_a/n: yup! a college au. going to consist of drabbles and prompts (that you can request) that will be placed in this setting. hope you enjoy!
i. you're an ocean and i'm drowning
She just wants her Chinese takeout and he just wants a bed. It's all about compromise... and goddamn are her legs distracting.
Honestly, when Maya had scrambled off her (so, so very) comfortable mattress of a bed—because hey, who needed a bed frame anyway; it was useless and it was money—enthusiastic for the knock on her door, she had thought it was that Chinese food delivery guy that came to her place almost weekly. She had ordered some fried rice and a few egg rolls about forty minutes before. She hadn't been expecting that one kid from that one class (that she's never even spoken a word to, for the matter) to be standing outside with a suitcase in one hand, a duffel in the other, and a messenger bag slung over a broad shoulder.
He hadn't had the chance to look her in the eye yet, since he had dropped his duffel and had his hand shuffle into his pocket to pull out her roommate ad from the local paper. He fiddles with the ends to soothe the sheet out before he initiates conversation, "So uh—says here you're looking for a person to help pay your rent?"
And then his eyes flicker to her oceanic gaze and he notices this familiar flicker of annoyance before he takes the time to notice her blonde mess of waves that she subconsciously rakes her fingers through to pull away from her face. It's the exact moment he remembers. Well, she had sat a couple seats in front of him, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't notice every time her fingers combed through her hair just as she had done at this very moment. She does it so easily, and he had (almost) thought about what it'd be like to run his own hands through the tresses. He dismisses the thought as soon as it comes to him.
"Hey, yeah, I know you," she says in nonchalance, eyes squinting as if she was trying to recall his name.
He jams the ripped newspaper advertisement back into his pocket before politely initiating a hand shake, "Lucas. Lucas Friar. We have intro to statistics together."
She looks at his exposed palm and slightly-fidgeting fingers before looking back up at him, skeptically and without a budge. One of her brow dips and she looks at him in suspicion. She watches as he uneasily moves his rejected hand to the back of his neck. He didn't even know her name, but she had the frightening power to make him nervous.
"When I submitted my ad, I was kind of expecting people of the same sex," she says honestly. He thinks she might be testing him. "And it's eleven P.M."
"How do I know that you won't sexually assault me three minutes after I let you walk through this door?" She is only eighty-three percent serious. "Tell me that, Cowboy."
"Is my accent that strong?"
"No," she answers, looking bored and leaning against the frame of her door. "I can see the cowboy hat sticking out of your bag."
Not only does she have the ability to make him ridiculously nervous, but she also has the power to make him feel dumb. Well, fuck. And then she kind of does this thing with her leg, like she's stretching it out behind her and this is the part where he notices that they're miles long and completely bare under this over-sized sweater she happens to be wearing.
"The fact that you haven't answered my question and how you're currently ogling my legs isn't doing you justice," she snidely comments, a hint of a smirk trying to pry its way to her lips. "Might have to sleep on the street tonight."
He feels the heat burning on the tip of his ears now—because goddammit, now she's getting him flustered; what can't she do? He really fucking hopes she doesn't notice the way he stutters since he's making it an internal rule to never give this girl (this stranger—or hopefully soon to be roommate; only because he needed a place now) the benefit of the doubt. "Look, Blondie—"
"Maya Hart," she corrects with her snarky demeanor. She looks somewhat entertained.
"Maya," he repeats. "Maya Hart…"
And then it clicks.
"Maya Hart! You're good friends with Farkle Minkus, right?"
The mention of one of her best friends is enough for her eyes to widen and her head to snap up.
"Ask him about me. Anything. I swear he'll be my voucher," Lucas reassures. "We're family friends. I've known the kid for years on end."
She wonders why Farkle had never mentioned this friend, but then realized that this friend had certain striking attributes that made him exceed most girls' (not counting her, of course) image of handsome. And Farkle had claimed to be in love with her for over a decade. Gathering her thoughts together, she tells him to wait a minute before shutting the door in his face to grab her phone and make a call.
When she gets her friend's two thumbs up, she sighs—a mixture admittedly being of relief and exasperation. Now she had to share her space—and with a boy, too. She decides quickly that she won't care to be self-conscious in front of him. Not that she needed to impress him. He was a fucking cowboy in her city. She takes a breath and rolls her eyes before opening the door once again and walking away after barely making eye contact.
"Thank you so much," he comments genuinely, bringing in his luggage while eyeing her retreating form. She doesn't care to make a tour, and he doesn't mind. "Been needing to get out of those dorm rooms, stat."
"Yeah, yeah," she replies half-heartedly while pulling long locks into a careless bun on top of her head. She turns her head slightly before continuing down the small corridor to her bedroom to meet curious azure eyes. "Your entrance fee's coming, by the way."
And she disappears, footsteps light along the carpet and leaving him in confusion.
He only understands when he opens the apartment door to Chinese take-out, and he is forced to pull out his wallet.