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“ Fuck ,” Troy laments. He doesn’t know what for, but he’s been really down since Abed reality-checked him about his own physical strength tonight.
Well, also he does know what for because their severely underqualified biology teacher assigned them seventy pages from a chemistry textbook for the next day. Troy doesn’t know what ions and charges are but they clearly have nothing to do with his life and he’s fine in blissful ignorance anyways.
It’s not fair to push the blame onto the teacher entirely, Troy’s sure. They had plenty of time to stop by the library and grab a copy of The Principles of General Chemistry , but things have been occupying Troy and Abed’s lives lately. The STD fair, watching Abed’s movies, the epic Green Day concert where Chang relieved them of that impossible Spanish essay, celebrating the lack of an impossible Spanish essay, etcetera. The two full weeks advance notice surely wasn’t enough given their tight schedules.
But Abed, nerdily as ever, insisted that they “are not failing biology” and left in the direction of the library.
Normally, Troy would kick his feet up onto the table and huff out a sigh, examining his nails in defiance until Abed agreed to ignore the assignment altogether. Normally, Troy would stand there with his arms folded until he could elicit the response he wanted from Abed.
But today, under the fluorescent lighting of Greendale’s hallways, Troy’s footfalls ricochet on the tile as he follows Abed at an embarrassingly brisk pace to pick up their stupid book.
“Are you upset?” asks Abed as he rifles through the textbooks under “P”.
Troy swallows down his anger. “Don’t you think this assignment is really stupid?”
Abed shrugs good-naturedly, selecting a devastatingly thick volume from the shelf. “If you paid attention more, you’d probably grasp the content better.”
It’s not mean. Abed doesn’t say things in a mean way, really. Troy knows he doesn’t pay attention well. The whole rat fiasco was trouble enough, but before lab, he’d always find his eyes drifting from the blackboard. Most times, they’d land on Abed and survey his features when he wasn’t looking. Abed always looked nice, especially from that angle, the sun from the far window backlighting him like an angel. Troy would let his eyes trail down his nose, over those big, brown, attentive eyes, cascade over his cheek, over his toned jawline, down to the expanse of brown skin on his neck that Troy wanted so badly to latch his teeth onto.
He’s well aware these thoughts are abnormal. Especially the teeth bit. He had wondered if he was a vampire for about three weeks before giving up because most of his search results were fandom websites or satire. But even as he fretted every which way about this sudden obsession with Abed, he had never considered the origins of it.
Throughout his life, Troy has had no other option but to be straight. Thinking about Abed as unhealthily often as he does makes Troy scramble for other options than calling it gay. He could be a father figure, but that’s both disgusting and untrue– because Abed’s just as silly as he is, but maybe in a more dignified, wonderful way. He could be Troy’s first friend , but that’s just simply false. Troy had other guy friends in high school that would’ve died for him in a heartbeat and that lurked at his shoulders like henchmen, but he never felt himself drawn to them in the same manner that he does Abed.
And then the world fades back in. Abed’s shaking him out of the trance and Troy’s forehead is pressed into the metal bookshelf at his standing height. He’s staring off into space and Abed’s touch is electricity concentrated in his left shoulder. “Troy. Troy.”
“Sorry,” Troy mumbles, blinking rapidly to get rid of the blurriness in his eyes.
Abed smiles at him– a mild half-smile like the one Troy’s accustomed to from him, but it reaches his eyes and glints there. “You were dreaming.”
“How do you know that?” Troy murmurs, shrugging Abed’s hand off and following his lead back to the study room, where they can read on the couch. That’s where they’ve been doing most of their work, and tonight seems no different. Just drastically later.
“Because you were smiling.”
Smiling, Troy thinks, his mind suddenly set ablaze as his footsteps match the rhythm of Abed’s. Best not to think about Abed right next to him, he chides himself, knowing the way his mouth tends to run without any inhibition or consciousness sometimes. But he was smiling. About Abed. He was having an internal dilemma about Abed and he was smiling.
It’s not that Troy hates gay people at all , he thinks, if that’s really what his and Abed’s relationship comes down to. He wouldn’t even care if Abed himself was gay! In fact, he’d encourage it! It’s just that “gay” isn’t him. Gay means a ton of rainbow shit and mesh shirts and tight shorts and skinny European dudes with colorful sunglasses, and Troy is decidedly not that.
As they sit down on the couch, though, the idea of being like that with Abed is getting more appealing. “They didn’t have two books?” Troy forces himself to ask, throat feeling dry, when Abed cracks it open to a mess of words and gestures for Troy to come closer.
“They did,” Abed hums, but he doesn’t say anything else on the subject. “Chapter Seven: Acids, Bases, and the Bronsted-Lowry Theory.”
Troy hears little bits of the text as he ruminates. Something about 1923, two dudes, and hydro-something. That should be enough to last him for the rest of the week and for the quiz coming up.
In the meantime, Troy’s now-heavy eyes drift to Abed’s mouth, which is moving as he softly explains what H plus and OH minus mean. His eyes are tired too, but they still gleam with that same fucking– gentle mysteriousness, or whatever he called it before. Troy feels like he might fall asleep right there, so he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it behind him in hopes that moving will wake him up.
Abed still has his book bag satchel on, over his maroon sweater, and it’s the only thing that’s keeping their thighs from touching. Troy’s pretty sure he wants to tear it to bits. Instead, he yawns exaggeratedly and– before he’s aware of what he’s doing, tilts his head and rests it on Abed’s shoulder.
Abed doesn’t even react, so Troy doesn’t move. He just flips the page and keeps talking. Maybe, if Troy’s delusional enough, he can imagine that Abed inched a little closer to keep Troy’s cheek on the comfortable plane of his shoulder.
At last, he says “here’s a part about biology”, and turns his head slightly to look at Troy.
“Sorry,” Troy whispers, slowly lifting his head.
Abed, instead of pulling a face, pats Troy’s head once and sets the book back in his lap. “Lay down. I'll read to you.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
Troy, a little bit humiliated, scrambles to the other end of the couch to get his head in optimal position for rest. Abed starts up again, and Troy just kinda shuts his eyes. It’s so easy to relax with the sound of Abed’s voice lulling him, and Troy’s even more aware of how gay that sounds when he imagines saying it aloud.
But Abed’s here, and that means everything is alright. Abed doesn’t hate Troy because he’s not as strong as him, and he didn’t make fun of him in the slightest. Abed lets Troy sleep like this instead of doing their assignments, and– better yet– Abed lets Troy rest his head on him . Troy wants to express how kind that is without thinking of him as “a good boyfriend”, but the notion seems unavoidable. He relaxes into it. Abed’s a good boyfriend.
“The characteristic of an acid to donate or accept a proton" cannot be quantified for individual species,” Abed reads, voice still gentle. “Comparing two donor-acceptor systems, the proton transposition HA plus H2O…”
And then there’s deafening silence. Troy worries for a second that he just curled up and died, but then he can feel Abed shift forward and something on the wood of the table. He wants to look over, but that might ruin the moment.
So he just waits.
And then Abed comes nearer and Troy can feel his movement and then he picks something up– something fabric-y– his letterman jacket. Troy shifts a little bit, and then Abed’s hands are on him, draping the jacket over him and tucking it around his shoulders. His movements feel so sure and gentle and firm all at the same time, and it might have lasted four seconds, but it feels like hours of Abed and his hands and Abed and Abed and Abed. Troy feels sick.
Abed pats him twice and takes off, like it didn’t mean anything, like he didn’t just tuck Troy in, and he feels the lights flicker off in his eyelids.
In a last-ditch effort to get Abed to come back, even for just a moment, Troy calls his name into the darkness.
“Yeah, Troy?”
“Can you get me a glass of water?” Troy asks, cringing at the desperation in his voice.
“Sure,” Abed replies, casual and unaffected as ever.
“Thank you, Abed.”
Troy wonders if Abed knows that he likes him. Maybe it’s a little forward to say that about them. Troy doesn’t know if he likes Abed. He’s sure he does, probably. Maybe. Who wouldn’t? Abed’s so sweet and gentle and talented and smart and he’s passionate and he works harder than anyone Troy’s ever known. That in itself is something to like. Troy bets even straight men would be attracted to Abed, not that Troy’s not straight. Or maybe he isn’t. He could be gay. But that would suck for him, probably, because if real life is anything like high school, bullies are ruthless. And being gay really isn’t a happy thing because not everyone is gay and not every caring, beautiful, wonderful nerd is gonna like you back.
But then Troy hears footsteps, and he’s certain they’re Abed’s. He tries to quiet his thoughts but they keep running on an endless cycle.
He wonders what Abed will do when he gets to the couch. Maybe he’ll pat Troy’s head again. That would be nice. Maybe he’ll throw the water in his face and tell him to stop acting weird. That could happen. Maybe he’ll come really close to Troy’s ear and say “you need to stop liking me”. That might even hurt more than the water. On a mental level. He might call Troy the F word his mama told him not to say that’s not fuck but that’s mean to gay people.
But then Abed kneels next to him, satchel still glued to his side, and rests his free hand on Troy’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay tonight?”
“Yeah,” Troy whispers, throat feeling like he swallowed dust.
“Okay. Text me if you need to stay over,” Abed says casually, just like that, and Troy can hear the water glass against the table. But then Abed leans forward and presses a super light, chaste, gentle kiss to Troy’s forehead, and Troy feels his heart genuinely throb. He wants to double over with the sensation. “Goodnight, Troy.”
Instead of telling Abed how he feels, or leaning forward and catching his lips in a real kiss, instead of doing anything at all , Troy swallows his shock and takes a deep breath through his nose. “Goodnight, Abed.”
He’ll tell him soon.