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“About time you broke up with her.”
Troy closes his eyes and groans, not even bothering to flick the lightswitch on in the apartment as he closes the door and leans back against it. This was exactly what he was hoping he wouldn’t have to deal with when he got home tonight. Of course, he should’ve known better. But in spite of everything, he still holds onto the futile hope that someday, he’ll be normal.
He opens his eyes. It’s still dark in the apartment, he can’t see a thing, but that doesn’t really matter.
“Go away, Abed.”
“Hey,” Abed actually sounds mildly offended, which is a rarity for him. Usually he doesn’t sound like he’s feeling anything at all. “I’m trying to cheer you up. Britta was cool, but she wasn’t your endgame. You guys both knew she never stopped loving Jeff.”
“Yup, thanks for the recap, buddy,” he grumbles. He kicks his shoes off and finally gives in, flipping the switch by the front door and flooding the room with light.
Abed’s sitting in Troy’s recliner, right where he’d left him. His arms are hugging his knees to his chest, chin resting on top of them. Troy almost feels bad for just leaving him here to wait, without even turning the TV on for him. Then he remembers how ridiculous that is. He shakes his head and shuffles over to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him even though it never makes a difference.
Sure enough, Abed’s sitting next to him on the bed before he knows it.
“How come you’re sad?” Abed asks. “You didn’t really love her either. Remember? You told me.”
Troy really doesn’t have to explain himself. Abed usually goes away if Troy ignores him for long enough, but he doesn’t feel like doing that this time. Somehow, having Abed here seems better than being left alone with his thoughts, in silence.
“Because I still failed at something,” he says. He lays down, flat on his back with his fingers laced over his chest. Abed does the same. Troy used to think his imitative behaviors were kind of cute, now they’re just weird. Shouldn’t Abed know how to be his own person by now?
It takes another moment for him to remember what a stupid thought that is, too. Maybe Britta was right, maybe going back to therapy wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
“Hey,” Abed says in a softer, gentler tone. “Just because you tried and it didn’t work out doesn’t mean you’re a failure. You can't do everything right. Nobody can.”
“Well,” Troy mumbles, his eyes a little glazed as he stares at the ceiling, “I guess it’s better that I didn’t keep dragging it out. It’s not like I was ever gonna, like, marry her.”
“Well, yeah,” Abed says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You promised you’d marry me.”
There it is.
He turns onto his side, only to see that Abed’s already facing him in the exact same position, eyes dark and deep and staring right through him.
“We were five,” Troy reminds him, “And I didn’t understand that you weren’t real.”
He shouldn’t have said that. He knows that’s a sore spot for Abed, the hurt expression on his face just confirms that.
Abed doesn’t have feelings, he reminds himself, it’s all in your head. Always has been.
“Don’t give me that look,” he says, once he gets over himself. To prove his point, he throws one of his arms out, swinging it down and cutting straight through Abed’s torso. His form wavers and briefly disappears.
Troy sighs and draws his arm back towards his own body. He never feels good about having to do that, but sometimes it’s just necessary.
Abed reappears a moment later, looking even sadder than before.
“C’mon, man,” Troy shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see. “Don’t do this right now.”
There’s a brief moment of silence.
“I miss when you liked me,” Abed says after a while. His voice is soft and wistful. “Remember when we were little, you used to take me everywhere?”
Troy keeps his eyes closed so that Abed can’t comment on the tears forming inside. He presses his lips together, swallows down a lump in his throat and in spite of himself, he nods.
“When other people said they couldn’t see me, you’d tell them they must need glasses,” Abed adds.
Troy huffs out a single, sad laugh and opens his eyes, tears spilling out of the corners. Abed’s laying even closer to him now, their noses just centimeters apart.
He’ll never say it out loud, but Troy misses it, too. He was eight when his parents decided that he was too old for an imaginary friend, when talking about Abed became more concerning than cute. The psychologist they sent him to insisted that he just needed to make some real friends, so he did— begrudgingly at first, then with more and more enthusiasm until he was the most popular kid in school.
Abed never did go away, though. He stayed with him, grew up with him, always showing up at the most inconvenient times and begging him to build a blanket fort or play Zombies vs. Robots or even just look at the stars with him so they could trace their own constellations. Only turning on the TV would shut him up, give him something to do so Troy could carry on being one of the normal kids. He started leaving him home a few times a week, then every other day, then all the time until Abed’s entire world was limited to Troy’s bedroom. He’d come home from football practice to find him sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, fascinated by whatever nerdy sci-fi series or old-school sitcom he was into that week. On the nights he’d bring one of the cheerleaders home after a game or from a party and turn off the TV, Abed would look at him sadly and fade away.
He always came back, though. Never went away for good.
Deep down, Troy never wanted him to.
“This is so fucked up,” Troy whispers, shaking his head to himself. Abed’s watching him, waiting for him to say the right thing, but there is no right thing. “I can’t be in love with you. You’re not real.”
Abed doesn’t try to protest. He stares into Troy’s eyes and he swears he can almost feel a warmth radiating from him that he’s never felt before. He closes his eyes again. It’s too much.
“Maybe I’m not real,” Abed says, though Troy can tell that it pains him. “But your feelings are.”
It’s not fair, Abed’s right. But what the fuck is he supposed to do about that?
His body must take over for a moment, because his brain knows that he can’t kiss a delusion, or a mirage, or whatever Abed is. But he shifts forward the tiniest bit anyway, eyes still closed as he parts his lips and does what he’s been wanting to do since he was five years old.
His heart thuds rapidly in his chest as his lips meet Abed’s. It’s warm, soft, and so satisfying that he finds himself practically whimpering into it. He reaches out, cups Abed’s cheek in his hand and shifts forward until their bodies are pressed together, and Abed feels so reassuring and solid and—
Wait.
His eyes fly open at the same time as Abed’s, both of their cheeks flushed as they draw back and abruptly sit up. Troy feels dizzy as he watches Abed pat himself down, eyes wide with shock. There’s a distinct thumping noise as the palms of his hands collide with his chest, his shoulders, his upper arms. He keeps patting himself all over, like he can’t believe it.
Then he remembers his priorities, his eyes meeting Troy’s again as he reaches out and cups his cheeks. His hands are warm, soft, a little sweaty, and real. Definitely very real.
“Abed,” Troy whispers shakily. Abed seems to feel exactly the same— seems to be just as confused about how it’s possible for them to be touching right now. He reaches his hands up to cover Abed’s because he can, and feels his heart skip. “What’s going on?”
Abed shakes his head slowly, then seems to get an idea. He takes Troy’s hands and pulls them forward, pressing them to his chest. Troy’s arms shake, but he keeps his hands exactly where they are, where he can feel it clear as day:
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He has a heartbeat.
Abed’s chest rises under his hands as he inhales, falls as he exhales, and Troy can feel the breath on his lips. It makes him shiver.
When their eyes meet again, Abed’s are full of tears. Troy’s pretty sure his are, too.
Abed just shrugs, tears slipping down his cheeks as he laughs in disbelief.
“I have no idea,” he breathes. “Do you?”
Troy shakes his head. He doesn’t know. It also hits him in that moment that staying in place like this, frozen in disbelief, is the worst way they could possibly be using their time.
All at once, he throws his body forward, landing heavily in Abed’s lap and flinging his arms around his shoulders and kissing him. Their lips lock together perfectly as Abed wraps his arms around him and hugs him close.
This is the weirdest goddamn thing that’s ever happened to him, which is saying something, and right now he refuses to care. Right now, he wants to be happy and not think and most of all, kiss his best friend until his lips go numb.
So that’s exactly what he does.