Author's Note: Oh you guys! Don't jump to any conclusions yet! That's all I have to say. So I started writing this Post-HSM2 but Pre-HSM3. So I suppose most things from the last movie will be disregarded, which makes this an even heavier AU.

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All You Need

Chapter Two: I Look At All The Lonely People

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All the lonely people,

Where do they all come from?

-The Beatles

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You don't often expect to bump into a high school classmate you haven't heard from or seen in nearly two years, even in the age of Myspace and Facebook. No one talked about him, or to him from what Troy could remember. And the few times Sharpay visited home, she hadn't even mentioned his name. If he thought about it, though, Sharpay had never really spoken about her brother unless she was speaking directly to him. So maybe it wasn't so odd. And really, Troy had never asked. His thoughts were mostly focused on basketball, homework, and his future after college. At least they had been.

For all intents and purposes, Ryan Evans could have dropped off the face of the earth, and Troy wouldn't have noticed. Which had basically happened. Until now.

To stand in front of Ryan, a boy who Troy had seen frequently during high school, but claimed no real friendship towards, was rather awkward. Sure, they were on civil terms, but Ryan was more a friend of a friend who had happened to always be around. Then again, anyone back then other than the basketball team and Gabriella was pretty much in the same category.

Oh god, don't think about her, Troy mentally kicked himself.

"Sorry I overreacted. There was just…these people had…I mean," he gestured behind him, trying desperately to explain why he had just yelled 'Jesus Christ' in the middle of a crowded square. Though by the look on Ryan's face, he hadn't disproved his apparent craziness. He wanted to cover that blond's small, patronizing smile. "Forget it."

"It's okay…Chace."

Troy blushed. He made himself look like a fool. Twice. Within five minutes. He tried changing the subject as quickly as possible. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Ryan said, slightly amused.

"In London?"

The blond laughed, adjusting the strap of his gym bag higher on his shoulder. "Yeah. In London. What about you?"

"I…live here." Technically, he did now. Although, it didn't feel like home; nowhere felt like home anymore. "Too."

"In London?"

"Yeah. in London."

They stood opposite of each other for what seemed like ages. Troy was trying to figure out what to say to Ryan, but he came up with naught. In the past, he'd never said much to the boy. Aside from the occasional conversation about school, or the drama club, or what they were doing during the weekend, Troy hadn't talked to him much. But he was a familiar face in a city full of strangers. And Troy, even if he didn't want to admit it, was happy to see someone he knew. Other than his great-aunt of course. He smiled self-consciously.

"Well, I should get going," Ryan announced. And rather awkwardly, "It was good to see you."

Troy finally found his voice, just as Ryan turned to go the other direction. As much as he enjoyed being on his own most of the time, he quickly discovered in the past week, that it would be nice if someone were there he could hang out with. Aunt Hazel may be cool, but she was still a woman of…advanced age. One who could out-smoke, out-drink, and out-party him. God, he needed people his own age. "Hey, Ryan," he caught the boy's attention. "You wanna get some coffee or lunch or something? We could catch up and stuff."

"I'd love to, but I have a dance class to—" Ryan paused, knitting his brow in thought and looking up the street behind him. "—Actually, are you free?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"If you want, you can come to my class and sit in and afterward we can go eat. Or we can meet somewhere after my class if you don't want to wait around."

"No, no. It's cool. I've never been to a real dance class before." He'd only ever taken part in the sessions for a school play, and although they were probably somewhat similar, one would obviously be more difficult than the other. His stomach wasn't eating itself inside out just yet, either. So he could wait and hour or so for lunch. "I'd love to come."

"Cool. It's just around the corner."

The walk to the dance studio was short. While Ryan chatted with a few of his co-workers and led Troy past the reception desk, he wondered why anyone would name a dance studio 'Pineapple'. They walked up a few flights of stairs, and down a corridor into a studio filled with teenagers who were in the midst of catching up with friends. A few were even stretching. Troy fully expected Ryan to do the same, and join one of the small groups. Maybe introduce him to some of his friends. "What kind of class is this," questioned Troy as one or two people openly stared at him.

"Contemporary and Lyrical Jazz," was his answer. The blond dropped his bag at the front of the room and started clapping for attention.

"People!" Ryan had startled the brunet, who was standing right next to him. He never knew a single word could sound so commanding, so domineering. "We're a month away from your first show," he said as the group quieted down. "And you're all slacking off. Now, where's Julianna?"

It was exactly how Troy imagined a dance class would be like. Everyone was wearing loose fitting clothing, and had their hair tied back. They were either wearing jazz shoes, or had no shoes and socks on at all. Most upheld themselves with a straight back, with their chins turned up and their gaze directed down their nose, as if they were somehow more superior than those around them.

"She said to tell you 'Code Orange'."

The room was deathly silent as Ryan glared down at the floor and crossed his arms. He sighed, "Okay then, before we start, this is my friend Troy." Ryan moved next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Troy would have felt comforted if the shorter boy didn't have his eyebrow raised so critically, with such an ominous expression. "And he'll be standing in for Julianna. So be nice, because he can't dance for shit," Ryan said. "At least from what I can remember."

A few of the girls, and even some boys giggled and looked toward Troy, their eyes wandering up and down his body. Suddenly, he wished he had worn more than just a t-shirt and some baggy jeans. But what was more; he wanted to protest against Ryan volunteering him for Julianna's job, and for the jibe at his dancing. He danced just fine! It only took him a bit longer than most people to get moves down. His objection was quashed by the overly sweet smile Ryan gave him. If only I weren't so nice, Troy thought.

The blond continued, "Those of you, who I saw stretching when I came in, will not have to do sixteen extra counts for every exercise, during warm-up."

There was a collective groan and even some outright protests as an apathetic Ryan shoved a CD into the stereo and pressed play. The bass of the first song soon drowned muttered complaints out.

Troy wondered what he had gotten himself into. He assumed that Ryan would be taking a dance class rather than teaching one. And surprisingly, he ran the lesson like any other strict instructor. Warm-up would have been easy, if Ryan hadn't been next to him, yelling over the music and correcting his position every few seconds. He did know what a pushup was and how to do one, thank you. He did them almost every day after all. And when Ryan said sixteen extra counts, Troy did not imagine they would be on top of the thirty-six they already had to do. Sometimes the blond would stop at a student who was being particularly lazy and demand everyone do another sixteen as punishment. It seemed the he ran his class like a drill sergeant.

An hour later, each person was covered in gallons of sweat accompanied by the ache and burn of exercise. "Good," Ryan said as he kneeled down by Troy and smiled cheekily to his guest. "Now we all know what happens when we slack off."

"I didn't sign up for this," Troy mumbled still laying on his back, breathing hard and looking up at the boy. "All I wanted was lunch."

Ryan had the audacity to look pleased, and Troy didn't really like it. He'd have to get the boy back somehow. "Sorry," apologized Ryan. "If I'm easy on one person, I have to go easy on everybody else. And besides, you're a still a big strong basketball player, aren't you?"

As true as it may have been, Troy was not prepared for Ryan's exercise regime. He'd expect that kind of thing from his dad.

"Well we have another hour left to go, so come on. You have to take my place while I take Julianna's," the shorter boy offered his hand to Troy, helping him up. "Everyone get into your pairs!"

Troy gathered that he would be dancing the male part then. An hour could never go by so slow.

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Soon, after Ryan's dance class had finished, he and Troy found themselves sitting on the terrace of a bar called Fuel, overlooking the west side of themarket piazza. It was curious as to why Ryan had asked to sit outside. When they sat down, he found out why. Before Ryan even picked up the menu, he dug through his gym bag and produced a Zippo lighter and a pack of Marlboro Lights. "Fucking smoking ban," Ryan groused as he lit a cigarette up.

"Not that I mind or anything, but shouldn't dancers avoid smoking?"

"And yet you see me smoking, don't you?" The blond drew on the cigarette and politely blew out away from Troy. "Sorry if it bothers you. We can move inside if you want."

"No, it's okay."

After a moment of silence, a moment Ryan spent finishing his cigarette rather fast and lighting up another, Troy cleared his throat, unsure of what to say but still speaking up anyway. "So."

"So," Ryan answered with a brash smirk pulling at his lip.

"So…"

"So," the blond's tone denoted amusement. "What brings the famous Troy Bolton all the way across The Pond?" Troy could hear the slightest of accents from the boy, one he hadn't noticed until now. There was a hint of snobbish, upper-class drawl, with a bit of a London sound mixed in with the American twang. Something his Aunt would call a Mid-Atlantic accent; when you couldn't decide which country you were from, and didn't speak accordingly. Though, in Ryan's defense, it had taken Troy a little while to notice the out of place pronunciation of certain words.

"I don't really know. Change of scenery I guess."

"That's a pretty big change," commented the dancer. With Ryan feeling odd about prying and Troy not willing to expound upon his reasoning, the ultimate question was left hanging silently between them. Why? The sound of the market seemed to fill the space, of people meandering through the square and stopping to watch some of the street performers.

"Yeah. What about you? Last I'd heard you were heading off to New York with your sister."

Troy could have sworn he saw Ryan's eye twitch ever so slightly. He'd hit a nerve without even trying or meaning to, he supposed.

"Well, the best laid plans," Ryan trailed off vaguely as the waiter finally showed up and asked for their orders.

Lunch, to say the least, was nice. They didn't talk much, but Troy felt at ease. The blond's relaxed demeanor was infectious, and Troy found himself chuckling at the stories Ryan was telling him. Of why he was pissed that Julianna hadn't shown up. That 'Code Orange' meant that she was either hungover, tangled up with a one night stand, or both. Listening to anecdotes about nights out on the town, letting the afternoon sun wash over him. The mounting tension that Troy had felt since leaving Albuquerque began to melt away and he could enjoy simpleness of sharing lunch with an old...acquaintance.

It was in the middle of their meal that Troy realized just how little he knew about the Evans. You could learn so much over lunch and a bottle of white wine. Like how utterly different Ryan was to Sharpay; that even though their last names were the same, and they were born on the same day, they shared almost nothing in common other than their fondness for performing and their genes. Whereas Sharpay was brazen, loud and a bit of a diva, her brother seemed more introvert, and hesitant, though still confident. Every now and then Ryan would pause, look down at his wine glass and then back to Troy. As if contemplating his next words. If Sharpay were to say she was "serious," she would probably mean she was committed. Motivated and totally willing. When Ryan had said it not thirty seconds ago during one of his anecdotes, it seemed that he meant it. That although he was being playful and perhaps even a little caustic, there was a still a hint of solemnity to his words.

"So where are you staying?"

Troy poked at his fries, smiling at Aunt Hazel's voice in his head. Chips, boy! They're called chips! Not fries. You live in England now and must live and behave accordingly. "I'm with my aunt. In Knightsbridge."

Ryan dropped his fork in his salad and raised an eyebrow at him."Seriously?"

"Um, yeah. Right around the corner of Harvey Nichols. What about you?"

"Well, I'm with a friend at the moment. But for all intents and purposes, I live in Knightsbridge."

Well that was a surprise. What are the chances? "No shit?"

"No shit."

"That's awesome!" He had no idea why he was so excited that Ryan lived so close. He had to be close. Knightsbridge may be an affluent neighborhood, but it was small. You could probably walk through it in twenty minutes if you were moseying along. Why his heart was jumping for joy he could not tell. Maybe because Ryan was something familiar to cling to but still enigmatic. Someone to discover new things with and about. A new friendship.

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"You wanna share a taxi?"

"Sorry, I have to pass by my other job," Ryan had shrugged. He smiled and dug through his pocket. "But we should hang out again. I'll take you for a drink somewhere. Introduce you to my bitchy friends."

"That'd be fun," he responded.

Ryan finally pulled out what he was looking for. His phone. "You want my number?"

"I don't have a phone yet."

The blond dug through his gym bag this time, producing a blue pen. A light blush tinted Troy's cheeks as Ryan grabbed his hand and quickly scrawled a number on his palm, complete with his name signed above it. "Don't lose it," he said as released Troy's hand

"I won't. I hope it doesn't rub off."

"Well. Don't do anything that might make it rub off," Ryan laughed. "But just in case..." He copied the number on Troy's other hand.

The blond saluted him and began walking backwards, "See you later, Chace."

"Bye."

He watched Ryan turn and start jogging away from him, through the market building. It wasn't until the boy was out of sight that Troy waved down a taxi, being careful to open the door with his fingers alone. He kept his hands stiffly at his side, holding his palms flat and trying his best not to clench them. He must have looked odd, but he didn't care. Even as he struggled to open the doors to his apartment building, and had to finally ask a passerby to do it for him, and the stranger giving him an even stranger look, he paid no mind. Just don't smudge, he thought.

When he got home, he had nearly gotten a smack from his aunt for ignoring her and her guests as he zipped into the kitchen to find a notepad and a pen. He mumbled answers to her questions, while rummaging through the drawers. Truthfully, he hadn't even processed what she was saying until he'd written down Ryan's number and checked both his hands three times, to make sure nothing was wrong.

"Huh?"

"I asked what you did today, Troy."

"Oh. I met someone."

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29 January 2009