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The story of how they get together is deeply personal and weirdly simple and steeped in vulnerability and long overdue.
Here’s how it happens:
When Abed gets home from school, he takes three steps into the apartment and then immediately turns around and walks back out, closing the door behind him. He tries to figure out where to go, but he doesn't know, so he sits on the steps outside. His phone vibrates, and it's a text from Troy.
4:48PM
TROY: did u just come in and then leave again?
4:49PM
ABED: Yes. There was a strong scent in the apartment and I don't tolerate those very well. Do you know what it was and when it might be gone?
4:49PM
TROY: sorry, man. I put pain relief cream on my shoulders and I didn't think of the smell. I'll jump in the shower right now and u should be good pretty soon.
Abed stands up and starts walking away from the apartment building.
Twenty minutes later he returns, and the apartment smells normal again, and Troy is fresh from the shower, curled up on the bottom bunk of the blanket fort. He's rubbing his shoulders and wincing slightly, but he stops quickly as soon as he sees Abed.
"Are you okay?" Abed asks, concerned.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Troy says, but his voice sounds strained.
"Friends don't lie," Abed reminds him. He remains in the same spot, doesn't stop looking at Troy.
"Just a little shoulder pain," Troy admits. "It's no big deal, really."
"Here," Abed says, holding out the small plastic bag he's been carrying. He walks over to Troy and places it in his lap.
"Did you just buy this?" Troy asks, frowning, and pulls a brand new tube of pain relief cream out of the bag.
"Yeah," Abed says. "It's the kind where the scent doesn't linger. I thought I could probably deal with that, and then you wouldn't be in pain because of me."
"Come here," Troy says, patting the bed next to him. Abed sits. "I'm not in pain because of you, Abed."
"You're not not in pain because of me," Abed counters.
"I'm in pain because of me," Troy says bitterly. "This is my fault. So it's okay if I have to suffer sometimes. I deserve it."
"Troy," Abed says slowly, putting a hand on his back. "Can you elaborate please?" He tries to keep his voice steady; he's not sure if he's successful.
“Yeah,” Troy says. “Do you mind if we lay down though?” He settles onto his back on the bed, looking up at the top bunk, and Abed lays down next to him.
“Better?” Abed asks.
“A little.”
“Good,” Abed says. “I’m interested to see how you’re going to try and convince me that you deserve to be in pain. Spoiler alert: you don’t.”
“You don’t know the whole story, Abed,” Troy grumbles. “You can’t say that until you know the truth.”
“Tell me, then,” Abed says.
“It’s embarrassing.”
“That’s okay,” Abed says earnestly. “You know plenty of embarrassing things about me.”
“You remember how I lost my football scholarship?”
“The keg flip, right? You got hurt. That’s how you ended up at Greendale. Is this residual pain from that injury?”
“Yeah,” Troy says, turning his face away from Abed. “That’s not the bad part.”
“Okay,” Abed says patiently.
Troy doesn’t say anything right away. He is picking at his cuticles, and Abed grabs a Rubik’s cube from the nightstand and hands it to him. Troy takes it absently and starts twisting it at random.
Finally he mutters something, but it’s quiet and he’s looking at his hands and Abed can’t understand what he said. Abed touches Troy’s knee so he turns to look at him, and then Abed tilts his head and waits.
“I hurt myself on purpose,” Troy says, just as softly but more clearly this time.
“Oh,” says Abed.
“It was a lot of pressure. Too much pressure,” Troy continues. “I couldn’t take it. So I just...let myself fall, and dislocated my shoulders, and then I didn’t have to worry about playing my best or what recruiters might show up or any of that stuff anymore.”
“That must have been really hard,” Abed says.
“Are you hearing what I’m saying, Abed? I did this to myself. I’m a monster. I don’t deserve any sympathy.” Troy screws his eyes shut and puts his hands over his face.
“You show me sympathy,” Abed says softly. “We’re not that different, you know.”
“What are you talking about?” Troy asks, without moving his hands.
“You said you don’t deserve sympathy because you hurt yourself on purpose. Does that mean I don’t deserve sympathy when I hurt myself on purpose?”
“Since when do you hurt yourself on purpose, Abed?” Troy mutters.
“Since as long as I can remember,” Abed says. “I’m surprised you’ve never asked about it before.”
Abed sits up and shrugs his hoodie off and pushes it to the side. He lets his bare arms rest across his lap and waits for Troy to sit up.
When he does, he turns perpendicular to the wall, and Abed does the same, so that they’re facing each other. Troy takes Abed’s hands in his own and starts by brushing his fingertips over Abed’s cuticles, which are red and ragged, as always. Then he continues up Abed’s left arm, tracing over the pattern of bruises that extends all over, all the way up and under Abed’s t-shirt. His other arm is the same way, and both arms have scabs and scars scattered about.
“I didn’t know how to ask,” Troy admits. “I didn’t know what they were.”
“It’s usually when I have meltdowns,” Abed explains. “When I’m overwhelmed, or if I have bad anxiety. I pinch myself, or I scratch myself with my fingernails, or I bite the skin around my nails. Sometimes I don’t even notice I’m doing it. Other times I do. It’s why I wear hoodies and sweaters and flannels all the time.”
“Is that also why you have all these toys?” Troy asks, holding out the Rubik’s cube. “The cubes and spinners and tangly things?”
“Yeah, that’s part of it,” Abed says. “They keep my hands occupied. And I have toys I can bite, too. That helps sometimes.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask before,” Troy says.
“Don’t be,” Abed replies. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s an awkward thing to bring up. But back to what we were talking about before -- do you think I’m a monster because I hurt myself?”
“Of course not! But that’s different,” Troy says stubbornly.
“How is it different?”
“You do that when you’re feeling bad. As a...coping thing.”
“Weren’t you feeling bad when you decided to give up a football scholarship?”
“Yeah, but…”
“People don’t hurt themselves because they’re monsters, Troy. They do it because they don’t know what else to do. And they deserve compassion.”
"I don't…" Troy trails off.
"Even you," Abed says gently. "And if you won't show it to yourself, I'll show it to you. Turn around and take off your shirt."
Troy turns so his back is to Abed and gingerly removes his t-shirt. Abed takes out the tube of pain cream, then flips the cap open and squirts some into his hand. The minty scent is strong, and he tries to breathe mostly through his mouth.
"Show me where it hurts," he says softly.
Troy places his hands on his shoulders, and Abed lifts each hand up and rubs cream over the whole area. Then Troy traces his fingers over a few more spots, and Abed covers those, too. They continue like that until Troy finally puts his hands down.
"Thank you," he breathes.
"You're welcome," Abed says. "I'll be right back."
Abed goes into the bathroom and washes his hands. Then he pours a glass of water and grabs the big bottle of ibuprofen that Annie keeps under the sink. By the time he returns to the bedroom and hands them to Troy, the smell has already pretty much dissipated.
"You don't have to do all this, you know," says Troy.
"The conversation we had a little while ago leads me to believe you've never let anyone take care of you like this before," Abed says. "That's unacceptable. So you should probably start getting used to this."
He hears a sniffle, and when he looks over, Troy is crying. Abed passes him a box of tissues from the night stand and then scoots over next to him and puts an arm around his bare waist.
"Abed," Troy says, his voice wet and wobbly. "You're such a good person. I love you."
"I love you, too," Abed says. "You are also a really good person. We're lucky to be friends, I guess."
"No, I really love you," Troy says, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I think I'm in love with you."
"Why does that make you cry?" Abed asks, his heart beating faster.
"Because it's scary. Because I want you to know, but not if it's going to mess things up between us. And because now it's too late to take it back."
"Don't worry about that," Abed says. "And definitely don’t take it back. I'm in love with you, too."
Abed pulls Troy closer, and Troy relaxes and lays his head on Abed's shoulder, and it's a perfect fit, like that’s how they’re meant to be.
"How come you never said anything?" Troy asks.
Abed shrugs. "It was scary. I wanted you to know, but not if it was going to mess things up between us." He turns and kisses the top of Troy's head. "Don't you see? It's what I've been trying to show you. We’re really not that different."