Break The Walls
At the graduation party for the class of 2008, to the backdrop of a thrumming bass-line, Ryan Evans spots Troy Bolton and Gabriella Montez standing in a corner of the courtyard at the Evans estate. They look to have intentionally isolated themselves from the rest of the partygoers.
Ryan can't make out the words being exchanged, but based on the stiffness of the twosome's bodies, and Gabriella's finger jabbing at a colorless and by all appearances, shell-shocked Troy's chest, he reasons that they're arguing.
He feels his blood pressure spike as Gabriella whirls on her heels, leaving Troy standing there like his feet are cemented to the ground.
Seriously? Troy drove two thousand miles to bring her back to Albuquerque so she could sing with him in the East High spring musical, their last musical, and graduate with the rest of her classmates, even after she balked on going to the prom with him. How disrespectful, how selfish, how fucking ungrateful can she be?
It takes a minute to force down the rage that rises up like hot bile in Ryan's throat, and causes his fists to clench and his teeth to bite down on the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood. How he would love to finally give that Einsteinette a piece of his mind.
Instead, however, Ryan's focus returns to the other half of East High's "golden" couple. To their high school's former star athlete, whose plain white dress shirt stands out against the shrubbery like it contains its own light source. Ryan traverses through the darkened courtyard, unnoticed by the guests, most of whom never even bothered to learn his name during the four years they all attended school together, and approaches Troy.
Troy's gaze clears as he takes Ryan in.
"I know the DJ," Ryan says, an earnest and, hopefully, comforting smile on his face. "I can get her to play whatever you'd like. So, what do you say? Feel like joining me for a dance?" He offers Troy his hand before he has time to really consider what he's doing, and stop himself.
A slight smile plays on Troy's lips. The color begins returning to his face. "Yeah." His hand slips into Ryan's, clasping it tightly, and Ryan swallows against the way his heart suddenly kickstarts back to life.
He hasn't felt a thing in that particular region all evening. He purposely numbed himself to prevent the sight of a certain pair from inflicting any more pain. Right now, however, as Troy walks beside him, his warm hand wrapped around Ryan's, Ryan can't stop himself from feeling everything.
They pass the guests who have dived into the pool, leaving their clothes strewn about the tile walkway, and the guests who are downing shots of what Ryan hopes isn't his father's expensive whisky, in the foyer.
Kelsi Nielsen sits behind the tape deck and disc spinner. Ryan makes his way over to her as Troy departs for the makeshift dance floor. Troy's fingertips brush against Ryan's while his hand leaves the blond performer's grasp, and the overwhelming sensation of everything intensifies.
"Hey."
Kelsi looks up from the disc spinner.
Ryan is glad he caught her between tracks, so he doesn't have to shout to be heard. Tension from the unpleasant events of their senior prom lingers between them, and while their amicability isn't entirely forced, Ryan is well aware that he's walking on eggshells. "We have a request." He nods toward Troy.
Troy catches his eye from across the room and nods back, a somewhat sheepish smile his face.
Looking from Troy, to Ryan, the corners of Kelsi's mouth quirk into a small smile. She nods. "Okay. What song would he like to hear?"
Swallowing, hoping he isn't crossing any boundaries, Ryan leans in to whisper the song's title to her.
She pulls back and nods again, her smile still in place.
Ryan takes a moment to hope that he isn't imagining the tension between them ebbing, just slightly.
"Alright. No problem."
"Great, thank you." Ryan returns her smile, hands clapping back down to his sides. Maybe, he and Kelsi can be friends, again, without the whole nasty pretense of romance potentially blossoming between them. He'd like that.
He returns to Troy as the opening chords of REO Speedwagon's "I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore", flow out of the speakers.
Troy's hands slip into Ryan's, once he's in reach, fingers interlacing. "Thank you," he says.
"No problem." Ryan feels his breath hitch as he takes his position in front of Troy, and catches the reflection of strung up party lights in the depths of the former athlete's ridiculously radiant, almost crystalline blue eyes.
Simultaneously, they step to Ryan's right, and then they're swaying, easily, effortlessly, Troy matching Ryan beat for beat, step for step.
There's an echo of a damning sentiment in Ryan's mind.
"You're easier to dance with than she is".
As heat creeps into his cheeks, he can't help wondering who the 'she' in question was really referring to.
Troy twirls Ryan, causing the blond's hips to just graze the front of his dress pants. Ryan can hear Troy swallow, almost feel the blush staining the former athlete's cheeks. If this wasn't the night of their graduation party, potentially his last chance to spend time with Troy, to talk to him, to change his mind before he departs for California and makes the biggest mistake of his life, Ryan might spare a thought for Troy's volatile, barely hanging by a thread relationship with Gabriella.
But, he can't muster up the will to, anymore, just like the damned lyrics of the song suggest.
Ryan throws away the oars.
He steps back into Troy, and wraps his arms around Troy's neck, leaning into him. He can feel his own heart pounding against his chest, with fear, anticipation, and most disconcerting of all, hope. Hope that Troy doesn't resist, that he gives in, that he reciprocates, that…
Troy freezes for a second, eyes widening, and Ryan's breath catches.
Please, he almost prays. Don't leave. Don't-
It takes a moment, but Troy melts into Ryan, touching his nose to the smaller boy's. His heartbeat is audible, much faster than normal, but his expression seems almost… content. "You're not drunk, are you, Ryan?" He whispers.
"No," Ryan replies, making sure to meet Troy's eyes.
"I didn't think so." Troy exhales and his eyes fall closed.
"Are you?" The question slips out, even though Ryan is already well aware of the answer. In the four years they've attended the same high school, and over the entire school year where they ran in the same social circle, Ryan has never witnessed or heard tale of Troy getting hammered at a party.
Troy is just too good, for his asshole friends, for East High, for Gabriella…
Yes. Gabriella's words, whatever they were, would not have had such a searing impact on a chemically clouded mind.
"No," Troy says. He reopens his eyes, and Ryan suddenly feels the world shift beneath their feet. It's as though his entire soul is exposed for those dazzling blue eyes to analyze and accept or reject whatever they find. "And, I'm glad." Troy settles his hands on Ryan's hips, fingertips rubbing ever so lightly against the material of the blond's pants. "I want to remember this." His breath is warm, pleasant on Ryan's face. It most certainly isn't tinged with the pungent reek of alcohol.
Ryan breathes in and the enticing musk of Troy's cologne fills his nose. He's aware of the strength housed in the former athlete's hands, the dexterity, the warmth pooling out from beneath his palms and the pads of his fingers. In fact, he's almost hyper-aware of it. "Me, too."
They continue to sway, their hips and chests brushing together. Heat and electricity surge between them. Ryan can hear Troy softly singing along, feel Troy's nose nuzzle his cheek, and he tries not to read too much into it, even as his chest swells with hope.
Even if I have to
Crawl upon the floor
Come crashin' through your door
Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore
"So, what crawled up Gabriella's ass?" Ryan asks.
The party has since died down. A lot of the guests have departed, and many of the remaining partygoers are passed out on the floor in various rooms of the expansive mansion. The only music shattering the stillness of the night is the kind weaved by crickets and coyotes as they go about their nightly affairs.
Ryan and Troy sit beside each other, their bare feet dangling over the sides of the pool and dipping into the water. Ryan is not looking forward to assisting the household staff with retrieving beer and soda cans, Red Solo cups, and foam plates from the pool, in the morning.
"She wasn't happy that I sprung the news that I would be attending Berkeley, in the fall, on her."
"Oh?" To give Gabriella the scant credit that she deserves, Troy sprung that news on everyone. But, Ryan knows, just as well as Gabriella should, that Troy did that for her. Berkeley University was likely never even on Troy's radar, until he discovered that it was only thirty-two point seven miles away from Stanford.
"She thought I was going to U of A, and she would be able to come back here and visit."
"Are you sure she wasn't angry because she thought she had broken up with you?" Ryan doesn't mean for the question to slip out, especially not phrased like that. Like this is Troy's fault. He immediately scrambles to retract it. "That-That is…. That's not what I-"
"No." Troy turns to give Ryan his full, undivided attention. If Ryan wasn't one-hundred percent positive that Troy is stone cold sober, he is, now. "Please, elaborate."
Ryan thinks back to Troy's emotional state after Gabriella relocated to California. How Troy stumbled around, almost catatonic, his eyes glazed over. He thinks of all of the sleepless nights Troy must have had when Gabriella was out of reach. How miserable Troy was when he had to rehearse with Gabriella's self-appointed understudy, Ryan's twin sister, Sharpay, because Gabriella was "unavailable". How all he wanted to do was take Troy aside, retrieve every single piece of the brunette former athlete that Gabriella had so callously shattered, and cement them back together.
His heart twists painfully.
"She…" Ryan's eyes meet Troy's, and he feels his heart leap into his throat, constricting it.
Those eyes, those intensely blue orbs framed by long black lashes, have sought his forgiveness, even after Troy was mislead and thought Ryan was attempting to steal Gabriella from him. Those eyes lit up with astonishment at the prospect of Ryan being a gifted athlete, and getting to see him in action. They regarded Ryan with warmth and pride. They bore into Ryan's while mere inches away, darkened with desperation.
Troy's strong hands have squeezed Ryan's shoulder to reassure and congratulate him.
That baritone voice has been there to laugh with him, to console him, to defend him, to encourage him.
He doesn't want Troy at the other end of the continent, more than two thousand miles away from him. He doesn't want Troy to get hurt, again, and have no one there to help him get back on his feet and pull himself together.
Tears well in Ryan's eyes. Troy's form is reduced to blurs of golden brown, tanned skin, and a white shirt, all tinted blue by the lights set in the pool. "She doesn't love you," he finally manages.
Troy's eyes widen, questions swimming in their depths as he searches Ryan's face. His jaw tightens, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows audibly.
Ryan braces himself for Troy to get up and walk away, to shout that it's not true, maybe even to shove him into the pool.
Instead, Troy's eyes close. His distinct brows knit, forehead creasing beneath his bangs. His lower lip begins to quiver, and Ryan can see all of the pain that Troy is fighting to suppress, as if the taller boy is a book laying open in front of him. He's about to reach out to offer Troy some kind of comfort when Troy chokes out, "I know."
Ryan almost takes everything back. He never wants to see that look on Troy's face ever again.
But…
"Please…" Ryan hates how unsteady his voice is, how it quakes and trembles, but Troy deserves honesty. No matter how humiliating it is for Ryan to let East High's Primo Boy see him in this state. No matter how much the truth will hurt. "Please don't follow her to California, Troy. Please. She's only going to hurt you, again, and-and I can't stand it."
Troy re-opens his eyes and lifts his gaze from the tiles bordering the pool, to Ryan. "You really want me around?" He seems almost incredulous.
"Yes. Of course." Ryan's jaw trembles. How can he convince Troy? Would Troy even believe him after he's just shattered his world, for all intents and purposes?
Maybe Ryan is just an extension of his sister, after all.
Troy grabs at his hair as if he means to rip chunks of it from his scalp. His eyes darken, and something like helplessness flickers across his face. "Why? All I do is mess things up for everyone, including you."
The very idea of Troy ruining anything is preposterous. Troy being the one suggesting it makes Ryan's stomach twist and his insides squirm. "You've never ruined anything for me," he promises.
Tears roll down Troy's face. Timidly, Ryan moves in to wipe them away. He is simultaneously both surprised, and not surprised at all that Troy allows him to.
"I love you," Ryan says, his voice just above a whisper.
There's no going back, now.
Troy turns to face him, his eyes moving from Ryan's, to the blond's lips.
Ryan is hit by the memory of that day in rehearsals.
"You're easier to dance with than she is."
This time, however, there is no Sharpay to push her way between them, demanding her "turn", with Troy.
There are no barriers in their way, anymore.
Troy leans in, diminishing the distance between him and Ryan until Ryan can feel the brunette's breath on his face. Troy's eyelashes veil his softly glowing eyes. He takes a breath, hand creeping up to caress Ryan's cheek, and-
His lips are on Ryan's. They're as soft as Ryan imagined.
Ryan closes his eyes and crumples into the kiss, latching onto the material of Troy's shirt as Troy's hands, his wonderful, callused hands, cradle his face. He can taste the salt from Troy's tears, mingled with the sweetness of the punch and sherbet ice cream that Troy was drinking. Troy's solid chest presses against Ryan's comparatively scrawny one. They're sharing air, their heartbeats synchronizing, bodies melding into each other.
Then, they part.
Troy's eyes open slowly, his breathing heavy.
Ryan's head is light. He can't feel the ground underneath of him.
"I'm not going," Troy says resolutely, staring into Ryan's eyes. "I won't leave you."
Ryan lets out a relieved laugh that dissolves into a sob halfway through. He pulls Troy into an embrace.
Sharpay's heels clicking on the floor rouses Ryan from one of the more peaceful slumbers he can recall having. He lifts his head from a shoulder, Troy's shoulder, rolls his neck, and the events of the early morning come rushing back. The conversation by the pool, feeding Troy tortilla chips covered in taco dip, talking and laughing with him in the giddy, uninhibited madness before sunrise.
His lips tingle.
He turns to find Troy still sleeping soundly, his face pressed against the armrest of the sofa in the den. Ryan gives Troy a soft smile and brushes the former athlete's hair out of his face.
"Okay." Sharpay's voice shatters the silence of what Ryan approximates to be midday.
He jolts and gives her a pointed look, a reminder that a very important guest is not to be disturbed.
It doesn't faze her in the slightest. "Do I even want to know what happened between the two of you?"
"It's a long story," Ryan murmurs.
The soft glow of the sunlight streaming in through the windows hits Troy's face at precisely the right angle to accentuate his features. His defined cheekbones, his strong jaw, the shadows his long black eyelashes cast on his face, the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and the fullness of his cheeks. The warm, copper highlights in his mop of golden brown hair.
How Gabriella could fail to recognize the beauty of the boy she had wrapped around her finger for the length of her tenure at East High will forever mystify him.
"Getting involved with someone who's still attached is asking for a pretty messy situation, Ryan," Sharpay chides him.
Ryan appreciates her attempt to be a "big sister" to him, even with her hypocrisy (since she pursued Troy, the previous summer, despite him being "attached" to Gabriella, and quite blatantly disinterested), and even though fixing her hair seems to take priority over actually looking at him as she dispenses her "sage-like wisdom". "Actually, Shar, something tells me Troy's 'attachment' isn't going to be an issue," he replies. As Ryan is pulling his hand away from Troy's hair, Troy opens one eye and peers out at him. "Hey," Ryan greets Troy softly, the smile that only be brought on by the brunette athlete spreading across his face.
"Hey." Troy shifts on the couch, moving to lie on his back and fully face Ryan. "Did we kiss, earlier?" He asks, his voice lowered to keep Sharpay from overhearing. "Or was that just a really awesome dream that I had?"
Ryan's smile reaches his nose, causing it to crinkle with delight. "That depends…"
Troy's brows begin to furrow. He waits for Ryan to elaborate.
"Depends on whether or not you want to do it again."
A butterflies-in-the-stomach inducing grin breaks out on Troy's face. He lays a hand on Ryan's neck and draws him into another kiss.
It's mildly alarming to Ryan that he can already picture himself getting used to this. To waking up next to Troy and sharing gentle, languid kisses with him as the sun provides the perfect backlight and casts an ethereal glow over Troy's skin. To how easily Troy can tug Ryan on top of him- hello, arm muscles. To how safe, secure, and certain he feels when he's in Troy's arms. To making Troy smile in a way that's both similar to and different from the smile Gabriella would engender. To…
"You know, the pool isn't going to clean itself," Sharpay interjects.
Troy's expression as he breaks off, a silent "damn it" on his lips, mirrors the irritation heating Ryan's insides.
Thanks a lot, Shar. Maybe you can add 'cockblocking' to your expansive repertoire, Ryan thinks, chewing at the inside of his lower lip.
"I suppose she's got a point," Troy murmurs.
"Yeah." Ryan climbs off of Troy and to his feet. He's still not looking forward to clean-up duties. Forced social interaction with his peers aside, the mess is why he's always disliked parties. Particularly the ones his sister throws.
Although, he supposes he can make an exception for this particular party. The start was less than stellar, but the finale…
"I can give you a hand," Troy offers. "Free of charge."
"I'll take you up on that offer." Smiling, Ryan extends his hand, pulling Troy upright.
Troy gathers up beer and soda cans, a plate, and several dead bugs in the pool net. As he's dumping them into the trash receptacle, he asks, "Did you have any plans for the summer?"
"Not really," Ryan replies, using his own net to collect more dead insects, another styrofoam plate, and what appears to be a thong. Yep. A lacy red thong. He crinkles his nose in distaste as he discards the unsavory waste that his former classmates chose to toss and, at least in one case, leave in his family's pool.
For what isn't the first time, he thinks that being the rich kid at school really isn't what 90s teen movies have made it out to be. Especially if you're the rich girl's flamboyantly gay sidekick.
"I kind of figured I'd be spending my summer reading, auditioning for community theater productions, and avoiding getting roped into my sister's schemes at all costs." Especially since her last scheme involved me seducing Kelsi to get sheet music out of her, and hurting you in a half-baked plot to increase Sharpay's chances of impressing the scouts from Juilliard and getting that scholarship. Ryan doesn't say any of this out loud. Instead, he hears Troy laugh, takes in the smile on Troy's face, the smile that he put there, and feels his insides fizz. "How about you?" He asks.
"I was thinking I'd do some skateboarding, go to the movies… Sneak a swim in your pool when Sharpay's not around." Troy tosses a wink at Ryan, a playful smirk on his lips.
Ryan shakes his head fondly. He's certain that a big, dumb smile is spread across his face.
"But, really, I just…" Troy maneuvers around the pool's perimeter as he speaks, each step bringing him closer to Ryan. "Want to spend time with you," he finishes, looking up from his task to peer into Ryan's eyes, searching them.
Ryan turns to meet him, the pool forgotten. He hopes with all he has that Troy finds what he's looking for somewhere in the depths of his eyes or his countenance. "I'd love that," he says, dazed, his breath catching in his throat.
A tiny, wistful sort of smile tugs at Troy's lips. "Did you mean what you said, Ryan? That you 'love' me?" He's pleading, again. His eyes are sad, desperate, full of yearning for something that Ryan can only hope he's capable of providing.
"Of course I did. Troy, I- How could anyone not love you? You're… " You're incredible. You're so wonderful. You're the most lovable person I've ever known. All of these words, all honest observations from where Ryan is standing, flit across his tongue. The observation that sticks to his tongue and makes it past his lips is, "You're you."
"That's not such a great thing to be."
Anger at Gabriella resurfaces, a hot flash surging through Ryan's veins. "Whoever made you believe that is completely full of it. They wouldn't know quality if it bit them in the ass."
"'Quality'?" Troy snorts. He diverts his gaze to the pool. Ryan can see Troy's expression hardening as he focuses on his just discernible reflection in the water. "I make so many mistakes, Ryan. Always. It's like messing things up is all I'm good at."
"Isn't that just part of being human?" Ryan asks gently, his pulse picking up speed, his heart and stomach flooding with unease and sadness. "And, Troy… Your repertoire is pretty diverse, but messing things up definitely isn't on it."
This gives Troy pause. Ryan can see him deliberating as he chews at the inside of his cheek. "Are you sure you want to be with me?" He asks, his voice small, uncertain.
Ryan can imagine the self-effacing thoughts racing through Troy's mind, and he wants so badly to slam down on the figurative breaks and silence those thoughts, if not permanently, then at least long enough to give Troy a moment of peace. Clarity. "Absolutely one-hundred percent positive," he swears.
He hates that Troy has been forcibly diminished to this extent. He loathes the pain that haunts Troy's gaze, and the disparaging manner in which Troy refers to himself. Yet, he knows that the sad, desperate, confused, and self-loathing Troy needs and deserves just as much love as the passionate, proud Golden Boy of East High Troy. If I'm the only one who can give him that love, Ryan thinks. If he'll let me, then…
He reaches out to grab Troy's hand.
Troy turns away from the pool and his eyes follow along from where his appendage is joined with Ryan's, palms pressed together, fingers interlaced, up Ryan's arm, to his face. Those eyes glitter with unasked questions, and something that looks like hope.
Ryan wants to nurse that hope, coddle it, feed it until it's healthy, strong, thriving, and fueling its host, once again. "What movie did you want to see?"
A slight smile tugs at the corner of Troy's mouth, lighting up his eyes.
It's not a total detox. It's not erasing all of the scars that have callously been carved into Troy's brain and heart, or extracting all of Troy's self-loathing, sealing it up in a box, and going to town on the box with a sledgehammer, or even a trash compactor. Whichever would be more climactic and satisfying.
It is, however, a start. And, unlike in high school, where conventions and cliches drove the narrative, Ryan and Troy, alone, are in control of what happens next.
Troy is offering to drive Ryan to his auditions for community theater, and Ryan is promising himself that he'll help Troy get into a good college, whatever it takes.
In the midst of all of this planning, Ryan somehow misses the puddle of water that has formed by his feet, and forgets that his flip-flops lack any sort of traction. As he slips and loses his balance, legs flying out from under him, he manages to latch onto Troy's shirt, and despite Troy's best efforts to steady both of them, they topple backwards. Ryan feels water, yet to be warmed by the sun and, therefore, ice cold, surge around him as he's submerged. He can see Troy's eyes, bluer even than the water surrounding them, the fluid motion of Troy's hair, and then feel Troy's strength as the former athlete propels both himself and Ryan toward the surface.
Upon breaking surface, Ryan gasps in a breath. Then, he gasps out, "I'm so sorry…!"
Sucking in a breath, himself, Troy tosses his wet hair out of his eyes. Droplets cling to his eyelashes and eyebrows. Their clothes are thoroughly soaked, and Ryan spies his hat, which he didn't think to grab onto, floating toward the shallow end of the pool.
He suppresses a groan of dismay at his own clumsiness. Instantaneously, the stream of rebuking comes. Klutz. Idiot. Oh, way to go. Bravo on that one. I'll bet Troy is second-guessing our entire relationship right this moment. I should duck my head back under the water and wait until I drown-
"Hey," Troy says, silencing the thoughts as they form. He offers a soft, encouraging smile. There isn't a trace of anger or annoyance about him. "It's just part of being human, right?"
Ryan nods, his heart swelling. In that instant, it occurs to him that Troy is single-handedly keeping both of them afloat. "Right." Goosebumps prickle his skin, and they're not from the chill of the water.
Troy smoothes his hair back, away from his face. Leaning in, he, almost timidly, runs a hand through Ryan's hair. He caresses the length of Ryan's scalp, the callused pads of his fingers scraping softly against Ryan's skin in a manner that sends waves of elation shooting through Ryan's nervous system, and comes to a stop at the base of Ryan's neck.
The weight of Troy's hand is reassuring, somehow. His touch, his close proximity, their chests practically rubbing together, allows Ryan to forget that they're floating in the swimming pool they were supposed to be cleaning, and that their clothes will most likely require dry cleaning. These concerns are replaced by a feeling of safety, and something that could be belonging.
Troy's lips press a kiss to Ryan's temple, whispering words into his skin that will remain forever, like a tattoo Ryan refuses to have removed; "I love you, too."