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The beginning of the end happens on a Tuesday, and you've always been impartial to Tuesday's- figuring if they disappeared that Wednesday would just become the new Tuesday. There wouldn't be that much of a difference, and you'd become just as impartial to Wednesday's because that's just how you are, but this Tuesday is special because this is the Tuesday that you meet her and everything changes.
It's in your art history class, a fine arts credit that you wanted to get out of the way before graduation, and it's mostly seniors in there which is why it's beyond surprising to see a freshman with her feet propped up on your professor's desk, waving as he announces that she'd be the teaching assistant for the duration of the course.
She is the only other freshman in the entire hall, and so she claims that it's purely etiquette when she takes the seat beside yours right in the front, smirking wickedly when she has to assist you in copying the syllabus for the semester. She smells like vanilla and cinnamon and the girl that your mama would've warned you about had you not been with Riley your entire life. Her name is Maya, and it suits her perfectly because it's short (just like her) and it's cute (again, like her) and it sounds so nice escaping your tongue that you don't think you want to ever stop saying it- despite the fact that she has already given you at least four nicknames with the revealing of your Texas roots.
There's this rush in your veins that you haven't felt in years when she scribbles down her number at the top of your notebook, telling you to text her if needed anymore help and waving you off with a teasing 'So long, Potato Johnson.'
You can't wait for class on Thursday.
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You're really glad that you have her number because you love talking to her. You find yourself glued to your phone until you see her next, and you know that it's probably not healthy, but she's intoxicating.
There's something in the way that she curls her lips into a cheshire grin when you slide into the seat next to her that you can't stay away from.
You find out that she's an artist- like an awarded artist. She's one of the top art students in this country, number one on the east coast, and that explains why she's the TA so damn early. You feel almost honored that you get to see her doodling sometimes, the margins of her notebook filling to the brim with intricate designs that belong in museums.
(With a quick Google search, you learn that some of her pieces are indeed in museums and you wonder if Riley would want to change date night to one of them next week.)
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Maya finds out about Riley by going through your phone, and you wonder if that's better or worse than you telling her first.
You're not exactly sure why it matters because it shouldn't matter because you're friends, but when you can feel the air get thicker when the word 'girlfriend' escapes your lips, and you can't stop yourself from reaching for her hand. Your grasp is soft and almost apologetic as she interlaces her fingers between yours.
You don't think you've ever felt your heart beating this fast.
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You don't like talking about Riley when you're with Maya because when you're talking about Riley, you're not listening to Maya and that's not cool- but she still asks and asks and asks and so you answer and answer and answer.
It's excruciating to think about how long you've spent your life as Riley's other half. You can't think of a time that you haven't been associated with her, and you don't know how you feel about that anymore.
You don't know how you feel about being RileyandLucas anymore.
(You try not to think about what it be like to be MayaandLucas.)
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The more time you spend with Maya, the less you spend with Riley, and you can't find it in yourself to honestly dislike the distance that grows between you. You've never realized just how exhausting being Riley's other half could be, but- fuck, is it, and fuck, you're trying so hard to forget how tiring it is.
When you're with Maya, you don't even think about her. You're lost in blue eyes and blonde hair and her little nose that you like to boop so it scrunches up and she laughs just softly enough that you can hear it.
You want to kiss her, and it's killing you that you haven't.
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Sometimes, when Maya's feeling especially risky, she tumbles into your lap and the way your arms wrap around her seems natural. It's a game that you don't know you can keep up with.
You find yourself rubbing small circles on the tiny amounts of skin you find contact with, burning for more as the vibrations of her laugh make your heart swell.
You want to feel guilty because Riley is at home, waiting for you while you sit here with your peers, laughing at them prodding Maya to let them abuse her TA perks, but you don't.
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The first time you kiss her, your entire mind stops for what seems like a century. She convinced you into taking the nearest train to the city so that she could draw this little fence that used to be near her apartment. She talks about it for nearly half an hour and raves about how she was dying to see again, so you agree to the trip to see the way her face lights up that you'll be accompanying her.
(You had to skip date night, but Riley wasn't even dressed when you let it slip out that you had plans, so she expected it. You know that she did by the smile she gave you and the quick peck as she placed your keys in your palm.)
You don't even mean to kiss her. Your body is on autopilot because she's singing and twirling in the streets of New York and the fluorescent lights of the drug store that you're passing right before her building make her smile seem like the fucking sun, rays of warmth striking you to the core when you take that fateful step closer and tug her against you.
She tastes like peaches and mint and even a little greasy from the pizza that you shared on the beginning of your walk, but she whimpers against your lips and your hands properly find her waist as you frantically back her into the brick wall of the exterior of her apartment. You let your hands explore her spine and her ribcage and farther and farther up her shirt, dancing against her smooth skin in the most satisfying way before she pulls back to catch her breath.
You find her eyes, and she says your name in the most broken voice you've ever heard because there's a name echoing faintly in the back of both of your minds that you're ignoring.
"I know, Maya."
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"Do you think beauty has a taste?" You ask absentmindedly, your fingers laced with Maya's as she sleepily blinks at the clouds in the sky. You're lying on a picnic blanket, your half eaten lunches somewhere near your feet when you interrupt Maya's attempt at a nap.
You've learned that she can sleep almost everywhere, even to the point of baffling the brightest genius she knows back home- one of her best friends named Farkle. (You promise not to laugh at his name, and when you snicker, she punches your bicep weakly from her dazed state.)
"Of course not, dumbass," she yawns, "Beauty is a sense mostly exclusive to sight, maybe sound if you dig deep into the music industry."
You shake your head and turn to face her. "I think it has a taste."
She rolls her eyes, insisting that it doesn't and you're wrong- right up until you softly lean down, just enough to brush her lips with your own and earn a soft smile from your sleeping beauty. With a blush staining her cheeks, she pushes you to your back again.
"You're such a fucking loser, Friar."
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When Maya falls asleep, her head tucked into the crook of your neck and her weight pressed against you as she curls to your chest, you don't think that it's fair that you're able to hold a girl so ethereal. It's a crime to be trusted with her at her most vulnerable, eyelashes fluttering and hands balled into your shirt. Even when Riley seems to rest against you anymore- granted, it's not often- you find that you're wishing her features everything they're not; limbs shorter, her hair lighter, her eyes as radiant as the sky.
The small of her back against your palm doesn't fit as perfectly anymore, and you start to wonder how long you can keep this up.
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You like taking pictures of her, sometimes videos. She's filling the memory of your phone and your mind and your heart without even trying, but you just want to have everything at your fingertips; her laugh, her smile, the messy curls of her hair flying in the air when she throws her head back and snorts at you for one reason or another. You like to watch the videos back when Riley isn't around to hear her voice, the pictures always on a silent loop in your thoughts.
Maya calls it annoying to have your camera always pointed on her, but when you shamelessly tell her that it would be a crime not to capture a being so beautiful, she kisses you so softly that you wonder how you got so lucky.
You're scared that you love her, but you're also beaming because you know that in some twisted way, her kiss is a promise that she's yours and you've never wanted anything more.
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With the entire mini class field trip, Maya is packed the night you're informed of it. It's adorable how excited she is and so you play right into her joy, helping any way you can.
You tell Billy that you'll book the hotel rooms, only four because you're college students, not millionaires, and he doesn't even ask before he marks down that Maya is sharing with you.
There's such satisfaction with that assumption that you're almost dazed when you make the reservations, your heart beating out of your chest because she's yours and people know that she's yours.
You don't even remember that she's technically not until you're bursting through your front door and Riley is there waiting for you, just like she always is.
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You and Maya sleep together for the first time during that trip, and it's like nothing you've ever experienced before.
It starts soft, slow languid kisses as she seduces you into throwing away the idea of sleeping on the couch while she takes the single bed. It's tender and that's what you're used to- that's what you've always been used to, and you swear to god a vein bursts when she nips at your lip and aggressively positions herself to straddle you. Her hips grind against yours and you don't know how the fuck you're supposed to last until she even removes any article of clothing from either of you let alone when she bites down on your neck until the mark is dark enough for her liking.
She smirks wickedly at you when you try to take charge and flip her onto her back, hovering over her and trying to catch your breath. You move on reflex; your touch painfully light, your kiss nowhere near the realm of leaving a trace on her skin, everything meaningful how you were told sex is supposed to be. If you ever tried to go a speed beyond numbingly drawn out, Riley would start to panic, meaning that this is all you know. This is all you thought girls wanted.
"Um, Casanova?" Maya asks, her fingertips curling under your chin to pull you to her face. "Don't get me wrong, this whole sweet as sugar, leisurely worshipping or whatever is really cute, I swear, but please don't tell me that this is the best you got."
Your cheeks burn because is it? Do you have anything better? Is there anything worse than the freshly kicked puppy look she's giving you right now?
"Oh, Huckleberry," she coos, a shade in her eyes that you never knew you craved so deeply until now. "There's so much more than that 50s vanilla act." She props herself up, pushing you by your chest to resume your earlier position. "I promise that we can do the sappy missionary standard after we just get a quick exciting round, scouts honor." She salutes you, your entire mind flustered because you've never been stopped before. You've never realized that there are actually girls out there that like an increasing pace, a stronger grip. You've had sex the same way since you took Riley's virginity your senior year.
Maya pulls you from your thoughts, quickly tugging her shirt over her head and tossing it to the floor before properly settling on your lap. "I'm gonna show you something, okay? It's fun, I promise." You muster up a nod, your eyes locked on her bare torso. You didn't realize just how provocative her pajama choice of only a shirt and underwear was until this exact second, and you're kind of short circuiting- but you don't think she expects any different from the chuckle she gives you. Maya takes your left hand, settling it on her outer thigh, her ass only an inch or two from your grip, and uses her fingers to tangle your other hand into blonde waves. "You tug a little bit, okay, babe?" she instructs, and you absentmindedly nod as you melt from under her because out of all her nicknames, she'd never once used that one and it's immediately your favorite sound spilling from her lips.
Before you can even catch up, her lips are against yours again and she's pressing harder into you, rolling her hips at a quicker pace. It's heavenly, and you want to tell her that but you tug on her hair by accident when your hands form into fists against her body.
A tiny moan escapes her throat, and that sound is even better than hearing 'babe' so you tug again immediately, a little rougher to test her reaction before letting your free hand harshly pull her forward by her waist. You're working entirely off impulse, moving your hips against hers before she slips her touch beneath the waistband of your shorts and your teeth find her collarbone- and when she heavily moans, "Fuck, Lucas," you swear you see stars.
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You spend more time in Maya's apartment than you do in your own anymore, and you want to feel bad but when she's stirring next to you, your shirt covering her tiny body while she softly snores, there's no way you're going to feel anything but the swelling of your heart.
You love her.
You love her so fucking much, and you stop yourself from telling her that when your fingertips circle her bare thigh and she hums happily. She blinks her eyes away and then catches sight of you, a smile arising as natural as the sun does while you smooth down her messy hair.
"Did you have a nice nap?" you whisper, planting kisses all over her face until she giggles and pecks your lips in greeting.
"I did," she shares, resting her head on your chest and cuddling her body against you.
"What did you dream about?" you ask, your touch trailing up her thigh and under the hem of your shirt.
"Having a Ranger Rick in my life that lets me sleep for twenty more minutes."
Your hand travels on because she doesn't stop you, and when it reaches her chest enough for her to sit up and peel your clothing from her skin, you can only stare because you have the most beautiful girl in existence in your grasp and you never want to let her go.
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Riley takes out a chunk of your lip when she tries to kiss you one night, and it makes your heart sink to the pit of your gut because you know what she's doing- of course, you do.
She's trying so fucking hard and you're ripping apart her fairytale at the seams.
(Somehow that only reassures you that you were never meant to be her prince.)
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You and Riley start sleeping in different rooms, you occupying the guest bed more often than not. You've started keeping some of your clothes in there, too.
It's a silent agreement. There's only so many syllables that can fill the air before "it's over" and so you don't say any at all in fear that those three will be the next thing to escape.
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"My dad cheated on my mom," Maya mutters from your chest one night, her voice so small that you can barely hear it at all. "I was seven, and he met this woman- absolutely beautiful, so very funny, the dream- at a conference in California. He used to travel for work, and he would leave for business trips every other month, but when he got back from that one… everything changed, Lucas."
You can hear her voice crack, not daring to look up at you as tears form in her eyes.
"Within a month, they'd fallen in love. God, she made him so happy, so much better. And my parents started sleeping in separate rooms. My mother started to drink more, my father would leave every other weekend for more business trips. By the time I was eight, he was gone and my mom and I were all alone."
"Maya…" you start, but she cuts you off when her head rises off your chest.
"He was happier with her, and he loved her so much, and so my mom told me that it was okay- that we would be okay. That woman gave him a happiness that we couldn't anymore, and that wasn't my fault or hers and so we would be alright." A few tears slip down her cheeks and onto the fabric of your shirt. "They had a baby not even a year later. And when that baby turned three, they got married so that she could be the flower girl. We weren't invited, and so we didn't go, and instead we decided that we would go to my favorite bakery in the world- Svorski's. We ordered all the pastries in the window, and we sat in my favorite corner booth, and we were okay because he was happy and we were happy, and when you love someone, you want them to be happy.
And there was a man there, photographing the bakery for an article he was writing about the city. He saw us and he ran right over, asking our permission to take a few candids of us eating and laughing and just enjoying each other, and we said yes, and, afterwards, we invited him to sit with us. And on the day of my dad's wedding, my mom met my stepdad and we were all happy, the happiest we've ever been, and we were glad for it because when you love someone, that's what matters."
She wears a bittersweet smile when she mentions the bakery, her parents, her step dad, and there's a way that she says 'love' that makes your head spin.
"Lucas…" She inhales sharply, her eyes locking with yours with a look so pure that your lungs constrict. "I love you. And I want you to be happy. And if you're happier without me, that's okay, and I needed you to know that."
You hardly register what she says after she tells you that she loves you, and as soon as her mouth shuts, you kiss her. It's sloppy and tastes like salty tears and beating hearts, and you only pull back to say against her skin that you love her, too.
God, you love her so fucking much.
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The start of your new life happens on a Tuesday with a breakup and the opposite, your girlfriend kissing you hello and your ex waving you goodbye. You don't think you're going to be so impartial to them anymore.