Chapter 3: Paint

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Ryan was now laying in paint on the ground, covering his face with his hands and angrily swearing at his embarrassment. He was now covered with paint, it was on his clothes, in his hair, and was the exact reason he hated painting! These things always happened! Now everyone was staring at him, and he could feel his face burning again. He also could feel someone kneeling next to him, hands on his shoulders, but he really didn't want to own up to the humiliation of himself covered in paint.

"Mr. Evan's, language please." Ms. Darbus lectured from somewhere nearby. Even in a situation like this she couldn't let things go.

"Shoot.. I am so sorry… I didn't mean to startle anyone… I shouldn't have come in yelling." This apology was coming from Troy Bolton, however his voice wasn't coming from across the room like Ryan had assumed, in fact the voice was coming from right next to him, almost directly above him. Troy Bolton was the person holding Ryan's shoulders currently, and this only made Ryan turn a brighter shade of pink. He knew he was going to need to uncover his face sooner or later, and was going to be looking into the eyes of Troy Bolton yet again. He wasn't completely sure he could handle that.

"Mr. Bolton, next time think about your actions before going through with them. Not only have you created a mess, but you have interrupted rehearsal. This is Theater Mr. Bolton! Theater! Respect the arts, Mr. Bolton! This is not your sports posse!" Ms. Darbus continued to lecture about theater as Ryan uncovered his face. He was positive his face was a shade of pink at this moment, and it probably had increased to a darker shade as he uncovered his eyes to find Troy staring directly at him. Those piercing blue eyes hit him with that same intense look that had been on his mind for the past day, but this time it was mixed with something apologetic and of awkward embarrassment.

"Sorry Ms. Darbus" answered Troy as he continued to stare at Ryan. He could feel Troy's gaze looking over his face and scanning over the paint that was now everywhere. He started grinning at this point, almost laughing and whispered, "At least this is washable paint… and this isn't a bad color for you… but just… hold still there is some that might drip into your eye." Before Ryan could assess the situation, Troy was running his thumb gently above his eye removing the paint. Ryan's eyes got wide, and his and Troy's eyes locked again as Troy continued to run his thumb gently across his face.

"Umm… thanks… I'm sure it's gone now," Stuttered Ryan, who's breathing had now drastically increased, along with his heartbeat. Troy quickly moved his hand away and glanced around awkwardly, turning slightly pink. Ryan tried to make eye contact again, but Troy was now glancing around and avoiding his gaze.

"Detention Mr. Bolton, and you get to spend the rest of the day cleaning up this mess. But first help Ryan get cleaned up." If only Ms. Darbus hadn't added on that last part. Ryan was perfectly capable of cleaning himself up, and with the awkwardness that had fallen between the two, he really did not want Troy's help.

"Okay…" Troy replied while getting up and offering Ryan a hand. Ignoring the help he was offering, Ryan stood himself up and started heading towards the bathroom, hoping maybe Troy wouldn't follow. But as he headed out of the drama room, he heard footsteps behind him and knew he was going to have no such luck.

…..

The two stood in silence as Ryan went to the sink and began washing paint off himself the best he could. He was a mess, his blonde hair was plastered with green paint and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to get it out until he was able to get home and shower. None the less Ryan continued to wash his face, neck, hair, and hands the best he could, and contemplated what to do with his now ruined shirt. Meanwhile, Troy stood in the background fidgeting with his hands and avoiding catching Ryan's gaze in the mirror.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can do, I feel really bad, and I know I'm not really helping…"
mumbled Ryan from against the tile wall. He now was looking at Ryan again, but his expression had returned to unreadable.

"No it's fine, I'm not sure what Ms. Darbus expected you to do exactly. I just don't know what to do about my shirt. I can't exactly get this paint out …" Ryan continued trying to wash the paint off, now wetting paper towels and trying the best he could to sponge the paint off his shirt. He was quickly getting soaked and the paint was really just spreading more. "Ugh, this is ruined. Maybe if I soak it in the sink and run it under the hand dryer?" Ryan knew that if things weren't already awkward, the fact he was now going to remove his shirt might make it more so. But then again, Troy was straight and was on the basketball team, he constantly was in the locker room with guys changing, so this shouldn't even bother him. Ryan knew he was going to feel self-conscious, especially under Troy's gaze which had a slight hint of curiosity as he watched Ryan from where he was standing.

Carefully Ryan began unbuttoning his shirt and untucked it from his slacks. Slipping his arms out of the sleeves he was now standing shirtless in the mirror, and trying not to look at Troy, quickly began trying to rinse out his shirt in the sink. Looking up he met Troy's gaze in the mirror, and to his surprise Troy had turned a slight shade of pink again and his eyes had grown wide, quickly glancing away from Ryan when their eyes met again.

"I think I have an extra shirt in my bag, I forgot I had it for practice today and just wore my uniform… I'll go get it." And with that Troy had quickly left the bathroom, face still pink, eyes glued to the floor.

Now Ryan was confused. Troy was acting so strange, he was red and avoiding eye contact. It just didn't make sense, it's not like he had never seen a half-naked guy before, and it shouldn't even bother him. He probably just felt bad about the fact Ryan had fallen and was now a mess. He was probably just embarrassed and didn't know how to help. That was all. But what about the gaze and that unreadable expression on his face, and the way he had so gently rubbed the paint from his face? He had touched his face so softly, it wasn't simply removing paint, but almost like a caress, and he wouldn't move his hand. Why had his hand lingered? He was probably overthinking a very innocent situation that meant nothing.

"He's straight." Ryan reminded himself. "Completely straight, and you are imagining things because you want to see something."

After about five minutes Troy returned carrying a white T-shirt. "Sorry… you're thinner than me… it might be a bit baggy…" he stated as he handed it to Ryan. Meeting Ryan's eyes again, he turned another shade of pink, almost as if he was embarrassed by his comment.

"I'm sure it will be fine. It's just for the rest of the day… not what I'd typically wear… but it will work" replied Ryan with a slight grin. He didn't wear T-shirts like this, or T-shirts in general, casual wasn't really his "thing" when it came to clothing selection. Surprisingly, this made Troy grin in return and start laughing, causing Ryan to start as well.

The awkwardness that had been there quickly diminished as the two stood laughing over a T-shirt and Ryan's clothing choices. Still laughing Ryan tried to put the T-shirt on, completely missing the head hole in his fit of giggles.

"Here, let me help," offered Troy to this, still grinning now, probably at Ryan's awkwardness. Before Ryan had enough time to object or process what was happening, Troy had taken the shirt and pulled it down over Ryan's head. "Arms in…" he stated softly, and Ryan moved his arms into his sleeves. With this Ryan expected Troy to let go, but he didn't. Gently Troy began tugging his shirt and in doing so was running his hands down Ryan's sides. Both the boys had stopped laughing at this point, and Ryan focused on Troy's slow movement and the gentle touch of his hands running down his skin. Troy's face had once again changed to that unreadable expression that Ryan had grown to hate, and was now looking at Ryan. Though Ryan's shirt was now fully on, Troy had not moved his hands from their landing place on Ryan's hips, and it felt as if he was tightening his grip slightly adding pressure with his fingertips.

Ryan could feel his breathe catch. This couldn't be an accident. Troy had to be aware of what he was doing, and logically, there was no reason why he shouldn't have moved his hands at this point. If he was straight, this couldn't make sense. "If he was straight." Thought Ryan, "If." Both stood motionless for what seemed like minutes, both staring at one another, Troy's hands pressed into his hips.