AN: This is a sequel to Boxing Day, and while I think it can stand alone, it might help if you take the time to read that one first. It's shorter than this one by about four thousand words, thank goodness. I'm sorry for the horrifically long wait. I originally planned to have this up on New Year's Eve...but then worked a lot and forgot. Then it felt weird posting NYE fic way after the point, so I decided I'd make a sequel on Valentine's Day. But then I got lazy and never finished it in time.

So I decided upon White Day, which was actually last week, but since I was so close to finishing it and it's not a worldwide holiday, I don't feel bad posting it late.

As a warning, this has been edited very quickly. Deal with my typos, I know they're annoying, but I've been working like a mad person and do not feel like thoroughly editing a 13,000 + word fic and would much rather sleep right now. I promise I will go back someday.

This is dedicated to Kirsten and Arlyn, both of whom have steadily pestered me for this one over the last three months. I both love and hate you guys.

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White Day

---

It had been almost three months since Troy had seen Gabriella on that snowy Christmas Eve, and much to his regrets, life had pretty much gone back to normal. He spend Christmas Day, as expected, alone, with Kobe and a box of Chinese Food, watching 'A Christmas Carol' on cable. He had talked to his mother on the phone briefly and was fairly certain she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was anything but okay. He went to bed early that night and the next day, it was Boxing Day, and it was like kissing Gabriella had never happened.

For the first few days after that, he went to the grocery store by her apartment nearly every day after work, just hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He harbored an odd hope that she would be there, and that their baskets would clash and they could laugh and start all over. That he could apologize for being too forward and perhaps they could try being friends. Much to his dismay, however, she seemed to have either stopped eating, or stopped going to that particular grocery. He worried to himself that perhaps she knew he'd start coming by, and was boycotting it in hopes of avoiding him. The thought made his stomach drop, mostly because he knew it was true.

He walked by her apartment once or twice, hoping to maybe run into her. He was bordering on desperate, and practically a stalker, but seeing her Christmas Eve had only cemented the fact that he was miserable without her, that he missed her, and that he wished she was back in his life. He wondered if she felt the same, but one day, a cold Thursday as he looked up at her apartment window and saw the curtains close, he figured that she didn't.

So he stopped going to the grocery store. He stopped looking down at the white pages in the phone book that listed her phone number and stopped dialing six out of the seven digits before dropping the phone entirely. He put away the photos he had dug up of them in their happier years and shoved them to the back of the closet, never to be seen again. He continued to spend each night alone, but stopped thinking about how each one would be better if she were there. He closed his eyes and let his heart thump with the painful image of her there beside him, allowing regret to wash over him as he realized he had fucked up four years ago, and that a slightly drunken kiss on Christmas Eve was too little too late.

As the clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve and 2010 rang in, bright and promising, he sloppily kissed Carol, drunk out of his mind, and wished it was Gabriella. When she kissed him back, he dug his fingers into her hair and was reminded of the age old saying, 'how you spend New Year's Eve is how you'll spend the rest of the year.'

He decided at that moment to try to forget Gabriella Montez and his regrets once and for all, starting fresh and new. When he awoke the next morning, his legs tangled with Carol's, as he pulled on his shirt and left a note for her before leaving her apartment, he realized this was probably going to be impossible.

He went home, and cried. It was time to move on.

---

"Goddamnit, Gabriella," an annoyed soprano voice said, and the woman in question's head shot up, startled, "you got another one."

The woman, a tall, lithe redhead set down a vase of soft pink roses on her desk and placed her hands on her hips. "I'm sorry, but you've received a fucking bouquet of flowers everyday since March 1st. It's a little bit grating, considering some of us are single and have absolutely no prospects, and here you are, receiving flowers and sweet nothings from a secret admirer."

Gabriella Montez rolled her eyes and plucked the note card off the flowers. "It's not a big deal," she said, unfolding the envelope, already mentally calculating where she was going to place this particular bouquet in her already filled apartment. It would be her thirteenth.

"Not that big of a deal?" the redhead said loudly, "not that big of a deal? You've got a secret admirer! One who has been sending you flowers and poetry every day!" She jumped towards Gabriella looked over her shoulder. "What did he write today? Read it out loud!"

Despite herself, Gabriella giggled. The flowers were making her feel like a giddy school girl, having not experienced such romance since her high school days. "Calm down, Betsey," she said with a laugh, "it's by Emily Dickens." She looked down at the words fondly and began to read them aloud so her colleague could hear.

'I held a jewel in my fingers

and went to sleep.

The day was warm, and winds were posy,

I said, "Twill keep."

I woke and chide my honest fingers,

the gem was gone.

And now, an Amethyst remembrance

is all I own.'

"Interesting," Betsey said, drawing out the last syllable, "very interesting. And you say you have no idea who these are from?"

Gabriella shook her head, sitting back down at her desk and brushing off her pantsuit. "None, honestly," she admitted, staring down at the kitchen scratch writing on the card. It looked awfully familiar, but she couldn't place it, but she didn't want to tell Betsey that. It would just cause the girl to have more of an incessant need to discover the identity of Gabriella's secret admirer. Since the first bouquet of flowers had arrived on the 1st of March, a large one of beautiful blue roses (it was always roses, classic and simple) and one of Shakespeare's sonnets, she had been all but determined to unveil him.

Gabriella, however, was stumped. She had been on a few dates since arriving to New York, but certainly nothing that warranted being courted anonymously through oodles of roses. The few men she had dated had been business minded and serious, hardly the types to take the time to write her poems and send her flowers. They probably wouldn't even remember Valentine's Day, she mused, never mind send her flowers for no real reason. She bit her nail as she remembered her Christmas Eve, and the man she had spent it with, but quickly shook her head. There was no way it was him, no way at all. The last she had heard, he was dating a co-worker at his design firm named Karen or something, and she wasn't at all surprised to hear of the news.

Still, seeing Troy had knocked something out of Gabriella that she hadn't expected. She woke up the next morning, her eyes red and puffy from crying herself to sleep, and easily had the most miserable and awful Christmas she had ever had. A part of her kicked herself for sending him on his way, and another part of herself yelled that she was wrong to even invite him upstairs. His kiss hand lingered on her lips for days and she spent hours digging through boxes of photos, old dried flowers that he had given her, jewelry, every artifact that she had kept from their relationship together. She shuddered as she looked at the photos on the wall, feeling stupid for keeping them up after all this time.

She would be lying if she said that Troy hadn't crossed her mind almost daily during the four years they had been apart. She had wondered what he was doing when she found herself bored at work or in a traffic jam. She wondered if he was watching the Lakers game when she flipped through the channels and stumbled up one. She made his favourite meal on his birthday and ate it by herself, wishing somehow that he had given her his number or e-mail or something just so that she didn't feel completely disconnected from him. She wasn't that lucky, however. He had cut her out entirely.

Without much thought or consideration, she had taken it upon herself to stop going to the grocery store she had run into him at, deciding instead to go to the one that was several blocks over and no where near as nice. It was easier that way, in case he suddenly decided to frequent it or she were to ever run into him again. She had debated about calling him on Christmas Day, feeling bad for kicking him out so mercilessly, but at the same time realized she had no idea where he lived or what his number was. She could have looked it up in the phonebook, of course, but something in her said that if she had to go through that, it probably wasn't meant to be.

So she cut him out just as he had her. She shoved the boxes to the very back of her closet, hoping never to open them again, and had even considered throwing them out before she stopped herself. She took down the single photograph of them at the carnival and replaced it with one of she and Taylor. She was slightly surprised when he made no effort to contact her what so ever, but at the same time, wasn't really at all. It was just like him, this new Troy that she had become acquainted with in the months before he broke up with her.

She had bigger fish to fry than Troy Bolton. Especially with this new and mysterious admirer on the scene.

Betsey tossed her long hair over her shoulder and Gabriella momentarily wondered if Elle Woods had inspired her to be a lawyer. "So let me get this straight," she said, examining her nails, "you mean to say you have no idea who this would be Romeo is?"

Gabriella shook her head. "No. None. I'm not seeing anyone, and the guys I was seeing would certainly never think of doing something like this."

Grinning like a cheshire cat, Betsey twisted her ring around her finger. "So you definitely have a secret admirer then," she said excitedly, "oh my gosh, Gabriella, we need to find out who he is! Maybe he's Luke! He's hot!"

"Betsey, Luke's married," Gabriella said, screwing up her face. "I doubt it's him."

"But wouldn't you want it to be?" Betsey asked seriously, and Gabriella was again reminded of why she didn't like the girl that much. "I mean how exciting would that be? A torrid affair with a married man! I bet he'd leave his wife for you." She paused, "But it is certainly better than it being Rick. He's a loser."

Deciding it was time for the conversation to be over, Gabriella stood up. "This is all awfully interesting, Betsey, but I'm beat and need to get home. I'll see you Monday, okay? Have a good day off."

Betsey smirked and rolled her eyes. "Okay, whatever girl. You have fun ignoring your Romeo and I'll go back to watching Ryan Reynolds movies and eating myself into a depression."

Laughing to herself, Gabriella scooped up the bouquet of flowers and tossed her purse over her shoulder, bidding her other colleagues farewell as she made her way to the elevator.

After she had stepped onto the lift and the doors closed, she watched as the numbers flickered by slowly above them, cradling them and wondering to herself who could possibly want to send her thirteen bouquets of flowers at the beginning of March. Valentine's Day was over a month ago, so it couldn't be some grand romantic gesture in that regard, and she hadn't been lying when she had said that all the men she had been seeing were hardly romantic enough to think of such a thing.

There was one man she could she orchestrating this event, and when she considered the date, it made even more sense that it would be him. But she hadn't seen him in nearly three months, and more than that, she didn't want to.

Maybe they had just confused her with another Gabriella Montez.

Finally, as she walked outside and began to make her way to the parking lot her car was stored in, she frowned as she saw that it was pouring rain outside. Perfect, just perfect, she thought, glancing down at the beautiful flowers and realizing they were probably going to get destroyed. She yanked off her coat quickly and wrapped them in it's warm confines, protecting them from the hellish downpour, before sprinting across the street and practically falling into her car.

Thank god she was safely inside, she thought. She was already partially wet from the rain, especially since she had sacrificed her coat to protect the flowers. She looked at them and brought them up to her nose, closing her eyes and breathing in their scent. Who had sent them? Who had bothered with this grand romantic gesture? For a moment, she allowed her mind to wander, to dream up what kind of man did this for her.

It was exciting, the prospect of a new romance. Of falling in love again. But as she opened her eyes and looked down at the flowers, full and perfect, obviously very expensive, she frowned. A part of her worried that nothing would ever come close to the way things were when she was with Troy Bolton.

Somehow, no matter who this admirer was, she had a feeling he would fall short simply because he wasn't, and wouldn't be Troy. That was slowly becoming the story of her life, but instead of hating it, she accepted it. You couldn't have everything.

Sighing to herself, she turned the key and her engine roared to life. Flicking on the windshield wipers, she pulled out of her parking spot and began to make her way to the exit. However, as she drove, she noticed a figure a few cars down, the hood of the car propped open and the rain pelting down upon them. She frowned. Car trouble sucked, but in the rain? That was practically a death sentence.

Pulling over to the side, she slowly did down her window, grumbling slightly as the cool drops of rain splattered on her face the dashboard. She should just keep driving, leave whoever it was to their own trouble. She doubted that a stranger would ever do the same for her, and it was this thought that compelled her to pull the car to a stop.

"Do you need some help?" she called out, and the figure shifted, turning around. He squinted his eyes and brushed his hair out of his face.

"Nah, it's okay, thanks!" he shouted back, "I'm just going to..." he paused, staring at her, his mouth falling open slowly, "...call...a tow."

It was Troy.

Goddamnit. Was this really what she needed? She contemplated slamming her foot on the gas, but refrained. That would be incredibly immature of her. Maybe she was wrong, maybe it wasn't him. She looked a little closer. Sure enough, it was him, hair soaking wet and matted down, blazer and white button down shirt drenched and sticking to his frame. Despite how tired and frustrated he looked, his eyes widened in surprised and he stepped away from his car for a moment to move closer to her.

"Gabriella?" he asked, ducking his head down to see her more clearly through the door. "Is that you?"

She paused and bit her lip, her mind swirling. Fucking fate, throwing him in her path again. Was this some kind of sick joke? Some kind of test? She silently cursed every deity around for putting her in this situation, before swallowing and responding. "Yeah, it is."

"What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, incredulously. She bit her lip again, admiring the way his shirt clung to him.

"I work across the street," she said, and mentally kicked herself for revealing that bit of information. She had been trying so hard to avoid him. "Car trouble?"

Troy nodded as the rain beat down on him. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Did you need a jack?" she asked, "I have cables in my trunk."

"Nah," he shook his head, "I think it's a cracked gasket. There's no way I'm driving it, if I go too far I'm pretty sure it'll engulf in flames and I'd rather not die tonight. I'm just going to call a tow-truck and call it a night."

"Oh," she said, trying to think of what to say.

He looked down at his feet. "Only thing is, none of the tow-truck companies seem to be in service, or able to get here fast enough, and I'd really rather get home sometime before next year. I was gonna just leave the car here overnight, call in the morning once the rain stopped and cab it and..." he ran a hand through his wet locks, "I'm sorry. I'm rambling. You can go now. Nice seeing you."

As he turned away, Gabriella felt herself gnawing on her lip. She couldn't just leave him here in the rain could she? Truth be told, the moment she had set eyes on him, her heart had started hammering in her chest a mile a minute. He looked so good, he sounded so good, the same Troy she knew and loved. But he wasn't, she reminded herself, he was this Troy, the one who was capable of hurting her.

She should go.

"Um, did you want a ride?"

Wait, she did not say that. She did not just ask him if he wanted a ride? Clamping a hand over her head, she squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. She was just shooting herself in the foot. Out of all the things she could say, why did she say that? She didn't want to see him, she didn't want to be in the same area as him, yet now she was offering him a ride? And what for? He had just said that he was going to take a cab.

"Um," he blinked at her in surprise, "I was gonna catch a cab..."

"Yeah, but they take forever," she said with a wave of her hand, wondering why her mouth was not listening to her mind that was screaming at her to shut up. "Especially in this weather. I'll give you a lift home and then you can leave the car overnight. It's a private parking lot, with security. It should be okay."

He shook his head. "No, Gabriella, it's okay, really—"

"No really!" Oh god, what was wrong with her? "It's not that far! I'm sure it's not out of my way!"

He blinked. "I live on the Upper East Side."

She flushed. "Oh, but really, I don't mind! Think of it as a late birthday present."

"My birthday?" he inquired, "you remembered it was my birthday last month?"

She bit down her lip harder. Of course she did, she celebrated it every year. "Yeah. Just...get in the car, Troy." Her mind was made up. She wanted to help him. She did want to see him.

Troy seemed to hesitate for a minute, and for a moment she was almost certain that he would decline. Then he didn't. "Okay. Thanks."

She again had the strongest urge to press her foot down on the petal and motor right out of there, but she didn't. Instead she watched as he walked around the front of the car, illuminated by the headlights, and came to the passenger side. He opened the door and noticed the roses sitting on the seat, and picked them up before sitting back down.

"Thanks," he said again, setting the roses in his lap.

"No problem," she said softly, "just be careful of those. I don't want them to get wrecked."

He nodded. "And try not to get water everywhere," she paused, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He looked so out of place in his fancy suit, even if it was sticking to him. "So, um, how are you?"

She bit her lip and had to restrain the urge to bang her head against the steering wheel. What was she thinking? He was still beautiful, though, still the same man with the strong jawline, light blue eyes and soft hair. His face was still perfect. She decided it was his looks.

"I'm okay," he said, his eyes focused down on the flowers in his lap. "Work, you know."

"Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "That going well for you?"

He shrugged. "As well as it can be. I've cut back on my hours lately."

This surprised her. The Troy Bolton she knew had always been somewhat of a workaholic, even in college, and she had heard through the grapevine that since arriving in New York, he almost never stopped working. "Really? Why? Things slowing down."

"No. Just...decided I need a break." He shifted in his seat. "How are you?"

"I'm all right," she said, "work is good, my friends are good, my apartment is coming along nicely. Can't complain. Where do you live anyway, I don't even know where I'm driving specifically. Did you have someone to call? Your girlfriend to let her know you'll be late?"

Troy stiffened and adjusted the roses in his lap. He rattled off his address before adding, "Um, I don't have a girlfriend."

Again, she was surprised. Was it possible the grapevine was wrong? She had been positive he had been dating. "Oh, but I...I heard you did," she admitted, ignoring the way his head snapped to attention that she had asked or had been talking about him. "Someone named Karen?"

"Carol," he corrected, and her heart sunk at the news that there had been someone. "We had a thing. It didn't last long." He looked out the window. "They never do."

The implication of his statement was heavy, and it was if it was finally registering for her. Here she was, sitting in a car with her ex-boyfriend, ex-roommate, ex-best friend, ex-love of her life. Their history sat between them, a thick, old book and try as she might to push it away, the corners of it continued to poke and stab at her sides.

"What about you?" he said cheerfully, though there was an edge in his voice, "you seeing someone?"

"I've seen someones," she said, making her way through New York, the traffic surprisingly easy going for a change. It must have been the weather. "But I'm not seeing anyone."

It was Troy's turn to raise his brows. "Oh?" he lifted the roses, "and then what are these?"

She laughed, looking at the flowers with a grin. "Those are the clues to my mystery," she said with a wink, "someone's been sending me them since the 1st of March. I don't know who, and I don't know why."

"An admirer, huh?" Troy said teasingly, "That kind of thing would stumble into your lap. You've been dating anyone recently?"

She shook her head. "No, not since before Valentine's Day. I really have no clue who it would be."

"It's odd, though," Troy looked down, "given that tomorrow is White Day. Think it has anything to do with that?"

They came to a stop light, and she looked him square in the eye for the first time that evening, feeling the familiar jolt run through her as his met hers. She smiled softly. "I think we were the only two people who aren't from Japan that celebrated it, Troy."

When they were twenty years old, Troy had forgotten Valentine's Day. He had been stressed with exams and projects and basketball games and theatre productions up to his ears, and when Gabriella had arrived at his dorm-room on that day, dressed in a floral dress with her hair and make up done, he had felt like the biggest jerk in the entire world. It was even worse when she handed him a card and a piece of homemade chocolate. She was feeling ambitious, she had said, and it was like a knife to his heart.

However, when he choked out that he had forgotten, near tears that he, Troy Bolton the Renaissance man, King of Chivalry, had missed, she had simply leaned up and kissed his lips, telling him he could make up for it on White Day.

White Day is a holiday celebrated in Japan, she had explained, on the 14th of March. Girls traditionally only gave chocolate to boys on Valentine's Day, and it wasn't until a month later that they'd reciprocate. She smiled, kissing him again, and told him that he had an entire month to make up for it.

And he did. After that it became somewhat of their own tradition. Gabriella would give Troy homemade chocolate, and he would shower her with gifts and affection a month later.

It had been one of the things that had made them them. It was one of the many things she missed.

A slightly comfortable silence settled in between them, and before they knew it, Gabriella was pulling up to Troy's apartment building.

"Um, thank you," Troy said, his hand on the door handle. He paused, biting his lip. "Um, Gabriella?"

She turned to him, her heart pounding, knowing what he was about to ask. "Yes?"

"It's just," he paused, looking down at his hands in his lap, "it's really coming down outside and I don't...I just...the roads are kind of slippery, and you could hydroplane or something and I...I don't really want that to happen. And you're soaking wet, and that has to be awfully uncomfortable and...you don't, you don't have plans or anything for tonight do you?"

Gabriella felt her heart constrict at his words and she shook her head. She could feel her cheeks growing steadily hotter and considered running in the other direction. She knew what was coming next and she knew that if she were smart, if she were wise, she'd leave before he could ask.

But she didn't.

"No, I don't," she replied honestly, inwardly kicking herself for repeating history once again.

He smiled at her, lopsided and shy, her favourite kind of smile from him, and rubbed the back of his neck. She felt her knees grow slightly weak. It had been so long since he had been this bashful around her, she couldn't help but feel her heart squeeze even further at the notion. She remembered a time when this action had been commonplace even years into their relationship. She had loved how he still got tongue tied and twisted around her, all nervous and childlike. But that had been so long ago. She shivered at the realization.

"Did you, um," he let out a breath before continuing, "it's White Day. And I know not everyone in the world celebrates it, but you and I did, just for fun, and I have some fresh strawberries and chocolate, and we could make some if you wanted, cause you know, they're so easy to make yet hardly anyone ever does, and I know how much you love them, so did you maybe want to come in? Dry off?"

Gabriella looked up at him and bit her lip apprehensively. "I don't know, Troy," she said slowly, "last time we spent a holiday together, it didn't go so well."

"Well, this time is different!" he said quickly, anxiously, "I promise I won't try any funny business or anything like that! I just...it would be nice, you know." He looked at her then, his eyes blue and clear. "It's not even a national holiday here."

Looking down at her shoes, she shuffled her feet. She considered what she had to gain by going with him, and then considered what she had to lose. She could get free chocolate strawberries (she did love them) and maybe have some good company for a change. Or she could risk another Christmas Even scenario and get her heart stomped on.

"Come on," Troy said, wagging his eyebrows, "You love chocolate strawberries."

She cracked a smile. "You did always make the best ones."

His face burst into his own smile at her words. "It's an art form, I am telling you." He swallowed, "So is that a yes?"

Turning the key, she cut the ignition and reached over the backseat to grab her purse. "I um, I guess so," she said, stepping out of the car into the downpour.

The rain had them soaked in seconds and they ran to the apartment building as quickly as they could, but it was no use. Gabriella was soaking, water coating her dress, hair and face. She debated saying that it was certainly a bad idea to be here now, but something instead stopped her. She decided that it was the warmth of the indoor heating.

Troy's apartment was exactly what she was expecting, and in that regard, it was exactly what she wasn't expecting. The first thing she noticed was that it was plainly obvious that he had oodles of money, and that his dreams of coming to New York and bathing in one dollar bills probably came true around three years ago. The building had large glass doors, and a valet came to sweep her silver car away to the underground parking lot. When they walked into the spacious lobby, a uniformed man with an accent and sweet smile greeted them, holding the door open as they shook of their wet skin. The ceilings of the building were high, the wallpaper expensive looking and the whole thing just rather reeked of money, elegance and class.

As they stood at the apartment door, Troy awkwardly fumbled for his key, his damp fingers making it difficult for him to fit it in the lock. Gabriella wasn't certain, but she was fairly positive that his hands were shaking, and she averted her gaze, feeling her stomach swoop with nervousness.

She shouldn't be feeling nervous because he was feeling nervous.

"Sorry," he murmured quietly, "I'm just...it's been a long day," he sighed as he twisted the key every which way. "Open, damn you."

Tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear, Gabriella hitched her purse higher on her shoulder, feeling uncomfortable. She should have said no, she should be sitting back in her car on her way to her own apartment instead of across town and feeling entirely out of place in the most expensive looking apartment building in the city. "It's okay," she whispered, although what she really wanted to do was yell at him for being the way he was, being so goddamn irresistible. For somehow seducing her into agreeing to come up to the apartment in the first place.

"No, really, I—" the door finally swung open, and he let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god," he said, holding it open for her to step inside. "There we go."

Once she stepped in, she immediately noticed two things. Number one: the apartment had the same feel as the building, which was expensive, and number two: it looked like no one really lived there. It was huge, she could probably fit her entire apartment into his living room. The walls were painted a deep charcoal, with black leather couches and a baby grand piano in one corner. There was a fireplace lined with bricks and logs inside it that looked like they had never been burned. The coffee-table was made of rich cherry, and had, unsurprisingly, a rather boring looking coffee-table book on the Caribbean Islands sitting on top. Troy took off his soaking blazer before smiling crookedly at her.

"Um, welcome," he said humbly, "make yourself at home, I guess." He looked at her, and noticed now that her dress was clinging to her figure. Looking away, his cheeks flushed at how the maroon fabric clung to her curves. "Damn, you're soaked to the bone," he said with a frown. "Come on into the kitchen, I'll make some coffee to warm you up, then we'll get you into some warm clothes."

Feeling her eyes widen, she shook her head and held up a hand in protest. "Oh, oh no, that's entirely unnecessary," she said, shaking her head. "Really. I'll just take the coffee and—"

"Gabriella," he said pointedly, and she flinched as she felt his hand on her arm, "I know you. You have the shittiest immune system in the world. A little wet and a little cold will get you pneumonia, and I really don't want to have you sitting in my kitchen, drinking my coffee with blue lips and goosebumps. So please, just put the past behind us and think about your health."

Blushing scarlet, Gabriella choked out a small grunt in response, her tongue twisting around itself, causing her to be unable to form actual words. He still had that way about him, was still so able to read her like a book. Shrugging, she allowed him to lead her into the kitchen, and tried not to jump when she felt his hand on her lower back, his warm fingers burning through the fabric.

Surrounded by a space larger than her master bedroom, Gabriella felt like cowering in the corner at the sight of hardwood cabinets and the stainless steel appliances. Troy rummaged through the cupboards, uncovering two mugs that were decorated with DC Comic-book characters, and retrieved the coffee beans. She looked down at the ground as he put a pot of coffee on, before turning to smile at her kindly.

"Let's get you out of those clothes," he said, and she felt her heartbeat skip at the insinuation his words. How many times had he said that same phrase to her, but with entirely different meanings behind it? He seemed to catch onto her thoughts, and his own cheeks flushed, the habit still lingering from his teenage years. "I mean, um, you know that's not..."

"Troy," she cut him off, smiling as best as she could muster, "it's fine. Really. I know what you meant."

Nodding, Troy rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh. Okay. Well, come on then."

She followed him past the luxurious living room to his bedroom, and she stood awkwardly in the doorway as she surveyed the area. There was a king size bed sitting in the middle, the walls were painted a royal blue, and there was a massive window overlooking the city that lead onto a small balcony. His dresser had a small decorative dish with a few coins in it, along with a Rolex, and there appeared to be a door that led to an en suite bathroom, and another set that no doubt closed off his closet.

Troy's home was beautiful, she concluded. Beautiful paint on the walls, blue furniture, beautiful art. Beautiful owner. But the one thing she noticed, was that especially in comparison to their home, it was severely lacking any traits that showed that he was in fact the owner. Gone were the sports magazines, the dirty socks and clothes littering the floor. There were no silly comic strips stuck with alphabet magnets on his refrigerator, and there were no potted plants sitting on his balcony, overgrown and leafy. There was no basketball by the front door, no markings on the calender to remind him of Lakers games and no piles of CDs on the bedside table.

Gabriella would have guessed that it all just meant that he had grown up. That the sweet boy she had fallen in love with as a girl was now a grown man who didn't care about trivial things such as Halloween and Harry Potter books. She would have believed all of this, if were not for the complete and entire lack of photos.

There were none, not of one person. Not of any of his friends, clients, coworkers, even family members. There were no framed photos of a girl. There was absolutely no sign of anyone who had an important place in his life.

Besides, the fact that he had invited her in to dry off and have chocolate strawberries was reason enough for her to believe that somehow, that boy still existed. She wasn't entirely sure, but she could give a good guess that holding onto that notion was the reason she had agreed to come in.

Well, one of the reasons.

Troy emerged a moment later, breaking her out of her thoughts and when she looked up at him, his eyes kind and hopeful, she felt her heart crack a little more. "Sorry," he said, handing her a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, "I was trying to find something that would be small enough for you to fit in."

She accepted the clothes and looked down at them, her stomach churning slightly. "Well, your clothes were never small enough to fit me. Even when we were in high school."

Troy laughed and folded his arms over his chest. "Yeah, that was always kind of the appeal of you wearing them," he said with a smirk, "they'd drown you. You've always been tiny."

A beat passed between them as another uncomfortable silence settled in between them. There he went again, bringing up the past and throwing it in her face. Running a hand through his hair, he gestured to the bathroom. "You can go get changed in there," he said, beginning to make his way out of the room, "I'll go get the coffee. You still take it with two sugars and cream?"

"Yeah," she said, feeling her heartbeat pick up speed that he had remembered after all this time. It shouldn't matter to her, but it did. He nodded, before disappearing from her sight and she made her way over the bathroom, closing the door behind her and letting out a heavy sigh.

Leaning her hands against the sink, Gabriella looked at her reflection and shuddered. Her hair was wet and frizzing at the tops, the ends sticking to her shoulders in large black clumps. Her make up was smudged and smeared, black mascara dribbling down her face, and her maroon dress had gone nearly see-through, her black bra more than apparent.

She flushed hotly, realizing that she had unintentionally given Troy a little bit of a peep show before letting out a deep breath, peeling the wet clothing from her body. Folding it as best as she could, she made note to ask Troy to put it in his dryer, before lifting the sweatpants from where she had placed them on the counter, and pulling them on. They were gray and incredibly soft, probably worth too much money for what they were. The waistband was too large, and she pulled on the drawstring, hoping that they wouldn't slip down past her hipbones. She pulled on his shirt and paused midway, the scent filling her nostrils and momentarily making her slip into the waves of nostalgia. How many times had she done exactly this? How many times has she pulled on his clothes and snuggled into them before bed, early in the morning, in the middle of the day. She suddenly felt ashamed at how comforting his smell really was, before shaking her head.

Turning the tap on, she rinsed her face with warm water and rung out her hair. Feeling bold, she grabbed his comb and tugged it through her wet hair, before sighing. Biting her lip, she turned off the faucet and slid down to the ground, lying on her back on the cold tile floor.

What was she doing? She had been here before with him in the last three months, they had gone through this game. It hadn't worked, she had gotten her heart stomped all over. Yet something about him kept pulling her to him. It always had, it always did.

At that moment, she felt like crying or running away. She suddenly wanted to be anywhere but Troy Bolton's apartment, but at the same time, knew there were very few places in the world that she'd rather be. Closing her eyes, she thought of them. Albuquerque with her mom, eating homemade brownies and watching old movies. Taylor McKessie's apartment, painting her toenails and reading tabloids. Paris, France, riding a little blue bicycle alongside a man named Ronald who had romanced her for the length of her two week vacation. She would be wearing a flirty little dress and eating fresh, authentic maracons.

But Ronald and his choppy English didn't hold a candle to twenty-two year old Troy, tired after a college basketball game and laying on the couch with him, sharing a bowl of ice cream. Yet here? Now? Laying on the cold floor of his apartment at twenty-seven years of age with no idea of what was going to happen? It didn't hold quite the same magic, but it certainly wasn't horrible.

A knock on the door tugged her out of her thoughts, and she realized she had been dawdling far longer than she had intended to. "You all right?" Troy's voice said through the doorway, and she scrambled up, opening the door quickly. "Um, yeah," she said, grabbing her wet clothes. "Is there anywhere I can get these dry?"

Troy seemed to be transfixed, as if the sight of her in his clothes after all these years had rendered him speechless. Granted, it probably had, but she didn't want to admit it. She blinked, hoping that if she remained coy and naive, he wouldn't say anything. "Everything okay?"

"I..." he paused, looking up at her before looking away. He could be so shy sometimes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Come on, coffee's ready and the chocolate is melting over the stove."

He took her wet clothing with him, fingering her dress carefully, before tossing it in the dryer on the way to the kitchen. She followed suit, before she felt something tug at her pant leg and her a small bark. She looked down and saw a tiny dog, a Jack Russell Terrier looking up at her, wagging it's tail and biting down on her pant-leg.

"And who is this?" she exclaimed, bending down to pick the dog up in her arms, "could this be the infamous Kobe?" She held the dog close to her face and he licked her cheek eagerly, barking excitedly and wagging his tail, delighted at the new company and extra attention.

Grinning at the sight, Troy nodded in response. "Yep, that'd be him," he said, patting the dog on the head, "they say a dog is a man's best friend for a reason. Kobe has been here for me threw thick and thin. Most dependable canine in the world."

Cuddling the dog to her chest, Gabriella reveled in the feel of his warm fur. He was so sweet, but so tiny. "I always wanted a dog," she admitted, "but none of the apartment buildings I have ever lived in allowed pets."

"Yeah, I remember," Troy said as they walked over to the kitchen, the strong scent of coffee filling the air. "You begged for a dog for your birthday after we moved into the apartment and were crushed when we found out we couldn't have one." He frowned, "I always felt bad about that."

Biting her lip, Gabriella didn't say anything. If he felt bad that she wasn't able to get a dog, certainly he felt bad about other things that had transpired between them in the past. But of course, maybe that was expecting too much. "Yeah," she said, "that sucked."

She settled down on one of the plush kitchen chairs at the table, Kobe making himself comfortable in her lap. She smiled at what an easy going, yet excitable dog he was. He was perfect for Troy.

Troy came over and set a mug of coffee in front of her, and came to sit down beside her, a bowl of strawberries in his other hand. "The chocolate is till melting," he explained, "did you want to taste test the first one?" He reached into the bowl and held one out to her, and she blanched.

Clutching Kobe a little tighter, she shook her head. "No. No thank you."

"Come on," he said with a smirk, "this could very well be the best strawberry in the entire world."

She froze then, and the full reality of the situation hit her all at once. She was sitting in the kitchen of her ex-boyfriend, eating strawberries and wearing his clothes, with his dog in her lap. This was the man who hurt her.

This was boy who left her all those years ago.

---

A small stack of boxes sat by the door next to three or four suitcases and a duffle-bag. Or was it two duffle-bags and five suitcases? She shook her head. She didn't care anyway, she thought, laying down on the couch and staring vacantly at the coffee-table, her head heavy and her eyes sore. What she cared about was that he was leaving, and no matter how much she cried, no matter how much she begged and pleaded him not to go, he wasn't changing his mind.

He was leaving her. Leaving Albuquerque, going to New York City for bigger and better things. She wanted to say that the break up was completely unexpected, completely shocking, but she would be lying. Troy had been distracted, pulling away from her here and there, and tugging himself in other directions. She had overheard him on the phone with Chad a few weeks earlier, discussing a potential job offer in New York City.

"Could you imagine, me in New York?" he had asked, and she was once again reminded of the selfish seventeen year old boy who ruined her first real summer by concerning himself with his own goals, his own dreams instead of looking around and seeing how it was affecting others. With a pain in her heart, she had taken a deep breath and reassured herself that he was nothing like that silly boy, that he had matured and grown and was a man now; there was no way he'd go to New York City, especially not without her.

How wrong she had been.

He had returned home one day from a job interview she hadn't known he had lined up and announced that they needed to talk. As the ice ran through her veins, Troy carefully, calmly explained to her his situation. He had gotten a job at a prestigious advertising firm in New York and he was taking it. She had smiled brightly and thrown her arms around him in congratulations, her excited chattering disguising the dread she felt in the bottom of her stomach. But when she pressed her lips to his and he didn't respond, she knew then.

She knew it was the end.

He had held her hands in between his and explained that maybe, they needed to part ways. "We need to grow up, Gabriella," he said, looking anywhere but her eyes, "and we can't do that together. We need to find ourselves, and we can't find ourselves in each other."

Which brought her to a now, a week later, as she laid on their couch with tears falling down her face wishing desperately that this was a dream. He wasn't leaving, and he certainly wasn't doing it while she was here to have to watch, have to see him pack up and separate his life from hers. He could never be that cruel.

But he was and she closed her eyes, clutching the throw pillow beneath her head and bit her lip to avoid screaming. This was a nightmare.

Hearing the click of his shoes against the hardwood floor, she opened her eyes and saw him standing at the door, slipping his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. He seemed to be going through a mental checklist, making sure that he had everything he needed, before leaning down and picking up a duffle-bag, slinging it over his shoulder. His hand on the doorknob, he made no move to turn around and she called out to him just as he opened the door a crack.

"You're really doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking and thick with tears, "you're not only leaving me, but you're doing it without saying goodbye?"

He turned slowly, his eyes falling on her broken figure. She pulled herself up, feeling weak as she sat facing him. His cool eyes looked over her figure and she saw a flicker of something unreadable pass over them. Her lower lip trembled and she felt a little bit of her break even further as he looked away.

"Um, I didn't see you there, Brie, I—"

"Don't call me that," she choked out, "it hurts too much."

He didn't say anything for a moment, glancing at her and then the door, then back at her, then the door, then finally back at her. "I'm sorry, Gabriella," he all but whispered, "but it's for the best."

"The best?" she asked, standing up as she felt a surge of strength. "For the best? How can it be the best when we're not together. I thought we were happy, Troy. I thought you were happy."

He swallowed, averting his gaze and fixing it on the floor as she came to stand beside him. "I was."

She blinked back the tears that were spilling down her face and let out a scoff. "You were? What changed, Troy?"

"I just...it's time to grow up and move on. I want to be in New York, Br—Gabriella. I have to get out of Albuquerque. It's killing me here."

She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him. "So? Let me come with you!" she pleaded, giving him the same argument she had time and time again. Instead of protesting this time, he was silent, and she felt her stomach jump with hope.

He removed her hands from his shoulders, giving them a little squeeze before settling them at her sides. "Gabriella...no. I have to go on my own."

"But why, Troy?" she cried, "why do you have to do this? You don't have to do this!"

"We're holding each other back, Gabriella," he said, looking her straight in the eye. "We can't discover who we are, what we want cause we have to consider the other. We can't keep doing this. I won't keep doing this."

"W-what?" she asked, voice shaking. For years, her every decision had been made with him in mind. He had decided upon Berkeley to be with her, he was the one who had their lives planned out and now he was giving it up. "You think I'm holding you back?"

He bit his lip, debating whether or not to tell her the truth. But he and Gabriella had never really lied to each other, and he wasn't about to start now. "I...yes. You're holding me back. I can't go to New York knowing that you'll get shoved to the side. I need to do this for me. For the first time, Gabriella, I need to come first."

When she didn't reply, he knew that he had said the wrong thing. The truth, no matter how valuable, often was worse than a lie. Her eyes looked empty and the passion that they once held was gone, and he immediately felt horrible. He loved Gabriella, he did, but this was an opportunity he needed to take, and it was one that she couldn't take with him. It was something he needed to do on his own.

"All right," she said slowly, walking across the room to the wall that held their photos. She brushed a hand over one of them at a party earlier in the year, one where they looked blissfully happy and carefree. "If that's what you need to do."

"Brie—"

Suddenly, she ripped the frame off the wall and threw it to the ground, the glass shattering on the ground and tearing at their smiling faces. Troy's stomach dropped and he looked up at her in shock. "Gabriella."

"No," she said, picking another photo and tossing it away. "It's a good decision! You'll be happy!" One by one, she took down the photos that made up their memories and smashed them, little shards of glass covering the floor. One flew up and scratched her calf, and Troy winced as he saw the thin trickle of blood stream down her pale skin. He didn't want to do this to her, he loved her, but he didn't know how to do this with her. He wasn't strong enough to admit that the future scared him. That he was terrified of one day becoming a statistic and wake up to find her gone. It was easier if he left her now.

It would save him the pain he was certain he couldn't bear.

But he couldn't explain this to Gabriella, who was now sobbing hysterically, broken on the floor. She'd want to fix it and he had already convinced himself that they were doomed.

"You know," her meek voice sounded and he snapped out of his thoughts, "if I had known that you choosing to go to school in California with me would cause you to resent me, then I would have told you no. I would have broken up with you then if I knew you'd start to hate me for it and think I was holding you back after we started to build a life together. After we started to make plans. I would have given you up."

"Gabriella," he tried again, "I..."

Reaching up, she moved her hair from her neck and carefully undid the silver chain she wore around her neck, the T pendant worn and old. It was a testament to the time they had spent together, and though he had given her dozens upon dozens of other pieces of jewelry over the years, she had never liked taking this one off. This one, she had said, was special.

Walking over to him, stepping over the glass as if it were nothing, she held the necklace out to him. He looked down at it, his heart breaking. "Take it," she said, shaking her hand slightly. "I don't want it."

Swallowing thickly, he shook his head, and looked down at her bleeding feet. "Gabriella, no, it's yours—"

"No, Troy," she all but spat, "it's a symbol of your promise to me, the one you broke." She shoved it at him and he had no choice but to take it within his grasp. "I forgot how good you are at that, how easy it is for you to go back on your word." She turned on her heel, and walked back into the living room, knocking the picture of them at Troy's graduation that sat on the coffee-table, sending it to the floor. "Now get out of my sight."

"Gabriella," he said, watching as she picked up the photos and one by one ripped them up. She looked at him with deadly eyes, and he shivered.

"Just get out, Troy," she whispered, sounding so broken and defeated, "just leave. That's what you want to do, isn't it? So leave. After everything you've said and done, just leave."

And with that, he gathered his belongings as quickly and as best as he could, closing the door behind him and sliding down to the floor as he heard her quiet sobs echo through the doorframe and filter to his eyes. He rested his head in his hands and prayed to god that he was making the right decision.

A part of him wanted to go back, to say he had made a mistake and to help her clean up the glass and wrap her feet. Even then, though, he knew it was impossible. They couldn't go back now, not after what he said. So instead, he pulled out his cellphone and pressed it to his ear, hoping desperately that the movers would arrive soon, and that Gabriella would be able to bandage her wounds herself.

---

"I..." Gabriella stood up suddenly, and Kobe darted off of her lap. "I can't do this."

"Gabriella—"

"No, this was a mistake, once again, this was a mistake," she said hurriedly, feeling like her chest was caving in on itself. "I cannot do this. I shouldn't have come here." She gripped her hair in her hands, feeling dizzy and weak and stressed all at once. "Oh my god, why am I so stupid? What was I thinking?"

Troy reached out for her and she batted his hand away. "Gabriella."

She marched out of the kitchen and searched for the laundry room. Discovering it, she threw her hands over her head and discovered the complicated dryer. "I can't be here. I can't be around you! I cannot do this to myself again!"

"Gabriella, stop!" Troy said, his voice stern. Kobe barked in the background, obviously upset by the disturbance, but she still continued.

"No, you stop!" she shouted, "goddamnit Troy! Get the fuck out of my life already!"

He flinched, as if she had struck him, and she instantly felt bad. But she was too angry to stop, too hurt. "You left me four years ago and I have been trying to forget you since then. Then you come and mess me up again three months ago." She walked over to the dryer and began hitting the buttons, trying to get the cycle to stop.

"I'm sorry, all right?" Troy yelled back, "What do you want me to say? Do you want me to detail how fucking depressing my life has been since I left you? How much harder it has been living here knowing you're here and want nothing to do with me? Do you want me to tell you every single time I've thought of you in the last four years? That I regret leaving you more than anything in the world?"

"No!" she clawed at the buttons again, trying desperately to get it to stop. "Help me get my dress out! Fuck!" she looked down at the clothes she was wearing. "Oh my god, I'm wearing your clothes. What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Yanking her shirt over her head so that she stood only in her bra and her sweatpants. Troy however, didn't seem to notice. "Would you calm down?" he shouted over Kobe's barking. "I'm going to have neighbors call about the noise!"

"Fuck this!" she yelled, as she tried opening the dryer door manually, only to fail miserably. "Ugh!" she screamed, slamming her palms on the top of the appliance. She paused, finally, realizing that she was standing in her bra in front of her ex-boyfriend and she felt her lower lip tremble as she burst into tears. At once, Troy was at her side.

"Why did you do it?" she whimpered as he pulled her into his chest, "why did you leave me? All I ever wanted was you, Troy. All I have ever wanted is to be with you."

The confession felt good, like she was finally free from the chains that had held her down and constricted her. She wasn't lying, ever since she had laid eyes on him, all she had wanted was to be with him. All she had wanted was warm days in his arms and cool nights beside him. She wanted to cheer him on, she wanted to be his best friend, his lover, his girlfriend, fiancee, wife, mother of his children. She wanted it all, but only if it was with him.

Until one day he decided he didn't want her anymore.

"Gabriella," he said against her hair, "I am so, so sorry."

She sniffled, feeling the hot tears against her face. "Are you? Or is that just something you feel obligated to say because I'm crying?"

He shook his head. "No. Of course not. I mean it. Though it kills me to see you cry." He paused, burying a hand in her curls. "It always has."

Silence settled in between them as they stood in each other's embrace, trying to place back the pieces of their hearts as they marveled at how well they still fit together. Like puzzle pieces, they connected effortlessly. It was a feeling they had never had with anyone else ever.

Troy lifted her suddenly, his hands slipping to grip the back of her upper thighs, and slid her on top of the dryer. He pulled back slightly and placed his hands on her knees, looking her in the eye. She saw his look of desperation, and if anything, it only made the tears well back up in her eyes.

"I have hated myself every single day since I left you," he admitted, his gaze not wavering. "Everyday since I left you, I have ached for you. I've missed you every single second of every single day of the last four years and have considered seeing multiple scientists in hope that one of them would be able to create a time-machine or develop a rip in the time-space continuum in order for me to go back and do it all over again."

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. When she didn't protest, he leaned his forehead against hers, so close that he could count the teardrops on her eyelashes. "Coming to New York was the worst decision I have ever made. I'm not just miserable, I'm...I don't know who I am. Without you, Gabriella, nothing makes sense. I was foolish to think that it would."

Slowly, shyly, she lifted her hands and rested them on his shoulders. "Why did you go?" she asked once more, "we had a life together, Troy. We had everything."

"We did," he licked his lips, "and the thought of losing it scared me to death. You're too good for me, Gabriella, you always have been. You've always gone your own way and done your own thing and I just followed. I..." he swallowed, and looked down and she stroked the side of his face, encouraging him to continue, "I was terrified that one day you'd get sick of me following. That you'd decide I wasn't worth it. I'm not worth it. I figured it would hurt less if I ended it."

The tears came back at full force and her arms dropped from his shoulders. "You thought I'd leave you?" she whispered, and he drew back as well. "You thought I'd just up and leave you one day?"

"Well, I—"

A loud crack echoed throughout the room as Gabriella's palm connected with his cheek. He winced, holding his jaw and her hands flew up to her mouth in surprise.

"I'm so sorry!" she yelped, leaning into him and cupping his wounded cheekbone with her hands, "oh my god, it was just instinct! You made me angry and—"

"Gabriella," Troy said, placing his hand over hers, "it's okay. I deserved that." He looked down again, "I should have never doubted you."

She bit her lip. "You shouldn't have," she agreed.

He sighed. "Wanna know something?" he asked, and without waiting for her to respond, continued. "Today was the second worst day of my life," he began, "the first being my first day in New York only to realize that I made the biggest mistake in the world and single handedly ruined my future."

She blinked, confused. "What? Why?"

Troy swallowed, his eyes boring into hers. "Today I had Carol try to convince me that we were meant to be together in the break-room, only to throw a hissy fit when I let her down. One that several colleagues also heard, which caused an office explosion. Then I quit my job."

"What?" Gabriella practically choked on air. "You quit your job? Why? You...that job was everything to you!"

"That job was nothing to me, Gabriella," he said sadly, "here I was, at this job that was making my life a living hell, working all the time and with some crazy woman thinking I was in love with her, and I have hated it all along because it was that stupid fucking job that made me think it was worth leaving you. It was the job that made me into the stupid man I was, thinking that it could replace the void that I felt cause I was terrified that you were going to leave me.

And when I went to my boss, explained that I was cutting hours again, he explained that I simply couldn't do that. So I quit. I didn't want this job that took me away from you, by choice, of course, but I didn't want to be that man anymore. I wanted to be the man that you loved again, and that man didn't work for that advertising firm.

And now I have nothing," he said, but his voice wasn't broken like it was expected to be, "I have no job, no prospects, no income, but most of all...I don't have you."

"You have no pictures on your walls," she said suddenly, "there's nothing that shows that you live here, Troy. There's no warmth, there's no personality. How can you stand it here?"

He winced, frowning. "Don't you get it, Brie? I'm miserable without you. I have nothing without you. I don't know who I am. There's no pictures, no people. There's nothing. I didn't just lose everything when I left you. I lost myself, too."

"I wish you had never gone, I wish you had believed in us," she whispered, "I love you more than anything. I would never leave you. Ever."

He sighed. "I was young and stupid and insecure. I didn't think we stood a chance I—" he froze and she furrowed her brows, confused.

"What's wrong Troy?"

"You just said you love me." His eyes were wide and hopeful. "Just a second ago. You said you loved me."

Gabriella frowned. "No, I said I loved you, not that I love you. You misheard."

He shook his head. "No, you said you love me," his hands rose and he gripped her waist, "you did. I heard you."

"No, Troy, I—"

But before she could continue, she was cut off by a pair of lips on her own. Her eyes opened in shock before she settled against the feeling of Troy's lips moving against hers, the spark just as comforting and familiar as it was exhilarating. Despite her best judgement, she fell into him and wrapped her arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. Inwardly she cursed herself. Here she was, doing exactly what she was doing three months ago.

But the fact that history seemed to have repeated itself told her that it was probably meant to happen like this, and since they had avoided it the first time, this was their push in the right direction.

As they broke apart, Troy rested his forehead against hers once more as they gasped for breath. She nudged his nose with hers and his eyes met her gaze.

"You were right," she said softly, "I did say love. And that's because I do. Love you, I mean. I never stopped."

He crushed his lips against hers once again and she had never felt so full or complete in her life. "I love you, too," he murmured, advancing down and kissing her neck. "Stop running away and be with me, Brie. I promise, this time I'll get it right. I can't get it wrong again. I love you so much, I—" He paused once he reached her collarbone. "Um..."

She placed her hands on his head, urging him to look up. "What's wrong."

"You're not wearing a shirt."

"Oh." She felt her body heat up. "Oh. Well."

Their eyes met again and they burst into laughter, feeling lighter and happier than they ever had before. Troy kissed her again and she kissed him back, and the laughed again.

"I think we should look at this as a matter of convenience," she said with a smirk and he laughed in agreement before sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her to his bedroom.

---

The next morning, she awoke to the sweet scent of roses in a bed that was not hers.

Normally, this would have alarmed her. Rationally, this should have alarmed her, and had she been anything but sleepy and sore, she might have put a little more thought into it, but there was something else that lingered on the pillow she rested her head on, something else that comforted her in a way she hadn't felt in years. It was the unique combination of sandalwood and some expensive cologne that filled her with nostalgia of high school and her old apartment.

It was the scent that Troy Bolton carried with him, and this knowledge, the fact that she was breathing it in after all this time was what pulled her tired eyes open.

She glanced around the room, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She had gotten little to no sleep, the night before filled with tears and kisses and other activities so intimate she felt a blush creep up on her cheeks at the mere thought of them. Shifting, she heard a crinkle beside her and glanced down. A large bouquet of deep red roses sat on her pillow, and she smiled fondly, reaching down and grasping them.

She raised them to her nose and took a sniff, smiling at the smell. Just as she was lowering them, she heard the padding of feet on the ground and looked up at the entrance of the bedroom to see Troy, clad only in a pair of sweatpants and carrying a tray, enter the room with a bashful, satisfied smile on his face. His hair was ruffled and messy, but the grin on his face and the twinkle in his eye made him look perfect.

"Good morning," he said, his voice soft and careful, as if still testing the barriers between them. He set the tray down on the nightstand beside the bed and swooped his hand down, scooping up his shirt and handing it to her. "You might want to throw that on, or else you'll catch cold."

Gabriella's head snapped down to her exposed chest and she hurriedly brought the sheet up to cover her breasts, a flush spreading over her face. Troy laughed.

"I've seen those many times, babe," he said, sitting down and sliding across the bed to take his long-sleeved T-shirt in his hands and to lower the sheet, "you've got the marks on them to prove it." He grazed his finger over the swell of her right breast, just over one small, red bruise and she shivered.

He pulled the shirt over her head, and despite how childish she felt, she allowed him to, poking her head through and sticking her tongue out at him. "Yeah, well, reflex," she defended, grinning. "It's been a while since I've had one of these mornings."

Placing his hands on her hips, Troy leaned forward and kissed her lips lazily. "I loved these mornings," he whispered against her mouth and she shivered again, burrowing further into him. "They were the best way to start the day."

"I miss them," she admitted, dragging her lips against his once more before pulling back and resting her forehead against his. "I've missed you."

He looked up into her eyes, dark circles beneath his own and smiled softly. He brought his hands up and traced her cheekbones delicately, pressing his lips to her's before drawing back. "I've missed you to," he breathed, "more than I can ever explain. God," he kissed her again, "I can't believe you're here and you're real and you're not running away."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she drew him close to her and buried her head in his neck. "Not this time. But...it's not going to be that easy."

He kissed her temple and pulled her closer. "I know. We have a lot to fix. We have a lot to talk about. And we will, I promise."

She believed him.

"First," he slid the tray over to her, "we eat. And second, happy White Day," he chuckled, and handed her the bouquet of roses. She smiled as she accepted them, looking up at him from under her eyelashes and repressing a giggle. "I know roses are your favourite."

"They're a classic," she said, averting her gaze to the flowers in her lap, "traditional. Simple." Looking back up, she sighed contently. "It was you, wasn't it?" she asked, and a slow red flush crept up his neck, covering his ears and cheeks.

He sputtered, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. "What was me?"

She giggled again, feeling every bit the silly school girl, but she brushed the feeling aside. There was no reason to be ashamed, or feel petty; her heart was soaring and pounding and there were butterflies in her stomach that she hadn't felt in years. She liked this feeling, no, rather; she loved it.

It was welcome and she would gladly hope that it would stay.

"The flowers," she said slowly, knowing that even if he denied it (which he might—ever the romantic that he was, Troy didn't like to draw too much attention to the fact, not the verbal kind, anyway), she knew it was him. "The thirteen bouquets of roses that arrived at my office every single day for the past two weeks. That was you, wasn't it?"

Troy hopped off the bed, collecting the tray that he had sat down and brought it over to the bed, shrugging to himself. "Um, I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but the way his hands were suddenly shaking said otherwise. "You must have some sort of admirer, Brie, which honestly, is understandable, you are you."

She shook her head and pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth to keep from flat out laughing; all these years and he still couldn't lie to her to save his life. "Troy," she said diplomatically, and he looked up from the orange juice he was pouring and rolled his eyes.

"Gabriella," he said, handing her a glass. She took a sip and raised her eyebrows. "It wasn't me."

"Troy."

He paused, before sighing, and setting down his own glass of juice. "All right, fine," he said, his face crimson at this point, "it was me."

"I know," she said, pulling the duvet off of her legs and moving the tray out of the way so it no longer separated them. She rose up on her knees and cupped his face, tracing her fingers over his eyelids, his eyebrows, down the slope of his nose and over the curve of his nose. "They were beautiful. Thank you."

She dipped her head down and captured his lips with her own, his hands rising up to dip and press into the flesh of her waist. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, breaking their kiss and resting his forehead against her collarbone. He pressed a kiss to the space between her breasts and she curled her fingers in his hair before she answered.

"It had you written all over it," she teased, sitting back on her haunches to look him in the eye. "You were the only person in the world who not only knew the different meanings of roses, but also owned books of famous poems and not only knew the significance of White Day, but celebrated it."

He looked away, still embarrassed, "Yeah, well. I was only reciprocating."

Gabriella stiffened and he inwardly smirked. "Reciprocating?" she asked, calmly, "reciprocating for what?"

Pressing a quick kiss to her mouth, Troy jumped off the bed and walked over to his closet. Pulling open the doors, he walked in and stood on his toes, reaching up to grab something from the top shelf, retrieving a small red box, the lid tied with white ribbon. He sat back down on the bed and removed it, pulling out a small card on top of the heart shaped chocolate inside.

"Roses are red, violets are blue, chocolate is sweet, but not as sweet as you," he read aloud and she felt her cheeks burn almost violently. "You wrote this poem in every single card and love note you ever gave me," he said with a boyish grin, "and the chocolate is homemade. You're the only girl in the world who would take the time to make her boyfriend homemade chocolate every single Valentine's Day. Of course I knew it was you. Of course I knew you sent this."

She flushed scarlet. "I couldn't help it," she admitted, "now that I knew you were in New York, and I knew I still had feelings for you, and after that kiss on Christmas Eve that just made everything go a little bit crazy...I wanted to. I couldn't have stopped myself if I tried."

He nuzzled his nose against hers. "How did you get my address? You had it sent to my work. Why?"

"The Yellow-Pages," she said, kissing his cheek, "it was easier than having it sent here. Your office left room for more anonymity. How'd you get mine?"

He laughed. "Same way, for the same reason. Though I have to say, it kind of backfired for both of us."

Gabriella snuggled against him. "So," she said, making herself comfortable. "We've gotten the roses finished today. Where's the second part? What's today's poem?"

Pressing a kiss against her temple, Troy pulled her closer against his chest and brought his mouth down to her ear. "Doubt thou stars are fire. Doubt that sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt I love."

"Hamlet," she whispered, "I love that play."

"I know you do," Troy responded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She kissed him then, soft and sweet, and Kobe ran into the room, jumping on the bed and ruining their moment. Gabriella laughed and Troy pulled the dog over to them, introducing him to his mommy. She burst into hysterical giggles and kissed him again.

Three months later, Troy's apartment had pictures on it's walls.