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There are days when he convinces himself that Troy is dead. He can see him in his mind, body floating in the ocean, or laying beat to a pulp on the ground, or whimpering as he starves to death.
There are days when Abed is convinced that Troy is going to be home. He’ll spend the day vibrating with excitement only to throw his apartment door open and be met with the cold, lonely living room.
He practices the breathing exercises his therapist taught him, and bawls his eyes out when it gets too much and he can’t remember what Troy’s hand against his felt like.
He called Annie one day, early on. He was screaming into the receiver, repeating “he’s dead he’s dead please come help he’s dead.” Annie was back in the apartment in ten minutes, finding Abed on the ground, covered in his own sick, shaking and pale. She’d peeled him out of his shirt, helped him clean up, held him until he calmed down enough to explain. Annie had sighed with relief. She said she thought that maybe Abed’s dad had died. She assured him that it’s okay, that Troy was okay. Abed didn’t believe her until Troy called the next day.
Abed doesn’t break down anymore. He swallows his fear, lets it live inside him. The bad days bleed into the good, until he can’t tell the difference anymore.
He becomes a ghost. He knows it’s time to let go, eventually. He knows it’s time to unravel the knot in his heart.
But he can’t. If he releases the pain, he releases his friend. He cuts the line connecting them. He lets Troy go at sea, with no lifeline to guide him back.
Abed can’t let that happen. So he holds the pain, he holds the fear.
He unlocks the door. Troy isn’t dead today, so that’s good. He sets his bag down. Troy is alive. Troy is across the world. Troy is...
Troy is on his couch.
“Hi,” he says quietly.
“Get out.”
“Abed...”
“Get out.” He’s covering his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. “This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair, I was getting better. He hasn’t been dead for weeks, this isn’t fair.”
Fake-Troy stands. “Abed, buddy–“
“Get out!”
He nods, moves past Abed, toward the door. Why is he going toward the door? He could just–
Abed hears it.
He hears the knob turn.
He hears the door open, close.
Fuck.
That was Troy.
That was really Troy.
Abed turns, fumbling with the doorknob, screams when he can’t get ahold of it. He struggles more, slamming his body against the door. Troy is on the other side. Troy is there. God, he’s so stupid, why can’t he figure out–
The doorknob turns. The door opens. Abed’s scream becomes a whine. Troy is walking away. Abed’s feet pound on the ground, once, twice, before he reaches him. He grabs his shoulder, turns him around, and before he can think of what to do next, he’s being tackled into the best hug of his life.
Troy’s arms wrap tightly around his middle. He’s sniffling, and getting Abed’s shirt wet. Abed squeezes him just as tightly. He takes a deep breath, eyes shut.
“You’re real.”
“I’m real,” Troy whispers. “I’m sorry. I wish–“
“Shut up,” Abed says quietly. “Please. Please just hold me.”
And Troy does. Abed is crying now, he hasn’t cried in front of another person in so long, and Troy’s hands are reaching up to stroke his hair, and he’s stopped crying, always the balance to Abed, always holding him to the ground.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I love you,” Troy mumbles.
“I’m mad at you.”
“Okay.”
Abed sniffs, blinking away a new wave of tears. “I’m really angry, Troy.”
“I know.”
Abed chokes out a sob.
“Can I stay?” Troy’s voice is fragile.
“If you leave again, I will never forgive you.”
“Can you forgive me for leaving the first time?”
Abed ducks his head, resting against Troy’s shoulder. “Give me ten minutes.”
Troy laughs, and Abed can feel it moving through him. It’s been so long since he felt Troy laugh like that.
He starts to cry again, and Troy rubs his back. He doesn’t say anything.
He just holds Abed.
Abed lets himself be held.
This is real.
Troy is real.