_a/n: so sorry for the lateish update. been busy on my lucaya blog with the prompts being given to be there! you should check those drabbles out if you want :) and if you have any prompt requests for this specific college fic i'd be down to write those, too

iv. i'm here
And you're still beautiful.

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She is all restless limbs along the leather sofa, hair up and tangled, and reading glasses drooping at the very end of her nose. There's something strangely appealing about the sight of her with the way her head hangs off the edge and one of her thigh high socks (since she only wears sweaters or sweatshirts or long sleeves and it's nearing winter, for Christ's sake—don't you get cold?, he remembers asking her and she had only looked at him funny in response, as if she'd been implying that he'd be aroused by her bare legs or something completely preposterous—but yes, she actually was shivering, so she needed to cover her legs somehow—long socks becoming the new addition to her daily attire) drooping below her knee.

This is how he finds her when he comes home just before midnight, having worked for four hours straight on a group presentation the following day. He absolutely hated group projects and he was just a bit too reluctant when his group member had actually worked on multiple slides with him. This was a fucking final that needed to be aced.

Speaking of finals, he assumes his roommate had been studying, the unorganized patterns of multicolored papers practically avalanched beside her along with highlighters and two textbooks making it obviously apparent. After double locking the door and placing a box of leftover pizza onto the counter, he starts for his bedroom before taking another glance at her, considering whether or not to leave her there.

It's not as if she hadn't spent the night on the couch before, he thinks. He brushes the thought off when he's already past the door frame of his bedroom and had thrown his jacket on top of his desk. He contemplates the times he had woken up on the couch during late high school days and having to have rushed to class in the morning. Those times were dreadful—he'd been moody and practically snapped at each and every driver and classmate near him. And of course, looking out for how this will affect him in the near future, after changing into flannel pajama pants, he finds himself walking back to see the way she'd been frozen in place. He most definitely did not need her snapping at him the following day, and she would probably want to wake up in a more comfortable environment, rather than this pigsty of a work place.

It's just a win-win for the both of them; that's all.

"Maya," Lucas mutters, observing how not even a single lash or twitch of the lips take place. He repeats her name, a bit louder and a tad longer, stretching the first vowel lazily. She's not the only exhausted one here. He watches as the fingers of her outstretched arm beside her ear curls at his voice and he stares a bit too long at them.

He's just kind of intrigued at how her fingers are moving and curling and grasping as she's knocked out entirely. It's as if she's trying to grab something and the sight is amusing. Her breathing is light and he bets if he picked her up to place her in bed, she'd be even lighter. He contemplates picking her up, he does, but decides not to.

Instead, he lightly taps her (curling, uncurling) fingers with his and watches as she subconsciously interacts with the feel of hands that aren't hers. And Maya does something somewhat overwhelming—she holds his, as if the space between her fingers had been waiting for his to fill the gaps. It's sweet and she's asleep and he'd be lying to himself if he claimed he hadn't flushed afterward.

Then she fidgets and rolls onto her back, letting go of his hand and slowly opening her eyes to see him looking down at her and she (almost) slaps him since she's caught off guard.

"Do you always watch me when I sleep?" she throws her specs off and rubs her eyes, still in a daze.

"In my defense, I was trying to wake you up so you wouldn't have to stress out in the morning," Lucas corrects.

"You know what?" Maya stands up next to him and stretches, mid-yawn, yet still playful. "I'm too tired to argue with you. So I'll just let it slide."

She dances her way toward their kitchenette before grabbing a slice of cold pepperoni pizza (unhealthy to the absolute max—his mom would most likely scold him for bringing a box into his house) before making her way down the corridor without a look back.

/

He vaguely remembers the time he and Maya had exchanged phone numbers. It must have happened within the first week of his stay—somewhere between the awkward arranging of bathroom schedules and the making of grocery lists and collection of bills needing to be split evenly, he had probably slipped his digits into her cell phone and vice versa. Only for emergency purposes, they'd agreed. Like if there was a fire, or a robbery, or a murder (she suggested) and that one made him question the safety of the very city they lived in. She had laughed, he thinks. He remembers the sound of it when it happened, and she'd only been trying to psych him out. (which worked)

Anyways, it isn't as if they'd been the type to call each other every now and then, let alone text message—so he's a little thrown off when his phone's vibrating with its coexisting echo of a ringtone with her name on the front at four A.M.

He thinks that she might be butt-dialing him… in her sleep? He, honestly, hadn't even known she wasn't at home. This must be (at least semi) serious. Curious and voice raspy, he answers, barely. "Hello?"

Either he's too sleepy for his own good or she'd been babbling even before he'd picked up the phone because she's somewhere in between long sentences that he's having trouble threading together for some sense.

"—out here since, for like, god knows how long—maybe an hour? Maybe twenty minutes? Five?" Her voice is syrupy and nonsensical. "But just—ugh—please just answer already."

"Where are you?" Lucas asks, registering her mental state at this moment. It's probably because it's four in the morning that he hadn't exactly remembered where she had mentioned she was going to go that night several hours prior to this call. He thinks it might be a party. Probably. With the way she's babbling idiotically.

"Gone, I'm gone," she answers and she proceeds to laugh. At this point he's already seated himself up and is pulling on the first shirt he can find. It's a white v-neck that should be in the laundry but he'd forgotten to add it to the pile. Oh, well. He balances his phone between the side of his face and his shoulder as he forces some shoes on and scrambles out of his room.

"I'm aware you're gone," Lucas states, searching for wherever he had left his keys. "You're mentally and emotionally gone. But physically, where are you?"

"I am mentally and emotionally and physically locked out," she slurs and he catches the twinge of sadness in her voice before his hit of realization. He unlocks the door of their apartment and sees her sitting outside, right between the door of the staircase and the elevator. When the light of their apartment is exposed into the dim floor as he flings the door open and she catches sight of his silhouette, she hangs up her phone and talks into the space between them. "Forgot m'keys."

He sighs at the sight of her—this frail, pale, pastel blonde in layers of clothing and a heated face that reeked of tequila and raspberries. She looks like she's either going to laugh or cry (the damned hysterical girl) and he also isn't sure if he should question her of her previous, drunken statement. He decides not to. Instead, he takes a seat beside her, leaving their door open for them to both eye as their backs lean against the light blue apartment wall.

The alcohol on her breath is strong the next time she utters a word. He doesn't know when or how it starts, but when it happens, he does what he can.

Maya cries.

She's vulnerable, weak, and drained to her core—the alcohol at the point of stripping her bare in front of him and igniting the waterworks she would have saved for her pillow if she had arrived back only an hour earlier. She is sobbing into her knees, bunched up and held against her chest, and the sound of her sobbing makes his throat go dry.

The brunette snakes his arm around her and tightens, watching as her head falls onto his shoulder for support. He's not going to ask why she's so sad, or whether or not she's been sad and for how long—he's probably never going to ask her such questions, and the likeliness of her remembering tonight is as low as his probability of interrogating her. He thinks it may have to do with the number of inexplicable paintings she has around the corners of her room and the stash of cigarettes he'd found under the couch when he'd been in search for the TV remote.

She's shaking as she sobs, and a short while after, when she stops, she sort of giggles over how smudged her makeup must be when she wipes at her tears with the ends of her sleeves. And since there's nothing to lose and this girl needed some real cheering up, he tells her some truth he's kept about how she's one of the prettiest things he'd ever laid his eyes upon. It's not like she'll remember, he hopes.

The curls of her hair tickle his chin when she leans upright and he coolly stands up, his eyes cloudy against hers. He's already losing sleep because of her. Lucas lends his hand out to help her stand, to which she grabs warily. After having pulled her up and leading her way inside before double locking their door, he's surprised to see that she doesn't release her grip on his palm and instead pulls him into the hallway near their bedrooms.

She only lets go when he demands she down a glass of water before going to bed and she sees the anxious, worry-filled strain in his eyes beside the tiredness of his voice. She acquiesces, deeming it useless to argue hours away from dawn. She still can't walk straight and she guarantees that she's going to wake up still intoxicated. Knowing she's going to have to ask him to buy her some painkillers later, she tip toes real quick in order to really capture the look in his eyes in the sullen quarter they'd been standing in.

"Thanks," she breathes before slowly stepping into her chamber.

"Sleep well," his voice is hushed and her door is now closed, but he knows she heard him fine.

tbc.