Parachute

by braille upon my skin

In the wake of Gabriella Montez's departure from East High, Troy Bolton finds himself falling helplessly into a state of confusion and despair. With his uncertain future looming just around the corner, Troy clings desperately to Gabriella, in spite of every sign that their relationship is failing. However, he just might find a parachute in an unlikely source: Ryan Evans.

3. Part 3

A/N: There is a fairly graphic depiction of a potentially upsetting subject matter early on in this part, so, please venture ahead with caution, my dear readers.

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Parachute

3.

"It's okay to be angry at her", Ryan says, putting down Janet Gurtler's #16thingsithoughtweretrue to look at Troy.

"Hm?" Troy lays on his back on Ryan's bed, the blond lying on his side beside him. As Ryan concentrated on the book, Troy busied himself with playing Candy Crush on Ryan's Iphone. He slides four purple candies together as he murmurs his question, creating the striped combo candy. The game was easy enough to get the hang of, but it's frustrating beyond fucking belief. It doesn't help that the music and sound effects, especially that startlingly deep voice exclaiming, "sweet", and/or "delicious", depending on the combo, are migraine-inducing. Despite it all, though, the stupid game is as addictive as chocolate. Troy has already cleared somewhere around forty levels within a few hours.

Ryan's mouth twitches, his brows drawing together as he starts again, "It's okay to be angry at Gabriella. For what she did to you."

Troy's finger freezes in place on the screen.

Aware of the impact of his words, Ryan shifts upright and and scoots into Troy, his hand coming to rest on the taller boy's chest as his head presses against Troy's left shoulder. "You have a good heart, Troy. You're sweet, altruistic. You have a strong moral compass, and that's one of the reasons why I love you."

The game immediately slips Troy's mind. He sets the phone down with his right arm and moves his left arm, allowing Ryan to snuggle into him before bringing the limb back down around Ryan's shoulders. As much as he's wary about the topic of this conversation, he's certain that he'll never tire of hearing those three words come out of Ryan's beautiful mouth.

"But," Ryan resumes softly, "you need to know that it's okay to get upset at someone when they betray you. When they…" He pauses and his voice hardens perceptibly. He lifts his head, and Troy looks down to meet Ryan's eyes. "When they hurt you."

Troy stares into Ryan's eyes. Nothing but good intentions swim in those sky-colored pools, and Troy gets the feeling that Ryan is speaking from a place of experience. He swallows, heart twisting. "It is?" He just manages to ask. He wishes he could travel back in time and prevent Ryan from ever becoming acquainted with betrayal and heartache. Someone so beautiful doesn't deserve to know what pain feels like.

"Forgiveness is good, and it's unburdening, but that comes at its own pace. If someone mistreats you, no one in the world should expect you to just grin and bear it. I mean… you're only human, Troy."

Tears well up in Troy's eyes as if the words, themselves, summoned them. At first, he doesn't speak. He can't locate or form the sounds and syllables he needs to communicate how he feels.

I'm… only human. I'm…

Ryan's eyes are on him, watching him with solicitude. "Are you okay?" He asks. The regret and worry in his voice might as well be tangible, given how they latch right onto Troy's heart. Ryan needs to know that he hasn't hurt Troy, and Troy proves it to him by hugging the blond tightly to his body.

His breathing unsteady, Troy's body shudders as a sudden sob overtakes it.

Ryan jolts, a stream of, "I'm sorry. Troy, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean to… I-!", pouring out of him until Troy silences it by pressing his lips to Ryan's forehead in a soft kiss.

"Thank you," Troy whispers.

8-8-8-8-8

Ryan suggests watching Me and Orson Welles because it's "a very accurate depiction of what being involved in a theatrical production is like".

Troy reckons that Zac Efron's ridiculously handsome face might be an incentive to put the flick on. You know, along with the whole, "accurate depiction of what being involved in a theatrical production is like", thing.

As Ryan hefts criticism at Claire Danes's "Sonja with a 'j' that sounds like a 'y'" for not only humoring the romantic advances of a seventeen year-old boy- Zac Efron's Richard Samuels, the protagonist- when she's a twenty-something year-old woman, but also giving said teenage boy alcohol and sleeping with him, Troy laughs in agreement that "yeah, that's kind of screwed up".

"And you know," Ryan goes on, dismayed, "she's never held accountable for it, by either the narrative, or Richard, himself, just because she's a woman and Richard is blinded by his infatuation for her."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Ryan bites down on the inside of his mouth. The smile returns to his face, replacing his pained look of exasperation as he adds, "Thankfully, though, she's the only bad part of this movie. Everything else is great."

Troy finds himself soon agreeing with that statement, as well.

Richard's first real immersion in the world of theater, although strikingly different, does remind Troy of what it was like for him, learning the ropes of East High's Drama Club. If it wasn't for Ryan's support, he would have spent a good portion of the rehearsals completely lost on where to go and what to do. Learning the difference between stage right, stage left, upstage and downstage would have been brutal without Ryan to ignore Gabriella's giggling and Sharpay's aggrieved groans to timidly step forward and demonstrate in plain English what the stage directions meant.

As for application of stage makeup… it goes without saying that he's exceedingly grateful that he and Ryan put their rivalry over the lead role behind them immediately after Troy was casted as Arnold, and Ryan as his understudy and Chorus Member Number 4.

"You're not upset, are you?" Troy remembers asking Ryan one day early on as they stood backstage, awaiting their cues.

"No." Ryan gave Troy a friendly smile, after first checking all around the area to make sure the question was actually addressed to him, and not, say, some other person who might have materialized just behind him. "I-It's like they say; 'There are no small parts in theater. Just small actors'."

When Ryan is engrossed in a scene pertaining to the development of a relationship between Richard and Gretta, a girl with aspirations of becoming a writer, a relationship that Troy has to admit is cute, Troy smiles and says, "You were the best chorus member I've ever seen."

"Really?" Ryan asks. He pauses the movie as Gretta begins talking about the plot of her newest story, and turns away from the screen to give Troy a look of surprise, his eyebrows elevated.

"Yeah," Troy assures him. It was obvious from miles away that Ryan was too talented to be stuck in the background. He effortlessly outshone every single other member of Twinkle Towne's chorus, and even, if Troy is honest with himself, the show's leads. "And you really killed it in Sibling Piracy."

Troy would know. He, Zeke, Kelsi, Martha, and a group of Sharpay's admirers were the only members of the East High student body in the audience on opening night. And, on the final night of the show's six day run, the audience only consisted of Troy, Gabriella, Kelsi, and Zeke. Sharpay had been less than impressed by that turnout, until Gabriella paid her performance a compliment, Kelsi offered her a shy but sincere smile, and Zeke produced a bag of cookies that he had brought for her. Ryan was the one who thanked them for coming out to support him and his sister, and Troy distinctly recalls Ryan's gaze lingering on him…

"Thank you!" Ryan exclaims, a wide smile that reaches his eyes working its way across his face. "Sharpay wasn't fully on-board with the idea of a show centered on singing, pillaging pirate siblings, but I think we managed to pull it off."

"It was really creative. Not at all cookie cutter." Troy grins and nudges Ryan softly.

"I'm really glad to hear that you think so." Ryan nudges Troy back even more softly. He stays close to him for the rest of the movie. Troy doesn't remember the exact point when their hands twined together- perhaps during Lucius's lullaby for Brutus, or maybe during a powerful delivery of Shakespeare's text- because Ryan's fingers just fit so naturally into the spaces between Troy's.

8-8-8-8-8

An ugly sound pulls Troy out of his slumber. Retching; a horrid noise that he's not especially familiar with- that dubious honor goes to crying- but far more acquainted with than he'd like to be, thanks to getting the stomach flu during the summer of his sophomore year, and overhearing his dad puking into the toilet the handful of times Jack Bolton has gone out with his buddies or colleagues and come home drunk.

Troy sits up, propped up on his outstretched right arm, and his hand comes down on the empty space beside him.

Empty space… shit. Tossing the blankets aside, exposing his bare chest to the cool air pouring out of the vents, he stumbles to his feet and makes his way out of Ryan's room, toward the source of the gut-churning, pitiful sounds. He hopes that the poor soul regurgitating their dinner isn't his worryingly absent bed partner. Although discovering Sharpay or one of her "gal pals", as Ryan refers to them, hunched over the toilet or sink, wouldn't necessarily be preferable.

White light streams out from beneath the bathroom door, and the awful sound of bile and food chunks spewing out of someone's mouth is definitely louder standing just outside the bathroom. Warily, pushing back his urge to flee back into the safety of Ryan's room so it isn't him who has to deal with vomit, not at whatever ungodly hour of the night it is and not while he's half-asleep, Troy knocks softly on the durable wood with his knuckle. "Hello? Um… You okay in there?"

There's a break in the retching.

Troy bites down on the inside of his mouth, his own stomach unsettled. Suddenly, he's not so sure that he wants an answer. That he can handle it if it's confirmation of the fear eating at the back of his mind.

"T… Troy?" A weak, exhausted alto-tenor asks. The voice is muffled by the door, but it's unmistakable.

Troy's heart lurches. He tries the handle of the door, and is relieved to find that it comes open easily. The sight that greets him is exactly what he feared: Ryan sits there on the polished tile floor, hunched miserably over the marble toilet bowl, his fair skin peaked and tears streaming down his face. "Oh, Ryan… no," Troy whispers. His legs quake and he kneels down at Ryan's side, wrapping a soothing arm about the petite boy's shoulders. "What…? I-I didn't think there was anything wrong with dinner. Why-why are you…?"

Ryan lowers his head shamefully. He pulls the lid of the toilet closed to hide the evidence of his deed. "I… I didn't mean to wake you up, Troy. I didn't want you to… to see me like this," he murmurs, his voice shaky.

"Are you okay?" Troy prompts. He can feel his forehead lining with concern.

"Yes," Ryan says, almost as if it's a reflex.

Troy swallows, his heart aching like it's filled with shrapnel. The word, the question, "Why?" batters his brain, and something seems to shift within Ryan like he can sense all of that.

"No," Ryan corrects himself. "No, I…"

Troy runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. He's at a complete loss and wishes he was more awake so he knew the right thing to do, the right thing to say.

"I ate too much, yesterday," Ryan admits, tremors wracking his voice.

It occurs to Troy how difficult this is for Ryan- to be vulnerable and to admit to someone, especially the boy he loves, that he's in a position of vulnerability. To lay it all out there in the open and risk rejection from the person who means the world to you is… terrifying. So, as much as he dreads the words coming out of Ryan's mouth and what those words mean, Troy doesn't move. He doesn't get up and retreat with his tail between his legs back down the hall to lie down in Ryan's safe, warm bed and pull the covers over his head where he can pretend that this isn't happening. He stays, because he's in it for the long haul, and Ryan needs to know that.

"So I…" Ryan swallows. "I…" He tries again. "Needed to purge…" When Ryan's voice breaks, Troy draws the smaller boy into his chest, letting him know that he doesn't need to put himself through finishing that thought.

"Jesus Christ," Troy breathes out. He hugs Ryan close to him, uncaring that Ryan's cheeks are damp and his eyelashes are wet as they come into contact with Troy's naked chest. New tears form as Ryan's body trembles, and the tears slip down his face, dripping onto Troy's chest. Troy isn't fazed in the slightest. He vowed to be Ryan's parachute, and right now, Ryan is spiraling toward the ground. It's time to step up to the plate. "Ryan, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you," he says firmly, emphatically. "You're beautiful. Okay? You're… Fuck." Troy looks down and locks eyes with the blond. "You're so incredibly attractive. Forget what that voice in your head is telling you."

Ryan stares back, his eyes wide, puffy, and red-rimmed. "You really think I'm beautiful?" He asks.

"Yes," Troy says, his heart in his throat. He hopes his eyes are reflecting the sincerity that floods every muscle and bone in his body. "You're one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen."

A sad smile tugs at Ryan's lips. His eyes shine with yet to be shed tears. "Troy, you've never even seen me with my shirt off."

"Would you let me?"

For some reason, be it the late hour, or that they honestly, truly trust each other, the request doesn't come as a surprise to either one of them.

Ryan pulls back enough for his eyes to drop to Troy's sun-kissed torso, then, they rise to meet the former athlete's eyes. He seems to believe in and draw resolve from whatever he finds there, because he takes a breath, then lifts his shirt off over his head in a swift, easy motion.

The expanse of creamy flesh that greets Troy causes a twinge in both his heart and his boxers. Ryan's torso doesn't have the definition of NBA or NFL stars, the models in cologne ads, or even some of Troy's former basketball teammates. And, faded bruises left by some disapproving asshole dot his too noticeable ribs. Yet…

Troy moves back in without breaking eye contact. He wants, needs Ryan to know that he means every bit of what he's about to do. Slowly, he places a tender kiss on Ryan's collarbone, then his shoulder, his ribcage, and finally, his flat stomach, where there's a just visible line of dark blond hair trailing downward, past his prominent pelvis bone, and into his boxer briefs.

Ryan's trembling from forcing himself to get sick, and from his emotional turmoil, subsides. He lets out a soft, staggered gasp that sounds euphonic to Troy's ears, and threads his fingers into locks of Troy's hair.

Troy stifles a moan at the sound, and the sensation of Ryan's skin against his lips, and the way Ryan's fingertips lightly stroke his scalp, and raises his head so he's at eye-level with Ryan. His wonderful, amazing boyfriend. "Beautiful," he affirms. "Just like I said."

Breaking into his wide, radiant smile, his eyes glowing, Ryan pulls Troy into an embrace and plants a kiss on his cheek before nuzzling in with his cheek pressed to Troy's neck. A euphoric relief disperses throughout Troy's body, and he breaks into a smile, too.

This time, when Ryan lets out a sobbing sound, Troy knows that it isn't because of shame, or self-loathing, or the ignorant bastard voice in Ryan's head not being able to recognize beauty when it's staring it in the face. He hugs Ryan back tightly, content to sit there with his shirtless chest pressed against Ryan's, the two of them dressed only in their underwear, gently rocking each other on the cold bathroom floor with chilled air blowing out of the vent beside them, as long as Ryan is okay.

A flash of movement by the door catches Troy's attention out of his peripheral vision and, simultaneously, he and Ryan look over to see Lupe, one of Sharpay's friends, standing in the entry way.

"Oh my goodness!" The girl exclaims, her sleek dark hair rumpled and blush staining her cheeks pink. "I, um, I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I just really needed to…"

"Right." Troy clears his throat.

"Of course," Ryan chimes in.

Troy helps Ryan to his feet and retrieves Ryan's shirt from the floor, using it to cover the blond's chest. Side-stepping awkwardly around Lupe's petite form- the girl shoots them a friendly smile that does little to lessen the awkwardness and Troy emits an awkward laugh, in response- the boys head to Ryan's room to regain at least a semblance of modesty.

8-8-8-8-8

It's going for five a.m. Ryan is seated at the kitchen table, resting his head against the cool wood surface. A cup of ginger ale sits in front of him. It was the closest thing to Sprite, which Troy typically drinks to settle his stomach, that Troy could find in the Evans' refrigerator.

Ryan pulled his t-shirt back on, along with a pair of pajama pants, as soon as they got to his room. Troy just tugged on one of his plaid shirts. He didn't bother buttoning it up, or slipping into a pair of sweatpants. Tending to Ryan was his number one priority and taking an extra few seconds to put on an unnecessary clothing article would have impeded that priority.

Troy's head feels fuzzy, clouded, but he's significantly more awake than he was earlier, and feels far more equipped to deal with the subject that he's about to breach. He pulls a chair up directly beside Ryan and drops into it, draping his arm around the blond's backside. "You feeling any better?"

"Yeah." Ryan lifts his head off of the table and gives Troy a grateful smile. "Although I still feel bad for waking you up. I'm sorry."

"Hey. It's no big deal. Really. You can just consider us even, now." A lighthearted grin plays on Troy's lips and he gives Ryan a feather-soft punch on the shoulder nearest him.

Ryan lets out a tiny laugh. The seemingly fathomless sadness that darkened his eyes has all but dissipated, and Troy couldn't be more relieved.

But, a certain something has to be addressed. And, better now, before he forgets and when the moment feels right. "Someone hurt you, Ryan," Troy begins. He can feel Ryan's spine stiffen under his palm, but he presses on, ignoring the bite of guilt in his heart and his brain. Some temporary discomfort on both of their parts might just be worth it if he can fix things. If he can get to know Ryan better. Understand what happened to cause the empathy in his eyes every time he catches Troy's thoughts straying to Gabriella, make him feel like he needed to purge his already skinny, breathtaking physical form of what he deemed excess food. "I know they did. You don't need to keep that bottled up inside of you. It'll just fester, and… and you don't need to be hurt any more."

"It's stupid," Ryan murmurs, looking away.

"It's not stupid. Not if it upset you."

Ryan lifts his head and raises his eyes tentatively to Troy's. "It's so insignificant compared to how Gabriella's hurt you."

"You can't compare your reason for being upset to someone else's," Troy says softly. "I read somewhere, once, that things hurt because they matter. If whatever it was caused you pain, made you doubt yourself this much, left you with scars," he thinks back on the bruises he saw on Ryan's ribcage, the fact that Ryan felt the need to puke into the toilet because he had "eaten too much", that Ryan never seems to think that he's good enough, "then it matters," he declares definitively. "And, that's why I care. So, please don't shut me out, Ry." Troy stares imploringly into Ryan's eyes, his hand moves to the blond's shoulder and squeezes it gently.

Ryan searches Troy's eyes and his muscles relax. He draws in a breath. "There… Back when my family lived in Rhode Island, before we moved to Albuquerque, I was on the little league baseball team for Newport. There was this boy; Dalton. Dalton Reyes. He was the captain of the team."

Troy nods, encouraging him to go on.

"Dalton had this… there was just something about him; his leadership skills, the way he always seemed to bring out the best in everyone on the team, even me, who was only really there to make my dad proud of me…" Ryan smiles wistfully, his voice distant and his eyes clouded.

Troy's heart twists sympathetically. He can relate.

"It sounds silly," Ryan goes on, "but getting to see Dalton became the reason that I was glad to put on that ill-fitting jersey and run around in the dirt and sand for an hour and a half every evening. If I got to look into those hazel eyes of his, even for a minute, I could forget that I'd much rather be onstage with my sister."

"That's not silly," Troy says quietly.

Ryan gives him another one of those looks teeming with acute longing that make Troy's chest feel heavy, and like it's being clenched in a vise. Hesitantly, he resumes, "I-I remember trying so hard to impress Dalton. To get his attention. I wanted him to smile at me, to give me one of his customary congratulatory back slaps, to hang out with me because… he thought I was someone special." His voice drops.

Troy falls silent for a moment, his brows drawing together. As much as part of him wants to, he knows that he can't fault Dalton for being too blind to see the amazing person standing in the ball diamond beside him. He was the exact same way, not too long ago; too caught up in Gabriella to recognize how Ryan felt, too committed to someone who ultimately proved that she wasn't anywhere near as invested in him. However, there is one thing that Troy has always known, since he first crossed paths with the Evans siblings during the first day of their freshman year… "You are special, Ry. If he couldn't see that…"

"I know." Ryan exhales. His voice is unsteady, but there's a sudden clarity that steals into his posture and inflection. "He didn't know what he was missing out on. He… He wasn't worth any of the heartache. I realized that as I got older, but for a long time, it still hurt." How he says that one word speaks volumes and yet, leaves so much unsaid, as well.

Troy doesn't ask about the bruises on Ryan's ribs. That feels like it would be prying, evoking bad memories that would rather be forgotten. And, Ryan's been through enough for at least a week or two, let alone a few hours.

Ryan turns to lock eyes with Troy. The smile that tugs the corners of his mouth upright is small, but sincere, and an internal glow lights his eyes. "It hurt until you came along."

"And, now it's slowly getting better?" Troy asks, reciprocating the smile. His chest tightens with the intense hope that suddenly effervesces inside of it.

"Yeah," Ryan says, nuzzling his nose into Troy's cheek. "It's slowly getting better."

8-8-8-8-8

Troy doesn't recall when he and Ryan moved to Ryan's bed, or when they drifted off to sleep. But, in the morning- or, more likely, it's the afternoon- he rouses to find himself in Ryan's bed with the beautiful blond beside him. He pulls the upper half of his body into a semi-upright position so he can get a better view of his bedmate. Ryan lies on his right side, facing Troy. His right arm is folded under his pillow. His left arm is in the same folded position just a few inches below his right arm, this hand resting on top of the pillow.

For a moment, Troy lets himself rhapsodize about how the sunlight pouring in from the window strikes Ryan's hair and gives it a golden glow, how it casts a white incandescence over his fair skin. A frown spreads across his face, and his heart swells, chest tightening. "How could you ever think you're ugly, Ry?" He whispers, more to himself than his still sleeping bed partner. He reaches out to lightly run his fingers through Ryan's soft blond hair.

As Troy's fingers brush against tips of light blond, the corner of Ryan's mouth twitches and he stirs. His eyes slowly open and focus on Troy. "Hey."

Troy feels his stomach clench at the likely possibility that he woke Ryan. He didn't mean to, especially when Ryan could have done with a few more hours of sleep after the harrowing events of the wee hours of the morning. But, Ryan doesn't look like he's cursing Troy Bolton's name for dragging him out of a much needed rest. Troy returns softly, somewhat sheepishly, "Hey."

"What time is it?" Ryan asks. He stretches as much as he can in his area of the bed.

Troy turns over to look at the clock on Ryan's nightstand. "Twelve fifteen," he reads off.

"Holy shit," Ryan whispers.

Troy feels that he has the grounds to assume that sleeping in this late isn't a frequent occurrence in the Evans household. It probably wasn't even a thing, at all, until a certain someone decided to have an "extended sleepover". Troy wonders if maybe he's a bad influence on Ryan; keeping him up late and interfering with his sleep schedule. If that is the case, the least he could do is treat Ryan to breakfast. Or lunch, he amends, reminding himself of the time. "Ry." He nudges the blond gently as he jumps up. "You, me, lunch. Come on."

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Ryan murmurs, "Yeah. Sure." A smile graces his face and he takes the hand that Troy offers him.

8-8-8-8-8

To Troy's surprise, as he reaches for the key to his truck, he finds Ryan tossing another set of keys to him.

Troy catches them easily, and his brows draw together in confusion as he glances up from the silver key to his boyfriend's face.

"I thought you could drive one of my dad's cars, today," Ryan offers as an explanation. "Not that I have anything against your truck, it's just um, unsafe. You know? Driving a vehicle with an unreliable engine."

"Your dad's cool with that?" Although the older man was perfectly warm and friendly, Troy recalls how imposing Mr. Evans could be during the summer that he worked for the head of the Evans family. An involuntary shudder creeps down his spine as he remembers being pressured into promising to sing with Sharpay merely because of a look that Mr. Evans had given him. Getting on the man's bad side is one of the last things he'd ever want to do, especially now that he's dating Mr. Evans's son.

"He was ready to make you part of the family, last summer," Ryan reassures him with a smile and a light pat on the bicep. "I highly doubt he'd take issue with you driving one of his twelve cars."

"Twelve?" Troy repeats, flabbergasted.

Ryan nods, grinning bashfully. "Yeah, twelve." Threading his arm through the former athlete's, Ryan leads him through the so-big-it's-almost-labyrinthian house to a door that hides an immense car garage behind it. He flicks on the light in the garage and…

"Holy…" With what he's sure is a goggling expression on his face, his head sort of fuzzy, Troy takes in the rows of parked cars. They're in such mint condition, he could have easily mistaken them for being brand new, given the bright shine of the overhead light on each car's exterior paint job.

As he gapes at the line up, attempting to mentally gauge each vehicle's capabilities by its model, he feels oddly compelled to begin counting them. "Nine, ten, eleven…" He pauses. "I count eleven."

Ryan follows Troy's line of sight. "Oh yeah. I think they took the Mustang with them."

Troy nods with faint bemusement.

When he continues to linger at Ryan's side, the blond nods encouragingly toward the key in Troy's hand and then sweeps his arm in a grand gesture toward the cars. "Go ahead."

Following Ryan's directional gesturing, Troy presses a button on the key set he was handed. There's a responding beeping sound and the headlights on a red Toyota Camry briefly flicker on. That's it. That's Troy's vehicle for the day. Feeling sort of like Alice after she tumbled down the rabbit hole, or Aladdin when he rubbed the magic lamp and unleashed the genie, an awestruck Troy dazedly steps forward to embrace his- temporary- new car.

8-8-8-8-8

The Camry maneuvers like a dream, easily putting miles behind them. And, Troy reluctantly admits to himself, it's kind of awesome to not have to worry about my engine potentially biting the dirt and leaving me stranded. If he felt like another person, before, being behind the wheel of this automobile with Ryan Evans in the passenger seat beside him, perusing the radio stations for a suitable soundtrack to their lunchtime excursion, is the confirmation that he really is in a whole new world.

He pulls into the drive through section of a Steak 'n Shake. Ryan turns the radio down as Troy slowly brings the vehicle up right behind the car currently at the speaker.

"See anything you like?" Troy asks, already eyeballing the Royale Double Steakburger on the menu display.

"The milkshakes all look soooo good…!" The words escape Ryan in the form of a slightly muffled, tortured-sounding groan.

"Yeah, they do," Troy agrees. Peanut butter cup, cookie dough, M&M, Butterfinger, Snickers, and the classics; chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry… It's like a library of different flavors, and each one sounds completely delicious. Especially to his empty stomach. "Which one would you like?"

"I can't," Ryan says vehemently, his face blanching as he nervously chews at his lower lip, eyes wide. "Troy, they're all too fattening. They probably have over six-hundred calories."

Troy turns and fixes Ryan in a serious stare. He makes certain that each word that he says is spoken clearly, so that they will leave an impact and sink in past that demeaning voice reverberating harshly in the petite blond's skull. "Ry, you are not fat. Trust me, letting yourself indulge in one milkshake isn't going to kill you."

He can see his words slowly chipping away at Ryan's consternation.

Thoughtfully, he goes on, "The average person is supposed to eat around two thousand calories a day. When you do the math, and subtract those six hundred milkshake calories, you're still left with fourteen hundred calories." Troy smiles and says gently, "Fourteen hundred is a lot bigger than six hundred, Ry."

"Yeah," Ryan murmurs. His front teeth cease gnawing at his lip.

"And, I promise to keep you busy enough to burn off any superfluous calories," Troy adds with a meaningful wink and buoying smile. If he employs puppy-dog eyes, as well, that's entirely unintentional.

The tension eases off of the younger Evans twin's shoulders and acquiesce begins visibly spreading over his face. Coupled with a deep pink that stains his cheeks. No doubt imagining just how, exactly, Troy plans to keep him busy. "Alright," he sighs.

"Alright!" Troy echoes, shooting Ryan a delighted grin. His heart and stomach fizz as Ryan reciprocates the grin with a smile. Troy pulls the car forward to the speaker and places their order: a Royale Double Steakburger, fries, and a chocolate shake for him, and a Chicken Sandwich with fries and a strawberry milkshake, for Ryan.

They eat their lunch in the parking lot. Troy snatches a handful of Ryan's fries, which Ryan doesn't seem to mind. Troy eats the fries plain- he's never been too big a fan of dousing things in ketchup- and he says, "I hope it's not too intrusive to ask, but where are your parents, anyway?" He feels Ryan staring at him and catches the blond's eye. It's right at the moment their eyes meet that he realizes that he just asked that question with his mouth full. Immediately, he internally chastises himself for being a jerk and a doofus, and his cheeks burn with shame. Oh god, he hopes that he didn't spit food all over Ryan in his stupidity. "Sorry," he murmurs, lowering his eyes to the floor of the car.

"You're fine. Really," Ryan assures him. He smiles like he somehow finds Troy's lack of proper table manners- or car manners- endearing and it doesn't look like flecks of partially chewed food are sticking to his clothes or his face. Thank goodness. Then, after taking a sip of his milkshake, he mercifully changes the subject and Troy's heart gives a grateful leap. "I believe they're in India, for the time being. Although, they travel so much, it's hard to keep track, sometimes."

Troy slowly picks up a fry, chews it thoroughly, and swallows it down. His parents are almost always home with him; even if one of them is out, he can usually count on the other to be there, so he has no idea what it's like to not only rarely get to see your parents, but to have them on another continent with an entire ocean stretching out between you and them. He sort of had an inkling while working at Lava Springs that Mr. and Mrs. Evans were more distant in their parenting approach, less hands-on than his own folks, but he wasn't quite ready for the sudden surge of melancholy that confirmation of that inkling would bring on. He sips at his milkshake to steel himself, or maybe for a momentary distraction, feels the sweet, thickly churned, rich chocolate slide down his throat. "They're gonna come see the show, though, right?"

"They wouldn't miss it for anything," Ryan says with such certainty that Troy believes it.

He couldn't picture Mr. and Mrs. Evans missing their children's final show in their four-year spanning theatrical careers at East High School. Distant is not equivalent to unloving, after all.

"What about your dad?" Ryan asks after delicately picking his sandwich up and taking a small bite out of it. Troy notes that Ryan has perfect car manners- he chews with his mouth closed and waits until he's swallowed to speak- and feels even more like a jerk and a doofus. "I hope he isn't giving you grief over his athlete son being the star of yet another school musical."

"No," Troy replies. His heart warms a bit as he recounts, "I talked to him the other day, when I was cleaning out my locker, and he said that he and my mom will be there."

Ryan smiles, his eyes glowing softly. "Troy, that's-"

"Yeah." Troy rubs at the back of his neck and returns the smile. "He even said that if I wanted to go to a college for theater, they support me all the way. One-hundred percent."

A small squeal of pure joy emits from the blond. "Troy, that's wonderful!"

"Yeah, it's…" Troy doesn't have to finish that thought.

Ryan leans over and looks like he means to hug the former athlete, but with their food sitting on their laps, he settles for linking their pinkie fingers together. "I sent a letter to Juilliard," he says, eyes glowing, "putting in a good word for you. And, emailed NYU and a couple of universities in California." As he goes on, his arm swings slightly in an apparent need to physically demonstrate his enthusiasm, taking Troy's with it.

A thought about theatrical personalities floats through the back of Troy's mind as he lets his arm be moved in synch with Ryan's, and a tiny, muffled laugh leaves him.

"They would all be more than happy to have you," Ryan finishes.

Troy's eyes widen as he absorbs that information. Then, excitement takes hold. Juilliard. NYU. Universities in New York and California. It's a wide range. Expanded horizons. None of these choices leave him confined to Albuquerque, and, more importantly, none of these colleges are putting him up for consideration because he's East High's Basketball Guy. They're taking in the other parts of him, as well. They're not already putting him into a box pre-packaged with expectations that he has to live up to at all costs.

He's just Troy to them, too.

"You're the best boyfriend anyone could ever ask for," he says, his eyes a bit watery as he smiles and curls his finger more tightly around Ryan's.

"I just didn't want you to feel like you had limited options," Ryan says softly. He's clearly affected by Troy's proclamation. His eyes are misty as he says, "You're so much more than a pretty face who can dribble a ball and make slam dunks. Or, whatever they are."

Troy laughs quietly. It's the first time in his life that he's ever had anyone tell him that he has value beyond his athletic abilities. Value beyond the pedestal that his peers and the surrounding community placed him on before he could offer up a syllable in protest. And, Ryan being uncertain of terminology that he never needed to know, in the first place, makes him all the more endearing.

Because he's from a different world. A world that Troy Bolton has somehow, despite the odds, taken up residence in.

"I did have limited options," Troy says. "Not too long ago, it felt like all I would ever be is 'The Basketball Guy'. But, now?" His gaze moves to Ryan, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He reflects on how natural singing and dancing with the gorgeous blond boy in the seat next to him is, how easily and perfectly they fit together. How good it feels to make a smile break out on that fair face. How Ryan's light, lilting voice seems to latch onto something at the core of his being and brings an almost effortless calm over him. How right it is to kiss Ryan, to breathe in his sweet scent, to wake up to find him on the pillows beside him. How, after Gabriella left him, last summer, Ryan was the very first person to put a genuine smile on his face…

When Troy is with Ryan, it's like the universe falls neatly into place, like his puzzle is at last complete. "Now, I'm in a whole new world with you," he finishes in a half singsongy voice. He doesn't care how cheesy it sounds. He's in love.

Cheesiness is totally warranted and perfectly acceptable.

"Unbelievable sights, indescribable feeling," Ryan responds in the same half singsongy tone. His eyebrows arc jovially as a grin breaks out on his face and his eyes shine.

"All of that jazz." The smile takes the form of a full-fledged grin and Troy taps the brim of Ryan's hat playfully, knocking it down over his eyes.

Ryan's grin doesn't fade from his face as readjusts the skewed angle of his headwear.

"Come on." Shifting his features into a serious expression, Troy directs a coaxing nod toward the food on Ryan's lap as he reclines in the driver's seat. "I wanna see you take at least another bite out of that sandwich."

If only for Troy, Ryan takes two more bites out of his sandwich and eats a couple more french fries. About half of the chicken sandwich remains uneaten, and a little over half of Ryan's fries sit untouched in the carton. Troy determines that is more than satisfactory, at least Ryan isn't starving himself.

While polishing off the rest of his burger, Troy proposes, "We can save the rest for later."

Ryan's expression is grateful.

They pack up their leftovers and trash, and, taking a last drink of his milkshake for the road, Troy shifts the gear back into drive. As he exits the parking lot of the Steak 'n Shake, Ryan's station searching turns up results.

Troy grins at the familiar chords.

"Oh, no," Ryan feigns revulsion, but his smile quickly negates it.

Never made it as a wise man, Troy sings along, imitating the harsh intonations of the singer's guttural voice.

Couldn't cut it as a poor man stealin'

And, this is how

You remind me

As the bridge of the song approaches, Troy peeks at Ryan. A wary grin breaks out on his face and he waits to be admonished. He likens it to dipping your big toe in to test the waters before submerging yourself.

This is how

You remind me

Chad would groan out loud and make him change the station.

This is how

You remind me

Of what I really am

Gabriella would laugh and humor him for a minute, then switch over to some Carrie Underwood or Vanessa Carlton.

This is how

You remind me

Of what I really am

Ryan taps out the beat, his movements in-synch with Troy's, and proceeds to belt out the chorus right along with him, completely uncaring that it's Nickelback and Nickelback sucks.

It's not like you

To say sorry

I was waitin' on

A different story

This time I'm

Mistaken

For handin' you a

Heart worth breakin'

8-8-8-8-8

"Leaving us so soon?" Ryan asks. He wears a smile as he watches Troy pack up his belongings, but the angle of his brows and the clouding of his irises give away his wistfulness.

"Yeah," Troy replies. He can't deny that his heart is heavy at the prospect of leaving a place that has started to feel like home. At leaving Ryan, even temporarily. But… "I've gotta report to my parents some time."

Ryan nods in understanding.

"And, I need to make some renovations to my room," Troy adds meaningfully.

"Ohhh." Ryan nods knowingly, well aware of the overbearing presence of a certain someone in Troy's bedroom.

There's silence for a moment as Troy slings his bag over his shoulder and he and Ryan meet each other's eyes, then at the same time, both of them blurt: "Hey listen-", and, "Do you-?"

"Sorry," Ryan murmurs, pink creeping into his cheeks. He takes a step back, lowering his eyes in embarrassment.

"I'm going out jogging, later," Troy resumes. He reaches out and touches Ryan's bicep, rubbing reassuringly against the cottony material clothing the blond's soft skin. Yes, Ryan is what some might call "socially awkward", but that doesn't mean that he needs to berate himself for a simple conversational mistake.

Ryan's muscles relax at the contact. He lifts his head and looks to Troy, his eyes searching the taller boy's hopefully.

"You're welcome to join me, if you want," Troy finishes with a warm, inviting smile.

"I'd love to," Ryan says. His eyes glow softly.

"Awesome." Troy leans in and presses his lips to Ryan's forehead, then the corner of his mouth. That response is precisely what he hoped to hear. "Walk me to the door?" He asks.

"Of course." Hand in hand, the pair exit Ryan's room and make their way to the foyer. They pass by the living room, and through the decorative pillars on both sides of the entry way, Troy can see Sharpay and Tiara.

"This is the dress I'll be wearing as Gabriella, in the musical," Sharpay says, holding up a green, strapless dress with a billowy, ruffled skirt and sequined embroidery that is far more Sharpay-esque than anything Gabriella would ever wear. "And, this is the costume I will- I mean, I would", she catches herself, "be wearing if I was still playing me." At this, she displays a sparkling blue dress with an upper-thigh length skirt and one long, puffy, sheer sleeve.

Tiara smiles and assesses, "Lovely."

Sharpay's tiny Yorkie, Boi, gives a high-pitched yap, as if in agreement, from where he sits on the floor at his owner's feet.

"I know." Sharpay beams proudly. "Do I have exquisite taste, or what?"

Troy observes that Tiara seems to study the details of the blue dress's makeup very keenly.

Ryan must have noticed, as well, because he clears his throat sharply, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And, what are we up to?" He asks with a somewhat forced cheeriness.

"Sharpay was showing me her costume choices for the musical," Tiara replies. If she took notice of Ryan's tone, she makes no indication of it.

Sharpay's eyes move to the bag hanging from Troy's shoulder. "Aww, leaving us so soon, Troy?" She coos, sticking out her lower lip in a pout.

"Yeah. I have a few things that I need to take care of." As he speaks, Troy reflexively shifts in toward Ryan. Being within close proximity of Sharpay still puts him ill at ease, and he's fairly certain that no duration of time spent under the same roof with her will change that.

"Oh. Well, toodles, then!" Sharpay waves them off, her attention returning to the two dresses. As Ryan and Troy take another step toward the front door, however, they're interrupted by the female Evans twin tacking on, "And, you'd better make sure your outfit compliments mine!"

Troy lets out a long, exasperated sigh. "Fuck. Me," he grumbles low enough that only Ryan can discern the words.

"My pleasure," Ryan responds quietly enough for only Troy to make out. "I promise I'll be gentle."

Troy is still chuckling about it on the drive back to the Bolton house.

8-8-8-8-8

Once Troy has stowed all traces of his relationship with Gabriella in a box that he toes under his bed, he looks around his bedroom. It's a touch emptier, but that just means he can refill it with better things.

His eyes fall on the acoustic guitar he got for his twelfth birthday, sitting on the shelving unit a few feet away from the foot of his bed. He vaguely recalls painstakingly trying to learn the chords to "Bohemian Rhapsody" when he and Chad were fifteen and got the bright idea to start a band.

A band that never really got anywhere. The only people who showed up to their concerts were their parents and Chad's younger siblings, who started getting antsy, as little kids are apt to do, and wanted to leave not even halfway through the second song on the setlist.

The Troy Bolton that he was not that long ago, who lived for basketball because he had to, shelved the guitar, and only thought of it when he, Chad, Zeke, and Jason got together to play Guitar Hero and it occurred to him that tapping the plastic buttons on the guitar-shaped controller in time to the notes on the screen couldn't truly compare to strumming the strings on a real guitar and making the music yourself.

The Troy Bolton who tried to excuse the newfound discovery of his love for singing and how it seemed to subconsciously draw him to the stage, by saying that he thought being in the musical would be "good for a laugh", who shoved anything that wasn't related to basketball and being the person that everyone else expected him to be so far down inside that he couldn't even admit to himself that music filled him from head to toe until it drew notes out of his throat and compelled his body to move, would never have done this.

But, the Troy Bolton who is dating Ryan Evans is a different Troy Bolton. A freer Troy Bolton.

And, it's because of that fact that he grabs the guitar, re-familiarizes himself with the strings, the tabs, the weight of the instrument in his arms and against his chest, and plays a few chords to see how much he remembers.

It's because of Ryan that he takes the instrument in tow and heads to the room that the family computer is located in, pulls up a tab with a Youtube video, and watches intently, learning, committing where to position his fingers to memory, and plays for the first time in years.

8-8-8-8-8

Ten minutes after he dozed off, Troy starts awake to find himself alone in his bed. For a second, or so, he believes that he's right back where he started, dumped by Gabriella, alone, heartbroken, and going absolutely nowhere. His heart aches, a dull throbbing in his chest, and then he recalls the events of the day leading up to now. Relief fills every nook and cranny, but he still wishes that Ryan was there.

Then, maybe that few nightmarish moments of uncertainty wouldn't have occurred in the first place.

That picture of Gabriella in her powdered blue sweater is no longer sitting on the nightstand, casually mocking him with her smiling face, however, so there's a small comfort.

Standing up and stretching, he pauses to listen. The house is quiet. He moves to his bedroom door, opens it, and pads out into the kitchen. "Mom?" He calls. "Dad?"

There's no response.

I guess they still aren't back from wherever they are, he muses. He scratches absently at his chest and goes to the fridge to grab something to drink. Upon returning to his room, he takes several gulps of the cool, refreshing water in the plastic bottle he retrieved, and then sends Ryan a text.

headin out soon. Be here in 5 ok?

Almost the very instant he finishes lacing up his shoes after changing into track pants, a t-shirt, and his black sweat jacket, he hears a rapping at the back door.

Ryan is there, dressed in what look to be newly purchased sweats, pricey-looking sneakers, a t-shirt with a graphic of a cityscape on it, and a zip-up cardigan. He is without the usual immaculately matched hat, something that Troy acknowledges with faint surprise.

"I didn't know we were headed to a photo shoot," Troy ribs the blond gently.

"Yeah, like I would be caught dead wearing sweatpants in the vicinity of cameras," Ryan returns. His lightly flushed cheeks and genuine smile take the bite out of the quip.

Troy peers out to look at the darkening clouds gathering in the gray sky. "In that case, I hope that means you don't mind getting those clothes wet."

Ryan tilts his head up to take in the overcast sky, as well. A chilled gust of wind chooses that moment to shake the leaves and branches of the surrounding trees, billow out their clothes, and disarrange their hair. Well… Troy's hair, anyway. The distinct smell of oncoming rain pervades the air.

"I figure it's a small price to pay," Ryan says softly, resolutely.

Smile crossing his face, Troy reaches out to grab hold of the smaller boy's hand. "Let's get going, then." He uses his free hand to pull the hood attached to Ryan's cardigan up over Ryan's head and then tugs the performer along behind him.

8-8-8-8-8

By the time they return to the street the Bolton house is on, the two of them are laughing, breathless, and soaked to the bone. "You didn't have to keep pace with me, you know," Troy says. He pauses briefly to kneel over, hands on his knees, as he catches his breath. He had no idea that Ryan was so fast.

"I wanted to," Ryan says simply, waiting patiently at Troy's side. If the break-neck speed they reached at the last leg of the jog caused him any strain, Troy can't tell. The only evidence that Ryan was working out is the movement of his chest as he replenishes his depleted oxygen supply.

They slow to a walk as they approach the driveway. There is one lone vehicle parked out front: Troy's truck.

"Your parents still aren't home?" Ryan gasps out.

"Looks like it," Troy affirms. He beckons the blond to follow him through the grass, up the porch steps, and inside. They take off their sodden sneakers at the front entrance.

Ryan pauses after slipping his right shoe off and righting himself. He takes in their surroundings; the same comfortably familiar living room with all of its comfortably familiar furnishings that has been there to greet Troy every day of his life. A fond smile tugs at Ryan's candied lips. "Your place is very charming," he says. There isn't a vaguely condescending laugh embedded in those words, or a smirk on his face.

But, then again, Ryan wouldn't dub something charming unless he meant it.

Troy takes a second or two to muse how bizarre it is that an actor would prove to be more sincere than the insanely smart girl who was admitted into the Freshman Honors Program at Stanford University. Then, he shoves all thoughts of Gabriella into their own box at the back of his mind to be stowed away and, with any luck, forgotten, in time. "We're both soaked," he says, tugging off his dripping socks. His heart reacts to the proposal he's about to make, causing blood to rush to his cheeks and heat to trickle southward even before he can get the words out. "What do you say to… to showering and changing into some warm, dry clothes?"

If a suggestive tone finds a way into those words, Troy would insist that it's entirely unintentional. But, not entirely unwitting.

"That sounds great. Really great," Ryan relays. His tone is shy, but earnest, and color stains his cheeks. If he detected a suggestive undertone to Troy's proposal, he raises no argument against it.

"Great," Troy says. He feels stupid for adding a third 'great' to the conversation, but resists the urge to reprimand himself. "Come on," he says, instead, nodding toward a corridor to their immediate left. "Bathroom's this way."

Ryan follows along, yet, Troy still feels the need to reach out and grab onto the blond's hand. Maybe to guide him, and maybe to stabilize himself.

Yeah, when Ryan gives his hand a reassuring squeeze, "stabilizing himself", feels more accurate.

As Troy crosses the threshold into the bathroom, and begins peeling off his layers of sopping clothing, he likens the adrenaline coursing through him to the kind of rush one feels the first time they arrive at the very top of the highest peak of a roller coaster. He knows the plunge is coming, and while there is some fear that his safety harness won't hold, that the coaster might careen off the track and send him on a one way trip to a fiery demise, there's also the thrill of knowing that he'll never experience anything like this again.

And, he's so glad, so grateful that Ryan is the one occupying the seat next to him on this roller coaster ride, that his legs and hands tremble.

8-8-8-8-8

In the shower, with the curtain drawn closed around them, sealing them off from the rest of the world and into their own bubble of steam, body wash, shampoos, and a spray of water that's just the right sort of hot, things like "personal space", become virtually nonexistent. Ryan helps lather the shampoo into Troy's hair, his talented fingers stroking places on Troy's scalp that, until right this moment, Troy had no idea were so sensitive. Troy lathers shampoo onto Ryan's hair, and assists him in gently rinsing the suds out, making certain that every strand is clear.

Then they stand, Ryan's back to Troy's front. Ryan arches his neck to the right, letting the shower of water cascading from the shower head hit the stretch of milky white flesh.

Troy's chest and lower body tighten with desire. To be close to Ryan, to kiss him, to… Troy lets his hands run along the curves of Ryan's hips, the pads of his fingers brushing softly against Ryan's smooth as porcelain skin. There's faint bruising back here, as well. He rubs some of his body wash onto the ridges of Ryan's shoulder blades and along the vertebrae of his spinal column with the intention to both erase the marks and soothe their host. Once he's finished coating Ryan's backside in the musky scent so familiar to him, slowly, he steps forward and lowers his chin, bringing his lips to the crook of Ryan's neck.

A shivering breaks out along Ryan's petite frame, and Troy is immediately seized by the heavy, treacly feeling that he's done something wrong. He pulls back, heart sinking with fear that he's messed up for the millionth time in his life. "I'm sorry. I just…" Feeling lost and rather useless, and desperately frustrated with himself, he runs a hand through his hair. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

As he turns to meet Troy, Ryan's brows draw together with a solicitude that reminds Troy of the helplessness he saw in his father's eyes the night he tried to drive to California. To Gabriella. But, unlike Troy's dad, Ryan doesn't turn away from the problem. He holds Troy's gaze unflinchingly as he says, his tone tender, but emphatic, "I'm not exactly an expert in this area, either, but you need to have more faith in yourself, Troy." A soft, encouraging smile is on his face as he adds, "Because, from where I'm standing, you're doing just fine."

He reaches out and takes hold of Troy's hand. The touch is tangible evidence of how far Troy has come. Standing in this shower with Ryan, this close to Ryan, is proof of how far Troy has come. He's not sitting around with the weight of Gabriella's departure, of everyone's expectations on his shoulders, crushing him. He's no longer clinging to a person who intended to leave him behind, and he was too blind to see it. He isn't wandering blindly through a labyrinth with the exit nowhere in sight.

And, with some luck, and maybe some love, Ryan won't be spending any more of his nights hunched over the toilet, "purging".

The knowledge of all of this, that he and Ryan are so much closer to realizing their dreams now that they have each other, is all the incentive that Troy needs to envelope Ryan's hand in his own. He tugs Ryan into him and litters kisses all over the smaller boy's neck and shoulders. Ryan's arms wrap around Troy's midsection and Troy latches onto a particular spot on the blond's skin, nipping, sucking, intent on making Ryan feel good, just like Ryan made Troy feel good the night that he awoke to the sensation of the former athlete's stupidly hormonal body grinding against him.

On making Ryan feel good, and providing both Ryan and himself with proof that everything has gotten better.

8-8-8-8-8

They alternate between kissing insistently at each other's lips, necks, faces, caressing stretches of each other's skin, and toweling each other off. Walking backwards with Ryan keeping a lookout for Troy's parents and acting as Troy's eyes, Troy manages to maneuver himself and Ryan into his bedroom. When Troy stumbles out of eagerness, his back hitting into a wall, Ryan is right there, pulling him upright. He peers into Troy's eyes, his light voice simultaneously hushed and tinged with the tiniest bit of easy laughter, and raised in a hint of alarm. "Whoa. Careful, there. Are you okay?"

Instead of responding, Troy touches his nose to Ryan's and then resumes kissing him earnestly, intensely. Every inch of him seems to shiver with delight as Ryan's fingers lovingly trace the slight indentations in the musculature of his lower back.

Once they cross the threshold into Troy's room, Troy making absolute certain to shut the door behind them, what with his room being perilously close to the kitchen, they fall onto Troy's bed in a matter of seconds. Troy is on top of Ryan, his lower body situated between the blond's legs, and the heat between them is… Ridiculous. Extraordinary. And, increasing by the minute.

All too aware of his own reaction to the situation, he puts some strategic space between himself and Ryan. He can't give into the almost overpowering urges spreading their heated tendrils throughout his abdominal region and below. Not just yet. Scrambling to refocus his thoughts as he rummages through one of the drawers in his nightstand, Troy manages, "My dad… got me a box of… He thought, at some point, that I would…" Figuring that there is no better way of phrasing it, he goes with the both vague, and not quite vague enough, "you know."

Ryan nods, brows arched the slightest bit. Troy is ready to apologize for any discomfort he might have caused his boyfriend at the entirely unsexy reminder of his relationship with Gabriella and where things might have gone, but the apology proves unneeded. Ryan's fair face is flushed a deep pink, his lips are kissed-red, and his lashes veil his eyes. Gabriella is clearly the farthest thing from his mind.

He's also the most attractive thing that Troy has ever seen in his life, and… Holy shitting fuck.

His dad was wrong. His dad was so wrong. He never came close to doing this with Gabriella, and, quite frankly, Troy has zero qualms about that.

Having finally found what he was looking for, Troy rips open the box of condoms, grateful that he's able to do so easily, and tears one off of the glinting silver strip. His inexperience and cluelessness nags at him, threatening to take hold, but one look at Ryan, at the trust and encouragement shining in his eyes, silences his misgivings.

He doesn't need Gabriella to tell him what to do. He's got this.

Picking up the tube of lubrication that was also stashed in the drawer, he unscrews the cap, and squirts some onto his palm. It's colder than he anticipated as he distributes it over his hand, but he doesn't let that faze him. He's doing just fine from where Ryan is standing. Now, fully equipped, Troy approaches Ryan. He inhales and breathes out in a shaky puff, then climbs onto the bed to join the performer.

"Go on." Ryan smiles softly, his muscles relaxed.

So. Troy slips his first finger into him. The strange warmth surrounding the digit causes a moan to swell in his throat, and the pleased, keening cry that escapes Ryan takes hold of Troy right at the core of his being.

"Fuck," Troy gets out, cock throbbing, chest aching.

"A… Th-The next one. Troy, please."

Troy obeys and carefully gets his second finger in. Ryan is tight. Holy freaking shit, he's tight. But it feels good, and Troy can't help but imagine how insanely good Ryan is going to feel around him. "Is that…" He swallows, scared to move, scared to…

"It's fine. It's-!" The gasp that wells in Ryan's throat cuts him off. "God, it's somuchbetter than fine…!"

"Does that…?" Troy wiggles his fingers, feels Ryan squirm, and his entire body aches, practically quivering with desire. "Are you ready, Ry?" It amazes him that he can still string a sentence together, that his speech skills haven't completely devolved into mindless grunts and moans and whimpers. Because this really is unlike anything he's ever done before, and it's… Whoa.

"Yes. I want you. Troy, I need you…!"

With that, Troy bites at his bottom lip, slowly removes his fingers from Ryan, and gropes for the condom sitting on the bed near them. The foil wrapper slips out of his grasp three times, and that's when he remembers through the haze clouding his brain that his fingers and hand are slick with lubrication.

As if he can sense that his boyfriend is having difficulties, Ryan turns around and retrieves the condom. He easily tears the wrapper open and begins working the rubbery sleeve contained within up Troy's member.

"I really, really don't know what I'd do without you, Ry," Troy manages to say between gasps and needy moans. The brush of Ryan's fingers against that ultra-sensitive region of his body is driving him wild. And, the prospect of what is about to happen is…!

In response, Ryan places a soft kiss on Troy's mouth. Troy wasn't aware of how much he needed the love and reassurance poured into that kiss until that love and reassurance wash over him, wearing away the sharp edges of his nerves. "H-Here we go," Ryan says softly as he breaks the kiss off, his voice low, husky, brimming with anticipation. He glances down at Troy's manhood, and then back up, where his blue eyes peer deeply into Troy's, seeking something.

"Here we go," Troy confirms with a nod. A look into Ryan's eyes makes it clear that he wants and needs this as much as Troy does. That there's no one else in the world that he'd rather be experiencing this with. Troy hopes that Ryan can tell that he feels the exact same way.

Ryan lays back, legs spread, and Troy positions himself at the blond's entrance. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry and throat uncomfortably tight. "Let… Let me know if I'm hurting you, okay?"

"You won't hurt me," Ryan says, his light voice full and certain. For a moment, Troy believes that Ryan is invincible and that his own inexperience won't tear or torque something. For a moment, Troy is empowered, emboldened, and releases his fear of a poor performance, his fear of screwing this up, screwing everything up. Ryan Evans believes in him.

He can do anything.

So, he does.

He enters Ryan's body with a slow, sedulous motion of his hips. An electroshock of feelings courses through Troy from where his body meets Ryan's. From where their bodies are connected. A gasp swells in his throat, and he closes his eyes tightly to contain it, head tilted back. Fuck is the only word among the countless others racing through his mind and flitting over the tip of his tongue that seems to come close to describing… this. Internally, it feels like a ballast has been removed, that he's beginning to hover and will soon leave the earth behind him.

He rolls his hips into Ryan a second time.

The electroshock seems to be making its way through Ryan's body. His mouth comes open, and as he arches back, a whimper leaves him. A whimper that Troy can feel on every nerve-ending. Troy needs to brace himself, suddenly, because it's all too much, and Ryan must be aware of that need, must share it, because he grabs Troy's forearms and gently places them at the slight valley between his ribs and the outer curves of his hips. His hands remain there, over top of the brunette's, stroking his knuckles.

"H-How am I…?" Troy gets out, his breath-rate almost frighteningly rapid. He's so grateful to have Ryan there to steady him. Ryan, who is every bit as nervous as he is, his hands are trembling slightly as they rest on Troy's, but is still able to be Troy's rock.

And, that's why Troy wants to make this good for him. No, better than good. So much better.

"You're doing great. Troy, you…! I-It's so…!" Ryan's shortness of breath, flushing face, the flush spreading to his chest, and his starry-eyed enthusiasm are enough to encourage Troy.

His hips make another forward motion, then another, and there is no weight anchoring him, no more ballasts, no more suffocating, spine-crushing pressure to be who someone else wants him to be. There's no earth beneath him, either. It's just Ryan. Ryan's powerful hips readily meeting every motion of Troy's pelvis and amplifying the pleasure, the sensation, the experience of being inside him. Ryan's not even remotely stifled whimpers as he tells Troy, "Yes. Yes…! Just like. Like that", how ludicrously, spectacularly hot it is to hear his own name coming out of Ryan's mouth in the form of an unsuppressed, full, pure, liquid moan. Knowing that he is responsible for it.

Responsible for all filters and barriers Ryan set up to keep his real feelings locked away coming down like the walls of Jericho.

Responsible for the sounds of his own inhalations rattling his chest, noises that he never thought he could ever make rising, uncontainable, out of him, and his pulse throbbing in his temples. The unbelievable heat pinging off of every nerve in his body and surging down, right to the head of his cock.

Troy isn't sure how long the experience lasts. His usually infallible internal clock seems to be temporarily on the fritz, but he can't fault it for that. Some things in life are far more important than keeping track of the time, after all. Things like this, for example. With Troy's final couple of thrusts comes a release unlike any he's ever experienced. Venting his frustrations by shooting hoops or bursting into song has never brought on an all-encompassing feeling of instantaneous tranquility. Not like this.

Judging from how Ryan has gone slack beneath him, he's had a release of the same magnitude. And, Troy is thrilled.

As he lowers himself onto Ryan, completely spent, it takes a minute for his brain to regain its ability to fully process information. For him to even try to communicate how he feels verbally.

"You were…" Ryan starts, breaking the near silence that fell upon the room and expressing what Troy can't just yet. "Troy, I… It was amazing."

"Yeah?" Troy asks. Even lifting his head to look at Ryan seems like it would require more energy than he can expend, at the moment.

"Yeah," Ryan confirms, his smile audible.

Troy summons up the stamina to move his body enough to kiss Ryan's cheek. "I thought so, too. It was amazing." He then flops onto the left side of his bed, Ryan taking up the tiny remaining space on the right.

Amazing. He was "amazing".

He can feel the smile on his face, and it doesn't leave as he and Ryan drowsily take the few seconds necessary to handle cleaning up, as he pulls his thick multi-colored quilt up around them, or as he and Ryan kiss each other softly.

"I love you, Troy," Ryan says, his eyes glowing and a smile that could melt an iceberg on his lips as he snuggles into the former athlete.

"I love you, too, Ry," Troy tells him just before his eyes close. He wraps his arm around the smaller boy, drawing him in closer. "I love you."

8-8-8-8-8

The sound of his bedroom door opening is what jars Troy awake. He opens his eyes, just registering his father's presence.

"You know," the senior Bolton pauses at the end of the bed, shaking his head ever so slightly, "when I told you not to get into any trouble with Sharpay, that wasn't meant to be an invitation for you to hop into bed with her brother."

At that, Troy's heart misses a beat. Swiftly, he moves into an upright position, already racking his brain for some kind of explanation. Or, for the skills needed to defend Ryan, if it comes to that. "Dad, I-"

His father holds out his hands, a signal for Troy to stop. His gray eyes aren't steely with fury, his face hasn't blanched with disgust. Instead, there's reassurance, and a faint hint of amusement, in his features. "Settle down. It's okay," he says quietly.

Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Troy feels his body quake with the potency of his relief. It's okay. He's not going to be disowned, beaten to a pulp, or, worse, forbidden from ever seeing Ryan again.

In the midst of his relief, however, he allows himself to wonder, for a very brief moment, if things would play out this way if his dad still viewed him as "The Basketball Guy", instead of seeing him as his son. If that was the case, if he was still "not 'just a guy'", would he be told to pack up his things and get the fuck out, had he been discovered in bed with Ryan Evans?

"I just have one question," Coach Bolton begins. The still existing paternal warmth in his voice puts the question out of Troy's mind and eases Troy's unsettled stomach and racing heart.

"Yeah?" Troy implores, doing his best to keep his voice hushed, so as not to disturb his bed partner. Again.

"Are you serious about this? 'Cause your mom and I didn't raise you to just sleep with people you aren't gonna be committed to; girls, or boys."

"Dad, I love him." Troy hopes that his dad can see it in his eyes that he's never been more serious about something. Ryan is the one who was there for me when Gabriella wasn't, has always been there for me, and I just didn't realize it. He's the one who helped me pick up the pieces. The one who showed me the way out of my cage. Troy doesn't say any of those things, though. It's like Ryan told Sharpay; there's a time and place for going into depth, and it isn't here, and it isn't now. Especially not when Ryan is sleeping soundly beside him. He opts instead to finish, hopefully succinctly, with, "And, he loves me."

As Jack Bolton seems to search for the right response, his gray eyes looking over his son and the boy's bed partner, Ryan stirs beside Troy. His eyes flutter open, slits of blue peeking sleepily out at Troy. "What's…?" He murmurs softly, then, follows Troy's line of sight to the third occupant of the room. "Coach Bolton!" His eyes open wide. Drawing the quilt tighter around himself and Troy in a protective fashion, he moves to scramble upright.

"Please, don't get up on my account."

Ryan looks to Troy and at Troy's mouthing of, "It's okay", he settles back into position. Troy can tell by looking at the blond that his heart is racing a mile a minute, and he reaches out, finding Ryan's hand beneath the quilt and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Sir, Troy was only… I-I got caught out in the rain, and he let me…"

Troy feels his chest give a pang. Once again, Ryan is covering for him. Protecting him.

The senior Bolton male nods knowingly, and Troy swears he sees a faint twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Then, he says, "I hear you're the choreographer of the school musical."

"Yes, sir." Ryan is rigid with trepidation, but he does his best to make eye-contact with his Phys Ed instructor and the father of his boyfriend.

"How's that going? My son isn't disappointing you with his two left feet, is he?"

"Daaad," Troy groans half-heartedly, his cheeks heating with embarrassment.

"Not at all. Troy's a natural." Ryan relaxes enough to give Jack Bolton a small smile. He then turns and directs that smile at Troy.

"'A natural'." Jack Bolton's eyes meet his son's and a proud half-smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah, that's what I'm hearing."

Troy can't help but vastly prefer this to the crushing tension between them when he first accidentally auditioned for the winter musical.

"Well." Jack nods, breaking the eye-contact, and takes a moment to clear his throat and straighten out his emotions before continuing, "Your mom sent me in here to tell you boys that dinner will be ready in ten. So, wash up and make yourselves decent."

"Yes, sir," Troy and Ryan murmur simultaneously.

Once his father has exited the room, Troy lifts his quilt up and tosses it aside.

"Your dad is very intimidating," Ryan says quietly, his eyes wide as if reliving those first few moments of terror upon waking up to find the tall frame of the basketball coach, who easily dwarfs both of them, standing at the end of the bed.

"Yeah." Troy nods. "It's part of what makes him such an effective coach. Everyone's too scared of him to put up a protest when he orders the team to run laps. And, intimidating the other teams is a foolproof tactic, you know."

Ryan stares at him in shock until Troy breaks into a playful smile. The shock is then replaced by an open-mouthed mixture of amazement and amusement that causes Troy's smile to evolve into a short burst of laughter. Laughter that seems fitting after how his unplanned and unexpected coming out to his father went down.

Very lightly, Ryan nudges Troy with his shoulder, shaking his head and laughing softly, himself. After the laughter subsides, he adds, his smile not leaving his face, "He really does care about you, nonetheless."

"Yeah." The statement has a surprising weight to it. Upon digestion, it brings a small smile to Troy's lips, and a warmth to his heart. Images of worried gray eyes, his dad teaching him how to perfect the dunking stance when he was six, his dad cheering him on in Twinkle Towne and the Lava Springs talent show, and poignant recollections of his dad giving him advice that he overlooked while his head was submerged in a pool of thick, grey despondency, flash through his mind. "I know."

Ryan gives him an affectionate gaze and soft smile, for a moment, then turns away from Troy and scans the walls of the former basketball player's bedroom. "You did a great job on those renovations." He pauses for a minute, brows furrowing thoughtfully, then says, affecting the tone the people on those home remodeling shows use, "The air is much lighter in here, now. And, the space is more open and less restrictive." Turning back to Troy, he adds mystically, "I feel that balance has been restored to your chi." Bringing his hands together, palms touching, fingers steepled, and dipping his head, he concludes his assessment.

Troy laughs, because the imitation is spot on, and because, even though Ryan has never been in his room prior to this, he's right, all the same. The air is lighter now, and the space is definitely much less restrictive. It really does feel like balance has been restored to his chi.

As he leaps out of bed and helps Ryan get to his feet, he declares, once more fully aware of how cheesy it is, but unable to bother himself with caring, "Thanks. I like to call it 'The Start of Something New'."

8-8-8-8-8

Somehow, Ryan pulls off a loose-fitting gray Wildcats sweat shirt that's two sizes too big for him just as well as everything else in his expansive wardrobe. The sleeves keep flopping down to cover his hands- Troy has to cuff them at the elbows, himself- and the hem of the shirt comes down far enough on his petite form that it could pass for a dress, but, Ryan makes it work.

Troy thinks that East High colors look good on him, really good, and reflects on the first time he saw Ryan donning their school's signature red and white. It was last summer at Lava Springs, the day after the staff softball game Troy had missed while participating in a scrimmage with the guys on the U of A basketball team. He caught Ryan and Gabriella dancing together and laughing by the club's pool, and had felt his heart drop into his stomach. The very first thing Ryan said after happily greeting him, something that caught Troy momentarily off-guard because if Ryan was trying to move in on his girlfriend, why would Ryan bother being friendly to him?, was, "My dad says you're doing great with those college guys".

A compliment. A compliment that no one else had given him, that summer.

"Let me help you with that, Mrs. Bolton." Ryan's voice, light and breezy, brings Troy back to the present. The present where he and his family just sat down to dinner with Ryan joining them as his boyfriend.

Ryan swiftly collects up the dishes, stacking them neatly on top of each other in order of size. Troy starts, ready to assist him, but Ryan flashes him a smile to assure him that he's got it covered.

"Why, thank you, Ryan," Troy's mother remarks, hand on her hip, obviously impressed. As Ryan carefully transports the stack into the kitchen to rinse the dishes off, his grip on the glassware firm and steady, Mrs. Bolton approaches Troy's seat at the dining room table. She says in an enchanted tone of voice that's quiet enough for only Troy to make out the words, "He helps set the table, has flawless table manners, clearly thinks the world of you, and helps with the dishes?" She touches Troy's backside and gives an approving nod in Ryan's direction as the sound of running water meets their ears. "That boy is a keeper, Troy. Don't let him slip through your fingers."

"Don't worry, mom," Troy resolves. He remembers the way Ryan's face fell when he lashed out at him, that day, last summer, interpreting Ryan expressing his fondness for Gabriella's mom's brownies as some kind of attempt to usurp Troy's life, or proof that Ryan had feelings for Gabriella, rather than recognizing it as the well-meaning but clumsy attempt at conversation that it actually was.

He remembers Ryan's eyes widening and Ryan ducking his head to conceal a smile as Troy apologized to him and acknowledged the hard work the blond had put into making the Wildcats look like a team of professional dancers.

He thinks about how peaceful Ryan looks when he sleeps, how Ryan's entire face lights up when he's excited, his and Ryan's voices blending perfectly when they sing together, and how easy it is to dance with Ryan gently guiding and encouraging him.

Now he knows that his parents love Ryan, or will come to love him, almost as much as he does. "I don't plan on it."

8-8-8-8-8

"So, you and Evans, huh?" Chad crushes up his newly empty can of Sprite as he takes a seat beside Troy on the bleachers overlooking the football field.

"Yeah," Troy replies, staring out at the stretch of grass that he used to practice several feet away from when the gym was being cleaned or used for other purposes, and the track that he would take off sprinting down to clear his head when he needed to take a break from monotonously shooting hoops. He can still remember the frigid chill in the air when he came out here early in the mornings to squeeze in some extra practice time. His breath puffing out in a smoky, vaporous cloud in front of him, the only sounds shattering the stillness before sunrise being his steady inhalations, and his feet rhythmically pounding on the pavement as he ran until his lungs burned and a sharp ache seized his left side.

The red and white scoreboards at either end of the field catch his eye, and he thinks back on the scathing looks he and his teammates used to receive from members of the football team. They were so envious that the basketball team got all the real attention and fanfare from the student body as a whole, from teachers, from the principal. It pissed them off to no end.

He particularly recalls one instance where the team quarterback, Nick Butler, and a few of his underlings, were caught defacing a poster of Troy, Chad, Zeke and Jason. They received detention for a week for "vandalizing school property", and while Chad didn't take kindly to the rather lewd artistic decisions they had made to his "face" with black Sharpie, Troy didn't mind so much. In fact, he had to suppress the urge to rip posters of himself off of the walls, sometimes.

"Was he…?" Chad implores, nose wrinkling.

Troy welcomes the shifting of his thoughts toward pleasanter subject matter. "He was amazing. It was everything that you could ever hope your first time would be." He mulls over exactly how much of the experience he should share. Going into too much detail feels like it would be desecrating something that he and Ryan alone shared. Something private and intimate, and not meant to be discussed or laid out for analysis and entertainment in the vulgar style that his former teammates employed when bragging about their conquests. But, riling Chad up a little with a teaser of what happened wouldn't do any harm. "The sounds he made, the way he moved against me, it was all so-"

"Hey." Chad cuts him off with a jab of his finger at the precise point Troy hoped he would be cut off. "I didn't ask for a play-by-play containing all of the gory details."

Troy smiles as his friend retracts his finger.

His brown eyes studying Troy's face, Chad observes, "You seem happier."

"I am happier," Troy says without any hesitation. It's a truth that he can feel reverberating in the hollow of his chest.

"Because of Evans?"

"Yeah. Ryan, just…" It's difficult to articulate the whysand the hows, but he manages, "I don't know where I would be without him."

"Well…" Chad huffs out a breath, reclining back against the cold metal of the bleachers. "I guess mind-blowing sex, and being with someone who makes you happy, is the most that you can ask for from a relationship."

Troy feels that while Chad is right, that those are fundamental components to a successful romantic partnership, there are a few more things you can ask for. Mutual support and understanding of each other, someone who helps you to grow and realize your full potential, and you helping them to do the same. A best friend. A constant. Someone who makes breakfast for you without being asked, and offers you shelter from the storm raging in your mind and heart without any hesitation.

He doesn't voice these higher aspirations, though. Chad is giving him and Ryan his blessing, and, with Chad, that is the most that he can ask for. "Thanks, man."

"Yeah." It's more of a scoff than anything else, but Troy can still pick up on the underlying sincerity. Chad is happy for him.

"I'm happy for you and Taylor, too," Troy says, reaching over to give his friend's shoulder a squeeze.

"Thanks," Chad mumbles. Despite his mumbling, the smile that tugs at his lips is genuine. Suddenly, he grabs his basketball that he never goes anywhere without, off of the bleachers beside him, and rises to his feet.

Troy shoots him a puzzled look, confused at his friend's out of nowhere desire to get moving. He knows that affection and sentimentality aren't Chad's strongest points, but they were having a moment.

"You still have to go pick up your prom tux, right?" Chad goes on without waiting for a response, "Get your ass moving, Bolton."

Troy breaks into a grin and hops earnestly to his feet. Along the way to his truck, he makes sure to pitch Chad's emptied soda can into the nearest trash receptacle.

8-8-8-8-8

After two grueling hours spent in the library, hunched over test booklets with only a ten minute break midway to use the toilet, or stretch their legs, Troy and Ryan reconvene out in the parking lot.

"How was it?" Troy asks.

"Nerve-wracking," Ryan replies. "But," he lets out a breath, tension easing off of his shoulders, and adds with newfound confidence, "I think I did okay. How about you?"

"It was easier than I anticipated, thanks to my awesome teacher." Troy holds up his hand, smiling encouragingly, and a beaming Ryan knows exactly what to do.

He meets Troy's hand with his own, their fingers interlacing, and moves into the taller boy until their noses are almost touching. "You're going to do great on your Calculus exam. I just know it. With your acute perspicaciousness, you'll ace that exam in fifteen minutes flat."

"And still have plenty of time for rehearsals?" Troy prompts with a laugh.

"More than plenty."

Opening night is only days away. Dress rehearsals have since begun, and the air is weighty with anticipation and excitement every time the cast meets in the auditorium. Even Chad, Zeke, Jason, and Taylor, who were the most vocally opposed to partaking in the school musical, are swept up in the infectious charges pinging off of Troy, Ryan, Sharpay, Kelsi, Martha, Tiara and Jimmie. Ms. Darbus's eyes shine with pride as she reminds them all of how well everything has come together despite the hurdles they've had to surmount along the way, how much they've accomplished, and that, while scouts from Juilliard sitting in at the show is quite a big deal for the four scholarship applicants, they shouldn't be discouraged from pursuing a career in show business if they are not the lucky recipient.

"I've learned from experience that when the stage calls to you, when you, in turn, feel a certain gnawing ache for it, you will find a way onto it, to bask in the warm glow of the lights overhead, to bravely explore as many opportunities as a life in the theatre offers, regardless of whether or not a scholarship to a performing arts school is awarded to you." Her gaze passed over Sharpay, Kelsi, and Ryan, encompassing all of them, before seeming to rest on Troy.

Troy did feel a gnawing ache in his chest, something almost like a hunger.

At first, he thought it was only a desire to be with Gabriella, to have something in common with her, that contributed to his decision to do the callback audition for the winter musical. But, then there was the Lava Springs talent show, then the spring musical. And, Gabriella insisting that he "loved", performing, Ryan and Kelsi calling him their "star", and Ryan, Ms. Darbus, and even his dad telling him that he was a "natural" performer. Even Sharpay deemed him "special".

He tried to picture his life without basketball, and, every time, the Troy that he envisioned in this hypothetical basketball-less life was happier, not bogged down by expectations, and had been friends with Ryan and Kelsi right from the start, because he wasn't already attached to a clique that considered association with "drama geeks", "beneath them".

In that moment, as Ms. Darbus's eyes were fixed intently on him, hoping that the message she meant to send was registering, Troy tried to picture his life without theater, and realized that he couldn't. He simply couldn't picture a future where he wasn't involved with performing in some way, where he wasn't "heeding the call".

He asked Ryan if that was how it was for him, and the reply was an immediate, emphatic, "Yes. Yeah, it was! Shar and I knew from as early as three that performing was always going to be a part of our lives. And, we didn't want it any other way."

That conversation was what lead to Troy typing in "colleges with theater programs", into Google's search engine on Ryan's light blue Macbook Pro. And, that search lead Troy to the homepage of the website for the University of California, Berkeley.

He looked up pictures of the vast campus, took in the really cool looking gate at the front of the building, read that, "In a National Research Council analysis of 212 doctoral programs at American universities, 48 Berkeley programs place among the top 10 nationwide", and then remembered the distance between California and New York. It's over two thousand miles, meaning that, even though there are on-campus museums, a hall of science, and what looks to be extensive and awesome departments of theater and music, the school wasn't even a remote possibility.

As Ryan approached him, a completely guileless smile on his face, guilt clenched Troy's stomach and he quickly clicked off of the page.

"What's wrong?" Ryan asked, ascertaining that something was amiss. Troy should have known that he couldn't hide things from Ryan.

"Hey, Ry," Troy ventured, forcing his voice to be steadier than his emotions were. "When you said you sent applications to schools in California, for me, was Berkeley one of them?"

Ryan's brows furrowed as he thought back. "Yeah. It's a great school, and I figured they deserve to know that you exist." He took a step forward, looking like he meant to join Troy on the bed, but then froze and hung back, uncertainty filling his features. "Was-Was that a step out of bounds, or something?" Shame deepened the blue of his eyes. "If it is, I'm really sorry. I…"

"No, no. It wasn't a step out of bounds." Troy promised, cutting off the train of self-deprecating thoughts before it could leave the station. "C' mere." He opened his arms up, inviting the blond to snuggle in. Ryan took the invitation, and they settled back against the pillows. "Ry," Troy implored after a moment of silence, "you know that Berkeley is two thousand, five hundred sixty-one point eight miles away from Juilliard, right?" And thirty-two point seven miles from her.

"I know," Ryan had said simply, and that was the end of it, as far as Troy was concerned. The rest of that day had been spent getting lost in the endless library of funny cat videos on Youtube.

Ryan's assurance that he'll ace his AP Calc exam causes Troy to wonder, just for a second, if his score would ensure him placement in one of the doctoral programs that rank among the top ten nationwide, even sans Ryan's prodigious vocabulary.

And, then he promptly scolds himself for even considering it.

Juilliard is Ryan's dream, and if New York is where Ryan is meant to go, then Troy will be right there with him.

"So…" Using their hands still linked at the fingers, Troy steers Ryan toward his truck. "There's a certain school function coming up, and, while having a date to accompany you to this function isn't mandatory, it is the preferred option."

"Oh?" Ryan's brows arc curiously.

"See, the date that I was supposed to have left me in the lurch, and I was wondering if an amazingly hot blond actor would be willing to escort me instead, maybe share a dance with me?"

Ryan's eyes glow with delight. "I'm positive that the blond actor you're referring to is available."

"Really?" Troy means to feign surprise, but, he acknowledges with a pang in his chest, the reaction is much more genuine than he intended. "He doesn't have other plans with better looking guys?"

"Troy, it would be a dream come true to go to the prom with you." Ryan moves in close enough to affectionately butt Troy's shoulder with his head, his voice brimming with joy and mild disbelief. "And, as far as I can tell," he adds, "you are, by far, the most prepossessing man in the entire state of New Mexico. Probably even in the whole of the universe."

Warmth immediately fills Troy's cheeks, and he grins bashfully.

As if the thought occurred to him out of the blue, Ryan lets out a nervous laugh. "There is just one thing, though…" His face blanches.

Troy leans in, eyebrows pulling together curiously.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: Once more, I am so sorry for taking so long with this update. I've hit a rough patch in my personal life, and it's had an adverse effect on my motivation. But, I'm persevering as best I can.

I hope that this installment was well worth the wait.

It pleases me greatly to see that new writers have begun weaving stories about our favorite boys. Here's hoping that this spark of interest, whatever brought it about, does not wane as 2015 stretches on into 2016.

Part Four is currently underway. I hope to see all of you there, my dear readers!