HSM fic: meet me in the middle
Title: Meet Me in the Middle
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,097
Summary: Out in the Big Apple, Ryan explores the freedom of being so far away.
Notes: this is for maikyaera , who very kindly sent me the Kurt & Blaine EW when I couldn't find it here!
The best thing to ever happen to Sharpay Evans was her premature birth.
She doesn’t know this, of course. Ryan’s sure of that. If you asked her, she would have said it was winning so many lead roles, or so many talent shows. She might have brought up that time on holiday in New York, when she was shopping at Louis Vuitton and supposedly ran into Eden Espinosa, who said she’d seen Sharpay on YouTube and thought her singing voice was simply stunning.
(Ryan still doesn’t believe that one, but he has never argued.)
But no. It was their shared premature birth that gave Sharpay so much of what she counts dear today. It’s a perfect example of her charmed life, that she doesn’t know this.
“You have to take care of your sister,” their parents had always told Ryan. Their voices were gentle and patient, like they were just explaining some fact of life. No one knew why Ryan had recovered so quickly, nor why Sharpay had not, but she took that much longer to struggle out of the incubator. Ryan found this a bizarre twist - he couldn’t understand how Sharpay had allowed herself to be behind him in any aspect of their lives. But because of it, she was always the first to fall sick when they were little. She was the one everyone doted upon, and when she started to sing (age four, not that Ryan recalls, but everyone likes to point it out to them) - to judge by their parents’ reaction, you’d think she’d come up with the cure to cancer.
When Ryan started to sing, about a year later, his parents praised him and then remarked that he must have learned it from Sharpay. And wasn’t it nice that now they could perform duets?
Sharpay picked up on her advantage quickly, and didn’t skip a beat. She burst into elementary school like she thought she had a theme song, and no one quite knew how to deal with it except to just go along. When they were casting for the Christmas show, Sharpay shouldered her way into the lead role right away, and at first Ryan felt bad for the girls she’d mercilessly taunted and intimidated and, yes, outsung. But then Sharpay said, her voice ringing out imperious and impossible to refuse: “You’ll have to find a role for my brother, too.”
Ryan didn’t really want to dye his hair blonde. He didn’t think it would suit him like it did Sharpay. But she insisted - they were in sixth grade and she was going through a major Britney Spears phase. “We’re twins, Ryan!” she hissed. “We have to match!”
He misses his old hair, but when Sharpay walks, she looks like she’s starring in a shampoo commercial. She doesn’t give off that immediate impression of bottle blonde like he does
It’s their prematurity, too, that put them a little on the short side, and keeps them a little slimmer than the average person. For Sharpay, this is a blessing - not that she’s ever let them slack off because of it. “The winner is thinner, Ryan!” she always said while they exercised. No matter how tired they were, her breathless voice still managed to carry above the sound of their workout music.
For Ryan, though, their slender build makes it impossible for him to bulk up like he wishes he could. He won’t ever be a broad-shouldered Adonis like Troy Bolton, no matter how many protein shakes he’d had to choke down under Sharpay’s watchful eyes.
Out here, at Juilliard, it’s disorienting, not having to double-check with anyone. He doesn’t have to tell anyone where he’s going, apart from leaving notes for his roommate if he’s gone for a while. He doesn’t have to ask anybody else’s opinion on what song to sing when he goes out with friends for karaoke, or get permission to sing a duet with someone. He doesn’t have to feel guilty about the odd slice of pizza or missing a day’s workout, nor does he have to listen to anyone trying to make him feel guilty. He hasn’t had one of those protein shakes since he left East High.
Disorienting, but entirely welcome. He loves his sister, but some days he almost can’t believe he can flirt with the barista at Starbucks without her cutting in to compete. Her gaydar had never been as good as she thought.
“Three o’clock it is,” the gorgeous barista agrees, his smile lopsided and coy, and Ryan dares to cast him a flirtatious little under-the-lashes look before turning away. He’s getting good at those.
Later that night, he Skypes with Sharpay, and she reminds him why he loves her. “So, how’s it going with - what’s his name? M…” Sharpay tilts her head, the movement a little jerky on webcam. “Michael?” She puts the finishing touch on her nail polish and blows delicately along her fingers.
“Marc,” Ryan corrects, and Sharpay nods. “We’re going for coffee tomorrow.”
“Coffee!” Sharpay arches her eyebrows. “And who’s paying?”
“Well, I plan on offering, of course, but he strikes me as a true gentleman.”
“Very good.” Sharpay leans towards the camera. “What will you wear?”
He turns his laptop so it faces his closet, and they spend the rest of the evening rearranging his clothes, rating outfits. The next morning, he smiles to see the outfit laid out on his desk, thinking that for all that he didn’t always approve of her personal outfits, Sharpay certainly knew his style.
There is some middle ground, he decides as he buttons up his charcoal skinny jeans and straightens the navy blue military blazer across his shoulders, brushing imaginary lint off the fringed epaulets. It doesn’t always have to be snapping to attention and awaiting orders when they talk, though it may take her a while to realize this.
Later that day, when Marc asks him if he’s made any new friends since coming to New York, he says, “Yes, but nobody who’s knocked my sister off her throne.”
Marc tilts his head, his perfect mouth curled up in a little smile. “Your sister?”
“She’s sort of my best friend.” Ryan bites his lip on a self-deprecating grimace. “Does that sound pathetic?”
Marc’s smile widens, and oh, there are his dimples, the right one always deeper than the left. Ryan can’t help but smile back. “No, I think it’s nice. I’m an only child.”
It’s all true, he thinks to himself. But he makes an appointment on his way home from coffee with a hairstylist. He’s missed having dark hair.
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,097
Summary: Out in the Big Apple, Ryan explores the freedom of being so far away.
Notes: this is for maikyaera , who very kindly sent me the Kurt & Blaine EW when I couldn't find it here!
The best thing to ever happen to Sharpay Evans was her premature birth.
She doesn’t know this, of course. Ryan’s sure of that. If you asked her, she would have said it was winning so many lead roles, or so many talent shows. She might have brought up that time on holiday in New York, when she was shopping at Louis Vuitton and supposedly ran into Eden Espinosa, who said she’d seen Sharpay on YouTube and thought her singing voice was simply stunning.
(Ryan still doesn’t believe that one, but he has never argued.)
But no. It was their shared premature birth that gave Sharpay so much of what she counts dear today. It’s a perfect example of her charmed life, that she doesn’t know this.
“You have to take care of your sister,” their parents had always told Ryan. Their voices were gentle and patient, like they were just explaining some fact of life. No one knew why Ryan had recovered so quickly, nor why Sharpay had not, but she took that much longer to struggle out of the incubator. Ryan found this a bizarre twist - he couldn’t understand how Sharpay had allowed herself to be behind him in any aspect of their lives. But because of it, she was always the first to fall sick when they were little. She was the one everyone doted upon, and when she started to sing (age four, not that Ryan recalls, but everyone likes to point it out to them) - to judge by their parents’ reaction, you’d think she’d come up with the cure to cancer.
When Ryan started to sing, about a year later, his parents praised him and then remarked that he must have learned it from Sharpay. And wasn’t it nice that now they could perform duets?
Sharpay picked up on her advantage quickly, and didn’t skip a beat. She burst into elementary school like she thought she had a theme song, and no one quite knew how to deal with it except to just go along. When they were casting for the Christmas show, Sharpay shouldered her way into the lead role right away, and at first Ryan felt bad for the girls she’d mercilessly taunted and intimidated and, yes, outsung. But then Sharpay said, her voice ringing out imperious and impossible to refuse: “You’ll have to find a role for my brother, too.”
Ryan didn’t really want to dye his hair blonde. He didn’t think it would suit him like it did Sharpay. But she insisted - they were in sixth grade and she was going through a major Britney Spears phase. “We’re twins, Ryan!” she hissed. “We have to match!”
He misses his old hair, but when Sharpay walks, she looks like she’s starring in a shampoo commercial. She doesn’t give off that immediate impression of bottle blonde like he does
It’s their prematurity, too, that put them a little on the short side, and keeps them a little slimmer than the average person. For Sharpay, this is a blessing - not that she’s ever let them slack off because of it. “The winner is thinner, Ryan!” she always said while they exercised. No matter how tired they were, her breathless voice still managed to carry above the sound of their workout music.
For Ryan, though, their slender build makes it impossible for him to bulk up like he wishes he could. He won’t ever be a broad-shouldered Adonis like Troy Bolton, no matter how many protein shakes he’d had to choke down under Sharpay’s watchful eyes.
Out here, at Juilliard, it’s disorienting, not having to double-check with anyone. He doesn’t have to tell anyone where he’s going, apart from leaving notes for his roommate if he’s gone for a while. He doesn’t have to ask anybody else’s opinion on what song to sing when he goes out with friends for karaoke, or get permission to sing a duet with someone. He doesn’t have to feel guilty about the odd slice of pizza or missing a day’s workout, nor does he have to listen to anyone trying to make him feel guilty. He hasn’t had one of those protein shakes since he left East High.
Disorienting, but entirely welcome. He loves his sister, but some days he almost can’t believe he can flirt with the barista at Starbucks without her cutting in to compete. Her gaydar had never been as good as she thought.
“Three o’clock it is,” the gorgeous barista agrees, his smile lopsided and coy, and Ryan dares to cast him a flirtatious little under-the-lashes look before turning away. He’s getting good at those.
Later that night, he Skypes with Sharpay, and she reminds him why he loves her. “So, how’s it going with - what’s his name? M…” Sharpay tilts her head, the movement a little jerky on webcam. “Michael?” She puts the finishing touch on her nail polish and blows delicately along her fingers.
“Marc,” Ryan corrects, and Sharpay nods. “We’re going for coffee tomorrow.”
“Coffee!” Sharpay arches her eyebrows. “And who’s paying?”
“Well, I plan on offering, of course, but he strikes me as a true gentleman.”
“Very good.” Sharpay leans towards the camera. “What will you wear?”
He turns his laptop so it faces his closet, and they spend the rest of the evening rearranging his clothes, rating outfits. The next morning, he smiles to see the outfit laid out on his desk, thinking that for all that he didn’t always approve of her personal outfits, Sharpay certainly knew his style.
There is some middle ground, he decides as he buttons up his charcoal skinny jeans and straightens the navy blue military blazer across his shoulders, brushing imaginary lint off the fringed epaulets. It doesn’t always have to be snapping to attention and awaiting orders when they talk, though it may take her a while to realize this.
Later that day, when Marc asks him if he’s made any new friends since coming to New York, he says, “Yes, but nobody who’s knocked my sister off her throne.”
Marc tilts his head, his perfect mouth curled up in a little smile. “Your sister?”
“She’s sort of my best friend.” Ryan bites his lip on a self-deprecating grimace. “Does that sound pathetic?”
Marc’s smile widens, and oh, there are his dimples, the right one always deeper than the left. Ryan can’t help but smile back. “No, I think it’s nice. I’m an only child.”
It’s all true, he thinks to himself. But he makes an appointment on his way home from coffee with a hairstylist. He’s missed having dark hair.