A/N: Hey guys! I'm back. Strongly going to advise you right now: read at your own risk! All right, I warned you. Don't say I didn't. Okay, can I just say for the record that i hate first chapters. I do. I can't stand them. So that's why, I'm uploading chapters 1 and 2 at the same time. Okay, other than that, I have to say that I wouldn't consider this AU. Technically it could classify but I don't consider something that can be explained logically with previous events laid out to support it AU. Mpreg is AU. This is not. However, I guess it could be alternate reality, which for some reason is completely different.

Can you believe that I'm the first person to bring this topic into the Tryan world on FF? There are a handful of Troyellas and one Troypay that carry the military theme, but this is a Tryan first. Hopefully, someone else will add more with better writing skills than me. Until then, hang on.

Note: The situation is FICTIONAL! The U.S is not drafting, 15,000 soldiers did not die (the real figure atm is about 2,000), Osama bin Laden is dead, Al Qaeda is not gaining strength, etc, etc. However, I did pepper it with a few things that are true (Don't ask, Don't tell being repealed, etc.).

Pairing: Tryan (TroyxRyan)

Rating: Strong T, light M for language, slash, and adult themes. The M part gets a little heavier as the story progresses.

Disclaimer/Credits: I do not own High School Musical. It is a product of Disney. I also don't mean to offend anyone with my story. I'm very thankful for the soldiers that risk their lives, but I don't have an opinion about the current conflict because it's a messy deal. A lot of hatred has sprung up from this issue towards the Islamic community, and that is unfair and not right.

I'm not sure what inspired the plot, so to that I have nothing. However, I thank these authors for inspiring me to write, even though they far exceed my expertise. Check them out!

nek0-sama maxwellattack shounenai4life

Enjoy!


Chapter One: Rolling in the Deep

Ryan flipped on the news before strolling into the kitchen to make a quick dinner…or rather, lunch. Ever since seven of the U.S. military bases were blown up, killing over 15,000 soldiers, the fight in Afghanistan only grew more intense and violent. Already intrigued by political and military affairs, Ryan found himself keeping up with the latest news on the issue. It wasn't long before over half of America followed suit, especially after a controversial bill reinstating the draft passed in Congress that October. And when the President signed it, that fate became reality once more.

Already, the lottery for drafting had taken place, snatching every able man in the country at the age of twenty and twenty-one. Apparently it wasn't enough, since the Selective Service System was starting its lottery up again for their next priority: twenty-two year olds. This one was starting to make Ryan nervous, for this was the age group of his class. Granted, he himself didn't have to worry yet, for he was going to turn twenty-three during the year. However, others in the same class year, such as his boyfriend, were in that pool of people turning twenty-two.

Ryan tried not to get too worked up about it though. The military didn't need everyone this time around, for they announced in their decision that they were only going to need a few groups since the war was finally starting to wind down.

So other than surviving the recession, Ryan's focus was on his career on Broadway. So far, he'd managed to get in as one of the backup dancers, although one of the choreographers piqued an interest in him due to his talent and reputation at Juilliard. Ryan knew it'd be a matter of time before he was promoted to a higher role.

Being involved with the Arts (which was amazingly thriving given the conditions of the economy), Ryan's schedule flipped to something unlike most jobs in the United States. Most days he woke up around noon, ate breakfast, exercised, talked to colleagues, practiced his routine for the show, showered, ate a quick lunch (which was normally classified as supper for everyone else), performed, went out with friends and colleagues (and perhaps got something to eat to classify for his third meal), then returned home at roughly three hours after midnight for bed. Of course his daytime hours were tweaked here and there for when they were rehearsing for a show instead of performing, which was basically the only difference in the schedule.

Ryan happily embraced this lifestyle. Troy, on the other hand, wasn't as ecstatic. Like any good boyfriend, Troy proudly supported his partner's profession. It even gave him something to brag about at work. But Troy lived like most people in the country did. He woke up at six o'clock in the morning every weekday, was at work by seven, and done by four. Honestly, he didn't think his work schedule was half bad until he compared his schedule with Ryan's and found they barely got to spend time together. Like less than five hours; three of which were spent sleeping.

Troy never hesitated to voice his complaints, although Ryan was quick to counter his arguments. It wasn't that Ryan disagreed with the fact that they didn't see each other much, it was just something he felt Troy was over-inflating.

"You have weekends off though," he'd reason. "You get to see me then."

"Not much…" he'd huff back.

Despite their quarrelings though, their relationship was pretty good. They were dedicated to each other, still treating one another like first lovers. The simplest compliments made the other blush and little gifts were handled as enthusiastically as they were when they first started dating. The innocence of their relationship, though, was easily matched by their adeptness in intimacy. But even then, they still handled each other with tenderness and care.

For the time being, however, Ryan Evans found himself preoccupied with making himself a mean PB&J sandwich before heading off to the glorious theater.

"How old are you again?" Troy asked, coming into the kitchen in search for a decent dinner; which most likely would resolve in sticking a frozen pizza in the oven.

"What can I say? I'm a child at heart," Ryan replied with a smirk. Troy found his lips twitching for a smile, finding the fair-haired boy absolutely adorable even when he was being an idiot.

"You have the whole day to plan out a meal, and you choose a sandwich," he clarified.

"Pretty much," he answered, licking the last of the peanut butter on his knife. Troy shook his head.

"What do you even do all day?" He asked rhetorically. "Because you obviously don't think about cooking. Or cleaning for that matter."

"Oh come on, Troy, we've talked about this," he said. "Can we not discuss my lack of expertise in both those subjects? Besides, I'm perfectly organized."

"Organized, but not clean," he emphasized. "I mean, really. Yesterday, I tripped over your clothes that you left out on the floor. Again!" Ryan snorted, trying hard not to laugh. "It's not funny!"

He turned to him, smiling. "It's a little funny." Troy pouted humorously before attacking Ryan in a hug, nearly rocking him off his feet. He then kissed his cheek, as if to reconcile his actions but continued to hold him, resting his chin on Ryan's slender shoulder.

"My point is," he murmured softly. "We should both be helping out around the apartment. Even if it means doing stupid tasks like vacuuming."

"Hey, if it bothers you that much, go knock yourself out and sanitize the whole damn place," Ryan replied. "But personally, I don't like the aspect of cleaning. That's why my family hired maids. And I wouldn't mind hiring one to solve our cleaning problems."

"That's a bad idea," Troy argued. "All that it's going to do is get us robbed."

"Not if we give them good benefits," Ryan countered. "And in this recession, anybody would be happy to have a job." The brunette sighed, leaving the dispute at that. It was no use fighting about it when Ryan remained so perverse about it. Normally, he loved that quality about him; but it really seemed to bite when it was used against him.

"So…when do you have to go?" He asked, his eyes moving towards the clock.

"Oh, so you're trying to get rid of me," Ryan teased before following his gaze to the timepiece as well. "About fifteen minutes."

"Hmm," he remarked, thinking it over as he kissed the soft skin of his neck, saying suggestively, "Fifteen minutes…nothing to do…" Ryan laughed.

"Sweetheart, subtly is not your strength," he told him, breaking away from his embrace and taking his sandwich back out towards the TV where the lottery dates and numbers were being called out. It was probably the fifth or sixth time the show was being broadcasted, but with the amount of time Ryan spent out and about, it felt like only the first. "Besides, we should be listening to this. It's kind of important."

"News shmews," Troy grumbled, leaning against the wall that stood to show where the kitchen began and the living room ended. He never liked the news. It was too boring to him. He didn't really give a shit who shot who or which politician got caught sleeping around again or which soldier died yesterday, it wasn't his damn business. He always hated listening to it as a kid and he hated hearing it now. "They're all a bunch of smucks." Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Fine, go live in a cave," he shot back. "But when the world ends, you'll be the only idiot who doesn't know." Troy shook his head, not that Ryan could see since he was too absorbed with the screen. He mentally noted that he didn't exactly fancy this hobby of Ryan's either. Perhaps because watching the news was something his parents always did or it made them seem old or because it really was that terribly boring. Any reason to hate those snobby, perfect-looking, anchormen who only dealt out bad news was good enough for him.

"January fifteenth with sequence number twelve, August second with sequence number sixteen, May thirtieth with sequence number fifty-two, October eightee – "

"When was the last time we had sex anyways," Troy asked, already bored with the number readings.

"My god, Troy, I'm trying to eat," his partner complained.

"Well, I'm just wondering," he insisted. "No need to fuss." He walked over to sit next to him on the couch, although he refused to listen to more dates get rattled off. "It just seems like we never do it anymore," he commented quietly. Ryan looked over at him, hating the puppy pout Troy was using to get what he wanted. The worse part was that Ryan fell for it every single time.

He sighed, defeated. "Two months."

"What?"

"The last time we slept together," he explained. "Now quit giving me that look."

"What look?" He asked with a bemused smile.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he said, staring ahead while his leg bumped Troy's playfully. "You putz."

"Yet you love me for it," he claimed. Ryan laughed.

"Yes I do," he agreed, finishing the last of the PB&J before standing up. He turned to Troy, his expression slightly saddened. "But I should probably get going." Troy made a face.

"Already?"

"Yeah," he answered as he walked off and disappeared into their bathroom to brush his teeth. "It's not like you're going to let me watch T.V. anyway."

"It's for your own good," Troy said to himself before calling out, "hey Ry, do you think you could come home at a decent hour tonight?" The blonde poked his head out from the doorway.

"Like what?" He asked, taking his toothbrush out of his mouth.

"Before three would be nice," he said, standing up from the sofa and straightening out his pants. "Because every time you come home late, it keeps me up and I can't get back to sleep again. Plus I have a meeting tomorrow and I actually have to be awake for it." Ryan nodded as he turned back towards the bathroom to spit.

"I'll try," he promised. Troy met him halfway to the door. "See you later." He brushed his cheek with his thumb affectionately before kissing him tenderly.

"Love you," Troy said softly as Ryan passed him.

"Love you too," he called back as he headed out the door.


Ryan crept as quietly as he could to his bed. He might've slightly forgotten Troy's request to come home earlier; instead spending his time with a few of the other dancers at one of the bars and sharing a drink or two. By the time Ryan found a taxi to take him home, it was well past three and Troy's words were neglected. It wasn't until he was halfway home did he realize his mistake, moaning in slight frustration at his forgetfulness and devising a plan to be as discreet as possible.

Anyone who has ever tried to sneak in somewhere when it's dead silent knew that every sound one could possibly make seemed amplified by ten. Which was where Ryan found himself as he tried as slowly as possibly to slip into bed undetected.

Every step seemed to creak with his weight, which Ryan cussed mentally because the floors had been repaired so they wouldn't make those irritating squeaks. Either that, or he was gaining weight, which wasn't good. Then there was his breathing that felt abnormally heavier and therefore louder. And on top of that, his heart was beating so loud and quickly that he was surprised Troy hadn't caught him already.

He fumbled in the dark to find his night-clothes which consisted of pajama pants and a T-shirt. However, he decided that if he could at least find the pants, he'd be willing to go without the shirt. Fortunately, he found both – or at least something that felt like them – and carefully discarded his clothes to put these ones on. He glanced towards Troy's sleeping form, relieved to find him unmoving.

He advanced towards his side of the bed, still trying to remain silent. The closer he got though, the more paranoid he was that Troy would wake up. He was nearly at his bedside when he stubbed his toe on the edge of his nightstand. He almost lost all of his composure to remain quiet as his mind yelped what he desperately wished to say aloud: fuck, fuck, fuck! Dammit, he hated when that happened. It was something so simple to hurt himself on and yet it hurt like he got shot or something.

As the pain began to ebb away, he finally made it to the bed. Having finished his mission impossible for the night, he finally let himself relax and catch his breath as he settled into the warmth of the blankets.

"Ry, it's 3:47," Troy announced hollowly. Ryan released a sigh of defeat. All that hard work and he still failed. How was that even possible?

"I know," he murmured, dreading the outcome of their conversation. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he said tiredly, turning to face him in the dark. "I found it slightly amusing that you tried to get past me unnoticed. Especially since you're pathetically useless in the dark." He then chuckled to himself.

"Thanks," Ryan said sarcastically.

"Oh, come on, I'm just messing with you," he reasoned light-heartedly. "But seriously, next time, you're sleeping on the couch. No ifs, ands, buts, or whats about it. I need to sleep too, you know." Ryan moved himself closer to him, kissing his cheek. "What are you doing? Trying to woo me over!" He trailed a kiss to his jaw line.

"I thought you were complaining about our sex life," he whispered with ease as he nestled into the crook of Troy's neck, wrapping an arm around his waist like he was a life-sized comfort toy. The athlete could only shake his head and flex his jaw, unable to object to that.

"But I have work in the morning," he said dully. "And I'd like to get a little more sleep."

"Suit yourself," Ryan said through closed eyes. "But don't say I never tried."

Troy lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling while waiting for his mind to shut down and let him sleep. Whirlpools of thoughts circulated his brain, some of them clearer than others as he began to head towards that fuzzy state of being awake but asleep. Drifting, he had to admit: their relationship wasn't perfect. They bickered about the stupidest things and neither one of them cared to cook, and yet he wouldn't trade what he had for anything in the world. As long as he got to hold Ryan in his arms at the end of each day, the rest didn't matter.