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Once, shortly after the psych test fiasco, Britta had made them all take quizzes to find out what their love languages were. She had smirked when she handed Troy his results sheet.
“Physical touch,” she said knowingly. “Not surprising for you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he had scowled, snatching the paper from her hand. “I like getting gifts and hearing people say nice things about me. Your test is bogus.”
Britta had only arched an eyebrow knowingly before turning to tell Jeff his love language was words of affirmation, as if that was a shock to anybody.
Now that Troy is nearly entirely alone on a boat in the middle of the ocean, he’s starting to think physical touch might be his love language, after all, because he’s craving it like a sickness.
He misses the easy tactility of his friendships back home – Jeff’s hand clasping his shoulder, Britta’s hugs, Shirley’s motherly palm on his cheek, Annie’s hands eagerly grasping his. And Abed – more than anything, he misses Abed, the way he sometimes can’t stand to be touched but still lets Troy near him on those days, the way he can’t always initiate hugs with their other friends but will respond to Troy’s arms around him with Pavlovian predictability.
And more than anything else, Troy thinks about the last night the spent together before he left, the way Abed had pinned his hands down to grind against him and whisper dirty, pretty things into his ear just to watch him fall apart at the seams.
When he gets the opportunity to call his friends, Troy suppresses the urge to ask Abed if he ever thinks of that night, too. It’s not worth it, especially once Troy hears from Britta that Abed has started dating some girl named Rachel, so he keeps it to himself and reminisces in secret. And he definitely doesn’t spend hours agonizing about why he had to hear about Abed’s girlfriend from Britta, instead of Abed himself, because that line of thinking seems pretty pointless, too.
Whenever they dock the Childish Tycoon and spend the night in a city, Troy makes his way through dark clubs, touch-starved, commanding the dance floor in search of a body to press against, and finds whatever relief he can in the form of hips grinding behind his, arms around his waist, hands sliding over his shoulders. It’s not even sexual for him (not strictly, not always); he just misses contact and craves touch.
But whenever he does make out with whatever stranger he’s been dancing with all night, he ends up thinking of Abed. Sometimes he wonders if the lack of any touch is better than the biting pain of touching the wrong person, knowing the right person isn’t yours to touch anymore.
The loneliness is mostly manageable during the days, though. If he’s busy, if he keeps moving, like a shark, the bad feelings can’t keep up with him. He starts thinking he can keep things under wraps forever - the pining, the jealousy, the weird arousal tinged with sadness he feels whenever he stays up too late overthinking - until one night when Abed slips up.
Troy is his hotel room in Australia by that point, in bed before 10 because he and LeVar are planning an early departure the next morning, when he gets a call.
"Inspector," he says in his worst Australian accent, "have you any idea what time it is where you're calling from? Or should I say...what space?"
Abed is quiet for a moment on the other end of the line. "Sorry," he says eventually. "You're probably headed out for the night. I shouldn't have bothered you."
"Wait, no, Abed, it's okay! I'm not going anywhere. I can talk. Is everything okay? Isn't it, like, crazy late where you are?"
"Yeah. Jeff took me out drinking and we just got home. Well, actually, he drank. I had one drink and drove him back to his apartment. But now I'm home and I can't sleep and I figured you might still be awake at this time..." Abed sighs and then says, in a very small voice, "Rachel broke up with me."
"Oh, shit." Troy sits up and pictures Abed lying in bed, phone pressed to his ear and eyes on the ceiling above him, perfectly still as he waits for Troy to speak. And Troy must be a terrible friend, because his first feeling is not sympathy, but something even greater than relief - it almost feels like triumph. "Abed, I'm so sorry. That sucks. She doesn't know what she's missing out on."
"No, she knows exactly what she's doing, and she's right. I wasn't a good boyfriend to her. Well, I tried to be. But I wasn't doing enough." He speaks without pausing for breath. "She actually broke up with me a couple weeks ago but Jeff wasn't free until today to take me out drinking because he said that's what friends do after breakups like this, but I didn't really want to get drunk and he drinks way more than me, anyway, so I guess this was more for him than it was for me, especially because I'm not even really that upset about it-"
When he cuts himself off, Troy lies back down carefully. "Abed? What do you mean you're not that upset? It's okay to be sad or angry after a breakup, dude."
"But I'm really not. Rachel is a great person and I had a lot of fun dating her, but I know she isn't right for me in the long run. We're not right for each other, actually, and that's okay. I really want her to be happy."
"But you're awake at four in the morning and calling me because...? Not that I mind," Troy adds quickly. "It's just - it seems like there's something on your mind."
Abed sighs. "I got used to sharing a bed with someone again," he says in weird, clipped voice. Like he's annoyed at himself. "It's stupid, because I got used to not sharing a bed with anyone when you were dating Britta, and then again when you left, but then Rachel showed up and we were always staying over at each other’s apartments. And now I have to get used to sleeping alone all over again, and there's no one to talk to and no one to hold when I'm sleeping and there's no one to have-"
He cuts himself off again, and Troy can hear him swallow nervously. He frowns. "What was that last part?"
"It's nothing. Forget I said that part.”
"Were you going to say have sex with?" Troy asks quietly, suddenly feeling very thankful he's in his own hotel room for the night.
Through the phone, he hears Abed shift in his bed before answering. "I know it sounds terrible to say I miss that part almost as much as I miss the relationship itself, but I really got used to having sex with someone multiple times a week. And it’s frustrating not to have that anymore."
In the space between nearly blacking out and realizing Abed is probably expecting a response, Troy considers the factors: He's alone and has Abed to himself on the phone for the first time in weeks and weeks. Abed says he really isn’t upset about his breakup, and he's got no reason to lie to Troy. If his worst issue at the moment is being sexually frustrated, a feeling Troy's becoming all too familiar with on this trip, maybe they can be of assistance to each other over the phone.
And just like last time, maybe it doesn't even have to be weird.
Before he can overthink it, Troy says quietly, "How was it?"
There's a loud noise in his ear, like Abed has exhaled too loudly into the phone. "What?"
"The sex. When you were having it. Was it good?"
"Troy, come on.”
"I'm serious." Troy slides his hand under the waistband of his boxers and just rests it there for a moment. "We can talk about this stuff. Listen, I'm not exactly getting a lot of action on the open seas, okay? I want to be happy for people who get laid when I can’t.”
Abed laughs softly at that. "Okay, yes. The sex was very good."
“Very good. Oh, wow. Huh. Why was it very good?"
"I feel like answering that would be kind of disrespectful to Rachel."
Troy winces, because yeah, Abed’s probably right. "Okay, well, you don't have to give me specifics about her. I'm just curious about what makes sex very good for you, instead of just regular good."
"Is this normal?"
"What, this conversation? Probably not. Are we ever normal, though?"
"Normal doesn't really work for us," Abed agrees, but he doesn’t say anything else.
Troy sighs and removes his hand so he can think clearly when he speaks next. “Abed, look, I’m really frustrated out here too. Like, really frustrated. So maybe we should just hang up for a bit, take care of things and then try this call again when I can actually focus. Or else things are probably going to get…well, even weirder than they already are.”
Abed is quiet for a long moment. “No, it’s okay,” he finally says slowly. “If you’re talking about masturbating – you can do it while we’re on the phone. I don’t care.”
Okay, now Troy’s definitely going to black out. Heart racing, he inches his hand back down to where it was before. "Wait, really? Why, are you doing that right now?"
"Not yet. But probably pretty soon."
For the second time that night, Troy pictures Abed in his bed: soft green pajamas buttoned all the way up, lying perfectly still, one hand hovering near his waistband, just like Troy. Or maybe that's not at all what he looks like. Maybe he's leaning against his headboard, one leg bent and one dangling off the end of the bed, shirt unbuttoned, hair mussed, eyes closed as his hand wanders everywhere Troy wants to touch - did get to touch, once. He shivers.
"Yeah? Just from thinking about thinking about how very good that sex was?" he teases, squeezing a hand over his hardening length. He swallows a groan so he can hear Abed's response.
"No, I think it's - just hearing your voice," Abed admits, a little shakily. “I really miss you. And hearing your voice but talking about all of this, it's - I think I'm getting some wires crossed."
Hearing Abed say I really miss you in that quiet, shaky voice while he is undoubtedly getting ready to touch himself is sending Troy into the stratosphere. “I miss you too,” he confesses, beginning to move his hand in slow, easy strokes. “I think about you a lot. All the dumb stuff we used to do together before I left.” He exhales before adding, unsteadily, “I think about that last night a lot.”
Troy hears Abed’s breath hitch before he says, “I do too.” He laughs a little as he continues, “The day after you left, Britta pointed out to me that I had a massive hickey on my neck. I had to get pretty creative to explain that away.”
The thought of that makes Troy’s head spin. “I wish you hadn’t,” he says, suddenly feeling bold. “"I wish you told everyone how you got that mark and who gave it to you. And what it meant."
"What did it mean?"
Troy's eyes flutter close at the sound of Abed's voice growing increasingly breathless. "Whatever you want. That's what you said that night, right? It can be whatever you want it to be." He quickens the pace of his hand and stutters out a moan. "Fuck, this feels good. Abed, are you touching yourself yet?”
"Yeah." It's just one word, but it sounds so broken already that Troy gasps.
“Do you feel good?”
“Yeah,” Abed says again, sighing deeply. “I feel really good.”
“What are you doing?” Troy asks, and it already sounds like begging.
Softly, Abed replies, “I’m just – touching myself. And wishing it was you.”
“Really?” Troy tips his head back against the pillow and groans at the thought. “Fuck. I want to be there with you. I really want to touch you again. I – I really liked that, last time.”
“So did I,” Abed breathes out. “Fuck, Troy. Please keep talking. What else did you like?”
Troy turns the call on speaker so he can drop the phone next to him on the pillow and shove his T-shirt up, using his now-free hand to roam over his body, running across his chest, teasing over his nipples, grazing over his abdomen, just to get more of the sensation he's craving. He wishes it wasn't his own hand and thinks about Abed’s long fingers instead.
“God, Abed, I liked all of it. I think about all of it all the time. Touching you, and kissing all the way down your body, and – and going down on you. I really liked doing that to you…I liked making you feel good. I wish I could do it again right now.”
“Me too.” Abed’s voice is airy and faraway, and Troy pictures him with his eyes closed, head tipped back to reveal the long neck Troy is dying to get his lips on again. “I wish you were here right now with me.”
Troy’s cock twitches in his hand, and he speeds up his movements once more, feeling himself getting closer. “I wish I was too,” he groans. “I want to make you come just like I did last time…you did like that, right?” he adds, almost shyly.
“Yes, Troy, it was so good,” Abed breathes, “I told you, you were really good at – at all of that..."
"As good as her?"
"What?"
“Was she - did she touch you like I did?" Troy tries to keep his voice light, keep the question sexy, but he can hear the bitterness creeping in and hates himself for it. "Did she make you feel as good as I did?"
"This feels like it's taking a dark turn."
"What? No - no it's not!" Panicked, Troy props himself up on one elbow. "Maybe you should be the one talking now. You're better at it than I am."
"I can assure you you were doing just fine until you got off track. But I feel like we should be doing a different kind of talking right now."
Troy groans. "Abed, come on, I just want to finish this up first..." But then he sighs and sits up fully. "I totally killed the mood, didn't I?"
He hears a shuffle from the other end of the phone, as if Abed's sitting up now, too. "I'm still kind of confused on why there was a mood to begin with. Not that I'm complaining. But there's definitely been a shift between us and it's really hard to figure out how I'm supposed to act around you when we're so far apart. And when the conversation jumps from you comforting me about my breakup to you asking if you were better in bed than my ex-girlfriend..."
Now Troy's really embarrassed. "I'm being a bad friend, aren't I?"
"A little bit. I think. But then maybe I shouldn't have brought up sex in the first place. And we definitely probably shouldn’t be masturbating together if we’re not going to talk about what this means. I'm just pretty confused right now, and I think you are, too." Abed's voice is really quiet now, and Troy flips the phone off speaker so he can hold it to his ear and hear more clearly.
"I am really confused. In more ways than one. Like...for starters, I didn't know you were going to get a girlfriend so soon after I left. And now I'm in this weird spot because as your friend I want to help you through your breakup, but...I'm also really mad that you dated her at all."
"Mad? Or jealous?"
Troy's heart thumps a little more quickly in his chest. "Jealous, maybe? Because, uh...I told you, I can't really date out here on a sailboat in the middle of the ocean, so that sort of sucked to know you had someone when I don't..."
Even more quietly, Abed asks, "Is that really the only reason you're jealous?"
The walls of the room seem to inch a little closer to Troy at the thought of answering that honestly. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take a deep breath. "If I say no it's probably going to change a lot of things between us, you know."
"Troy, we had sex. You left Greendale. You're living on a sailboat with LeVar Burton. And we were just in the middle of some pretty interesting phone sex a minute ago. I think a lot has already changed.”
Abed sees things so plainly, sometimes. He can pick apart a tangled web of nonsense and find the individual strings of truth for what they are, when someone like Troy would just get fed up at the mess in his hands. It's disarming, usually, when he lays the facts out bare like that, but it's helpful in this case, when it leaves Troy with no place to hide.
“Okay, fine," he says, trying to convey a confidence he's not sure he feels. "Then full disclosure? I like you so much, Abed. Like…so much. What we did before I left – that should have happened a long, long time ago. It’s stupid and unfair to be having this conversation over the phone, because you deserve to hear it in person. You’re the best person I know, and I’m mad that you went and got a girlfriend because I was too much of a coward to ask you to be with me.”
“I would’ve said yes, you know. For the record. If you asked me to be with you – I would have said yes.”
“You would have?”
“Of course I would have,” Abed says easily. “That night, when I told you it could mean anything you wanted it to mean…I was waiting for you to say it meant more than just sex to you. Or just fear about leaving. It was probably dumb. I should have just said something, but I was already losing you and I didn’t want to push you farther away. So I let you choose what it meant.”
“Uh, the answer to that is ‘everything,’ by the way. I know I didn’t say it then, but that night with you…it meant everything to me. Sometimes I still can’t believe it really happened.”
“Neither can I.” Troy can almost hear Abed’s smile. “It really ruins the emotional impact, giving a love confession over the phone, but if we’re being honest I think you deserve to hear the full truth, which is that I’m completely in love with you. And I have been for years. I don’t think I could stop if I tried.”
A giddy bubble of laughter escapes from Troy as he replies, “Well, that’s good, because I’m pretty in love with you, too.”
A soft silence stretches from Troy’s phone to Abed’s and back again as the two boys take a moment to let the enormity of their confessions seep warmly into their skin. It’s not the physical contact Troy’s been craving, but it’s close; it leaves him just as warm and safe-feeling as a true touch from Abed, and for now, Troy will take what he can get.
Finally, after a moment, Abed speaks. “Not to ruin the adorableness of this moment, but you were doing a pretty good job earlier, if you want to get back on track and continue what you started before?”
Troy laughs again, putting his phone back on speaker and letting his hand wander south once more. “Okay then,” he says happily, “where were we?”