A/N: The vampire!au that literally no one asked for! Every fandom needs one. I just figured I'd take on the responsibility.
This was supposed to be 80% edgier and 90% less banter, but these two idiots take nothing seriously. They also talk. A lot. 16k words of it. I'm pretty sure that writing it drained half my soul, so if you like it, please please please fave and review. Each one restores a little piece of the soul I've lost. Like horcruxes. In reverse.
Maya Hart is a real storm of a girl. It lurks in the mischievous curl of her smirk and the rebellious glint in her eye, in the way that she draws in those around her, fills them up with chaos and beauty and freedom, and then watches as they burst at the seams.
Lucas Friar knows this – knows what she's capable of, knows that she could tear him apart. But he can't seem to look away.
Because Maya Hart is a hurricane, but Lucas Friar is a storm-chaser.
He sees her at parties sometimes. A flurry of wind-swept hair, a sparkle of cherry red lipstick.
Even a year ago and he would've been the one with his hand at the small of her back, leading her through the party and refilling her drinks.
Now she doesn't spare him a glance as she saunters by, gaze laser-focused on the next douchebag.
It's a Wednesday night. The football team has just won their way into the playoffs, Lucas is one of the star players, and the night is well on its way to burning up in a haze of glory.
Except Lucas spots Maya flirting with the linebacker – the linebacker who is six-foot-something and at least twice her weight, the linebacker who is known for shameless womanizing, the linebacker whose knowledge of incapacitating drugs is questionable – and when Maya is being hauled off towards the back door, something like worry twists his stomach.
Without a second thought, he follows them out. He's marching and half-drunk and there's a mantra of Maya might be in trouble rumbling in his head, and it's a Wednesday.
He wraps his thumb and his index finger around Maya's wrist, catching her just outside the door and stopping her captor in his tracks.
"Wait," he calls, turning her towards him and watching with some measure of satisfaction when the linebacker, Todd, drops his hold on her hand.
"What the fuck are you doing, Huckleberry?" she returns, and the force of her malice actually causes him to stumble backwards. He was expecting gratitude or confused relief. Instead, her eyes are alight with unmitigated fury.
"Todd – he's…" Lucas trails off suddenly, eyes flicking from Todd's irritated slump against a porch column and back to Maya's furrowed eyebrows.
"A douche? Yeah, I know," she finishes for him. He coughs as Todd returns a surprised "Hey!", but Maya ignores them both. "You might be too drunk to remember, but your right to stop me from going home with guys expired months ago. I can take care of myself."
Lucas's head swims in confusion, and when he scans Maya's face, he's startled to find that her features are contorted – eyes blood red, crinkles of her skin exaggerated into angry black veins. He blinks and she's back to normal, still vibrating with anger but no less beautiful. It makes it easy for him to disregard his brief moment of insanity as a product of the alcohol in his system.
"Maya, he could hurt you," he says lowly instead. "I'm not leaving you alone with him."
She rolls her eyes and tracking the movement makes him dizzy. Half-turning towards Todd, she says, "Alright, fuck off." He begins protesting, but the sharp glare Maya throws his way stops him mid-sentence.
"Whatever, it's not worth the effort," he mutters, slinking off back to the party.
Maya shakes her wrist loose from Lucas's grasp. "Happy, Ranger Rick?"
A small smile pulls at Lucas's mouth. "Actually, I kind of am," he shrugs.
She smirks in return, the twist of her mouth mocking and unkind. "Good, because if you ever pull something like this again," she yanks him towards her with a fist in his shirt, breathes the last words against his mouth, "I will ruin you."
She's five feet tall and he was just trying to protect her, but he feels the threat like a tidal wave to his system – feels it reverberate in the marrow of his bones – and he believes her. He believes that she could. So he holds his hands up in surrender and watches her march away.
The problem with drunken agreements, Lucas decides, is that they'll inevitably face sober scrutiny.
When he takes into consideration Maya's threat and his own acquiescence with a much clearer head, he realizes that he's an idiot. Because no amount of fire in her veins or daggers in her eyes could make it worth it for him not to care about her safety.
There's another party on Friday, and when Lucas spots Maya gliding through the front door and straight into Todd's arms, he decides drinking is no longer on his itinerary for the evening.
He goes for stealthy peripheral glances and feigned sips from his still-full solo cup. Maya and Todd last a whole half hour before he's once more leading her out the door, his hand comfortably low on her waist.
Lucas counts to thirty and then follows them out.
At first, it looks like the average entanglement of two overexcited teenagers. Maya's trapped Todd against the same porch column he'd lent against two nights ago, her hands flat against his ribs and her mouth attentive at his neck. For his part, his eyes are squeezed closed and his mouth is slack.
Then Maya shifts. With stunned horror, Lucas spots a trail of blood dripping down Todd's shirt. His breath catches in his lungs, time slowing to a near stop when Maya suddenly retracts from Todd, allowing Lucas ample time to take in her jagged and shark-like teeth, the distortion of her features, and the blood smeared along her lips. Everything is red, and Lucas has to blink and force himself to breathe before it fades to black.
Finally, he manages, "What the fuck?"
In a flash, the skin of Maya's face smooths, her eyes clearing of bloodthirst. Though her brows are furrowed, her facial expression wars between irritation and worry.
"Shit," she mumbles, turning back to Todd's slumping form. There's blood everywhere now, staining Todd's shirt and Maya's hands and face.
Lucas's stomach rebels, rolling with acid and sickness until he's doubled over with his hands on his knees, dry heaving. The circuit board that is his brain is frying out, wires crossing and flaming and filling his head with smoke.
It's only when his ears stop ringing that he realizes Maya is holding Todd's head between her hands, her eyes locked with his as she lowly murmurs that he will forget about this, he's fine, he should go home and sleep off his hangover. She punctuates her order by clipping the skin of her thumb with her fang, shoving the digit in Todd's mouth, and then shoving Todd away from the house.
"I'm going to be sick," Lucas chokes, and immediately Maya is beside him, reaching for him. He flinches away. "Please don't do that to me," he begs.
She has the audacity to look offended. "You think I would?" she demands.
"I don't know," he admits. His legs feel weak and his head is swimming, but he wants to run away. He wants so badly to escape from what he's just seen, to escape from whatever it is that's possessing Maya. This can't be her. They've been friends for five years and he's been in love with her for nearly as long; he'd know if she were a monster.
"I have to… leave," he says. He stumbles down the porch steps, catching himself with a railing and then breaking into a sprint.
She – it – whatever – doesn't follow him, though he suspects she's capable of it.
He lays in bed, eyes glazed over but skyward, until five in the morning. At the break of dawn, Maya appears next to his now open window. He can't even remember if it was locked in the first place.
"We should talk," she starts.
Lethargy is seeping into his bones, rendering him immobile, but his mind turns at an impossible speed. She could hurt him if she wanted to. Ravage his neck or make him forget like she'd done to Todd. In spite of this, she remains hovering unsurely at the other side of the room.
"Yeah," he breathes, sitting up. She nods towards the window, so he follows her outside.
Nothing feels real. Not the cold of metal beneath his palms, not the pastel streaks painting the sky. Definitely not the weighty presence of Maya just over his shoulder, her eyes trained on his back.
"How are you out during the daytime?" he asks as he jumps the rest of the way from the fire escape. Maya rolls her eyes even as she gracefully follows suit.
"It's not what you think," she returns.
"You're not a vampire?"
Her eyes flash with something imperceptible. "Could you say that a little louder, Huckleberry?" The clipped pronunciation of his nickname ricochets between her teeth.
He shrugs, remembering how easily he'd stumbled on the truth. "You're not exactly stealthy yourself."
With narrowed eyes, she wonders, "Weren't you about to throw up four hours ago at the thought? How are you so composed now?"
The chuckle that falls from his lips is mirthless. "I'm pretty sure this is a nightmare, so. I'm just going to ride it out until I wake up."
"No can do, Hopalong," she says bitterly, brushing past him towards the sidewalk. She's probably leading him to her coffin, but he follows anyway. "This is real life."
"Ah," he breathes. "Then why aren't you doing to me… whatever you did to Todd?"
"Compelling you?" she clarifies lowly. Lucas half-nods, half shrugs. He doesn't know what that means. She must realize as much, because she explains, "It's like hypnosis. And… I don't know. Maybe I'm sick of carrying the burden on my own."
It's a half-lie, and Lucas can tell as much by the way that she won't exactly meet his eyes. That might be answer enough.
"Do you murder people?"
They're sitting in an empty diner a block over from his house, and it's the first question that comes to mind after the waiter retreats to the backroom. He doesn't know why he didn't think of it until now. He doesn't know why it wasn't his very first question.
"No," she returns without glancing up from the menu.
"But you do… drink people?" he presses on, elbows finding the tabletop as he leans forward.
"Yes," she enunciates. "Mostly assholes." He thinks of Todd and his concern for Maya's wellbeing because of her association with Todd. How ironic that it should've been the other way around.
"How long have you…" he trails off, gulping. After spending too much time studying every little slope and dip of her features, the idea that he could've missed the fact that she wasn't aging is overwhelming.
"About six months," she answers, and he breathes a sigh of relief. It catches her attention, so he starts fiddling with the sugar packets. "Shortly after we broke up."
Guilt settles heavy in his chest, and he realizes he's not ready to ask how it happened. So he switches gears instead. "You never answered me about the daylight thing."
Abruptly, she snaps her menu closed and fixes her eyes on him. He keeps his focus on the sugar packet in front of him, ripping it apart and dipping his index finger in the resulting white dust.
"It doesn't make me burn or sparkle or whatever," she waves her hand around condescendingly. "It just makes me irritable and… weak. I get hungry and tired faster."
His mouth turns up at that. "So that's why no one noticed anything different about you at school."
"Hardy harr," she mocks, eyes crinkling derogatorily.
The waiter returns and it puts their conversation on hold, but the vicelike clenching around Lucas's heart is slowly loosening. Maya is still Maya, even if she's also a little bit of a monster. It feels okay to breathe.
He watches her eat three waffles, four pieces of toast, two eggs, and three helpings of hash browns.
"I guess that answers my question about eating real food," he remarks, fork fiddling with what's left of his omelet.
Maya swallows hard, shrugging until her chin is tucking against her shoulder. "What? I'm dead and you're paying," she grins.
Something about the admission of her lack of a pulse causes his gaze to fall to his plate.
"Hey," she says, softer this time. "You'll get used to it. I promise." Her hand fidgets like she wants to reach across the table and grasp his own, but it ultimately lands in her lap.
He feels bad enough to feign normalcy. "I hope you don't mean the paying part," he jokes. "Because I thought you'd at least owe me reparations for psychological damage."
Her gratitude shines through her smile and in the way her shoulders relax.
"How come you haven't told Riley?" is his last question, muttered quietly as they come to a stop in front of his fire escape. Her eyes are downcast, providing him ample opportunity to scan her features. She's so beautiful that it's hard to notice how tired she is.
"We still weren't talking when it happened," she supplies, and he doesn't have to fill in the implied blanks. He'd broken up with Maya to encourage her friendship with Riley, but it had clearly backfired. "Didn't seem like 'Hey, I'm a vampire!' was a good start to mending fences."
"Well…" he breathes, furrows his eyebrows. "You're not alone anymore. I'll help you."
Her gaze snaps to his in surprise. "You're not running for the hills?" He shrugs and her forehead crinkles. "I thought for sure that you'd want nothing to do with me. Or that you'd beg me to make you forget."
"I guess you don't know me as well as you thought you did, eh, Shortstack?" he boasts. She glares in return.
"You know I can literally murder you, right?"
It should be terrifying, but he knows this in the way he knows koalas are deadly. The danger is real, but the feeling of it isn't.
"I trust you," he says instead. It's the inherent truth, despite everything. Maya's uncontrollable smile only reaffirms it.
It goes like this: he's her greatest (and only) confidant, so they return to spending all of their time together. He calms her when the heightened aggressiveness in her starts peaking at school, does half of her homework for her while she naps in his bed, and plays guard dog while she snacks on rude boys at parties (he has moral quandaries at first, but he can't think of another way for her to access the blood she needs and, because she only feeds once a week, she's a real pain in the ass about how hungry she is).
Everyone assumes they're dating again. It's the easiest explanation, so neither of them correct the hushed whispers that Maya can undoubtedly hear from across an entire classroom.
They make a habit of sneaking off to the bleachers during lunchtime, laying on successive benches (her on the higher and he on the lower, because of her need to overcompensate for her height) and cloud-gazing. With a sideways smirk, he often points at random blobs and claims they look like Dracula or a coffin or a bloodspot. She always shoves him off of his perch when he does, though the last claim is usually received with an animalistic growl and a flash of her fangs.
This time, the mood that settles around them is melancholic. Maya has been thoughtful all day long and, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, Lucas has indulged her mood.
Eventually, however, the silence grows static. It itches at Lucas's skin, causing him to fidget until finally relenting and asking, "What's wrong?"
Maya shrugs, eyes hollow. "I'm in a mood. It happens."
"Is there anything I can do?" It comes out desperate, and he hates how weak he is for her.
She shakes her head and offers him a half-hearted curl of the lips. "Thank you, though." When she reaches out for him, he offers his hand and is surprised to find her only linking their pinkies. "Just you being here… I woke up alone, and I… it means a lot." She finishes lamely, biting her lip.
Lucas lightly squeezes her pinkie with his own. He feels ready, so he says, "Tell me about it."
She does. She tells him about the party she went to in an attempt to forget him, about the dangerous atmosphere and the lecherous gazes, about calling him and it going straight to voicemail (he had heard about her plans and thought she'd meant to throw them in his face). About being stopped by a stranger in the middle of the night on a deserted street corner.
"I guess I'd rejected him already that night and his ego was bruised. Threatening me just got me in a fighting mood, and when I went to scream out, he covered my mouth with his hand. I bit down," she chuckles at herself, but the sound is a broken lullaby. "I didn't mean to swallow his blood, just like he didn't mean to snap my neck in retaliation."
His blood burns in his veins, the sound of his heartbeat pounding like a drumstick to his skull.
"Lucas, you're squeezing my pinkie," she notes dryly. He knows it's not hurting her in any way, but he consciously loosens his hold anyway.
"He- he didn't-" he starts, but she cuts him off.
"He didn't do anything," she reassures. "Except kill me. And leave me on a street corner, I guess."
"I'll murder him," he mutters, and this time Maya actually laughs a bit.
"He's already dead, clearly," she returns.
He corrects himself. "I'll stake him, then."
"You're not allowed to become a vampire slayer," she chides. "You might be tempted to change your name to Buffy." Quieter, "Or turn on me."
"Never," he swears, but she carries on like she didn't hear him.
"Besides, it's just a day in the life. Being left is kind of my thing. And now… an eternity of it." It had started as a joke, but by the ending remark, her voice sounds watery and worn. Lucas considers tugging her towards him and wrapping her in his arms, but she glances at him hurriedly before he has a chance to decide. "I'm sorry. I made everything depressing."
"Hey," he returns gently. He has her attention, so he actually does tug at her arm. There's a moment of concerned hesitation before she tucks herself against him, burying her head into his neck as his hand tangles in her hair.
When he kisses her forehead, she breathes, "This is really sweet, Ranger Rick, but I kind of want to bite you right now."
He laughs at the ruined moment, holds her in place. "You need to practice your discipline."
She nips at his collarbone in retaliation, though her teeth are dull, her fangs carefully sheathed.
He volunteers at an animal hospital after school sometimes. It's connected to an actual hospital, and he realizes a bit belatedly that that means there's a blood bank located somewhere in the building.
It takes a good week of observing and planning and another week to buck up the nerve, but he eventually manages to smuggle a single blood bag out of the hospital at the end of his shift.
There's a buzz of guilt somewhere at the back of his head, but it's easily eclipsed by the warmth of pride he feels when presenting his gift to Maya in the middle of the school day yields a delighted squeal. The feeling only intensifies with the impressed smirk curling at her lips when he regales her with the tale until finally:
"You're such a delinquent now," she purrs, jumpstarting his heart. "Maybe you've earned the name Mad Dog."
As it turns out, secret teenaged vampires and high school biology do not mix well.
It's blood test day, which means everyone's pricking their fingers in the name of science and education.
Maya swears up and down that she'll be fine, too stubborn to contemplate the alternative, but the moment the kids around them start up on their labs, her hands start to shake. Her breathing becomes progressively louder, rougher, and when Lucas looks up from their instructions, he can see the beginnings of her veins webbing out from her eyelids. He grabs her hand then, yelling to the professor about how blood makes Maya feel sick and hauling her out of the classroom.
They make it just outside the door before his hands are on her face, his fingertips stroking her hair back.
"Hey, look at me," he prods, breathing exaggeratedly so she has something to mimic. She's still shaking as she meets his eyes, her own orbs inky with red. "Breathe."
She does as she's told until her features return to normal, the color draining from her eyes and the veins spindling back into her skin.
"Thank you," she murmurs, eyes falling shut tiredly. "What would I even do without you?"
"Kill everyone, probably," he shrugs, and she smacks his chest.
"I guess I'll have to settle for just killing you," she bites.
He grins and kisses her temple, conscious to the way the students in their class are probably spying out of the window in the door.
"Yes, dear."
"There aren't any parties this weekend," he points out, not even bothering to lift his head from his pillow as Maya slinks through his window.
"I know," she shrugs. "Wanna watch Nosferatu and laugh at the inaccuracies?"
A slow smile finds its way to his face, making itself a permanent home as Maya tucks herself against him before the disc has even loaded the menu screen.
It starts small.
She snaps at him before class for "hovering" near her, shoves him away a little too harshly as she marches down the hallway.
Figuring she's in another of her dour moods, he keeps his distance for the day only to realize around lunchtime that he's made a colossal mistake.
It starts small, but it quickly spirals out of control.
Maya's arguing with Missy about their history project, fists coiled tightly at her sides as they exchange barbs meant to bruise. It's not until Missy calls Maya a psycho that her eyes flash, fangs making an unwelcome appearance as she just about lunges towards Missy.
Lucas rounds the corner just in time to witness this, Missy's eyebrows furrowing as she asks, "What's up with your face?"
Without thinking twice about it, he's standing between them with his hands at Maya's elbows, his lips resting near her temple. Her posture is still stiff, but his presence immediately slows the coarseness of her breathing.
"Tell her there's nothing wrong with your face," he requests quietly, shifting so Maya can catch Missy's eyes.
"There's nothing wrong with my face. Go back to class," she mumbles. Missy's expression rapidly clears of confusion, and then she's turning on her heel and prancing away from them.
Lucas drags Maya to the nearest janitor's closet. She could fight him – he knows she could – but she doesn't.
"What's wrong with you today?" he demands. His words are met with a shrug, her gaze gloomily trained on the ground between them.
It occurs to him then that Maya hasn't fed in almost two weeks.
"You're hungry," he concludes, and she groans her admittance.
"I'm fucking starving, Huckleberry," she growls, hands like claws when she gesticulates. On instinct, he steps towards her with the intent of comforting her, but she immediately backs away. "Don't come any closer; I might bite your head off. Literally."
He tilts said head in contemplation, cautiously stepping nearer to her with his hand outstretched. He's already given her every part of him; why not his blood, too?
It's an offering that immediately stiffens Maya's stature.
"What are you doing?" she asks, once more backing away from him.
Lucas only shrugs. "You're hungry, I-"
"No," she returns immediately, arms crossing. "We're not doing this."
His face scrunches in return. "Why not?"
"Because I could hurt you, dumbass!" She sounds exasperated, but she's a caged animal backed into a corner and Lucas's slow approach is only serving to exacerbate the webbing of veins around her eyes.
"I trust you," he swears. There's a steady wave in his chest, from the rhythm of breath in his lungs to the pumping of blood in his heart. He could do this for her. He's strong enough.
"Why?!" she demands, and there's suddenly liquid gathering in her bloodshot eyes. "I could tear you apart, Lucas. Piece by piece."
He understands that she means more than just physically. She must know that he loves her – has probably known all this time. But it doesn't matter whether he loves her or trusts her if she doesn't trust herself.
"Maya," he starts, drawing a deep breath as he closes the distance between them. "Why didn't you erase my memory after I found out?"
"I told you-" she starts, but he cuts her off.
"The real reason."
That pulls a slow sigh from her lips. Her gaze catches on his own, silence falling as she regards him. Eventually, she mumbles, "I couldn't invade your head like that. I couldn't lie to you, either. I wouldn't."
Lucas nods, satisfied. "I trust you," he reaffirms.
This time, when he offers his palm to her, she carefully frames his arm with one hand at his wrist and one hand supporting his own. Her breath fans against his skin as she draws closer, eyes now blood red and face fully marred by angry black veins.
"Last chance," she remarks wryly, fangs already millimeters from his skin. He inhales a last deep breath, pinching his eyes closed as her teeth pierce his skin.
He supposes he expected it to hurt, to make him feel vulnerable and torn at the seams.
Instead, his head fills with helium. The blood in his veins turns to molasses, weighty but warm and languidly stumbling towards her lips. A stilted sigh falls from his mouth and his knees are so weak that they almost buckle, so he holds himself up with a hand poised on the wall behind Maya's head.
When her eyes flicker to his, he holds her gaze and feels euphoria pooling in his stomach at the gradual smoothening of her animalistic features.
She pulls away, huffs a breath of air into the inch of space between them and licks her lips when the atmosphere starts to feel charged.
He doesn't even realize he's been leaning in until she's stopping him with a hand between their mouths, biting at the base of her own palm, and offering him the droplets of blood that result.
"It'll heal that," she explains, nodding towards his hand.
He accepts the exchange with the glide of his tongue against her skin, the taste of sin in his mouth and the hitch of her breath.
People already thought they were dating, so it must come as a surprise when what can only be explained away as a honeymoon stage hits almost two months in.
Maya makes a habit of dragging him into closets between classes, causing them to show up late and disheveled with twin smiles of contentment. The suspicious glances of their classmates linger on them long after they've found their seats, and though their teachers express disappointment in Lucas's sudden antics, they're unsurprised by Maya's truancy.
Lucas would probably complain more (or at all) if it weren't for the fact that Maya's spirits have lifted immeasurably and, besides the disapproving glares, her appetite doesn't interfere much with his routine. Any lightheadedness is always immediately assuaged by her blood.
The only conflict arrives with the fact that Maya is a veritable minx.
If she's feeling particularly daring, she'll sneak up behind him mid-conversation with a teammate, tug the back of his shirt down just far enough to reveal the base of the back of his neck, and stealthily slide the tips of her fangs into his skin, sucking delicately while he loses his train of thought and has to catch himself on a nearby locker.
"You're actually awful at keeping your identity hidden. You know that, right?" he says when she does it for the third time and Billy has already wandered off with an exasperated eye roll.
She extracts herself with a soothing run of her tongue against his broken skin, crossing in front of him and tugging the collar of his shirt to hide the evidence.
"I'm pretty sure people just think we're sleeping together," she shrugs. "Occam's Razor."
His eyebrows rise high on his forehead at that, an impressed grin pulling at his lips. "Have you been paying attention in Mr. Matthews's class again?" he asks, gasping exaggeratedly.
Maya rolls her eyes and crosses her arms defensively. "Sometimes I actually read the notes you write for me."
"I'm proud of you, Elvira," he returns, tapping her nose with his index finger. She's lightning fast and has his finger trapped between her teeth within the millisecond, biting down teasingly and then releasing him when he gasps.
"The day you run out of vampire jokes, I'm throwing a party," she declares.
"The day I run out of vampire jokes is the day you stop using me as a human chew toy." Her eyes turn dark at that, her gaze retreating to the ground in unmistakable guilt. "I'm kidding," he adds, quieter now.
"We can stop," she says instead. "I'll go back to-"
Panic spikes like icicles in his chest; the idea of her feeding on anyone else again feels wrong. He thinks he'd be jealous.
"No," he insists. "I don't want you… with anyone else."
He won't quite meet her eye, but he can feel the weight of her gaze studying his features.
If there are consequences to the amount of blood in his veins that isn't his own, he imagines it's probably manifesting in the way he knows exactly when she decides that that answer is enough.
Sometimes he indulges her games, purposely catching his thumb on an X-acto knife in Biology and playfully asking if she'll kiss the pain away.
Mr. White catches them staring at each other instead of carrying out the lab, Lucas's thumb in Maya's mouth and his jaw just a little bit slack. They jump apart when Mr. White clears his throat, one eyebrow quirked.
"That's a safety hazard," he scolds, fidgeting with his clipboard. Lucas gets the feeling that he's the slightest bit uncomfortable with their physicality and doesn't know any other way to discourage it.
"Sorry, Mr. White," Maya responds coolly. If it weren't for the fact that she were eyeing Lucas like a predator stalking their prey, Lucas would think she was actually sincere. "Huckleberry here is just too tasty for his own good."
Lucas's jaw drops in time for Mr. White to choke on his own spit, and it's really no surprise when he writes them both detention slips.
(It is a surprise, however, when Lucas realizes Riley has stopped by to deliver a memo from the office and is now regarding them both with a curious tilt of her head.)
Maya beats him to the detention room (either due to vampire speed or her familiarity with the route), so when he finally joins her, she's already sketching in her notebook. It strikes him then that he hasn't seen her drawing or painting even once since this whole debacle began. If this is the first time she's indulged herself, he hopes it spells out something like emotional recuperation.
Not wanting to disturb her concentration, Lucas silently deposits himself in the seat behind her and waits for detention to begin.
Mr. Matthews arrives a couple minutes later as the detention proctor, and though he tries to muffle his surprise at their presences, Lucas doesn't miss the rise of his eyebrows as he sets eyes on them.
Perhaps Matthews has the same thought that Lucas does in regards to Maya's drawing habits, because he excuses himself shortly after with the quiet command, "Don't misbehave. I'll be in and out to check on you."
Lucas lasts about five minutes before curiosity gets the better of him, and it's as he's attempting to stealthily lean forward in his chair and peak at Maya's drawing that she says, "Lucas, even if you weren't being completely unsubtle, I'd still be able to hear you shifting."
"Sorry," he responds on instinct, feeling properly chastised and slumping in his seat. To his surprise, Maya swivels in her chair and places her notebook on his desk.
"I'm just doodling," she shrugs in explanation. "You can watch."
Now with a clear view, Lucas realizes Maya is sketching out the view of the school from their perch on the bleachers entirely from memory. He follows the path of her pencil as she fills in hordes of people, each of them blurry with movement, their features indistinguishable.
After a while, his gaze catches on Maya's tongue swiping along her lip as she draws. He begins tracing her features, from her furrowed eyebrows to her hollowed out cheeks, and when she huffs out a breath of air, he finds himself smiling.
"I should draw a self-portrait so you have something to stare at when I'm not around, Cowboy," she teases.
Though his cheeks warm at the feeling of being caught, he finds that he can't produce a comment worthy of their usual verbal sparring. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady as he lowly admits, "As talented as you are, I'm not sure it could compare to the real thing."
The responding expression on her face holds all the markings of a blush without the actual accompanying hue, but she's too stubborn to let him enjoy the full effect, biting back what he knows is a growing smile.
"That's only because I wouldn't be able to properly concentrate, what with all your staring." She scrunches her nose, twirling her pencil as she meets his eyes.
This heavy-handed flirting isn't exactly new territory, but it is something that hasn't resurfaced since their relationship shifted into the gray space it's in now. His heart pounds out a nervous rhythm in his chest, something he's sure Maya can hear.
Taking a chance, he hums and taps her notebook with his index finger.
"What can I say?" he grins. "I like art."
Maya texts him before school the next day to warn him that she won't be there on account of the fact that her mother has cashed in on promised mother-daughter bonding time.
Her absence leaves Lucas to attend classes solo, to pay attention during Biology, to remain in the cafeteria during lunch time – it should be ordinary, but without her, the silence is an unwelcome pest, buzzing in his ears and coloring the entire day in monochrome. Even Billy notes that his mood is uncharacteristically morose and that, perhaps, he's unhealthily codependent on Maya. Lucas doesn't know how to tell Billy that he might be right, so he just shrugs and carries on with his schedule.
He's busy piling his books into his locker at the end of the day when he hears a throat being cleared. With furrowed brows, he spins on his heel and is utterly shocked to find Riley waiting expectantly.
Other than her slight fidgeting with the binder in her hands, she remains completely still and at a safe distance from him. It's a physical canyon that he can't quite breach, and it reminds him acutely of the trench that had widened between them in the days that Maya and Riley were both still fond of Lucas. He remembers how Maya and Riley's relationship had silently fallen apart, years of unspoken words working like water on rocks and eroding their foundation. He's not vain enough to believe it was his fault, but he's not naïve enough to deny that he was the catalyst, either.
"Hey," he greets, awkwardly offering something of a half-smile.
Riley remains stoic before taking a deep breath, seemingly bulking herself up for the confrontation.
"There's something going on with Maya, isn't there?" she starts. She doesn't wait for him to respond before continuing, "There's been something going on with Maya for a while now. Is she okay?"
Lucas swallows, remembers how important Riley once was to Maya. How important she probably still is.
"You should ask her," he suggests kindly.
Riley sighs. "You know Maya. She's stubborn."
"Which is why you should ask her," he emphasizes, gesturing from Riley to the empty space that Maya should be occupying.
After biting her lip for a long moment, Riley nods her head. "Okay," she says, steeling herself. "I will."
Lucas smiles softly before returning to his locker, but when a moment has passed and Riley is still standing there, he turns back to her.
"She's happier with you, you know?" Riley asks, her face wrought with contemplation. "A little brighter than she was."
He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything.
Maya slides through his window later that night to find him lounging in his bed, struggling to focus on the book in his hand.
Without preamble, she announces, "You'd think being a vampire would mean I could get out of mother-daughter bonding excursions."
Finally with an excuse to procrastinate, he tosses his book aside. "You could compel her," he proposes, already predicting the answer.
"You know I would never." It fulfills his expectations.
As she approaches, Lucas shifts towards the foot of the bed and cranes his neck to the side in preparation. Maya's eyebrows knit together in response. "That's not the only reason I came here."
With a nod and an even disposition, Lucas says, "I know."
And it's true; he knows that she's here because she missed him, and he knows this because he missed her in the very same way. To him, her absence had been a phantom limb, something he felt in the spaces between his fingers and the room in his chest that she'd hollowed out just for herself. He believes that he sees the longing he feels reflected in her eyes.
Maya purses her lips before settling in his lap, straddling him. "I can't tell if you're becoming smooth or cocky," she contemplates. It pulls the corners of his lips upwards.
"Which would you prefer?" His fingertips ghost along the contour of her spine.
"Silent," she quips, already threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and holding his skull wayward. He obliges her request, though not entirely of his own volition – his breath catches when her lips skid along the skin of his neck, his veins engorging with blood as if his body already knows what's coming.
When her teeth finally sink into him, the breath that had been trapped in his lungs finds an escape route. She draws long sips that stammer his heart, rushing every milliliter of blood towards the wound she's created.
The lightheadedness returns with a vengeance, and it's as his head lulls towards her shoulder that their chests press together, creating a soundboard for the pounding of his heart. It feels like it could break through his bones, like it's trying to find its home buried in her silent chest instead of his. The feeling only intensifies with time and the inching of her fingernails along his spine, transforming into a cool burn that spreads downwards until he realizes his blood is rushing in an entirely new direction.
His hands tighten against her hips, a result of his trepidation, but it only draws a low mewl from her throat. Left with a fresh wave of euphoria, he attempts to shift her in his lap, but that, too, incites friction and fire in him.
If asked later, he'll claim the sensations were too overwhelming to properly contemplate his next move. Because it is in that moment that he hooks a fingertip in the collar of her shirt, trailing the material along her shoulder until there is an expanse of skin to place his lips.
In her surprise, she loses contact with his blood flow and stutters his name, the syllables catching in the wisps of her breath.
All he can think to do is roll them over, pressing her into the mattress and his lips into hers.
Her fingertips tighten against his skull.
There are probably words that could be used to define the boundaries of their constantly evolving relationship, but Lucas and Maya never exchange them. They simply grow into the next stage, the need to show physical affection spilling out of Lucas's reaching hands and Maya's pouting lips.
She still drags him into closets, though now with the intention of making out between classes far more often than with the need for a snack. When they do finally stumble along to class, smiles wide as ever and eyes bright with mischief, their physicality bleeds into their everyday routine. Sometimes Maya will curl her foot around Lucas's ankle during Biology, or Lucas will rest his hand at the small of her back while walking to Pre-Calculus.
It is during History that Maya continues to rest her elbow on Lucas's desk, and it is during History that Lucas decides to lean forward, graze his arm along her own, and grasp her knuckles with his curled fingers.
There is a moment after his adjustment that Lucas holds his breath as if waiting for something devastating to come crashing down. Instead, Maya stretches her fingers and catches his own in the spaces she's created. A slow exhale finds its way out of his mouth, leaving his lips curled in a smile.
And then Missy Bradford scoffs and, now armed with their attention, makes a gagging motion.
Maya opens her mouth, and Lucas can see the venom lining the downturn of her brows. Before she can bite back, however, another, kinder voice pipes up.
"I think they're sweet."
It's slightly more than a sigh, but everyone – including Mr. Matthews – turns at the noise. All eyes rest on Riley. A small smile paints her features as her eyes flick from Missy to Maya, and Lucas follows the movement to gauge Maya's expression. There's shock, but there's also a softness edging in the twitch of her brows. It must communicate her gratitude, because then Riley's nodding and Mr. Matthews is returning to his lesson.
After class, when Maya and Lucas have stood, re-clasped hands, and are making their way towards the exit, Riley once more stops them in their tracks.
"Maya, can I talk to you?" she requests, hands knitted tightly in front of her.
Maya shoots Lucas an unsure expression, but he only nods encouragingly in response, squeezing her hand.
She bites her lip before answering, "Yeah, that'd be nice."
And Lucas leaves them to it, brushing his thumb against Maya's knuckles once in reassurance before he steps outside.
There is a part of him that hopes to see Maya pop up in his room that afternoon, but it is superseded by the part of him that is well aware she will need her space after an almost assuredly emotionally draining conversation. For this reason, he allows himself to pass out at an early hour with the full expectation that he'll be able to talk to Maya the next day.
Instead, he is woken by a human-shaped ice block molding itself against his form in the middle of the night.
"Maya?" he asks, squinting before finally registering that she is not only already under his covers but has also managed to line her entire body on top of his completely without him noticing.
"Talked to Riley for a couple hours today," she tells him with a shrug, displaying her best impression of nonchalance.
Still groggy, Lucas pokes her side. "Did she tell you to suffocate me in my sleep?"
With a roll of her eyes and a roll away from him, Maya scoffs, "No."
He suddenly misses the slight weight of his little ice cube, so he makes amends by reaching for her hand. Softly this time, "How did it go?"
Her eyes remain trained on his ceiling, so he traces her profile with his gaze.
"We're going to try to be friends again. We missed each other. All that stuff," she whispers.
"Did you tell her about…?" He hesitates.
"No," she shakes her head. At his silence, she elaborates, "But I might. Eventually."
He nods, offering her a smile she might catch out of the corner of her eye. "I'm proud of you."
She squeezes his hand before falling silent, and Lucas is halfway asleep before she speaks again.
"Lucas?"
All he can manage is a mumbled "Yeah?"
"Have I ever thanked you?"
The ghost of remembrance tilts his lips into a smile. He shakes his head before deciding, "No."
When he opens his eyes, Maya is watching him with amusement.
"Well," she clears her throat. Her eyes shine with merriment and a tinge of adoration. "Thank you. You know, for helping, and understanding, and… everything."
His smile overtakes his entire face when he responds, "You're welcome." And then he's rolling into her, curling himself around her and burying his face against her ear.
"And… you're freezing."
Her laughter jingles in his chest.
He's waiting in line for lunch one day when he's unceremoniously swept away by a hand on his wrist, and before he knows it, Maya's already towed him halfway to the football bleachers.
"I haven't eaten lunch yet," he hints, but he's trudging along behind her without much of a fight.
"Me neither," she teases, flashing her fangs. Lucas rolls his eyes even as he laughs.
"I thought you were supposed to eat lunch with Riley."
Maya shrugs. "Got postponed until tomorrow because Farkle's having a science project emergency."
"What does that have to do with Riley?" At Maya's raised eyebrows, it suddenly clicks into place. "Are they together now?"
"Don't know," she breezes, finally reaching the bleachers and promptly dragging him under them. A moment more and he's caught between a pole at his back and a Maya pressed against the length of his body. "But you know what should be together right now?"
Lucas can only grin, eyes dancing. "I could give it a guess," he plays along.
It's as she's formulating her next snarky response that he ducks down, catching her lips in a lingering kiss that both answers the question and renders it forgotten.
When they break apart, her eyebrows are furrowed and her eyes are focused on his chest. "I'm blaming the heightened senses, because I do not remember being this attracted to you when I was a human."
A startled laugh bursts from his lips. "Yeah, I wasn't this attracted to you when you were a human either," he shoots back, bemused.
She smirks dangerously, eyes flicking up to meet his as she stretches against him. It's downright feline.
"What are you, a vampire groupie?" It should be teasing, but she's trailing a fingernail down the divot of his chest and his breath is catching in his lungs.
"Definitely," he manages, and then he smears her smirk with his own.
He supposes he deserves it when she responds by nipping at his lower lip until there's a drop of blood to gather with her tongue.
Being that he can never quite catch her off guard, it's a bit surreal when he crawls through her window later that afternoon only to find her with her back to him, clutching a letter that is still halfway sitting in its opened envelope.
As he approaches, he curiously peeks over her shoulder. The floor creaks beneath his foot and Maya whirls, hands tucked behind her back and eyes wide with panic.
"Hey!" she greets, falsely cheerful and stealthily backing away.
"Nuh-uh." He points. "What's that?"
"Nothing," she insists. And Lucas knows she hates to be pushed, but she's vibrating with a strange mixture of nervousness and trepidation that sets alarm bells off in his head, and he can't help the wave of worry flooding his chest.
"Alright," he shrugs, feigning disinterest. When he figures she's lowered her guard, he snatches for the papers behind her back. To his surprise, his fingers meet only air and Maya's halfway across the room in the blink of an eye.
He watches her with disgruntlement, mumbling, "No fair. You have vamp speed."
She quirks an eyebrow. "You just tried to fake me out and I'm unfair?"
With a pout, Lucas nods. Maya laughs at that, good nature softening her features.
"If I show you this," she bites her lip, "You have to promise to reign in your reaction."
Confusion knits his brows together. "I don't get it."
"Just," she pauses, appears before him like a rush of wind. "Try not to be too excited or too disappointed."
In his confusion and eagerness, he grabs for the offered paper and is once more met with her retracting it at lightning speed.
"Maya!" he protests, but she shakes her head.
"You have to promise!"
"I don't even understand why I'm promising!" he says instead, reaching again and again to no avail.
Finally, exasperated, Lucas grasps Maya's cheeks and dives in for a kiss. He waits until she's properly distracted before snatching the paper successfully and spinning away to read it.
"No fair," she mumbles from behind him.
"Now we're even," he claims, eyes hastily scanning the letter before him. It's the results from an art competition that Maya has apparently entered herself in. Incredibly but certainly not unexpectedly, she's won.
"Maya," he starts with a neutral voice. "Did you finish reading this yet?"
He can hear the tremor in her voice and the tap of her shoe when she responds. "No."
With an uncontrollable grin, he twirls back towards her. There are three stages to her expression: first, anxiety, because she has not yet registered the look on his face; second, shock, because she clearly does not understand how talented she is; and third, elation, because achieving great things does that to people.
"Huckleberry, I told you to keep your reaction under control!" she scolds, but her voice is high and she's launching herself into his arms, so the effect is about 200% less threatening than she had probably been aiming for.
"Why didn't you tell me you entered?" he demands, spinning her in a circle anyway.
She shrugs against him. "I didn't want us both to have to be disappointed if nothing came of it."
When he pulls back, he registers the furrow of her brow and the darkness still lingering there. But there is also hope in her eyes and it's tethered to her soul, and he marvels at the complexity and strength that keeps this small woman upright.
And he loves her so much it lights his own soul on fire.
Later, when Maya's substituting Lucas's body for a mattress and has nestled her head contentedly against his chest, Lucas can still feel his love for her like a tangible thing. It radiates from his skin and climbs his tongue, forming words that cling to his teeth. He swallows and swallows until his mouth is dry, but the words are still there, itching and filling out his cheeks until-
"Maya," he starts.
She shushes him, swatting at his hand and then leaving her own resting there.
"What?" he asks, amused and incredulous all at once.
"I'm listening to your heartbeat," she explains matter-of-factly, as if he should've known all along, as if this is her favorite pastime.
He waits a beat or two, breathing deeply enough that her head is forced to rise and fall with the movement of his chest.
Finally, "Why?"
"Because I don't have one, but listening to yours makes me feel like I do."
The words fracture in her mouth even as she carefully whispers them.
He wants to tell her that his heart is hers for the taking. That he's loved her longer than he can remember and he will love her until memories are nothing more than stories born of nostalgia and warped by time.
Instead, he opens his mouth but the only sound in the room comes from hers.
"What are we going to do, Lucas?" she sighs and laces their fingers together.
His eyebrows draw together so closely that his forehead creases.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," she says, propping her chin on his chest and meeting his eyes worriedly, "that you will age and grow and mature, and I will always be this. Eighteen. Forever."
The air is stifling, but he would do anything to wipe the anxiety from her face. So he ventures a joke, hopefulness heightening the timbre of his voice. "At least you'll be legal?"
"Maybe a bit of maturing would be a good thing," she remarks wryly, raising an eyebrow at him. "And, anyway, that's all fine and dandy until you're the J. Howard Marshall to my Anna Nicole Smith."
"The what to your who?"
With a roll of her eyes, she clarifies, "The geriatric pervert to my perma-youth."
"Oh," he breathes, fanning her wayward hair. He's not sure how to find the words to fix what's broken.
"I'm not saying I want to spend the rest of your life with you, or whatever." Defensiveness creeps into her tone, pushing her words along hurriedly. "I'm just saying- I don't know." Her eyes are searching, but she's deflating. "Forget that I said anything."
Her presence is suddenly a heavy weight on his lungs, so he cups her cheek and holds her gaze before she can retreat into herself.
"Hey," he cajoles. "We have a couple of years to figure it out, don't we?"
When she nods and bites her lip, the storm clouds clearing from her irises, he smiles and keeps the words that started this ordeal to himself.
Though she never veers from their established routine, she's distant for the next couple of days. It's a small shift, a millimeter of space between them that wasn't there before.
Lucas takes it in stride, understanding inherently that she's worrying and needs time to turn things over in her brain. That is, until Friday hits and he decides time enough has passed.
He starts by hiding out in their favored janitor's closet and waiting until he knows she's passing by on her way to P.E. Periodically peeking out of a crack in the door, he's able to spot her before she spots him and then drag her through the doorway with absolutely no resistance.
"Ranger Rick," she greets, crossing her arms and folding her lower lip under her teeth.
"Shortstack," he returns with a nod.
When he doesn't elaborate further, she flicks her gaze searchingly along their surroundings.
"Is there a reason we're not making out yet?" There's flirtation, but there's anxiety as well.
"Yes," he smiles, taking a step forward and reveling in the calming effect it has on Maya's posture.
As soon as he's close enough, he frames her face with his palms and presses a long kiss to her forehead. And then he pecks her temple, her right eyelid as it flutters closed, and the bridge of her nose. He ends by pulling her into a hug and resting his chin atop her head.
It's silent for ten beats of his heart.
"I don't know what's happening," Maya mutters, shattering the spell with a voice that is soft, confused, but ultimately touched.
"I'm melting your icy heart," Lucas boasts in return.
She scoffs against him and pinches his back. His smile widens.
There is a comforting isolation in the quiet and the darkness and the fact that he's relying on the feel of her against him to know that she's really there. It feels safe, and that safety unlocks the truth buried in his heart.
"I love you," he says. Finally. It's like coming up for air after too long underwater.
"Lucas…" Her voice is a warning sign, but it's broken.
"I love you," he reaffirms. The words tumble easily now, begging to be repeated until they stick in her head.
A long sigh is his answer. A nuzzling of her face into the crook of his neck is the follow-up.
And then: "I love you, too."
His heart thumps an extra beat that is just for her, pumping blood that is hers as well. Everything is hers.
It's his fault. He swears that it's his fault.
He'd taunted her that morning with lingering kisses, tilting his head in inspection as webs of veins had uncontrollably spun out from her eyelids.
"How does it not freak you out when my face does this?" she'd asked, words just a tad slurred by the appearance of her fangs.
His hands had cupped her face then, and he'd tapped her fangs with the pads of his thumbs.
"Because it's still you," he'd said. "You're still under there."
And when her eyebrows had risen and her jaw had gone slack, he'd smiled and added, "Plus you're kind of cute with fangs."
She'd rolled her eyes and shoved him away only for him to come swaying back, his feet firmly planted in place.
The next time he spoke, he was genuinely concerned. "Are you hungry?"
Maya had shrugged, but when he crooked his neck, she shook her head.
"Maybe that's not such a good idea."
His eyebrows had furrowed in confusion because he'd already lost count of the amount of times they'd done this. "Why?"
"It's just…" she'd bit her lip then, and he'd been distracted for the length of the lull in conversation. When she'd finally finished her thought, he'd noted that her eyes were fixed on her shoes. "It gets harder to stop every time we do. Haven't you… noticed?"
Forced to think about it, he couldn't help but admit that she was right. Each successive encounter had been more intense, easier to get lost in and more difficult to force an end to. Thankfully, Maya had always come to her senses before Lucas could pass out.
He'd swallowed. "Why do you think that is?"
Her voice had been shaky when she'd confirmed what he could only suspect. "Feelings," she'd ventured, waving vaguely. "I think they're complicating it."
He'd nodded in acceptance. "Maybe we'll have to stop," he'd suggested, waiting only a beat before adding with a small smile, "After today."
"Lucas," she'd started, but he'd wiggled a finger at her.
"No arguments. You're hungry and you know how miserable you get when you're hungry."
She'd considered his words for a moment, a long sigh hissing between her teeth when she finally relented.
Of course, controlling herself was easier said than done.
The moment she'd bitten into him, they'd both collapsed into the feel of it. Lucas had slumped against her as she shoved him into a wall, his head lazily strewn sideways in the palm of her hand.
It wasn't until his vision began to blacken at the edges that he realized they were reaching the point of no return, Maya still hungrily ravaging his neck.
He'd tried calling out to her, nudging her with jabbing fingers, kicking at her shin when desperation had clutched him like a vice around his heart.
One last push and an accompanying screech, and suddenly Maya had detached herself and backed into an opposite corner of the room.
She'd watched him crumple to the ground with horror-stricken eyes, her hand finding her mouth to muffle a dry sob.
In a flash, she was at his side and shoving her bitten wrist into his mouth, encouraging him to drink until he could see clearly once more and his legs no longer felt like the physical embodiment of white noise.
"I'm so sorry," she'd sworn, fingers brushing aside the strands of hair that had fallen onto his forehead.
God help him, Lucas would've done anything to erase the worry lines from her forehead. So he'd stood on unsteady feet and promised he was fine, kissing her forehead and checking his watch as an excuse to stumble away to class.
He'd kept up the ruse through every class, through a brief interim in the lunch room, and all the way until basketball practice, swearing to Maya at every turn that he was fine and there were no side effects to her mistake.
Unfortunately, every bounce of the ball against the gym floor had been another pounding against his skull, torturing him until he could no longer focus on pretending to be okay. Even wandering over to the water table on the sidelines and leaning his body against a stable surface hadn't helped.
That's why he's been here for a full five minutes, questioning every choice he's made today and resisting the swimming in his head and the rush of blood in his ears. Eventually, the coach calls to him and demands that he return to practice.
When he finally lets go of the tabletop and stumbles to the ground, he has just the one thought.
It's all his fault.
Lucas wakes to a dull throb still present somewhere in the back of his head, too bright lights overhead and a solid surface below him.
He's in the nurse's office, and he's barely awake for thirty seconds when he hears Maya's voice loud and clear.
"Is the dumbass cowboy awake yet?"
It's enough to make him chuckle, alerting her to his presence and inspiring her to march straight to his bedside.
"Hey," she grins, clearly relieved in spite of her irked tone earlier.
"Hi," he returns. He's only allowed to smile back at her for a single moment before her eyebrows are furrowing.
"How do you feel?"
"Fine now," he promises. This time, he's being honest.
"Good," she says before promptly slapping him on the chest. "Dumbass."
He's quick to rub at the spot, though it's not really sore, and protest, "Hey!"
"Why did you lie to me about feeling okay?" she demands. Concern still lines the divots of her face, but there's anger flaring in her eyes.
He suddenly feels like he's broken something fragile, like there are shards of glass gathering like thorns in his palms. It causes him to swallow and whisper, "I-I'm sorry."
She only rolls her eyes and smacks him again. "Don't apologize."
His lips turn down at that, silence falling for a moment too long. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do next," he admits.
"Promise that you will be honest and tell me when things are wrong?" she prompts, eyebrows high on her forehead and voice slow so he'll understand.
"I promise," he nods.
"And stop being such an idiot," she adds, sighing long and hard.
He actually laughs at that. "I can only try."
The pads of her fingers trace his cheekbone then, coming to rest against his jaw as she leans close so no one else can hear.
"I'm so sorry I did this to you," she confesses. Her eyes are busy roaming his face for injuries.
"It's my f-" he starts, but her gaze is quick to snap to his in a glare. He clears his throat. "I forgive you," he says instead.
She hums at him before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. When she leans back, ignoring his attempt to keep her there, she calls back to the nurse.
"Cowboy's fine. Can I take him home?"
"Only if you agree to treat him with kindness and stop calling him a 'dumbass,'" the nurse returns, walking into the room with her hands folded in front of her.
Lucas smirks at Maya's irritation.
She practically hauls him to his apartment, depositing him on the bed and then carefully lying beside him. They're not touching at first, a problem that Lucas quickly remedies by rolling towards her and nuzzling his head against her chest. Her fingers tangle in his hair on pure instinct, stroking the strands in a careful rhythm that pulls him into a precarious sleep.
When he wakes again, the sun has already been replaced by the orange glow of a street lamp just outside his window. He groans, eyebrows furrowing as he realizes Maya's fingernails are still tracing patterns against his skull.
"Maybe I should leave," she whispers, words contemplative and hollow in an unnerving way.
"I guess it's late?" Lucas ventures. His voice is still groggy, reflecting the fuzzy state of his mind.
"No," she chuckles mirthlessly. "Maybe I should… leave. Edward Cullen style."
It is in this moment that Lucas realizes the mistake he's made. While he had slumbered in peaceful obliviousness, Maya had worried. She'd turned the events of the day over in her head, felt the full force of her guilt and Lucas's deception, and stewed in that pot of emotions. He should've tried to thwart it.
With an uneasy gulp, Lucas responds, "No, no… We already agreed that we wouldn't do the biting thing anymore. I'm not in danger. This is fine."
He taps her wrist with his fingers as if such a physical thing could reassure her, but Maya's still staring out the window with a faraway gaze.
"Except for the part where I've spent as much time fantasizing about biting you again as I have convincing myself not to."
It's a quiet admittance, full of guilt and self-hatred.
Lucas props himself up by the elbow then, one finger hooking under her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes.
"But you didn't," he insists. "You're strong enough."
"But you aren't," she returns, eyes impassioned. "You're not strong enough to fight me off if I mess up again."
"What do you mean?" He's becoming desperate now, a nervous flitting tickling his ribcage.
"I held your life in my hands today, Lucas. And I almost crushed it."
"So don't mess up again!" he resolves. But it's not enough, because Maya is speaking again before he can finish the sentiment.
"And then what, Lucas? Just control myself until we inevitably call it quits?" Her voice is rising in pitch and volume, her body curling back into his mattress and away from him.
He maintains a low tone in spite of her. "We said we had a couple of years to figure it out."
"Maybe," she shrugs. "But it'll hurt more. At least if we end it now we can... save ourselves some heartache."
She's already shrapnel in his system, embedded in his heart and flowing through his veins. He can't imagine anything more painful than the twisting he feels at her attempts to extract herself.
"I'm not ready yet," he says instead, pleading with her. Her eyes flutter closed at whatever she sees painted on his face, but when he cups her cheek, she opens them again.
"Yeah," she smiles sadly. "I don't think I'm strong enough to leave you anyway. Relax, Huckleberry."
It's too late; he's wound too tightly now, coiled like a spring around her. He repurposes that anguish into a kiss, feels it reflected in her responding lips and roaming hands.
He finds her talking to Riley in the hallway some days later, both of them full of a lightness and a happiness that he hasn't seen in Maya for at least a week.
Lucas hesitates before approaching, the palm of his hand skimming against Maya's back as he smiles at Riley unsurely. Her returning grin is kind and bright, and it immediately sets him at ease.
"Told you Hopalong follows me everywhere," Maya boasts, leaning into his hand and flashing him a teasing glance.
"Oh, I follow you everywhere?" he asks, eyebrows rising high on his forehead.
Maya scrunches her nose. "Like a stalker."
Riley laughs at them, but their moment isn't that easily interrupted.
"Well, I guess I'll have to remedy that misinterpretation," he mock scowls. Then he turns on his heel, making like he's about to desert the both of them. Maya catches him by the collar, however, pulling him in so close that their noses almost touch.
He smirks. "Didn't you just call me a stalker?" His voice is low but sweet, something meant just for Maya.
"Yes," she confirms. She bites her lip briefly before finishing, "But what's Mary without her little lamb?"
His comeback is on the tip of his tongue, but Riley beats him to it.
"Alright, you two." She's pretending to be stern with them. "Don't forget to sit with the rest of us at lunch."
Before either of them can agree or argue, she makes her exit.
"We're eating lunch with the gang?" Lucas asks as Maya extricates her grip and runs her hands through her hair.
"What is this, The Outsiders?" she teases, but he only offers a small smile as he stares. "Yeah, we're eating with Riley and Farkle and Zay today."
The thought that she's actively dismantling the island of isolation they've created for the two of them crosses his mind, but he doesn't comment. He simply embraces her in a hug, mumbling "Okay" into her ear as he backs her against a locker.
She pokes at his side. "What's up with all this hugging lately? We used to be the hot couple that made out all the time."
A patient sigh falls from his lips as he backs off enough to meet her eyes. "You want me to stop?"
"I didn't say that," she rolls her eyes, running her thumb over his lower lip. "Just curious."
He shrugs in response. "I just like knowing you're still here," he mumbles, the truth of it making him humble.
Maya's gaze turns soft then, her thumb pressing against his chin in a prompt for him to meet her eyes. "I told you I wasn't going anywhere," she whispers.
Her eyes are clear and the curve of her mouth is gentle, so Lucas smiles in response.
"I know. I remember."
Lunch starts out as a joyous affair. Everyone's reunited, there are old inside jokes cropping up, and Zay only complains about being a fifth wheel twice.
It takes a sharp turn halfway through, as these things tend to do. Somewhere between Farkle's announcement that he's following Riley to Yale and Zay's boasting that he's heading to Texas A&M, Maya checks out of the conversation. She's only brought back by Riley's harmless curiosity in the form of a question about what her plans are.
Lucas sees Maya shifting in her seat in response, so he places a comforting hand on her knee, where no one else can see. With her gaze on him, everyone follows suit.
He clears his throat. "We," he starts, locking eyes with Maya, "haven't decided yet."
When she nods, conversation naturally recommences within the group. Maya remains quiet for most of it, and Lucas realizes her earlier lift in spirits was just a flash in the pan.
He crawls through Maya's window later that night to find her at her easel, violently slashing her paintbrush at the canvas until it's bleeding with deep reds and purples.
"So lunch was..."
She scoffs at his incomplete sentence, stabbing at the canvas once for good measure.
"College was already dubious, something I'd probably miss out on because there's not enough money to go around. But if you think about it, I have zero plans for the future. None. Not for eight months from now and certainly not for the rest of eternity." With a toss of her paintbrush, she spins wildly towards him. He's an eyewitness to her storm.
"And don't come any closer," she warns, halting his careful approach. "I'm fucking starving and I can hear the blood rushing in your veins."
His responding gulp is audible. For a moment, he can feel her hands on him, restricting him and leaving him helpless as she drains the life from him. He blinks the memory away with a twinge of guilt.
"Maya," he starts, honing in on the easiest complaint to tackle. "You don't have to have college figured out already. There's time."
Her frown only deepens. "It just feels like we're constantly pushing things aside for later."
"That's because it's only December," he placates, once more approaching her. This time, however, his hands are held up in calculated surrender. "I can help you look into schools and scholarships and loans, if you want."
"I don't know what good it'll do," she mumbles. Her eyes are downcast and her arms are crossed tightly, and all Lucas wants to do is erase her stress.
"You won't know until you try," he quips.
She rolls her eyes. "Fortune cookie."
With a soft smile, he comes to a stop in front of her. His hands curve around her elbows, thumbs stroking her skin in a soothing pattern.
"As for the hunger," he starts, remembering the blood bank he'd raided for her once or twice. "Maybe we can work something out. I'm volunteering at the animal hospital tomorrow. Think you can stop by?"
Where the curve of her lips had previously been strained, it suddenly softens and melts. Her eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief.
"Yeah," she says. "I think I will."
Maya hasn't yet reached the angry stage of her hunger cycle, so the next day is cloaked in nothing more than quiet moodiness. Lucas does his best to indulge her, hovering without touching and watching without speaking.
He has basketball practice before his volunteer work, and it forces him to part from Maya for a good two hours. He leaves her with a kiss on the forehead and a "Promise not to bite anyone's head off while I'm not around!" She leaves him with an eye roll and an enthusiastic middle finger.
It's twenty minutes into his shift at the hospital when she makes her reappearance, bouncing into the waiting room with her oversized art bag slung over one shoulder.
He taps his fingers against the desk in contemplation. "You're in a better mood," he remarks, somewhere between hopeful and suspicious.
Her mouth pulls up at the corners, but instead of responding right away, she bounds right up to the desk and grapples the back of his neck so she can plant a sloppy kiss on his lips.
Afterwards, she smirks at his dumbfounded expression. "Hung out with Riley and painted this afternoon," she explains, "Very therapeutic."
"That's it?"
"And I realized you invited me to your work, which is basically inviting me to see how much you can get away with before you're fired," she shrugs, clapping her hands on his shoulders.
"Maya…" he warns.
"I know, I know. You're going to tell me to let you do all the work fetching the you-know-what while I wait here," she supplies.
His nod is slow, careful. "I know you have speed and all that, but this is my job. And I've done it before."
Before she can respond, they're interrupted by Lucas's boss calling his name. He throws Maya a pleading glance before he leaves, and though she mimes a cross over her heart, the thought still lingers in his mind that she's up to no good. He blames the uncanny sparkle in her eye.
To his surprise, he returns from helping a vet administer shots to a shaking poodle and finds Maya sitting in the chair closest to his desk, drawing in her sketchpad and humming underneath her breath. When she glances up at him, her foot tapping to the beat of her little song, Lucas offers a pleased smile. She scrunches her nose.
Maya keeps him company for the rest of his shift, sitting patiently even as he's continually called to the back or tasked with organizing files and answering the phone. On one of his errands, he finds his opportunity to sneak into the blood bank and swipe two bags. They're tucked into the back of his pants when his shift finally ends, and as he approaches Maya, her eyes light with recognition.
"Time to go," he announces, voice cracking because Maya already has her thumbs dipping into his waistband.
"Already?" she asks. She's fiddling with the material of his pants.
"Already," he confirms distractedly. He has to pry her hands away in order to focus. "You were very patient, by the way."
Maya shrugs. "Practicing for eternity."
As she spins away, finally allowing him the freedom to follow her out of the office, she adds, "There's a party Friday. Wanna go?"
"Are you asking me out on a date?" he mock scoffs, hand over his heart.
"I'm going to have to rescind my invitation if you're gonna act lame," she quips.
Lucas feigns offense. "After everything I've done for you."
"You're such a loser," she grins. "Are we going or not?"
He opens the door for her. "Well, someone has to operate as your moral compass for the night."
"I'm going to leave you at the keg."
As it turns out, she wasn't exactly lying.
They arrive at the party purposefully late, making a beeline for the alcohol as soon as they step inside. The moment Lucas finishes handing Maya a newly-full red solo cup, however, she's swept away by a squealing Riley. Farkle gets left behind in the exchange, so the two of them spend the next hour chatting in the vicinity of the beer keg, waiting for their dates to return.
When they finally do, they're stumbling and giggling and attached at the hip. The moment they spot Lucas and Farkle, however, they launch into their respective boyfriends' arms, sloshing beer cups be damned.
Lucas's palm frames Maya's jaw carefully so he can inspect her drooping eyes. "How much did you have to drink to get to this point?"
She furrows her eyebrows. "Twice as much as human me would've had to," she explains quietly, and just then Riley turns in Farkle's arms and points.
"You guys should've seen Maya! She chugged a beer bong. She drank Billy under a table!" Riley proclaims, cheerily oblivious.
"And she talked you into joining her," Lucas surmises, his smile bemused but patient nevertheless.
Riley nods, but the movement seems to disorient her. "I think I might be sick," she tells Farkle.
With a silent glance Lucas's way, Farkle leads Riley to the bathroom. Just before the two are out of earshot, Lucas hears Farkle promise to hold Riley's hair back.
Lucas scrunches his nose at Maya, who is distractedly tracing the line of his jaw with her fingernail. "You're not going to get sick and vomit up blood, are you?"
Maya only shrugs. "Don't feel sick yet."
"Great," he sighs, ready to haul her to a stool in the kitchen. She straightens in his arms instead, suddenly in full control of herself.
"And I'm not that far gone," she promises. "Just tipsy. And happier for it."
He realizes then that she may have been feigning her state so as to not raise Riley's suspicions, and it warms something inside of him to know that they still have this secret that's just theirs.
"Well," he says, gauging the kind smirk on her face and the softness of her facial features, like she's finally relaxed. "You invited me to a party and then ditched me for most of it. I think you owe me a dance."
"As long as it's not a square dance," she smiles, already pulling him towards the speakers.
Later, when his brain is fuzzy from alcohol and his skin is slick with sweat from dancing, Lucas finds himself backing Maya against a wall in the hall. His head droops as he curls himself around her, his forehead resting in the juncture of her neck.
"I had no idea one person could sweat this much," she remarks dryly, hands raking through his unruly hair. Though she has definitely drunk more than he has, she's still slightly more sober. Vampire tolerance and all that.
"Does it bother you when I'm this close?" he asks curiously, finding himself without a filter.
"Not right now," she answers. Her arms wind around his neck, her head lulling to rest against his. "Not usually. Only when I'm hungry or you're bleeding."
He hums against her skin, presses a lazy kiss into her neck. With his eyes squeezed shut, the world tilts on its access, leaving him disoriented and clumsy. Maya's grip is secure though, something comforting and stable to cling to.
He doesn't know how long they stand there, holding each other in meditative silence. He only knows that it's not long enough.
It doesn't seem to matter much that it was Todd's party they had attended until Monday rolls around and basketball practice is about to start.
As usual, Maya walks with Lucas towards the locker rooms, stopping just outside to steal a quick kiss and then escape to the art room. This time, however, Lucas is not alone when she disappears.
"You dating Hart again?" Todd asks. It breaks Lucas's brief reverie, forcing him to notice that Todd's been lounging against the wall outside the locker room this whole time.
"Yup," Lucas answers, neglecting to specify that they'd been dating for a while now. Figuring the conversation should rightfully end there, he steps towards the door only to be stopped in his tracks by Todd's next words.
"She's kind of a slut, isn't she?"
Lucas's body remains still as a statue while he turns a guarded gaze to Todd's face. "What?"
"You know, she went through that partying phase and would leave with different guys every night," he prompts, pushing off from the wall. "Just seems like it might gross you out or something."
"She's over that now," Lucas responds evenly. His mouth stretches into a tight line as he represses the familiar irritation climbing his spine and leaving the hairs at the back of his neck on edge.
"You sure?" Todd responds. Though he seems to be feigning innocence, there's a sharpness to his voice that perks Lucas's ears. "'Cause Kerensky says he got her alone at the party. And Favreau claims she jumped him after practice on Wednesday."
It's not that Lucas believes Todd. It's certainly not that Lucas thinks Todd is above lying to get a rise out of him.
It's just that those two instances are the only two in recent memory when Maya legitimately could've ditched him to feed. Maybe she was hungry enough, desperate enough, moody enough. She certainly came to see him at the animal hospital with a reinvigorated spark, an air of mischief that he hadn't missed.
There's just enough doubt to swirl in his stomach, mixing with the disgust and anger until something toxic is rumbling in him. His fist shakes as he clenches it, and when Todd notices the look on his face, he actually smirks.
"Hey, man. Sorry I had to be the one to tell you," he smarms. The flash of his teeth flares the fire in Lucas's chest, and before he knows it, he's pummeling Todd into the ground.
The rush of adrenaline in his veins is a welcome familiarity, a feeling he gets lost in until his punches are nothing more than the crackling of bones in his ears.
And then there's a hand at his back, small and warm and steady. It forces him to pause, forces his eyes to zero in on muddled flesh and his ears to register the soft timbre of Maya's voice.
He hops off of Todd. The numbness sets in, and he allows Maya to haul him off to a bathroom.
He watches her cleanse his bruised knuckles with a dazed fascination. She holds his hands under tempered water until clear is polluted with red, and then she scrubs at his fingers until the red returns to clear.
When she's done and is wrapping his hands in paper towels, he glances up and registers the faint veins around her eyes. He wonders if she's been struggling this whole time and he hasn't noticed.
She must feel his gaze on her, because she suddenly demands, "You gonna tell me what that was about?"
Somehow, he finds his voice. "He called you a slut."
Maya only scoffs. "And?"
Lucas bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt to quell the suspicion and curiosity broiling inside of him, but Maya's knitted brows and cross countenance only increases their intensity.
Between her nature and the impending doom that is their relationship, it's not completely out of the question that she would purposely sabotage everything.
"You're not…" he pauses, leans towards her a bit. "You're not feeding on people again, are you?"
Her hands pause their work as her gaze catches on his. She squints. "You're not seriously asking me that."
It's not exactly an answer, so Lucas offers an equivalent shrug.
"What is up with you lately? First the fainting thing and now this. Do you not trust me or something?" Though her words are flared with anger, there's betrayal in her eyes and defensiveness in the rigid set of her shoulders. Lucas suddenly regrets picking a fight.
"It's not that," he placates, scratching the back of his neck and wincing when his knuckles protest in response. "It's just…" He searches for the words to pin down the feeling he's been experiencing, like something's encroaching on every memory they have together. "It feels like there's an expiration date hanging over us."
Unexpectedly, she bursts. "That's because there is, Lucas! We have to end at some point so you can live out the rest of your very human life."
"And what about you?" he asks, eyes scanning her face. If she were human, it would be flushed with her anger. As it is, the angles of her face only appear sharper somehow.
"What about me?"
"Are you just going to live out your days feeding on douchebags on the weekends?" he proposes, knowing full well he's bringing the argument back around.
"Oh my God, Lucas, I'm not feeding on people again!" She throws up her hands. "I stole some extra blood bags from your work when you got called away on errands that day. That's all."
"Oh," he breathes. It causes her eyebrows to rise on her forehead.
"But you're never going to get over it, are you?" she asks quietly. "You're always going to be anticipating what's around the corner."
There's something lodged in his throat now, and when he swallows, it's loud enough to echo.
This could be the end, he thinks. She could call it off now and leave him to live out the rest of his life without her, just like she'd always planned. The problem is that living without her had never quite fit into Lucas's plans. It had never quite felt right. And he thinks, after everything, he might know why.
He's silent for too long, and her eyes are brimming with tears when she follows up, "So what now?"
His hands tighten painfully against the sink as he steels himself for his next words.
"Turn me."
It takes a moment for his words to register, her eyebrows furrowing as she processes. When she finally makes sense of it, her face stretches into a scowl.
"No," she shakes her head. "Absolutely not."
"Why not?" His voice sounds desperate even to his own ears.
"Because you don't know what you're asking for, Lucas! You don't know how difficult it is to resist your animalistic instincts or to know you'll outlive everyone you love. You don't want this."
"I want you," he explains, voice rising in pitch. He steps towards her but she only backs away.
"You won't want that forever," she insists. Her arms are crossed now, her hands curving around her elbows until she's hugging herself. "You'll want a family eventually. You were meant to have a family. I can't give that to you."
Her words are needles in his heart, tugging and prodding and constricting. "I don't want a family if it's not with you," he swears.
She's crying now, tears cascading freely down her cheeks. "I can't even grow old and gray with you. We can't be seventy and in rocking chairs holding hands while the sun sets in Texas."
It's a beautiful picture, one that he's sure she's turned over in her mind a thousand times. Maybe they won't be old and gray, but it's still a possibility.
"Maya," he prods. "Let me choose this."
"No." Her voice is as stony as it was the first time. "I won't take your future away from you."
He's begun another steady approach towards her, only this time, she doesn't notice.
"What about your future?"
Maya shrugs. "This is my burden to carry."
That strikes a chord. He stops in front of her just in time to deliver his blow. "Wouldn't it lessen your burden if you weren't alone?"
"Lucas," she warns, voice shaky.
His hands find her cheeks, and when he strokes his fingers against her skin, her eyelids flutter closed.
"Tell me you'll think about it," he pleads.
She swallows and nods her head.
She lied. Of course she lied.
She's not at school the next day, not at home and not answering his texts, either. It leaves a feeling worse than rejection to expand painfully in his chest, and the feeling only grows in intensity each day that she remains missing.
On the fourth day, he realizes the feeling is hollowness.
On the fifth day, he decides to do something about it.
He starts by tracking Riley down in the hallway before class, blocking her path with a calculated step each time she attempts to evade him.
"Lucas," she greets. It's a façade of friendliness, but all he can hear is the undercurrent of anxiety.
"She told you, didn't she?" he accuses.
He's an exposed nerve, a livewire disaster waiting to happen. Riley's hesitant nod is an electrical current through his system.
In spite of the courage clenching in his fist, he has to blink back tears when he follows up, "Did she leave town?"
Riley bites her lip unsurely, her eyes scanning his face. Whatever she finds must be enough to inspire her sympathy, because she finally answers, "She's going to."
He stalks off then, either to find refuge in a bathroom or to find Todd's face with his fist.
Between the numbness and the hollowness, he decides it's okay if he spends the rest of the afternoon in bed. He doesn't exactly sleep, doesn't exactly daydream. He just stares at the ceiling and watches as light becomes shadow and shadow becomes the effervescent glow of the moon.
In a brilliant display of déjà vu, Maya appears at his window sometime in the middle of the night. Her figure is visible in his periphery, but he won't allow himself to glance her way for fear of it being a fever dream.
"I tried to leave," she announces. It's real and solid, her voice. It rings through his room and allows him to confront this reality.
He sits up, tempers the hopeful rise of his eyebrows by fixing his gaze to the ground.
"How far did you make it?" he asks.
"Grand Central Station." She scoffs at herself before approaching and kneeling before him. "I realized something."
Truthfully, he doesn't have the energy to ask what she realized. So he only watches and waits.
"I realized that I can't run away, even if I have eternity. I should at least finish out high school. Maybe go to college. All of that stuff," she shrugs nonchalantly.
So she didn't come back for him. It builds bitterness in his throat, knowing that, but he swallows it back.
"I'm glad you figured that out," he says. He wishes it didn't sound so strangled, that he could be proud of her and show it purely.
Her eyes soften and glint, and when she reaches out to hold his jaw, he lets her. "There's one other thing," she adds, and her lips have taken on a curve.
"What's that?"
"I couldn't leave you. Because I love you, and I may always love you," she whispers, pulling him in close. "But we have to take a break, Lucas. Just for a while."
"Why?" he asks, but he's already resigned himself to his fate.
She blows out a breath of air, somewhere between kind and heartbroken. "Because I couldn't leave you. Not even for your own good. And because what you've asked…. We don't even know if it's really you or what's left of my blood in your system that's talking. We don't know how any of this works."
His body sags forward with the weight of her words, his eyes falling shut as he nods. After everything, he just feels so tired.
"Okay," he whispers. If his bottom lip trembles, Maya doesn't say a thing about it.
"Forgive me?" Her voice is small, fading.
"Of course." He opens his eyes to see her relaxing with the peace his assurance brings.
They're silent for a moment then, and Lucas's breathing is slow if not steady.
"One more for the road?" he proposes, tilting his chin towards her and sliding his hands down her arms.
When she nods, he kisses her, pressing promises into her lips and breathing I love yous into her neck.
He doesn't tell her, but his heart still beats forevers against her chest.
They fall into a cycle. She spends more time with Riley and Farkle, and he spends more time with Zay and his other teammates. They don't see each other outside of school. They barely speak to each other while in school.
His world becomes her brief smiles and innocent questions during Biology and the back of her restless curls during History, but when even that isn't enough, he throws himself into school and athletics. He focuses on a version of himself that is without her, and he learns to live with the ache in his chest because he knows she'd want him to.
Before he knows it, five months have passed.
When they finally have another meaningful interaction, it's prom night. Riley had insisted on the group attending together instead of breaking off into dates, so Maya and Lucas are inevitably crammed into a limo with three of their closest friends and not enough oxygen.
He tells her she looks nice and it earns him a grateful smile.
He asks her to dance when the night is halfway through, their group scattered and the song heartbreakingly slow, and it earns him a "yes."
It's hesitant at first; his hands shake as they find her waist, loosely hovering around the fabric of her dress. She, of course, breaks the ice by grappling his neck and yanking him towards her.
"If we're going to dance, Huckleberry, we might as well do it right," she says. It pulls a throaty, genuine laugh from him.
"As you wish, ma'am," he responds, winking and pulling her close.
She relaxes into him as the song advances, eventually laying her head against his chest and sighing contentedly when he responds by laying his chin atop her head. The beats of his heart, which had felt irregular and foreign for as long as she'd been away from him, suddenly calm and steady. It feels like his chest is loosening, finally allowing enough space for his lungs to expand and oxygen to flow freely.
When the song winds down and Maya begins to pull away, Lucas struggles with the potential loss of that feeling. He halts her movement by tucking a strand of her hair back into place, his eyes searching her stunned face.
"Maya," he starts, almost desperate to spit it out. "I still…"
She holds a finger to his lips and shushes him.
"I know," she smiles. "I still too."
"What do we do?"
She bites her lip for a moment, considering him with steady sincerity. "Meet me after graduation."
There's no need to specify; he knows she means at their spot under the bleachers.
He nods, and when she pulls away in response, he feels a little less empty than before.
When the hats have been tossed and his tie has been loosened, Lucas makes an excuse to his mom and bounds over to the football field. Maya's already waiting for him, so he slows his gait last minute and shoves his hands into his pockets.
At his approach, she asks, "Any plans for the future?"
He shrugs. "NYU."
A smirk pulls at Maya's lips, her eyes twinkling with his admission. "What a coincidence, Cowboy. Me too."
"You got in?" he exclaims, excitement and pride hurdling him towards her. When she nods, he wraps her in an impossibly tight bear hug. "I'm so proud of you." It feels right that he can finally say that.
"Thanks," she breathes as he pulls away.
He doesn't know what comes next, so he doesn't say anything. When she doesn't either, a somewhat awkward silence ensues.
"Um." She clears her throat. "So when you said, 'I still,' did you mean…"
"Everything," he answers.
"Even…" she prompts, and he knows where this is going.
"Even that," he confirms. When she only watches him with a wistful kind of wonder, he decides to continue, "I realized something as well. Took me a little longer, but…"
Her hands are wringing when she requests, "What did you realize?"
"Being without you… it feels like having a hole in my chest," he starts. "And I realized I can live with the hole. I can. I just don't want to."
The exhale that slides between her lips is relieved, grateful. Touched. She blinks up at him.
"You're sure?"
Lucas takes another step towards her and nods.
So when she bites into the base of her palm and offers him the resulting pool of blood, he does what he always does:
He wanders into the eye of the storm.