered back.

I raised myself up on my elbows and gazed at the sleeping angel next to me and almost laughed out loud at what I saw.

It was like Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer got transformed into a human being. A very attractive human being.

Then his eyelids fluttered open, and I anticipated seeing a pair of baby blues staring back up at me, but instead, tired red ones met my gaze.

"Hi,"

"Hi," his voice croaked, and then he rubbed his temples. "Ugh . . . my head . . . what happened? Did you miss the Scholastic Decathlon? Or Sharpay's sleepover? Cuz I feel like Taylor just got her revenge and took me out with a crowbar."

I shook my head. "No, I didn't miss anything," I told him. "But I told you not to kiss me."

Realization dawned on his face. "Oh. Ohhh," the largest smile stretched across his perfect face. "How do you feel now?"

I smiled. "Perfect."

He raised his head and kissed the tip of my nose, causing me to giggle.

"And I told you that chicken soup would make you feel better."

I giggled. "Speaking of which… remember when I said that you'll never lose me?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, you won't, just as long as you stop feeding me that disgusting thing you call food."

He sat up. "Chicken soup? What chicken soup? Who said anything about chicken soup?"

A/N: That was certainly a lot cheesier than I'd intended it to be. But what do you think? I thought it was boring, really. Nothing much happened. But what the heck, my opinion doesn't matter, yours does. So stepping away from all pretence, review?

P.S: I have nothing against chicken soup.