Title: don't fear the sky
Disclaimer: not my characters. one line from a Jimmy Wayne song in here.
Warnings: spoilers for all three movies; future!fic
Pairings: um… canon? Ish. Okay, fine, some implied slash, but if you've seen the movies you know there's nothing implied about it.
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 630
Point of view: third
Mama used to say his first cries sounded like a song. Sharpay wailed, but he sang.
Ryan loved when Mama talked about their early years, the days before Sharpay discovered the spotlight. He'd soak up the tales, wrapped in Mama's embrace, while Sharpay colored at the kitchen table.
He loved to sing before he even knew what singing was, and it was only after Sharpay found an audience that he realized he'd never be good enough. He didn't have the stomach for show-business. That was Sharpay's game.
He'd rather be in the background, writing and designing and choreographing, than on the stage bathed in light with everyone looking at him. But Sharpay said no one complemented her like he did, and dragged him up there for every performance.
Mama said his first cry was a song and his first step a dance. Mama said he was wonderful, but her praise for Sharpay was always just a little bit louder. Sharpay needed to know she was the best, the brightest, the only star in the sky.
Ryan let himself be shoved aside as Sharpay's adoring fans thronged around her. He stood out of sight, out of mind, content with writing and designing and choreographing. Let Sharpay have the spotlight—the background was more forgiving and would last far longer.
Mama used to say he sang from the cradle, little half-tunes in the language of infants. Sharpay wailed, but Ryan sang. His first steps were a dance to music only he heard; graceful as a cat, Mama said. I never saw anything so beautiful.
Ryan only went home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, and his parents' birthdays. He spent most of his time at Broadway, directing and writing and choreographing. He only ever performed to show the actors his vision.
Sharpay married, divorced, and remarried; two kids from the first and one from the second. She taught drama at East High. She and Ryan didn't speak much anymore.
Mama used to say they were her sun and moon, brightest stars in the heavens. She said they were wonderful, her little children of stardust, destined for great things. Not even the sky's the limit, Mama said, as they waltzed around the kitchen. After all, there's footprints on the moon.
At the ten-year high-school reunion, Gabriella kissed his cheek, Taylor shook his hand, Martha demanded a dance, and Kelsi hugged him. Sharpay met his eyes and then looked away.
They had been best friends, all each other had. But she wanted someone to play second-fiddle and Ryan wanted to direct the orchestra.
Troy didn't attend, off jet-setting the world as the newest Brad Pitt. Chad coached basketball at East High and Zeke was the chef at Lava Springs.
Ryan wanted to ask, Are you happy? Honestly? He'd escaped Albuquerque. He and Kelsi were in New York and sometimes they worked together, just like high-school. But most everyone else was still stuck there, so far from those dreams during high-school…
Chad clapped him on the back, welcoming him home. Place just ain't the same without your crazy hats, dude, he said. Maybe you can show me some of them Broadway moves.
I thought you didn't dance, Ryan said, smiling.
Chad laughed. I don't, except for you.
Ryan ducked his head.
Mama used to say he'd meet the right person, the one soul to light up his life. For the longest, longest time, he thought that person was Sharpay. They were twins, two halves of the same whole. And he loved her, loves her, will always love her. But she was no good for him. In her presence, he could never shine.
Chad grinned at him. C'mon, Evans, he challenged. You got game?
If there was anything Ryan knew how to do, it was dance. A little.