a/n: to clarify, May and Drew are 22 and 23, respectively. i also like to think that they both began their journeys at age 14 rather than 10. but feel free to think whatever you like; it shouldn't play too much of role in the story.
She's in an awful mood. Again.
Moping about in her room is tempting but moping requires nourishment so before anything else, she'd figured that she might as well have breakfast. But then she had realized that last night she had promised to eat with Drew in a fit of impulsiveness.
So currently, she's sitting inside one of Sunnyshore's local café's, waiting for Drew who had offered to go fetch their drinks. She's really kicking her past self because Drew knows her too well and May isn't quite up to be psychoanalyzed- even if she does happen to end up feeling better.
May's trying to figure out ways to direct the conversation from herself or even cut their breakfast early when a cup is thrust at her face. She startles.
"You're out of it," Drew remarks lightly as he plops down in the chair across from her.
"Thanks," she says, opening the lid in preparation to add a bit of sugar and cream. She raises an eyebrow. She distinctly remembers asking for black yet the drink is decidedly lighter than it should be.
She looks at him. A silent question.
Drew shrugs and lifts his own drink to his lips.
"Arceus- no wonder Solidad's forcing you to meet someone. You need all the help you can get," she grumbles, recapping her drink.
"How so?"
May sits up a little straighter. "Well first of all, there is nothing more annoying than a guy who orders for you- or in this case, adds in all the little packets of sugar and cream for you! It screams arrogant, not to mention presumptuous."
He rolls his eyes. "May, you're not a random stranger. I've had enough coffee with you to know what you like. And in case you've been asleep for the past seven years, I am arrogant."
She makes a face at him. Drew does things like this sometimes and she isn't exactly innocent of it either. But somehow, while she's not really annoyed about the drink, she kind of is.
"Hmmph! I have different moods, you know, and I adjust my coffee accordingly."
He gestures at the cup. "If you don't like it, I'll happily buy you another. Not that I think that would be necessary."
May takes a sip, wanting to spit it out and scathingly declare it horrible, but much to her grief (a reoccurring feeling when it comes to anything Drew), it is excellent. Sweet on her tongue, but not enough for it to become overwhelming. She looks at him, grudgingly impressed; he's already vocalized this but how keen is he on the details to have replicated her ideal beverage that precisely?
It takes all of her self-control to not immediately take a second sip.
"How is it?" he teases.
May's not quite ready to give up on her pride but she isn't one to outright lie either.
"Passable," she acquiesces primly but the little smile tugging at her lips gives herself away. Good food never fails to boost her mood. He knows it too, the ass. He sits back in his chair in a self-satisfied sort of way.
Hadn't he been even a teensy bit nervous? What would he have done if she had hated it? He's so self-assured that May wonders if those kind of questions even pass through his mind.
"Feel better?"
"A little."
"So…what's got you so hung up this morning?"
"I was just hungry."
"Right," he says dubiously and May can practically see his mind clicking through the events of last night. "Was it that reporter? Because-"
"Just drop it, Drew," she says and her tone comes out a lot sharper than she intends it to. "It really is nothing."
Drew opens his mouth to speak but is effectively interrupted by a waiter.
"The early bird special, three oran berry doughnuts, and a vegetarian omelet?" he asks.
"That's us," May and Drew chorus together, the former excitedly and the latter wryly.
"Enjoy your meal."
"Thanks!"
They sit in silence after that and May uses it to productively attack the spread before her. Bacon is reliable across all restaurant establishments so she goes for that first. She finds that the hash browns are solid- crunchy, just the way she likes them. And she's usually dubious about pancakes; they tend to fall flat most of the time but the poppy seed in the batter is really making it work and the cream they topped it with is pleasantly zesty.
She steals bits of Drew's vegetarian omelet which is just okay. It really would have been better if they had added some more cheese…
"Hey May."
"Hm?" Oh, this is heavenly. No offence to everything else on the table, but there really is no better pair than a perfectly brewed, piping hot cup of coffee and a glazed oran berry doughnut.
He taps the corner of his lip.
"Oh, thanks." Her tongue darts out to retrieve the wayward crumb. May takes another doughnut.
"You should really try one," she enthuses. "It's so good."
Drew looks a little uncomfortable. Maybe he's having an indigestion, May wonders. "And deprive you? Nah, I'm okay."
May shrugs. His loss. She takes another bite and chews, thoughtful. "Y'know what I've been thinking? This whole setting you up without permission doesn't really sound like Solidad."
"She's worried about my...health? She thinks I'm too focused on coordinating."
Affronted, she says, "There's nothing wrong with that!"
"I think the exact quote was I'm 'wasting away my youth,' and that I need to meet more people," Drew says dryly.
"Uhh." Solidad would be the last person May would guess to say something like that. Hadn't she spent her teens and most of her twenties furthering her coordinating career? Besides, gaining a significant other seems like it would rather complicate those kind of problems rather than solving them.
"My response exactly. But you know Solidad- you can't argue with her."
"More like you can't argue with her," May laughs. Solidad is like the older sister Drew never had. With the familial relationship came the busybody annoyances. "But hey, who knows? She could be-" May pauses dramatically, "-the one."
"'The one?'" Drew scoffs. "Give me a break."
"It could happen!"
"It won't."
"But it could," May persists.
"I recognize the possibility. But it won't," Drew says flatly. "Trust me."
"Oh, all right." May gives him a peeved look. "But you should still go."
"Why?"
"To prove me right, of course."
"That's not a real reason."
May makes an aggravated noise in her throat. "What do you mean by a "real" reason anyways? It sounds like you do want to go but you're too shy to just go for it and you're trying to find a reason from me not to go and then purposely do the opposite on the guise of upsetting me!"
"Now why would I do that?"
"Because you like being contrary and ignoring my wholesome advice."
"I actually don't like doing that."
"And annoying me," she adds sourly.
"Now that I will admit to."
"But fine, if you really want to know what I think: I would prefer if you didn't. It would be a real tragedy if my greatest rival bit the dust at the appeals round because he got all soft and mushy after getting a girlfriend."
"Girlfriend or not, that would never happen."
"Maybe getting you soft is Solidad's plan," she says, laughing. "You did give her a run for her money that last contest."
"That sounds like something Harley would do."
"That is…disturbingly plausible."
She polishes off the rest of her hash browns. "Actually, just forget what I said. You should go if it's really what you want to do."
Drew blinks. "What's with the sudden change of heart?"
"Oh, I don't know. I guess I was just being a little selfish when I told you not to go. I'm sure the blind date will be fine. I just…don't like things to change? It's hard to think that maybe…in ten years we'll have retired and won't see or really contact each other anymore except for the remote Christmas card. Wait a second...you don't even write me Christmas cards now so forget I even said that."
"May, I spend almost every Christmas with you. Why on earth would I write you a card when I could say everything I wanted to say in person?"
"I write you cards!" May cries, pouting.
Drew huffs out a breath. He can't think of a good enough counterargument. Cards, for all they are, are inanely stressful. May wouldn't understand; she writes ten in the time it takes Drew to write one.
"Why are you even thinking about ten years into the future anyways? You're more of a live life day-to-day kind of person."
She shrugs. "Not sure. I've just been in a weird mood lately." She pauses. "So, what're you going to do?"
Drew rubs his thumb against the rim of his now empty coffee cup. "I guess I'll go. I mean, it's not the most terrible thing to happen. Worst case scenario, we'll never see each other again anyways."
"Yeah," she says, smiling. The napkin in her fist crinkles. "No stress."