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It happens every Friday night like clockwork. 11pm, Troy Barnes dejectedly pushes his way through the front door of Lucky Lucy’s Liquor Lounge in South Riverside. He plops down at the bar, rests his chin in his hands, and looks around haplessly until Abed brings him his usual 7 and 7.
Abed tries not to feel anything about it.
Every week, he tells himself Troy won’t get under his skin this time. But then, every week, his heart does a somersault when he sees Troy walk through the door at the exact same time, dressed in the exact same stupid letterman jacket. He hates it. He’s not supposed to have these feelings - the sappy schoolboy crush kind - about… well, anyone. But especially not about guys like Troy. It’s one of his rules.
Guys like Troy are how he gets himself hurt.
But here he is, buzzing as he watches Troy come inside right when he’s supposed to. Abed watches him as he makes his way to the bar, just like he always does.
It doesn’t take long for him to notice that Troy’s a little different tonight. His gait is slow, clumsy, and unsteady, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes trained on the floor. He almost loses his balance as he drops himself onto the stool, wavering and grabbing onto the bartop for balance as he steadies himself. Then he does his usual little look-around, and it’s only a few seconds before his gaze lands on Abed. His mouth turns up into the subtlest of smiles and his eyes widen almost imperceptibly, a signal Abed recognizes by now.
Come here please, Troy is requesting.
So of course, he does.
“I’m not gonna serve you,” he says. “You’re clearly already drunk.”
“What?” Troy’s face falls into a pout, which Abed has to look away from because it’s so damn cute. “No, I’m- I just had a couple drinks with the guys to celebrate the big win! I’m just a little buzzed.”
Abed casts him a doubtful look.
“You heard about the win, right?” Troy tilts his head. His eyes are half-lidded, words slurred. “Colorado Community College League champs. I scored the winning touchdown. And all the other touchdowns. I’m really good, you know.”
Abed sighs internally.
Troy Barnes is Greendale’s golden boy, Riverside’s hometown hero, practically beating recruiters off with a bat by his senior year according to Annie. Until he’d dislocated both shoulders in a keg flip, anyway, and lost his football scholarship, landing himself in community college instead. He’s a classic meathead, a stuck-up jock. There’s nothing else to him - Abed knows this because he’d made the mistake, once upon a time, of thinking there was. That very first week of their freshman year, when he’d invited Troy to join Jeff’s study group.
He’d just thought that a star athlete fallen from his former glory would’ve been a good addition to his band of lovable misfits. He must have a sensitive side, Abed had figured. That whole hypermasculine jerk thing is a classic defense mechanism. Just an act.
But all he’d gotten in response to his invitation was a snort, an eye roll, and a yeah, in your dreams, buddy.
So he’d been wrong.
“Yeah, I heard,” Abed says to appease him. “That’s cool. Why aren’t you still celebrating with them?”
Troy looks confused by the question. And then, a little sad. He stares down at the bartop while he answers.
“Well… I don’t know. I wanted to come see you. I thought Friday nights were kind of our thing,” He looks back up at Abed, eyes big and soft. “Come on, just have one drink with me?”
Abed holds his stare for a moment, then huffs out a sigh as he grabs a glass from underneath the bar and turns toward the liquor shelf. Troy’s eyes are bright and excited when he turns back around. That is, until Abed sets the glass down in front of him: a generous serving of ice water.
“On the house,” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood - except he forgets to inflect, so his tone comes out exceedingly dry. Troy slumps his shoulders as he takes a sip.
It’s a long sip. In fact, he downs about half the glass before setting it back down.
“I come here because I like you,” he mumbles sadly. “You know that, right? You must know by now. I like you. I always have.”
Troy says this every week, three or four drinks in. Abed wants to be indifferent to it - thinks he probably should be at this point. But he’s not. He still feels a distinct warmth in his cheeks.
He steps back, like putting some distance between them is gonna help somehow.
“Who’s your girlfriend this week?” He asks.
Troy looks upset by the question. And Abed, to be fair, does feel a little bad for it. But he has to ask. He has to remind the both of them why this thing Troy tries with him every Friday isn’t gonna fly.
“Carrie LeBlanc,” Troy says quietly. “I’ll break up with her.”
“I know,” Abed says. “You always do.”
That’s the other thing about Troy, his campus-wide heartbreaker reputation. Abed has some hunch as to why he’s never committed to a girl for more than - if he's been keeping track correctly - ten days. And Troy must know too, deep down, but he’s nowhere near ready to accept it.
And therein lies their problem.
Abed wants Troy. Troy wants Abed.
But Troy also wants to be straight. So they’re kind of at an impasse. Abed, uncomfortably self-aware as he is, knows this far too well.
Like he said: guys like Troy are how he gets himself hurt.
“You should head home,” Abed says softly. “You didn’t drive here, did you?”
Troy shakes his head.
“I walked,” he draws his jacket around himself a little tighter. “I don’t really wanna walk back.”
The temptation to just have Troy stay, to offer him a ride at the end of his shift, to fall into bed with him and pretend the outside world just doesn’t exist… it’s almost unbearable. It makes his chest physically hurt.
“Finish your water,” he forces himself to say, instead. “I’ll call you a cab.”
Troy does as he’s told. When his glass is finished and his cab is called, Abed walks him outside to wait. Troy ends up leaning on him a little, half-drunk and half-exhausted, while they stand in the chilly autumn air awaiting the car. Abed, again, tries to feel nothing about it. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans so he’s not tempted to reach out and touch more than he already wants to.
“I wish things were different,” Troy breathes. His head is on Abed’s shoulder, eyes closed. Abed swallows thickly and stares straight ahead.
He’s not exactly sure what Troy means by that.
I wish you wouldn't think so much. I wish you’d ignore your morals and fuck me already. I wish I wasn’t so scared of liking you.
I wish I didn’t like you.
Could be anything. Abed doesn’t know and he’s not sure he wants to.
“Your cab’s here,” he says, a wash of relief in his chest as it pulls into the parking lot, headlights briefly blinding him before it turns to pull up in front of the bar. Troy’s eyes flutter open and he lifts his head up from Abed’s shoulder.
“Come home with me?” He whispers. “Just tonight. I promise, it’ll be our secret.”
God, fuck, yes. Wanna wreck you, wanna take you apart, make you beg, make you mine. You have no idea what you're in for.
Abed shakes his head.
“I don’t want to be a secret for you to keep,” he says. He curses himself when he hears his voice break, but he’s being honest. It's the only shred of dignity he has left to cling to.
Troy looks a little bit devastated. He kicks the ground a little.
“Can I kiss you, at least?” He tries.
Have you seen your fucking lips? Do you know how many times I've wanted them on mine? Please, please do.
Abed shakes his head again.
Troy sighs sadly. Then he tilts his head, one tiny spark of hope left in his eyes.
“How about on the cheek?”
...Huh.
That makes him pause. And then bite his lip.
He hates himself a little bit for what he says next.
“Okay.”
Troy looks surprised by it, eyes widening. But he recovers pretty quickly and doesn’t waste any time stepping forward, resting his hands on Abed’s shoulders, and pressing his lips to his cheek.
Abed’s heart flips. Troy’s lips are warm and soft, his hands so very careful as he moves them from Abed’s shoulders to cup his jaw instead. It makes him sigh shakily, his own eyes falling shut as he takes one step closer to heartbreak.
The kiss lingers longer than most cheek kisses, but Troy steps back eventually. Abed forces his eyes back open. Troy gives him a sad smile when their gazes meet.
“Goodnight, Abed,” he says, and takes a step back, opening the door to his cab and sliding in. Abed stays silent as he watches him close the door, then watches the cab drive away. And just like after every interaction with Troy, his heart aches just a sliver more as he watches him go.
“Night, Troy,” he whispers into the empty air, and steps back inside.