Author's Note: I hope I got this update soon enough. I really like this story, but it takes really long to write each chapter because I read it over like fifty times, trying to make all the words necessary. I get rid of all the words I don't need, and keep all the ones I do. I'm glad you're liking it, because I truly love your reviews. Again, I don't own any characters from High School Musical, except some of these characters I've created on my own.

three.

Biting Agony.

Ryan bent over and held his knees, wheezing slightly, somehow feeling like his legs were going to give out on him.

Coach Bolton looked at the stopwatch that was grasped between his fingers. "1: 47 for one-fourth of a mile, not bad, Evans," he noted, arching one of his eyebrows.

Ryan gave the coach an appreciative grin and used his effort to pull himself upright. So?

Coach Bolton, as if sensing what Ryan was thinking, turned to the blonde and gave him a wide smile and a rather hard slap on the back. "You're on the track team. Congratulations, Ryan."

"Hey, good job," said Troy, giving Ryan a high five.

Ryan smiled in answer, his heart light for the first time in months.

…

"Hey Evans, what's wrong? You don't like getting what you deserve?"

Please, stop. Please… God, please don't. Just leave me alone.

"Evans, are you a queer?"

Yes, I am, are you happy? I like guys, not girls.

"Evans, are you going to cry? Aww, the poor little fag is going to cry now, isn't that sad?"

Ryan shuddered slightly, jerking away almost instinctively before Chad's fist could connect with his stomach. He pulled his arm away from Chad's grasp, and turned to run but he tripped over Zeke's waiting foot, his body colliding hard with the dark grey pavement as a noiseless cry of pain escaped, his dark blue notebook spilling out on the ground in front of him only to find itself smashed under Jason's shoe.

Leave me alone, please. I don't want to fight.

"What's this notebook, queer boy?" Jason bent to pick up the notebook and flipped it open to a random page, crumpling the smooth and flat papers under his careless fingers. "Oh my God, you guys, check this out! 'Dear Sharpay, Today I missed you more than usual—though of course, I miss you everyday. I love you—you have to know that. But sometimes I feel like Mom and Dad don't care for me at all, and sometimes I'm so jealous of you. No, I love you, Shar, don't worry. I really do, I love you so-' My God, what a queer! You never told me you loved your sister, Evans, I'm sorry. Did you forget to say good-bye? Did you not save her before she was crushed under the car, Evans? Did you-"

He suddenly broke off, staring wide-eyed at Ryan who had pulled himself up from the ground. Chad and Zeke were too busy gaping at Ryan to react. Trembling with anger, Ryan formed his hand into a fist and punched Jason as hard as he could in his stomach. His entire frame shaking with fury, his blue eyes glanced at Jason's form, doubled over, and he snatched the notebook from the jock's hands and turned to run, pushing the green scarf around his neck, his skinny legs darting out from behind him.

Staring in disbelief at Jason's crumpled form, Chad and Zeke managed to process what had just happened. Chad's eyes narrowed in anger and he hissed, "That fag's going to pay…"

…

Troy kissed Gabriella good-bye for the day, and found himself wondering why he didn't feel the spark he had the last time. Full of strange disappointment, he hugged her, and climbed into his car. I'm coming Mom.

…

After school that day, Chad, Zeke, and Jason learned something. No matter how much they hurt Ryan Evans—threw him up against lockers, kicked him in the stomach, slammed his head against the pavement—he never said a word.

…

"Mommy," whispered Troy, running his hands over his mother's lifeless ones. He'd just finished talking to her for an hour, and now the silence was unbearable. "Mommy, when are you going to wake up? Please, Mom, I need you. I really do. I miss you…" his voice arched up onto a higher note in pain. "Please…"

His mother lay motionless, not showing any sign that she'd heard his pleas. The beeping of the monitor was the only reply he got to his desperate wishes.

Staring at his mother's limp body, Troy suddenly felt an emotion that had buried itself deep inside his heart—that he had so carefully guarded from escaping for so many months. Anger.

With a moan of impatience, he stood up abruptly, and hissed out the words that he wanted to scream. "When are you going to wake up, Mom? How long are you going to make me wait? How long do you need to rest, Mom? "

When he still received no reply, he stormed out of the room in frustration, slamming the door of his mother's room behind him. He slammed it hard, on his tormented past, the screaming memories, the empty silence, attempting to forget them, but the whole time he knew that they'd rise up and overcome him again.

…

"Hi, Ryan." Mrs. Graham gave Ryan a warm smile, and he couldn't help but give her a small one in return to his sign language teacher, even though his body ached everywhere from the bruises the jocks had inflicted, and the last thing in the world he felt like doing was smiling. He hated coming here, to the Albuquerque Hospital, but it happened to be where his other sign language teacher was at—for the children's disability ward.

"So, you ready to get started?" Mrs. Graham's voice was expectant for an answer, and Ryan nodded, his thoughts drifting off to questions of how he was going to be able to run at track practice the next day if his body felt this sore.

Ryan pulled out a chair and sat across from Mrs. Graham at a table, placing his notebook gently on the table and hanging his jacket on the back of his chair. "So, Ryan, can you show me what you learned last time?"

Ryan flashed out as many signals as he could remember with his deftly skilled fingers. He learned pretty quickly, but it was necessary. He didn't want to go around carrying his notebook for his whole life, even though it did help. It didn't look like Mr. Evans was ever going to get that talk pad though.

Mrs. Graham smiled softly at Ryan and looked off into the distance as if remembering. His innocent face tended to bring back memories for many—of younger children, of happier times. Ryan knew that she had once had a deaf son, but he'd passed away due to some complications. He'd never probed into the subject, and he knew watched thoughtfully as her face now hardened in pain and remembrance. Ryan stayed silent, though of course he had no other option.

"Ryan, what happened here, love?"

Ryan's head snapped up instinctively, looking for what Mrs. Graham was talking about. Her fingers were pointed at a large bruise that rested on his arm—a bruise he knew that had resulted from Chad's merciless punches. Darn, I knew I shouldn't have taken off my jacket.

He pulled his notebook towards him and nervously flipped to a blank page, grabbing the pencil from the spiral binding. Nothing.

Mrs. Graham's look was one of suspicious disbelief, and Ryan knew she wasn't buying it. He sighed, and then wished he hadn't because his ribs ached severely. Mrs. Graham's eyes widened in horror as she stared at his chest, making him feel rather self-conscious. He looked down to see what she was so carefully observing.

A dark spot of blood was soaking through the front of his light blue shirt, and Ryan cursed himself for not checking it before he came to meet with Mrs. Graham. He didn't want the help of everybody, the constant pity. He needed to learn how to take care of himself, and stop dragging the ones he loved into all his troubles.

"Ryan, you need to tell me what happened." Mrs. Graham's voice was stern now, as if ordering him to answer her.

Ryan cast his eyes downwards and knew he couldn't lie now. She wasn't going to buy any more excuses. Sketching the words across the page, he slid his notebook across the table to her. I got beat up after school.

Mrs. Graham gasped audibly. "Why, Ryan?"

It's because I'm

He stopped, about to write the word "gay," but he didn't need Mrs. Graham knowing that too, and taking pity on the poor misunderstood boy. He was a homosexual, he'd admit that. He'd been one since he was a freshman, finding himself attracted to the young adolescents surrounding him. Only he'd never told anybody—that was, except for Sharpay. But the suspicions had mounted and he hadn't denied them. Ryan had never been one to lie.

different, I guess.

"You mean because you can't talk?"

Ryan shook his head. No, they don't know that.

"Then why do they hurt you?" Mrs. Graham's voice was so purely innocent. She was just another worried mom, not knowing why people hurt others.

Ryan paused, about to tell her everything, but then his shaking fingers were interrupted. There was a crash from outside and he turned instinctively to see what it was.

…

Troy stabbed the tile floor of the hospital room with every step he took, wanting to break the ground underneath him—almost wishing for it to take him down with it, so he wouldn't have to hurt anymore. Fury ate away at him, burning the fragile soul underneath, the pain only causing him to feel more anger.

He ferociously lashed out at anything that stood in his way—in his way of finding his mother again.

And that happened to be a hospital cart.

…

Ryan ran out into the hallway to see what was going on, followed by a frazzled Mrs. Graham. Ryan stopped, placing a hand on his aching side—God, it hurt so much! Then he stopped, staring at what was going on in front of him.

Troy Bolton was attacking a hospital cart, his face a mask of ferocity. Ryan had never seen Troy look so angry—even when he was sure another member of the rival basketball team had fouled him but it wasn't called and the other team ended up winning. Food on the top of the cart was flying everywhere, grapes hitting the floor and being smashed underneath Troy's sneakers. He punched wildly, hitting the metal cart with his fists—trying, it looked like, to get all his feelings out. Ryan had never known Troy to be so physical with his emotions, and was now surprised to watch the jock stand here in the hallway, kicking a cart of all things. And why was he in this hospital anyway?

He walked out towards the chestnut-haired teen, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest. Troy Bolton. He was so beautiful, like an angel that had lost his way on Earth Everything from those dark blue eyes to those wiry legs—the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way his clothes stuck nicely to his muscled body—oh God, what was he saying? Troy Bolton might have been beautiful, but he had his own life, his own girlfriend, his own… friends that tormented scared teens like himself everyday.

Then why do I think he's beautiful?

…

Troy turned to face him, his blue eyes locking on Ryan's face. Ryan's face was so pale, white as usual against the dark green scarf he was still wearing. Troy felt himself flame—it wasn't everyday a classmate found him beating up a metal cart, so he began to bring his eyes down, until on their descent, he saw something that made his heart feel like stopping.

A dark red mark was soaking through the front of Ryan Evans's shirt—Troy guessed blood, it wasn't as if Ryan still did finger-painting after school. Bruises layered those thin arms, and suddenly Troy felt nauseous—he hadn't seen someone hurt so badly for a long time.

This shocking observation made him realize what he was doing, and he sheepishly picked up the fallen food tray, not taking his eyes off Ryan's crystal blue ones the entire time. Somehow he had never seen those eyes before in full light, and they scared him. They were mature beyond their years, suffering and pain screaming behind those eyes, surfacing memories fighting against their shackles to escape. Yet there was innocence in those eyes—so pure and so unblemished it almost scared him, though he had no idea what physical pain meant at the time.

"Hey," he managed to gasp, his voice barely squeezing its way out of his throat.

Ryan raised a hand in greeting, and Troy felt suddenly downcast, wishing to hear the other boy's voice.

"What… what happened?" he asked, pointing at the spot of blood.

Ryan turned, his slender body leaving Troy alone.

Maggie came up next to Troy and hugged him. "It's ok, Troy. It's ok."

Troy didn't fight her grasp, he followed her obediently back into his mother's room, his thoughts on those crystal eyes the whole time. Only when he was back in the silence with the beeping monitor did he realize he didn't know why Ryan was at the hospital in the first place.

…

"Chad, I don't know what's wrong with me. Everything hurts, I'm so scared… I just… I just wish it could all end right now. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

…

Ryan tapped Mrs. Graham lightly on the shoulder when they had returned to their studies.

"Yes Ryan?"

Why is Troy Bolton here? He scrawled out a sentence in his notebook and handed it to her.

She studied the words vaguely, seemingly remembering something unseen again.

"Ryan, I don't know if I should tell you this, but it's not like you're going to tell anyone anyway," she said with an apologetic smile, pushing a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "Troy Bolton—well, his mother has had cancer for two months now, and Troy… well, he's been in every single day just sitting there, talking to her. He does everything here—his homework, he sleeps here sometimes… I guess… he just doesn't want to miss anything; he wants his mom to know he's always here for her. I guess Troy just can't let go because pain is so new to him… so different, and he doesn't understand it." She broke off, letting the words settle in. "But… I guess… just don't tell anybody, ok, Ryan? Not too many people know."

Ryan suddenly felt so cold.

…

Troy leaned next to a tree in front of the hospital. He really hadn't been able to take it—the silence, the monitor… he didn't know, it just felt like he was breaking today. He knew that he couldn't handle it forever, but…

He didn't want to be angry at his mother. She didn't deserve it, she couldn't help it, but the quiet was so infuriatingly loud.

He glanced up as he heard a noise, the sound of leaves crackling under the steps of another person. It was Ryan Evans, with the scarf still around his neck.

Ryan came up close to him and handed him a napkin with half a blueberry muffin smashed between the folds. Troy was speechless as he took it, feeling the warmth of it through the flimsy paper.

Ryan gave him a rather sad look and reached down into another napkin, slowly putting a piece of the other half of the sweet-smelling muffin in his mouth. His tongue savored the light taste spreading throughout his mouth, the warmth heating his body.

"Thanks," Troy managed to say, before eating part of his own muffin, unable to take his eyes off the delicate way Ryan lifted the food, the way the slight marks of blueberry marked his pink lips. Feeling rather awkward, Troy put a piece of the muffin into his own mouth, letting his actions speak for him.

"So, why are you here anyway? I mean… is it because you got hurt?" Troy pointed indirectly at Ryan's chest, and suddenly felt self-conscious. The question escaped before he could stop it and wavered in the space between them.

Ryan didn't answer, but turned and left.

Troy stared at his retreating form, his heart sinking, completely mystified. Had he said something wrong?

Author's Note: Well, they've met. The next chapter is in for some Ryan beating, so review for more. (Oh, I love heartfelt reviews—I love getting long reviews, so if you don't mind…)

-Falling With Grace