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As soon as Abed walked into the study room, he knew he had a problem.
“Does anyone else hear that?” he said, pausing to point a finger towards the ceiling, where the noise was coming from. A pop song — “Crush” by David Archuletta — was playing somewhere in the room.
He got a few confused looks and head shakes in response.
“The buzzing noise coming from the corner? It’s bugging you too?” Troy said excitedly. “Man, that thing has been driving me nuts since, like, —”
“No, not that,” Abed replied, sitting down in his unassigned chair. “Although I have also noticed that.”
“We should investigate,” they both said at the same time, pointing at each other.
“But, actually, I meant the music. No one?”
He looked around the room, only to see five blank stares. “Okay. Must just be a song stuck in my head so much that it sounds like it’s playing out loud.” The five stares remained blank with just a tinge of worry. “It’s happened before,” he lied in his most reassuring voice. “Don’t worry about it.”
A beat of silence, and then — “Buzzing could be the wifi router,” Annie said, and as the group dissolved into a discussion about the buzzing noise that everyone suddenly had been tuned into and now could not stop hearing, apparently, Abed turned his thoughts inward.
Frustratingly, the only thing in there was Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head.”
It took him a few more hours to figure out what that problem was, exactly, but eventually it clicked: every time he was around Troy — which was a lot, unfortunately — a pop song played.
Not only that, but a love song.
Like, a cheesy, “you’re the one that I think about all the time,” “i’m in love with you and I don’t care who knows,” “I’m jealous of everyone you’ve ever kissed” kind of love song. Upbeat, saccharine, entirely too on-the-nose to be even a good plot device. That kind of pop song.
It didn’t feel like it was in his head — it felt like real life, like a stupid rom-com — everyone could be lying to him, like a prank — but it must not be, because how would anyone else have the power to do that? Even the Dean, who controlled the speakers and could potentially do something like that, wouldn’t know when he interacted with Troy. Unless he had a spy, but Evil Abed was busy that day doing something dastardly to mess with Annie (he’d briefed him in the shower that morning) and Pierce was on a business trip for Hawthorne Wipes for the week, and he didn’t know who else would even care about doing something like that.
So. It must be in his head.
The only question was why — why would his subconscious do something like that? This wasn’t like Christmas, or a flashback, or something else like that where he knew no one else could see it but was going with it anyways. He wasn’t running from something clearly obvious to the viewer but purposefully hidden from his own psyche, at least to his knowledge.
And why Troy? Why not Annie, who he’d had a few will-they-won’t-they Rachel-and-Joey moments with a while back (he was Rachel, she was Joey)? Or Britta? It would have explained why he was so jealous of her and Troy’s relationship, at the very least. Or even someone like Vicki, a background character suddenly brought to the forefront of the plot? Why someone who he had zero romantic interest in?
He'd done some work in order to figure out when he was hearing the music, so to speak; the music only started when he’d entered the study room, so he figured it was either the room, the people, or the objects around him. He spent a few minutes alone in the study room, and when nothing happened, he ruled out place and thing, which just left people.
He’d started out by spending ten minutes one on one with each of the member of the study group. Since it felt like the moments in TV shows where the protagonist looks at the person they love and something relevant starts playing in the background, he decided to go through his friends in order of who he was most likely to be in love with for maximum efficiency, starting with Annie (the most likely) and ending with Shirley (least likely).
The full list had originally been Annie, then Britta, then Jeff, then Troy, and finally Shirley. He’d contemplated not even including Troy, because he figured he’d have heard the music earlier, but then he’d remembered that Troy had fallen asleep in his recliner the night before and that Abed hadn’t been in the same room as him until the study room because of their class schedule.
He’d also agonized over Troy and Jeff’s spots on the list until he remembered about Jeff and Annie’s relationship; “young ingenue dates older mentor” was a trope he might have forgotten to apply to himself in all of his simulations concerning the people he was most likely to end up with in his study group.
Which is why it took him until lunch to spend time alone with Troy. Their classes both ended twelve minutes (Greendale had interesting schedules, but it was, Abed conceded, very efficient) before the others, and so he had time — if he hurried — to get some time alone with Troy.
He went to go meet Troy outside of his classroom — they always memorized each other’s schedules practically as soon as the semester had started, and the first time they did so Abed had expected Troy to forget a couple times, but he never did — and as he walked towards the room, he saw Troy leaning against a locker, casual and hundred-watt smile taking over his face as soon as he saw Abed.
Big Time Rush’s “Boyfriend” immediately started playing.
Abed swallowed.
This was getting more complicated by the minute.
Halfway through lunch with the whole group, The Proclaimer’s “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” reminded him that his inner playlist lacked diversity. Immediately, it switched to Rihanna’s “You Da One,” just as Troy said something that made him laugh so hard he snorted milk on the table.
Huh.
Weird.
Could he control the song selection?
Abed closed his eyes and tried to think of country music. Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me” started playing. He thought about oldies. “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac. Even older? “Stop! In the Name of Love” by The Supremes. Rock music? Queen’s “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” Rap? “3005.” Beatles? “I Wanna Hold Your Hand.”
Abed didn’t even like the Beatles. Switching tracks.
He concentrated on classical music. Nothing changed. Interesting.
On the way out of the cafeteria, he was concentrating so hard on switching away from the Beatles that he accidentally tripped Troy. Right away, Fergie’s “Clumsy” popped into his head.
Throughout the rest of the afternoon, he tested his internal playlist’s algorithm. It could do pop from different eras and slightly different genres, but only if the genre had enough pop in it. It could only do songs Abed knew (which got a bit embarrassing, at times, to have to reconcile with how much pop he truly knew) and it could change situationally. He had some control, but when he wasn’t thinking, it just picked the most current, poppiest song it could and went from there. It happened whenever he could see Troy, whether he was looking at him or not; it seemed to be whether he was aware of Troy’s presence, whether or not there were other people around, but switched off whenever there was something like a door or wall separating them.
It stayed fairly generic, for the most part, lyrics he could easily apply to Troy — songs about wanting to be around someone whenever one could, about feeling comfortable around someone, about not understanding why a particular someone was still single because they were so radiant and electric.
(“Electric Feel” playing as they’d driven home from Greendale had gotten that word stuck in his mind).
That evening, he was treated to “Call Me Maybe” as Troy cooked him buttered noodles shirtless (he’d spilled pink lemonade all down his white shirt) and “Rather Be” as they cleaned up together afterwards, Troy bumping hips with him as he washed and Abed dried. They spent a quick ten minutes in the Dreamatorium, with Frank Ocean’s “Pink + White” giving Abed a nice reprieve from the fast-tempoed songs of before.
His internal playlist played Teagan and Sarah’s “Boyfriend” as they got into pajamas together and “Don’t You Forget About Me” as they picked out a movie to watch. He had to stop watching a movie halfway because “Teenage Dream” and “Careless Whisper” got stuck on a loop. When he got up with his hands on his ears and speed-walked to the bathroom, Troy, looking alarmed, got up to follow him.
“Stop following me,” Abed said, frustrated, as he slammed the bathroom door. Technically, they were in different rooms and he couldn’t see Troy, so in theory, this would work.
As luck would have it, as soon as he faced away from the door the music stopped, right in the middle of a One Direction song. He slid his back all the way down the door and let out a long sigh.
“Abed,” Troy said from outside the bathroom door. “What’s up? You’ve been acting weird all day and I need to know why.”
“I can’t — you’re going to think I’m weird if I explain why.”
Troy sighed loud enough to mirror Abed’s previous sigh. “Haven’t we already established this? I already think you’re weird, but in, like, a magical fun way where I really only feel like myself around you. Duh. Nothing you can say will be weirder than anything else you’ve already done.”
Abed considered for a second. “Fine. But you have to stay out there.”
Abed heard Troy slide down the door on the other side of him. “Okay. Promise.”
Abed hummed for a second, considering the best way to talk about what was happening. It felt like an admission of something large, in a way that he couldn’t really put his finger on.
“I’ve been hearing romantic pop songs all day whenever I’m around you. I don’t know why, and I can control it in a very specific way, but I can’t control that it happens around you. That’s why you can’t come in. I need some space to think about why without the songs playing.”
“Oh.”
Abed had spent three years figuring out Troy. He wasn’t always spot on with feelings, but with Troy — with Troy he knew everything. The voice he made when he had a good idea that he was trying to tease out slowly — the voice he made when he was ashamed of something he’d done — the voice he made when he was sleepy and content, about to drift off to sleep, the kind of voice that meant that he wanted to be closer to Abed — but the tone behind this simple word was evading Abed. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what Troy meant by it.
He had the quick thought that maybe it was because Troy didn’t either.
“Remember when I pretended to be you to talk through some things?”
“Yeah,” Troy said from behind the door. “Did you wanna do that again?”
“Maybe. Although it might be easier if you pretended to be something else, because this has to do with you. Can you be Inspector Spacetime?”
“Why of course, Reggie,” Troy said, not skipping a beat. Then, in a normal accent: “Wait. Are you Reggie or Abed?”
“I think I’d like to be Abed, please.”
“Okay.” He switched back to Inspector. “‘Ello, Abed. What can I do for you?”
“Not sure. I keep hearing romantic pop songs whenever I’m around my best friend Troy. I’m not sure what it means.”
“Does it happen around other people?”
“Nope, just Troy. At first I thought I was hearing them near someone I’ve had romantic tension with in the past, but then when I realized it was Troy, I got confused.”
“Oh?”
This oh sounded suspiciously similar to Troy’s earlier oh, but Abed could let that go.
“I mean, it’s been teased, but mostly in either an extremely homophobic or simply queer-coded way. Nothing outright from either party.”
“And how do you feel about young Troy, also-young Abed?” Inspector Spacetime said in a slightly strangled voice, as if he didn’t particularly want to know the answer but also really, really did.
“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. He’s always just been there, in a way where I didn’t need to think about it. He’s kind of my everything. Like, our show isn’t about either one of us but about the bond between us. I think the world of him and believe him to be a radiant person who is as close as one can come to perfect, but I’ve never had a best friend like this before so I’ve just assumed it was normal.”
Inspector Spacetime outside of the door just hummed in a suspiciously Troy-like way.
“But the more I’ve been around him with this music underscoring everything, the more I’ve had to come to terms with how many of our interactions could be seen as romantic, in the right lighting. And this is just the lighting to show me that. So I guess I’m grateful, because — I guess it’s making me think about some things, more deeply. But there’s still one thing — I guess I just don’t know whether he hears the music too.” Abed thought, then added, “Metaphorically or literally.”
“What would that change? Anything?” The voice came out about 75% Troy and 50% quieter than he normally talked.
Oh fuck. Everything hit Abed like a ton of bricks.
“I — I don’t know. What does it mean when you realize all of a sudden that you kind of really want to kiss your best friend and kind of have for as long as you’ve known him but just kind of assumed that that was normal, and you’re kicking yourself that you never noticed the signs before?”
“I don’t know,” said Inspector Spacetime.
“Can I talk to Troy?” Abed said, standing up.
“Of course,” Inspector Spacetime said.
“Hey, it’s me,” said Troy.
“Hi,” said Abed as he opened the door, suddenly flooded with Sophie B. Hawkins’s “Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover” as soon as he saw Troy.
Troy. Standing across from him, heart so obviously in his face, eyes wide, face like melted ice cream. Radiant and electric and familiar. Just a heartbeat’s length away. Abed crossed it, put his hands on Troy’s face. He stayed like that for a second, just drinking him in. How had this not been obvious to him before?
“Whatcha doin’?” Troy asked.
“Waiting for the perfect moment,” Abed said quietly, swaying just a little as if they were slow dancing.
“Oh,” Troy said, smiling his lopsided smile before he even knew what Abed was doing. “For what?”
“For this,” Abed said, and when he leaned in to kiss Troy, his heart swelled and exploded with the music, and it all felt like coming home.
Troy leaned back, smiling his biggest smile. “Yeah?”
Abed loved that he didn't need to say anything with Troy.
He knew he would have to eventually — he knew they’d end up spending time dissecting whatever this was later, he knew that he’d answer all of Troy’s anxious questions and that Troy would answer all his unspoken ones, and that they’d slide into something new the same way they slid into being friends — which was to say, effortlessly and recklessly and in such a way that it was impossible to remember a time where they weren’t.
But for now, as the music swelled again, all Abed said was, “Yeah.”
This time, Troy leaned in for the kiss.
It was messy and imperfect and wonderful.
Abed loved him in ways that he would never be able to say, or distinguish from each other, or express in song, even.
And Troy loved him back.
Later, as they laid in the bottom bunk together, Abed’s arms wrapped around a grinning Troy, he realized the music had stopped.
“Hey, there’s no more music. Wonder why that is?”
“Mmmm,” said a sleepy Troy. “Probably it was trying to get us to kiss. I’ve been trying for months. Glad your submarine unconcious finally gave you a nudge.”
“Really?”
Troy nodded, blushing. “What else was on the playlist, by the way?”
“Oh my god, so much. Our girl Sophie B. Hawkins was the one we kissed to, by the way.”
Troy laughed his approval. “What else was on your mixed tape to me?”
“Beatles. Taylor Swift. Childish Gambino. Have I ever told you he looks like you, by the way?” Trou smiled sleepily. “Carly Rae Jepsen. Rihanna. Queen. Frank Ocean. Fergie.” As he listed off artists, Troy sighed his way into sleep.
“Goodnight,” Abed whispered. He hummed some of “As I Lay Me Down To Sleep” as he shifted to get comfortable. It would have been so much more convenient to have the song automatically play, he found himself thinking.
He wondered how he could get the internal playlist to happen again.
Maybe not all the time, though. He was going to go crazy if he heard another One Direction song.