title: and isn't this love?
descrip: He is oh so amazing, and you might love him. OR Riley and Lucas, and everything it means to grow up. rileycentric, rileylucas, mayalucas.
notes1: this was originally planned to be a part of a riley centric 1989 album series but there's already one like that on the archive. i had most of this written though, so i thought i'd publish it. originally based off "wonderland".
: :
Naive, girlish, Riley Matthews. Wide doe eyes and curly brown hair, pink skirts and sweaters that are from the same era your great grandmother lived in. Young, simplistic, caring.
It's all the things that make up who you are. You're innocence in its purist form, the hard opposition of your best friend, Maya Hart. She is crazy, wild and free.
No- she is not free, and will never be. She is chained to the ground by the memories of her drunken father and the men her mother brings home every night, chained to the ground by midterm report cards and the rejection from your uncle. She is chained to the ground by everything that can slap her face with the sharp reminder of reality, cruel and unyielding.
You're her escape from that, the bubblegum cherry pop that lights up the world and reminds her that even though it's so shitty, it can be so wonderful.
"I think that's why he likes you," Maya says one day, whispering over the phone, interrupting your lament on how said boy's position on the football team could change everything. "Lucas, I mean." she clarifies, and you bite your lip, curious to what aspect of you she's talking about. "You're so… caring, I guess. It's honestly amazing, how much you care."
Maya is the only one who supports your relationship, once it finally begins.
"Look, sweetheart," your dad tries, placing an reassuring hand on your arm. It isn't reassuring in the slightest. "All I'm saying is that you're fourteen years old, I don't think it's right for fourteen year olds to date each other yet."
And you pull your arm from his grasp and storm away, slamming your door and sitting in your bay window until your mother walks in.
"I know what you're going to say mom," is all you say, and she gives you a look of guilt.
"Riley, your father is just-" she's stepping forward with a her slight smile and her warm eyes and you know if you listen know you won't have your boyfriend by the end of the day. And you really want your boyfriend.
He's special, sweet. Absolutely magnetic, friendly, and he can make your heart beat so fast you think you may be nearing a cardiac arrest. His smile is nothing but inviting, warm and it has the ability to turn your insides to nothing but mush. Whenever he touches you, you can imagine the sparks shooting up your veins instantly, causing your heart to pulsate in a rhythmic pattern. It's not just his touch either, no. Whenever you feel his green eyes on you (green eyes!), it's a muted affect, the sparks crawling along you slowly until your cheeks are flushed and your smile is insuppressible.
He is Lucas Friar, baseball team captain, football team quarterback, and he likes you. He is the boy every girl wants, and he likes you because you're you, nothing else.
It feels like you've known him forever but you're also meeting him again everyday. He is familiar yet exciting, warm and electrifying. He is perfect, and you really, really like him.
So when your mother steps forward to convince you to forgive your father, you turn the other way, letting your legs hang out of your window. "Mom, forget it. I'm not dumping Lucas. I know what you're going to say. You and dad grew up dating, but most people aren't like that, I shouldn't get my hopes up, it's better to just stay away." You think she's about to say something, so you continue, "Just let me make my own mistakes, okay?" But you know, Lucas is not a mistake, and anyone who thinks otherwise has clearly missed your entire relationship.
You listen keenly for a few moments, and she makes no movements. You're sure she's going to step forward, talk to you anyways, but instead you hear her footsteps walking to the left and the click of your door.
: :
It's the night of the big game, and he's throwing and you're in the stands and it's all perfect. The ball sores through the bitter air, the crowd gasps and is flooded with a sudden silence.
The touchdown is made. The stands erupt, screaming and cheering. Farkle is next to you, holding a sign that says Go Hawks Go and even Maya has come, a school sweatshirt being worn for what is probably the first time.
The stands at your high school are large, hundreds fitting in them. Throughout the screaming and jumping, the celebration is overwhelming. Lucas takes off his helmet and throws it to the ground, then points up in the stands. You can't quite believe it, because throughout all the people, he found you, he pointed at you, and even if you've been dating for what feels like a forever but probably resembles closer to a month, you feel caught, unexpectedly and pleasantly surprised.
You notice Missy Bradford running down the stands and into the arms of her boyfriend, the something or other of the team, and you remember suddenly remember every coming of age teenage romance you've ever watched. You snake through the stands and manage to get down the stairs, the bar between the track and the seats the only thing separating you from the field. (That, and the half a foot elevation.)
Lucas seems to have watched the same movies as you because within an insant he's on the otherwise of the stands, hands gripping the metal bar tightly and smiling at you as if you were the big win.
"You won," you yell over the crowd, because that's all you can think of when he's looking at you with those eyes and that smile. He laughs like you said something funny, but you're honestly too enthralled to notice.
"We did," he agrees, and you realize the height difference of the stands makes you taller than him by three inches. You've never been taller than him, and now you've got an idea.
Without putting as much thought into it, you smack your cherry flavoured lips together and lean forward. He's surprised, but responds immediately, hands going from the bars to your waist. You can feel the sparks ignite your veins, setting your heart in a frenzy and warming you to your bones. Unless, you're mistaken, the din rises then, and you can hear Maya laughing somewhere in the distance. Your hands gravitate to his shoulders and after a few seconds, you pull away, but only slightly, noses touching.
He's got this look in his eye that you adore, and his helmet has completely ruined his usually perfectly shaped hair. His lips are only a slightly pinker shade than usual (your lip gloss is extra strength after all) and he's still flushed from the game.
He is oh so amazing, and you might love him.
: :
You walk down the halls with his hand in yours and he kisses your cheek every morning when he walks into first period. Your math teacher smiles to herself and the girls in the corner of the classroom awe loudly, and all you can do is blush. You've been dating him for three months and it's still just as magical as you pictured it at twelve.
He tells you he loves you when you're sitting around watching tv in his apartment, cuddling under a blanket and watching Moulin Rouge. The screen sings out the final line, wrapping the film together and setting off a fresh set of tears down your cheeks.
He mumbles something under his breath after a few seconds, finally taking his eyes off the screen and on you.
You're still crying a little and he just smiles and takes pulls you closer. You shift a little and bury your face into his chest, enjoying the calm for his heartbeat. "You know," he says again, and he doesn't wait for you to look up, "I think I love you."
That's when you look up and he looks down, and you're both smiling. Everything is perfect.
(Until you try to say those three words back. They get caught in your throat and you're suddenly feeling suffocated and, oh god, what's wrong with you?)
: :
You don't love him. Good god, you don't love him. How can you not love him? He's amazing. Perfectly lovable. Your exact picture when you think of the perfect boy.
And you don't love him.
Good god, what's wrong with you?
You whisper it into your cell phone in the middle of the night, a tired blonde on the other end, as always. Maya is quiet on the other end, and you can hear her swallow.
"So he said he thought he loved you?"
You try to think back to his exact wording and nod, despite the lack of imagery a phone provides. "Yeah, he did. But Maya, I couldn't say it back. That's an issue."
"Riley," she says softly, and suddenly you're reminded of your mother when she tried to convince you to not date Lucas in the first place, "What if- what if he felt obligated to say it? Look, I'm not saying that you aren't someone worthy of falling in love with because you are, you totally are, but you guys have been dating, what, four months now? Lucas wants to love you and you want to love him, and maybe there's a reason he didn't say he knew he loved you. Maybe he feels just like you." Maya sounds guilty, almost, but also sad. Sad for you, for your broken dreams of first love, and for how this was bound to shatter your fairytale way of looking at life.
You're silent for a long time, eyes closed. "Yeah, goodnight. Thanks Maya."
"Anytime, Princess." And you can tell she doesn't want to hang up the phone. You stay on the line for ten more seconds, listening to her breathe, until your finger comes down on the end button.
You don't realize their are tears going down your cheeks until you put the phone down on your bed.
: :
"Lucas, we need to talk."
"Yeah, we do."
That's the first surprise of the day. You've finally decided to leave him, to be fair to yourself and him, but you had been prepared for something else.
Movies had prepared you for him to fight back, to refuse those dreaded words, to try to avoid the conversation, anything but compliance. You think to what Maya said and it hurts too much, thinking that he doesn't love you.
But you don't love him, who are you kidding? He's the one who should be hurt in this whole situation, and you're hurt that he's not? You know you're an awful girlfriend, but now you're just an awful friend too.
"I…" he tries, then looks around the Nighthawk Diner for any signs of her best friend, the Nighthawk's newest waitress. With a sigh of relief, he sees Maya isn't there. Riley is sweet like milk chocolate, her best friend represents the bitter variation. The bitter type wouldn't be okay with what he's about to do. "Riley, we-"
"No!" you inturupt, because you're dumping him, not the other way around. If you find out he's not in love either, if you find out he was lying or has lost the feeling, you'll break.
He looks surprised at your interjection, and you know you have to do this quick, rip off the bandaid and run into your mother's arms.
"Lucas, I care about you. You're my first crush, first boyfriend, first date-" and now you falter, because he isn't your first love and that's what you're supposed to stay next. You don't love him, how could he be your first love?
He looks at you like you're the whole world then sighs, closing his eyes. "I know Riley, I know."
You nod, and that's the end.
: :
You're hesitant around each other after that, and it makes you sad. Sad that whatever you had, it'll never be the same. Even if he's still your friend, you're always going to know the feeling of his lips on yours and his arm around your waist and exactly what it felt like to be so close to loving him, but never being able to make the final jump.
You ask Maya about him sometimes, because somehow they're making it work even though she's your best friend and he's your ex boyfriend, but all Maya will reveal is that he's happy. Sad, but happy, just like you.
A month later you've started a new semester and he chooses the seat behind you in history. You smile, and ask how he is. It hurts, but it's okay.
: :
Three years later your best friend is whispering to you over the phone, crying softly. "Riley… he told me he loves me. And I love him back."
You close your eyes, and you feel tears streaming down your own face. But they're not for your failed relationship with Lucas, your jealously over the situation, your heartbreak or anything akin.
Instead they're for your best friends, the ones who found each other despite everything and you've never been more happy that you and Lucas never worked out.
"Maya," you're smiling, widely and you already know how much this is for her, "Of course he loves you."
And you're happy, you really are.