Chapter 36: Thriving

"So, it's all good, right?" Chad Danforth inquired. "Now that Ryan took out Chace, the ice queen isn't acting like a bitch toward him anymore?" He slid the basketball he had been twirling on the tip of his finger, along his defined arm, up to his shoulders, back down his arm, and then caught it, effortlessly passing it to his friend and captain.

Troy smiled, all too happy to confirm this as the ball landed in his outstretched and waiting hands. "Yeah. Sure, they still have their squabbles every now and then, but what siblings don't, huh?" He chest-passed the ball back to the curly-haired boy.

Chad let out a humor-filled pft.

"But they're getting along again," Troy went on. "Ryan is thrilled, and that's all that really matters." He considered to himself that shooting the winning basket in a championship game could not compare to the euphoria that came with knowing that the boy he loved was happy again. And, I had a part in that, he told himself. He was snapped out of his dream-like state by a nudge from his best friend, who promptly snatched the ball back, shaking his head while wearing a bemused smile on his face.

"So Ryan, I heard from Kelsi that you and Troy did a super spectacular job on your drama assignment," Martha Cox said with a friendly smile.

Ryan returned the smile, his insides giving a little tremor. The terror was still there. He longed for the company of either Troy, or Sharpay, both of whom could handle social situations such as these with ease and finesse. With one of them next to him, his anxiety would be minimal. Sharpay would do all of the talking, taking the need to say anything from her brother, as he could rely on her to cover all bases. Troy would provide comfort and encouragement. He'd step in before I said something humiliatingly stupid. "W-Were those her exact words?" He inquired, keeping his voice light and, hopefully, unaffected.

Martha giggled. "I took some artistic license. I wish I could have been there to see it."

Think. It's not that difficult. Respond, Ryan instructed himself. "Maybe, Troy and I could perform it again, an encore performance. For you." He offered, a reprimand already forming in his mind in the event that his phrasing came off as creepy.

"That would be epic!" Martha replied. She appeared to be unfazed, so he silenced his internal rebuke. "And maybe," the brunette girl went on, "I could learn some new ways to get down."

"Get down"? His brows furrowing, the blond stopped to contemplate the odd-sounding phrase.

Martha giggled again. "What? You've never heard of "getting down on the dance floor"?"

Ryan felt heat fill his cheeks. "Y-Yes I have, it's just…"

"Come on. I heard all about you "getting down" at Jase's party." She grinned mischievously, giving a shake of her hips like some pop star that Ryan couldn't quite identify.

He was certain that his face was beginning to resemble a beet. Reign it in, Evans! That incident was something else he'd prefer putting far behind him. Even still, of course he had fun while he was dancing. It was one of the few things that he excelled at, that he was confident in his ability to do. He loved putting his body into expressive movement while music played either from a speaker, or in his mind. He loved leaving the world behind him for a few frenetic minutes, escaping into the beats of the song. But, dancing by myself is incomparable to dancing with Troy. Dancing with Troy; having a sturdy form to catch him when he performed fantastic leaps, feeling Troy's hands on his waist when they slow-danced in their bedrooms, feeling the warmth of Troy's breath on his neck, nuzzling into Troy's neck, gyrating into the beautiful athlete's pelvis, inciting pants, and soft moans… The world simply faded away in those moments, forgotten entirely.

"You've really gotta get out, more. Have some fun." Martha nudged him, extracting him from his revery.

"Yeah," he agreed, slapping on a slight smile.

"Well, I've gotta go." She began turning in toward the doorway of her astronomy class. "I'll catch ya later."

"Okay," Ryan nodded, preparing to continue on his way.

"We'll compare notes on dancing and breaking down," Martha called after him.

He turned back. "Sure."

The curly-haired brunette beamed as she walked into the classroom.

Ryan let out a sigh, his legs shaking as he resumed his exodus in solitaire. The other students rushed about him. Thankfully, none of them decided to stop and chat, their minds no doubt preoccupied with other personal matters. As he was just beginning to calm his heart, an arm draped itself across his shoulders. He was startled for a brief instant, but quickly registered the identity of his companion. "Hey," he murmured softly.

"Hey, babe," Troy returned. He looked the blond theater king over. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Ryan nodded. His defenses were instantly lowered.

"Ry," Troy's blue eyes focused on Ryan's, peering intently into them. "I'm really proud of you."

Ryan found himself unable to summon a response other than blushing as a smile tugged on the ends of his mouth. His heart swelled.

The brunette athlete placed an arbitrary kiss on the blond's soft lips.

The simple action was met with a call of, "Fags!" from across the hall.

Looking up, the two boys found that the derogatory slur had come from a heavily built behemoth of a boy, whom would have been more than capable of using his fists to express his show of discontentment with the couple's PDA.

"Yeah?" Troy retorted, unafraid of the consequences. "Suck it, Fray." He gave the finger to the neanderthal.

Ryan's heart began to race out of terror. His blood froze, anticipating a brutal beat-down. I hope that he hits me first. So Troy can escape.

Fray stepped forward, as if ready to take on both boys at once, but a steely glare from one of the English teachers sent the barrel-chested brute grumbling on his way to his next class.

"Are you boys alright?" The teacher, a woman in her early thirties, inquired.

"Yes, ma'am," they affirmed simultaneously.

"Why don't you go on ahead to class."

"We will." Troy replied. "And thanks."

"Yes, thank you," Ryan murmured. They set off once more.

"Asshole," Troy muttered, assured that they were out of earshot.

"Last time I checked, we weren't a pack of cigarettes." The blond theater king let out a sigh. He flicked his eyes to his boyfriend, relishing the chiseled angles of Troy's cheeks and jawline, and the way that they were not marred by bruises, the way that the athlete's sun-kissed flesh had not been broken open by swinging fists. He treasured the warmth in Troy's ocean colored eyes that the world had not succeeded in destroying. I want you to remain this way. I won't let anyone ever rob you of your beauty. They'll have to beat you over my cold, rigid, and lifeless corpse. And even then, they'd have to find you first…

"It's alright," the golden boy assured him.

Ryan believed him. For now, everything was alright. They were alright. Together, the two boys entered their English class.

- Don't Let Me Drown -

Troy and Ryan stepped out of the cinema, still at a high. Throughout the movie, they had engaged in make-out sessions, refusing to come up for air until their actions warranted displeasure from the other two people in the theater. The harsh lighting that greeted their eyes as they emerged, was nearly blinding after the near blackness of the theater, and the passionate daze that they had been in mere moments beforehand.

Ryan felt slightly light-headed, the earth shifting under his feet. The taste of Troy, popcorn, Sprite, and Resse's Pieces candy still lingered in his mouth. He took a second to breathe, to compose himself.

"Ry," Troy's voice implored. "I'm going to the restroom. I'll be right back."

"Alright."

"Hey." He felt Troy's hand squeeze his shoulder. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah." Ryan smiled reassuringly. "I'll be fine." He made himself believe that.

Assured, Troy's hand lingered for a moment longer, then he set off to use the facilities.

Ryan watched him go, then stood, his arms folded over his chest. Even with a jacket on, nothing could ward off the initial chill that came over him whenever Troy departed. There was still, he admitted to himself, a terror that gripped him: that something would happen to the boy that he loved, again. Ignoring this, he lowered his gaze to the floor. He entertained himself by tracing the patterns on the unsightly mosaic printed carpet. This place could use an interior decorator that has a sense of color-coordination, he mused. Then, suddenly, he was aware of a pair of eyes on him. This gaze seemed to stare right through his clothing, engulfing him hungrily. His pulse picked up. He knew that the owner of the eyes that stared at him so voraciously could not be Troy. Call it "lover's intuition", but the golden boy's stares were not so invasive. So violating. Raising his head, Ryan met the hazel eyes of the catalyst of all of his problems. His heart lurched, and he felt his blood run cold as the color drained from his face. David!

Silently, they regarded each other, the petite blond feeling as though he was the weak, insignificant prey of the older boy. Images flashed through his mind of the fatal encounter that haunted him.

Again, he felt his back hitting the wall in Lava Springs's kitchen, relived domineering lips ghosting over his neck, a dense body pressing against his own, trapping him. His chest tightened in sheer terror. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe. He was sinking. Sinking...

No, he commanded himself. No, that's not me anymore. I won't allow you to do this to me, anymore. He took a breath and calm stole over him, expelling the images, sensations, and all emotional repercussions connected to them, from his mind.

He felt someone beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he recognized a Wildcat's varsity letterman, a side-swept, untidy mop of brunette hair. Relief washed over him, the waves strong enough to nearly bring him to tears. "Okay, I'm back." Troy announced. "Hey, Ry? What's wrong?" He asked when there was no response. Narrowed oceanic eyes followed Ryan's gaze to the older boy. "Who is that, looking at you like you're a piece of meat?"

Ryan turned and took Troy's hand into his own. It's in the past. Now that I'm alive, I don't have to deal with ghosts anymore. He detached his stricken stare from David, and moved into Troy. He was safe. The ebony haired boy with his bronzed skin stretched over toned muscle, and seductive charms, no longer had any power over him. He wouldn't supply David with that power anymore. "No one," he replied, his pink lips curling into a slight smile.

"Alright," Troy gave a nod. "Still, that creep needs to learn how to not rape people with his eyes. I mean, what the hell." Shaking his head discontentedly, he lead both of them out of the cinema.

Still clinging to Troy's hand, Ryan let the brunette escort him to the rusted, worn-out pick-up waiting for them in the parking lot. They were leaving David, and all of the memories attached to him, behind.

And the blond did not look back.

- DMLD -

"Do you even remember what that was movie was about?" Troy inquired.

"I honestly don't think I could recall the title under hypnosis," Ryan answered him.

Both of them laughed at this. They had stopped in at a restaurant to pick-up food to go. The two of them quieted their laughter as they approached the counter and got in line, not enjoying the awkward stares their giddiness had put them on the receiving end of. As they were still too far way from the menu, and undecided of their meal choices, the blond and brunette cast looks around them, surveying the other occupants of the restaurant without intending to be rude.

Troy, spotting someone that he vaguely recognized, gave his boyfriend a light nudge to get his attention. "Look over there," he whispered.

"Mm?" Ryan looked in the direction Troy was indicating. His eyes widened slightly. Sitting at a table across the room, sat a slender brunette with frosted blond highlights that he recognized as the sexually confused waiter that had tended to him and Troy on their first outing. He remembered the name that boy had worn on his blue work polo: Aiden. Opposite Aiden, sat a boy with black and blue "emo" styled hair. The twosome sat with their hands clasped, setting off Ryan's gaydar. "Well!" He gaped.

"Damn," Troy marveled, "I'd say your gaydar is pretty full-proof. You nailed the reason for that guy spazzing right off the bat."

"Thank you," Ryan blushed slightly at the compliment, although it was not entirely true. If my gaydar was "full-proof", I would have pin-pointed you a long time ago. For a moment, he pondered the curious nature of his perceptive abilities, and how gaydar, no matter whom it belonged to, always seemed to fail when you were expecting a sign from the one you loved. Still, he was grateful that he had Troy at all. How long it took for that to happen was of no importance.

Seeing those two together, Ryan couldn't help but to crinkle his nose in joy. "They're so cute!"

"Yeah… but we're cuter." Troy grinned as Ryan gave him a look, his brow arced.

The effects of that contagious boyish grin soon became evident on the blond's face, however. He let out a laugh before wrapping an arm around the brunette athlete's torso, drawing him into an embrace. With his cheek pressed safely against the basketball team captain's chest, the theater king allowed himself to sever the ties holding him to the earth.

A/N: Next up: Ryan continues to live, with Troy at his side. I will see you then as this story concludes, at long last!