Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Josh mentioned it casually — too casually.

He was leaning in her kitchen doorway, sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair still damp from the shower he’d taken in her apartment like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held a mug that used to be hers but now always seemed to end up in his hand. Everything about him looked settled. Comfortable. Like he’d been there forever.

And maybe he had, in all the quiet ways that matter.

“There’s a dinner thing next weekend,” he said, watching her stir pasta on the stove. “My mom’s birthday. Nothing fancy, just family.”

Maya froze for a beat. Not visibly. Not enough for him to notice — except, of course, he did.

“You want me to come?” she asked lightly, still stirring. Still pretending like her heart wasn’t suddenly in her throat.

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. But his voice was careful. Gentle.

“They asked if you’d be there.”

Her eyes flicked up. “They… asked?”

Josh smiled, soft and sure. “They know we’re… us.”

Maya turned back to the pasta, the motion mechanical. She wasn’t sure what to do with the swirl of heat and nerves in her stomach. Because this wasn’t new. She’d known the Matthews family since she was thirteen. She’d eaten their food, broken their furniture, crashed their holidays.

But now? Now she was showing up not as Riley’s best friend. Not as Cory’s constant headache. Not even as the scrappy girl from the wrong side of the tracks they all decided to love anyway.

Now she was showing up as his.

And that changed everything.

Later that night, Maya lay sideways on the couch, feet in Josh’s lap, sketchbook abandoned on her chest. The TV buzzed low in the background, but she wasn’t really watching.

“Do you think they’ll be weird?” she asked suddenly.

Josh didn’t look away from her legs. He was running his thumb along the arch of her foot absentmindedly — one of those unconscious little gestures that made her chest ache.

“Weird how?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “I’ve been around forever. But this is different. Your mom might start looking at me like I’m… a real person.”

Josh laughed quietly. “Maya, my mom has always liked you.”

“Liked me when I was Riley’s chaotic little sidekick. Now I’m…” She paused. “Now I’m yours.”

His hand stilled. She could feel him looking at her, that calm steady gaze that never let her hide.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said softly.

Maya swallowed hard.

Josh smiled, thumb brushing her ankle again. “Come to Philly with me.”

She didn’t answer right away. But her toes curled under his hand, and that was enough.

Maya stood in front of the mirror wearing her third outfit of the hour.

“I look like I’m trying too hard,” she said flatly.

“You are,” Riley replied, sitting crisscross on the bed with a pile of Maya’s shirts in her lap. “But that’s okay.”

Maya frowned. “That’s not helpful.”

Riley just smiled — the warm, too-patient kind that Maya had seen a million times growing up, usually when Maya was spiraling and Riley was gently refusing to let her fall apart.

“You’ve met his family a thousand times,” Riley said. “My mom once threatened to legally adopt you.”

“Yeah, when I was the lovable mess down the hall. Now I’m…” Maya made a vague gesture at her reflection. “Whatever this is.”

Riley tilted her head. “You’re still you. Just more… grown. You’re the Maya who keeps paint under her nails and leaves mugs all over the apartment and makes Josh Matthews forget how to function when you walk into a room.”

Maya blinked. “He functions just fine.”

“He does not,” Riley said, laughing. “He gets this dazed look like he forgot what air is.”

Maya fought a smile.

“And also,” Riley added, “he’s the one who invited you.”

Maya sat down beside her. “I think I’m scared I’ll ruin it. Like… this has been so easy. Just me and him, in our little bubble. But now we’re going outside of that. Into his world.”

Riley bumped her shoulder. “You’ve always been part of his world. The rest of us are just catching up.”

For a long moment, Maya was quiet.

Then, softer: “What if I’m too much?”

“You’re not.” Riley didn’t hesitate. “You’re the reason Josh stopped waiting for the perfect moment and started living his actual life. He’s so happy, Maya. I’ve never seen him this happy.”

Maya blinked fast. “You think?”

“I know.”

A pause. Maya swallowed, voice a little hoarse.

“He makes me happy too.”

Riley smiled like she’d known for years. “I know that too.”

Chapter Text

The Matthews' house in Philly looked exactly how she remembered it: warm lights glowing in the windows, a porch swing that creaked if you sat on the left side, and an overgrown hydrangea bush Amy refused to cut back because “it’s stubborn and beautiful and it grows how it wants — sound familiar, Maya?”

Maya stood on the walkway, a little more frozen than usual.

Josh glanced over. He knew that look — shoulders slightly too stiff, jaw a little too locked. He touched her lower back gently. Not pushing. Just anchoring.

“They already love you,” he murmured.

“They loved me as Riley’s friend,” she whispered back. “Not as the girl who’s been stealing your flannels and leaving her sketchbooks all over our place.”

Josh grinned. “You’re not stealing. You’re nesting.”

“That’s worse, Joshua.”

The front door opened.

Maya barely had time to recalibrate before Amy stepped out with open arms. “Maya!” she beamed.

Maya let herself be pulled into a hug. For a second, she was fifteen again, starved for warmth and accidentally stumbling into the kind of family that didn’t leave.

But when Amy pulled back, her eyes scanned Maya differently. Warm. But newly curious. Like she was recalculating where Maya fit in the family equation now.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Amy said. “Josh talks about you so much, I already know what your week looked like.”

“Hi, Mrs. Matthews,” Maya said, automatically. Then paused. “Do I still call you that?”

Amy smiled, pulling her into a warm, familiar hug. “You can call me Amy. Unless you’re mad at me.”

Maya blinked. “Noted.”

Topanga appeared in the doorway next, holding a glass of wine and wearing a look of fond amusement.

“See?” she said softly to Maya, after the initial greetings. “We told you there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

“I wasn’t nervous,” Maya lied, voice tight.

Topanga didn’t call her out on it. She just gave her that gentle, Topanga-specific smile. “It’s a big thing. Shifting roles. But you’re already part of this family. This just makes it official.”

That calmed Maya more than she expected.

Inside, the house was warm and familiar — the same scent of wood polish and some kind of vanilla air freshener Maya remembered from childhood visits. The living room looked mostly the same, maybe with a few more grandkid photos tucked into corners.

Alan came in from the kitchen, towel over his shoulder. “Joshy! Help me finish the potatoes, will you?”

Josh groaned. “I haven’t even taken my shoes off.”

“And I haven’t had a night off from cooking since 1983. Let’s go.”

Josh grinned and followed his dad, already rolling up his sleeves.

Amy turned to Maya, voice kind. “Can I get you anything, sweetheart?”

“I—no, I’m good, thank you.”

But then Cory appeared — hovering, exactly as expected. He looked like he’d been pacing for twenty minutes straight and wasn’t sure if he should be offering snacks or staging an intervention.

“So,” Cory said, clearly trying not to sound weird, which only made him sound weirder. “You two made good time.”

“We did,” Maya said carefully.

Cory nodded too fast. “And you’re staying the whole weekend.”

“That’s the plan.”

Topanga gently bumped Cory with her hip and handed him his water. “You’re doing great, honey.”

Cory whispered, “I’m not.”

Auggie appeared a beat later, dramatically flopping onto the couch with his phone. “Are Josh and Maya married yet?”

Maya choked on air. Cory made a sound like a kettle boiling. Josh, from the kitchen, called out, “Working on it!”

Amy, laughing softly, said, “Honestly, I thought it would’ve happened by now.”

Topanga just sipped her wine and smiled like she knew everything before anyone else did.

Josh, behind Maya, turned a shade redder than marinara.

Inside, it was chaos in the best way. Cousins, neighbors, Alan herding people toward the dining room. Maya hovered near the wall for half a second before Josh touched her elbow and guided her toward a seat next to him.

Cory, seated across the table, watched like a hawk in a cardigan.

It wasn’t subtle. He kept darting glances between Maya’s plate and Josh’s hand on the back of her chair. Between the way she laughed too easily when Josh made a dry joke, and how Josh refilled her glass without her asking.

“You’re breathing too hard,” Topanga murmured.

“I am not breathing too hard.”

“You look like you’re going to pass out.”

“I raised her like a daughter. And he’s…” Cory gestured helplessly toward Josh, who was at that moment pushing his mashed potatoes aside so Maya could steal half his dinner roll. “He’s my little brother.”

Topanga smirked. “She could do worse.”

“I’m not ready for this.”

“You weren’t ready when Riley got a fish.”

“Don’t bring Bubbles into this!”

Josh, completely unbothered by the fatherly meltdown occurring just three feet away, leaned in to whisper something in Maya’s ear. She laughed — soft, familiar. She rested her hand on his knee under the table like it was second nature.

Maya didn’t notice Cory staring.

But everyone else did.

Later, when the kitchen had cleared out and Maya was helping Amy dry dishes, there was a quiet moment.

“He’s softer around you,” Amy said, passing her a plate.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Maya admitted. “I just know I want to do right by him.”

“You already are.”

That undid her more than any big speech ever could.

Chapter Text

Philadelphia — the porch swing, late at night

The house had finally gone quiet. Cousins packed into cars, Amy stacking Tupperware, Alan herding leftovers into the fridge like a general after battle.

Maya slipped out onto the porch and dropped into the swing, her body still humming from everything — the food, the stares, the fact that she hadn’t had a panic attack in the middle of dinner when Cory looked like he was actively planning a wedding… or a murder.

The porch light cast everything in warm gold.

Josh joined her a minute later, handing her a mug.

“Hot cider?” she asked, surprised.

“Your fingers were cold.” He said it like obviously. Like noticing small things about her was his full-time job.

She stared down at the mug. “Are you trying to kill me with domesticity?”

Josh tilted his head. “Is it working?”

She took a sip. It was perfect.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Crickets buzzed in the background. A car passed in the distance.

Josh nudged the swing with his foot until they were gently swaying.

“I forgot how peaceful it is here,” Maya murmured.

He nodded. “I come out here when I need to think.”

“Still do?”

He looked at her. “Not as much lately.”

She swallowed. “Because you think less?”

“Because I’m not confused anymore.”

Maya looked away, down the street toward the familiar neighborhood shadows. “This was always Riley’s world, you know? Her porch. Her dad. Her chaos. I was just—”

“You weren’t ‘just’ anything,” he interrupted, voice steady. “You were always real. You were the one who kept everyone honest.”

She stared at him. “You remember too much.”

“I pay attention.”

Maya blinked hard at that. She hated how that sentence made her feel seen in a way that peeled back her armor like it was made of tissue paper.

Josh reached for her hand.

Not urgently. Just there, open palm.

She let her fingers slide into his.

“You really okay with all of it?” she asked after a minute. “Me… showing up in this version of your life? Being part of this family?”

He leaned his head back against the swing, watching the sky. “You were always part of it. Now we’re just telling the truth.”

Maya let that sink in. She curled into his side a little more, their legs brushing. She didn’t even pretend to make space.

Josh didn’t move either — just let her lean, let her rest. Like he’d been waiting.

Like this had always been the plan.

“I like it here,” she admitted. “But it’s not home.”

He turned to look at her again, soft curiosity in his expression. “No?”

She shook her head. “Home is messy. It’s sketchbooks all over the couch and your stupid cereal that smells like chemicals and you humming when you wash the dishes even though you can’t sing.”

Josh laughed.

She turned to look at him. “You’re home. That’s what I’m saying. It doesn’t matter where we are. You feel like home.”

There was a pause. Something shifted.

And then — quiet, reverent — Josh whispered, “Maya.”

“I’m not saying it,” she warned, suddenly flustered. “I’m not saying the thing.”

He grinned. “Okay.”

She took a deep breath, her voice barely a whisper. “But if I were saying it… you’d know, right?”

“I’d know.”

They didn’t say anything else for a while. Just held hands and rocked gently on the swing, the night wrapping around them like a secret.

Chapter Text

The morning sun slanted across the kitchen in a golden stretch, catching on every familiar surface — the worn oak cabinets, the cluttered fridge magnets, the cracked tile near the sink. It was a kitchen that had seen decades of breakfasts, arguments, report cards, and late-night leftovers.

Maya sat at the kitchen table in one of Josh’s old sweatshirts, knees tucked to her chest, a mug of coffee between her palms. She was alone, briefly — Josh had gone to walk Auggie to the corner store for donuts, Alan had disappeared into the garage, and Cory was (thankfully) still upstairs trying to talk Riley out of a meltdown about whether to wear boots or flats to brunch.

The quiet was welcome.

Until Amy Matthews entered the kitchen.

She moved with ease, barefoot, in a robe, her own mug in hand. She didn’t say anything at first — just moved around the kitchen like she had a sixth sense for where everything was, which she probably did.

She poured herself coffee. Took a sip. Then finally looked at Maya.

“I didn’t expect to find you awake,” Amy said softly, not unkindly.

Maya gave her a small shrug. “Didn’t sleep great. New place.”

Amy smiled knowingly. “That bed’s been through three teenagers. I’d be surprised if you did sleep well.”

They both sipped their coffee.

Then Amy tilted her head and asked, gently, “You’re serious about him, aren’t you?”

Maya felt her pulse jump.

There it was.

No sugarcoating. No small talk. Just the kind of direct, clear-eyed question only a mother could ask — not accusing, not testing, but knowing.

“I am,” Maya said after a moment, surprised by how steady her voice sounded.

Amy studied her over the rim of her mug. “And he’s serious about you.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I think he’s been serious about me longer than either of us realized,” Maya admitted.

Amy’s expression softened, and she sat down across from Maya at the table. “Josh was always a bit of a late bloomer when it came to life. He waited for things to feel right. Needed to be sure. It used to frustrate me, watching him hesitate.”

“And now?” Maya asked carefully.

Amy smiled. “Now I think it saved him. You showed up when he was ready — and that makes all the difference.”

Maya didn’t quite know what to say to that. Compliments still landed strangely on her, especially ones that felt like permission.

Amy reached across the table and lightly touched Maya’s hand. “You take care of him.”

“I try.”

“He needs someone who won’t try to tame him. Someone who sees the softness under the jokes. And I think... you might be the only one who ever has.”

Maya’s throat tightened unexpectedly.

Amy pulled back, took another sip of her coffee, and changed the subject so gracefully Maya almost didn’t notice. “So. What’s your stance on turkey bacon?”

When Josh returned with Auggie and a bag of donuts, he found Maya laughing at something Amy said, her coffee refilled, her shoulders lighter.

Josh raised an eyebrow at his mom.

Amy smiled innocently and kissed his cheek. “She’s good.”

“I know,” Josh said, and then reached for Maya’s hand under the table like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And Maya let him.

Chapter Text

Josh always forgot how cold the Matthews’ basement was.

It smelled like dust, old sports equipment, and memories. The place hadn’t changed much since he was a teenager — except maybe a few more boxes marked Riley’s College Stuff and Auggie’s Comics — Do Not Touch stacked haphazardly near the laundry machines.

He ducked under a low pipe and glanced behind him.

Alan followed with two mugs of coffee and a flashlight he didn’t need, because, as Josh pointed out, “We have electricity, Dad.” But Alan insisted — something about habit and "never trusting a lightbulb."

They were supposedly looking for an old card table for brunch. But the longer they lingered down there, the more obvious it was that neither of them was in a rush to return upstairs.

Josh leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching his dad fiddle with a box of tools that had nothing to do with their task.

“So,” Alan said after a moment, not looking up, “You and Maya.”

Josh smirked, unsurprised. “Me and Maya.”

“She always used to come around with Riley,” Alan continued, tapping the edge of a wrench against his palm. “Kind of felt like one of the family already.”

Josh waited.

Alan finally looked over. “But now it’s different.”

Josh didn’t flinch. “Yeah. It is.”

Alan nodded slowly. “You happy?”

That part was easy. “Yeah. I really am.”

Alan squinted a little like he was trying to decide how much “dad” he needed to be in this moment. Then he set the wrench down and sighed.

“You know I wasn’t always the best at… showing how I felt about things.”

Josh gave him a lopsided smile. “No kidding.”

“But I see how she looks at you. And I see how you are around her. It’s quiet, but it’s there. That steady thing.”

Josh stayed quiet. Let his dad fill the silence.

Alan glanced around the basement, at all the decades stuffed into corners and half-labeled bins. “We built a whole life up there — your mom and I — out of mornings and dinners and figuring stuff out one day at a time. That’s all it takes. You and Maya, you’ve already started that.”

Josh’s mouth pulled into a slow, real smile. “We kind of tripped into it, honestly. One day we were ordering Thai food and watching old movies… and the next we realized we hadn’t really left each other’s lives for months.”

“Sounds familiar,” Alan said, chuckling.

Josh glanced at the stairs, then back at his dad. “She’s it for me. Just so you know.”

Alan’s eyes softened. “Good. Now stop stalling and help me carry this table.”

Upstairs, meanwhile...

Topanga was clearing off the dining table. Cory was hovering at the window, peeking out at the backyard like someone might need to be tackled at any moment.

“Do you think they’re okay down there?” he asked for the third time.

Topanga didn’t even look up. “They’re fine.”

“What if Dad says something weird?”

“He’s been weird their whole lives, Cory.”

“But—what if Josh says something too serious?”

“Good.”

“Good?!”

Topanga set down a stack of plates. “Cory, your brother is in love. And Maya—who is practically your other daughter—is glowing for the first time in years. This is a good thing.”

Cory made a strangled noise and sank into a chair. “I need to lie down.”

Auggie walked through the room with a donut and casually patted Cory’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Dad. If they ever have kids, I’ll explain everything to them.”

Topanga turned away so no one would see her laugh.

Later that night, after the porch lights were switched on and the last dishes from dinner had been cleared, Maya curled up on the living room couch with a blanket and a mug of tea she didn’t remember asking for — Josh must’ve handed it to her mid-conversation, quietly, the way he always did.

She was still smiling when she looked up and realized she was surrounded.

Eric plopped onto the couch next to her like he lived there. Cory leaned against the doorframe, holding what was definitely his second dessert. And Morgan was lounging upside down on an armchair, scrolling idly but very much listening.

Josh walked in, saw the scene forming, and froze like a man sensing a trap.

“Are you guys—?”

Eric pointed a dramatic finger. “Sit. You’re under sibling investigation.”

Maya raised an eyebrow. “Oh, this sounds promising.”

Cory grinned, wicked. “We figured it’s time she learns what she’s signing up for.”

Josh sighed but flopped down next to Maya anyway. “This is a mistake.”

“You’re a mistake,” Eric said cheerfully. “Anyway! Maya, did you know Joshua once cried because someone drew a mustache on his fourth-grade school picture?”

“I was ten!”

“It was permanent marker,” Morgan added. “He refused to leave the house for two days. It was very ‘Phantom of the Opera.’ He wore a hoodie backwards so the hood covered his face.”

Maya was already laughing, head tipped back against the cushions. “Oh, I love this.”

“I hate this,” Josh muttered.

Cory sat down on the arm of the couch, his face bright. “Did they tell you about the broken mailbox incident?”

“No—” Josh groaned. “Cory.”

“Oh come on! It’s classic! He was trying to impress a girl in middle school, rode his bike with no hands while juggling three apples—”

“He hit the mailbox, flipped over the handlebars, and gave himself a nosebleed,” Eric finished proudly. “The girl screamed and ran. A tragic rom-com origin story.”

Maya was crying from laughter now. “Please. Keep going.”

Josh looked at her — disheveled from giggling, eyes bright, blanket half-slid off her shoulder — and despite everything, smiled.

Because she wasn’t embarrassed for him.

She was delighted by him.

Morgan cut in dryly, “Did anyone tell her about the time he tried to give himself highlights with lemon juice and sun exposure?”

Maya gasped. “No. But thank you.”

Josh gave her a sideways look. “You are not supposed to be enjoying this.”

Maya leaned into him anyway, shoulder brushing his. “Too late. I’m deeply invested in your teenage drama.”

He shook his head, but his hand came to rest against her knee under the blanket. It was small. Thoughtless. Intimate. And Cory saw it.

Saw it and didn’t say a word.

Just looked at his younger brother — comfortable, fully himself, happy — and at the girl who had somehow become the calm in his storm.

Later, as everyone drifted off toward the kitchen for a nightcap or a third round of dessert, Cory held Josh back a second.

“You know,” he said, voice soft, “you always had a good heart. But I think she makes you braver.”

Josh nodded once, eyes steady. “She makes me better. And not in a fix-me way. Just… in a way where I want to show up more.”

Cory clapped him on the shoulder, eyes a little shiny. “Okay. Okay. I’m gonna go cry in the pantry.”

Josh laughed, and Cory slipped away, muttering something about “emotional whiplash and sibling trauma.”

And from the living room, Maya looked over at Josh, her smile impossibly warm.

Chapter Text

The night air was crisp but gentle, wrapping around them like a familiar blanket as they settled on the worn wooden porch swing. The Matthews house behind them hummed softly with the sounds of the family winding down — muffled laughter, the clink of dishes, the quiet thud of shoes hitting the floor.

Maya leaned her head on Josh’s shoulder, her fingers playing with the edge of his flannel shirt, the fabric soft and comforting beneath her touch.

“Do you ever think about what home means?” she asked, voice low and a little hesitant.

Josh glanced down at her, warmth flickering in his eyes. “I used to think it was a place. Philly was home because that’s where I grew up. My family. The neighborhood. The streets I ran through as a kid.”

She nodded slowly, squeezing his arm. “I thought the same. But… since you’ve been here, it feels different. Like home isn’t a place anymore. It’s a person.”

He smiled, a slow, genuine curve that made her heart catch. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Maya laughed softly, then swallowed a little nervous breath. “Josh… you make my apartment feel like a home. Not just a space I live in. Like… I want you here. All the time. Not just crashing or stopping by.”

Josh’s hand found hers, fingers curling around hers naturally, like they’d always belonged together.

“I want that, too,” he said quietly. “You’ve been steady in my life when everything else was chaos. And being here with you… it feels like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be.”

She looked up, searching his eyes. “Can I tell you something?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Anything.”

She bit her lip, cheeks warming. “I think… I’m starting to feel something — maybe even love. But it scares me to say it out loud.”

Josh’s smile deepened, and he brushed a stray hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to be scared. I’ve felt it too, for a while now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Maya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her fingers tightened on his, a promise and a question wrapped into one.

Josh leaned in slowly, brushing his forehead to hers. “Home,” he murmured, “is wherever you are.”

The night wrapped around them again, warmer this time — full of possibility, and quiet certainty.