Chapter Text
It’s all a blur, but Ryan’s happy. When Gabriella had dragged him over to the baseball match and convinced him, somehow, to play, he’d expected it to be awkward, and to feel out of place, but he’d fit in neatly, and he hadn’t even needed to tone down the dancing. It’d been so good, belonging, being in a team, all of that.
And he’d pitched, and Chad Danforth of all people had established some sort of friendly rivalry with him, goading him on, but nothing malicious in his smirk or his threats, as if they were actual friends and not just two boys who barely knew each other, who were now captains on opposite teams. And he’d batted, and they’d done the innings, and the game was nearly over, everything boiling down to the last minute, and Ryan had made the catch and thrown himself onto home base, but Chad had gotten there first, and he’d frozen, winded, covered in mud and dust and sweat and painfully aware of all the places their bodies were touching, and he’d finally managed to get up, and –
This is it, Ryan tells himself. Your five minutes of fun are over, none of these people are your friends. Time to get out of these clothes and leave them alone.
But just as he’s making his way back, Chad yells, with a fierce insistence to his tone, “Hey, Evans!”
Ryan doesn’t turn around, not sure what Chad will see in his face, but he goes entirely still, waiting. “Not saying I’m going to dance at the show. But if I did… what would you have me do?”
Ryan can’t control a small smile at that. He shrugs, doesn’t say anything. The moment feels heavy and unexpected, and Ryan sees this for what it is – an offer of friendship, or an alliance.
Not something he ever expected, and certainly not from Chad Danforth.
-
They sit very close together at lunch. Chad’s eyes on him are keen and watchful. He presses their shoulders together and listens attentively and smiles at Ryan, and he doesn’t seem to care that the rest of the Wildcats are there and are watching them, doesn’t seem bothered by what inevitably happens when you befriend the only out gay kid in all of high school.
He’d been far more relaxed about things than Ryan had been daring to imagine, joking about swapping clothes post shower. Ryan, ready to call him out on his bluff had said, “Sure, let’s do it,” and had been genuinely surprised when Chad threw him his jacket and took his hat, and asked, “What else do you want?” and he’d said, surprised, “Everything,” and Chad had laughed, and now there they were, wearing each other’s clothes.
Ryan’s answering some question Gabriella’s asking, something to do with theatre classes and the first production he’d starred in, and Chad is eating fries off a plate that’s wedged between both their plates, so that Ryan isn’t quite sure if it’s his plate or Chad’s.
It’s strangely boyfriendly, Ryan thinks, and feels almost guilty for thinking that. This is why you have no friends, he thinks, leaning his head on Chad’s shoulder. He will take whatever little he gets, damn the guilt that he somehow ends up feeling in the process.
“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Chad asks, and Ryan shrugs, picking at a carrot stick, and taking a tomato slice off the top of a salad.
“I’ll be fine,” Ryan says, and this entire moment is too intimate considering how little he and Chad knew each other before, but he can’t help it, there’s something about the way Chad is looking at him that is making him want to be forthcoming. “I always am.”
Chad hums. “I know,” he says, and then hands him a glass of something. “Got you a banana smoothie anyway, figured you could do with it.”
Ryan smiles.
-
The whole of the summer is strange and surreal. Ryan feels like one of the boys for the first time, and there’s the oddness of his friendship with Chad, who asks if he can borrow Ryan’s hats and says that he can’t dance, but walks with music in his steps all the same, and smiles at Ryan with genuine warmth, no longer the impersonal smile he’d shoot anyone and everyone back in school, and Ryan’s knees are weak.
He spends a lot of time to himself, though it’s not like he has many other options of where to be, given how Sharpay’s latest scheme involves ditching him in order to seduce Troy, or something along those lines. He feels like he’s balanced on a ledge, over a chasm; like he’s walking on a glass bridge and the smallest thing could hit very hard and cause the whole bridge to crack.
Ryan is used to feeling like this. He’s good at not letting it split him down in half.
And he doesn’t have Sharpay anymore. However much they clashed, she still looked out for him, and while nobody was scared of Ryan, everyone was intimidated enough by Sharpay that most people didn’t dare to mess with him, and he knew that was all due to her. Sharpay may not have been the most well-adjusted, or even most well-meaning person, but she was his sister, and when she wasn’t too busy thinking about herself, she knew how to make him feel valued and important.
Ryan isn’t used to having friends other than Sharpay.
Chad sets something in motion – and that’s the thing, Chad thinks he’s uncool, or second only to Troy, or something along those lines, and Chad doesn’t realise he has his very own magnetism, his own pull, something about him that’s inherently alluring but also that makes people sit up and listen to him. Troy is a pretty boy, sure, but Chad has substance, unlike Troy, who is inoffensive but uninteresting, Chad has a way of doing things that make an impact, often without even being aware of it. And so, Chad deciding to be friends with Ryan, publicly, loudly and gleefully, means that everyone wants to be friends with Ryan.
The boys talk to him about sports and video games, and Zeke brings him baked goods once, just for fun, and he sits with them during lunch and he listens, and all the while Chad looks at him with something soft in his expression that Ryan can’t parse, something gentle enough that it sets Ryan’s heart at ease. This isn’t a prank. He knows, with a certainty unlike anything he’s ever felt before, that Chad will not hurt him.
It’s the certainty that scares him.
-
So the show comes to an end, and he’s given the award and Chad is grinning and Ryan sort of wants to cry, though he isn’t sure if it’d be happy crying or sad crying, just some sort of release of emotion. And they’re all there, under the stars, paired up in couples and Ryan thinks Chad will be with Taylor, but no, Chad’s right here, and they both sit together.
Ryan doesn’t feel up to talking, and Chad doesn’t push him, just sits there next to him.
Don’t get your hopes up, Ryan tells himself. This will all end soon, along with summer. Chad Danforth has better things to do than be here. Don’t get attached.
He thinks it’s a bit late for that, but Chad’s next to him and he’s warm, and Ryan did just win an award he wasn’t expecting to win, not this year at least, so he lets himself give in to this singular moment of weakness, and curls up against Chad as they sit on the blanket together. And Chad puts an arm around him, and Ryan decides he does not care about how much this is going to hurt when it ends, as long as he can have this now.