Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Troy sailed for fourteen months, visited eleven countries, made twenty-six good friends in his travel before he called it quits. So many new friends he can now call family. But along the way, he lost one. The most important one. He doesn’t want to believe that it is a permanent loss but the 129^th text message that goes unanswered is starting to seem like it. He just doesn’t get it. He called so many times and Abed hadn’t answered his phone, except that one time three months ago during their Freaky Friday anniversary that changed everything.

They had talked for a long while on that blessed Thursday. Or rather, Clone-Troy talked, Clone-Abed listened. Hummed and mumbled to show that he’s listening. Clone-Troy told him all about Morocco and how he's headed to Spain next. Clone-Abed even chuckled at some of his anecdotes. They were on the phone for almost an hour before Clone-Troy’s phone was about to run out of battery.

“Alright, Clone-Abed. I’ll call you tomorrow and—”

“No,” Abed had answered resolutely.

“Huh? My phone is running out—”

“I meant, no to the phone call, Troy. And no to Clone-Abed. There must have been a mix up in Britta’s regeneration sequence... or something-- because Clone-Abed was Abed all along and now, Abed has resurfaced.”

What made Troy feel queasy at first was the logic of it all. Clone-Abed—no, Abed Abed didn’t even try to provide an elaborate pseudo-scientific explanation as to why he is now Abed again. Or something, he said. This is the same man who explained Troy’s compulsion to come home as a homing pigeon DNA. This is the man who drove a professor out of a job by proving his research on Who’s the Boss inaccurate. (It’s Angela). This is a man who had a breakdown in front of the entire class because he couldn’t categorise Nicholas Cage as good or bad. Abed always, always had a detailed explanation for all plot twists and crazy scenarios. He always had a sound reason. That was the one thing Troy (and later on Clone-Troy) could depend on because he is obviously not the sensible one of the pair.

“Okaaay? So, I guess Britta brittaed me too? And I’m just regular Troy?”

“If you want it so.”

“Regular Troy calls regular Abed tomorrow then?”

“No.”

“Wha—”

“I’m sorry, Troy. You needed to be a man of your own. And you did that. I’m so very proud of you. It’s time for Abed to do the same. And I can’t do that if I’m still ‘Troy-and-Abed’,” he finished in a hurry like he had rehearsed it many times.

“But I’m not there. So, technically you’re a man of your own too. Anyway, what does this have to do with me calling you?” Troy’s voice raised an octave in trepidation.

“Lisa says I need to let go.”

“Lisa who—”

“My therapist.”

“You go to therapy now?”

“Yes. I’ve been going for a while. Six months and three days to be exact. Although that’s not entirely exact per se because I go only twice a week these days as opposed to four times a week when I first started, so mathematically—”

Troy shook his head, not caring about the math of it all. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because…”

“Because?”

“Just because.”

“Abed, you’re scaring me. Why are you not telling me things? I tell you things!”

“I know you do. That’s why we can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. There’s only one thing left for us to become our own man. Troy is Troy. Abed is Abed. Alone. No ‘and’s anymore,” Abed’s voice quivered at the end and suddenly, Troy’s eyes began to burn.

“What did I do? Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’ll come back and you can pillow fight me for however long you want until I make it up to you.”

“Oh, Troy…” Abed sniffled and trailed off for a while before continuing. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not at all. Thank you for your friendship. You were right, I’m your best friend and you are mine, but you are also my first friend. In some ways, my only. I will always cherish our time together. But it’s time for me to grow up too. Just like you did. I have to stop waiting.”

“Waiting for wha—” The line cut off. “Abed? Abed!” He looked down at his phone and the screen went black.

“Fuck, fuck fuck stupid battery, stupid phone,” he cussed under his breath all the way up to the rented hut-sized house near the port that Levar Burton and the two other crew mates were at. He ran up to the socket, pulled off the phone that was already charging and ignored the exasperated “Hey!” from his disgruntled crewmate.

“It’s an emergency!” Troy shouted, hand shaking as he plugged in the phone and held down the start button a little too forcefully.

By the time Troy called again, Abed’s phone was turned off.

Initially, Troy figured Abed needed some time to process. Process what exactly, he’s not sure. Maybe he’s being dense as always but it’s hard without Abed explaining to him the way he would when he misses out on movie logic. Troy doesn’t think himself astute but there is one thing he knows a lot about, or so he thought until that moment- Abed. When pressured, Abed will cut off communication, become silent and withdrawn, body tense and unmoving, eyes staring into space. He would imagine himself a robot powered down and remain cocooned on the upper bunk bed until he felt ready to engage with people. So, Troy assumed the same about this situation. Perhaps something at therapy bothered Abed and he needed time alone.

But eventually Abed’s voicemail changed, no longer one with Troy and Abed chanting one after the other, “[Abed’s voice] Inspector Spacetime …. [Troy’s voice] and Constable Reggie …[Together] are out on a space-time adventure… [Troy’s voice] Leave a message and we’ll get back to it when we are done saving worlds… [Abed’s voice] Or should we say where? [Together] Wink.”

Yes, they said wink. What you gonna do, sue them, Winger? Is it poor storytelling? Yes, but you have to make do with the limits of the medium. Troy has the same voicemail on his phone. The group hated it but Troy and Abed used to call each other and let it go to voicemail just so they can listen to it when they first composed it.

But when Troy tried again two days after, the automated female greeting alarmed him, “You have reached the voicemail box of [Abed]. Please leave a message after the sound. [Beep].”

“Abed, call me back when you get this. We need to talk. Shit, what’s gotten into you, man? Just call me back.”

And that was the first of innumerable voicemails and missed calls left unanswered. When he first left Greendale, they decided to call once a day at least to talk because texting is what you do with regular friends. Best friends, you have to hear their voice. The commitment, the carving out time during the day to meet the appointment, that’s the right way to do it. But after a month of failing to reach Abed, he texted him. Over and over.

Another month passed and Troy worked himself up to a wave of cold anger. How could Abed do that? Treat him like he’s nothing. What if he were lost at sea and needed Abed to call the emergency services? What if he were abducted by some extra-terrestrial force and only Abed would be knowledgeable enough to save him? What if he had terminal cancer and was dying and Abed needed to fulfil some grand final wish for Troy to find peace in the afterlife? What if… pirates-- no, sharks-- no, tornadoes—no, Sharkanado! What then? What if his heart was starting to give… and his lungs were on the verge of collapse and his eyes felt like he was standing over smoke, like his world was on fire and… and Abed just wouldn’t try to save him?

By the end of the fourteenth month of being away, he wanted to return to Colorado but was determined to never speak to Abed again. If Troy was dead to Abed, then so was Abed to him. Wait, how if Abed had died? That would explain why he can’t reach Abed. The thought made him hyperventilate until he remembered that Annie had just texted him in the group chat two days ago with a selfie from the entrance of the study room, the group seated around the table, Troy’s seat left empty. In the photo, Jeff looked at Annie with annoyance, Shirley smiled sweetly, Britta looked blurred as she was turning around to face the camera, fingers halfway up to form a peace sign, Pierce’s life vapour can be seen from his side of the table but… Abed was not looking at the camera. His back was towards the picture, shoulders slumped over like he’s looking down at something.

The picture marked a second farewell. Third if you count Troy leaving. Fourth if you count Pierce dying. Hell, fifth if you count Jeff graduating early. Ah, Troy doesn’t care for math. But basically, everyone’s moving on. Jeff really does enjoy teaching law and has gotten a tenure at a proper university. He also works as a consultant for a reputable law firm, so the world still has the luxury of the Winger guarantee even if he were no longer in the courthouse.

Britta, deciding to keep therapizing as a hobby and not a career, went back to what she does best. Activisting. Troy doesn’t know if it’s a word but you get the point. She just got hired as the Head of Youth Programme in a feminist organisation, aiming to empower girls and educate boys for a more equitable future. Or at least, that’s what she says, incessantly after getting the job.

Annie got a scholarship to pursue Forensic Medicine at a university hospital after impressing the forensic pathologist that she was interning under three days a week after Troy left to make up for rent. She has actually started her course six months ago but drops by to visit her friends from time to time.

Shirley is at Greendale but not as a student. She is there as the owner and manager of Shirley’s Sandwiches, a franchise now (because she opened another shop at City College but don’t tell Dean Pelton. What he dean’t know, shouldn’t hurt.)

Pierce, as the former business partner, will stay in his cylinder on the shelf in Shirley’s shop. It’s only fair he oversees the business he financed. Shirley isn’t happy about it but she can’t refuse it.

And Abed… Troy didn’t know what was happening with Abed. Abed had been working on short films with people he met on an improv class in the last six months. He mentioned needing the hands-on experience. But Troy doesn’t know if that is a job that Abed could rely on or merely another passion project. He could tell that these changes are affecting Abed but he wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. Least of all Troy. How is this not the darkest timeline?

Troy looked closely at the picture again, looking for a sign.

Jeff replied to the image with a “Classic Britta!”

Britta responded with a middle finger emoji. Followed by a “Hey, if anyone Brittaed this picture, it’s Abed. He wouldn’t even turn around.”

Annie answered, “Leave Abed alone! He’s unwell.”

Britta bristled, “You leave him alone. Him therapizing doesn’t mean he’s unwell.”

Shirley then piped in with, “Well, if he ever needs to speak to someone who wouldn’t judge, might I suggest a skinny little Hebrew handyman? 😊”

Annie replied to Britta’s comment, “I meant he wasn’t feeling too well. He’s got a recurring headache for weeks now. What does it say about you that you immediately brought up his ‘therapizing’, I wonder [thinking face emoji].”

Jeff interrupted with, “Brittaed it again!” followed by a, “Here I thought Shirley would be ever so kind to offer a listening ear.”

“Oh, Abed knows, surely, that I’ll be ever so willing to listen too,” Shirley texted.

“Oh, surely, Shirley! My bad. Didn’t realise you identified as a skinny little Hebrew handyman. [gif that says You do you, boo]. ” answered Jeff.

“Shut up, Jeff. At least I’m trying to help. What are you doing, running for Jerk of the Year?” replied Shirley.

“Ooooohhhh, snap, boom, burn, crash. Guess who totally Jeffed it now!”

“Shut up, atheist! You’re not even funny.” replied Jeff. “Unlike you lifeless people, I have a class to teach so bye.”

Troy only texted back then to say, “Oh Jeff, don’t gooooo. I was just starting to get invested :D BTW, MISS YALL LOADS!”

Everyone replied, except Abed. He knew Abed read the group texts, but no sound from Abed. So, despite his resolution to not talk to his best friend (former?) as payback, he relented, heart softened by the news of Abed feeling unwell. He sent out his 129^th text in a private chat with bated breath two days after the group chat.

“Hey, I hope you’re feeling better. Maybe get that headache checked if you’re not, still? And if you need to talk, I am no skinny little Hebrew handyman but I am a built, average height, non-practising Jehovah, air-con repairman. So, hit me up anytime. :D :D ”

Abed had turned off the seen notification on private chats so he waited five more minutes before he sent the last text. The 130^th. The one text that he kept typing and erasing over the past dreadful months.

“I miss you like hell, Abed. I really do.”

No reply.

Chapter Text

Troy comes home to Colorado and he wants to believe that he is a changed man. He is more confident about surviving out in the world now, more street-smart perhaps, but mostly, he feels the same way. He had seen so much beauty and had been a part of real-life adventures that rival those of his fantasies, (like that one time Levar Burton and Troy asked for directions to McDonalds and ended up in a brothel, watching women do an elaborate dance with hula hoops). Okay, let’s not get into the details lest it overshadows the more important of narratives, one of Troy returning home. He doesn’t tell anyone of his return as of yet. He wanted to surprise the gang. The hardest part was saying goodbye to Levar Burton but he’s certain of their bond. Something not quite friendship for they don’t usually share similar interests or view life through the same lens, but yet something strong and unshakeable that comes with travelling together, through good days and seasick, shirt drenched in your own puke kind of days.

First, he visits his Nana. He wasn’t going to risk getting the skin of his ass flayed with a switch for not caring enough about his elderly, knocking on heaven’s door grandmama. He is deadly terrified of her still, despite having seen actual sharks with his own two eyes. But underneath all that fear, there is gratitude because she made him resilient to face the world, so often hostile to a young black man. And because of that courage of knowing he could survive anything, he had also gained a deeper appreciation when in company of those who want to see him thrive. Those like Abed, who, he at first, took for granted and treated like he would a nerd in the high school hallway - easy prey to tease and make his friends laugh.

It seemed like survival then, to feed on the creatures smaller than him and climb up the food chain. But how wrong he was for Abed was no small creature. Abed was an entire ecosystem. Troy knows to break, knows how to take a punch and how to wrap his fingers into a solid fist and where to aim and what hurts the most. Abed knows to build. Where he hurts, he creates and heals. He makes such good company to himself, not needing to impress anyone and not caring about trivial opinions and judgements on his personhood. He catches the remarks about him being crazy or robotic or a humanlike alien or emotionally void but he doesn’t throw them back with malicious intent. Instead, he turns them into something beautifully crazy and poignant like a character, a costume, a film, a story, a friendship…

Abed is an entire ecosystem by himself and he permitted Troy, wild as he was, to come and rest alongside the rivers and the moss. To find himself anew. To thrive without needing to compete. That’s all the more reasons that Troy cannot seem to understand Abed’s need to be his own man. He was and is his own man. Long before Troy and long after. It is Troy that found comfort and eventually complacence under the magical shade that Abed provided as he towered above everyone else.

After visiting his family for a day, (Nana wouldn’t let him leave the house without spending the night), Troy goes to Greendale, stands next to the signpost, snaps a selfie and sends to the group.

(1)

He is positively vibrating in anticipation as he sees his friends typing.

Britta: HOLY SHIT YOU'RE BACK? OR AM I LOSING MY MIND?

 Annie: I'm squealing so hard. Please don't say sike [heart eyes emoji]

Troy: I'm back. You're not losing your mind. At least not this time [wink emoji]

 Jeff: I bet Abed is losing his shit right now and running to you with the abominable intensity and speed of Kickpuncher.

Jeff: I have a meeting in a few minutes. (Boring!) But I'll come as soon as I'm done. Take you out on a fancy meal.

 Britta: Yeah, Jeff can afford it now ;D

Jeff: Unlike Britta who gets paid in peanuts and an inflamed sense of superiority.

Annie: I'm getting on the train right now. See you in 20!

Troy: I can't type... or breathe with how hard Shirley is hugging me [cry emoji]

(2)

(3)

For a moment, Troy basks in the warmth and affection and attention his friends are showering him. He is almost bouncing with excitement, anticipating the arrival of the group. Annie’s on her way, Britta is leaving work now, Jeff will be done in an hour. So he sits with Shirley in the café, listening to her speak enthusiastically about different types of sandwiches she had improvised over the year.

(4)

He posts a picture of a burger Shirley made just for him with extra honey bacon with the caption "Meet Troy-jan Horse!"

Everyone has had something to say in response to his arrival, even Dean Pelton who hugged him for 13 minutes straight, no joke.

Leonard remarks condescendingly, “Ha! Told you you’d be back! Welcome to the Hotel California…”

Troy shrieks in response, “What does it meaaaan? I don’t know what it meaaaaans!”

He wishes Abed would come and explain the reference. He’s heard it a million times in relation to Greendale but he never got the reference and at this point, too ashamed to admit he doesn’t know. Except to Leonard because he’s an old fart and Troy doesn’t care what he thinks.

The day rushes by, so many hugs, kisses to his cheek, so much hand-holding and squealing and jumping and talking a mile a minute and by the end of it, he feels dehydrated, exhausted, hollow. Shirley offers the gang one last drink before announces the shop closed. They move to the study room where the absence of one becomes more apparent. Troy perches in his seat slowly, two empty seats next to him. One dead, the other gone. He sneaks a glance at Abed’s chair and feels the emptiness like an exit wound.

He hears Jeff mumble to Annie urgently, “Where the fuck is Abed?”

She replies in a whisper, “How would I know? You know we aren’t living together anymore.”

Britta takes out her phone triumphantly and says, “I’m going to text him personally.”

Shirley responds, “Yes, yes. Maybe he muted the group chat. He would come if he’d known.”

Troy doesn’t know if the group knows about Abed’s decision to quit talking to Troy.

Annie huffs out a breath and turns to look Troy square in the eyes. “Troy, I don’t wish to impose on you but I have to ask on behalf of all. What did you do to Abed?”

Troy bristles defensively, voice increasing in pitch, “I didn’t do anything to Abed—"

“Then, why is he acting so weird lately?” Britta asks.

Jeff corrects, “Weirder than the usual, she means.”

Surprisingly it’s Shirley that takes Troy’s side, “Guys, let’s not blame everything that happens to Abed on Troy. That’s not fair. He wasn't even here!”

Annie sighs, “It’s not—I’m not blaming you. I’m asking. I’m concerned. He moved out of the apartment two months ago, you know? Said he was going to live with his dad again. I figured that means he’ll eventually get annoyed with his dad controlling him and he’ll be back. But he didn’t. Now I have to look for a roommate to make the rent.”

Troy takes the information in quietly and masks how stunned he feels that he wasn't informed about Abed moving out of what once was their home. He’s perhaps changed a lot more than he imagined. Troy, as he was in the past, would have burst into tears and histrionics right at this point. Troy as he is now, swallows the painful knot in his throat, presses his palms down on the table and thinks of a solution.

“Well, I got the money now. From Pierce. As in not now now but soon. The lawyer dude, Mr Stone? He is getting the paperwork ready. So, you don’t have to worry about making rent, Annie. I’ll take care of it. I need a place to stay anyway so if you’ll have me—”

“YES!” squeals Annie, hands clapping as she bounces in her seat.

At least that hasn’t changed. He looks up now and sees Jeff observing him intently with a frown between his brows. He slides down his feet, propped up on the table, leans forward and asks Troy tentatively, “Troy, what’s going on?”

Troy throws his hands up dramatically and rolls his eyes to indicate that he doesn’t appreciate the accusation but before he could answer, Jeff puts one hand up to silence everyone.

“Earlier I figured Abed was acting weird for Abed reasons. But now I’m not so sure. I would imagine that you’d be throwing a proper fit about Abed not being here, that you’d run to him like that ridiculous final scene in Kickpuncher that you—”

“Kickpuncher 3! You keep saying Kickpuncher, it’s Kickpuncher 3! There’s a damn difference!” Troy exclaims.

“Uh-huh!” Jeff says loudly, his usual Winger move when he proves an argument in his favour. “See? I texted Abed about Kickpuncher and he didn’t even correct me! There is no way Abed can resist correcting anyone about Kickpuncher and you know it!”

Britta quietly interrupts, “Guys?”

Everyone turns to look at her but she focuses her glance at Troy. She looks at him with such sympathy that he can’t stop his eyes from watering, so he grits his teeth and looks down at the table.

She shows the text message around the table for everyone to see.

(5)

Britta: Duuude!!! WHERE ARE YOUUUUU?! Did you not get the message? TROY IS BAAAACK! COME TO GREENDALE ASAP AS IN NOW!

Abed: Can't. Working.

Britta: PSSSH!! OH PLS! Tell your dad you'll make up for your falafel shift another day!

Britta: OH WAIT! ARE YOU PLANNING A SUPRISE! IS THAT IT? TELL US SO WE CAN JOIN YOU IN IT! I promise I won't say a word to Troy [grin emoji]

Abed: No. Sorry to burst your bubble but no surprises here. I just can't come.

Abed: Bye

Britta says hoarsely, "Also, he just left the group chat."

Shirley is the one to break the silence with, “What a dick! Awww come here, Troy! You don’t need such a bad friend.”

“No, no,” says Troy with a half-hearted chuckle, but the one tear that plopped on the table betrayed him. He wipes it off with the sleeve of his shirt, hoping no one noticed while muttering urgently, “He’s working. You know how his dad can get? It’s fine, I’ll meet him another day when he’s free. It’s fine, guys—"

Annie and Britta rush over to hug him. Shirley’s got his hand in a painful vice-like grip. Jeff slowly walks over to place a gentle hand on the back of his neck and that does it. He shakes as he sobs, resting his forehead on Britta’s arm.

Shirley tries to console him, “Oh love, you don’t need him. It’s okay, he’ll come to realise how much he needs you and he’ll come running back. Like whatever that crap—” clears her throat and puts on a fake sweet voice when Jeff glares at her, “that fantastic movie you all love so much.”

Britta half-shouts, “Geez, Shirley, it’s called Kickpuncher!”

Troy and Jeff shout '3' in unison

Troy smiles a little through his tears. He loves his friends but they just... don’t get it. He needs Abed so fucking much. And it’s becoming more and more unmistakable that Abed doesn’t need him.

Chapter Text

As promised by Jeff, they had a fancy dinner. It did little to make Troy feel better because it was the same restaurant in which Abed and Troy had a meal too luxurious for their means years ago. They had to run down three blocks and climb over a fence, a rusty emergency stairway and wait out at the rooftop of a shady abandoned building for the night to make sure they got away with dining and dashing. And they never went anywhere near the place after that. But all in all, it was a terrific night, made better by the thrill of being chased. Troy hesitated at first when he noticed where Jeff was taking them but realising that he now has money to spend thanks to Pierce, he figured he can make amends if the restaurant manager does recognise him. But nobody did.

Troy tried to enjoy the night, told them stories and anecdotes about his travel, all the friends he made, showed them pictures of all the pretty sunsets. And at the end, he went to his old apartment with Annie and Britta. When he stepped in and noticed the blanket fort gone, he announced that he needed a hot shower and stayed under the mild-pressured spray for a long, long time with his eyes closed and the lights turned off. He listened to the sound of his breathing, focused on the darkness.

This was what Troy and Abed did once. On an unfortunate day a few years ago when Abed’s mum couldn’t make it for Christmas dinner with him. Abed had walked into the shower and had not come out for more than an hour. Troy knocked tentatively from time to time, worried he’d lost Abed to the dark thoughts that sometimes cloud Abed’s mind. Slightly exasperated with Troy’s incessant checking in, Abed had slipped on his boxers, opened the door and said, “I’m gonna be here a while more. But if you’re going to keep worrying, you might as well come in and sit with me. But no talking.”

Troy, stunned by the suggestion, replied, “But it’s so dark. Why don’t you turn on the light?”

“I need it to be dark. And quiet,” Abed had answered stiltedly.

“But I… I just… ” Troy hesitated but breathed in deep and started removing the articles of his clothes until he was down to his boxers. “Okay, let’s do this I guess.”

“Wait,” Abed stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Just wait here.”

Abed went into their bedroom and came out with the kiddie torch. It’s one that Abed has had since his mum left him at the age of 6. It’s a wonderful torch; one end of it serves as a projector with tiny film rolls with fairy tales. You can twist it like a wheel and project the still to a wall to see the story. The other end is a yellow torch under a plastic casing painted with black stars and moon so as to create shadows of the night sky when projected towards the ceiling. Abed’s father had bought him that because Abed had nightmares after his mum left and Abed’s father had work in the morning and couldn’t manage his nightly terrors. He no longer had night terrors but he kept it, the way he has kept pretty much all mementoes of his life. One of the film rolls had melted into the slit from heat, cheap plastic and all, so the story torch is practically unusable. Only ever shows the last image frozen. The starry torch, although some of the paint wore off, is still usable and half resembles the night sky.

Abed passed the torch to Troy, “Here. You can hold this.”

Troy snorted nervously, hiding his embarrassment and retorted, “Why would I—”

“Troy,” Abed looked at him sternly. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Shut the door behind you.”

And then Abed walked into the bathroom, sat on one corner of the tub where the shower was turned on, knees up to his chest, eyes staring blankly ahead, and breathed like a machine, so steady and still.

Troy, afraid of the dark, turned on the starry end of the torch and followed after him, closed the door and sat on the other side of the tub, staring at the ceiling where the light shone. He listened to Abed breathe and was almost lulled to sleep.

It’s been years but the moment, much like the melted film, remains stuck in his mind's eye. Troy doesn’t necessarily like the dark but he is no longer afraid. He stands under the spray and breathes the way he remembers Abed breathing. It’s supposed to calm him down. Usually, it does. It became a habit he picked up as he travelled. When he was overwhelmed, he’d go stand in the shower, in the dark, and breathe and he’d be transported back to that pocket of peace and quiet and it would almost feel like Abed is there with him and everything would be okay. Lately, it just makes him want to cry.

And just as though Annie read his mind, she switches on the light from outside and calls, “Hey, Troy? Why didn’t you turn on the light? Isn’t it dark in there?”

Troy turns off the shower and replies, “Forgot.”

When he comes out, Britta (who insisted on staying the night with Troy) and Annie break apart from their hushed conversation. Troy rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother asking.

Annie says in a sing-song voice, “I made you hot chocolate with extra marshmallows. Just the way you like it.”

“Thanks,” Troy smiles and sits on the chair that Troy-and-Abed had gotten from a thrift store when they moved in. The other remains empty so Troy turns on the TV to distract himself.

Britta then sits on the arm rest of his chair and says, “Hey, buddy.”

“Hmmm?”

“Wanna tell us what’s going on?”

Annie then takes the other chair and faces Troy, “Let us help you figure out what’s going on here. Did Abed say anything to you? He must have said something.”

“Anything fishy you can recall?” adds Britta.

Troy shakes his head. Usually, he’s the sort that can’t keep a secret to save his life, blurts things out when ambushed with questions. But apparently restraint is also something he had acquired in the year he had been away.

He answers calmly, almost too calmly, “It’s nothing. I’m gonna go see him at the shop tomorrow and everything will be fine.”

Annie exhales in relief and says, “Oh thank God. Please convince him to come back. I miss having the two of you around.”

Troy just smiles and shrugs as he changes the channel.

*****

The next day, he leaves the apartment sharp at 6.30 am while Britta and Annie slept. The falafel shop opens at 6.45 am for stocking and food prep and then opens at 7 am for customers. He wanted to get there before the customers but he had to refuel Britta’s second-hand -maybe even third-hand- Honda City and ended up stuck in the morning traffic. All in all, he arrives there at 7.09 am, opens the door and finds himself the only one there.

Then he hears a familiar voice, “Sorry, I’ll be right there.”

Abed walks in, carrying a tray of finely cut onions and another of tomatoes for kebabs. He places them into their respective holders and wipes his hands on the apron before looking up.

“Yes, what can I get you—”

He trails off as he notices Troy standing before him. Troy offers a smile, a shaky grin, trying to lighten the tension in the room and Abed stares for a bit before he nods, lips quirked up a little.

Then he grabs a paper container and repeats, “Hi, what can I get you?”

Troy’s smile drops so fast that anyone observing would have had an emotional whiplash. But nobody was. Not even Abed, who was busy putting on gloves. Troy plays along then like he always does.

“Chicken kebab,” he answers mechanically.

“Excellent choice,” Abed smiles like he would at a customer and Troy feels it like a slap. “Vege? We have onions, tomatoes, cucumb—”

“Everything.”

“Great,” Abed comments, hands working methodically at placing the vegetables in a way that will make them all sit snugly in a wrap. “Condiments? Ketchup, mustard, hummus, homemade chilli and garlic sau—”

“Whatever.”

Abed adds hummus, garlic sauce, and the store-bought chilli sauce, explaining, “Well, the homemade chilli sauce is spicy and may not be up to your liking. But the garlic sauce, you must try.”

Troy only stares, confused.

“That will be 5.50,” Abed answers without missing a beat, as he finishes wrapping the kebab.

Troy puts the money on the table as Abed removes his gloves and starts pressing buttons on the cash register. Troy then asks, “Okay. Now, can we talk?”

“Sorry, I have customers—”

 “What customer?!” Troy exclaims, looking around dramatically to illustrate his point. “I’m the only one here—"

“Can’t talk when I’m on my shift,” Abed says, cleaning the counter.

“Then what time does your shift end?”

Before Abed could say anything, someone else walks in with a tray of falafel. Abed’s dad. He looks at Troy and goes, “Hi, how can I hel—Wait, you’re…” he puts down the tray and snaps his fingers a couple of times, trying to recall, “Trevor?”

“Troy,” Abed and Troy say at the same time, Abed more forcefully than Troy.

“Oh yes, yes. You studied with my son. I heard you went travelling. How was that?”

Abed interjects, “I think Troy is busy right now, baba.”

Before Troy could refute, Abed’s father says, “Oh yes, of course. Abed, take the morning off. Go out with your friend. I’ll see you before lunch hour, ya?”

Troy begins to smile gratefully when Abed replies, “No, baba. Troy is busy. And I need to take inventory...Bye, Troy. See you when I see you,” Abed says, walking to the back of the store.

Abed’s dad looks between them in confusion before he turns to where Abed was headed with a frown. Troy knows the look, he’s about to scold Abed for poor manners. So, he interrupts Abed’s dad, “Thank you, sir. I shou—”

“Call me uncle. Sir is too formal. I know Abed’s development has a lot to do with your help. You made my son normal. Somewhat normal—”

Troy bristles at the insinuation, “Well, thank you then, uncle. But normal is not always good. Abed is so much better than normal and I’d never want him any other way.”

Troy clears his throat as Abed’s dad tilts his head and hurries to say, “Abed’s right. I really should get going. There’s stuff—important stuff—like some paper—legal pap—”

He stutters ineffectually and Abed’s dad smiles, “You’re a good friend was what I meant. Here, falafel on the house.” He throws a few into a paper bag and passes, “Get going then. Don’t want to be late to… stuff.”

Troy leaves the restaurant, shaken. He feels heavy and imagines himself turned into a pile of rocks in a humanlike figure. Like The Thing from Fantastic Four. Only with all the ugliness and none of the cool powers.

Chapter Text

Troy wanders around a comic book store for hours before returning home. The kebab and falafel remain untouched; he didn’t have an appetite after the fruitless encounter with Abed but neither did he have the heart to throw it or to give it to someone else because… well, Abed made it for him. Sure, he paid for it but Abed personally saw to it and perhaps that warrants the sentimentality. He knows that Annie had classes today from 9 am to 6 pm; she mentioned it yesterday. Britta would have gone to work. When he’s sure he won’t bump into anyone, he returns to the apartment...only to find Britta lounging on the couch in her underwear, typing furiously.

Troy, taken aback, utters a hoarse, “Oh, hey…”

“Hi, Troy!” she smiles at him, genuinely delighted.

“BRB lemme finish replying to these emails. Work stuff. Working from home today...” she trails off distractedly

He snickers at that. If there must be someone who uses BRB in a verbal conversation, that someone might as well be Britta. He’ll excuse it.

He places his wallet, keys, and bags on the dining table. He grabs one of the three comic books he bought because he succumbed to the intense scrutiny of the shopkeeper (him being a young black man in a hoodie, browsing comic books for at least two hours, half-heartedly scanning shelf to shelf didn't bode well with the mostly white staff), and perches next to Britta to read in silent companionship.

After almost an hour, Britta turns to him, unsettling him from his focus and asks, “So…?” with a lilt in her voice.

His eyes widen in confusion and he shrugs, “So?”

She exhales and rolls her eyes fondly before enunciating as she would to a child, “Did you talk to Abed?”

He scratches his head and looks away. He doesn’t want to get into it, so he lies. Apparently, that’s something he’s gotten better at when he was away too.

“Nah, had to take care of some stuff… For Nana. Then I got caught up in the bookstore and I didn’t get a chance to drop by the shop—”

He stutters to a halt when he sees Britta’s eyes’ shrink in an accusatory way.

“Pretty sure The Falaughel Factory belongs to the Nadirs,” she says, pointedly glancing at the plastic bag on the table. Damn it, he didn’t notice that they now have a customised bag. It used to be the usual white plastic bag you can get in bulk at the dollar store. He looks over to see a logo with a falafel rolling gleefully in laughter. Since when did they get this logo? This must be Abed’s idea.

He sighs and tries again, “Okay you caught me. I went there but he wasn’t around. It's his day off, so...only his dad was in. I chickened out, bought a kebab and… yeah.”

“Oh, is that so?” she says with a sly smile and pulls out the Instagram account of the Falaughel Factory. A post four hours ago with Abed smiling over a cooking dish, wooden spatula in one hand and the other raised like he was going ta-da. It struck Troy somewhere in his chest, someplace close to the sternum. Abed grinning widely, almost comically, wearing an apron and a tall hat, a photoshopped Remy from the film Ratatouille (also holding a spatula befitting his size) resting on top of his top hat. The caption introduces the special dish of the day, Shakshuka.

Troy raises his eyebrows and mutters, “What else have I missed?”

Britta awws at him and gives him a side hug. “The Instagram account was Shirley’s idea. Abed has to post one “funny” picture a day “falaughel”, Britta says, exaggerating the air quotes like she was afraid he won’t get the pun.

“Now that Abed has joined the family business, he consulted Shirley on marketing and Annie and I conducted a survey in the restaurant. Most people that visit are regulars and... not to sound like an ageist but they're elderly. No new customers. Or young ones. You know how Abed and his dad can get. Bad at small talk… or general emotions. They needed to be humanised according to Shirley, her words, not mine. Also because… you know how racist white people are towards Arabs,” she punctuates her words in a way that suggests she’s not anything like those white people. Troy smiles politely.

“So, yeah, the whole rebranding, making logos and Instagram and Facebook accounts and all that. Abed manages it, you know he loves puns. It’s going really great actually. Lunch hour has really picked up in the past months—”

She slowly ends her speech, realising that Troy is no longer interested in the details. The frown between his eyebrows, it’s kind of new. Not that he never frowned before, but it’s new in the way that it now seems to rest there too easily, more deep-set than the fleeting unhappiness of the past, more like Jeff's. This feels like it’s going to be a permanent resident and Britta hates the sight of it.

“Troy? What happened? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He nods slowly, sniffs, and then proceeds to narrate the events of Freaky Friday anniversary and the incident in Falaughel. He can’t help the way his voice shakes or the deep sighs that denote the end of his sentences. But he tries his best to not let his feelings crowd in his eyes. He refuses to cry. He has to be stronger than that -or at least pretend to- if he’s gonna get the girls off his back. He’s afraid of accidentally villainising Abed and have the girls bully Abed into talking when he clearly doesn’t want to.

The thing about Abed is that he’s so easy to love because he keeps his personality quirky and humorous on the surface, but also so easy to misunderstand because deep within, he contains boundless worlds that he can’t reveal. Not because he doesn’t want to, he just can’t. He doesn’t always have the words to articulate; maybe it's because he himself doesn’t always understand his feelings. He doesn’t emote the way Troy does. No one truly gets Abed, not even Abed. Troy got him a little bit more than others. So, if Troy is careless with his emotions, if he cries right now the way he wants to, it wouldn’t take too long for Britta to start dissing Abed for his perceived heartlessness.

Troy isn’t having any of that. He’s pissed off at Abed, sure, most definitely. He’s devastated and he blames Abed for it in his mind. He is resentful at Abed’s dismissal this morning. But that’s all that Abed deserves; no more negativity beyond the bounds of Troy. Because Abed didn’t hurt the others. Because Abed is still friends with them. He refuses to deny Abed access to the in-group just because he hurt Troy and everyone can relate more to Troy by virtue of his candidness. He owes Abed that much, knowing full well how much Abed struggles with friendships. And so, he doesn’t cry. He swallows and he breathes and he harrumphs through his narration instead.

As he expected, he sees Britta growing irritated with Abed and before she could offer to negotiate this situation as a psych major, he stops her.

“Britta, I don’t want anyone else to know, you hear me? As far as the others are concerned, I didn’t get to see him. Oh no—no, better still, Abed texted me apologising for not being able to come around at such short notice. I met him, we are fine. We’ve both changed a little and so are not joined at the hip like we used to but we’re okay. Okay? Don’t tell them anything I told you. And don’t you even think about confronting Abed,” he finishes resolutely as he sees Britta open her mouth to refute.

She stops, breathes deeply and nods, seeming wistful. “I guess there really is no hope for the world.”

Troy looks at her, head tilted in bewilderment.

She continues, “Every time I date someone and come to realise that I’m not as invested as I should be, I think, ‘Don’t lose heart, Britta. There’s someone out there who’s gonna get you right. A soul mate.’ I look to you and Abed and think that that's all the proof I need. I never imagined this ever happening.”

And at that moment, Troy tears up. But he wipes his face hurriedly and repeats, “Don’t lose heart, Britta. There’s someone out there who’s gonna get you right. A soul mate.”

He smiles kindly while looking into her eyes for a long while but pulls back when she leans forward, aiming for a kiss.

“Whoa,” they both utter in unison, one in shock, the other in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was my fault. Wholly mine,” clarifies Britta at the same time as Troy rushing to apologise for accidentally leading her on.

“Troy, I wasn’t—I mean sure, I am very fond of you. But I wasn’t trying to start anything, like no offence, but you’re not my soul mate. I know you’re not. I’m not dumb.”

Troy lets out an Annie-gasp and says, “Some offence taken.”

And Britta laughs, bumping her head against his shoulder. “As in I’m willing to make out with you cause that's fun but I don’t expect a relationship with you. I know your heart is elsewhere and I’ve made peace with that.”

He turns his head to look down at the crown of her head and scoffs, “How would you know where my heart is?”

She looks up then, meeting his eyes pitifully.

“Everyone knows where your heart is, Troy. Except for the one person who has had it from the start.”

Troy straightens up, suddenly tense all over. “Britta, I don’t know what you’re insinuating but you're wro—”

She interrupts to say, “Come on, Troy, nobody’s going to—”

And he loudly announces over her, “Cause I’m not gay!”

She stops then, having made her point.

“Who did you assume I was going to say?” she asks, smug. “I said nothing about being gay.”

“Well, I’m just saying… sounded like you were gonna say Abed and Abed is my soul mate in friendsh—was my soul mate in friendship terms, like a broth--no, like family, but that’s the extent of it,” he rushes.

Britta sits up straighter, turns her body fully around and crosses her legs on the couch.

“Okay, we are going to have this talk. And you are going to have to listen to me carefully.”

Troy breaks into a cold sweat, seeing the determination in Britta’s stance. This isn’t her usual therapizing. This is her ‘bad cop and badder cop’ face.

“First of all,” she lists, putting her thumb up, “nobody’s saying you’re gay, least of all me, because I’ve had some of the best sex in my life with you.”

Troy blushes a little at that but maintains his composure to not leer at her; now doesn’t seem to be the time for jokes. His heart’s not in it.

“Second of all,” her pointer finger follows to accentuate her point, “and listen to this very carefully... one can be more than just straight or just gay. Sexuality is a spectrum—Ba bababab—“she silences his rebuttal, “I am not done speaking and any remarks or questions can be reserved for the end.”

Troy rolls his eyes and looks away, arms crossed defensively as she continues, “What was I saying? Oh ya...sexuality is a spectrum. I don’t think anybody is one hundred percent this or that. Even me. Am I attracted to men? Duh doy! I'm in this for the D!" she imitates a deeper voice and Triple H's suck-it move.

"Fo'sho'! But do I sometimes wonder if I could feel the same about women? Hmmm... A little. Don’t tell anyone but that time that we all took our clothes off to look for Annie’s pen… I thought,” she hesitated, “I thought she was kinda hot.”

Troy looks at her then, eyes widened.

She placates, “But, but… there’s a but. It was a flash of attraction, I’m not ashamed to admit that. Afterwards, it was gone. So, nothing came out of that. But I read for my psych class that there are people who identify as bi or pan or queer and can be attracted to various genders. Did you know there are various genders? Cis men, cis women, trans men, trans women, non-binary people, gender fluid, masculine-presen—Well, you get the idea. Like…” she thinks for a second, noticing she has lost the attention of her listener, “Like Dean Pelton! Yes, like the Dean. We all know he’s got the hots for Jeff. That much is apparent. But he also is attracted to women. He goes out on dates with them—”

Troy interrupts, “I know you said not to interrupt but I just wanna say, if you’re insinuating that the Dean and I are alike, I will kill you. You don’t see me wearing a milkmaid costume with a push-up bra to announce a special dairy section so lactose-intolerant people can stop shitting all over the toilets and fuelling an angry janitors' strike.”

Britta makes a disgusted face, remembering that. “I’m not saying you’re like him. No one is like him. But that's the point, isn't it? He’s someone we can all learn from. He is himself, he doesn’t hide who he is from himself. If he wants to dress up like a milkmaid, he does it. If he wants to hit on Jeff, he does it. If he wants to turn around and go out on a date with the visiting drama professor who wears super low cut dresses and impractically high stilettos? Totally smashes it! Don't tell anyone but sources tell me that they did it in his office to Seal's 'Kiss from a Rose'," she lowers her voice like she's telling him a secret and he contorts his face like he's about to puke.

"But Dean Pelton doesn’t let anyone shame him for who he is.”

“I don’t—”

Britta puts a hand up angrily, “Shut up, Troy! I’m not done.”

When Troy petulantly relents, she says, “Okay enough with Sexuality 101, you obviously don’t care much for it. Just--answer my question, yes or no. That’s it. Who do you like the most in the world? And don’t say fictional characters or unachievable celebrities like Levar Bur—okay no, he’s achievable for you now. You get the idea. Who?”

Troy makes a face and says, “That’s not how yes or no questions work.”

“Damnit, just fucking answer already, geez,” Britta half-shouts.

He pretends to think for a moment, just to stall. He knows the answer and in light of everything, hates that that’s all his mind can supply him with.

“Abed… maybe,” he answers quietly.

“If you could spend every day with one person only, like you're stuck on an island with them for the rest of time, who would you choose?”

Troy sighs, face contorting in frustration. He then looks away, determined to not answer.

Britta doesn’t falter, “Fine. If you only have one phone call to make before you die, who’d you call?”

"An ambulance," he retorts sarcastically.

Undeterred, Britta continues, “If you had a choice between sex with me or a conversation with Abed, hell, sex with anyone or a conversation with Abed, what would you prefer?”

Troy glares at her.

“Have you ever been repulsed at the thought of kissing Abed? And don't even think about lying. You’ve legit filmed fake sex scenes for your Kickpuncher remake,” she says with a smirk.

Troy looks almost ashamed and Britta leans back and gently places an arm over his tense shoulders. He leans into the touch and says so quietly that she couldn’t have heard it had he been any farther, “If you’re right…and that’s a big ‘if’, I still think you’re wrong… but--I don’t necessarily think about sex with Abed. Not like with you. Like when I was with you, I thought about sex a lot. With Abed…” he trails off.

“With Abed?” she nudges.

“With Abed,” he sighs before continuing, “I’m content just having him around. I wanna spend time with him, talk to him, pick his brains, watch movies with him, eat his buttered noodles, make costumes, you know… shit friends do.”

Britta remains silent and waits it out.

Troy eventually reveals, “But you’re right. I like him the most. I do want to spend every day with him, not just like stuck in an island kind of scenario but like, I would want to spend everyday with him even on normal days… today for instance. And he’s my last phone call if it comes down to it. I mean he is, for now. I don’t know what awaits me in the future since we’re… practically over. And have I cancelled on sex with you to hang out with Abed? Yes. Not gonna lie. I’m sorry…”

She squeezes his arms reassuringly and he burrows deeper.

“And I… I wasn’t repulsed when I kissed him. I—I mean—It’s not the same feeling when I kiss you. When I kiss you, I want to… you know… do sexy things,” he throws his hands up like he’s being childish. “Like I don’t want to make out for too long without it ending in sex, feels like a waste of time and just… weird…Sorry,” he says quickly, glancing up.

When Britta just shrugs, he continues, “But that time I kissed Abed for the movie, it was so comfortable that I didn’t mind… making out. Abed was the one who pulled away and it’s good that he did cause I would have… stayed like that for quite a while. And I did think about it when I was alone. I want to believe that I would have chosen to make out with anyone at the time but... I can't think about kissing another man. Not to sound homophobic but I'm not interested in that."

"Except Abed," Britta states knowingly.

"I mean-- I didn’t get a boner right away or something but I—I felt… warm. Tingly, twisty… floaty? Like not in my body. In my insides, in my feeli- Fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Britta interjects before he can backtrack, “Butterflies in the tummy?”

“Yeah, I guess. Butterflies,” he says wistfully.

“Did it make you smile to think about it?”

“Yeah…” he answers sadly. “Now it just makes me wanna curl up and cry for some reason.”

"That's the difference right there, Troy. You and I, we were great in bed, picture-perfect, but... we didn't share any interests beyond that. We liked each other, loved each other even but... not... not that way... not in any way that would count for enough."

When the silence starts weighing on them, she starts again, "Abed makes you happy, no?

He is quiet still but eventually swallows the lump in his throat and explains, “You know... I went on this great adventure and all, all-expense-paid trip around the world. It's crazy, like something from a movie. Who has ever gotten an opportunity like that, right? People would kill for it. They'd raise Pierce from the dead and kill him again if that's what it took. I could have never imagined that for myself, I didn't grow up rich. It’s supposed to be the best thing to happen to me ever. But I somehow spent everyday checking the clock to see if it’s time for Abed’s phone call. It was my routine, my one comfort. I missed him like crazy but at night, I get to speak to him. Sometimes I even call him in the morning when I wake up if the time difference wasn’t too insane. But that was… the highlight of my day. Whatever new things I saw, people I met, food I tried, I just wait till I can share the stories with him. Things weren’t as good until I’ve told him all about it. I-- It's stupid, I travelled the world thinking it would make me happy and instead lost all the happiness I had...”

He finishes, feeling pathetic.

Britta hugs him tight and he lets her. “That’s what it feels like when you’ve got someone that gets you right.”

He begins to choke on his tears and mumbles, “This is stupid. I’m being stupid—I just—I ca—I can’t—stop this… Why?” he stutters, his breath starting and stopping abruptly as tears pour without restraint.

Britta answers brokenly, “Cause this is what it feels like when you lose them.”

He sobs harder, "Fuck! Why'd you say that?!"

"Sorry, sorry, I know... I'm the worst! I brittaed everything!"

He shakes his head against her shoulder, hair tickling her ear, "N--no...you-- still... the best."

Chapter Text

Emotional revelations of tremendous significance such as the one Troy had about Abed would certainly warrant a visit to Nana’s, do you not agree? One ought to feel justified in staying with family, knowing full well that one’s friends were terrified of the said family to ever willingly come to visit. No, it shan’t be misconstrued as cowering from the world and holing up like an ostrich. Never! How preposterous of you to indict one for cowardice when one, in fact, has been nothing but a caring and generous grandson. The fact that one may have intentionally steered clear of Nana in the past in order to preserve (what little) manliness one possessed is entirely conjectural and irrelevant to the matter at hand, I dare say. The burden of proof is upon you; the wrongfully accused shan’t stoop so low as to defend himself via electronic text messages for he is innocent till proven guilty and will continue evading the subject of the heart with hoity-toity impersonations until you give up entirely. Troy, named after the famous Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand ships, does not cower from anyone, let alone from his fellow Greendalian peers.

And if Troy doesn’t actually know about the Greek city where Helen was abducted to (or had eloped to, depending on which scholar you ask) and that it wasn’t a cool last name of hers…and if Troy had only discovered Helen through Shirley’s menu of the vegan but horsemeat burger, “Helen of Soy”, and then asked Pierce what it meant because he was too ashamed to admit he didn’t understand the reference…and if Troy didn’t get that the Troyjan horse alluded to the wooden horse built by Trojan soldiers from the city of Troy and just thought it a computer virus and prided himself on his innovative punmanship (see?), then really, you ought to never reveal the truth to him lest you damage him permanently. With fair warning, let us now return to our courageous hero, a face that would surely launch at least one ship if needed, he’s certain(ly hopeful).

Troy had been staying over at his Nana’s place for a little over a week. After the shameful fit of tears and broken confessions with Britta, he had made Britta promise to lie to the others about Troy and Abed being fine and escaped to Nana’s. There, he spent day after day, walking around aimlessly, accessing the Dreamatorium of his mind, obsessively checking his phone to see if Abed had called, making up more creative lies on why he can’t hang out with his friends, followed by obsessively checking Falaughel Instagram account for updates while being paranoid about accidentally liking a post from months ago and seeming like a stalker, and then maybe some crying sesh, some TV, some video games, some Nana’s rants, some throwing whatever ball is at hand with the neighbour’s 12-year-old daughter and 10-year-old son, you get the idea. Nothing out of the ordinary.

By the end of the week, he had convinced himself that it all worked out as it should.

1. Not talking to Abed is good in some ways so he can process his feelings and move on from it. And if they ever get to talking again years down the road, then Troy would have cleared all feelings for Abed out of his system.
2. Abed knows what he needs and to assume that he’s making a mistake would be to accuse Abed of not knowing his own mind and he knows how much Abed would despise him for it. So, no more surprise visits and desperate text messages.
   
   
3. Fuck Abed! Who the fuck does he think he is? Troy can have any girl he wants, okay? Maybe even quite a number of guys too if he ever felt like it.
4. He can have anyone but Abed and yet he doesn't want anyone else. Maybe that’s what life is about. A series of letdowns until the greatest letdown of them all – death. He had what he wanted when he didn’t yet know he wanted it. And now that he knows so acutely, he can never again have it.
5. Troy has money now. Or he will, soon. He can do whatever he wants. Be his own man! Go wherever. So, yeah, fuck Abed!
   
   
6. No one should ever come to find out about his feelings (other than Britta. No point crying over spilt milk). If no one else knows, he wouldn’t have to feel embarrassed when he finally decides to hang out with them and things can go back to normal. And he wouldn’t have to deal with their pointless sympathies and bullshit consolations. But more importantly, it highly diminishes the risk of Abed ever finding out because if Abed ever showed him pity, he will kill everyone and then himself, okay? His dignity is dependent on the discretion of Britta now and he doesn’t like the odds at all.
   
   
7. Wait, could Abed have known before Troy even fully admitted it to himself? Is that why Abed stopped talking to him? Could he be disguste—no, Abed is not an asshole. Maybe he wanted to give Troy the time and space to move on without making him feel embarrassed and rejected. Well, if that’s the plan, he has failed terribly cause Troy feels all that and more.

He’s going about adding to his list like he does every evening once he lets the maid leave early after tucking Nana in for her evening nap when shit hits the fan. He hears a crash, body hitting the floor, grunts and groans and he swears, he feels his soul leave his body in cold fear. He runs to Nana’s room to see her on the floor, eyes halfway rolled up, she’s muttering something, disoriented and immobile and he loses his shit.

He hyperventilates, chanting, “Oh my God, oh my god, ohmygod ohmygod—”

He forces himself to sit next to Nana and hold her hand while going, “Think, think, fuck, think,” and then runs over to grab his phone from the living room and calls the maid, Rosita, to come back because fuck, something is seriously wrong with Nana! Rosita tells him to call the ambulance because she sent the babysitter home for the day and will need to find someone to look after her kids before she can come and she’s also panicking and Troy tells her to breathe, he’ll take care of it.

Something about hearing someone else panic clears his mind. He goes into his calm and efficient mode, much like when Abed is starting to panic and he has to act and act quick! He calls the ambulance and they direct him on the procedures of care till the ambulance arrives. The paramedics rush in with a stretcher and Troy steps outside to give them space. And also because he’s running out of breath, trying to figure out the next steps. As the paramedics load Nana into the ambulance and she, garbling something he can’t quite make out, one of them asks Troy, “Sir, are you coming with us?”

He’s panicking because he has to lock the doors and there’s bread baking in the oven and the dishwasher is on and he’s trying to estimate if he has the time to run in and turn everything off or maybe he can just take a cab to the hospital but then he hears Nana groan out, “Don’t—die alone-don’t want—alone” and he’s hyperventilating again.

His thoughts sprint but the scene before him is warped, slowed down.

The paramedic leans out of the open doors, “Sir? Are you—shit”

He sees the paramedic’s eyes widening as she realises that he’s panicking, hears her feet thud on the ground and then from the corner of his eyes, sees a flash of yellow and black, whirring past and then tilting to one side, metal hitting the ground, wheels still turning, and… and…

“Abed” he mouths, seeing him drop his bicycle on the other side of the road and run to Troy.

“Go, go go go, I’ll handle it,” Abed says urgently, shoving him forward while untangling the keyring from Troy's sweaty grip.

Suddenly, the world resumes in its usual speed, he sees the paramedic rush towards him and shouts, “Coming!” as he leaps into the ambulance, followed by the paramedic and the doors close and he sees the top of Abed’s head through the window as he recedes into the distance until the ambulance takes a sharp turn.

He texts Abed and hopes the message will be read.

Troy: Turn off the oven and dishwasher

Troy: Actually just turn off the main

Troy: Electric switchboard

Abed: Done. Which hospital?

Troy: Behind the front door, top left

Troy: Lock the gates

Troy: Skyridge

Abed: Ok

Troy: Thank you

Abed: See you there

Troy: You don’t have to come

Abed: I know. See you there

This isn’t how he imagined he’d finally get to talk to Abed. He holds his Nana’s hand and mumbles softly through his tears, “I’m here, Nana. I’m here. You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

He doesn’t know, really, but he pretends he does.

Chapter Text

“You once told me that the human eye is god's loneliest creation.
How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing.
The eye, alone in its socket, doesn't even know there's another one,
just like it, an inch away,
just as hungry,
as empty.”
― Ocean Vuong

Abed arrives 15 minutes after the ambulance and rushes to the admission counter, stops halfway when he sees Troy wave at him weakly. Abed’s hair is all over the place, wind-swept. He’s sweating and panting, and that says a lot given Abed’s stamina.

“Did you—did you ride your bicycle all the way?”

“Yeah,” he answers breathlessly, pushing his hair back with one hand and returning the keys with another. “Sorry, late… I paddled as fast as I could.”

Troy says, looking at the keys in his hands, “No, man. Thank you. You really didn’t have to.”

He feels Abed’s shrug as he sits down next to Troy and wipes his forehead with the rolled-up sleeve of his plaid shirt.

“Don’t you have to be at the shop?” asks Troy politely.

“Nah,” he replies, swallowing hard. “How’s Nana?”

“Emergency room 2. It’s hypogland something, the paramedic said. I don’t know. Low sugar."

“Hypoglycemia,” Abed supplies helpfully before releasing a deep sigh of relief.

“She’s okay,” Abed rubs Troy’s back before patting it twice and then stands up, “I’m gonna get a drink from the vending machine. You want one?”

Troy just shakes his head.

“Snacks?”

Troy shakes his head again, avoiding eye contact. Abed leaves. He comes back a few minutes after with a bottle of isotonic drink, a packet of M&Ms, Twizzlers, and a small travel-sized bottle of mouthwash. He passes the snacks and the mouthwash to Troy and cracks open the lid of the drink.

“I know you said you didn’t want anything but…” he waves in the direction of the snacks while gulping down the drink.

Troy immediately looks away, flushed to his chest for some reason at the sight of Abed’s neck elongated and tilted backwards, Adam’s apple moving rhythmically as he quenches his thirst.

When he’s done with the bottle, he passes it to Troy and finishes the sentence, “Those are your favourites. And mouthwash so you don’t worry about cavities.”

Troy thinks about taking the drink, they’ve done that so many times, not caring about saliva or personal space. Once Troy even took a half-eaten hard candy from Abed’s mouth and ate it and Abed let him. But now, knowing consciously that he felt the way he did towards Abed, it feels perverted to drink from the same bottle. Especially given that it's a one-sided attraction and he's afraid if Abed finds out how he feels, he wouldn't ever try to be friends again.

Abed rests against the seat and watches him as Troy puts the lid on the bottle without sipping from it.

“How are you holding up, buddy?” he asks.

Troy startles, glances the other way to confirm that Abed is talking to him, before replying, “Fine.”

“Just fine? Or fine fine?”

“What do you think?” he huffs, his anger resurfacing now that the panic is beginning to dwindle.

Abed presses his lips together and looks straight ahead, nodding wordlessly.

“You don’t need to be here. You can leave,” Troy says curtly.

Abed inhales, turns around calmly and answers, “I know. I want to be here. Will you let me?”

“For what?!” Troy raises his voice only to be shushed by the receptionist.

“You know what, fuck it. Do whatever you want. Not my hospital,” Troy mutters exasperatedly, looking away.

They remain silent for a long while, an inch or two of distance between them at all times, the snacks abandoned between them, Troy staring at his phone and bouncing his legs restlessly while Abed is perched like a statue, motionless, looking at his intertwined fingers. To the eyes of anyone else, Abed would look like he’s in a deep sleep. But Troy can feel the minute head tilts as Abed glances at him from time to time and it pisses him off more.

As he’s stewing, he’s suddenly hit with the realisation, “Wait…”

He turns fully to face Abed as the taller man straightens his bowed head in anticipation.

“How did you know? When—Nana—earlier, how— are you tracking me still? Are you tracking her?! But that doesn’t make--”

Abed interjects to save him the trouble of articulation, “Britta told me.”

Troy nods at first, looking away and then doubles back, “What?!”

The receptionist shushes them again and they both mumble a half-hearted apology like children getting scolded.

“What did Britta tell you? She—she doesn’t know what she’s saying—I didn’t say anything to--” he presses urgently.

Abed sighs in resignation and says, “Okay fine, it was worth the try. Rosita called, panicking about your call and I—”

“Rosita?!” Troy half-shouts, both in disbelief that Rosita knows Abed, and relief that Britta didn’t say anything about his confession.

This time the receptionist tells them in a passive-aggressive tone to kindly have their conversation outside and that she’ll call for them when the doctor is ready to see them.

Troy grabs Abed’s wrist in a hurry as Abed collects the snacks under one arm and rushes him out, ignoring the way his palm tingles at the contact.

“Spill!”

Abed sighs again, dropping the snacks on the bench outside and running his hands through his hair. Troy can’t help but observe the movement. He notices the way his veiny forearms move, so familiar, and yet the way his hair falls back in waves now that it’s longer, one strand of curl stubbornly falling back on his forehead, so new. He looks older, wearier, yet stronger. His eyes don’t jump from one thing to another with bewilderment like they used to. Now it looks at him, steady, focused.

“When you left, I visited Nana a couple of times, bought her some puzzles and stuff like game nights? But I don’t think she liked me much. Who can blame her? She’s Nana and I’m… well, I’m me. You know how I get. She asked me what I wanted? If I were planning to rob her in which case, she said she’ll knock the teeth out of me with her bare hands. Then she wanted to know if I were trying to steal from her grandson, as in you, because you know, Pierce’s inheritance and all and I told her I was after no such thing because you are my best friend. And then she said, [imitating Nana] here’s a piece of advice, get out and don’t come back. Go get a life. Youth these days wasting their precious time on Earth bothering others who have so little left and building whatever ship this is, [Abed’s voice] it was a USS Enterprise by the way, nano blocks, maybe you can ask her for it later, you might like it better, then anyway she said [imitating Nana] See my grandson? Now that’s a man with a future ahead of him, travelling the world, learning something valuable, just like his grandpa. He will find a nice girl whose gonna fall head over heels with him in his travel and come back and put his diploma to good use, get a good job, get married, have beautiful children, and what will you be doing huh? Sitting around with old women like a ninny, putting blocks together like you’re still suckling from your mother’s bosom? I say this for your own good, and because my grandson actually likes you for some odd reason. Grow up and go do something valuable with your life,” he says, speaking fast the way Abed always does.

He then chuckles and returns to his usual voice, “So I cut a deal with Rosita instead. She gives me weekly updates on Nana and calls me if anything happens and I give her kids a free meal when they drop by on the weekends.”

Troy’s face has morphed from one of anger to surprise to remorse and settled on puzzlement.

“Why?” he asks Abed quietly.

“Because…” Abed shrugs all too casually.

“Why would you go through all that? Nana raised me up and yet I left home as soon as I could cause I couldn’t stand her. Why would you willingly do that? That’s crazy.”

 Abed laughs softly, “Well, I’ve been told that I’m the crazy sort. But jokes aside, she’s your Nana. She raised you up. I knew you kept tabs on her when you were here. When you left, I figured that’s on me.”

“Wha—why? I’d never ask you to suffer her verbal abuses. I love her but I know how she gets around people that are different from her. I knew she’d say shitty things and I--”

Abed shrugs again, “She’s your family. And you’re mine. So… just seemed right. I figured you’d do the same for me if I were away… you know, with my dad?”

Before Troy could answer, the doctor calls them in. He explains hypoglycemia and what to do if this happens again and Troy zones out but he knows that Abed was listening intently so he figures he'll just ask Abed to explain again. His mind is preoccupied with one important question: Would he have done the same for Abed’s father? He doesn’t know, he’s been scared of Abed’s father since that one time they met during the first semester. But he wants to believe Abed. Wants to see himself the way Abed sees him, like a better version of Troy. He chooses to believe that he would have found the courage to keep tabs on him. Because he’d do it for Abed. Because Abed is his family too. Or at least Abed was until it was decided they weren’t anymore. But why....?

Chapter Text

Troy startles awake the way you'd do when you wake up somewhere unfamiliar, loses his balance and almost falls but is tugged back into safety. When he finally gains his bearings,   he's still at the hospital,  waiting for discharge papers. Abed is next to him, eyes red and tired. And Troy must have at some point shifted in his seat so his back and most of his weight were resting on Abed's side.  He flushes in embarrassment, resenting his muscle memory for betraying him in a half-conscious state, so he channels it into irritation towards Abed.  

"What are you still doing here?" Troy asks.

Abed shrugs wordlessly, wincing from the numbness of the arm Troy was resting on.  He circles his shoulders and stretches his fingers before rubbing his eyes with both his fists like a child and it makes something in Troy give. He recognises the slump on Abed's shoulders, the downcast eyes,  some things haven't changed.  

He figures he can leave aside his indignation for the day and says, "Your turn."

Abed stares at him. 

Troy rolls his eyes, restraint weakened by fatigue and that quiet lull of the night with monotonous beeping machines and... longing.  He misses Abed and this is the first time in a long time that they have been physically affectionate and touch deprivation is a very real thing, okay? He pulls at Abed's shoulder and after a brief resistance, Abed relents. He rests his head on Troy's shoulder but is uncomfortable with the way he has to fold over.  

Abed starts, "It doesn't work the same way.  You're shor--"

"Don't say it or I swear--, " Troy glares at him before pulling Abed down further to rest his head on his lap. 

A small but insistent part of him tries to shame him for this,  tries to make him feel like he's taking advantage of the situation.

But Abed sighs contentedly and yawns out, "This works..." before closing his eyes and he's fast asleep.  

Troy resists the urge to run his fingers through Abed's hair and he wonders why everything is suddenly too much, too inappropriate, too awkward, now that he has acknowledged his attraction. This is not an unusual sight for Troy and Abed in the past. Troy used to run his fingers through Abed's hair and the other used to massage his temples for him.  This was their normal.  Why isn't it normal anymore? Because of Troy's feelings for Abed?  

Right then,  Abed shifts a little and Troy is hit with painful recollection.  This isn't their normal anymore because Abed said so. Abed didn't want it anymore.  Troy's romantic feelings may muddle a lot of things but that isn't where the trouble lies. This change, this strangeness isn't his fault. This is a problem he cannot fix,  a situation he has no control of.  Abed holds all the cards,  again.  Abed pulls the strings,  again.  Abed, so certain of himself,  he can't look beyond and see Troy's dissatisfaction with the way things have changed.  Again.  Much like the pillow vs blanket fort. And if Troy doesn't step up, he's going to end up metaphorically bouncing a pillow halfheartedly and dragging on the inevitable.  No,  Troy deserves to stand up for himself.  He's going to muster the courage to do that...

Later.  Because right now Abed is a warm weight on his lap,  snoring so softly that only Troy can hear it and he drifts off too.  

*****

When it's time to go home,  Troy hauls a premium cab and Abed helps Troy to carry Nana and her wheelchair into it. Before Troy climbed into the front passenger seat,  he stops, looks at Abed determinedly to hide the anxiety that is growing exponentially as the seconds pass.

Is he gonna see Abed again?  Or is this goodbye?  Are they back to being friends?  Or back to nothing?  He offers his right hand out and places the left on his chest, waits expectantly for Abed to take the bait. Their exclusive handshake.  

Abed's face goes through a myriad of emotions that Troy's mouth falls open at the sight.  Never has he seen such expressiveness from Abed.  Sure he has seen emotions, Abed is not the robot people make him out to be. He is capable of feeling deeply but channels it into his fantasy worlds, imagines and imagines until any inconvenient emotions are flushed out. But little dissonances like sarcasm and white lies and subtle passive aggression don't register to Abed.  In a way,  it's a blessing as much as it's a curse.  Sure, jokes made at his expense fly right past him.  But is that really a bad thing?  He doesn't know when someone is irritated with him, when someone is saying things they don't really mean, but again,  is that really a bad thing?  Troy liked that about Abed and for everything else that goes unregistered, Troy would be there to handle it. But right now,  with his hand extended and time becoming slower,  denser,  like walking through water,  he reads Abed's face and can finally sympathise.  

Abed at first raises his eyebrows like he missed a cue,  sorry what? And his eyes widen in realisation almost comically,  oh that! Then his face falls,  lips pressed into a thin line, eyes downcast, staring at Troy's hand, and Troy sees the pained lines between his eyebrows as they are drawn together, he feels more than he sees the slight tremble on Abed's shoulder strung so tight it looks like it actually hurts.  Abed clenches his jaws followed by a sharp exhale and his whole body wilts, slumps forward. He looks utterly exhausted that Troy thinks he doesn't ever want to see Abed so stricken, let alone be the cause of it.  

Look, Troy still doesn't get it. Maybe he never will but he has to accept it. He doesn't understand why Abed is being so adamant about imposing this separation.  Perhaps Troy has a blind spot, he didn't see trouble crashing into them head-on until the aftermath of surviving the wreck.  But Abed was always the wiser of the two, one would even describe him as prophetic. Abed notices things nobody else does, he sees a thousand paths diverge from one decision. Where Troy sees a single line, drawn continuously connecting one dot to another, Abed sees a web interlacing almost endlessly, delicate like gossamer, so easily disrupted to unleash chaos upon everything they hold dear. As much as people would like to label him crazy for all his rants about timelines (it's more convenient for the others than taking the time to understand Abed),  Troy sees Abed's logic.  This must be the darkest timeline, it has to be. And maybe trying to salvage it would darken every other timeline in which Troy and Abed are still happy, are still together.  

He'd have to bite the bullet for all the other Troys and Abeds and someday,  hopefully,  they'd do the same for him when all hope is lost. Their friendship is ending and even if he sinks,  he's going down with the utmost faith in Abed. He'll bet his bottom dollar, put all his eggs in one basket, and hand it over to Abed. One last tribute to who they were when they were together. He lowers his hands then, accepting the closure. 

But Abed grabs his wrist, extends it out again,  and then commits to the handshake.  Troy looks up and sees a fierce determination in Abed's eyes.  He looks like his old self again albeit with the sharp edges of his clenched jaw and the penetrating stare.  He meets Troy's eyes and nods firmly. 

"See you... tomorrow? " Troy asks hesitantly,  not fully sure what it all means.  

Abed answers,  "Text me the time and place."

Just then, the cab driver announces, "Man,  the meter is runnin', just sayin'. "

And Troy gets into the cab with a grin on his face, relishing Abed's small smile. Abed waves as the cab disappears into the distance before riding his bike home.

Chapter Text

What were you before you met me?

I think I was drowning.

And what are you now?

― Ocean Vuong

Leaving Nana with Rosita, he decides to meet Abed in their old apartment for a late breakfast. He had asked Britta the night before to make sure the apartment is empty by the time he got there, and she, not really knowing why but guessing that it’s about Abed, agreed to help. But when he arrives, Annie is still in her pyjamas, eating a bowl of cereal while trying to watch the TV with Britta, fully dressed, standing in front of the TV and blocking Annie’s view.

She catches Troy’s eyes and throws her hands up frustratedly, mouthing She won't leave so clearly that she might as well have shouted it out.

Annie looks between them and asks, “What’s going on? And where have you been? You kept cancelling all our lunch dates.”

She pouts and then comes over to hug Troy, tiptoeing to rest her chin on his shoulder.

He goes, “Hmmm okay. Annie, I need the apartment for today. Can you go out with Britta? And stay out until I call you?”

She observes him with suspicion, “Why--”

He interrupts quickly, “Booty call!” only to be undercut by Britta shouting, “Fumigation!” at the same time.    

Troy, utterly exasperated with Britta, opens his eyes super wide and stares at her, gritting his teeth while Britta claps her mouth shut with both her hands.

Annie pulls away from Troy and says snobbishly, “This is also my apartment so I have the right to be here. Unless you tell me the truth, I am not leaving.”

At this point, Troy is getting desperate and thus, angrier by the minute. He checks his Spiderman watch, 27 minutes till his appointment with Abed. And Abed is never fashionably late. He doesn’t even understand what it means. And Annie still has to get dressed, maybe shower, and Troy has to get paan-sho-ko-laa or whatever the French call their chocolate bread from the bakery down the road and make everything neat and ready for Abed.

He grabs Annie by the shoulders, looks her dead in the eye and asks, “Do you trust me?”

She hesitates, blushes and glances away at the intensity of his gaze, opening and closing her mouth like a fish and he repeats, more assertive and with dramatic pauses between enunciating the words, just like in the movies, “Do. you. trust. me?”

He shakes her a little and the words drop like coins out of her mouth, “Yes, yes, of course I do—but.”

He channels the best impersonation of Jeff’s ability to command the room and silences her, “No buts. I need you to be out of here in 15. I will tell you everything later.”

No, that’s a lie. He’s not gonna tell her shit. He’s already in enough trouble with Britta knowing. But he’ll figure out what lies he’s going to concoct later depending on the outcome of the day with Abed. He has spent the whole night imagining the different ways this would go and therefore, here are the possibilities.

1. Best case scenario: Abed and Troy are Troy-and-Abed again.
2. Bad case scenario: They’re friends but not Troy-and-Abed kind of friends.
3. Worse case scenario: Abed gives him a possible explanation and closure before they go back to never talking again.
4. Worst case scenario: Abed reveals that he knows about Troy’s feelings towards him and is half-repulsed or full of pity for Troy and lets him down gently and they go back to never talking again.

So, here are the corresponding lies that he can pull out of his ass.

1. Best lie: Gaslight them into thinking the gang made the whole drama up. What? Nothing happened. Y’all exaggerated the whole thing. Abed was just busy and we’re totally okay.
2. Bad lie: Stick to the original script. Nah, we’re just different people now. Changed. We’re still okay but we’re no longer into the same things so, naturally, don’t hang out as much as we used to. But we’re okay, I swear.
3. Worse lie: Retell Abed’s sensible explanations with appropriate embellishments so as to not turn the gang against Abed and tell them sternly, he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and they need to respect his wishes.
4. Worst lie: Unnecessary because he’s just gonna fake his death, run far away and change his name to something cool like Childish Gambino and grow out his beard and hair and wear jewellery and colourful silk shirts and start over. Maybe he’ll be a rapper. An artist. A conno-sir of the arts like the French would say.

Annie is subconsciously lured by the Jeff impression like some cat or dog or pet rock that some guy named Pavlov owned in the old people times that Britta hasn’t stopped lecturing them on. She nods and gets dressed.

Troy shoots a meaningful look at Britta so as to say, don’t britta this (to which he earns a dramatic eye roll). He then runs to the bakery and forgets the name of pain au chocolat and calls it panini with the chocolate thing and again earns an eye roll from the teenage girl at the counter. How rude. But she understood his request and that’s what matters most so he shoots another meaningful look at her after paying, who’s the bitch now and runs home, thankfully, to an empty apartment.

Britta has texted him with a sarcastic, “You’re welcome.”

He just knows it’s sarcastic cause it’s Britta and he can imagine her face right now and he texts back, “Bish what you talking about? you didn’t do shit.”

Britta replies quickly, perhaps furiously, “You WANT me to do shit? HUH? IS THAT A CHALLENGE?”

And quickly he dissolves into a mess of apologies and compliments and promises of bribes to placate her.

Her next text says, “I don’t know what exactly is going on but I wish you the very best. Hope you’ve got the balls to tell him how you feel cause really Troy, you deserve to be happy. And so does Abed. [kissy face] If shit hits the fan, I’ll be there to help you clean up.”

He replies, “Yeah you wish. You want me broken so you can get in my sheets. :P jk. I love you but I can make no promises.”

Britta ends the conversation with a selfie of her judgey face, middle finger up.

He chuckles at that and then remembers what’s coming up and loses his brevity. He paces around to practise his I’m totally normal. Totally chill. So cool you’ll mistake me for a cucumber impression.

When the doorbell rings, he straight-up jumps and lets out a tiny shriek. He berates himself for getting spooked and tries to gather his composure as he walks to the door. He peeps out through the peephole and sees the distorted yet familiar figure of Abed. The fisheye lens works in his favour because while Abed’s top half looks steady and confident, he’s bouncing on his heels, swaying back and forth. Troy smiles.

There comes his superpower. His bravery. Troy doesn’t know why or if it’s actually a bad thing but seeing Abed nervous always gives him a boost of tenacity like a triple shot of Jager bomb at a frat party. His heart is still racing but in a good way. He pulls the door open to catch Abed in the act but Abed too, trained in the art of statue-ing, becomes marble-like. But it doesn’t matter cause Troy already caught him through the peephole.

He grins widely, opening the door, and it looks like Abed relaxes too, smiling back at him. Their handshake is impeccably synchronous and Abed pulls him in by the hand for a one-armed, pat in the back, manly hug that Troy returns.

Troy asks, “Pinoshokolat?”

Abed tilts his head in confusion but quickly recovers and says in a faux French accent, “Don’t mind if I do.”

They eat in front of the TV, watching the American remake of Inspector Spacetime and shuddering in revulsion. Their witty repartee and critical commentary flow flawlessly and while they hate Pierce for the bad influence he had had on the remake, they are oddly grateful that there’s something to pull them back into normalcy.

The day goes smoothly after, they play the VCR interactive game that Abed brought with him, The Pile of Bullets. After the initial half an hour of constant pausing and clarifying, the apartment was filled with the exclamations of merriment. Bang and Yeehaw and Howdy and turning around in the same spot, knocking over the dice and cards and cussing and You miss a turn! No, YOU miss a turn!

By the time they are done, it was half-past four in the evening and they are starving.

“Buttered noodles?” suggests Troy.

“Buttered noodles!” exclaims Abed, happily bouncing off to the kitchen.

Observing from the outside, you can never see the cracks. Picture perfect, they look like a moving Polaroid of the past. Everything’s the same, so comfortable in each other’s presence, finishing sentences and making puns and laughing and screaming at the TV and throwing popcorn into each other’s mouths. Like a film montage of the good times. Troy wants to keep it that way so badly but the illusion fades away when Abed mentions Rachel.

“She bought the game for our one-month anniversary, it was like a month and a half after you left? I think. No, I know. You left 17 days before Rachel and I went out on our first date, yes. And can you believe? I asked her to move in with me,” he laughs at himself. “Silly.”

“Silly,” Troy answers stiltedly.

Abed, unfortunately turns around right then and catches Troy’s frown. Immediately, a depressing silence descends like a fog upon them and Abed stares straight ahead at the microwave oven and Troy turns his back towards him, sitting on the kitchen counter.

He starts and stops, not knowing what else to say to dissipate the tension in the room.

Abed says, leaning forward to look into the microwave, “You know, I can tell Rachel got sick of my buttered noodles after the first month but she still ate it anyway.”

Troy just listens, back towards Abed but turns his neck to look back.

“She was really nice. Still is. Very kind. Smart, opinionated, has wonderfully incisive comments on the Marvel and DC universe, she’s funny, she’s pretty…”

Troy clenches his jaw as Abed lists out all her fine qualities and tries to breathe through the jealousy lodged in his windpipe.

He composes himself and asks, “Then why did you break up?”

“She broke up with me,” Abed replies looking at Troy and the sadness in his eyes makes Troy nauseous.

After a moment of bitterness, Troy musters, “I’m sorry, man, but it’s her loss really. She just didn’t understand you.”

“Oh no,” Abed jumps to her defence. “No, no. She totally understood me. More than anyone else in some ways—”

And Troy can’t take it anymore. How was he replaced so quickly? He felt a tinge of unhappiness when Abed first started dating Rachel but he didn’t really dwell on it, thinking that Abed needed a companion when Troy was gone. Now, to hear Abed sing her praises and look so devastated and yet defend her, declare her “more than anyone else”… Troy feels it like a cut and he jumps off the kitchen counter and leaves abruptly. Goes inside the toilet and turns on the tap to make it sound like he’s doing something in there. He presses his palms to his eyes to control himself, he’s not going to cry. If they are going to go back to normal, he’s going to have to get a hold of his feelings.

He hears Britta’s voice in his head, therapizing, you deserve to be happy. Goddamn it, Britta, get out of my head. Maybe going back to normal isn’t what he wants anymore. He wants more. Damn it!

He hears Abed’s knock and a muffled, “Buttered noodles ready!” and stifles his burgeoning desperation to tell Abed how he feels.

He flushes the toilet for the sake of maintaining façade and goes out to sit on the couch with Abed holding out two bowls. He moves away, sitting on one end, no longer pressed arm to arm as they were when they were playing games earlier.

They eat in silence for a minute but Abed disrupts it with a rapid monologue, “Okay, I tried not to say anything but I can’t so… next time you’re going to pretend to go to the toilet, don’t turn on the tap immediately because no one does that. Maybe scoop a handful of water and slowly pour it into the toilet first so it sounds like you’re peeing. It’s not perfect but most people fall for it. And then open and close your zip or jangle your belt for timing before flushing and then you turn on the tap. Even then you’ll have to rinse your hands for it to sound realistic. All in all, I’d say it’s easier to just force yourself to pee.”

Troy gapes at him and remarks tersely, “Let me return the favour. Next time you know someone is pretending to go to the toilet to avoid you, maybe just don’t mention it?”

“Okay,” Abed sets the bowl on the table. “I should get going then…”

“Wait—Abed, wait,” Troy relents, grabbing his wrist.

Troy can see the flash of anger in Abed, in the sharp way he turns and lowers his voice to say even more rapidly than usual, “If you’re going to go out of your way to avoid someone, maybe next time you just don’t invite them over. You started this, you wanted to go back to normal,  you invited me over—”

Troy stands up and raises his voice, “Because you ended it! You took what we had, you took something beautiful and precious and you broke it! You stepped all over it and then threw me out of your life like I was nothing. Like trash. I came all the way back to make things right and you wouldn’t even have the decency to come see me—”

“I didn’t ask you to come back. Don’t put this on me,” Abed starts, eyes shrinking in condemnation.

“No, you’re right! Coming back, trying to fix this, that's on me, but this stupid mess? You shitting all over our friendship? That’s on you and you alone!” Troy shouts.

“But Lisa sai—you know what, let it be. You’re right, I’m to blame. I’m gonna go.”

Troy steps in front of him to obstruct him from passing and Abed looks at him dangerously, “Get out of my way, Troy. I don’t like it when people try to control me.”

Troy stabs Abed’s chest with an accusatory finger, “Oh yeah? Why is it that you get to control everything then? Why do you get to control whether or not we are friends? Why do I just have to curl up and take it?”

“YOU LEFT!” Abed shouts and shoves him back.

Troy, though stunned and has fallen back on the couch, needs to have the last word in, “You told me to go! I offered to stay and—”

“Because I have no prerogative to ask you to stay! Who am I to ask you to stay?! I’m only family to you like the gang is family to you. You’re neurotypical, Troy! Lisa told me where you’re a 10 on the scale of dependence, I’m a 100. I will always be too fucking much! I will always need you more than you need me, like you more than you like me, you can’t even fucking fathom it. But you have no obligation to account for others. None of us had the right to ask Annie to stay when she wanted to move. Or Jeff to not graduate early. I didn’t realise we didn’t have the right, it never occurred to my weird brain. But you made it clear, you explained it to me. If you’re not going to let the people you love do what they love, you risk becoming a bad friend. And how can I be a bad friend to you, of all people? I wanted you to stay so bad but who the fuck am I to ask for more than you’re willing to give?!  I didn’t want us to be like that, but I also didn’t want it to feel like I was surrounded by lava all the time, but there the lava was. It’s still here! Even now! Never left… And the worst part is I fucked up Rachel in the process and she is a kind person. She didn’t deserve someone who’d only use her to get over someone else! I’m trying…” Abed chokes and then slows down his speech, “I’m trying to be a better person. I’m trying to be good. I’m letting you go. Why can’t you just take the easy way out and let me—”

Troy asks softly, “When you said you can’t keep waiting--”

Abed looks up, puzzled and Troy continues, “That day, Freaky Friday, you said you can’t keep waiting, were you waiting for me?”

Abed is silent for a long time, deep in thoughts before replying, “No.”

Troy didn’t realise he was growing hopeful until he hears the disappointing answer and his eyes start flooding.

Abed considers the question, looking downwards, eyes leaping from one thing to another restlessly, puts a finger up to focus and answers, “I didn’t think you’d come back. No, I didn't expect you to. Lisa said I had to move on, that I was obsessing about you, that I have to stop waiting for the feelings to go away and cut my losses while I’m ahead. She said I was picking on the same wound and expecting it to heal. She said I was infecting the people I love and they too were suffering. Because of me. Something about hurt people hurting people.  I have to stop myself, look away from the wound, don’t touch it, completely abandon any thought of it. Then I’ll stop bleeding.  That way, I’m not hurting anyone, I’m not hurting you. It all ends with me.”

Troy doesn’t bother hiding his tears. He just cups his hands over his face and sobs loudly. Abed just stands there, helpless, not knowing how to comfort, not understanding why Troy is bleeding too, it wasn’t supposed to be that way. He goes into Troy’s room, grabs the blanket off the bed and opens it up with both arms outstretched. Then he walks over to Troy and wraps the blanket around his shoulders. Abed glances at the kitchen and considers getting a cup, maybe fill it up with hot water for Troy to hold as they do in Law and Order SVU but Troy extends his hands instead and hugs Abed around the waist. He presses his face into Abed’s abdomen insistently and Abed slowly forces himself to relax into the touch until he can hug Troy back.

Chapter Text

Troy can't tell how long it has been with him holding Abed tightly and the other awkwardly patting the back of his head. But it must have been pretty long because at some point, Troy could feel the strain on Abed's body to remain still,  to continue standing with a slight bend at the hips to accommodate Troy. Troy looks up and all he sees from where he's buried his nose into Abed's tummy is his neck and shapely jaw.

"Abed? "

"Hmmm?" he tilts his head down abruptly,  as though startled. 

"You can sit, you know? "

"Oh okay, " Abed says in his usual rapid pace and sits down on the couch and stretches. 

Troy could imagine how his own face looks right now because he cries a lot but this time he went all out, really going for it.  His eyes are at half-mast,  swollen and red and lethargic. His nose is runny and his face feels hot still but he is also more relaxed than he has been in a long long time.  Since way before he left to travel. 

Troy gives Abed a moment of reprieve but when he sees that Abed had settled himself,  he looks over and is surprised to see that Abed had been crying too.  He didn't make a sound throughout and Troy had no idea.  It's not like he hasn't seen Abed's eyes tear up before.  But Abed doesn't full out cry the way Troy does, at least not in front of anyone.  When he's overwhelmed, he channels it inward, runs to some place in his mind and becomes still, powers down.  So to see his eyes and cheeks red from crying, to see the way he intentionally slows down his breath to sound normal, it makes something in Troy melt even more.  He would hate to see Abed cry but it thrills him to know that Abed would cry for him,  because of him. Even if he doesn't do it in front of him.

Troy leans sideways and wraps his hands around Abed's waist again. Abed doesn't tense up like he did before but he also doesn't automatically reciprocate the way other people would when someone is snuggling up to them. Troy pulls at Abed's arm to make room and moves in closer, leaving Abed nowhere else to place his arm but around Troy. They sit like that for a while, listening to each other breathe.   

Troy fights his yawn for the fourth time when Abed says quietly, "Take a nap. "

Troy shakes his head and moves closer, "No."

"Why? You're tired. "

"Ya but can't sleep now," Troy mumbles around a yawn. "I wanna be awake with you. "

He reluctantly peels himself off of Abed and asks,  "Coffee? "

"Yes, please. "

By the time Troy carries two mugs to the hall, one with milk and sugar and the other black, he is pleasantly surprised to see Abed building a blanket fort.  He has taken some blankets and bed sheets and pillows from Annie's room to make it extra fluffy.  Troy sets the mugs down on the table and helps Abed build and that in itself,  was enough to wake him up.  

They sit inside the fort, Troy sipping on his coffee and Abed, having emptied half the mug in two gulps,  is searching for something they can watch on his laptop.  Just like old times.  Just like their normal.  But apparently, you can spend your whole life wishing for one thing and when you get it,  still feel a little bit off,  a little bit dissatisfied. The hubris of mankind is to desire one inch beyond the threshold at all times.  To want and want and want until nothing is truly enough. God,  he sounds like Jeff and he doesn't want to grow up cynical and practical.  He wants to be whimsical like Abed.  Wants to believe in magic and timelines and potentials and happy endings. 

He wants to tell Abed how he feels,  he wants to not be weighed by the burden of secrets anymore.  He wants to not have to over think every touch,  every affection, every gaze.  He wants to be buoyant and unashamed of the things he wants.  And he also wants to be certain, without ambikitties as Annie said once in their history presentation.  

He thinks that maybe Abed reciprocates his affections.  He did say that he was trying to get over Troy,  in a lot more words with a lot more finesse, sure. But getting over,  isn't that an expression for broken couples? Can you get over a friend?  He is afraid to assume that Abed feels the same for him but also afraid to consider the possibility that he doesn't. But he did say he will always like Troy more than Troy likes him.  As untrue as that statement is, he revels in the prospects of it. The secret,  no,  the clamdustine thrill of being able to affect Abed who is usually so unaffected by frivolity (Fun fact: Troy read a book that wasn't comic or manga or graphic novel,  Can you believe?  Okay, he didn't read specifically, he listened to Levar Burton narrate the story. And okay,  he didn't stay awake for more than a chapter but hey,  he knows some big words now and maybe he can finally be smart enough to deserve Abed in more ways than just friends.  An intellectual partner. A romantic intellectual partner.  Like in the movies, the spy and the hacker dynamics instead of the all-knowing all-seeing Inspector Spacetime and his mortal,  limited, with a very narrow skill set sidekick. He wants more is all he's saying.  More than normal.  

He clears his throat and says, "So about... , " waves his hands vaguely in the direction of the couch they were seated upon before, "everything from earlier, maybe we should talk?"

Abed's eyes become rounder before skittering away.  He's nervous.  

"We don't have to."

"I know but maybe we should? "

Abed speaks rapidly,  trying to steer Troy away from the subject, "Why?  We've said everything there is to say and I believe I'm not capricious in presuming that we are friends again. We're back to normal like you wanted us to be and we shouldn't waste time beating the dead horse as people say, when we can be beating some losers in this new fantasy multi-player game online. I just started playing The Command, it's a first person shooting game and I think you'll love it and we--"

Troy knows this method of evasion, Abed does it all the time and most often,  succeeds.  But this time,  Troy is focused,  he sees the deceit coming and he chants in his head,  we need to talk about stuff, I need to talk, talk first play later, talk talk talk,  we must, talk talk talk we shall, don't stop me, can't stop me, don't stop me noooow, don't stop me cause I'm having a good time having a-- fuck what was I thinking?  Oh yeah talking... 

He interrupts Abed,  "Sounds cool but we'll talk first,  play later."

Abed starts again, unrelenting, "Have you heard of the expression,  let sleeping dogs lie?  It's wonderfully suc--"

"Yeah but have you heard of the expression, rouse the dog if it has sleep apnea though?"

Abed tilts his head but considers it seriously, "Hmmm can't say I have."

"Yeah,  no,  I made it up but come on,  it has some truth to it."

Abed shrugs and makes a face that says meh. 

Troy chuckles fondly at the sight.  

"But seriously... I need us to talk,  Abed. Please. "

Abed sighs in defeat and goes, "okay, but can I be clone-Abed? With all the information you need but no emotions?"

"That's -- actually yeah,  that might work.  I can be clone-Troy. "

They both reach out at the same time for their handshake.  

"Where do we start?  We're chipping away at a mountain of data without proper folder designations..." Abed says, looking down at his crossed legs. "As futile as Sisyphus with the boulder."

Troy doesn't know who was sissy first and what he did with the boulder, and though he can't say he's not intrigued, he needs to stay on track.  

"Hmmm.... How about--20 questions sorta thing?  We ask each other what we want to know so that way, it's fair and we can start--"

Abed puts his hand up enthusiastically like he's answering a question in class.  "Is there a time limit?"

"No. "

Abed whispers to himself, his fingers tapping together like a cartoon villain,  "So hypothetically one can stall forever until the other gives up or grows tired and falls asleep."

"Noooo! That defeats the purpose. "

"Fine.. Oh, oh--" Abed raises his hand again.  "Can we lie?  Or manipulate data slightly?"

"Err, depends on the quest-- you know what,  no.  We shouldn't. "

Hand up again, "Can we pick dare if we don't want to answer the truth? "

"You don't have to keep raising your hand.  But no this isn't truth or dare.  This is question and answer based. "

"So it's a test. "

"No it's not--"

"How do we grade truthfulness?  By the quality of the question, the intimacy of the answer or the straightforwardness like structurally easy to understand? Do we score each other, and if so,  numerically or qualitatively? Do we have to call in an invigilator of sorts,  can we refer to external materials for additional insights?"

Troy massages the bridge of his nose with his fingers,  both exasperated and deeply fond of the way Abed's nerdy brain works. 

"Abed,  no.  This is an honest human interaction.  Not something we judge or grade--"

"But I judge and grade human interactions all the time.  I think everyone does, " Abed puts his finger up like he would when he's about to talk a mile a minute, "we gauge facial expressions and body language to estimate the outcome of the interaction,  we consider the context, the pragmatics and semantics of speech, like for instance I would never say Jesus Christ or oh my God in front of Shirley for fear of offending her sensibilities but I do say it often with you as a humorous impersonation of one who might use these phrases callously for dramatic effect. And also can human interactions be honest?  Ludwig Wittgenstein created an entire philosophy on the premise that communication is a game. We play the game to get the result we want. For instance, you may be playing a game of truth or truth, strictly adhering to the pursuit of objective  truth the way Annie defines truth and I may be playing it the way Jeff would,  not necessarily lying but omitting,  discrediting, leading on with conjectures or just saying things in a way that can make Jeff get in some lady's pants, but is it not honest to our intenti--"

Troy huffs out,  now bordering more on irritation than amusement,  "Are you trying to get in my pants? "

"What?! " Abed chokes on his saliva.  

"Are you saying things to get in my pants? " Troy asks,  mildly pleased with Abed being stunned into silence.  

"No.  No,  of course not.  I mean not as an insult of course, I've been told that you are objectively good looking so theoretically--" he begins rambling again,  eyes darting nervously.  

"I'm not trying to get in your pants.  At least not before I buy you dinner," Troy winks at his reenactment of a cliché. 

Abed finger guns,  "Cause you're a gentleman."

They both do their handshake. 

"So, there... Can we please stop coming up with loopholes and proceed with the questions?"

Abed opens his mouth and raises his finger for another quip but Troy cuts him off,  moving closer and saying, "Listen,  I trust you, Abed, to answer as sincerely as you are able to.  I'll take what you say at face value,  I won't try and add more meaning to it or read between the lines.  Yes is yes.  No is no. So I can only trust that you say things as they are,  as plainly as you can. I trust you to not lie,  I trust you to understand how important this is to me,  that this isn't just a game.  I trust that you will try to take what I have to say kindly, that you will give me the benefit of the doubt,  that you will see things my way for a moment when I'm telling you something. I trust you to recognise that you're not alone in your fears or discomfort, that I too have things I wish to never talk about but for the sake of salvaging our friendship, we must talk. Now, do you trust me to do the same? "

Abed smiles nervously and jokes to lighten the situation,  "In sickness and in health? "

Troy, unwavering, answers seriously,  "Till death do us part." 

Abed blushes at that and looks at his hands, nodding and Troy finds a new strength in him. It delights him to see that Abed is not as capable of hiding his emotions as he wishes.  And seeing him nervous gives Troy the confidence to start. 

"Did you love Rachel? "

Abed meets his eyes,  stunned.  "Yes. Did you love Britta? "

"Yes. Do you think I played a part in breaking the two of you up and if so,  do you hate me for it? "

Abed exclaims in a Jeff-like voice,  "Objection, Your Honour! That's two questions."

"I'll allow it!" Troy announces with a southern twang and hits his thigh.  

"The judge is from Florida, I think," Troy whispers to explain the context. "Anyway, answer them both and then you can ask two. "

"Yes,  in a way.  But no,  I don't hate you for that. Same two questions in regards to Britta. "

"Yes and no.  If anything I hate myself a little bit for it. "

"Me too...  With Rachel. " Abed confesses softly.  

Troy noticing that the faster the questions and answers come,  the easier it is to control his own emotions,  imagines himself as clone Troy and keeps the momentum going.  

"If you could make things right and get back with Rachel--"

"No.  You? " Abed recognises the shift and puts on his clone Abed cloak.  

"No.  When did you start therapy? "

"A week after Rachel broke up with me. Do you have any idea why I wanted us to stop talking? "

"You said you wanted to be your own man. But otherwise,  I was and still am very confused.  Why didn't you tell me about going to therapy?"

"I didn't want you to ask what I spoke about in therapy and figured omitting the information would be the easiest way to curb any potential questions.  Did you meet anyone in your travels that you liked more than me? "

Troy scoffs,  "No.  Duh-doy."

Quick handshake.  

Troy fires, "On a scale of 1 to 10, how much did you talk about me in therapy?"

"14. Do you think you can ever forgive me for ruining our friendship?"

"I think so but only if I find out exactly why you did it.  Which is my next question.  Why? "

Abed stalls,  hesitant and awkward, "Can I pass? "

"I guess but I really really want you to answer or I will be asking why for the rest of my life. "

"Pass."

Troy's face falls at that and he almost wants to throw his hands up.  

Abed,  not good at reading the room, continues,  "My turn.  Why does it matter why I did it?  Can't you just accept my apology? "

Troy petulantly remarks,  "What apology?  I don't recall you making one."

"Okay.  I'm sorry for ruining our friendship. "

"I'm sorry that doesn't cut it for me," Troy shrugs indifferently.  

"I thought you said you'll take whatever I said kindly and give me the benefit of the doubt. "

"Benefit of the doubt, yes.  But doubtssss?" Troy emphasises. "You're taking a short cut and I'm done doling out charity. "

"Then, I'm done talking, " Abed answers,  growing angry.  "I don't like ultimatums, Troy.  I don't like being pushed into corners."

Troy sighs,  more in despair than anything else. "And I don't like being terrified all the time,  Abed.  I don't like to keep wondering if you'll abandon me again. "

"Huh... " Abed utters softly, registering new information.  "That's a first."

"What?"

"It's like you took a page off the Abed Book of Life."

"You don't own the patent for the fear of abandonment, Abed.  Other people can feel it too, " Troy answers,  becoming more and more dejected as his hope dwindles.  

"No,  I get that.  But you,  you are Troy Barnes,  a machine on the field, popular quarterback, good looking, ladies' man.  You fear abandonment? " Abed asks disbelievingly.

Troy registers this as sarcasm and rebuts, "Guess you're not all that good at reading people then.  And maybe I gave you too much credit.  You really don't know me enough.  "

"But I am good at reading people. Not situations, too many probabilities and variables. People though are creatures of habit and I can decipher that. I just don't read you like I read everyone else. So, it's not unlikely that there are things about you I am unaware of.  "

Troy raises an eyebrow,  "What do you mean you don't read me? "

Abed shifts on the pillow,  trying to get more comfortable before explaining, "You know how I am acutely aware of patterns right? How I observe things most people don't pick up on and therefore can make a list of their mannerisms,  personality quirks,  flaws,  the good,  the bad,  the ugly and predict their actions?"

When Troy nods,  Abed replies,  "Well, that was a fool proof method for the longest time.  But then you came along and first,  I charted your mannerisms,  what made you tick,  what category in the Breakfast Club you'd belong to. "

"Jock. Don't need a chart to figure that out," answers Troy, rolling his eyes.  

"Yes but no.  That is too hackneyed a trope and only works for predictable feel good comedies. In fact the Breakfast Club actively tries to break out of the archetypal labelling and... Wait,  are we a spin-off of the Breakfast Club except the detention is failing at life and ending up at community college? Interesting theory, will prove it later...Anyway, my deduction was that you would tolerate me but you'd never truly enjoy my company.  You were supposed to take advantage of me. Make me write your essays,  buy your lunch,  be a wingman for you to get girls by virtue of me being the weirdo who makes you look even better than your usual good and making you a strong competitor to Jeff's bad boy machismo. Extra points from the ladies for giving the impression of kindness because you're willing to stoop low and hang out with a weirdo so far at the bottom of the popularity rung that he's only one step above Leonard because he is a youthful, neurodivergent, person of colour. Diversity hire bingo."

"What. The. FUCK. Abed?!" Troy shouts.  

Abed puts his hand up and keeps going at the speed of a bullet train,  "Don't interrupt me lest I lose track of what I'm saying because what I'm saying is I know I'm not too terrible myself. I have lived long enough to like enough of me that I can enjoy my company and relish my abilities. I know girls like me but they also like me because I'm unachievable emotionally and they may be projecting their daddy issues.  Except Rachel,  she knew me for me and liked me.  The point isn't that I'm being self deprecating.  I'm not.  I know myself and I like who I am.  But that's not always the most popular opinion among the general public and I am aware of that and okay with it.  Until you came along and you broke my algorithm after the first week. I kept trying to reconfigure,  to recalculate and then one day,  I just didn't anymore without realising.  I had stopped reading you. I took you as you are, no more cost-benefit analyses or predictions or patterns.  With you,  human interaction became less of a code and more of a colour.  There's only one other person who I stopped reading in my lifetime..."

"Rachel, " Troy says knowingly to fill in the pause.  

"No.  My mum.  But that was my grave mistake.  I trusted her so much that I stopped reading her so I didn't see it coming.  She left and I was unprepared for the possibility... Just like when you left.  And there I was, once again,  living my worst nightmare. I think there's a lesson here somewhere..."

Troy's brain short circuits at that and he couldn't help himself.  He reaches over and grabs a handful of Abed's sweater and pulls him into a kiss.  His eyes are closed and he is still frowning as he pushes against Abed's lips hard,  insistent,  overwhelmed.  

Abed remains still throughout and when Troy moves away, he sees that Abed's eyes are open,  alert,  angry even.  Troy feels like he got socked in the stomach at the sight.   

Abed grits his teeth and says,  "I don't fucking need your pity," and gets up to leave. 

Troy pulls him down and desperately holds on.  "I love you, I love you. Fuck, Abed, listen!  I'm in love with you."

Chapter Text

“Ma. You once told me that memory is a choice. But if you were god, you'd know it's a flood.”
― Ocean Vuong

[Sir David Attenborough's omniscient voice]

Ah, the Museum of Abed Nadir. One of the most mysterious members of its species. A mind so crowded with personalities, that it can be quite difficult to see, to observe its workings, as closely as you might wish. Some of the personalities here, you might -if you were lucky- have seen in the wild. But there are certain ancient creatures lurking that you will never see with your own eyes. No, they are not extinct. They are dormant. Let us take a closer look.

[fade out]

[Abed's mother's voice]

"Closer, closer. Chodź, kochany. Mama won't let anything hurt you. It's just a spider. Just a spider."

Abed is floating, looking down at the moment preserved like an insect in resin. He delicately balances on the fragile, translucent web, a dewdrop almost too heavy to hang on. He moves closer. Just a spider, she says. Just eight-legged air-breathing arthropods. Just a creature that jumps and shoots strings and injects venom. Just a horror hanging upside down, watching him with all of its horrendous eight eyes.

[transition: zoom into one of the eight eyes of the spider]

Abed is five, walking down the aisle of a grocery store with his mum. He has her nose and face shape but for the naked eye, they don't look like a mother and son. Not without his father to complete the picture. He is five but he can already tell that he is out of place. He goes to daycare and no one really plays with him. The kids call him weird, strange. They hate it when he has all the answers. The teachers write in his progress report that he is bright but "very difficult". The kids befriend him in the morning to steal his lunch by noon and then stop talking to him. It's not as elaborate a ruse as they think it is. But every day, Abed hands over his lunch. He knows the patterns, he knows what happens after. But he doesn't mind the hunger if it means for the first few hours of the day, he has friends. Because he doesn't know that friends don't get rid of each other once they're done stealing lunch, he doesn't know that friends don't throw rocks at each other in the playground because he's what they call an "alien monster". He hasn't learnt a great many things, he is only five.

He walks down the aisle with his mother, talking a mile a minute about different cereal textures. His mum isn't really listening. She looks at the list in her hand and sighs deeply. He knows he's talking too much, mum doesn't like all that chatter when she's back after work.

"Mama's tired," she says. "Enough, Abed, shush," she says.

He whines at the top of his lungs. Not crying, just shrieking. Why, he doesn't know. She won't let him talk. So, he shrieks. Maybe she'll listen. He doesn't know that love is exhaustible, even if you're bound by blood. He hasn't discovered that people can begin to lose love for you when you hurt them. He doesn't know he's hurting his mum. Someone walks past, shaking their head.

Another walks away with a "Get your kid under control, for God's sake."

Someone is whispering to someone else, "That's the problem with the Ay-rabs, I tell you."

Someone is asking, "Ma'am is this your kid? I'm gonna need to see your ID. Is there anyone here that can confirm that this is your child? Ma'am?"

His mum holds him by the shoulders, her fair blue eyes staring at his dark brown ones. Her hands against his remind him of the white spots when you stare too long at the sun. He is still shrieking but he imagines himself a shadow. He can blend in and people will stop staring at him if he's a shadow.

She's shaking him, "Stop it! Przestań, przestań krzyczeć! Abed, stop!"

Someone is saying, "Ma'am?"

His mum is announcing loudly, "Listen, he's not normal, okay?! I'm sorry, but he'll behave. You'll behave, ya Abed? He's just throwing a tantrum. He's not normal! For goodness' sake, he is my child. My husba-- his father... he's Palestinian. I'm sorry. Sorry. Excuse me. Sorry. We're leaving. Abed, stop it. Come!"

No one is listening to her. No one but Abed.

[transition: zoom into the second eye of the spider]

Abed is 21 and somehow that means, he has to grow out of shrieking. Holding oneself with the utmost composure marks adulthood. It is even more vital as a proof of manliness. Abed thinks that it is stupid. He knows who he is and how much of a man he is. He's got self-esteem falling out of his butt, he thinks. So, when he sees Chang open his cupped palms to reveal a huge, hairy spider he found in the vents, Abed shrieks for the first time in front of the gang. They are somewhat friends but they're not family yet. They have a long way to go.

The group stare at him for a beat and laugh, Jeff almost falling over where his chair is leaning back with the force of laughter. Britta, breathing shallow, says through her laughter, "I'm a feminist and all but you should audition for the dumb blonde in horror movies."

Annie has her hands over her mouth as she doubles over. Troy is shaking slightly at his side in laughter too. Chang, the maniac that he is, sneers and comes closer to Abed, knowing he now has power over him.

Abed shrieks again, this time closing his eyes tightly, hands over his head in defence, and falls off the chair. He curls into himself but doesn't stop shrieking.

Troy, the nearest to him, jumps over him, blocking his view of Chang and the spider and shouts at Chang, "This is not funny anymore! Get the fuck out or I will kick you in the teeth, I swear."

Jeff drags Chang and physically removes him from the room, shutting the door behind him. Abed is still shrieking but the volume is lower now, eyes wide open and staring into nothingness. Troy wraps his arms around his shoulders, pulls him up to press Abed's face against his chest and rocks back and forth, humming a song terribly under his breath to calm Abed down.

When Abed finally stops shrieking, Pierce opens his mouth to mock but Jeff shuts him up firmly, "Whatever you're gonna say, save it. We're all scared of something."

Pierce says, "Come on, nobody else thinks that was hilarious?"

Shirley says, "Oh no, I will never make fun of Abed."

Annie replies, "I'm sorry, Abed. I didn't realise you were truly scared. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, I've lived in New York and I'm scared of weird shit. I will never mention this again," Britta assures, miming like she's zipping her mouth and throwing away the key.

Jeff asks, "You okay there, bud?"

Abed nods, "Better now. I'm gonna go."

Troy follows him closely after, "Hey, Abed, wait."

Abed turns around, putting on a stony expression. He can't help but stare at the lockers from the corner of his eyes. He needs to gauge his landing so he doesn't hit his head badly.

Troy puts his hands on his arms and Abed's body tenses up, anticipating a shove.

"Man, that sound you made, is that what you sound like when you're scared?"

Abed nods hesitantly, "Or overwhelmed... or very sad...or--"

Troy interjects, "Okay, okay I get the idea. You know what, next time you're feeling like that, you tell me and I'll help out alright? That meltdown scared the bejeezus out of me. I thought you were having a seizure or some shit."

"Didn't mean to scare you. I've been told I am not normal," he shrugs nonchalantly.

Troy chuckles and slaps his arm gently, "Man, who even is? Let me tell you a secret." He looks around and then moves closer to Abed, saying, "Dude, come closer. I'm trying to tell you a secret."

When Abed leans in, he whispers in Abed's ear, "One of my biggest fears? I'll wake up as a cockroach... And I'd like it. I'd enjoy eating out of garbage and shit."

Abed smiles, "You should read Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka."

"What's that?"

"A novel. I think you'll enjoy it."

"Is there a movie? I'm not really into reading shit, dude."

"No movie, sorry. But wait," Abed says, eyes glimmering in excitement. "I can act it out for you."

"Damn, that's cool! Let's do that now! You get popcorn? I get soda?"

Abed expects that it's their last hangout, the pattern predicts that there is a symbolic lunch box that Troy is after. He's okay with that,  it's what he is used to.  He doesn't know any different.  So here is, handing out snacks and amusement.

He's surprised to see Troy jog after him the next day,   "Hey, look what I got! " presenting a handmade cockroach costume.

Troy is basically just wearing all black but has painted a huge brown, distorted cockroach of sorts. Abed takes out an elaborate mask and cockroach wings he made last night from the depths of his backpack. He didn't trust Troy to follow through with the plan they made; promises made high on sugar and laughter are unreliable. But Abed is always prepared, just in case. He's so glad to not be let down. He puts the mask and wings on Troy. 

They both nod firmly at each other with a growing grin and say in unison, "Let's do this! " before running to the cafeteria for the greatest performance art Greendale has ever witnessed.  

[transition: zoom into the third eye of the spider]

A hoarse shout. A crash and something breaks. Abed runs out of his room, half asleep and still in his Batman boxers.

"Baba?"

A brick through the sliding door hurtles past him.

Abed's father pulls him by the arm and locks them in Abed's room, shuts the curtains. Abed is neat for a 13-year-old. He folds his clothes and cleans his computer table and arranges his comic book by year of publication. His father, in a rush to get to the telephone, an extension of the landline in Abed's bedroom, trips over nothing and grabs on to the bookshelf for balance. A box of figurines on the upper part of the bookshelf topples over. He scolds Abed for his recklessness. He steps on a ceramic figurine of a white rabbit in a suit holding a pocket watch (his mum had mailed it to him on his 9th birthday with the entire collection of Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. He read it all in a week.)

Her note said, "Abed, you're my distinguished White Rabbit. Always rushing and hurrying around for adventures. Don't change. Happy birthday! Love, Mama."

He thought it funny. Don't change? All they've ever asked of him is to change, from as far back as he can remember. Maybe it's easy to like who he is when he's hundreds of miles away, his strong personality quirks diluted in the distance. Maybe when he's so far away, Mama can pretend he's not Haigha, the March Hare instead, brown and grey and crazy. But he loved the gift all the same because it came from his mum. Now, the figurine breaks into pieces under the weight of his father as he hurries to the telephone. He waits for an apology but gets none.

Someone is banging on his front door. Someone else is kicking his mailbox, the one he stands dutifully next to every morning just in case he's got a letter from his mum. The last letter was a month ago and was attached with a picture of his half-brother in a Yoda onesie. If he burned it and flushed it down the toilet, well, it's only because he's trying to save his dad from the heartache, he thinks. Because he's not selfish like his dad says he is, he thinks. He thinks and thinks himself into new explanations, new worlds, new rabbit holes to hide in.

Someone is throwing rocks at the window. He hears the screams, "TERRORISTS! SAND NIGGERS! I WILL KILL YOU! I'LL CUT YOUR BALLS OUT AND MAKE YOU EAT IT!"

Abed sees the terror in his father's eyes and he feels like he's staring at a stranger. Never before has he seen his father scared; he puts the fear of Allah in anyone that crosses him. Anyone but white men railing outside their front door apparently. Abed recognises one distinct voice, Mrs Roberts, his sweet neighbour. She won't let Abed into her house but she lets Abed pet her dog across the fence.

"FUCKING MUSLIMS! YOU WILL BURN IN HELL! YOU WILL BURN, THE WHOLE LOTTA YOU! My daughter works at the World Trade Center. My d--daughter--my da--daughter," she weeps, screaming in agony.

His dad makes a call and after a breath, Abed can hear the distant voice of a woman.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Abed closes his ears when his father answers, his voice shaky and watery like he's near tears. He won't listen to his father like that. He shrieks when his father's voice gets louder, more desperate. The week after, they pack their bags and leave. Most of their possession are left behind to make up for the cost of damage on top of the deposit that the landlord has charged on them. They rent a shabby room above a convenience store. Twin Towers topple in New York City and the destruction ripples across the country, beyond the country, across continents, and countless buildings topple somewhere else in the Middle East. Somewhere in Colorado, the Nadirs sleep with nothing but blankets on the floor. When he complains about backache, his father reminds him to be grateful that their neighbours didn't get the chance to break his back in half. He reminds him of the kids in Afghanistan, limbs torn and strewn across Kabul every second, as the American manufactured bombs drop on their heads like raindrops in the monsoon season.

Abed reminds his father that they are not Afghans and they live in America and they are not responsible for 9/11. They shouldn't have to suffer too.

His father reminds him, "We are Palestinians." Abed doesn't interrupt to say he is half-Polish and fully American. He continues, half in Arabic and half in English, "We are born with suffering. It grows within us in our lifetime, so what happens to someone else across the world, happens to us. Their pain becomes our pain. We will never rid of the pain until every one of us are can be free. Remember, ya bunayya, we are captives, even if our wheat grows over the fences, and swallows rise from our broken chains."

His father quotes Mahmoud Darwish a lot over the next few years, trying to instil in Abed a sense of responsibility, of the collective memory of his people. In the next letter he writes, Abed asks his mum about her ancestors, did they flee from war too? Are they born with pain within too?

His mother replies, "Perhaps, it's best to forget." And she continues writing to him about Star Wars, she has watched them with her new family. His half-brother, all white, all American, the half that is Polish was erased into oblivion by a generation that wants to forget. Abed is of that generation.

But his father reminds him, “Thudkar, remember, ya bunayya. If the Olive trees knew the hands that planted them, their oil would become tears."

Abed reads his father's translated copy of Darwish's poems. He memorises the lines, "I walk. I become lighter. I fly then I become another. Transfigured...I walk as if I were another...I don’t walk, I fly, I become another, transfigured. No place and no time. So who am I? I am no I..."

[transition: zoom in the spider's fourth eye]

"I didn't want to play laser tag with you lot, anyway," Pierce says gesturing in the direction of Troy and Abed.

He is angry that he was left out by the group; the six of them had partnered with each other and didn't want to include Chang because (newsflash: he is a maniac and an asshole) so they figured, what Pierce doesn't know won't hurt. But he somehow finds out and is trying to hurt the gang in retaliation. Abed had attempted to console him so now Pierce targets him to make a point. Troy is already turning over with a frown.

"Not you black people. Although gun and knife crimes are a real problem in your community--" he glances at Shirley who looks at Pierce threateningly.

He backtracks knowing he's cornered, what with the other white people in the group crossing their arms and glaring at him too. "Black people, you're more integrated into American society. But the Ay-rabs though," he tilts his head towards Abed without making eye contact.

"I'm right here," Abed says. Has he really turned into a shadow? Because Pierce is entirely oblivious to his existence.

Pierce continues, "I'm not going to rule out the possibility that Aybed here might have far fewer degrees of separation to terrorists than the ordinary American. I'm not saying he is, he's a nice enough fellow. But I've lived a long time and nothing really surprises me anymore..."

Pierce casually throws the word terrorist at Abed, again. Brings up 9/11, again. Calls him Aybed although Abed has corrected him tirelessly. It hurts every time but Abed has learnt to mask the feeling. Bullies need some level of attention and fear to use as ammunition. For every other American, 9/11 was a national tragedy that they are recovering from. For people like Abed who gets stopped and frisked by the TSA every time, who has to cast their eyes downwards if and when police checks their ID because their Muslim name may make a difference between a verbal warning or a gun to their head, who gets called bin Laden by assholes in the school hallway, who evades dog-poop bombs in mailboxes and lockers annually on Sept 11th, for these people... 9/11 was only the beginning of a tragedy that will continue to fester and rot for the rest of their sorry lives. So, he does what he does best and pretends he is a statue, unmoving and unfeeling.

He zones out the argument across the table. The back and forth between Britta and Pierce, Shirley's threats, Annie's gasps, Jeff and Troy's incredulous looks. Abed chants under his breath in Arabic.

"See!" Pierce shouts, "You're gonna tell me that doesn't warrant suspicion? It's not racist if it's tru--"

Abed interrupts with a translation, "We are captives, even if our wheat grows over the fences, and swallows rise from our broken chains. It's a poem by Mahmoud Darwish."

Britta says, "Aaaww that's beautiful. Will you say it again? I wanna jot it down. Maybe I'll get it as my first tattoo."

Abed draws his eyebrows together warily. It's strange how people like Abed has to think carefully about every expression, every movement, every word and still can't be too careful. But white people get away with a lot. He says as much, not so much an indictment as it is an observation.

Troy and Shirley intone, "Hmmm hmmm," cynically in support of Abed.

Britta, though uncomprehending, looks guilty but Pierce just gets enraged. His rant seems to be getting more and more inflammatory by the second and Abed feels the strain on Troy, even as Jeff is beginning to stand up to give Pierce the talking of his life. It takes someone who has studied Troy's body language methodically to know that he's holding his core strong in case he needs to throw a punch. A dangerous stance made even more dangerous because no one else will see it coming, let alone someone like Pierce who looks past people instead of at them.

So, Abed stands up and loudly exclaims before Jeff, "My father always said we are born with suffering, what happens to someone else happens to us!"

The group is silenced by it and Abed continues, "I am sorry that we have unknowingly inflicted pain on you--"

Troy interrupts, "Oh man, fuck that! If anyone should be apologising, it's Pierce. How you gon' ask me to invite you to things if you spew racist shit every other day?"

Everyone agrees in unison and Shirley mentions something about Jesus of Nazareth being brown and sun-tanned and beginning his journey at the Middle East.

In the noise of it all, Abed closes his eyes and remembers. He recites, impersonating his father's voice:

[transition: zoom in the spider's fifth eye]

Brendan from his PE class shouts, "Hey, faggot! Look here!" before he raises his pressed palms and bobbles his head. Someone laughs.

"Wildly inaccurate on both counts," Abed answers, opening his locker.

"Can't tell the difference, you're all shit-coloured. And you're so gay that even your nose is starting to look like a dick." More laughter.

"Well, white people are more likely to die from skin cancer. You might want to get that growing mole on your neck checked. Also, you make a dozen detailed dick references a day, are you sure you're not into it?" Abed retorts.

Someone says, "oh snap."

A hard shove and he topples sideways, hits his head and shoulder painfully against the metal door. Before he can recover, he is pushed into the locker and the door clang shuts. Someone laughs so hard that the hallway echoes with the howls. Abed can't breathe and it's too dark to see anything. He shrieks and no one can hear him over the peals of laughter outside.

[transition: zoom in the spider's sixth eye]

Abed and Troy are tickle fighting in the hallway. Whoever lasts longer without tapping out gets to eat the last doughnut that Annie gave them as a thank you gift for letting her move in with them.

Someone in the hallway coughs, "Fags!" and throws a cup half-filled with soda and ice at them.

Troy is upon them before Abed can even turn around to see who it is.

"Have you been in a fight?" he asks the jerk.

Before he can begin answering, Troy forms a fist and states threateningly, "Because I have. And I usually come out winning."

Jeff, who was texting by the wall, puts his phone away and comes to stand next to Troy, "Aaaand there's two of us."

Abed smiles and steps forward. He has never willingly been in a fight. Maybe now is as good a time as any.

He retorts, "I'm guessing in this situation, three's a crowd is an effective threat?"

Dean Pelton materialises out of nowhere between the group and the jerk and says, "No need. You're expelled. Greendale has a strict policy on hate crimes and bullying and all that jazz. Security, remove this man from campus!"

He turns around with a proud smile and the three of them ask some variant of, "How did you get here? Where did you come from?" at the same time, talking over one another.

The Dean swipes a hand flirtatiously across Jeff's cheek and says, "Oh honey, they don't call me a fairy for the reasons you imagine."

[transition: zoom in the spider's seventh eye]

Elroy says exasperatedly, "I'm the IT guy now, I have to fix the wifi."

"If you remove the nest, the mother won't come back," Abed reasons.

Elroy gives him a speech on why these unlucky birds are evolutionary failures and that he's got to get his job done.

Abed doesn't listen. He squares his shoulder and reiterates, "The mother won't come back."

Eventually, the Dean removes the nest anyway, however apologetically. Two baby birds die. One survives. It flies away and Abed smiles. Returns to his room and looks in the mirror, the mother didn't come back, he holds a pillow against his face and shrieks. 

[transition: zoom in the spider's eighth eye]

Abed is shooting at the Locker Boys with paintballs to protect Britta and Troy from getting shot at. He manages to annihilate the whole team except Chang, who had just crawled out of the locker. Chang must have been counting the number of hits because Abed runs out of paint pellets just then. He drops his arms in surrender and waits for the kill shot.

But instead, it's Chang who drops to the floor, whining, "Oh dude, not fair! I didn't see you there."

He turns behind to see Troy with his gun cocked heroically.

"You came back for me?"

"In the words of wise Britta, duh-doy!"

They exchange handshakes before releasing the wrath of Hell on Leonard's team.

*****

Abed is trapped in Inspector Spacetime's phonebooth at the convention. He's hyperventilating and begins to shriek, "You have to let me out!"

Toby, locking the door from outside, announces that they're only playing a game.

"You can't keep me here. Troy will find me," Abed threatens.

"Who?" Toby asks to irritate him more.

"You know who Troy is!" he retaliates.

And then the words register in Abed. He mutters to himself, you know who Troy is. Yeah...Troy will find me. He relaxes and sits down to wait.

"Troy will come back for me," he announces smugly.

*****

Abed's eyes are blurring from staring for too long. He sees Troy's silhouette but can't make out his face. Troy's voice echoes in the distance...

I love you, I love you. Fuck, Abed, listen!  I'm in love with you.

[fade out]

[Sir David Attenborough's narration resumes]

Our planet may be home to 30 million different kinds of animals and plants. Each individual locked in its own life-long fight for survival. Everywhere you look, on land or in the ocean, there are extraordinary examples of the lengths living things go to stay alive. The mind of one Abed Nadir is no different, as you may have well observed through this journey. I've always wondered if Abed Nadir would perhaps do a little more than merely survive in a world so alien and hostile to his ways of being. Just when I was beginning to think he wouldn't, here he goes, fighting, scrabbling, clawing his way to the surface. How spectacular it is to thrive!

[transition: zoom rapidly out of the eye of the spider above the web beyond the dewdrop and back in the apartment]

"Abed? Abed, please! Abed, come on!"

Abed, now finally back to reality, looks at Troy's agitated face. Troy has been crying again.

"Shit, Abed, man...you came back," Troy hides his face on Abed's lap where he's still seated on the floor. "You fucking scared me..." he whimpers.

"How long was I out?" Abed asks.

"Half an hour. I was about to call the guys for help," Troy answers, breathing deeply to regain composure.

"Why?"

"I don't know..." he trails off. "I thought I lost you."

Abed deliberately curls himself to place his head on Troy's where it's buried in his lap. He presses a kiss to the crown and rests his temple against Troy.

"For you, I will always come back," he says gently and feels Troy's ragged breath slowly turn into joyful laughter.

Chapter Text

"Pick up pick up pick up, Troy for fuck's sa--"

“You have reached the voice mailbox of... [Abed’s voice] Inspector Spacetime …. [Troy’s voice] and Constable Reggie …[Together] are out on a space-time adventure…"

Annie slides the key into the apartment door with exasperation that quickly turns into anger when Britta shoves her aside to enter the apartment first.

"Troy? Trooooy," she whispers loudly. "Annie is here--"

She gets cut off by Annie pushing her way in. Annie says sternly, "Britta, thank you for accompanying me today but you need to leave and I need to sleep. I don't care what Troy--"

She grows silent when she sees the blanket fort despite the otherwise dark room. A torch lights from within but she can't see much of what's inside because her comforter was used to reinforce the fort. She aaawws and looks at Britta sadly. Troy must have been missing Abed so much that he recreated the blanket fort.

She sneaks in to give him a hug but what she finds stuns her.

"Oh," she gasps. "Oohh..."

She climbs out of the blanket fort quietly, pulls at Britta's arm and leads them out. She shuts the door, breathes in deeply and says, "Okay, which club was it again, the one with free-flow drinks for ladies after 11?"

Britta smiles knowingly. "So... they good?"

Annie smiles fondly, "Looks like it."

The two girls jump excitedly outside the front door, giggling in joy for their friends. Because what Annie had seen was Troy and Abed, lying on their sides, facing each other, deep in sleep. That in itself is not uncommon. But their hands are in the middle, intertwined innocently like children. And Abed is clasping with both hands, holding Troy tenderly like a promise. This may not seem like much, but the only physical touch that Abed voluntarily initiates is his handshake with Troy. Abed doesn't hug, he merely tolerates it when other people do. But here he is, his guard let down, face peaceful in sleep, cupping Troy's hand. Annie doesn't know what was up with the two but from what she can observe, it doesn't matter anymore.

*****

The boys had dozed off quite immediately after Abed’s near meltdown. And it happened so naturally, without a word exchanged. Troy was crying on Abed’s lap and the latter held him through it. Then, Abed yawned, leaned sideways to lie down and Troy followed. They laid face to face and Troy looked up to read Abed’s face. Troy’s eyes were red and swollen again, eyelashes wet with tears. That’s when Abed moved to reach one hand out, offering. Troy placed his hand tentatively into Abed’s, not fully comprehending what the taller boy is asking for. Abed had intertwined their fingers together and clasped with his other hand too, fully surrounding Troy’s hand. He had then breathed contentedly and closed his eyes. Troy felt it from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes. He was warm all over, knowing that Abed, touch-averse Abed, I-don’t-do-hugs Abed, had initiated the hand holding.

Troy smiled and fell asleep feeling reassured. If it were anybody else, Troy would have needed more, verbal validations, kisses, sex, something. Maybe even the answer to the ultimate question that we all ask desperately from time to time in our lives, Do you love me or do you not? But Abed holding him while sleeping (the most vulnerable of activities for Abed, even more so than sex) is answer enough.

Which is why he wakes up feeling disoriented and cold when he finds that Abed was not still sleeping next to him. His side of the bed had been immaculately arranged, the blanket folded. His pillows now surround Troy like he would roll over in his sleep and fall off the bed. Except Troy is not in bed, he’s on the floor. You can’t fall any further down. And he is most definitely not a child, thank you very much. He feels frustrated because he would have really liked for Abed to still be there and he kicks the pillow in irritation.

“You couldn’t sleep?”

Troy startles, crawls out of the blanket fort to meet Abed but is first met with the freezing cold and bright sunlight. He turns around to see the curtains were drawn wide and windows opened. Why the heck? Abed of all people knows that the central heating sucks in this building and no one opens the window unless it’s the dead of summer. He looks at Abed quizzically.

“Nor I,” Abed says, in a quiet, deeper voice.

“Huh?” Troy asks, voice sounding shrill in comparison.

Abed steps closer, seeing the involuntary shivers. He pulls at the comforter that forms one wall of the blanket fort. It collapses and Abed’s makes a yikes face. He wraps it around Troy to stave off the cold.

He continues now, voice deep and words slow like dripping honey, very unlike the rapid way Abed speaks, “Our conversation last night…it has taught me to hope... as l had scarcely allowed myself before.”

He stares into Troy’s eyes and Troy feels a little too raw, standing there, unaware of what is happening.

“lf your feelings are still what they were last April... [reverts to Abed’s usual speech] actually last June, you left last June… [clears throat and resumes in a deep voice] tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed...  but one word from you will silence me forever.”

Abed’s eyes are beginning to look watery and he swallows before continuing his declaration. But Troy is more concerned with the way his shoulders look strung tight, the clench in his jaw making his face sharper, more solemn.

“lf, however, your feelings have changed...   l would have to tell you, you have bewitched me, body and soul...  and l love...” he chokes and breathes in. “l love.... l love you. l never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

He finishes with an exhale, fist opening and closing at his sides. Then he says, “Okay, your turn.”

And Troy can see the real Abed resurfacing and what was once a delightful confession is beginning to lose its tenderness.

“Wait, are you--is that a scene? Are you acting? Are you filming this?!” Troy interrogates, voice increasing in pitch.

“Errr… Yes, a little bit and no? I mean—it’s a scene from Pride and Prejudice. Have you not watched Prid—”

“No,” Troy answers. He exhales disappointedly.

Abed says, “That's alright. We can watch it later-- Okay, I’m not too good with visual cues but you look a little pissed so….”

“I’m not pissed… I’m disappointed."

Abed gasps, "And everyone knows that's worse! What have I done?"

"It's just...I thou-[clears throat]-I thought you meant it—like... with me…that you lov--I don’t know, it took me a while to realise it was from a movie,” he looks away, scratching his neck awkwardly.

Abed moves closer and reaches for the hand and holds it between his. Just like the night before.

“Just because it’s from a movie doesn’t make it any less true or significant. In fact, it’s even more meaningful because it’s my favourite romantic scene of all time.”

Troy rolls his eyes and says incredulously, “I sure love Jules Winnfield’s monologue but you don’t see me quoting Ezekiel 25:17 when we’re talking serious shit—man, come on.”

“But it’s not the same, Troy.”

“It's an example, I know it’s n—”

“No, you don’t. You don't get it. I’m not just—” Abed breathes, grips his hand tighter, “I don’t relate to romantic movies mostly. I do watch them because I need to stay updated and you know I’m not one to skip out on homework but I… I can’t relate. Can’t empathise. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought I was afflicted with the absence of passion, of heart. That's why I didn't really go out on dates. It wasn't for the lack of offers as the gang believes. So often in movies, they fall in love immediately and at first, I figured it’s just a trope but I see Britta falling in love so easily. I see you falling in love with Britta. Just out of nowhere, like no one saw that coming until it was happening already and I didn't—”

“Hmmm, wrong. I love Britta. I was attracted to her. But I won’t say I was in love—”

“Shut up, Troy!” Abed frowns.

Troy’s eyes widen in response.

“I’m trying really hard here. I’m not like you, I can’t articulate my feelings succinctly. Just-- shut up and listen.”

Troy nods quietly and Abed inhales again.

“Gone with the Wind was shit," and it takes Troy a minute to remember that they were once talking about movies.

"It was just so physical; that’s not love, I don't think-- That’s just... possessing someone. When Harry Met Sally lost me at its premise. I’m a man capable of attraction towards woman, I am friends with Britta, Annie and Shirley and yet I don’t wanna sleep with them. Or am I the only o-- no, can't be. Can it? Well, that's for another day. Aaaand... Dirty Dancing was shit, you can’t change anyone with love. People are what they are. And seriously, am I the only one who thinks 'no one puts Baby in a corner' makes no fucking sense? And then Breakfast at Tiffany’s like where do I begin?” Abed laments.

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to list them all,” Troy placates.

“Yeah, you get it. The only movie that I could see myself in was Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. For the longest time, well, until yesterday actually, I imagined I’d fall in love and the only way to make the person stay would be if we erased our memories every few years and started over. Because all relationships end, either by choice or circumstance or death. Everybody eventually leaves, I know this in theory but it’s not always that I see it coming. But I thought, if I could keep erasing memories, then it wouldn’t matter that they keep leaving. You left and—”

“Abed, I’m--,” Troy says sadly.

“No, no, let me finish,” Abed lets go of Troy’s hands, and looks down, his face turning redder.

“It’s not your fault. I get it. You had to figure yourself out and millions of dollars were at stake. Who in their right mind would say no to that? I get it, trust me. It’s just-- I didn’t see it coming. I mean nobody saw it coming when Pierce died but—I guess somewhere deep down I was getting complacent and I figured with you, I didn’t have to worry about needing to erase anything. And when you left, I went to therapy because I wanted to erase my memory so badly. That’s why I had to cut all contact with you. It's the closest one can get to erasing. But then you came back. Just like Clementine did and I almost--… I called my therapist and she said it's not worth it because I didn’t want to start and stop, start and stop forever. I wanted something lasting. I needed it and I wasn’t sure if you liked me more than a friend…” he pauses.

“I do,” Troy assures. “It took me a while to figure it out but I do, I swear.”

“Okay,” Abed nods. “So yeah… I like Pride and Prejudice the most because… I don’t know,” he awkwardly bounces on his heels.

“They had conflicts, far more complex misunderstandings than many romantic films, but they didn’t need to erase anything. They were their own people, capable of living without each other but they chose not to. They knew each other's flaws but yet, they held each other at the highest esteem. They met each other halfway, they…” Abed meets Troy’s eyes seriously, “I guess when I imagine a lasting love, I imagine it like that.”

Troy feels the intense gaze, understands the anticipation and he reaches for Abed’s hand again. “So, tell me...How did the scene end?”

Abed snorts in wistful laughter, “Just like this.”

Troy is surprised but soon recovers, holding Abed’s hand between his just like Abed did before, “Well, good.”

Abed lets out a burst of choked laughter but he’s tearing up. He looks away, chin wobbling, and Troy’s knees almost buckle at the sight.

“Abed, are you—is that tears?”

Abed swipes at his eyes with his other hand, shaking his head.

Troy laughs, drags his other hand down. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

"I... This doesn't happen often."

"What a privilege then," Troy wipes a tear with his thumb before dropping a chaste kiss on Abed's wet cheek.

In retaliation, Abed pulls him closer with a yank and cradles the back of Troy's head and kisses him. It’s gentle and soft and lingering, insistent in a fond way unlike the desperation of the first kiss; sunlight streams through the gaps between their bodies, and the breeze makes them feel buoyant. Troy reciprocates eagerly and accidentally whimpers when Abed opens his mouth to let Troy in. Abed can't help but smile against his lips and Troy pulls away embarrassed. Abed hugs him and buries Troy's face against his neck. Troy leans all his weight forward, feeling like he’s turning into goo, melting into Abed. Troy breathes in the scent of Abed, like sleep and coffee and yesterday’s body spray. His neck is blooming with a blush when Troy presses a sweet kiss there.

“You need to shop for a new therapist. She doesn't get this... us.”

He can feel Abed’s head tilt downwards in confusion.

Troy says clearly, “You can never need me more than I need you. And you sure as hell can never like me more than I like you. It has nothing to do with us having different brains... It has everything to do with who we are, the whole of us. We are... well, us, Troy-and-Abed. In every timeline.”

Abed laughs, "What did I tell you? You have all the words, I only have movies..."

Troy replies, "Fine, I'll say it for both of us then. Ready?"

When he feels Abed nod against his head, he says, "I love you. That, you know. And I like you so fucking much I can't even--"

Abed pulls him impossibly closer that Troy has to stand on his tiptoes.  And they stay like that, swaying for a long time while Troy quietly mumbles all the reasons they love each other and Abed hums contentedly, pressing kisses to his forehead and cheek when he is especially delighted. And if this becomes a new routine, a new way to be Troy and Abed in the morning, well, who are we to deny them?