A/N: I apologize greatly again for the delay of this chapter. I'm trying, really trying with this story but it's more difficult. A lot of you know how much I've been struggling, but for those that don't, please don't think that I'm not. Thank you so much for reading and having faith in me. Your reviews are incredible and I'm very grateful for each of you. Thank you.

And because I have a gut feeling people are going to ask me... this is NOT the last chapter. We've still got a ways to go.

I think this chapter has been a long time coming, so I really hope you enjoy. It is a pretty special number. Thanks again.

"Troy?"

This was stupid, idiotic really. He could have called. No, scratch that –he SHOULD have called.

She stood with one hand placed upon the opened door and the other reached up to her face to gently rub the sleep from her eyes. Her black coils were collected and frazzled at the top of her head. Dressed in a mismatch of a red tank top and powdered blue shorts, her body left little room for the imagination with the miles of her olive legs that stretched to the floor. A lime sport's bra was falling off her thin shoulders and allowed access to the plain before her petite chest. She squinted through dreams, searching for an unexplained answer. There didn't seem to be a hint of anger with her presence, but then again, if it wasn't for her saying his name, he thought she wouldn't have been able to tell if it were him or Santa Clause.

"Uh, hey," Troy greeted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck in pure embarrassment, "can I come in?"

Gabriella blinked with her eyes glossed over in a hazy cloud. Unable to help himself, Troy chuckled at the adorableness of just waking up. She appeared so vulnerable -so tiny and fragile as she sent him a wobbly smile. Even though her childlike behavior though, Troy couldn't help but absorbed how utterly beautiful she was. The way her dark eyes were cleaned of make up and the mess of her hair was sexier than the way she looked with her short skirts or dipping cleavage. Troy was captivated –he was entranced and hypnotized by her.

"What?" Gabriella innocently asked. Before Troy could respond however, her face illuminated with recognition, "oh yeah."

She widened the door for him to enter, stepping behind in the process. He entered, his eyes not removed from the perfection of her body. Thumping forcefully, his heart staggered at the sight of her: her radiance and appeal. There was absolutely no question that, even in the few seconds that he had seen her in this state, she was by far the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen just risen from a slumber. And he was counting the living and the dead.

"I didn't wake you up, did I?" He asked as he turned to her. Her hand gently closed the door again and rested her mass of curls against the wooden surface. Her eyelids were fluttered closed with a purple sheen of rest shimmering over the top of her skin.

Nodding her head lazily, she sighed softly before she spoke, "Yes, you did."

Chuckling, Troy took a step towards her and felt the heat beneath his skin rise, "I guess it's payback for your phone call the other day."

"Mmmm." She moaned almost delicately, rubbing her hair up against the surface of the door. Muscles mesmerized and only responsive to her, his hands carefully reached for the smooth surface of her arm. Gently, his cool fingers ghosted over her flesh, thumb caressing.

As fast as the action occurred, Gabriella's eyes suddenly ripped open like a midnight sun. Frantically, her stare bugged and she jumped out of Troy's touch. Completely ignoring the fact that he was still standing in front of her, she skidded towards the kitchen and shoved her head to the reflection the microwave bounce back at her. She gasped with horror as though Frankenstein was glaring back at her. Palms smacking to her face, she groaned distraughtly, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…"

"You wanna do what?" Troy mocked, stifling the chuckles that couldn't be contained.

Gabriella spun to him with fiery daggers. Her finger shot out accusingly, face flushed with pure mortification and rage, "What the hell are you doing here? Haven't you even heard of sleeping?"

Troy rolled his eyes before taking a step forward, "Gab, it's nine."

Gabriella glowered at him, "You at least could have called so I don't look like a pile of shit."

"Oh shut up," he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, sending her a warm, yet teasing smile. Gabriella glanced at him again, her face ruby yet. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself on the counter. "It's just me alright? I'm not gonna whip out a camera, I swear." Troy promised; his voice even and velvet.

Biting her lip, Gabriella turned to him to face him fully, "What are you doing here?" She asked again, folding her hands over her stomach and arching her back to slide up and sit on the surface beside the oven. Her legs dangled freely as she tapped her fingers against her taught stomach impatiently.

It was Troy's turn to sigh, "I wanted to apologize." He confessed, watching her slowly in case she might snap at him.

Her eyes furrowed in confusion, "Apologize for what?"

"Last night." Troy swallowed and let the heavy air swirl around them once again. Gabriella immediately directed her attention to the floor at the mention, but the tension didn't lessen. She twisted her fingers together nervously. Hair standing on end, Troy shifted his weight between his feet and waited. The silence was unbearable, until finally Gabriella shrugged her shoulders and shook her loose curls.

"There's nothing to apologize for."

He took another step forward, closing the hot distance between them, "It was your night and I ruined it."

"You didn't ruin anything. Please stop apologizing. You didn't tell them to argue." Gabriella finally looked up, her eyes black with both truth and irritation.

"I know I just," running his hand through his spiked bangs, Troy once again sighed with distress, "I come off as a shitty dick who doesn't give a damn what happens to anyone else. I don't want you to think I use people."

Gabriella chewed on her bottom lip once again, "I don't think that at all."

They had already been over that he was no longer going to be sleeping with Alicia, but Troy still couldn't help but feel as though he was dirty. Gabriella made him feel dirty. Unintentionally of course, but when the topic of their affair was brought up the previous evening, it forced Troy to realize how terrible he sounded. Chad's words were still swimming around in his head. He didn't want to hurt her, nor make her feel as though she didn't mean anything to him romantically. If he was serious about the progression he wished for, he was going to have to prove to her that she would be the only one he would be with.

"Can I ask you something?"

Troy lifted his head to meet the small whisper. He nodded, crossing the distance between them and standing beside her. The apartment was empty apart from their heartbeats, "Yeah."

"Um," her gaze dropped down to meet his rested beside her. Troy had a surging sensation to squeeze his position between her legs as a –dare he say- boyfriend might do. But he remained frozen, paralyzed by her, "okay, it's too awkward."

Years of cockiness before the funeral had taught him how to woo a woman –Troy dropped his forehead and gazed through his brow, "Just ask me."

Gabriella swallowed thickly, "Why do you and Alicia sleep together if you don't love her?"

Ah. The million dollar question.

Never had it straight come out of either of the two's mouth that Troy was having sexual relations with this best friend. Was he somewhat uncomfortable with this conversation? Sure, but in some bizarre, twisted way, Gabriella deserved to know. Or at least know as much as possible. If he had any chance with her, any chance of taking their friendship to another level he truly hadn't experienced since his dead fiancée, she deserved to make the choice of whether Troy was worthy or not.

He chuckled –although one couldn't really consider it a laugh, "It's complicated."

"I can keep up."

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, "I do love her," Troy watched her face intently, though her expression was indifferent as he spoke, "but not in the way that I can see the rest of my life with her –or even date. She's my best friend, but whatever the fuck we have… relationship, friendship," their eyes met, "it was never what I wanted. It's so fucked up. She keeps promising she feels nothing, but I'm so fucking scared she's lying."

He waited to be judged, to be told that he was a dick and be booted out. But Gabriella tilted her head curiously, "Then why do you do it?"

There was never something he so desperately needed someone to understand as he did at that moment. His heart jack hammered wildly, his mind was twisting like a hurricane, and his breath came in quick, quiet gasps, "You know when you're little, and you like… fall off a skateboard or a swing?"

Gabriella cracked a sad smile while carrying herself into the past by looking at her hanging feet, "I fell while biking with my best friend." She pointed to her kneecap –a white scar contrasted against her olive skin. Rushed by a dare, Troy's palm curled around her leg, smoothing over the mark with his thumb. Their eyes snapped to the other's, searching desperately. A tension curled around them, however this was a different tension than what haunted the air moments ago. This was: exciting, inviting, foreign.

"What did you do?"

"Started crying. My mom ran outside to save me," her eyes twinkled like endless stars, "she kissed it to make it better."

A sudden realization flashed over her profile. She sharply gasped, knees tightening beneath Troy's hold.

Troy, with his ceruleans firing like blazing sapphires, whispered slowly, "Exactly."

There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to tell her and reveal. His guard dropped, and for a microscopic moment, he was going to. The truth lingered upon his lips, tingled like an itch wanting to be scratched. It would be so easy to reveal his cards. The Texas Hold 'em of his past would end. There would be no need for a poker face, no need to skirt around the truth.

But he couldn't do it. The bait was out, and if Gabriella wanted a taste, she'd crave it on her own.

"It's so fucked up." He mumbled, both disappointed with himself and his actions.

Suddenly, a hand cupped the side of his face and intertwined into his short hair. He was forced to look up again –to stare into the softness of her cheeks, the depth of her eyes, and the passion of her lips. Breathing was difficult, there was so much he wanted to do with her, yet so many barriers that stood between them. Time that ticked away was counted by their heartbeats, the erratic thumping that echoed through the apartment. The connection was intimate, not in the way that pulled his dick with longing or heightened his libido. This was different: it was emotional, careful, and gentle.

Perfect.

Hours –or minutes, the sense of time was lost- past before Troy finally pealed himself away from her. Gabriella softly smiled down at him. She wiggled her way to the ground, "What are you doing tonight?" The seriousness of the moment was fading, lost in some ghostly wind before Troy grinned cheekily at her.

Gabriella matched his happiness, radiating her beauty once again, "Have something in mind?"

"Have dinner with me." Troy requested, not demanded.

Her finger was brought to her chin and she pondered playfully. A boyish smirk cast over his features, feeling giddy and light once again, "I think I can clear my schedule."

Was that a yes? He let out a breath of eagerness. The pressure that always came along with the nerves in asking someone out dropped. She had so quickly changed her demeanor from thoughtful to relatively, well, happy.

"Really?" his heart was pounding unevenly once again with excitement, "eight sound good to you?"

Gabriella nodded profusely –her curls spilled out of her ponytail in a way that almost looked like Chad's afro on steroids. She eagerly crossed the room again and stood an arms length away, "Eight sounds amazing."

"Okay," Troy coached himself as though he was one of his own athletes before beaming brightly. His mind mentally reeled over what needed to be done: shopping, cleaning, showering. All was happening so fast, but he didn't want it to end. He'd scrub his entire apartment just to make sure this went right, "so I'll see then?"

She bit her lip to control her eagerness, "Eight."

Feeling lucky and daring, Troy ignored the stagger of his pulse as he leaned over and swiftly kissed her cheek. His lips burned of the sweet taste of her skin. As he slowly pulled away, his face flushed by the shocked –and pleased- cast her face left, "Don't feel like you need to dress up." He informed her, though she stared unseeingly ahead of her. He was curious to whether or not she heard him.

Stepping away, Troy finally ripped his sight from her and marched towards the door with an anticipated bounce in his step. Reaching for the door, he waved over his shoulder. However, before he left, he turned around to see Gabriella glowing one more time, "Hey Gabriella?"

Her eyes were glassed with a haze, "Hmmm?"

"The pajamas are cute, by the way."

Troy was lucky enough to shut the door just before a spatula came flying at his head.

"You're lying."

"I am not!"

"Yes you are."

Gabriella watched as the man before her slowly rose from the table –his blue eyes glittered with both excitement and delight as he gazed upon her from across the way. A steaming bowl of pasta separated them, along with dirty dishes and a mountain of garlic bread. He grinned at her in sort of a cheeky way that was by no means truthful, but mocking. She glared –though the curl of her lips mutinied against her- and placed her creamy fork back onto the dish.

"I'm tellin' you, I cooked this all on my own," Troy defended. Gabriella tried not to swoon as he stretched his arm out, for the way he twisted in his white thermal long sleeve clung to his chest tight enough so she could drool over defined curves of his pectorals, "You finished?" He nodded towards her plate and coaxed for her to hand it to him.

Gabriella's white cardigan that was tossed over the back of her chair slipped off the wood forgotten as she stood as well. Carefully, she handed the cheep glass to him and shook her head, "And I'm telling you that I don't believe it."

"Yeah? Why is that?" He called over his shoulder while strutting towards the sink and gently ran water to rinse the excess Alfredo down the drain.

"Because," Gabriella began, snatching her glass of water from the table and carried it with her before she pressed her jean covered hip to his counter, "your taste is too good in take out. You know your pizza flavor like you know the back of your hand. Your fridge," her hand tauntingly slid down the surface of his refrigerator, "is filled with beer, milk, and tinfoil."

"For the record, the beer's Chad's," he smirked before clattering the plate into the sink, "what's your point?"

The night was easy and pleasant with firing of jokes and tempting glances. Gabriella couldn't really describe the change in them. The blissfulness that came along with the confession that morning seemed to bond them closer together, if that was even possible. She had arrived sharply at eight with a bottle of wine and a bright smile. He hugged her longer than necessary as they slid into their spots at the table, chattering mindlessly about topics that really didn't matter. It was seemed if there was any tension between them; it disappeared like the smoke of his past.

Rolling her eyes, Gabriella took a long sip of her water, "My point is that you're too good at eating junk food to be a good cook."

Troy chuckled deeply. Mellow music hummed around them from a stereo beside the television and the lights –though fully illuminated- had a dimmed appeal that was slightly intimate. There was an even balance of attraction and friendship as they moved with and around each other. Many may have been pushing for some action on the couch or between the sheets or even for their lips to brush in general. It didn't seem necessary –then again, Gabriella would admit in a heartbeat that she had officially mesmerized the shape of his mouth she had daydreamed of his kiss for so long. But all said done, whether it was official or not, it was most definitely one of the best "date" nights she had ever had.

"Okay, okay. Fine, I didn't make the pasta, Zeke did." Troy explained while Gabriella pumped her fist triumphantly.

"I knew it!"

"Don't get too cocky," he warned and stepped towards the table again, collecting the leftovers of their meal, "I did cook it after he made it."

Gabriella walked to him, close enough to smell the musky scent of his cologne, and placed her glass in the sick, "I still win," he reached over and gently snapped a towel in her direction. Eyes widening, she jumped back in fright and listened to his laugh once again. She glared at his snickers and crossed her arms pouting, "Don't you dare Bolton!"

Throwing the towel down upon the counter again, he resumed his task in saran wrapping the bowls like Christmas packages, "So, because this was totally last minute… we can like, go somewhere if you want." His hands were quick in their tucks –Gabriella wondered if this was practiced with hours of ball handling.

Frowning, she thought of losing the privacy if they left for a bar or listened to music or even just walked along the street. Gabriella shook her head, her loose waves tumbling over her peach tank top, "I'm cool with just staying here. You do have a TV."

"Really?" Troy responded with a fake surprise as his head swiveled around searchingly, "I never knew that."

Smacking his chest, Gabriella giggled, "So um, do you want help with dishes or something?"

He glanced back at the sink to see the mountain that built of glass wear. His eyes narrowed in disgust and he turned back to her, shining those sparkling teeth, "I'll throw them in the dishwasher. You seem to have your heart set on the TV." He stuck out his tongue in jest, which only earned him a slap of his chest once again. Gabriella rolled her eyes just as Troy finished replacing the damp towel. Gingerly, he pealed her fingers from the crystal glass of water and took her hand –their fingers laced in a warm embrace.

Troy led her to the couch and motioned her to take a seat. She obeyed his instructions and watched as he dug for the remote. Unable to control her natural instincts, she followed the lines of his muscles work as his arms flexed and strained. This led to her admiring the rest of his body –how his chestnut hair stood perfectly in front yet was still long enough so she could thread her fingers through and feel the softness of the strands. There was something about the way his shirt clung to him, or maybe it was the way his sapphire eyes glittered when he finally found the controller.

"Here we go." Troy fell onto the couch after her, immediately encircling his arm around her lower waist and used both hands to fumble with the remote in a comfortable hug.

Gabriella giggled and reflexively pressed her cheek against the toasty surface of his chest. Some might have been awkward or found their heart was staggering at the direct contact. The two, however, were so comfortable with each other that it seemed anything but strange. Of course, Gabriella's heart still skipped three beats when he finally settled on a basketball game and rested his hand upon the curve of her hip. Their relationship was an even balance of both lust and comfort.

He didn't look at her, but he didn't need to. His hand slipped ever so gently, drawing intricate circles upon the silky fabric of her shirt. Every so often, Gabriella's eyes would flutter shut and she would once again be taken back to a simpler time of homework and Friday night lights. She remembered the stagger of her heart when her first boyfriend held her this way. Stripped back, she felt a sense of innocence; it was a coverage that physicality was not driving their touches. Just cuddling in his arms felt better than any horny hook up.

"The season just started, right?" Gabriella asked inquisitively. Although she knew the game consisted of two baskets, a ball and five players per team, the most experience she had with basketball was dressing in pure yellow for her high school team.

Flashing her a bright smile at her interest, Troy nodded, "College? Yeah… these games don't really count. You don't follow it?"

Gabriella blushed, suddenly wishing she had older male siblings so she wouldn't sound as feebleminded, "Not really."

Troy's eyes glanced down and he muttered under his breath, "That makes sense."

"What?"

If it was possible, he brought her closer, "Nothing."

They were silent again, though the stillness was anything but awkward. Every so often, Troy's chest became rigid and he cheered encouragement for his favored team quietly. It was fascinating to Gabriella, to watch his true passion play on the screen. However, along with the enjoyment, her head was circling a raging cyclone. He loved the game; she could see it with the flicker of his turquoise eyes and the passion in his voice.

So why the hell did he not continue it?

There were so many possibilities, so many scenarios on so many different levels. It could have been a simple answer: he had decided to focus on school work, his grades had slipped, his parents thought he was going no where, he was cut before he could begin. But other hypothesizes crossed her mind as well. Had he been caught with steroids? Did he get in trouble with the law? Was his love put on hold for spending more time having sex with Alicia? Did he get injured? All Gabriella knew was that with the glow of his cheeks –there had to be a reason.

The flashes on the screen blurred as her head became jumbled with empty conclusions and false images as time once again became an imaginary. Her legs were folded and pushed to the side, turning slightly numb with the lack of movement. Troy's left hip was pushed up against the edge of the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table. Glancing at her, his hand rubbed friction on the bare skin of her arm, "Comfortable?"

"Fine." Gabriella did her best not to twist at the awkward position her abdominals were turned. Instead, she nodded a lie. However, her efforts were proven to a waste, for she shivered involuntarily at the lack of straps on her arm. Troy chuckled before arching his back upward.

"You wanna do me a favor?"

Gabriella giggled once again, "That depends."

He grinned before flickering his eyes towards the bedroom –Gabriella's breath reflexively caught, "In my room, I think under my dresser is a blanket. You wanna grab it?"

"You're really gonna make your guest do your dirty work?" she asked, but still slipped from his grasp anyways, "you're a shitty host."

"Fine, then freeze to death." Troy wiggled his eyebrows.

Gabriella pushed off his knee to gain momentum to rise to a stand. She could feel his eyes on her as she stretched, a slightly smug plastered over that oh-so attractive visage. Their gaze met, filled with teases and flirtation, "I'll be back." She announced before strutting away from the couch and to where the shadows of the door awaited, both warnings and inviting.

To her dying day, she would never know if Troy sent her in his bedroom that night blindly or if the action was planned. As she stepped through the threshold, the blood red curtains that shimmied the New York lights into the room swayed with mystery. She silently padded on the carpet –her eyes lingered on the charcoal colored spread that covered his queen sized bed. Shuttering, Gabriella tried not to think of the other female in his life who may have spent countless nights beneath the low ceiling or watched the sun rise through the blackened window.

She spotted the neutral tone of his dresser across the room. Careful not to touch the bed, she skated towards the location and slowly bent over. "Blanket… blanket…" She mumbled to herself while scanning the wood. Sure enough, below the last drawer was a red and white tie fleece. Bending to the floor, Gabriella retrieved the soft material before fate intervened.

As she rose, she clumsily forgot the dresser had an edge to it. Much too eager to return to Troy, she thrust her head upwards and slammed violently against the wood. Pain rippled through her head in spider webs as she forcefully gripped the back of her head. "FUCK!" She cursed loudly and squeezed her eyes shut. The injury throbbed with agony, and it was in the brief moments of vulnerability that she heard the thunderous sound of metal thumping on the carpet.

Muttering profanity, Gabriella massaged the soreness on her skull and dropped to her knees. Her vision was blinded by pain and stars were circling around the darkened bedroom. She tapped her fingers to the carpet until finally; they rested upon the gentle grooves of the icy metal below. Stumbling to a stance, Gabriella finally opened her eyes and placed the jewelry on the dresser once again…

…when she completely stopped breathing.

The world suddenly spun around her and it was not derived from the dizziness of the collision. Her heart thumped furiously, wildly in synchrony with the engorgement of her brown irises. Numbness spread through her fingers and swam up her arms. Lungs collapsed and knees wobbled as she stared at the glinting silver that glistened so delicately through the night. Gabriella's trembling hand reached out and ghosted over the necklace –she was much too terrified to actually touch it. The pain dissipated as her body became stone, petrified by the sight before her.

The last image Gabriella remembered of Troy Bolton's bedroom that evening was the elegant cursive that spelled out a single name that would haunt her for all of eternity:

Emily.