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One thing that sailing around the world with just actor LeVar Burton for company will do for any person is make them a light sleeper.
Sure, Troy’s not having to get up to deal with tricky currents, or storms, or pirates that one time. But old habits die hard. Plus it’s sometimes still weird to sleep in a room that isn’t floating, and Los Angeles is way noisier than the middle of the ocean.
So now he’s a light sleeper and an early riser, and he’s fallen into a routine, since he got back from his trip. Wake up, go for a run, shower, and—unless it’s a day where Abed has to be on set insanely early—make breakfast for around the time Abed’s alarm goes off.
It makes him feel like a real grown-up. Three years at sea and now he’s an actual wise (ish), mature (ish) adult who makes breakfast for the love of his life in their (mostly) grown-up Los Angeles apartment. And it feels pretty awesome.
This morning, he hums as he makes them French toast, fresh berries on top for himself, around the side for Abed. He’s plating up just as the bedroom door opens.
‘Hey,’ Abed says, as he comes into the kitchen, hair sticking up, bare feet quiet on the linoleum floor. ‘That smells really good.’
‘I made it how you like it, with the extra thick slices.’ Troy unscrews the maple syrup and begins to pour. ‘Say when.’
Abed slips up behind him, chin tucked over Troy’s shoulder and his hands at Troy’s waist. The syrup spills down and off the pile of fluffy French toast and pools on the plate.
‘When,’ Abed says, at length, and Troy sets the bottle down and turns in Abed’s arms so he can kiss him.
This, right here, is the best part of the routine. Some mornings he has to pinch himself to believe it’s real. Some mornings, he has to stop himself from blowing off the routine altogether just to watch Abed sleep. Abed asleep is all soft and gorgeous and makes Troy’s heart feel like it’s swelling four sizes, but Abed’s made it clear he finds that trope kind of creepy.
He does like a whole bunch of other romantic tropes, though. At least, Troy assumes that’s why he’s been so physically affectionate since they became… well, “boyfriends” is probably the right word. But they were already so close it’s more like their relationship got some cool updates and add-ons, rather than changed into something new. Troy likes to think about it like a big lit-up billboard. Best Friends: Now with Butt Stuff!
Anyway. Abed never minded in the past when Troy wanted to hold his hand or hug him, and he doesn’t mind now that Troy touches him every chance he gets. What’s surprising is that Abed’s the one touching Troy so much of the time.
They decided early on that they probably wouldn’t have a honeymoon phase the way other couples do. They know way too much about each other’s quirks and flaws to be surprised by them, and, luckily, more still about how to keep from getting annoyed at them. But Abed seems to be creating the honeymoon phase montage anyway. Slipping his arm around Troy’s shoulders at the movies. Pillowing his head on Troy’s chest in bed. Reaching for his hand across the table at dinner. It’s like he went in for their first kiss and caught the touchy-feely bug, and now he’s all about the cute gestures straight out of every rom-com.
Not that Troy’s complaining at all. Not with Abed’s hands at his hips, pinning him against the counter, Abed’s mouth moving soft and slow over Troy’s. Not even if the French toast is probably going cold behind him.
After a minute, Abed steps away. ‘Breakfast?’ he suggests.
Troy grins. ‘Breakfast.’
‘There’s a boom operator at work I met called Mike Bloom,’ Abed tells him, as they cross the open plan living space to sit down. He stretches his legs along the couch, pressing his toes against Troy’s thigh, and balances his plate on his knees. ‘If your name was that close to being about your job, would you drop the L or not?’
‘Depends,’ Troy says.
‘On?’
‘How cool the job is. And how cool my name is. Am I still called Troy Barnes at first? Because that kind of means I’d have to do…’ He stops, thinking. ‘Like, farm stuff? And you know I don’t do farms since I got shown that farm safety video in middle school.’ He spears a strawberry on his fork and pops it into his mouth. ‘Is boom operator a cool job?’
‘Mm, it’s harder than it looks,’ Abed says, cutting his French toast into neat squares. ‘I was allowed to hold Mike Bloom’s boom mic—say it three times fast—’
‘Mike Bloom’s boom mic,’ Troy mutters. ‘Mike Bloom’s boom mic, Mike Bloom’s bloom—you know what, he should drop the L.’
‘He should,’ Abed agrees. ‘Anyway, you’d get tired if you had to hold it for a long time, I think. Although that’s not all being a boom operator involves, Mike Bloom was very clear about that. He talked about it for an hour at lunch.’
‘That sounds fun,’ Troy says. He’s being sincere—he’d personally be bored out of his skull by an hour-long lecture on boom operating, but Abed regularly corners his colleagues to understand more about what they do. It makes Troy happy to hear how many of them jump at the opportunity to share.
They pass the next fifteen minutes eating and making cozy small talk. Abed offers updates on the will-they-won’t-they tension between two of the production assistants he now supervises. Troy tells him about the cool birds he saw on his run. They both wonder whether will-they-won’t-they can be a bird experience as well as a human one.
Then Abed agrees to let Troy clear up, as long as Abed gets to return the favor and make breakfast and clean up on his next day off. He gets ready for work and pecks Troy on the mouth and promises to call if he has to stay late, and the door closes behind him and Troy’s alone.
And then the routine gets less awesome.
***
It’s not that Troy’s spending his days sitting around pining for Abed.
He misses him a lot, he can admit that. Three years with thousands of miles between them have confirmed for sure that Abed’s his favorite person in the world. He’d pretty much always rather Abed were with him than not with him.
But three years with thousands of miles between them have also shown them both they don’t need to be in each other’s pockets. And it’s not like L.A. has nothing to offer. Troy likes exploring the city or taking the boat out or pottering round the apartment.
Except he went on this whole voyage of self-discovery, and while coming back from that proudly out of the closet and ready to declare his love for his best friend would make a good ending to a movie, in real life the camera keeps rolling. Stringing together ways to occupy himself is starting to seem like it’ll get old fast. He wants to do something he cares about.
He just doesn’t know what.
He googles some stuff about boom operating, learns it’s probably not for him (the phrase “dead cat on a stick” pops up, and even though it turns out not to refer to an actual dead cat, he doesn’t want to be sad at work all the time), and then decides to tell someone about his dilemma.
‘What dilemma?’ Jeff asks, baffled, when Troy calls him.
He’s sitting with his feet on the desk in his office at Greendale, which looks way more spruced up than the last time Troy was there. Troy’s not sure if that’s because Jeff never got another office mate after Hickey and has been able to do whatever he wants with it, or if it’s because Greendale is doing better these days and can afford to repaint once in a while.
(Either way, he can make out a photo of the study group on the wall in the background, which warms Troy’s heart and makes him miss Jeff desperately.)
‘As soon as all the legal side’s taken care of, you’re gonna be worth fourteen million dollars,’ Jeff continues. ‘Know what I’d do if I was worth fourteen million dollars? Absolutely nothing.’
‘Yeah, I know I sound like a jerk for complaining,’ Troy sighs, propping his phone against his Inspector Spacetime mug so he can wipe down the kitchen counters while they talk. ‘Like, rich people problems, right? Or… gonna-be-rich people problems.’ He rolls his eyes at himself.
Except… he’s planning on giving quite a bit of that money to his friends, and he’s pretty sure that when he does, Jeff’s not going to kick back and do nothing. And Britta’s not going to stop her therapist training, and Shirley’s going to invest the cash in her new and revamped business. Annie might take half an eye off whatever she’s researching now she’s found her true calling as a kickass investigative journalist, but only long enough to research savings accounts with the highest interest rates.
And of course, Troy plans on making sure Abed’s set for life. But he’s also sure he’s going to be watching when Abed accepts a well-deserved Oscar for Best Director and Best Picture, and maybe a Best Person Ever award they’ll invent just for Abed.
‘Not everyone has some higher purpose they were always destined for,’ Jeff tells him. ‘And thank god. Do you know how depressing it would be if my destiny was teaching law at a community college?’
‘I know we’ve had this conversation a lot, and I don’t believe you anymore when you say you don’t like it,’ Troy replies.
‘Urgh.’ Jeff huffs. ‘Fine. You want my real advice? If you don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing, don’t try and force it. Look at me; I fell into this, and maybe you’re right, maybe I… don’t totally hate it. So just… keep an open mind. Say yes to things.’
He glances at the clock behind him and slaps his hand against his desk, standing as he scoops up his phone.
‘I have a class, or I’d ramp up to a proper Winger speech for you. But my point is: get out there and try stuff. Maybe you find something you’re passionate about, or maybe you just have fun. But hey, you’re about to be a multimillionaire, so you can probably afford it.’
Troy smiles. ‘I got it. Thanks, Jeff.’
***
He wants to take Jeff’s advice then and there, but that first day he doesn’t make it off their floor. He steps out of the apartment to find their neighbor Mrs. Herrera on the landing, pacing in front of her open door with her phone pressed to her ear. Troy’s understanding of Spanish is better now than when he just had Chang’s lessons to go off, but even if it wasn’t, he’d be able to tell she’s muttering some pretty creative curses.
There’s also a puddle of water coming out into the hall, soaking into the ugly brown carpet.
She raises a hand when she sees him, half greeting and half apology.
‘Sink’s busted,’ she explains. ‘Super told me it’s gonna be three days before he can get to it and hung up the phone, and now he’s not answering. What’s he doing while I’m paddling round my apartment, huh?’ She clicks her tongue disapprovingly. ‘I don’t like that man, Troy.’
Troy doesn’t really like the super either. He’s been disappointed by the concept of supers ever since he learned they don’t wear capes. And while he’s never personally needed to call a super, word is that this one’s not all that interested in doing his job.
But he does like Mrs. Herrera. She’s always got time to talk, and she tells hilarious stories. She brings him and Abed food when she makes too much, which is suspiciously often since she learned how regularly they order pizza. She’s kind of how he imagines the nana he’d have liked to have, one who’s friendly and sweet and calls him a nice young man.
Anyway, even if he didn’t like her, he’s not about to leave her with a flooded apartment.
‘Want me to take a look?’ he asks.
She lowers the phone from her ear. ‘Are you a plumber?’
‘No,’ he says honestly, ‘I’m just kind of handy like that. I’ve fixed loads of stuff in our place.’ When she looks uncertain, he adds, ‘I won’t start poking around unless I’m sure I’m not gonna make it worse. Pinky swear.’
She smiles and briefly hooks her finger with his. ‘Well, in that case.’
He gives her his key so she can make herself at home at his and Abed’s, and then takes off his shoes and socks, rolls up his pants, and goes to investigate.
It turns out, like always, that the sink’s an easy fix. He sorts it with what’s in the toolbox that Abed’s dad sent him when Abed first moved out here, and that Abed stuck in a cupboard and forgot about until Troy joined him.
Main problem dealt with, he also repairs a loose connection that’s going to cause problems later. Then in between mopping the floor he makes it so the faucets don’t drip and the hot water comes through faster.
Then he figures he shouldn’t mess with anything else without checking first, so he goes back to his own apartment and asks if Mrs. Herrera wants him to stop her AC unit making that weird noise while he’s at it.
By the time Abed comes home, pretty much everything in Mrs. Herrera’s apartment is working better than when it was brand new.
‘She offered me money and I said no, but I think we get empanadas for life now,’ Troy tells Abed, waving a hand at the plate on the coffee table. He’s lying on the couch, feet in Abed’s lap.
Abed raises his eyebrows. 'Cool,’ he says. ‘Cool cool cool. Are you going to overthrow the super? That’s the kind of low stakes/high drama plot line we haven’t had in a while.’
Troy shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so. That would mean I’d need to be the new super, and I don’t think I want that. Unless it's the kind of plot where I think I wanna be the new super, and then while I’m trying to replace him I learn an important lesson and realize I don’t. But that can’t really work if I already know I don’t want to be the super.’
‘Mm, that would be inauthentic,’ Abed muses. His gaze sharpens on Troy. ‘So you didn’t like fixing Mrs. Herrera’s stuff?’
He shrugs. ‘I mean, I liked how happy it made her. I liked seeing how smooth everything worked after I was done. But I still don’t know that I wanna be a plumber, or an AC repair man, or, uh—turns out I can also take a door off the hinges and sand it down and rehang it so it doesn’t stick or squeak anymore, so like, a door guy? Wood…person?’
Abed perks up. ‘Defender of Doorways,’ he suggests, with a little flourish of his hands. ‘Guardian of the threshold between this world and the next, inside and out, kitchen and hallway…’
‘Nice,’ Troy says, briefly picturing himself like Idris Elba in the Thor movies, with a sword and a helmet and everything. ‘But I’m not sure if I wanna do that either.’ He pulls at a loose thread on the throw lying over the back of the couch. ‘I actually talked to Jeff about this, ’cause I’m not really sure how I’m gonna spend my time now I’m back.’
Abed chews on an empanada, fingertips absently stroking at Troy’s ankle. ‘What did Jeff say?’
‘Uh, just to try stuff, I guess? I was gonna start right away, but I think he maybe meant go further than right outside the apartment.’
‘There’s always tomorrow. Or the next day. You don’t have to rush.’ Abed finishes the empanada and eyes Troy speculatively for a moment. ‘Wanna do something?’
Troy stretches, letting the motion hike up his t-shirt, and then relaxes into the couch. ‘Sure.’ He grins, waggling his eyebrows. ‘You wanna watch a movie?’
Abed shakes his head, gaze falling to the strip of exposed skin between Troy’s t-shirt and shorts. ‘No. I wanna start watching a movie, and then I wanna get distracted by making out with you. Then sex.’
Troy’s smile widens. ‘Cool. Are we equally distracted ’cause the movie’s boring and we’re both way more interesting and super hot? Or is one of us trying to focus and the other’s whispering movie facts in their ear, and then the whispering turns sexy?’
‘Hm, equally distracted, I think,’ Abed says. ‘But let’s hold on to the sexy whispering one for another time; that sounds good too.’
So they stick on Elizabethtown, and after five minutes Abed shifts over, stretching out next to Troy.
‘Hey,’ Troy murmurs.
‘Hi,’ Abed whispers back, and kisses him, reaching out to jab the mute button.
By the time Troy gets ready for bed two hours, three orgasms, and zero knowledge of the plot of Elizabethtown later, he feels like maybe he could just keep living like this forever, actually.
***
The feeling’s gone again the next day.
Abed’s out early, so their morning routine’s thrown off. Troy wakes to an empty bed and shuffles to the kitchen to find a bowl of Frosted Flakes already out for him. He pours milk over them and reads the note Abed left.
Missed you this morning. Also this is not me paying you back for all the breakfasts (or any of them), it’s just a gesture. Also I think tonight should be date night. How about here?
Then he’s drawn an arrow and scribbled down a time and the address of a Thai place Troy’s been wanting to try for ages. The note is signed off with a tiny, precise heart.
Troy smiles and traces a finger over the heart, then the words “date night” because it’s still hard to believe they’re a couple that goes on dates. He rattles off a quick text to Abed confirming dinner, goes to put his phone away and then hesitates, opening his contacts.
D.C. is three hours ahead of L.A., but Annie likes to start early and then eat mid-morning. On Fridays she works from home, so she usually picks up unless she’s really in the zone.
She greets him with an excited noise through a mouthful of cream cheese bagel.
‘Hey.’ He grins at her, holding up his bowl. ‘Wanna grab breakfast?’
She sets down the bagel and claps her hands together. ‘Aww, yay!’
She tells him as much as she can about the story she’s working on, which isn’t a lot. She tells him more about doing up her apartment and what she’s reading for her book club, and way more about her pretty, smart, thoughtful, pretty, talented, funny, did-she-mention-pretty colleague Amala, which she does while turning very pink and not looking at the camera.
Then she asks about L.A. and Abed, and beams when Troy gets equally bashful.
‘Troy!’ she exclaims. ‘I’m so happy you’re happy.’
‘I am,’ he assures her. ‘I really am, but, uh—I did wanna talk about one thing with you, though.’
He talks about how he’s been feeling, and his conversation with Jeff, and how he tried to go out and try new things yesterday but only made it to the apartment across the hall. Annie gets very giddy about all the lists he’s apparently going to need to make.
‘All the things you’re good at, all the things you’d like from a job, and all the things you definitely don’t want,’ she reels off. ‘You should also write down the things standing in your way. Knowledge gaps, geographical limitations—
‘Do I need a list of lists?’ Troy asks anxiously.
‘I’ll send you a template,’ she says.
‘Thanks, Annie.’ He sighs. ‘I just wanna feel sure about something. It feels like everyone knows what they’re doing except me.’
Annie clucks her tongue sympathetically, finishing off her bagel and dabbing her mouth with a napkin. ‘Well, yeah, but it takes time. And no knowledge is wasted knowledge. I mean, take me—I decided I didn’t want to work for the FBI after my internship and I thought I’d wasted all that time, but I understand way more about how federal law enforcement works now. Plus I have a whole bunch of sources there I wouldn’t have had otherwise. It’s good to have lots of strings to your bow; that’s what my bubbe always says. You never know what’s going to come in useful.’
‘Well, right now my bow’s feeling kind of sad and stringless,’ he says glumly.
‘That’s not true. You just told me about all that stuff you fixed for your neighbor,’ she points out. ‘You’re amazing at stuff that’s hands-on and practical, and you feel good when you can look at what you’ve done and know you made something better. Plus you’re interested in trying new things in the first place—that’s a start, right?’
‘Yeah.’ He nods, the movement slight at first and then more confident. ‘Yeah, that’s right. Will you send me that template thing?’
‘Already done. Check your email.’
‘You’re the best,’ he says. ‘I’m gonna go. Send me your story when it’s done? I wanna tell everyone I’m friends with a genius reporter. And send me Amala updates.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Troy. There’s nothing to update.’
‘Annie,’ he wheedles. ‘C’mon. You know I’m a sucker for romance.’
She twirls her hair around her finger, blushing. ‘I mean—we’re just friends.’
‘They said that about me and Abed,’ he reminds her. He blows her a couple of kisses, which she catches. ‘Love you.’
***
He heads to the local library so he can print out the template Annie’s sent him. Then he sets himself up at a battered desk in the far corner so he can spend a while scribbling things on it—
Existing skills
plumbing
ac repair
being the messiah of ac repair/possibly repairing things in general? might only be true in greendale
wood stuff i think?? or maybe doors specifically? (can i do door stuff if the doors aren’t wood? can i do wood stuff if the wood isn’t doors?)
football
dancing
sailing
british accent
Desirable qualities in a job whatever i do since it’s not like i really need to get paid
practical
get to see progress
fun
Limitations
i find most admin confusing
need to be la-based
have to fit around abed
—until he gets bored and clicks back to his emails, where he finds Annie’s also sent him links to what seems like every class in the city and tutorial on the internet for every type of craft ever invented.
Hands-on, practical, but maybe more obviously fun and creative than a trade? she’s written. Maybe you’ll get really into glassblowing!
Glassblowing seems intense, and the class she’s linked him to doesn’t start for a few weeks. But there’s a beginner woodworking session close by, so he can get to work figuring out the answer to the wood-door-door-wood question.
‘It was fun,’ he tells Abed, as they settle in at their table for their date that evening. He hands over the bag he took away from the woodworking place. ‘Look what I made.’
He’s proud of himself, honestly. The wooden serving spoon is on the wonky side, but he thinks that makes it interesting. And the wood is really nice, warm brown with this pretty grain running through it, and he’s sanded it until it feels all smooth.
It definitely seems to be the kind of texture Abed appreciates, because he keeps rubbing his thumb against it in slow circles. ‘This is cool. Can we use this?’
‘I need to put this waxy stuff on it to make it food safe, and then yeah. The instructor said it was impressive for a beginner,’ Troy says, still glowing with the praise. ‘I think I wanna learn some more about it. I talked to Annie today about not knowing what I want to do and she said maybe something practical but creative?’
Abed looks up at him, hands stilling on the spoon. ‘Uh huh. You’d be good at something like that. You think your thing is making things out of wood?’
‘I don’t know. It was only one class. Annie had this whole idea about writing lists to figure stuff out, but I didn’t get very far—look.’ He digs in his pocket and passes the list across the table. ‘You’re meant to write down your skills, only I don’t really know what my skills are.’
Abed scans down the first list. He fishes in his bag for a pen, tapping it against the paper and reaching his other hand across the table to weave his fingers with Troy’s. ‘You have skills. There are lots of gaps we can fill here.’
Troy leans over to read upside-down as Abed adds a question mark after British accent.
He glances up at Troy apologetically. ‘I do think we should be realistic.’
‘It’s better than Annie’s, though, right?’
Abed nods (though not hard enough, in Troy’s opinion) as he scribbles some additions to the list: Singing. Rapping. Cosplay (various). Sock-sliding the full length of the apartment. Talking to people. Making breakfast. Maximum efficiency dishwasher-loading. Shoulder rubs.
‘Some of those are mostly just for you,’ Troy points out.
‘Hm.’ Abed blinks down at the paper. ‘I guess if I wrote all of those this could quickly turn x-rated.’
Inspiration hits. ‘We should make a private sexy list.’
‘Agreed,’ Abed says, rubbing his thumb over Troy’s knuckles and moving on to desirable job qualities. No rats, he writes. Or spiders. Or snakes.
Troy shudders. ‘There aren’t that many jobs that involve those, are there?’
‘Animal handlers,’ Abed suggests, still noting down animals that Troy very reasonably avoids. ‘We had one on set today. Not with snakes, though, they were handling a kitten.’ His pen hovers over the list. ‘Could you handle kittens?’
‘Could I handle an adorable bundle of love?’ Troy asks dreamily. ‘Uh, yes. But I don’t think I wanna be an animal handler, though.’
‘That’s okay,’ Abed says. ‘It would be kind of cool if you did something to do with movies or TV, though; then maybe we’d end up working together. There are a lot of jobs I can tell you about now that involve practical things. Props master. Costume designer.’ He points at him. ‘Do you think you could learn about electrics? You could be best boy.’
‘Aww, thanks,’ Troy says, pleased. ‘I don’t know, though. Working together would be fun, but doesn’t basically everyone in this city want to get into show business? Maybe I need to do something different.’
Abed makes a noncommittal sound, eyes on the paper in his hand, and then flicks his gaze up to Troy, refolding the list and handing it back to him. ‘We should order and finish this later. I heard good things about the pad kee mao.’
***
The wooden spoon is joined by a second, less wonky wooden spoon and then a set of bowls, before Troy branches out into other crafts. Soon he’s added some mosaic drink coasters and a couple of clay vases, which Abed admires and then warns him not to show Jeff to be on the safe side.
He just kind of takes to all of it, he finds. It comes to him the way using his hands always does. Annie calls it intuition. Abed calls it magic. Whatever it is, it’s nice to know there are actually loads of things he’s good at, after years feeling like he’s stupid. Even though they’re probably going to run out of space to keep it all sooner rather than later.
He has a lot of fun making stuff, even gets a little obsessive about some of it. Abed dutifully accepts the three bobble hats, stripy scarf and pair of socks that come out of a brief but intense knitting phase, even though it’s seventy degrees out. There are some he could see turning into long-term casual hobbies. But none of it’s lighting a fire under him the way his friends’ passions do them.
He’d like to have a proper conversation with Abed about it, but they keep stalling when Abed assumes whatever Troy’s tried out that day is what he wants to do all the time. Troy figures it’s because Abed’s known for so long what he wants to do that the idea of not being sure must be totally alien to him.
What he needs, he thinks, is someone who’s been as uncertain as him in the past but is very certain now. Maybe even someone who’s had that certainty tested by everyone around them loudly shouting down their choices.
‘Yeah, that is me,’ Britta admits.
She’s sprawled on her front on her bed, ancient one-eyed cat curled in the crook of her arm. She’s still in his old apartment, which is weird—because Troy used to live there but never with Britta, but also because Britta’s so different now, level-headed and mostly non-chaotic, which was never really the 303 vibe. It’s nice to see her happy and stable and sure of herself, though.
‘Man, I’m sorry,’ she says, when he’s done talking. ‘It sucks to feel that way.’
‘It does suck,’ he agrees, tying a series of square knots in the macrame plant pot holder he’s making. ‘But I feel bad for complaining, ’cause if I wasn’t about to get all this Hawthorne Wipes money, I’d just have to get a job doing whatever.’
He leaves her an opening to pull him up on all the rich-guy privilege he’s about to have, and when she doesn’t take it, continues, ‘Plus I stalled being an adult and having to make decisions like this by sailing round the world for three years.’
‘Yeah, but sometimes you have to work on yourself first,’ Britta reminds him. ‘I was way clearer about helping other people with their issues once I’d had my own therapy from someone who wasn’t a drunk British perv.’
‘Damn. Who’d have thought?’ he jokes.
‘Yeah, yeah, more at eleven,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘But what I’m saying is it’s okay if you didn’t come back with your whole life worked out. Your trip was for other important decisions.’
‘I mean, I pretty much only decided I should make out with Abed.’ He gets all warm and fuzzy and distracted for a second over how well that decision paid off, then snaps back to the conversation he’s having right now. ‘And that I shouldn’t eat baked goods in Amsterdam just because they have a cool name—did you know space cakes have nothing to do with space?’
‘I did,’ she says wryly. ‘I also know deciding to kiss Abed’s face off is a way bigger deal for you than some job. And you came out to your family, even though that was really hard, and to us, and to LeVar Burton. Not many people can say that.’
‘That’s true.’ He ties off the final knot on the plant holder and holds it up for Britta’s approval.
She grins. ‘Oh, cool! I’d ask for one if I didn’t seriously doubt my ability to keep a plant alive.’ She scratches absently behind the cat’s ears. ‘Anyway, you shouldn’t feel bad. You are where you are, and you feel how you feel, and those feelings are valid.’
‘Is this Therapist Britta talking now?’ Troy asks.
‘This is Friend Britta; “your feelings are valid” is pretty basic stuff. And I’m not a therapist yet,’ she reminds him.
‘But you still wanna be?’
‘Yup.’ She nods. ‘Slow and steady, that’s me. I’ll get there eventually.’
‘See, that,’ he says, pointing at the camera. ‘That’s how sure I want to be. Even if I know it’s gonna take forever and be super boring sometimes. No offense.’
‘None taken,’ she says. ‘It is boring sometimes. But then it’s worth it.’ She props her chin on her hand, contemplating him for a moment. Then she says, ‘I think you’re gonna figure it out.’
He sighs. ‘You can’t know that.’
‘Yeah, but I’m calling it,’ she insists. ‘I think you’re going to.’
Troy feels a rush of affection towards her so strong he feels himself getting kind of misty-eyed.
‘I’m so glad you’re my friend,’ he says. ‘As soon as I do figure it out, I’ll let you know.’
***
And then he gets kind of distracted from figuring out anything.
The whole thing with Pierce’s will has been longer and way more complicated than him just being handed buy-an-island money the minute he sailed into the Port of Los Angeles. But after months of discussions he’s mostly pretended to understand with lawyers and accountants and other people who wear suits and call him Mr. Barnes and throw around words like “dividends”, there are suddenly a ton of zeroes on the end of his bank balance, and he can do whatever he wants with them.
Nothing changes, is the weirdest thing. He spends a week in a sort of daze, unsure how to tell Abed or anyone else, even though they all know it’s happening sooner or later. But nothing explodes and there isn’t suddenly a sign above his head that says I’M A MULTIMILLIONAIRE.
There’s also no immediate lightbulb moment where he lands on the answer he’s been looking for. Which is disappointing but, he guesses, to be expected. He’s seen no evidence that rich people know what they’re doing any more than regular people.
He does still have some concrete plans, though.
‘So I wanted to let you know before some bank guy does so you don’t think you’re getting scammed, but I’m sending you a million dollars,’ Troy tells Shirley, once she’s finished explaining how she’s perfected her raspberry cheesecake brownie recipe.
There’s a silence so long Troy’s not sure if maybe the internet’s out.
‘That’s nice,’ Shirley says faintly, and then bursts into tears.
‘Oh—damn,’ Troy says, panicking a bit. ‘No, wait, don’t cry, Shirley; if you cry I’m gonna cry. You don’t have to take it if you don’t want—’
‘Oh, no, no, I absolutely do want,’ she assures him, sniffing hard. ‘But—I—Troy, sweetie, I can’t take your money.’
He frowns. ‘But I’m giving it to you. I want to give it to you. I figure there are probably things you can do with it, right?’
She lets out a small, choked laugh, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Oh, I can think of one or two,’ she agrees. She laughs again. ‘I can’t believe you. Calling me up, telling me you’re about to give me a crazy amount of money just because you can. You’re such a good boy, you know that? I am so proud of you.’
‘Thanks, Shirley,’ he says softly. He swallows. Maybe he actually is going to cry. ‘I don’t really know what I’m gonna do now,’ he tells her.
‘Well, the second that money hits my account I’m gonna be closing up for a week and lying on a beach somewhere doing absolutely nothing, I can tell you that much.’
‘Yeah, that’s what Jeff said,’ Troy sighs. ‘But I meant more like… what do I do?’
He crosses the quiet apartment from the kitchen to the couch, sitting down heavily.
‘I’ve been trying to figure it out,’ he tells Shirley. ‘Annie said to put together a list of stuff I enjoy and Britta said she thinks I’m gonna be sure of what’s important to me eventually. But like… what if I end up like Pierce, and I just never decide?’
‘You listen to me,’ Shirley says firmly. ‘You are nothing like Pierce. And you’re already sure of what’s important. Are you kidding me? You know exactly what’s important. You have such a big heart, Troy. That’s more important than anything.’
Troy nods, swallowing thickly and blinking hard. 'Hey, uh, maybe you can send me some of those brownies? Those sound really good.’
She points a finger into the camera. ‘For you I’ll fly out with a whole damn bakery.’
‘You should totally come out and visit,’ he says. There isn’t enough space at their place but he can definitely put people up in a fancy hotel now. ‘That’d be awesome.’
They say their goodbyes and Troy paces around the apartment. Living room to kitchen and back again. Into the bedroom and out.
All around him there are things he’s fixed, things he’s made. Wood things and wool things and woven things. Things that have been just for fun, and things that he’s poured love and dedication into.
He stops stock still outside the bedroom door.
‘Oh my god,’ he says, aloud. ‘I know what I want to do.’
***
Not telling Abed his plans right away feels a lot like lying. Not telling Abed his plans while also telling a lot of other people his plans so they can help him pull them off, even more so. He tries to tell himself it’s for a good reason, and Abed will understand once he knows what that reason is.
That doesn’t stop him feeling guilty as hell about it.
So he’s actually kind of relieved when Abed finishes washing his face one night a few weeks later and meets Troy’s eye in the mirror.
‘Troy,’ he says. ‘Have you got the Hawthorne Wipes money?’
Troy pauses midway through cleaning his teeth. ‘How do you know that?’ he asks, garbled through a mouthful of toothpaste.
Abed seems to follow easily enough. ‘You’ve been more distracted lately, you’ve had a lot of very official-looking mail, and you tipped the delivery guy two-hundred percent when we ordered Chinese the other night. Also all of our Greendale friends have terrible poker faces. Even I can tell they’re hiding something.’
‘Um.’ Troy spits into the sink. ‘Okay, yes. I know I should’ve told you. I can explain, though.’
‘Cool,’ Abed says, nodding once. ‘We’ll talk about it in a minute. But just so you know, I’m not mad at you.’
Then he turns and walks out of the bathroom.
Troy stands still for a second, then finishes up way quicker than normal and hurries into the bedroom after him. Abed’s sitting against the headboard, expression impassive as he scrolls on his phone.
‘Wait,’ Troy says. ‘Why aren’t you mad? I’d get it if you were.’
‘It’s not like I didn’t know the money was coming.’ He sets the phone aside, but doesn’t look up.
‘Yeah,’ Troy agrees slowly, sitting on the bed next to him, ‘but there’s a difference between knowing it’s coming and knowing it’s… come. And I’m pretty sure money is one of those things you’re not supposed to lie to your partner about.’ He pauses. ‘Although I guess I didn’t lie so much as just… not mention I had it yet?’
‘But you told everyone else,’ Abed says. Not accusatory, just assessing the facts.
‘I did,’ Troy admits. ‘I’m kind of planning something, and I needed their advice, and I wanted to know it was all gonna work out before I told you about it.’
‘Does this have to do with what you’ve been trying to figure out?’ Abed asks quietly. ‘About what you want to do?’
‘Yeah,’ Troy says. ‘I think I finally got it.’
Abed’s silent for a moment, fidgeting with the bed cover. Then he says, ‘There’s something I haven’t mentioned to you either. That’s another reason I’m not mad. It would be hypocritical when there’s something I need to tell you too. Well, two things.’
‘Oh.’ Troy blinks. ‘Good things?’
‘I don’t know,’ Abed says, gaze fixed on his knees. ‘I hope so?’
Troy stomps hard on the automatic panic he feels and figures that Abed’s just struggling to work out how to word whatever he wants to say.
‘Hey,’ he says softly. ‘Why don’t we just get comfortable first, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Abed agrees. He pulls his gaze up to Troy’s, just for a second, and then looks away again. ‘I want to hold you; can I hold you?’
Troy nods. ‘Yeah, I’d like that a lot.’
He lies down and Abed spoons up behind him, his long body curved around Troy’s. They sometimes used to do this back in Greendale before Troy left—when the apartment was cold, or when they’d watched a movie that was sad or scary, or just because they felt like it. It’s only different now because Abed slips his hand beneath Troy’s pajama top, spreading his fingers over his abdomen, and presses a lingering kiss against his neck.
‘Good?’ Troy whispers.
‘Yes,’ Abed murmurs. He kisses the spot on his neck again. ‘I love you.’
Troy smiles, stroking his fingers. ‘I know.’
‘I mean it.’ Abed’s tone is very serious, and Troy feels his smile fade. ‘You’re the most important thing to me. Which I already knew, but now I know even more, because the first thing I need to tell you is that I’ve been offered a promotion next season, and if you don’t want me to take it then I won’t.’
‘Um.’ Troy fights the urge to roll over in Abed’s arms. ‘Okay, wait. You’re getting promoted? For real? To what?’
‘Production manager,’ Abed says. ‘I’m lucky—it takes a while to work up to that, usually, but the production manager who’s leaving likes me, I think. And it seems like me bothering everyone about what they do paid off, because she said I know more about all the roles on set than people who’ve been in the industry for a decade. So she recommended they take a chance on me, and they did.’
‘Uh, that’s amazing, and congratulations, and I’m gonna be so excited for you in a second,’ Troy tells him, ‘but why would you think I wouldn’t want you to do that?’
‘That’s a poor choice of words,’ Abed admits. ‘What I mean is if it doesn’t fit with your plans, I won’t take it. Because the second thing I have to tell you is that I’d be okay with leaving L.A. for you.’
Troy is silent for a full ten seconds, trying to work out what he’s missing. ‘Okay… again,’ he says, when he’s unsuccessful, ‘so excited for you on the job thing. So, so confused about everything else you’re saying right now.’
‘It was on your list,’ Abed reminds him quietly. ‘The one Annie told you to write? Under “Limitations”, you’d included that whatever you did would need to be in L.A., and that it would need to fit around me.’
‘Abed,’ Troy begins.
‘I know what you’re going to say—I think I do, anyway—but let me just say this first.’ It comes out in a rush, just a little pleading. ‘I know you love me too; this is a me thing, not a you thing. I guess when you have abandonment issues and a history of breaking with reality when things get too hard to handle emotionally, and then you get to have something you always wanted, something you thought you’d lost—it’s hard to accept you really do have it. That it’s not going to go away. I sometimes worry I’m imagining you, or you’re going to disappear.’
Troy twines their hands properly together where they’re resting against Troy’s abdomen, reminding Abed he’s here, solid. Abed gives his fingers a brief, grateful squeeze before he goes on.
‘I want to help you figure out what you care about, but I’m scared that when you do it’s going to take you somewhere that’s not here. And then I kept hoping you’d found it, because the more you needed to look, the more likely it seemed you’d realize you were looking in the wrong place.
‘But that was selfish,’ Abed continues. 'I don’t want to be the reason you can’t do what you want. And I have more choices now than I did when you left the first time. So… so when I got offered this job, I decided I’d only take it if you want to stay here. And if you don’t then the job doesn’t matter. You do.’ His arms tighten around Troy and he ducks his face against his shoulder. ‘Okay. I don’t know how anyone does soul-baring monologues. Please can you talk now?’
‘Um,’ Troy says, tears pricking at his eyes. ‘So I—I know eye contact might be a little intense right now, but I kind of need to hug you, so can we—’
Abed nods against his shoulder. Troy turns to wrap his arms around him, pressing a kiss against his hair when he shifts down the bed to burrow against Troy’s chest.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Troy promises, low and urgent. ‘You don’t—Abed, you don’t limit me. Yeah, I wanna find my own thing, but I wanna watch you do yours. I put that whatever I do needs to be in L.A. the same way I’d put like… like… that whatever I do needs to be on Earth. I mean, unless the Dimensionizer is ever invented for real and even then I’d only go if you came with me.’
He feels Abed relax a little in his arms, and rubs his back soothingly the way he knows Abed likes.
‘You think you find it hard to believe it’s real sometimes?’ Troy asks. He swallows. ‘Abed, I… I spend so much time just like… wondering if I seriously got this lucky. And not because of the money. If I’d just spent three years on a boat for some non-inheriting-a-giant-fortune reason but then I got to come back and be with you, even if I had to take the crappiest job in this city, I’d still be wondering how I got this lucky. Not being where you are is just—that’s not even a thing, at all. Ever.’
Abed lifts his face away from Troy’s chest to peer up at him.
‘I swear,’ Troy says. ‘Abed. I swear. I’m here.’
He bends his head to press their mouths together. Abed is still for a moment, and then his eyelids flutter closed, his lips parting as he leans into the kiss.
Like so many other things about their relationship, this new dimension is weird in the best way—and like so many other things, Troy’s not sure it’ll ever stop feeling like that. There’s a mix of disbelief and giddiness that they get to do this, and a familiarity that makes it feel like they always have. It makes intimacy between them so good and so easy. Intuitive, or magic, like so many other things Troy does with his hands. With his heart.
The kiss deepens, turns heated. Abed hikes up the hem of Troy’s pajama top to touch his bare skin. Troy slides his fingers beneath Abed’s shirt so he can run them the length of his spine.
Abed moans and kisses Troy’s jaw, his neck, and he’s just pressing his thigh between Troy’s when Troy clutches at him and gasps, ‘Wait! Wait, wait, wait; we gotta get dressed.’
Abed pulls back, cocking an eyebrow quizzically. ‘That’s definitely not where I thought this was going.’
‘I know,’ Troy says. ‘We’ll do this later, I promise. Twice. Three times.’ He climbs off the bed, reaching for his jeans. ‘All night, if you want. But I really have to show you something first.’
***
It’s nice out, warm without being stifling. Troy has the cab driver let them out a little way from their destination so they can wander through the neighborhood hand in hand.
It’d taken a while to choose somewhere that felt right—somewhere welcoming, somewhere interesting and vibrant without being overwhelming, somewhere less famously unwalkable than most of L.A.. But walking with Abed past independent store fronts and cool bars and restaurants, he feels good about his decision.
After a few blocks, the neighborhood gives way to something more residential. They turn up a street and Troy slows outside a house set back from the road. It’s not much to look at right now, a little shabby and in need of some love compared to the others around it. But when Troy looks at it, he sees what it can be.
Of course, when Abed looks at it—
‘This is the house from Kickpuncher: Miami in that scene with the animatronic lawn flamingo,’ Abed says, giddy and urgent.
Troy smiles. Abed’s lived in L.A. for over two years now, has seen more filming locations than he can count, spends most of his waking hours on a working television set, and Troy knows he’s as excited by this as he would have been back in college.
If he’s excited now, the next part’s going to blow his mind.
‘Yeah.’ Troy swings their joined hands and takes a deep breath. ‘So, the thing is… I kind of bought it.’
Abed whips his head round to look at him, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘You bought it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You own the Kickpuncher: Miami house?’
Troy laughs. ‘Yeah. I wasn’t trying to buy this house specifically, but when it came up it felt like kind of a sign. And no one but us seems to get that Kickpuncher is like, the best movie franchise ever, so I got it for way less than I should’ve done. They didn’t even mention it on the real estate listing.’ He lets Abed take in the house for a moment, and then says, ‘Obviously they only used this for exterior shots, but, uh—you wanna see inside?’
Abed nods, speechless, and lets Troy lead him up the short, winding steps to the front door.
Troy pulls the key out of his pocket. ‘It needs a lot of work,’ he warns, as they step inside, footsteps echoing on the bare boards of the empty hall. He closes the door behind them and snaps the light on, revealing the walls that need replastering, the exposed pipes, the old electrics.
‘But that’s kind of exactly what I wanted,’ he goes on. He turns to face Abed. ‘This is what I decided. I still don’t know exactly what I wanna do forever, but I thought—I’m good at making stuff work, right? And I really think I can make this house work. So this is kind of my project right now. I think it’d be cool just to fix the whole place up, and then I could look at it and know I made it better. And I can always sell it when I’m done. But I was thinking, if you want, maybe what would make it the best is if I’m doing it for us?’
Abed looks at him, eyes wide.
‘Only if you want,’ Troy says hastily. ‘You don’t have to decide right now.’ He gestures over his shoulder. ‘Can I show you around?’
Abed lets Troy lead him into the first room off the hall, a living room with big south-facing windows that let in plenty of light during the day.
‘The realtor kept talking about it having good bones,’ Troy says, ‘and I learned pretty fast that usually when they say “good bones” what they mean is “it’s basically a dump”. But I actually think she was right about this one. Like, see these floorboards? They’re pretty beat up, but I think if I sand them and varnish them they’re gonna come up really nice.’
‘Good for sock sliding,’ Abed notes, aiming a finger gun at him.
‘Yeah, and on that—’ Troy heads towards the kitchen beyond, stopping in the doorway between the two rooms, ‘—I was thinking maybe without this wall, this whole bit would be a cool open-plan space. Kind of into the idea of a breakfast bar here, and maybe one of those big fridge-freezers that makes its own ice? That’d be awesome.
‘And, um—’ He turns and leads Abed back out into the hall, halfway up the stairs, where he pats the handrail. ‘I’m gonna get really good at the wood stuff, so I can put in all new railing here.’
He carries on up to the second floor. ‘It’s a three bed,’ he says. ‘So we can have all our friends over, or one could be your office where you write your hit screenplay. We can look at the spares in a second, but I wanted to show you this—’
He takes Abed’s hand again and pulls him into the biggest bedroom. The terrible 70s wallpaper is peeling and the carpet’s gone threadbare and faded but Troy gestures one by one at the things it does have going for it, hoping Abed can see it too.
‘There’s an en-suite, walk-in closet, pretty sweet view. We can get lights that dim for when it’s too bright for you. The bathrooms are gutted, but all the plumbing’s basically where it needs to be. We can have a rainfall shower and those double sinks and I’m definitely gonna put in one of those tiny French bathtubs for washing your butt.
‘And I can make us so many things we can use,’ he goes on. ‘Like, we can have a whole set of wooden spoons. Whatever you want. I can make it a real home. I’ll have to learn some more stuff, obviously, but I’ll do it. Or I’ll find the right people to help me do it.’
Abed is very still and very quiet in the middle of the (their?) bedroom. It’s not like when he shuts down. He’s looking right at Troy.
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ Troy tells him, taking a careful step towards him and gripping both Abed’s hands in his. ‘I thought you’d like the big romantic gesture. But I also don’t wanna make big decisions about our future without you. So if this house isn’t right, we can live in another house. Or we can stay in the apartment. Or—or we can sneak onto a college campus somewhere and build a fort. Pillows or blankets, I don’t care.’
He looks down at their joined hands, then lifts his gaze to Abed’s face.
‘I’ve been spending all this time trying to figure out what I care about,’ he says. ‘And I’m gonna keep doing that, but the thing I care about most is always gonna be you. Just—wherever we are, whatever I’m doing—I wanna make you happy, and I want us to be together.’
Abed nods hard. ‘I want that, too. I want us to live here.’
Troy feels himself break into a smile so big it makes his cheeks ache. ‘Yeah? Seriously, we don’t have to. It’s just an idea. We can talk about this more. And all the stuff I’ve said—those are just suggestions. Obviously we’ll decide everything together. But I swear, Abed, I’m gonna make this place so perfect for us—’
The rest of his sentence is cut off by Abed kissing him, walking him backwards until his back hits the wall. Troy wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him closer and kisses him and kisses him for what feels like hours.
Finally Abed pulls away.
‘It’s already perfect,’ Abed tells him, and Troy can see an entire future reflected in warm brown eyes. ‘You’re here.’