'Start of Something New' [Ryan Evans/Troy Bolton] [2/4]
Title: 'Start of Something New' [2/4]
Author: that_1_incident
Fandom: High School Musical
Rating: PG-13 so far, will go up to R
Warnings: AU, profanity, sexual themes later on
Pairing: Ryan Evans/Troy Bolton (and minor Sharpay Evans/Zeke Baylor)
Word Count: ~6,000 (cumulative total: ~11,000)
Summary: If there was no Gabriella, "Twinkle Towne," or merging peer groups, would Troy and Ryan ever have crossed paths on their own?
Disclaimer: I don’t own HSM, obvs. Also posted here at ff.net.
Author's Notes: Guys. Guys, there are no words for how much this has taken over my life. I started it on Sunday. Last Sunday. As in, a week ago. ~11,000 words in that time. ...You have no idea, no idea how much I didn't sleep trying to get all this out and go to work and go to college and go to my internships and write a 15-page essay and plan a presentation and keep up with my deadlines. Klkjdfakldjf TRYAN.
...Humor me and spare some lulz for the last line.
Part One.
---<---<---@
“Hey, Sharpay?”
“Hm?”
It’s Monday again, and Sharpay’s retouching her blush at the same red light as always. She’s wearing Zeke’s sports jacket over her tank top.
“Does Troy ever… like… trick people into doing stuff just to make fun of them with his friends later?”
She frowns. “That’s a weird question.”
“I know.”
“Care to share?”
“Not really.”
“Well, I don’t think he does. At least, I haven’t heard anything. Everyone knows he and the guys pranked the freshmen on the team, but that’s practically a rite of passage. I could ask Zeke, if you like?”
Ryan shakes his head emphatically. “No, it’s fine. It’s nothing, Shar. Just. Yeah.”
“Okay,” Sharpay replies, and lets the subject drop even though it seems like she doesn’t entirely believe him.
--
Ryan’s getting all jittery about seeing Troy after school. He’s trying to build up to it, working out what he’s going to say, terrified they’ll run into each other in the meantime. He elects to skip lunch, spending the period sitting outside in Sharpay’s car instead. She takes one look at his face and hands him the keys.
By rehearsal he’s a nervous wreck. He had his part down weeks ago and the others are really coming along, but today he just can’t focus. He’s even forgetting his hodgepodge of made-up dancing vocab, reverting back to the technical terms instead, which is immensely confusing for everyone involved.
“No, your trail foot, yeah? The inside foot. The left. Not your left, hers. Opposite footwork, remember, guys? And one… two… passing step. That’s not a passing step. Okay.” He pulls off his hat and runs his hands through his hair, exchanging desperate glances with Sharpay. “Let’s take ten.”
It isn’t until they all scatter backstage that he becomes aware of a figure sitting at the back of the theater, right in the very last row. He puts his bitch face on and marches down to tell whoever it is to get out - this is a closed rehearsal, jackass, wait for the opening night like everybody else - but when he gets close enough to realize who it is, he doesn’t feel much like yelling anymore.
“What are you doing here?” he asks quietly. “Don’t you have practice?”
Troy shrugs his shoulders. “I skipped it.”
“…Isn’t your dad the coach?”
“Yeah, and I’ll probably be in deep shit tonight. It’s okay. I wanted to see what you do while I’m shooting hoops.”
“Annoy my sister and confuse the hell out of the dancers, apparently,” Ryan says wryly. “It’s not usually like this. I mean, I’m not usually like this.”
“I couldn’t concentrate for shit all day either,” Troy says lightly, and there’s that grin again - the crooked one that does strange things to Ryan’s stomach. “You finish Fyodor?”
“Um.” Ryan’s slightly thrown by the change of subject. “Yeah. Yesterday, actually.”
“What did you think of the ending?”
“I liked it. I thought it was hopeful.” He’s starting to relax a bit. It doesn’t seem like Troy’s about to produce secretly obtained photographic evidence of the kiss, Xeroxed a million times and primed to line the school bulletin boards by homeroom tomorrow, but he can never be too sure. He feels like messing with the other boy’s head a little. “So, we’re still looking for understudies.”
“Wait, what?”
“As you’re here and everything, I figured I’d ask. Basketball’s all about co-ordination, right? It shouldn’t be that hard for you.”
“Uh, yeah, but I don’t dance.”
“Bet you can.”
“Those moves you were getting everyone to do up there?” Troy shakes his head. “Way too complicated for me.”
“Oh, come on, that’s easy stuff. They’re regular people too, you know? They don’t have dance backgrounds or anything, I just gave them a crash course on the basics after they signed up. I don’t even use the proper terminology.” He touches Troy’s arm and tilts his head in the direction of the stage. “Come on. I dare you.”
Troy looks around like he’s expecting spies to melt out of the woodwork. “Oh, my God, my reputation,” he says, but he’s more than half kidding and Ryan chuckles as he leads the other boy up onto the stage. “Wow, this place is a lot bigger than it looks from down there.”
“Imagine it filled to capacity.”
“Damn.”
“Okay, do you wanna do this or not?”
“Yeah, I mean, I guess. But only to show you how much I suck.”
“You won’t suck,” Ryan promises. “Ever hear of a ball change?”
“Sounds dirty.”
He bursts out laughing. “It’s really not. Look.” He performs the dance step and then looks at Troy expectantly. “See? Easy. You try.”
“Okay.” Troy frowns, inhales, and copies what he just saw. His imitation brings the image of a tap-dancing elephant to Ryan’s mind.
“…Alright, let’s go basic. Do you know how to do the cha-cha?”
“Uhm. What do you think?”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “Okay, the basic chasse is just one, two, one two three,” he counts, moving in time with the beats. “So, left foot forward, shift most of your weight, then back to the right on the second beat, and forward, two, three. Simple.”
“Yeah, for some,” Troy grumbles, executing the moves as best he can. He’s kind of getting it, kind of. “How do you do that thing with your hips, though?”
“Ha, don’t worry about my hips. We just started. The hips will come in time.” Ryan catches himself, blushes. “I mean. Not like that.”
Troy’s trying not to laugh. “You’re so awkward, theater kid. Cha-cha-cha.”
“You’re the one galumphing around onstage with a drama dork,” Ryan points out, not unkindly, and Troy grins.
“I should teach you the ways of the baller after practice tomorrow. Even the score a little bit.”
“I thought ‘baller’ was like, a hip-hop term.”
“Oh, jeez. Yeah, so not what I’m talking about.”
Ryan checks his watch, hates that his ten minutes are almost up but knows they’re non-negotiable. “Listen, I have to round everyone up and get back to rehearsal, but yeah, okay, I’ll do it. It’s only fair, right?”
“We’ll make a sportsman out of you yet, theater kid,” Troy says, hopping down from the stage. “I might go check out how practice is coming along without me. You know, tell my dad I got lost in the hallways or something.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Ryan says skeptically. “And, hey, tomorrow - it’s a date, right?”
“Right,” Troy calls over his shoulder as he makes his way out of the theater. Ryan can’t help but feel chills.
--
Troy Bolton is sweaty, and it’s really very attractive. Ryan’s never been big on the whole “manly man” kind of deal, but something about Troy makes him able to pull it off.
Tuesday rehearsal finished early, largely due to Ryan’s excitement and inability to concentrate rubbing off on everyone else, so he sneaked into the gym and sat up in the stands. Now he’s waiting for practice to end and feeling all kinds of creepy about being here without Troy knowing, even though he didn’t come in all stealthily on purpose, he just didn’t want to interrupt. The gymnasium makes him feel like a fish out of water, and he wonders how Friday night ever could have happened. They’re too different. Besides, Troy hasn’t even mentioned it, so he assumes the other boy just wants to forget the whole thing.
“Chad, over here!” Troy yells, jumping into the air and kind of pivoting as he does so, reaching his arms above his head to intercept his best friend’s throw. He looks up and sees Ryan, and their eyes meet for a nanosecond before Troy falls back down to the ground and into the game.
Coach Bolton wraps things up soon afterwards, but instead of accompanying his teammates to the locker room, Troy jogs up the steps to meet Ryan, still holding the basketball.
“What, you were so eager to start your lesson that you showed up early?”
“You wish,” Ryan shoots back, tugging his cap down over his head. “So, how do we do this, exactly?”
Troy regards him with amusement. “Going down to the court would be a good start. I can’t believe I’m gonna teach you how to play basketball dressed like that.”
“You love my style,” Ryan insists, shooting him a pose, and he laughs easily, taking the stairs two at a time as Ryan scrambles to follow.
“Okay, so, ever heard of a lay-up?”
Ryan tilts his head. “Sounds dirty,” he parrots, and Troy groans.
“I see what you did there. Nice one, theater kid. But seriously, you have, right?”
“Nope, never.”
“How can you have never…?” Troy shakes his head. “Alright. You know when a player, like, jumps up to shoot a basket?”
“Vaguely.”
“Work with me here.” He pushes his hair off his forehead. “There are a bunch of different kinds, but I’m gonna teach you a basic lay-up from the right-hand side. There’s rarely a chance to actually use one of these in a real game, but somehow I doubt you’ll get that far.” Ryan snorts. “What you want to do is get your run-up and go wide, so when you come into the backboard your lay-up will get to the square at a decent angle. Then use your right hand to shoot and jump off your left foot, like this.”
He takes off down the court, pushes upwards and launches the ball towards the backboard. It sinks perfectly into the basket and then he catches it, turns and jogs back to Ryan. “Got it?”
“Uh.”
“Just try,” he says encouragingly, holding out the ball.
Ryan takes it - and a deep breath - before moving forwards, executing a series of balletic leaps and hurling the ball rather daintily in front of him. It rebounds off the rim, and Troy catches it effortlessly. The expression on his face is priceless.
“What?” demands Ryan.
“…I think that was the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, screw you,” Ryan says, but he’s laughing too hard for Troy to believe he’s serious. “I’m a dancer, what did you expect? I guess it’s safe to say I won’t be putting on a Wildcats uniform anytime soon.”
“Yeah, let’s hope not. Unless there’s like, a dancing championship.”
“That’d be epic. Hey, speaking of dancing, do you actually remember what I taught you yesterday or did it all go out of your head like this lay-up thing probably will for me in five minutes?”
“The steps?” Troy frowns in thought and then does a decent parody of the motions. “One, two, cha-cha-cha?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty good, but you can’t really do it properly on your own. You know it’s not a one-person dance, right?”
“To be honest, I never really thought about it.”
“C’mere.” Ryan holds out his hand and Troy looks at him doubtfully. “I promise, none of your basketball buddies will ever find out about this, ever.”
Troy rolls his eyes but gingerly takes the other boy’s hand. “Yeah, okay.”
“Alright, so, when I move forward, you move back. Do the exact opposite of everything I do and you’ll be fine. And one, two, one, two, three…”
This really isn’t going as terribly as Ryan had suspected it might. Troy has a decent sense of timing and is obviously willing to learn, but he still thinks it’s kind of funny that they’re dancing on a basketball court right now. A couple of times, Troy loses his rhythm and moves forward or back at the same time Ryan does, and once their faces end up dangerously close. The air between them seems to tense and vibrate for a second before Ryan twists away, ending on an “Olé!” and bowing to his dance partner before giving him a round of applause. “Not bad at all, basketball kid. I’m kind of impressed.”
Troy shrugs in an “aw, shucks” kind of way and mutters a “Thanks,” but Ryan can tell he’s proud of himself. “Right now I have to get out of this sweaty uniform though. You wanna come with?”
Ryan looks apprehensive. “Troy, I don’t know…”
“The guys should probably be out of there by now, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Who said I was worried?”
“Fair enough.”
Ryan follows Troy over to the other side of the gym, then down a short corridor leading to the locker rooms. Troy pokes his head into a small office and says, “Hey, Dad.” Ryan’s hanging back because Coach Bolton sort of scares him. He can hear the coach’s voice but can’t make out the words, only then Troy says, “Nah, I was just shooting some hoops with a friend,” looks up and says, “Come here, Ry.”
Ry is new. Obviously the usual nickname won’t suffice under these circumstances, but why not his full name? He supposes the contraction sounds more masculine somehow - not that that’ll help once the coach actually lays eyes on him. Reluctantly he moves forward until he’s standing right next to the door frame, smoothing his aqua-colored shirt out of nerves. Troy reaches out and tugs him into view.
Coach Bolton looks him up and down, is quiet for a few seconds, and then says, “Ryan, is it? I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Not officially, sir. I’m… not really one for sports. I’m more the theater type. Um, no offence.”
“I see.” The older man smiles in a way that shows he’s not surprised. “Well, nice meeting you, Ryan. Troy, we’ll talk about you missing a few of those shots today later, alright?”
“Sure thing,” Troy says kind of glumly, and then they take off for the locker rooms, Ryan heaving a huge sigh of relief. “You’re not scared of my dad, are you?”
“I wouldn’t say scared,” Ryan says defensively. “Maybe a little… intimidated.” He’s looking at Troy like he expects to get teased, but Troy just nods sympathetically.
“He can be intimidating,” he agrees simply. “He’s a good guy and everything, just… yeah. Anyway.” They reach the locker room which, sure enough, is empty, and Troy goes to grab his stuff. “You can take a seat. I’m not gonna shower or anything, so this shouldn’t take long.”
“Okay.”
Ryan settles himself awkwardly at the end of one of the wooden benches, and Troy pulls off his shirt. Ryan’s mouth goes dry. The angle they’re at means all that’s exposed is Troy’s back, but his muscles gently ripple as he rifles through his sports bag and for some reason Ryan can’t turn away.
“So, listen, you didn’t do so bad out there.”
Ryan chokes out a laugh. “Come on, I sucked.”
“The dancing at the end kinda saved it. I think me and the guys should do that the next time we’re behind in a game - might get us some extra points. Hey, hold this for a sec?”
Troy turns around, bare-chested, balls his jersey up and tosses it at Ryan. Ryan’s staring so hard he doesn’t catch it.
“Uhm.” Troy waves. “Hello? Theater kid? Earth to theater kid?”
“Sorry.” Ryan blinks, shakes his head a little, swallows. He’s not really sure what’s been going on with him lately. “Carry on.”
Thankfully Troy keeps his basketball shorts on throughout, and he picks up his jersey and sits next to Ryan while he puts away the rest of his gear.
“Hey, I never asked - how did your rehearsal go today?”
“Approximately as well as yesterday's,” Ryan responds drily.
“It’s funny how that goes. I had a pretty shitty practice, too.”
“Are you kidding? You were great.”
Troy looks up from folding his jersey to tilt his head at Ryan. “How long were you watching?”
For some reason, Ryan blushes. “Not long. Just long enough to know you kicked butt.”
Troy snorts. “Trust me, not today, theater kid. Didn’t you hear what my dad said? I’m off my game. This whole day’s been weird.”
“Yeah, it’s been like that for me too. Ever since the - um, the weekend.”
Troy looks at him - really looks at him - and Ryan wonders if he’s said something wrong, gone too far, talked about the elephant in the room that they were never supposed to acknowledge, but the other boy just smiles, shakes his head, looks back down at his jersey and says, “Yeah, the weekend.”
Ryan doesn’t really understand how it happens. He knows he leans in first this time, that Troy looks up when he gets close and doesn’t really have time to do anything either way before their lips connect, but the other boy definitely kisses him back. The kiss is longer this time, deeper, and Ryan gently swipes his tongue along Troy’s bottom lip until Troy’s mouth opens for him. He puts his hand on the basketballer’s arm just for something to hold onto, and strokes Troy’s wrist gently so he has something to do with his fingers.
When they break apart they’re both breathing heavily, and Troy’s face is kind of red. He’s not really looking at Ryan, gaze flickering on the other boy’s countenance, and before either of them can say anything Coach Bolton is in the doorway reminding Troy to be home for dinner at seven. Troy says, “Okay, Dad, will do,” and smiles that cocky smile, but Ryan can’t make eye contact because he’s scared his face will somehow give away what just happened between him and the coach’s son.
Coach Bolton leaves and the two boys exchange glances. Neither says anything immediately, but eventually Troy clears his throat and grabs his T-shirt, standing up to tug it on. “So.”
Ryan toes at the floor. “Uh-huh.”
“Hey.”
“What?” he asks miserably. “Look, I’m sorry I did that. I don’t know why I -”
Troy cuts him off with a well-placed, “Theater kid,” and a “You want a ride home?”
--
The drive is mostly quiet. Somehow Coach Bolton’s interruption has made the reality of what they’re doing (and all its inherent dangers) sink in. At some point, Troy flicks on the radio. “I Kissed A Girl” is on and they both scramble for the off button, fingers bumping in the process. Ryan says a quick prayer to melt into the truck’s upholstery but then Troy glances at him sideways and that’s enough to make him laugh. It’s a nervous giggle more than anything, but at least it breaks the silence.
“So, are we ever gonna talk about this? Because, you know, man, I think Katy Perry kinda wants us to.”
Ryan appreciates that Troy’s trying to make light of the situation, but he still fidgets uncomfortably. “No. I don’t know. What is there to - I don’t want to.”
“Come on, like people don’t think you like guys already.”
“That’s not the point,” Ryan hisses, and a surge of anger rises within him. Seriously, where do people get off thinking they know things about him before he does?
Troy holds his hands up in surrender and Ryan watches his palms ghost over the steering wheel. He’s a lot of things, but not a reckless driver. His truck is his baby. “Okay, okay, sorry.”
They pull up to Ryan’s house and Ryan slips out his keys. Troy turns the engine off and they just sit there for a while, thinking their own thoughts, until Troy puts his hand on top of Ryan’s and says, “So, you know, your play is next week,” and Ryan pulls away before replying, “I know, duh, it’s my play” in this hard, edgy voice he didn’t even know he had in him, and Troy is quiet for a long time before asking him, “Who’s the asshole now?”
Ryan doesn’t want to answer that so he grabs his books and gets out of the truck, slamming the door behind him without so much as a goodnight.
--
Ryan is in a rotten mood for the rest of the week, and by Sunday afternoon he still can’t get the image of Troy’s hurt expression out of his head. He hadn’t been sure what was going on - whether this was really a thing, and if so, what kind, nor was he completely convinced that Troy wasn’t just setting him up for something, but that look… no-one could fake that look. And now, Ryan feels like shit. Troy’s eyes are what started the whole thing and now it’s ending the same way, except this time they were sad and not sparkling, which makes Ryan feel kind of lame because if the sun rises and sets on Troy’s ass like the whole of the rest of the school seems to believe then where does he fit in?
“Hey, what’s up with Troy?” comes Sharpay’s voice suddenly, startling him from his thoughts. She walks into the Evans' living room with Manly nestled in her arms and Zeke sidling in behind her, resting a hand on her hip. They exchange lovesick glances and Ryan kind of wants to throw up.
“What makes you think I’d know?”
Zeke shrugs. “We know you guys have been hanging out. We figured something might have happened.”
“Like what?” Ryan snaps. Surely their… whatever it was hadn’t been obvious to the whole basketball team?
“Like, maybe he told you about something that was going on with him or whatever? Just guessing, man. All I know is he spent most of his time at Rocketman’s party last night sitting around being emo, which is totally not Troy.”
“Who the hell is Rocketman?”
“Jimmie,” Sharpay interjects. “This kid on the team - one of the freshmen. The guy with the hair? They call him Rocketman.”
“’Cause he’s fast,” Zeke supplies, and Ryan looks at him witheringly.
Yeah, he remembers the kid well enough, and is surprised to feel a burgeoning jealousy in his chest. He’s not going to assume Jimmie’s… into guys or whatever, but at the very least the kid has a pretty serious case of hero worship, and for some reason that makes his hackles rise. He almost feels possessive, which makes no sense because he’s only hung out with Troy what, like, a handful of times, and only very recently, but at the same time he can’t imagine ever teaching another guy how to dance, or accepting a ride home from anyone else but Sharpay.
Manly yips, scrabbling his paws against his mistress’ forearm, gaze fixed on Ryan. The little dog’s eyes are brown and glossy but Ryan’s subconscious metamorphoses them into Troy’s and fills them with hurt.
“What is it, honey?” Sharpay croons to her pet, and Ryan becomes distinctly aware of a sinking feeling inside him. He knows what he has to do.
“I get it,” he says quietly, gently patting the dog’s head before making his way out of the room to go rummage for his phone in his bedroom, leaving Sharpay and Zeke none the wiser.
--
The conversation that led up to Ryan and Troy exchanging numbers had been an interesting one. At first Troy had offered his purely on the premise of making himself available as a kind of glorified chauffeur (“You know, anywhere you wanna go that Sharpay can’t take you.” “Like the Navajo reservation?” “Uh. Okay? Sometime, sure.”) but as the boys parted ways that day, Troy had said, “So, hey, now that you have my number you should call me sometime - one night this week,” and Ryan had agreed but ended up not going through with it because he saw Troy practically every day anyway so he didn’t see much point.
Ryan finds his phone sitting on the floor in a corner of his room, attached to its charger. He disconnects it, scrolls to T in his address book and punches out a quick text message. He erases it several times; dude, i’m so sorry becomes hey, so i’m kind of a jerk - forgive me? which evolves into a simple troy, i screwed up. Eventually he presses “send” just because he’s tired of thinking about it.
The phone buzzes almost immediately, which he’s totally not expecting, and when he checks the screen he sees “Incoming call: Troy B.” pop up. His heart jumps into his throat.
“H-hello?” he opens, and really, super smooth, Ryan because if there’s ever a bad way to hold your own, stuttering is it.
“Hi,” Troy says kind of shortly, then, “how’s it going?”
“Uh. Fine.” This is awkward, this silence, and Ryan desperately wants to fill it with anything he can think of. “Apparently you were being emo at Jimmie’s party last night,” he blurts, then wants to hit himself for his stupidity. That’s right, insulting the guy is really gonna put you back in his good graces.
“Emo?”
“Yeah, like… you know those kids who are always sad and wear a lot of eyeliner and listen to Fall Out Boy and fucking shitty as hell music like that?” He pauses. “Not that I think you were wearing eyeliner, but-”
“I know what emo is, Ryan. And hey, don’t dis Pete.”
Normally Ryan is pleased when Troy uses his real name because he thinks it means something, some higher level of closeness or fondness or whatever, but this time the implication is all too clear. Nicknames are endearments, and Ryan doesn’t deserve one.
“I know, I didn’t mean you didn’t, but. Ah.” He should really stop talking.
“Where’d you find that out, anyway?”
He volunteers the information immediately, and then cringes. What if he gets Zeke in trouble or something? This is why he hates talking on the phone - his mouth goes ahead and says what it wants before his brain gets a chance to temper the output.
“I guess I kind of have been emo,” Troy admits, and Ryan’s surprised at his honesty. “I'm just surprised Zeke picked up on it.”
“What’s up? Like… what’s wrong?”
“Tuesday kind of sucked, man. Like. Like, hardcore.”
Ryan bites his lip. “Yeah. Yeah, it did, I know. I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, what the fuck,” and it’s more of a statement than a question.
“I don’t know,” Ryan says, hanging his head even though Troy can’t see him. “I just hate people judging me. Trying to give me some neat little label so they can assign me to a category and stick me on a shelf, you know?”
“Dude, I’m not trying to do that, I’m trying to get to know you. I want to figure out who you are, how you work. It means you interest me. It means… I like being around you.”
Ryan’s heart rate accelerates and he uses his free hand to play with the tassels on the edges of his comforter, dispelling some of his nervous energy. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I hate when people just write me off as one thing and think that means I’m not another. Like, if I’m a jock, I can’t be good at English, I can’t like reading. You know? It doesn’t make any sense. Remember the first time we talked about Dostoevsky?”
“Fyodor, you mean?” Ryan could be wrong but it sounds like Troy’s smiling. “Yeah, I know what you’re saying. And, hey, I. It’s good spending time with you too.”
“Fuck, you’re so awkward, theater kid,” Troy says under his breath, and it’s then Ryan knows they’re gonna be alright, that it’s not the end of this - whatever this is. “You wanna hang out tomorrow after school? We could practice our lay-ups and ball changing.”
“Ball changes.”
“Those too.” (Ryan rolls his eyes.) “So, what do you say?”
“I, Troy, I really want to, but opening night is Friday and we’re in extended rehearsal all week. We probably won’t be getting out until like, 7.”
“Damn,” Troy says, and he sounds really disappointed. Ryan feels so bad until he remembers something that he thinks might cheer both of them up.
“Hey, each of the cast members, we get a certain number of discount tickets for our families. My parents already got theirs from Sharpay, so I was wondering…”
“Yeah?” Troy must have guessed where this is going by now, but true to form, he’s gonna give Ryan a hard time anyway. “Spit it out.”
“I was wondering if you still wanted to see it.”
“Are you kidding? You, center stage, with your cha-cha hips and your ball whatevers -”
“Changes, Troy, really -”
“Dude, I would be totally psyched to see it.”
Ryan beams down the phone line. “Well. Well, okay.”
“Okay,” Troy says warmly, and the tension is gone now, from Ryan’s shoulders as well as the conversation, and he actually feels like he can sleep properly tonight for the first time in a while. “Man, I feel so much better,” Troy continues like he heard Ryan’s thoughts. “Let’s never do that again, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees emphatically, and the next thing he knows Sharpay is charging up the stairs wanting to know if he borrowed her straightener again so he really has to go, but luckily all he needs to say is, “Sister on the warpath,” and Troy gets it, whispering conspiratorially, “I recommend a change of balls,” before hanging up.
When Sharpay bursts into Ryan’s room she finds him staring at his phone in complete amusement, laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking.
--
Ryan didn’t realize how hard it was going to be not seeing Troy after school. Last week was bad enough, but at least then he knew that even if he went looking for the other boy, nothing would come of it because they weren’t speaking. Now he’s looking at his watch and wondering if Troy’s outside yet, if he’s giving Jimmie basketball tips, if he’s thinking about Ryan as much as Ryan’s thinking about him.
An hour and a half into rehearsal, he tells Darbus he needs a bathroom break and dashes out of the theater. Troy’s probably not still around, but he has to check. To his surprise, he spies the other boy sitting against the outside wall of the gymnasium, knees tucked up to his chin, balancing a book on the relatively flat surface they form and concentrating so hard that he doesn’t notice Ryan's approach.
“Hey, basketball kid.”
Troy looks up and grins. “Hey! Done so soon? And what are you wearing?”
“My costume, duh. And ugh, are you kidding? We’re only halfway through the first act. Darbus keeps stopping everything and telling us to change stuff. I told her I had to go to the bathroom.”
“So what are you doing out here?”
Ryan shrugs. “Got lost, I guess. Or something.”
“Or something,” Troy mimics. “I missed… you know, having you around. I mean. Yeah.”
Ryan thinks Troy’s cute when he’s awkward. “What are you reading?” Troy holds up the book somewhat sheepishly. It’s The Brothers Karamazov, by none other than Dostoevsky. “You told me you read that last year.”
“I thought you might want to read this one next so I’m trying to refresh my memory.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but Ryan finds it adorable. “Did you wanna borrow it, by the way?”
“Sure, as soon as you finish it.”
Troy laughs. “It’s like 800 pages, dude. I might be a while.”
“I’ll wait,” Ryan replies, and smiles. “Listen, I don’t have very long out here, so…” He really kind of wants to make out right now but he doesn’t want to say it. He’s never really done this before, with a guy or anyone else, at least not seriously, and the existence of any etiquette to be employed in these situations has gone right over his head.
Troy eyes him. “You know the back entrance to the school?” Ryan tilts his head. “The one nobody ever uses? It’s down that set of stairs.”
“Behind the science labs?” Ryan’s eyes widen. “That’s the back entrance to the school? I thought it was like, the gardener’s storage place or something. How do you know that?”
“It pays to have your dad on the faculty. Anyway, you… wanna go there?”
“…Why are we sneaking into the back entrance when we can just walk in the front?”
“Dude.” Troy closes the book and rocks forward onto his feet before pulling himself upwards. “We’re not sneaking into the school, we’re just going down the stairs. Where it’s private. Like, if you’re into that, I mean. Only if you’re. Yeah.”
A thrill of excitement races through Ryan as he gets it. “Oh. Okay. Um, yeah, I’m into that. I’d like that. A lot.”
Troy gives him a light punch on the arm. “Awkward,” he says, then, “Follow me.”
Ryan’s heart is pounding by the time they circumnavigate the building. The little staircase is almost entirely hidden by long grasses, but Troy pushes through them determinedly, holding them back until he’s cleared a decent path for Ryan. Ryan catches his eye and nods in appreciation, following the other boy down the rickety steps until they reach the cool, dry space at the bottom.
“So,” Troy says, turning, but Ryan’s two steps ahead of him and pushes him back against one of the walls. “Umph,” he manages before his mouth is smothered by Ryan’s lips, and they kiss and kiss without abandon, knowing there’s no chance anyone will find them here. Troy snakes his hands around Ryan’s waist, sticks them in the other boy’s back pockets and Ryan yelps, but not in a bad way. They don’t break apart until one of the pockets starts vibrating, and Troy goes, “Holy shit,” before fishing out Ryan’s phone and handing it to him, looking both sheepish and flushed.
“Uhm.” Ryan clears his throat. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Longest Bathroom Break in the History of the World. Were you planning on rejoining rehearsal anytime soon or are you ditching us for good? After all, it’s not like you have an important role or anything - you’re only the choreographer and one of the stars.”
Ryan winces. “Sharpay,” he mouths.
“I could tell,” Troy whispers back.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry, I got… caught up in something,” he explains evasively, and Troy cracks up so he shushes him.
“Are you with someone?!” Sharpay demands, her voice tinny. “And where the hell are you? You keep breaking up.”
“It’s ‘cause I’m… running,” Ryan lies. “Running back to the theater as we speak, Shar. I’ll be there in like 30 seconds, okay?” He hangs up before she can argue.
“You got caught up in something?” Troy repeats, moving forward to touch Ryan’s waist again, but Ryan twists away.
“Seriously, I have to go,” Ryan says, but something in his body language is saying otherwise, and he knows Troy’s picking up on it. He looks at the other boy pleadingly. “I… later, okay? Soon.” He turns to leave, but Troy catches his wrist.
“Hey.”
“What?” Troy just looks at him until he consents to kissing the basketballer quickly on the lips. “There, okay?”
“Much better.” Troy grins, and his eyes sparkle. Ryan rolls his and heads up the stairs, at which point he really does starts running. He doesn’t want to be in any more trouble than he is already. By the time he slips backstage, Sharpay is already in the middle of one of her pieces, so he watches her from the wings.
“That was more like a minute and a half,” Sharpay hisses to him out of the side of her mouth, and Darbus affixes her with a steely glare (“Eyes towards the auditorium, Miss Evans,”) before Ryan slinks out of sight so as not to distract her any further, wiping his mouth furtively as he does so. His lips are still tingling pleasantly when his phone vibrates in his pocket again. He pulls it out and flips it open.
that was fun, theater kid. same time 2moro?
He’s very conscious of people around him, so he tries to hide his ridiculously wide smile as he types back:
bet on it
---<---<---@
Part Three.
Author: that_1_incident
Fandom: High School Musical
Rating: PG-13 so far, will go up to R
Warnings: AU, profanity, sexual themes later on
Pairing: Ryan Evans/Troy Bolton (and minor Sharpay Evans/Zeke Baylor)
Word Count: ~6,000 (cumulative total: ~11,000)
Summary: If there was no Gabriella, "Twinkle Towne," or merging peer groups, would Troy and Ryan ever have crossed paths on their own?
Disclaimer: I don’t own HSM, obvs. Also posted here at ff.net.
Author's Notes: Guys. Guys, there are no words for how much this has taken over my life. I started it on Sunday. Last Sunday. As in, a week ago. ~11,000 words in that time. ...You have no idea, no idea how much I didn't sleep trying to get all this out and go to work and go to college and go to my internships and write a 15-page essay and plan a presentation and keep up with my deadlines. Klkjdfakldjf TRYAN.
...Humor me and spare some lulz for the last line.
Part One.
---<---<---@
“Hey, Sharpay?”
“Hm?”
It’s Monday again, and Sharpay’s retouching her blush at the same red light as always. She’s wearing Zeke’s sports jacket over her tank top.
“Does Troy ever… like… trick people into doing stuff just to make fun of them with his friends later?”
She frowns. “That’s a weird question.”
“I know.”
“Care to share?”
“Not really.”
“Well, I don’t think he does. At least, I haven’t heard anything. Everyone knows he and the guys pranked the freshmen on the team, but that’s practically a rite of passage. I could ask Zeke, if you like?”
Ryan shakes his head emphatically. “No, it’s fine. It’s nothing, Shar. Just. Yeah.”
“Okay,” Sharpay replies, and lets the subject drop even though it seems like she doesn’t entirely believe him.
--
Ryan’s getting all jittery about seeing Troy after school. He’s trying to build up to it, working out what he’s going to say, terrified they’ll run into each other in the meantime. He elects to skip lunch, spending the period sitting outside in Sharpay’s car instead. She takes one look at his face and hands him the keys.
By rehearsal he’s a nervous wreck. He had his part down weeks ago and the others are really coming along, but today he just can’t focus. He’s even forgetting his hodgepodge of made-up dancing vocab, reverting back to the technical terms instead, which is immensely confusing for everyone involved.
“No, your trail foot, yeah? The inside foot. The left. Not your left, hers. Opposite footwork, remember, guys? And one… two… passing step. That’s not a passing step. Okay.” He pulls off his hat and runs his hands through his hair, exchanging desperate glances with Sharpay. “Let’s take ten.”
It isn’t until they all scatter backstage that he becomes aware of a figure sitting at the back of the theater, right in the very last row. He puts his bitch face on and marches down to tell whoever it is to get out - this is a closed rehearsal, jackass, wait for the opening night like everybody else - but when he gets close enough to realize who it is, he doesn’t feel much like yelling anymore.
“What are you doing here?” he asks quietly. “Don’t you have practice?”
Troy shrugs his shoulders. “I skipped it.”
“…Isn’t your dad the coach?”
“Yeah, and I’ll probably be in deep shit tonight. It’s okay. I wanted to see what you do while I’m shooting hoops.”
“Annoy my sister and confuse the hell out of the dancers, apparently,” Ryan says wryly. “It’s not usually like this. I mean, I’m not usually like this.”
“I couldn’t concentrate for shit all day either,” Troy says lightly, and there’s that grin again - the crooked one that does strange things to Ryan’s stomach. “You finish Fyodor?”
“Um.” Ryan’s slightly thrown by the change of subject. “Yeah. Yesterday, actually.”
“What did you think of the ending?”
“I liked it. I thought it was hopeful.” He’s starting to relax a bit. It doesn’t seem like Troy’s about to produce secretly obtained photographic evidence of the kiss, Xeroxed a million times and primed to line the school bulletin boards by homeroom tomorrow, but he can never be too sure. He feels like messing with the other boy’s head a little. “So, we’re still looking for understudies.”
“Wait, what?”
“As you’re here and everything, I figured I’d ask. Basketball’s all about co-ordination, right? It shouldn’t be that hard for you.”
“Uh, yeah, but I don’t dance.”
“Bet you can.”
“Those moves you were getting everyone to do up there?” Troy shakes his head. “Way too complicated for me.”
“Oh, come on, that’s easy stuff. They’re regular people too, you know? They don’t have dance backgrounds or anything, I just gave them a crash course on the basics after they signed up. I don’t even use the proper terminology.” He touches Troy’s arm and tilts his head in the direction of the stage. “Come on. I dare you.”
Troy looks around like he’s expecting spies to melt out of the woodwork. “Oh, my God, my reputation,” he says, but he’s more than half kidding and Ryan chuckles as he leads the other boy up onto the stage. “Wow, this place is a lot bigger than it looks from down there.”
“Imagine it filled to capacity.”
“Damn.”
“Okay, do you wanna do this or not?”
“Yeah, I mean, I guess. But only to show you how much I suck.”
“You won’t suck,” Ryan promises. “Ever hear of a ball change?”
“Sounds dirty.”
He bursts out laughing. “It’s really not. Look.” He performs the dance step and then looks at Troy expectantly. “See? Easy. You try.”
“Okay.” Troy frowns, inhales, and copies what he just saw. His imitation brings the image of a tap-dancing elephant to Ryan’s mind.
“…Alright, let’s go basic. Do you know how to do the cha-cha?”
“Uhm. What do you think?”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “Okay, the basic chasse is just one, two, one two three,” he counts, moving in time with the beats. “So, left foot forward, shift most of your weight, then back to the right on the second beat, and forward, two, three. Simple.”
“Yeah, for some,” Troy grumbles, executing the moves as best he can. He’s kind of getting it, kind of. “How do you do that thing with your hips, though?”
“Ha, don’t worry about my hips. We just started. The hips will come in time.” Ryan catches himself, blushes. “I mean. Not like that.”
Troy’s trying not to laugh. “You’re so awkward, theater kid. Cha-cha-cha.”
“You’re the one galumphing around onstage with a drama dork,” Ryan points out, not unkindly, and Troy grins.
“I should teach you the ways of the baller after practice tomorrow. Even the score a little bit.”
“I thought ‘baller’ was like, a hip-hop term.”
“Oh, jeez. Yeah, so not what I’m talking about.”
Ryan checks his watch, hates that his ten minutes are almost up but knows they’re non-negotiable. “Listen, I have to round everyone up and get back to rehearsal, but yeah, okay, I’ll do it. It’s only fair, right?”
“We’ll make a sportsman out of you yet, theater kid,” Troy says, hopping down from the stage. “I might go check out how practice is coming along without me. You know, tell my dad I got lost in the hallways or something.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Ryan says skeptically. “And, hey, tomorrow - it’s a date, right?”
“Right,” Troy calls over his shoulder as he makes his way out of the theater. Ryan can’t help but feel chills.
--
Troy Bolton is sweaty, and it’s really very attractive. Ryan’s never been big on the whole “manly man” kind of deal, but something about Troy makes him able to pull it off.
Tuesday rehearsal finished early, largely due to Ryan’s excitement and inability to concentrate rubbing off on everyone else, so he sneaked into the gym and sat up in the stands. Now he’s waiting for practice to end and feeling all kinds of creepy about being here without Troy knowing, even though he didn’t come in all stealthily on purpose, he just didn’t want to interrupt. The gymnasium makes him feel like a fish out of water, and he wonders how Friday night ever could have happened. They’re too different. Besides, Troy hasn’t even mentioned it, so he assumes the other boy just wants to forget the whole thing.
“Chad, over here!” Troy yells, jumping into the air and kind of pivoting as he does so, reaching his arms above his head to intercept his best friend’s throw. He looks up and sees Ryan, and their eyes meet for a nanosecond before Troy falls back down to the ground and into the game.
Coach Bolton wraps things up soon afterwards, but instead of accompanying his teammates to the locker room, Troy jogs up the steps to meet Ryan, still holding the basketball.
“What, you were so eager to start your lesson that you showed up early?”
“You wish,” Ryan shoots back, tugging his cap down over his head. “So, how do we do this, exactly?”
Troy regards him with amusement. “Going down to the court would be a good start. I can’t believe I’m gonna teach you how to play basketball dressed like that.”
“You love my style,” Ryan insists, shooting him a pose, and he laughs easily, taking the stairs two at a time as Ryan scrambles to follow.
“Okay, so, ever heard of a lay-up?”
Ryan tilts his head. “Sounds dirty,” he parrots, and Troy groans.
“I see what you did there. Nice one, theater kid. But seriously, you have, right?”
“Nope, never.”
“How can you have never…?” Troy shakes his head. “Alright. You know when a player, like, jumps up to shoot a basket?”
“Vaguely.”
“Work with me here.” He pushes his hair off his forehead. “There are a bunch of different kinds, but I’m gonna teach you a basic lay-up from the right-hand side. There’s rarely a chance to actually use one of these in a real game, but somehow I doubt you’ll get that far.” Ryan snorts. “What you want to do is get your run-up and go wide, so when you come into the backboard your lay-up will get to the square at a decent angle. Then use your right hand to shoot and jump off your left foot, like this.”
He takes off down the court, pushes upwards and launches the ball towards the backboard. It sinks perfectly into the basket and then he catches it, turns and jogs back to Ryan. “Got it?”
“Uh.”
“Just try,” he says encouragingly, holding out the ball.
Ryan takes it - and a deep breath - before moving forwards, executing a series of balletic leaps and hurling the ball rather daintily in front of him. It rebounds off the rim, and Troy catches it effortlessly. The expression on his face is priceless.
“What?” demands Ryan.
“…I think that was the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, screw you,” Ryan says, but he’s laughing too hard for Troy to believe he’s serious. “I’m a dancer, what did you expect? I guess it’s safe to say I won’t be putting on a Wildcats uniform anytime soon.”
“Yeah, let’s hope not. Unless there’s like, a dancing championship.”
“That’d be epic. Hey, speaking of dancing, do you actually remember what I taught you yesterday or did it all go out of your head like this lay-up thing probably will for me in five minutes?”
“The steps?” Troy frowns in thought and then does a decent parody of the motions. “One, two, cha-cha-cha?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty good, but you can’t really do it properly on your own. You know it’s not a one-person dance, right?”
“To be honest, I never really thought about it.”
“C’mere.” Ryan holds out his hand and Troy looks at him doubtfully. “I promise, none of your basketball buddies will ever find out about this, ever.”
Troy rolls his eyes but gingerly takes the other boy’s hand. “Yeah, okay.”
“Alright, so, when I move forward, you move back. Do the exact opposite of everything I do and you’ll be fine. And one, two, one, two, three…”
This really isn’t going as terribly as Ryan had suspected it might. Troy has a decent sense of timing and is obviously willing to learn, but he still thinks it’s kind of funny that they’re dancing on a basketball court right now. A couple of times, Troy loses his rhythm and moves forward or back at the same time Ryan does, and once their faces end up dangerously close. The air between them seems to tense and vibrate for a second before Ryan twists away, ending on an “Olé!” and bowing to his dance partner before giving him a round of applause. “Not bad at all, basketball kid. I’m kind of impressed.”
Troy shrugs in an “aw, shucks” kind of way and mutters a “Thanks,” but Ryan can tell he’s proud of himself. “Right now I have to get out of this sweaty uniform though. You wanna come with?”
Ryan looks apprehensive. “Troy, I don’t know…”
“The guys should probably be out of there by now, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Who said I was worried?”
“Fair enough.”
Ryan follows Troy over to the other side of the gym, then down a short corridor leading to the locker rooms. Troy pokes his head into a small office and says, “Hey, Dad.” Ryan’s hanging back because Coach Bolton sort of scares him. He can hear the coach’s voice but can’t make out the words, only then Troy says, “Nah, I was just shooting some hoops with a friend,” looks up and says, “Come here, Ry.”
Ry is new. Obviously the usual nickname won’t suffice under these circumstances, but why not his full name? He supposes the contraction sounds more masculine somehow - not that that’ll help once the coach actually lays eyes on him. Reluctantly he moves forward until he’s standing right next to the door frame, smoothing his aqua-colored shirt out of nerves. Troy reaches out and tugs him into view.
Coach Bolton looks him up and down, is quiet for a few seconds, and then says, “Ryan, is it? I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Not officially, sir. I’m… not really one for sports. I’m more the theater type. Um, no offence.”
“I see.” The older man smiles in a way that shows he’s not surprised. “Well, nice meeting you, Ryan. Troy, we’ll talk about you missing a few of those shots today later, alright?”
“Sure thing,” Troy says kind of glumly, and then they take off for the locker rooms, Ryan heaving a huge sigh of relief. “You’re not scared of my dad, are you?”
“I wouldn’t say scared,” Ryan says defensively. “Maybe a little… intimidated.” He’s looking at Troy like he expects to get teased, but Troy just nods sympathetically.
“He can be intimidating,” he agrees simply. “He’s a good guy and everything, just… yeah. Anyway.” They reach the locker room which, sure enough, is empty, and Troy goes to grab his stuff. “You can take a seat. I’m not gonna shower or anything, so this shouldn’t take long.”
“Okay.”
Ryan settles himself awkwardly at the end of one of the wooden benches, and Troy pulls off his shirt. Ryan’s mouth goes dry. The angle they’re at means all that’s exposed is Troy’s back, but his muscles gently ripple as he rifles through his sports bag and for some reason Ryan can’t turn away.
“So, listen, you didn’t do so bad out there.”
Ryan chokes out a laugh. “Come on, I sucked.”
“The dancing at the end kinda saved it. I think me and the guys should do that the next time we’re behind in a game - might get us some extra points. Hey, hold this for a sec?”
Troy turns around, bare-chested, balls his jersey up and tosses it at Ryan. Ryan’s staring so hard he doesn’t catch it.
“Uhm.” Troy waves. “Hello? Theater kid? Earth to theater kid?”
“Sorry.” Ryan blinks, shakes his head a little, swallows. He’s not really sure what’s been going on with him lately. “Carry on.”
Thankfully Troy keeps his basketball shorts on throughout, and he picks up his jersey and sits next to Ryan while he puts away the rest of his gear.
“Hey, I never asked - how did your rehearsal go today?”
“Approximately as well as yesterday's,” Ryan responds drily.
“It’s funny how that goes. I had a pretty shitty practice, too.”
“Are you kidding? You were great.”
Troy looks up from folding his jersey to tilt his head at Ryan. “How long were you watching?”
For some reason, Ryan blushes. “Not long. Just long enough to know you kicked butt.”
Troy snorts. “Trust me, not today, theater kid. Didn’t you hear what my dad said? I’m off my game. This whole day’s been weird.”
“Yeah, it’s been like that for me too. Ever since the - um, the weekend.”
Troy looks at him - really looks at him - and Ryan wonders if he’s said something wrong, gone too far, talked about the elephant in the room that they were never supposed to acknowledge, but the other boy just smiles, shakes his head, looks back down at his jersey and says, “Yeah, the weekend.”
Ryan doesn’t really understand how it happens. He knows he leans in first this time, that Troy looks up when he gets close and doesn’t really have time to do anything either way before their lips connect, but the other boy definitely kisses him back. The kiss is longer this time, deeper, and Ryan gently swipes his tongue along Troy’s bottom lip until Troy’s mouth opens for him. He puts his hand on the basketballer’s arm just for something to hold onto, and strokes Troy’s wrist gently so he has something to do with his fingers.
When they break apart they’re both breathing heavily, and Troy’s face is kind of red. He’s not really looking at Ryan, gaze flickering on the other boy’s countenance, and before either of them can say anything Coach Bolton is in the doorway reminding Troy to be home for dinner at seven. Troy says, “Okay, Dad, will do,” and smiles that cocky smile, but Ryan can’t make eye contact because he’s scared his face will somehow give away what just happened between him and the coach’s son.
Coach Bolton leaves and the two boys exchange glances. Neither says anything immediately, but eventually Troy clears his throat and grabs his T-shirt, standing up to tug it on. “So.”
Ryan toes at the floor. “Uh-huh.”
“Hey.”
“What?” he asks miserably. “Look, I’m sorry I did that. I don’t know why I -”
Troy cuts him off with a well-placed, “Theater kid,” and a “You want a ride home?”
--
The drive is mostly quiet. Somehow Coach Bolton’s interruption has made the reality of what they’re doing (and all its inherent dangers) sink in. At some point, Troy flicks on the radio. “I Kissed A Girl” is on and they both scramble for the off button, fingers bumping in the process. Ryan says a quick prayer to melt into the truck’s upholstery but then Troy glances at him sideways and that’s enough to make him laugh. It’s a nervous giggle more than anything, but at least it breaks the silence.
“So, are we ever gonna talk about this? Because, you know, man, I think Katy Perry kinda wants us to.”
Ryan appreciates that Troy’s trying to make light of the situation, but he still fidgets uncomfortably. “No. I don’t know. What is there to - I don’t want to.”
“Come on, like people don’t think you like guys already.”
“That’s not the point,” Ryan hisses, and a surge of anger rises within him. Seriously, where do people get off thinking they know things about him before he does?
Troy holds his hands up in surrender and Ryan watches his palms ghost over the steering wheel. He’s a lot of things, but not a reckless driver. His truck is his baby. “Okay, okay, sorry.”
They pull up to Ryan’s house and Ryan slips out his keys. Troy turns the engine off and they just sit there for a while, thinking their own thoughts, until Troy puts his hand on top of Ryan’s and says, “So, you know, your play is next week,” and Ryan pulls away before replying, “I know, duh, it’s my play” in this hard, edgy voice he didn’t even know he had in him, and Troy is quiet for a long time before asking him, “Who’s the asshole now?”
Ryan doesn’t want to answer that so he grabs his books and gets out of the truck, slamming the door behind him without so much as a goodnight.
--
Ryan is in a rotten mood for the rest of the week, and by Sunday afternoon he still can’t get the image of Troy’s hurt expression out of his head. He hadn’t been sure what was going on - whether this was really a thing, and if so, what kind, nor was he completely convinced that Troy wasn’t just setting him up for something, but that look… no-one could fake that look. And now, Ryan feels like shit. Troy’s eyes are what started the whole thing and now it’s ending the same way, except this time they were sad and not sparkling, which makes Ryan feel kind of lame because if the sun rises and sets on Troy’s ass like the whole of the rest of the school seems to believe then where does he fit in?
“Hey, what’s up with Troy?” comes Sharpay’s voice suddenly, startling him from his thoughts. She walks into the Evans' living room with Manly nestled in her arms and Zeke sidling in behind her, resting a hand on her hip. They exchange lovesick glances and Ryan kind of wants to throw up.
“What makes you think I’d know?”
Zeke shrugs. “We know you guys have been hanging out. We figured something might have happened.”
“Like what?” Ryan snaps. Surely their… whatever it was hadn’t been obvious to the whole basketball team?
“Like, maybe he told you about something that was going on with him or whatever? Just guessing, man. All I know is he spent most of his time at Rocketman’s party last night sitting around being emo, which is totally not Troy.”
“Who the hell is Rocketman?”
“Jimmie,” Sharpay interjects. “This kid on the team - one of the freshmen. The guy with the hair? They call him Rocketman.”
“’Cause he’s fast,” Zeke supplies, and Ryan looks at him witheringly.
Yeah, he remembers the kid well enough, and is surprised to feel a burgeoning jealousy in his chest. He’s not going to assume Jimmie’s… into guys or whatever, but at the very least the kid has a pretty serious case of hero worship, and for some reason that makes his hackles rise. He almost feels possessive, which makes no sense because he’s only hung out with Troy what, like, a handful of times, and only very recently, but at the same time he can’t imagine ever teaching another guy how to dance, or accepting a ride home from anyone else but Sharpay.
Manly yips, scrabbling his paws against his mistress’ forearm, gaze fixed on Ryan. The little dog’s eyes are brown and glossy but Ryan’s subconscious metamorphoses them into Troy’s and fills them with hurt.
“What is it, honey?” Sharpay croons to her pet, and Ryan becomes distinctly aware of a sinking feeling inside him. He knows what he has to do.
“I get it,” he says quietly, gently patting the dog’s head before making his way out of the room to go rummage for his phone in his bedroom, leaving Sharpay and Zeke none the wiser.
--
The conversation that led up to Ryan and Troy exchanging numbers had been an interesting one. At first Troy had offered his purely on the premise of making himself available as a kind of glorified chauffeur (“You know, anywhere you wanna go that Sharpay can’t take you.” “Like the Navajo reservation?” “Uh. Okay? Sometime, sure.”) but as the boys parted ways that day, Troy had said, “So, hey, now that you have my number you should call me sometime - one night this week,” and Ryan had agreed but ended up not going through with it because he saw Troy practically every day anyway so he didn’t see much point.
Ryan finds his phone sitting on the floor in a corner of his room, attached to its charger. He disconnects it, scrolls to T in his address book and punches out a quick text message. He erases it several times; dude, i’m so sorry becomes hey, so i’m kind of a jerk - forgive me? which evolves into a simple troy, i screwed up. Eventually he presses “send” just because he’s tired of thinking about it.
The phone buzzes almost immediately, which he’s totally not expecting, and when he checks the screen he sees “Incoming call: Troy B.” pop up. His heart jumps into his throat.
“H-hello?” he opens, and really, super smooth, Ryan because if there’s ever a bad way to hold your own, stuttering is it.
“Hi,” Troy says kind of shortly, then, “how’s it going?”
“Uh. Fine.” This is awkward, this silence, and Ryan desperately wants to fill it with anything he can think of. “Apparently you were being emo at Jimmie’s party last night,” he blurts, then wants to hit himself for his stupidity. That’s right, insulting the guy is really gonna put you back in his good graces.
“Emo?”
“Yeah, like… you know those kids who are always sad and wear a lot of eyeliner and listen to Fall Out Boy and fucking shitty as hell music like that?” He pauses. “Not that I think you were wearing eyeliner, but-”
“I know what emo is, Ryan. And hey, don’t dis Pete.”
Normally Ryan is pleased when Troy uses his real name because he thinks it means something, some higher level of closeness or fondness or whatever, but this time the implication is all too clear. Nicknames are endearments, and Ryan doesn’t deserve one.
“I know, I didn’t mean you didn’t, but. Ah.” He should really stop talking.
“Where’d you find that out, anyway?”
He volunteers the information immediately, and then cringes. What if he gets Zeke in trouble or something? This is why he hates talking on the phone - his mouth goes ahead and says what it wants before his brain gets a chance to temper the output.
“I guess I kind of have been emo,” Troy admits, and Ryan’s surprised at his honesty. “I'm just surprised Zeke picked up on it.”
“What’s up? Like… what’s wrong?”
“Tuesday kind of sucked, man. Like. Like, hardcore.”
Ryan bites his lip. “Yeah. Yeah, it did, I know. I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, what the fuck,” and it’s more of a statement than a question.
“I don’t know,” Ryan says, hanging his head even though Troy can’t see him. “I just hate people judging me. Trying to give me some neat little label so they can assign me to a category and stick me on a shelf, you know?”
“Dude, I’m not trying to do that, I’m trying to get to know you. I want to figure out who you are, how you work. It means you interest me. It means… I like being around you.”
Ryan’s heart rate accelerates and he uses his free hand to play with the tassels on the edges of his comforter, dispelling some of his nervous energy. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. I hate when people just write me off as one thing and think that means I’m not another. Like, if I’m a jock, I can’t be good at English, I can’t like reading. You know? It doesn’t make any sense. Remember the first time we talked about Dostoevsky?”
“Fyodor, you mean?” Ryan could be wrong but it sounds like Troy’s smiling. “Yeah, I know what you’re saying. And, hey, I. It’s good spending time with you too.”
“Fuck, you’re so awkward, theater kid,” Troy says under his breath, and it’s then Ryan knows they’re gonna be alright, that it’s not the end of this - whatever this is. “You wanna hang out tomorrow after school? We could practice our lay-ups and ball changing.”
“Ball changes.”
“Those too.” (Ryan rolls his eyes.) “So, what do you say?”
“I, Troy, I really want to, but opening night is Friday and we’re in extended rehearsal all week. We probably won’t be getting out until like, 7.”
“Damn,” Troy says, and he sounds really disappointed. Ryan feels so bad until he remembers something that he thinks might cheer both of them up.
“Hey, each of the cast members, we get a certain number of discount tickets for our families. My parents already got theirs from Sharpay, so I was wondering…”
“Yeah?” Troy must have guessed where this is going by now, but true to form, he’s gonna give Ryan a hard time anyway. “Spit it out.”
“I was wondering if you still wanted to see it.”
“Are you kidding? You, center stage, with your cha-cha hips and your ball whatevers -”
“Changes, Troy, really -”
“Dude, I would be totally psyched to see it.”
Ryan beams down the phone line. “Well. Well, okay.”
“Okay,” Troy says warmly, and the tension is gone now, from Ryan’s shoulders as well as the conversation, and he actually feels like he can sleep properly tonight for the first time in a while. “Man, I feel so much better,” Troy continues like he heard Ryan’s thoughts. “Let’s never do that again, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees emphatically, and the next thing he knows Sharpay is charging up the stairs wanting to know if he borrowed her straightener again so he really has to go, but luckily all he needs to say is, “Sister on the warpath,” and Troy gets it, whispering conspiratorially, “I recommend a change of balls,” before hanging up.
When Sharpay bursts into Ryan’s room she finds him staring at his phone in complete amusement, laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking.
--
Ryan didn’t realize how hard it was going to be not seeing Troy after school. Last week was bad enough, but at least then he knew that even if he went looking for the other boy, nothing would come of it because they weren’t speaking. Now he’s looking at his watch and wondering if Troy’s outside yet, if he’s giving Jimmie basketball tips, if he’s thinking about Ryan as much as Ryan’s thinking about him.
An hour and a half into rehearsal, he tells Darbus he needs a bathroom break and dashes out of the theater. Troy’s probably not still around, but he has to check. To his surprise, he spies the other boy sitting against the outside wall of the gymnasium, knees tucked up to his chin, balancing a book on the relatively flat surface they form and concentrating so hard that he doesn’t notice Ryan's approach.
“Hey, basketball kid.”
Troy looks up and grins. “Hey! Done so soon? And what are you wearing?”
“My costume, duh. And ugh, are you kidding? We’re only halfway through the first act. Darbus keeps stopping everything and telling us to change stuff. I told her I had to go to the bathroom.”
“So what are you doing out here?”
Ryan shrugs. “Got lost, I guess. Or something.”
“Or something,” Troy mimics. “I missed… you know, having you around. I mean. Yeah.”
Ryan thinks Troy’s cute when he’s awkward. “What are you reading?” Troy holds up the book somewhat sheepishly. It’s The Brothers Karamazov, by none other than Dostoevsky. “You told me you read that last year.”
“I thought you might want to read this one next so I’m trying to refresh my memory.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but Ryan finds it adorable. “Did you wanna borrow it, by the way?”
“Sure, as soon as you finish it.”
Troy laughs. “It’s like 800 pages, dude. I might be a while.”
“I’ll wait,” Ryan replies, and smiles. “Listen, I don’t have very long out here, so…” He really kind of wants to make out right now but he doesn’t want to say it. He’s never really done this before, with a guy or anyone else, at least not seriously, and the existence of any etiquette to be employed in these situations has gone right over his head.
Troy eyes him. “You know the back entrance to the school?” Ryan tilts his head. “The one nobody ever uses? It’s down that set of stairs.”
“Behind the science labs?” Ryan’s eyes widen. “That’s the back entrance to the school? I thought it was like, the gardener’s storage place or something. How do you know that?”
“It pays to have your dad on the faculty. Anyway, you… wanna go there?”
“…Why are we sneaking into the back entrance when we can just walk in the front?”
“Dude.” Troy closes the book and rocks forward onto his feet before pulling himself upwards. “We’re not sneaking into the school, we’re just going down the stairs. Where it’s private. Like, if you’re into that, I mean. Only if you’re. Yeah.”
A thrill of excitement races through Ryan as he gets it. “Oh. Okay. Um, yeah, I’m into that. I’d like that. A lot.”
Troy gives him a light punch on the arm. “Awkward,” he says, then, “Follow me.”
Ryan’s heart is pounding by the time they circumnavigate the building. The little staircase is almost entirely hidden by long grasses, but Troy pushes through them determinedly, holding them back until he’s cleared a decent path for Ryan. Ryan catches his eye and nods in appreciation, following the other boy down the rickety steps until they reach the cool, dry space at the bottom.
“So,” Troy says, turning, but Ryan’s two steps ahead of him and pushes him back against one of the walls. “Umph,” he manages before his mouth is smothered by Ryan’s lips, and they kiss and kiss without abandon, knowing there’s no chance anyone will find them here. Troy snakes his hands around Ryan’s waist, sticks them in the other boy’s back pockets and Ryan yelps, but not in a bad way. They don’t break apart until one of the pockets starts vibrating, and Troy goes, “Holy shit,” before fishing out Ryan’s phone and handing it to him, looking both sheepish and flushed.
“Uhm.” Ryan clears his throat. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Longest Bathroom Break in the History of the World. Were you planning on rejoining rehearsal anytime soon or are you ditching us for good? After all, it’s not like you have an important role or anything - you’re only the choreographer and one of the stars.”
Ryan winces. “Sharpay,” he mouths.
“I could tell,” Troy whispers back.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry, I got… caught up in something,” he explains evasively, and Troy cracks up so he shushes him.
“Are you with someone?!” Sharpay demands, her voice tinny. “And where the hell are you? You keep breaking up.”
“It’s ‘cause I’m… running,” Ryan lies. “Running back to the theater as we speak, Shar. I’ll be there in like 30 seconds, okay?” He hangs up before she can argue.
“You got caught up in something?” Troy repeats, moving forward to touch Ryan’s waist again, but Ryan twists away.
“Seriously, I have to go,” Ryan says, but something in his body language is saying otherwise, and he knows Troy’s picking up on it. He looks at the other boy pleadingly. “I… later, okay? Soon.” He turns to leave, but Troy catches his wrist.
“Hey.”
“What?” Troy just looks at him until he consents to kissing the basketballer quickly on the lips. “There, okay?”
“Much better.” Troy grins, and his eyes sparkle. Ryan rolls his and heads up the stairs, at which point he really does starts running. He doesn’t want to be in any more trouble than he is already. By the time he slips backstage, Sharpay is already in the middle of one of her pieces, so he watches her from the wings.
“That was more like a minute and a half,” Sharpay hisses to him out of the side of her mouth, and Darbus affixes her with a steely glare (“Eyes towards the auditorium, Miss Evans,”) before Ryan slinks out of sight so as not to distract her any further, wiping his mouth furtively as he does so. His lips are still tingling pleasantly when his phone vibrates in his pocket again. He pulls it out and flips it open.
that was fun, theater kid. same time 2moro?
He’s very conscious of people around him, so he tries to hide his ridiculously wide smile as he types back:
bet on it
---<---<---@
Part Three.