Disclaimer: I do not own Girl Meets World, Boy Meets World, the characters, or events that took place in both shows. Only the events, plot, and OC characters in Don't Look Down are mine.

a/n: I wanted to mention that this story is rated M for upsetting themes that will be introduced, including suicide, depression, eating disorders (pending), and non-con. I will be sure to mention in the author's note beforehand when a chapter hits on any of those issues, but for now you can assume depression will be referenced in most chapters.

Chapter Three

Maya wished with all her heart she could behold Riley's positivity. For as long as she'd known Riley, the brunette had been notorious for her optimism in the most negative of situations. While Maya often found it annoying, she long since realized her agitation stemmed from her inability to think like Riley. She tried to, once, but the triangle from hell fiasco that resulted made Maya swear off attempting to in any way mirror her best friend's bubbly personality or inherent optimism.

Still, she envied Riley's mind. Perhaps if Maya viewed the world more brightly, more hopefully, she would stop painting pictures of rain.

"I think your puddle is broken."

Maya froze mid-stroke, paintbrush hovering over the canvas with cobalt paint dripping from the toe of the bristles. Closing her eyes, she breathed out the agitation threatening to spill out from her brain through her ears. "It's supposed to symbolize a broken heart," she explained slowly, as if talking to a child. Concerning art, the scientifically minded Farkle Minkus certainly was a child.

"I think it's pretty," Riley mused from behind Maya's shoulder. "I mean, it makes me want to cry, but it's pretty."

"Good," Maya nodded once in a self-congratulation, "then it's doing its job."

Farkle appeared beside the easel, arms crossed. "When, might I ask, are you just going to admit that you hate your job so much you've resorted to painting angry raindrops and—" He leaned in, narrowing his eyes. "Is that a ghost? You're painting haunted portraits now?"

Using her free hand, Maya shoved the genius away from her canvas. "Careful!" she commanded. "It's drying." She gingerly wiped the gathered paint on her brush off on her tray before it could drip onto the canvas, then sat back to begin criticizing her work. She grinned proudly, her lips stretching unwittingly over her cheeks, and allowed herself the moment to congratulate herself before she would inevitably find something she hated. "And I'm not drawing ghosts. It's a silhouette."

"Silhouettes."

Maya gaped confusedly at Farkle. "Huh?"

The boy—because to Maya, Farkle, even at twenty, would always be the nerdy twelve year old with plans to take over the world with only his turtleneck and IQ—gestured to the bleary image in the puddle in Maya's painting. "There are two."

Furrowing her brows, Maya craned her neck forward, scooting off of her perch on the stool as she studied her creation. Sure enough, her broken puddle, obscured by the illusion of raindrops slamming against cobblestone roads, beheld one image of two people. The silhouette, meant to allude to a reflection of a person standing in the rain, was indeed an image of a figure with another someone perched on their back.

A boy giving a girl a piggyback ride through the rain.

Riley, too, approached the canvas, forehead creased as she curiously queried, "Who is it?"

"Of course it rains!" Maya exclaimed, trudging through yet another ankle deep puddle. "Of all the days to rain, it picks the day every taxi in New York is taken!"

The deep chuckle from beside her made her heart race and stop at once. "Relax, Hart," Josh squeezed her hand, eyes squinting from the weight of his humored smile. "It just means I get to spend a little more time with you before I drop you off."

Maya shoved him with her shoulder, though her five foot frame in comparison to his taller stature made the gesture little more than a nudge. "Cheesy bastard."

Josh laughed, then stopped them in their steps, craning his neck down to meet her at her eye-level. "Maybe," he murmured, lips hovering over her own, "but you would've run away by now if you didn't like it."

Maya drew the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, the nervous habit Josh seemed to bring out more often than anyone else did. "Well, if you weren't here, who would pay for the takeout on Friday nights?" she countered in what was meant to be a teasing manner, but his hot breath ghosting over her cold lips made it difficult to concentrate.

"Oh, well, we couldn't have that, could we?" Josh smirked, pecking her nose lovingly, then pulled her back into step. "A hungry Maya Hunter is an angry Maya Hunter, and when Maya Hunter is angry, Joshua Matthews doesn't get laid—Hey!" He flinched from the contact of Maya's fist against his shoulder.

Maya's attempt to glare faltered beneath the weight of Josh's arm around her shoulder.

"Hey," he said, more gently this time, "you know I love you, don't you?"

Maya nodded, head tucked into Josh's chest as she inhaled the scent of rain and leather. "I know." Her heart alway lifted at his declarations of affection, before it ultimately dropped when she couldn't return the sentiment herself.

But, as he did now, Josh always reassured her with an endearing kiss atop her head and a slow, ginger smile, a reminder of his saintly patience she feared would one day wear thin.

Yet the day hadn't come.

"Come on." He gestured behind him with a nod of his head, bending his knees slightly

In need of little urging, Maya hopped onto his back with a smile, her short legs wrapping around Josh's waist and her arms slinging around the expanse of his shoulders. "I knew there was a reason I keep you around."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Giddy up!"

"Maya! What did I say about the kicking thing?"

"Faster!"

"Yes, your highness."

Maya snapped back into the present, meeting the gaze of her two concerned friends. "It's no one." She shook the memories from her head and set her brush aside, then carefully stepped away from the still drying canvas. Riley and Farkle followed her with the same confused expressions, but Maya made no bother to expound on the painting. It was just art. She was an artist. Artists paint what they feel. She owed no explanation.

"Maya, we need to talk about this," Riley began slowly.

Maya rolled her eyes. "There's nothing to talk about, Riles. They're just silhouettes in a painting. Whatever psychological meaning you think is there, I promise you, it isn't." She tugged off the oversized blue button up she always wore when she painted, and tossed it over a blank canvas in the corner of the small space she used as a studio. It was really just a piece of the living area, but they had covered a fraction of the hardwood floor in thin white tarp so Maya could use the space for her creative ventures.

"Not about the painting," Farkle clarified, and despite Maya having her back turned she could feel the distress radiating off his body. He probably had his arms crossed over his chest and stood with his feet slightly apart; his brows surely furrowed as they always did when he was perturbed and his mouth had likely set itself into a thin, serious line.

When Maya turned around to find Farkle exactly as she imagined, she had to bite back her arrogant smirk. "If we want to talk about how my life has no direction and my job is a dead end and I haven't seriously dated anyone in the last year and a half, allow me to direct your attention to the fact that Riley's boyfriend is an egotistical spoiled brat—"

Riley gasped, her hand covering her heart defensively.

"And that you, Farkle, gave up Princeton—your dream school—because the girl who broke your heart is also there."

Farkle's gaze faltered, unsure, to his spread feet, his jaw clenching with a notable tick.

And despite every alarm blaring in her head, begging her to stop, Maya's mouth continued moving and her vocal chords proceeded to chime without reluctance. "Let's stop playing the 'worry-about-Maya's-directionless-life' when Riley is millimeters away from giving up Harvard Medical School for her worthless BF and Farkle is too afraid to face his ex—"

"Maya! Enough!"

At Riley's chastisement, Maya froze. The breath left her body along with any resentment accompanying her outburst. Her eyes darted between her two friends; Riley who, for once, appeared angry at her, and Farkle who's downtrodden gaze and quivering jaw made him look smaller than Maya had ever seen him.

"That's not fair," Riley whispered, suddenly looking more defeated than irate, with tears rimming her eyes and her closed fists shaking at her side.

Guilt washed over Maya, flooded her so harshly that her knees buckled beneath her, and she fell to the floor. "I—" She covered her mouth, her hand shaking. "Riles—Farkle—" Unable to witness the hurt on her two best friend's faces, she allowed her head to fall shamefully.

"It's okay, Maya."

It was Farkle who spoke. Maya saw his converse-clad feet nearing toward her, crossing the border where the hardwood met the tarp. She felt his hand on her shoulder, an act of assurance—comfort.

But she didn't feel comforted.

The sound of pattering bare feet reach her ears—Riley's feet—but they weren't advancing towards Maya, they were retreating to Riley's bedroom.

"Riles—" Maya tried weakly, but her attempt was met only but the slamming of Riley's bedroom door. "Farkle," Maya sobbed.

The genius dropped to the ground beside her, and Maya buried herself in his arms, seeking the unfailing safety only his gentle embrace could provide.

"It's okay, Maya," he repeated. "Everything's going to be okay."

Maya's outburst took place on Friday. It was now Monday, and Riley still hadn't talked to her. Frankly, Maya couldn't blame her.

Over the weekend, she saw the usually spunky brunette once, when Farkle made breakfast Sunday morning. Fully dressed for her daily jog, Riley sauntered into the kitchen, eyes landing on Maya. Her previously neutral expression sobered into a frown, then hardened. Rather than sit for a helping of Farkle's pancakes, she snatched a granola bar from the pantry and left the apartment without nothing more than a meek nod to the chef.

Farkle returned the nod sadly, then glance to Maya with a sympathetic gaze, caught between the two women he loved more than anything, and it made Maya hate herself even more.

In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she felt so guilty.

Actually, she could.

A thump ripped the blonde from her self-deprecating thoughts, and she suddenly remembered where she was.

Work.

Because it was Monday.

"I need six copies of these, Sexy."

Maya frowned at the stack of files dumped carelessly onto her desk, then up at the culprit who unceremoniously interrupted her guilty internal rant.

Michael smirked from above her, his eyes trailing up and down her sitting body, and she suddenly regretted not wearing a longer skirt. "Make 'em in color, and I'll give you a treat."

Maya glared. "Six black and white copies, you say?" she snapped hastily, rolling her chair back and standing to her feet. Her fingers darted to pull on the edge of her skirt and then collected the stack of papers ceremoniously lain over her desk, but her superior's own hand slammed onto them, halting her attempt to take the files.

"You know, Hart—"

"Hunter," she quickly corrected. Only one person was ever allowed to refer to her with her old last name.

"Hart," Michael smiled a toothy grin, taunting Maya to slap it right off, "if you dropped a few buttons on that top of yours, I might be able to get you into that showing at MOMA next month." He leered arrogantly at the tops of her breast, at the cleavage just barely visible as she bent over her desk, green eyes—which Maya always thought too angled and beady and far too deep set to be alluring—dancing excitedly.

With an annoyed huff, she ripped the files out from beneath Michael's pristine hand and hugged them to her chest, both to protect the files and herself from further leering. Unfortunately, she was accustomed to the suggestive comments and bribery attempts from the bastard she was forced to work under, but he was her superior and there was little to do about it.

Except report him to the boss who hated her and would undoubtably take Michael's side.

"I will never sink low enough to ask for your help to get ahead," she spat, attempting to pass Michael's obstructing body. Before she could pass, however, his hand reached for her arm, fingers tightening around bicep uncomfortably.

Maya refused to meet his eyes, staring straight ahead, but she knew he was irritated by her rejection.

"Careful, Ms. Hart," he hissed lowly, warm breath ghosting her ear and making her shudder involuntarily, "I have quite a bit of influence around here. If I were you, I would very seriously consider my invitation to cooperate." The way he said the word—cooperate—caused Maya's breath to hitch in her throat and her eyes to shift worriedly to the hand gripping her bicep.

Anxiously, she ripped her arm out of Michael's grasp, glaring.

The man's haughty smirk returned, replacing the agitation previously marring his annoyingly perfect features. "You're just an intern here, Hart." He spoke it as a conceited reminder, and Maya struggled to bravely keep eye contact. "I've seen your work. You won't get anywhere by yourself."

At this, Maya's eyes faltered, her stare hardened at the floor beneath her.

"I'm here if you ever want help." With that, Michael strutted back in the direction of his office.

With his obstructing presence gone, Maya allowed her stubborn façade to fall, her shoulders slumping, and defeatedly meandered to the copy machine. Heavy-hearted, she walked as slowly as she could, knowing—unfortunately—this more than likely would be the most exciting task she would be given today.

For all the uncertainty tainting her life, Maya was sure of one thing: Joshua Matthews was adopted. There was no other plausible explanation as to why he, in comparison to the rest of his family, was normal. Clearly whatever Joshua Matthews Amy gave birth to had been switched out for the one everyone knew. The real Joshua Matthews, Maya guessed, was wreaking havoc on two perfectly normal parents.

The universe was cruel that way.

But, sometimes, Josh would cause her to rethink her theory of his biology. With Alan's eyes or Eric's smirk or Cory's intellect, he would repeatedly convince her of his relation to the nutty family. But, most of the time, it was his use of the unfiltered, brutal honesty every Matthews had.

"You look like hell."

Maya bit back an offensive retort, considering her best friend currently hated her for her unfiltered words. "Nice to see you, too, Joshua. My day was great. How was yours?"

Josh smiled at her sympathetically, stepping aside to let her through the door of her old home. If she took the time to think about it, Maya would likely find it ironic, Josh welcoming her into her own home in a sense. "You come from work?" He eyed her attire—the pencil skirt and pristine white blouse and high heeled shoes.

Maya tossed the cartons of Chinese food onto the kitchen table, grinning at the sight of Korean horror DVDs stacked on the coffee table in the living room. "Yeah, things are kinda tense back at the apartment, so I didn't bother going back…." She bit her lip, shyly peering up at Josh, who looked quite a bit more comfortable than her as he leaned against the kitchen wall in his sweats and NYU sweatshirt.

"You wanna borrow something?" he asked her, gesturing to the hallway where the guest bedroom was.

Grateful Josh didn't push as to why there was tension at her apartment, Maya sighed with relief and responded, "Could I?" Her toes were swelling rebelliously in the confines of her high heels and she was certain her pencil skirt was cutting off the circulation in her thighs.

The youngest Matthews brother smiled gently, obviously burying whatever curious questions he had. "My duffle's on the bed. Assuming I wasn't dreaming when I folded my laundry, there should be some sweats."

Maya returned his smile appreciatively, then exited into the hallway.

The bedroom door was already cracked open, and she was not sure why she was glad to not have to open it herself; maybe she felt intrusive, a silly notion since she'd ventured in here many times.

Her eyes successfully sought out the familiar navy blue duffle bag, her fingers pulling the lap open. She giggled at the sight of the pink boxers she jokingly presented him with one Christmas, then froze, her vision falling on the familiar material peeking from underneath the piles of clothing.

Lace.

Baby blue lace.

Maya carefully pulled the edge of the garment out from underneath the sweats and underwear, holding the revealed product conflictingly in front of her. She knew it well, the panties. They were hers.

"No!" Giggling, she tried to reach for the lacy garment dangling from Josh's hand, his arms high above her head.

"Yes!" Josh countered, holding her panties farther from her reach. "You have at least a dozen of my boxers, so I think it only fair I get one pair of your panties."

Maya huffed, crossing her arms. "I only have four of your boxers," she defended. "And those are my favorite pair of panties."

Josh smirked. "Yeah? They're my favorite, too."

"You're just saying that because you bought them for me."

Josh flung the garment behind him, arms catching Maya by her waist when she tried to run past him for the panties. "Then I'm just taking back something I let you borrow," he claimed, lifting her off her feet as she struggled to slip out of his arms.

"Gah!" Maya fell limp against him, resting her chin on his chest. "You can have them. But you have to get me a new pair."

"Duly noted."

"Maya!"

Josh's voice pulled her from her trance, and she berated herself for once again getting caught in a trance.

"You better not be trying on my underwear!" His amusement was evident.

Maya smirked, ever-so-grateful the rest of her family was in New Jersey; heaven forbid, Topanga Junior or—worse—Shawn hear her and Josh's slightly scandalous banter. "I recall you saying I look better in your clothes than you do!" she taunted, quickly stuffing the panties where she found them just as Josh appeared in the door way. Grinning mischievously, she picked up the pink boxers and teasingly held them in front of her, raising an accusing eyebrow.

Josh cleared his throat uncomfortably, crossing his arms. "I never wear those."

"Sure you don't."

"I don't!"

Maya giggled, dropping the underwear back into place, then snatched a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt from the top of the bag. "No need to get defensive, Joshua." Smirking, she skipped past him to the bathroom. "No peeking!" she sung over her shoulder, closing the bathroom door behind her. As soon as the door shut, she threw her body back against it, trying to tame her breathing.

Dear God, he kept her panties in his traveling duffle.

She would never fully understand Josh Matthews.

Maybe that's what made him so appealing.

"Why are you so quiet?" Maya glanced at the man beside her. Their normal banter about the stupidity of horror movie victims strangely absent, Maya was unnerved by Josh's unusual silence throughout the last two DVDs.

Josh chewed on the inside of his cheek, a habit Maya quickly recognized. He was thinking carefully, deeply, and pensively. He reached between them for the bowl of popcorn—because three cartons of Chinese food couldn't settle their hunger, apparently. "You and Riley are fighting, aren't you?"

Maya lowered her gaze, suddenly regretting she ever inquired his peculiar silence. "We're not fighting." It wasn't a lie. Technically. In fact, they hadn't spoken.

"Then why are you stalling?" Josh countered pointedly.

"Stalling what?" Maya feigned ignorance, popping a pice of cold popcorn in her mouth.

Josh narrowed his eyes pointedly, then tilted his head in the direction of the clock on the wall. "It's past midnight. You haven't gone home yet. The third movie of the night is almost over and I know you're already debating which one to put in next. I mean, I get this is still your apartment, in a sense, but when in the last two years have you willingly stayed the night here?" He raised a curious brow.

Maya opened her mouth to argue, but his point was too valid to ignore. Sighing defeatedly, she threw her head back against the couch behind her. They both were undeniably messy eaters—as many ice cream runs had proven—so they never sat on the couch. "I screwed up," she whispered, closing her eyes.

Beside her, Josh said nothing, but she felt his eyes on her, understanding, encouraging her to continue.

"I ruin everything." She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her forehead on her kneecaps. "I'm actually surprised it took Riley this long to start hating me, after everything I've put her through."

Josh's fingers stroked her hair, soothing her scalp. "I doubt she hates you, Maya," he told her gently. "Hell, Riley doesn't have it in her hate anyone."

He was right, Maya thought. "Well, I deserve for her to hate me."

"No, you don't." Josh pulled on her hair slightly, urging her face out of her arms. "Maya, look at me," his finger traced the side of her face, guiding it towards him so her cheek rested on her knees, "you don't deserve for anyone to hate you."

A tear escaped the corner of her eye, her heart shattering under Josh's sincere orbs, so blue and honest. "I don't know what I'm doing, Josh," she admitted, swallowing the lump building in her throat. "I'm a straight-A student, I'm living with my two best friends, I have the family I always wanted—I should be happy!"

"Maya," Josh breathed her name solemnly, "it's okay to get a little out of sync. College in itself is a lot of pressure. Living with your best friends doesn't always mean you'll get along. And your family?" He paused, thumbing her quivering lip. "Your parents are working through some crap right now, your sister is sick, and it's okay for you to feel a little insecure."

Maya sniffled. "It's more than that, Josh," she moaned, retracting her eyes from his baby blues. His eyes always seemed to bring out her vulnerability, and her slipping guard made her afraid. "I used to think I could change the world, you know? People used to appreciate my art, and I thought I could change—" She broke off with a whimper.

"Maya?" Josh questioned concernedly, cupping her tear-streaked cheek in his large palm.

"I can't do it!" she sobbed. "I thought I could, Josh! I thought I could be something more than the pathetic little girl who drove everyone away with her abandonment issues and her insecurities, but I can't! I'm never gonna be good enough! And the harder I try, the more people I hurt!" She looked up at him with wide eyes, pleading eyes, searching eyes. What was she searching for?

"Oh, Maya," Josh murmured, shoving aside the bowl of popcorn and drawing her to him, enveloping her with his familiar scent of warmth and comfort and everything safe. "God, Sweetheart, you can't think like that. You've got to stop thinking like that." He pulled back slightly, tipping her chin for her to meet his eyes.

Maya waited for him to say something—anything to make her better. He always did, always knew the right thing to say, could talk her off of any edge.

"You have no idea how special you are," he finally said, stroking her cheek with his thumb, brows furrowed and forehead creased in thought. "You're so special, Maya." He murmured the words almost painfully; Maya trembled under intensity of his eyes. "I always told you that, didn't I?"

Maya nodded. Yes, she well-recalled his praise every time she showed him a sketch, every time she voiced a thought she could never tell another soul for fear of judgement. But Josh never judged. He was always gentle, patient, gracious.

He was always too good for her.

"You've always been guarded, but you don't drive people away," Josh continued.

Oh, but she did.

"Whatever happened, you and Riley will work through it. You always do." He lowered his lips to her head, pecking her hairline affectionately, an act not even their breakup could hinder. "You're not gonna lose her, you're not gonna lose Farkle, and you''ll never lose your parents—no matter what happens between them."

Maya exhaled a downtrodden breath, burying herself into Josh's embrace. "Did I push you away?" She hated how small her voice sounded, how it wavered weakly—fearfully.

Josh tensed, then pulled back a bit, and Maya feared the worst. This was the moment, the one when he would admit her trespasses and how much they hurt him—hurt their relationship.

But then he didn't.

And Maya should've known, because he was Josh and Josh never held anything against her, never shamed her for her past actions however much they wounded him.

"You'll never push me away, Maya," he said, a certain command in his voice as he cupped both sides of her face and stared into her watery eyes. "We weren't ready, and that's on both of us, but as long as you let me stay, you'll never lose me. Understand?"

Lip bitten, Maya nodded, then allowed Josh to draw her back into his embrace. And it was enough. It had to be.