A/N: ?..hi. Please don't hate me. I've now finished my A Levels, and school, forever, and so have been trying to enjoy a summer that is eerily empty of much to do...apart from going out and getting drunk and writing poetry. I've had some serious writers block, but I did promise this story would be completed by the time I go to uni in September, and that's still true. Plus, you may be interested to know, I now (finally) have some experience with guys myself that will hopefully aid my writer of Troy/Gabriella together.

Thanks to all the Anons on Tumblr for nagging me. This is for you.

Confrontations. Revelations.

From the minute he had stepped in his front door, he could feel it; the sense of tension, stretching all patience to its limit; the silence causing inner monologues to become so loud that soon they were going to burst out into verbal altercations. Troy had tried his best to avoid this; driving home alone from school in his truck for every day for the rest of the week; walking straight to his room once he arrived and closing the door, hoping that that same old cliché would ring true: Out of sight, out of mind.

It didn't, however, as Troy soon realised with every stomp of his fathers feet around the house the minute he got home from school. His mother had quietly entered and enquired as to her husband's foul mood on Monday night, to which Troy chose to give her the nonchalant, brief a-bridged version of the days events. To his surprise, his mother appeared to take his side. She didn't say as much, but he saw a look of empathy in her eyes that he was sure he had never seen before. It was now Friday night, and Gabriella and he both had a mountain of work from the week, so agreed not to see each other until they got some done. His mother had brought him dinner in his room––as he had told her of the great mound of homework he needed to power through––however, something shifted. He could hear his father's anger, which had barely receded once throughout the week when Troy had refused to speak to him after their altercation on Monday, becoming directed towards his mother in the kitchen. His words were sharp and clipped and argumentative as he demanded to know why she had let their son be so antisocial and eating in his room again, declaring she was too soft on him. Troy swallowed hard as he felt anger and adrenaline rising and bubbling to the surface. There was no way that man in there could talk to Troy's mother that way, even if that man was his father.

Are you sure you're okay?

came a text message from Gabriella, and Troy could almost see clear as day her concerned expression gazing up at him.

Dad's really pissed off still. Have a feeling this could get ugly. Wish me luck

She did, too, but not before also stating how much she wished she could be there with him. This warmed his heart much more than he was sure he'd like to admit, but caused him to close his eyes and lean back on his bed, clutching his phone to his chest where he had rested it, letting himself both wish that were true for a moment, while also revelling in the idea that she wanted it too. She wanted to be near him, as he did her.

"Troy!" came the sharp voice of Coach Bolton from the floor below. Troy gulped, rubbing his neck, agitatedly.

"Doing homework!"

"Jack––leave it," came the more gentle protest from his mother heard as Coach made his way up the stairs. His impending footsteps causing Troy's heart to beat erratically.

"Troy," Jack murmured curtly, as he held open the door to his son's bedroom. "Would you mind joining us at the table for dinner?"

"But Mom said I could do my homework and eat here––" Troy began protesting, but at the look in his father's eyes, he suddenly felt it wasn't worth it. With a sigh, he simply picked up his plate and walked by his father down the stairs, not missing his mother's exasperated look when he passed her. He sat at the table and began eating again instantly, not waiting for his father to sit down. He ate quickly and silently, with a stoney expression, which, despite the lack of snide comments he could have delivered, seemed to anger Coach Bolton more. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and considering he had already finished his food and his mother was making small talk with his father––no doubt trying to put off the seemingly enviable argument––he pulled it out to view a text message, from Gabriella no less.

"I'm sorry, are we interrupting something?"

Troy instantly looked up from his screen, mid-sentence, looking slightly guilty, knowing he'd broken a regular rule of no cell-phones at the table.

"I––er––No. Sorry, Dad."

Lucille, putting her cutlery together, smiled reassuringly at her son. "Troy, honey. Could you get desert from the kitchen, please?"

"Sure," he agreed, softly, getting up to do so as he tucked his phone back in his pocket.

"So, I'm guessing that was that girlfriend of yours again, huh?" Troy heard his father enquire from the table, obviously trying to sound nonchalant. Troy tightened his grip on the dishes for the desert, taking a moment to breath through the impulse to become defensive. "You two certainly looked...close in gym class the other day."

Troy grimaced while still out of sight of his father, taking a moment to prepare his best poker face. "Not really, Dad. We were doing circuit training, after all."

"Close?" his mother questioned, curiously.

"We weren't, Mom. I told you," he denied, quickly. "I was Gabriella's partner, and I was just helping her, because, obviously, she struggles a little with circuit training..."

"Well, that was very good of you, honey. I'm glad."

There was a pessimistic huff from his father as Troy placed the plates down, and he inhaled deeply, grinding his teeth.

"Just helping her, huh? Very good of you."

"Since when do you always ask such bafflingly accusing, passive-aggressive questions?"

"Boys," Lucille scolded in warning, sensing Troy's tone harden to flint.

"No, I mean it." Troy looked up at his mother with fire in his eyes, ready for this fight. "Do you know what he said to me that other day, Mom?"

Jack Bolton shifted, angered, to interrupt. "He?!––"

"He said Gabriella was 'handicapped' and distracting me from practice... Have you ever heard such crap?!"

"Jack––" Lucille gasped, at her husband, who was looking considerably flushed and uncomfortable. "You didn't?"

"He did, and then some," Troy confirmed, smug that his mother was angry with his father.

"Hey, now, less of that lip––" Jack Bolton's retort escaped automatically before he meant it to, and with that, he watched the fury in his son's eyes ignite.

"––Or what? You going to insult my girlfriend again?"

"Hey, now, Troy, quiet down––"

"No, Mom, I won't quiet down. I won't be pushed around by a man, who's meant to be a member of staff, who's meant to be my father, who treats me like this." He stood tall opposite his father across the table. "Gabriella is a part of my life. I like her a lot, and I won't apologise for her or anything else."

"I never said anything of the sort––" Jack began, only for Troy to cut him off.

"Oh, but you did, all because you think she's taking me away from your precious basketball. Well, you know what, Dad? I hope she does. I don't care, anymore. I don't fucking care. I give up."

Lucille didn't interrupt this time, but did gasp at her son's bad language as he went to storm out of the room.

"Troy! Get back here!" Jack ordered, following his son into the kitchen. "You have to think about this. You may like this girl, but, but, this is your career!"

"But it's not. It's not my career right now. Dad, it's yours. It's what you want. This is my life. Why can't I decide what do with it?"

"What on earth do you mean? Of course it's your career. This is the Red Hawks we're talking about. U of A! U of A, Troy! You should be focussing. The championship's only––"

"––I know, I know, the championship's close. I get it, and I'll be at every team practice, but Dad, I won't give up the other aspects of my life! Basketball is not––" He broke himself off, suddenly catching his breath at the admission he was about to make. "Basketball is not my life anymore, Dad... Neither are the Red Hawks."

"Troy––what are you saying––"

Troy felt his impatience bubble over. His father just wouldn't. Listen. "I'm saying––I don't care! I don't care if you don't think I'm practicing enough! I don't care about U of A! I don't want to be a Red Hawk! I don't want to live like this! I'm not even sure I want to do basketball as a career! If this is how my life is going to be because of it, then I don't want it!"

"Troy, come on, let's be rational about this."

Troy halted, turning on his heel to face his father, who looked panicked, obviously picturing the Wildcats playing the ever-nearing State Championship without him. He raised his eyebrows at his father. "Rational? You think I'm not being rational?" He shook his head, feeling himself losing fight. "Oh wow. You're fucked up, Dad."

Jack seemed to physically recoil, anger and hurt mixed in his expression. "Excuse me? You cannot talk to me like you––You're grounded!"

Troy barked out a bitter, humourless laugh, halting at the kitchen door. "What for? Telling the truth?"

"The truth?"

Troy tightened his fists at his sides.

"What's happened to you?" Jack asked in a forlorn voice, as though he son in front of him was beyond recognition.

"What's happened to you, Dad?" he countered, before turning on his heel and angrily stalking out of the front door, grabbing a hoodie and his keys.

"Where are you going?!" Jack yelled after him, stalking down the path.

"Away from you!" Troy yelled. He knew it was childish, but it was the truth, and he was too angry to even try anymore.

"Troy, come back, please!" came the plea of his mother from behind his father, her tone and distress almost turning him around, guilt bubbling in his stomach. His hands shook with adrenaline, and he knew he had to get away.

"I'll be back, Mom!" he yelled, hearing and ignoring as they reached his truck and tried to tap on the window helplessly. He drove off, not hearing anything other than the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. His knuckles were white as he held the wheel, as he stared ahead at the road helplessly, checking his mirrors only to make sure he wasn't being followed. When he didn't see anyone, he drove off into the darkening evening, not knowing where he was headed.

༻~ⓣⓦⓝⓒ~༺

"Stop it," Gabriella whispered to herself, scolding herself for staring at her phone. Troy hadn't replied to her text message, and while she knew this was reasonable, she couldn't help but worried and wonder, considering the last thing they'd communicated about was that his father was still being hostile. She stared at the screen blankly as she leant her chin the rim of the bath, holding her phone away from the water. She began to dose, as she often did in a hot bath. Her mind drifted to Troy soon enough, with his cerulean eyes; the dimples and laugh lines that appeared when he grinned; the golden tone of his skin under the sun and in the dark and dim of his living room; the way he kissed her; the way he walked around her room in his boxers... Her hand wondered slowly over her skin under the water, seeing Troy behind her closed eyes, envisioning his touch rather than her own, feeling her body beginning to react...only to be jolted by the sound of her phone that she had dropped to the bathroom floor. She quickly leant over and answered it, confused to see Emily's name on the screen.

"Hello," she answered brightly with a slightly bemused tone, clearing her throat, flushed from her previous activities.

"Gabi. What are you doing right now?"

Gabriella gulped, laughing nervously. "I'm in the bath. Why? What are you––"

"You need to come meet me now."

Gabriella sat up instantly, alert. "What?"

"I'm on my way to your house. You need to come with me!"

"What are you talking about? Go with you where? My mom is hardly going to just let me––"

"Gabriella––please. She won't notice you're gone. Just, please––It's Troy."

Gabriella placed her phone down on her towel to use both hands to climb from the bath, not wanting to fall, and picked it up again. "Emily––what––what––"

"Meet me outside yours in five, and I'll explain everything."

༻~ⓣⓦⓝⓒ~༺

"He drove off, after they fought again."

"Shit," Gabriella cursed, staring out the window at nothing in particular, something she had a habit of doing whenever she was nervous. "It's been bothering him all week. I should have thought––done something––"

"––I only know because Lucille rang me to ask if he was with me. He wasn't... but I think I know where he is."

"Emily..." She swallowed, feeling nerves bubble in the pit of her stomach. "But, surely, if he went off by himself, then he doesn't want us there?"

"Trust me. he'll want you there. Troy only runs away from something if he's desperate. He thinks he can work everything out for himself, but, you know, he can't."

Gabriella suddenly recognised the direction they were driving in, noting they were about to pull up to the back of East High's gym. "Wait––you just said you?! Does that mean you're not coming too?"

"Me? No! He can't stand me most of the time. However, he can't deny I'm useful and I always save his ass." She parked, rather unevenly, and didn't cut the engine. "Go on." Gabriela must have looked as uncertain as you felt, as Emily smiled gently. "You know, you help him more than you know, and... I think he helps you too. He's made you brave. You're certainly not the shy girl who shitty sandwiches that I met in Lava Springs' kitchen."

Gabriella swallowed the sentiment that swelled in her throat at this, smiling weakly in acceptance of the task ahead. "Where will I find him?"

"The gym, or the weight room. He's a jock. Duh?"

Gabriella climbed out of the car inelegantly, taking a deep breath of the cooler air as she bravely walked towards the back entrance to the gym, pushing a loose tendril of hair into her damp bun as another fell out. Thinking of all the wonderful moments she and Troy had had in the short time they had known each other, walked faster, wanting to be there for him. "That's not all he is," she whispered to no one with a soft smile.

She opened the door hesitantly, slowly watching her feet in the dim, following the signs of lights. She tiptoed through the mens locker room, noting how there wasn't an odour as she expected. All benches were empty, expect by the third group of lockers, only a stones throw away from the Coach's office, where a hoodie, a set of keys, a phone and a '14' basketball vest lay. Gabriella slowly picked up the uniform, tracing the white lettering of Troy's last name gently with her thumb, the word 'Bolton' bold and sure and definite, much like he was in day-to-day life... Well, usually.

With the tank top firmly in her grasp, she shuffled towards what she assumed was a training room, where light leaked from a door left open a jar. The sound of grunts and aggressive laboured breathing could be heard, so she sped up, slipping he head round the door. There, in the large training room under only two lights, was Troy, swinging his gloves fists at a punching bag...shirtless. From where she stood, all she could see was the shapes and contours of the muscles in his back, flexing with every hit, his grunts growing more and more angry, shouts escaping from deep within his throat. He appeared to be taking it too far, as sweat had formed a thick layer on his skin, his back looking like shiny wax under the light. His angry shouts became exclamations, as though whatever it was he was trying to exert away, he couldn't manage it. His breathing became ragged as though at the brink of tears, and Gabriella knew she should intervene. She moved quickly toward him, breaking into a run across the large room.

"Fuck! Fuck––fuck!" he yelled at almost record volume, as Gabriella chased toward him.

"Hey, Troy––hey! Hey!" She grasped his sweaty shoulders with tight, gentle hands. He didn't halt right away, but she felt the tension vibrating through his muscles under his hands. It ebbed under her touch as he turned at the sound of her voice, trying weakly to push her off.

"No. Gabriella. Not now. Let go."

At first, she felt a the blow and sting of rejection, however, stubborn as ever, she held her ground.

"Gabriella––No––" he began, but she wound her arms tight around him before he could finish, planting determined kisses to his sticky shoulder. He seemed to give into the sadness after that, as the anger faded into a much darker phase. He slid to the floor, letting her cradle his head against her chest as he attempted to catch his breath through occasional sobs.

"Why do they do this to me?" Troy husked in a broken croak of a tearful whisper, and Gabriella felt her heart stutter and splinter. "I just want to love what I really love." He trembled in her arms as she swallowed tears that began rising in her throat. "Why do they make it so hard?" He lifted his head, spread a hand over the back of hers, splaying a finger or two into her damp curls that had escaped easily from her bun. He cradled her face in his hands as kept a hand on the back of his head, looking down into his red, swollen teary eyes. "I just... I just..." He ground his teeth, and she quickly grasped him into a hug against to prevent further anger.

"You just, what?"

He sighed heavily as though the world was weighing on his shoulders. He leant away from her to pull his towel across the floor, wiping his face and sniffing, and though he was still sweaty, she would guess he was also wiping away fallen tears. There was no reply. Instead, he sat opposite her on the mat and tried to smile, but it seemed to wobble. Then, suddenly, "What's your dream?"

Gabriella opened her mouth without a response, then thought hard on her answer. "To go to Stanford. To study law."

Troy seemed to shake is head at this as though he didn't believe her, and she had to admit, it did sound false, even to her own ears. "No––not your aims––what's your dream? You know––what do you love?"

As she was not able to sit crossed legged, she crawled so she was so close to him that their faces were aligned, and she shyly sat between his legs against his chest after he pulled on his shirt.

She sighed, memories of all her lifelong daydreams of being graceful in movement flooded back to her; the days when she was five years old, when it was acceptable that she went to a ballet glass like all the other little girls; when she was given as much chance as others; when she didn't even know she was different. That was a treasured memory, as it was the only time she got to live that dream, and properly, because a five year old girl doesn't know what self consciousness or a disability is. As a result, her five year old self really felt she could be the one thing she wanted to be: a graceful dancer, a performer...but then reality set in as constructed by society's rules, and all that was lost. Intellect became the only aspect of herself she felt capable of pursuing.

"My dream actually has always been..." she swallowed, "dancing...and singing and music...Just...art, you know?... Until I got older and realised that could never happen for me."

Troy bulked at this, pleased she had told him such a thing, however, shocked by her pessimism and lack of self belief. "What? Why the hell can't it happen for you?"

Gabriella rolled her eyes as he looked around at her from behind. She shrugged, swallowing and looking away from him, not wanting to say it aloud. "Because," she said simply, as though it were obvious.

"Because?" he whispered.

She fiddled with the bottom of her shirt, that was in fact his band shirt, with his uniform still in her other hand. "Because..." The words were there, but they were so hard to say. Why were they always so hard to say? "Because, you know, I'm handicapped... No media would ever be interested in promotion of someone like me, much less the industry."

She didn't know that the 'H' word had been the exact one his father had used, but when she used it against herself, he suddenly felt as though it was his mission make her see how capable she really was. He dropped his head to her shoulder, leaving one kiss there as his large hands encircled her waist, his thumbs moved over her ribs. "Hey," her growled playfully, tightening his arms around her, hugging her close. "Listen to me." He held her chin so that his eyes met hers and she couldn't look away. "You can be whatever you want. You are the smartest person I have ever met, and you have a beautiful voice. The sky––in fact, fuck that––not even the sky is the limit for you."

"But Troy––" she sighed, feeling hopeless. "That's not true––"

Suddenly, his lips met hers urgently, and though he was still sticky with sweat, she kissed back for a minute, the slightest trace of stubble scratching against her upper lip, a sensation she wished to commit for memory for life. He reached up and traced her lower lip as he pulled away, giving her a small smile. "You get up every day, get out of bed, and you go about your life, such things not being at all as easy for you as the rest of us, literally. You deal with a massive majority of the world around you taking such aspects of life, like simply being about to get out of bed, and walk around, for granted; such ignorance must frustrate you so much for how much you wish you had this same 'normality.' And sometimes, their bullshit prejudice does the same. Yet, despite the shit you have to endure, due to nothing but the lottery of life, you get up and you take on the world with so much more thought than us 'normal people.' You put half of us to shame, Gabriella, just by getting up in a morning. You get such good grades, you self-taught yourself acoustic guitar––and really well, too." He swallowed, watching the way she looked as though she were being swallowed whole by the sheer amount of compliments. "And on top of all this, you are so beautiful, and sexy as fuck––" She giggled, bashfully, desperately trying to look away from his solid gaze, swallowing almost continuously. "You're just... You are the strongest person," he whispered, with utter belief. "You can do anything. Please, please don't listen to them."

"When did this end up about me?" she asked with a giggle, embarrassment causing a noticeable flush to her cheeks. "You have a habit of doing that." She leant away from him, cringing slightly at how moist she realised she was due to his perspiration.

"Aw, shit––I made you all sweaty––" He frowned guiltily, helping her stand up. She shook her head, indicating it wasn't important. After standing straight and wiping his eyes again, it was only then that Troy realised that she was wearing His band shirt, again.

"Nice shirt," he husked with a smirk, enjoying the sight of the hot flush that travelled up her neck.

"I... was rushed out the bath by Emily––I just grabbed anything. I didn't even have time to put on a bra––" She froze the moment she spoke, not consciously aware of her words until they were already spoken.

If he had thought she had blushed a moment ago, then this was something new. It was hot and a deep rouge in colour, and it rose right to the apple of her cheeks.

"Well," he remarked, sneaking an auspicious look down at her chest and the rounded shape of her breasts. "That has considerable cheered me up."

Gabriella moved her hands from covering her face with a giggle, leaning instead to press against his sweaty body, kissing his defined jawbone delicately. "You are this man," she whispered, pressing his Wildcat tank top to his chest between them. "But you are so much more, too, Troy." She placed a firm hand over his thudding heart, solid and strong and constant, and smiled. "Please believe me."

The confidence in his eyes that was ever present fell slightly, giving way to the vulnerability of his current trials and tribulations, and she slid her fingertips under his shirt to feather her fingertips along his abs comfortingly. Troy searched her face desperately for a word to say, but seemed to find no prompt. Instead he swooped down and kissed her, a hand gently in her damp hair. When they parted, Gabriella muttered that he kneecap was twitching due to all that time spent on the floor on her knees, and they laughed. He leant down to massage her knee cap, causing Gabriella to giggle more and swat at him. After a moment of quiet, Troy picked up his belongings and quickly headed to the showers, but not before sitting Gabriella down on a bench and making sure she was comfortable. Before he dashed, there was also a sentence that he left his lips; possibly the most earnest words he had ever spoken.

"Gabriella... Thank you."