Title: To Stumble
By: OCP.
Rating: Mature. "R."
Pairing: Troy/Ryan in this part.
Warnings: Slash, language, and sexual situations.
Notes: Hi again. FINALLY! This is a sequel to my story, To Disembark. I would highly suggest reading that, found on my userinfo. Thank you for those 56reviewsand inspiring me to write this. Right, so. The last one was more from Troy's point of view, but I thought I could do this one in Ryan's. Oh and like last time? Your stupid flames will only fuel me further, so try to refrain.
Be forewarned: This story is in TWO parts, and you do not get both parts at once. Someone told me the last one almost turned them off at the length, so I split this one in two. Be patient, review maybe, try NOT to kill me, and I'll post the longer, concluding second half around August fifteenth.
Extra-special Thanks to: Jules (FallingWithGrace) and Danielle (TillThatTime) for their incredible support, boosting my confidence, and being my first EVER betas. Love you girls! Go check out their stuff…after you enjoy this, of course.
When Ryan was exactly nine years old, he met Troy Bolton. He and his sister had transferred schools in the middle of the year, and he got put into a third grade class with the soon-to-be basketball star himself. He even sat next to him.
He remembers being scared out his mind sitting in his chair, wanting nothing more than to cry. New didn't work so well with Ryan. He liked familiarity, and that was that.
Sharpay, his twin, had it easy. Ever since she was old enough to talk, she could make friends. It didn't work like that for Ryan. He needed her help. He needed her. There was a social anxiety in his bloodstream, something his sibling did not have, and it caused him to panic. This was no exception.
So as he was sitting there, gulping for air like a fish out of water, Troy suddenly placed his hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Are you okay?" he'd asked with a friendly, understanding smile that one did not usually see on a third-grader.
"No," Ryan had answered honestly. There was no use in lying. His dad had always told him never to lie, so he never did, even if it embarrassed him to no end. "I don't know anyone. I don't even like it here. I have no friends."
Troy had grinned at him and pulled out a piece of candy from his desk. "I'll be your friend," Troy had said, holding the sweet out to him.
"You will?"
"I swear."
It never happened. Troy ended up being popular and forgot his promise, and that was that.
Around age nine, Ryan figured out he didn't like girls.
Not in the 'cooties' sense. Quite honestly, he had no general problem with the opposite sex. His sister was a girl, he figured, and he'd never gotten cooties from her. This was something completely dissimilar. He didn't think of them in that sense. The one that made his heart flutter. There was not a single girl in town or television that he had a crush on.
There were two boys, though: Roger Johnson and Troy Bolton.
Roger was his best friend. He had deep chestnut eyes that Ryan would end up remembering for years to come. He was tan, and he had a thick, Hispanic accent. He was…cute. He made Ryan's stomach do flips a thousand times in a row.
One hot summer day, they had been outside, licking vanilla ice cream cones, when he'd mused, "I like boys, I think. I like you."
And, with a smile, Roger had nodded along. "Yeah, I think I do, too." With that, he leaned over and kissed Ryan with as much passion a fellow nine-year-old possessed, which wasn't much. Hardly a second later, he pulled away and kept to his ice cream.
The start of fifth grade led to two significant things in his simple life. One, Roger moved away to Boston. Two, Troy started paying a thrilling amount of attention to him.
He had been too young to ever fall remotely in love with Roger, but he did feel a sense of loss. However, because Troy had begun being civil and noticing him, Ryan couldn't bring himself to be too depressed.
About seven long years later, Troy had kissed Ryan on the Fourth of July, and when the fireworks started moments later, Troy's arms still wrapped around him and a foreign, addicting taste on his mouth, Ryan knew he was in love.
There had been boyfriends before Troy, but they had always been compared to the brunette. Each one of his significant others had had extraordinary traits similar to Troy, traits that Sharpay never failed to point out, but Ryan couldn't help it. For many years he'd pined pitifully for Troy. The second he was kissed, he knew he was in too deep, which was just where he liked it.
That night, Ryan had floated home on cloud nine, ignoring Sharpay's third degree. He couldn't even think properly.
Troy, the object of his undying affection, was his. Not Gabriella's, not Sharpay's, not anyone's; his, Ryan Evan's. Everything was at that very moment right in the world.
After a series of ups and downs, fights and kisses, invisibility and sex, Troy had finally kissed him in front of half the town.
Ryan sits on his bed an hour later, still grinning up at Troy, who is pacing a hole in his carpet. He knows Troy is fretting, and by tomorrow Troy will have a face full of worry lines, but he just knows that everything will be okay in the end. They have each other, after all.
"Hey," he interrupts, fingers grabbing a hold of Troy's sleeve. The athlete reluctantly stands still in front of him, and Ryan guides him to sit on the bedspread. With a gentle push, he makes Troy lie down on the pillows, and he climbs on top of him with a manic smile.
Softly running his fingertips over Troy's facial features, he smiles soothingly. "What are you so anxious about? You're practically ruining my floor." He stops suddenly, his fingers coming to a halt over Troy's high cheekbone. "You don't regret what we did…right?" Ryan asks slowly, afraid for his mending heart.
After what feels like a lifetime, Troy shakes his head. "No. I'm not. I'm yours, you're mine, utterly and completely, and I want everyone to know it. No regrets." Ryan lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.
"Then why do you look ready to crap your pants?"
Troy lets out a frustrated sigh, closing his eyes. "My dad…he was there tonight. It's one thing to have a son who sings, but it's in a completely different league to have a son who sleeps with other men. Tomorrow is going to be Hell."
That night, Troy and Ryan sleep together, his arms always around Troy's body, holding him close. It's his vow to protect Troy. If tomorrow will be Hell for him, then he'll do his best to make tonight Heaven.
Bad weather is a rare occasion in New Mexico, so when Ryan wakes up alone in bed the next day to a loud crash of thunder, he nearly has a heart attack. Eyes bleary, he looks to the clock: almost noon.
Downstairs, Sharpay, ever the morning bird, informs him that Troy left two hours ago, not having the heart to wake Ryan up. For the next few hours, he sulks around the house, wishing he'd been woken up. Today had already started out poorly, and the rain does nothing to improve his mood.
He forgets about his selfishness, forgets about the world, forgets about everything when there's a knock on his door, and outside stands a drenched Troy Bolton, shivering and looking more lost than ever before.
Not caring that one of his favorite shirts is going to get wet, Ryan yanks Troy inside and wraps his arms around him, trying to warm up the boy, soothe him…just do something.
"Oh my god, what happened? Let me go get you a towel…" He starts to pull away, but Troy's arms wrap tighter around him as he lets out a small whimper.
They stand there for who knows how long, Troy not letting go, Ryan not needing to be anywhere but here. He can't decide whether the drops of water falling on his top are tears or rain.
Eventually Ryan places a calming, loving kiss on Troy's temple and whispers, "Tell me what happened."
He can feel Troy almost go limp in his arms, and he's never known the other boy to act like this before. For the last however many years, Ryan has always found Troy to be one of the strongest people he's ever known. Seeing him near breaking point unnerves Ryan to the point of nearly panicking himself.
"Tell me," he says once more, firmer, and Troy breaks.
"I…He was so…I couldn't stay there. I couldn't. He didn't understand…he wouldn't listen to me. He hit me. My own dad hit me. He called me a faggot. He said I was disgusting and a disgrace to the family…He called you and me things…things I can't even think about. It was horrible. It's just…He's my dad, Ryan. How could he do this to me? He just kept yelling. And my mom…she's such a coward. She was crying and wouldn't even help me…I can't believe this…I had to leave, so I walked…to the only place that feels safe. And that's with you."
The grip around his waist tightens, and Ryan holds the brunette with as much love as he possesses in his eighteen-year-old body. Somewhere between dragging and holding, he manages to get Troy up to his room, undressed, and into his bed.
He stares at Troy's troubled features for hours even after his boyfriend officially falls asleep. He runs his fingers through Troy's hair. When he finally gathers enough will to move, he leans down and kisses Troy's forehead. "No one is going to hurt you again," he murmurs, "I won't let the person I love the most be hurt. I promise."
He intends to keep that promise for the rest of his life.
Disown, verb; to refuse or acknowledge one's own. Disinherit. Abandon.
No, Troy is not disowned, but it's roughly the exact same.
Sitting outside his mother's room with his hands on his head, Ryan listens to her plead with Mrs. Bolton, and by the time he hears the click of the phone, he feels everything shatter into little pieces on the floor.
"Troy…will be staying with us for awhile," his mom says through clenched teeth, eyes bright with angry tears, and Ryan sighs. It'll be his job to break the news as gently as he possibly can, but how can one tell someone they love that his family doesn't want him?
Downstairs Troy has finally cracked a smile as he sips broth and watches home videos with Sharpay. Ryan stands in the archway of the living room, leaning against the wall, taking in Troy's smile. He doesn't want to forget how it looks, in case he never sees it again.
The object of his affection glances up with a dribble of tomato soup running down his chin, and Ryan giggles lightly before a wave of grief travels through his body, leaving him shaken. Troy notices right away and stands up, inquiry written all over his face.
Without a word, Ryan sits on the sofa and holds his arms out to Troy, who in turn hesitantly climbs back on the couch and leans against him. Why does he have to be the one to break Troy's heart this way?
"Did your mom call?" he asks with a hesitant hushed breath, and Ryan nods slowly.
He motions Sharpay with his eyes to leave, and when they are completely alone, he mumbles, "You're all mine for a few months."
For the second time in his life, he witnesses Troy's weakness exposed, and Ryan tries to hold him together even as he tries not to cry and fails miserably.
Life just isn't fair.
It's the first day to go to school since their stage kiss. Ryan is secretly a nervous wreck, but not for himself; he had always been mostly out, and after Troy had spread his business the year before, no one would be surprised. He is terrified for Troy, however. The boy doesn't need anymore shit dumped on him.
Sharpay drives. They sit in the back, and Troy stares out the window with a vacant expression. Nothing has been the same since the news broke. Ryan doesn't know what's going through his mind anymore, and it kills him. He's not even sure Troy wants to have anything to do with him.
With a tentative move, he reaches out and grabs Troy's hand gently. He holds it up to his lips to kiss softly. Troy turns slightly, and as he sees the old him lurking behind his eyes, Ryan sighs in relief.
"Promise not to let go of my hand?" he whispers, his voice choked up with anxiety and stress.
Ryan nods and leans forward to kiss him reassuringly. "I promise. There's no turning back for us. It isn't so bad once people get used to it. They might give us crap for a bit, but we're strong. After all, we're the ones starting the revolution."
Troy nods like he doesn't believe, but they don't say anything else.
True to his word, Ryan pulls Troy out of the car, their fingers securely entwined with each other. Ryan does not plan on letting go. It's extraordinarily lucky they have nearly every class together.
People stare. But for the first time in Ryan's high school career, it's not disgust or mockery. They all look generally intrigued or…admiring and he honestly cannot explain why.
Still with Mrs. Darbus as their homeroom, they sit in the back with their desks close enough to comfort. The atmosphere of the classroom is thick but not terribly tensional.
Their silence is wrecked about a minute later.
"What the hell was that?" Gabriella demands, but before either Troy or Ryan can react, she slaps Troy hard on the cheek, a deafening smack reverberating through the room.
Troy's head is turned down, cheeks burning in humiliation, and something inside Ryan, something he never knew existed, snaps into place.
Before anyone can blink he jumps to his feet, his hand itching to strike the girl across the face; every muscle in his body positively calls for it. However, a hand grasps on to his shoulder and with a demanding grip it turns Ryan around. Chad is there, glaring at Gabriella whilst keeping that comforting touch.
"Relax, Evans," he says, turning his gaze to the blond. "No one's going to hurt Loverboy." For one split second, he expects to be hit for possibly offending Little Miss Princess, but Chad only smiles hesitantly and sits back down in his chair…beside Troy.
Before anyone can go further or react to Chad's surprising friendly gesture, Mrs. Darbus walks in and tells everyone to sit down and shut up. She goes off into a rant, apparently not willing to talk about Fiddler. When she's off into her own world about something or the rather, Troy passes a note to Ryan.
My hero.
He gives Troy a cheeky grin.
I try.
As soon as the clock hits five in the afternoon, Ryan rushes off to pick up Troy.
When he finds him in the boy's locker room twenty minutes later, he feels his heart stop.
It's kind of slow motion as Troy looks up him, his face revealing nothing but misery. He's on the floor of the shower room, still in his workout clothes, his body trembling uncontrollably.
"Troy?" he questions and then rushes over to the brunette to gather him in his arms. Troy forfeits himself almost automatically, clinging to Ryan like a lifeline.
They sit on the wet floor for God knows how long, until finally Ryan manages to find his voice. Afraid of the answer, he asks, "What happened, baby?"
"Fuck," Troy mumbles, his voice hushed and mechanical. The blond can't see his face, but he's sure it's cloudy. "I walked in for practice...and most of them just stared at me. I tried to ignore it, remembering what you said about judgment and revolution...Then Coach came in." Troy spits out 'coach' in such a vile way that it makes Ryan cringe. Already he knows where this sordid tale is going. "He announced that no fags were allowed on the court and for all sodomites to leave immediately."
"What does this mean?
"No more team. No more scholarships. No more basketball. No more anything."
Ryan doesn't know what to say, he can't even remember how to say anything, all he knows is that he loves the man in his arms and that the said man has lost one of his only passions.
All because of me, he thinks nauseously.
It is one thing to have a depressed lover in his house, but Ryan never imagined what it would be like to have a completely detached one.
Ryan doesn't blame him, can't blame him because how would someone else act if their father had basically rejected him and had gotten his future snatched away? Troy is being dealt such a rough hand in life, and the only thing Ryan can do is hold Troy at night, both of them silently miserable, just waiting for a break.
For a full week, Troy does not say a word. He nods and moves and breathes and he talks, but he never means it. The words are simple strands of sentences that serve no purpose or insight. It makes Ryan sick. He wants so much to help him in any way, but there appears to be no opportunity available.
On Wednesday night, Troy is laying in Ryan's bed like he does every night, staring up at the ceiling. Suddenly an idea so simple comes to him that he wants to kick himself for being so slow about it.
He stands at the side of Troy, gazing down with an understanding expression, his fingers running through the soft strands of hair. The brunette looks up at him, his face mostly blank. "You don't need to talk," he whispers, and he climbs into the bed, his waist fitting perfectly into the curve of Troy's bent legs. He starts kissing his clothed chest. "And I know how much you're hurting right now. But if you need to talk, I'm here. I'm here for anything, you know? And I think I figured out a way to help you forget."
Only slightly hesitant, Ryan runs the pads of his fingertips from the tip of Troy's chin to the opening of his shirt and begins to unhook each button. For every inch of skin revealed, Ryan places delicate kisses there, ones that are meant to heal. When Troy's shirt is completely open, Ryan begins at his lower navel and licks a smooth, straight line up to his mouth.
"Tell me to stop, and I will," he whispers, nibbling at the softness of Troy's lips, hoping for any sort of reaction. There isn't much, but the small flame lurking beneath his eyes and the slight shake of Troy's head reassures him of hope. He smiles and leans down to properly kiss him.
There IS a graphic sex scene here that I'm not allowed to post. If you'd like to read it, private message me with your email but do not make it a link because fanfiction will erase it. Do 'your email address' AT server DOT com. It makes life easier for all of us.
An eternity later, Troy stirs from his position plastered on Ryan's chest. He sits up, weakly, and truly smiles at him. It looks pained and small, but it's definitely there. Ryan feels an incredible sense of happiness wash over him. "I love you," he whispers, entwining his fingers with Troy's.
"Thank you for…everything."
After that, things begin to get better. Not massively better, mind, but they improve. Troy takes great strides in recovering from two disappointing blows to his life. He talks with his heart and occasionally laughs so hard that he cries and their single-digit sexual encounters enter doubles. It's a welcomed improvement.
"You know, too many episodes of Tiara Girls is bad for the soul," Troy teases him one night as the boys reside in the living room 'doing homework.' He is practically lying on top of the blond even after their little make-out session ended almost half an hour ago. On the television screen is a plastic girl who is being taught how to do this and that properly, and that's when an idea hits Ryan.
With a great heave, he pushes Troy off him and to the other side of the couch. He lets out a sound of protest, but Ryan puts a firm finger to his lips and he says with a smirk, "Trust me."
For the next few hours, Ryan does his best to provide Troy his lost source of happiness. It requires his awful athletic skills and making a complete fool of himself, but by the time they're finished, he can shoot a decent free-throw.
Troy practically glows as they head off the deserted court. Ryan forgot how much joy shows in Troy's eyes sometimes.
"You miss it, don't you?"
The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Troy halts mid-step, the orange ball dropping to the concrete. Their eyes meet, one cautious and the other somewhat surprised, and Ryan wants to kick himself. If there was ever a time not to state the obvious, it would be now.
He ducks his head, flushing a little. "I'm sorry," he murmurs quietly. "I mean I know you miss it, but you don't need me to remind you."
Suddenly there is a finger under Ryan's chin, and he looks up only to meet a pair of sweet, teasing eyes. His shoulders relax as he sees that Troy is nowhere near upset, but he can't fight the enormous grin on his face when Troy gently shoves him in the shoulder and says, "Basketball doesn't even compare to the trade off. Nothing does, nothing will."
The meaning is clear the moment Troy winks at him, and even though he's basking in the honesty, Ryan shakes his head in mock-exasperation. "You never learn, do you? Always so corny!"
Letting out a squeal, Ryan tries to get out of Troy's grip as he is grabbed from behind and practically carried to the car. The amazing emotion pulsing in his heart almost feels too fairytale to be true. His chest is heaving in exhilaration by the time Troy presses him against the vehicle. There is a sudden reflective silence in the air when Troy's fingers begin trailing over Ryan's body, and Ryan sighs into the brunette's ear.
"I can't take my eyes off of you," Troy whispers as his hands tangle in Ryan's hair. The boys are flushed together, the blond pinned between the car and Troy, which is quite possibly the most perfect place to be. A surge of arousal and indescribable love sweeps through every vein in Ryan's body. A soft gasp escapes his mouth, eyelashes fluttering. Troy's eyes dance at the sound.
Their noses are touching as Ryan somehow, someway finds it in him to softly sing,"I know you feel the same way, too. I can't...I can't take my eyes off of you."
And, with one final smirk, Troy states, not sings, "All it took was one look for my dream come true"
It's only after he's tangled in bed sheets that Ryan realizes Troy is saved. Saved from the world, from the hate, from the future; it's all the present, and it's all with Ryan.
He falls asleep murmuring a song.
There was a time when Ryan kissed a girl. It was one single instance at a party where, he reflects, the kids were probably drunk. They had played some lame game – something relating to a certain amount of minutes and a closet – and he had been dared to go into said closet with Tammie Nester.
It was embarrassing for Ryan. Not only did he like boys, but he knew this girl was expecting a lot out of him. She had been crushing on him for about a year and had never stopped pursuing him. This game gave her the perfect opportunity to have her wicked hetero way with him.
He doesn't remember much except being pushed into the confining space with catcalls still ringing in his ears. In the dim light, he could see Tammie's smirk and her eyes gleaming with anticipation. He remembers being pushed against the wall as he desperately tried to explain his situation without actually coming out of the closet (so to speak). He remembers her not listening and placing her small, feminine hands on his shoulders…
And then he remembers throwing up all over her fashionable shoes.
That incident led to nearly a year of taunts. Everyone assumed that he had thrown up because he didn't want to kiss a girl. He always blushed and denied it, lying that he ended up being diagnosed with food poising the next day.
In reality, Ryan had been diagnosed with no such illness. He didn't want to kiss a girl, plain and simple.
No one can choose who they are attracted to in life. Fate is blind and doesn't care about sex or age or race. It selfishly picks a soul mate, and there is nothing anyone can do.
Ryan wouldn't want to change his soul mate, anyway.
On a Monday morning, Ryan is going to third period when a lowerclassmen tugs on his arm and pulls him aside to the lockers. The boy looks like a sophomore or freshman, geeky but maybe he's just come from math class. Ryan stares at this stranger like he has a third eye, which he only later realizes gave off the wrong impression. The kid ducks his head.
"Can I help you?" he volunteers dubiously as he leans against the nearby locker. The freshman/sophomore faintly blushes and Ryan can't help but smile a little. "Seriously, no need to be embarrassed," Ryan reassures him with a teasing tap to the boy's head.
He watches in slight amusement as he shifts awkwardly and barely reaches Ryan's eyes. The smile that started gracing his lips quickly vanishes within a second. The younger peer has locked eyes with him, his face showing nothing but earnest gratitude.
"You and Troy have helped me more than you will ever know. Thank you."
He walks away then, leaving Ryan staring in that direction even after the underclassman is out of sight. His mind is spinning and, for that singular moment, Ryan is too thrown off guard to speak. This boy - someone he doesn't even know - randomly pulled him aside and thanked him. He thinks he knows why; could it be that the strength Troy and Ryan possess actually affect the people around him positively?
Suddenly a pair of arms slips around his waist to pull him close. Ryan softly giggles and leans back into the touch. "You look...confused?" Troy notices aloud as they stand there in complete serenity, indifferent to the people around them.
"A little," he admits, but before he can go into detail, the bell rings and they jump apart, sprinting to their individual classes - not before giving one another a sweet, casual kiss.
Ryan believes they should've come out a long time ago.
A week later, Ryan passes that freshman.
For the rest of the day he breaks out into random grinning, his mind replaying the image of that boy holding hands with the raven-haired boy beside him.
On November 30th, it is Ryan's parents' wedding anniversary. They dress up in fancy clothes, and prior to them leaving for their dinner reservation, Troy volunteers to be the night's photographer: a few of the parents, one with them and Ryan, one with them and Sharpay, and a family photo.
Still with a vivid light stinging his eyes, Ryan isn't sure he hears properly when his mother unexpectedly suggests, "How about one with Troy in here? Shar, do you mind?"
His sister enthusiastically takes the camera from Troy's grip, but the brunette stands rooted to the spot. For first time with his family, Ryan doesn't comprehend either. It's not... peculiar, per se, because they're perfectly open to his family; however, there's that bit of hesitation to be affectionate in front of his parents. An unwritten rule has passed between him and Troy to keep all body parts separate near the adults. Instead of playing along, he awkwardly shuffles his feet and waits for someone else to take control of the situation.
Sharpay, naturally, is the one to speak. "Don't be shy, boys. We know everything that goes on between you two. We're not exactly deaf."
Moments later, a blush covering his face, Ryan stands beside his dad and Troy, his mom on the other side of his boyfriend. He knows he must look like a tomato, and Troy, upon further inspection, doesn't look much different. There's a solid six inches of space between them.
"Scoot together, losers. We have a photo of love in the making!"
With a weak smile Ryan takes a step right until their shoulders are touching. Like a reaction he can't control, Ryan's arms slip around Troy's waist and his head lies gently upon the familiar shoulder. Sequentially, Troy brings him closer as he rests his chin on the blond hair. And, in Ryan's opinion, they click.
Only two words go through his mind:
Soul mate.
"This a lovely picture of us."
"Since when do you say 'lovely'?"
"...Since we became a lovely couple, duh."
"When did you know you loved me?"
"Um…What?"
"When did you, y'know, figure out that you loved me?"
"That's...an impossible question to answer. And, before you say anything, hear me out. There was no epiphany or sudden burst of 'oh my God I'm in love with him!' It was just...there. I don't know how to explain it. In a small way, I was always in love with you. I had liked you for years...hated you at times...and when we were finally together, when we just were...I knew. I wasn't even that surprised. I just didn't know how to tell you until the bathroom while I was, embarrassingly enough, crying."
"You're cute when you cry."
"You're always cute."
"Do you think...never mind."
"What? Do I think what?"
"That we will be together for..."
"Forever? Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I can finish your sentences, and that is the clearest sign there is."
Ryan never believed in perfection.
Even as a young naïve child, he never thought anything was flawless. Christmas was never just right because even though countless presents rested under a beautiful tree, he still had to survive a two-hour church service. His birthday was close to perfect, but every year he had to share it with Sharpay, which made it less…special. The way he viewed the world was never perfect, always optimistic, but never perfect.
For a long time Ryan thought Troy and him were perfect.
He was wrong.