His Roselia carried two roses on its arms. One was red and the other was blue. They were equally healthy, equally big, equally intricate in design. They were the same in every way except for the color. And it was the color that was crucial.
People saw roses as a whole as romantic, like candlelit dinners and quiet strolls along the beach. They associated it with joy, because didn't every girl want to get a bouquet of roses? Not May. She desired and feared a bouquet with equal fervor. Because in the end, the color had the potential to make or ruin her dreams.
Red was the color of romance and undying passion. Red was the one everyone wanted. But the blue was still there, no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise. And blue was the color of unrequited love.
She knew it in her heart that Drew didn't care for her the way she did for him. He respected her as a coordinator and that was as far as it went. But to have it confirmed would destroy her. As long as he didn't tell her directly, she could keep some small hope alive.
She was pathetic, clinging on to every semi-positive remark he ever made to her, even ones that were directed to her Pokémon. She was pathetic, getting her hopes up when he gave her a rose, even though it was just his habit.
She'd kept each rose long after it withered; until it crumbled into nothing at her touch, no matter how lightly her fingers brushed it. They were as fragile as her heart.
Her first impression of him had been that he was an arrogant jerk. Talented, yes, but all the talent in the world didn't make up for his rudeness.
Then he helped her with the berries. And with Harley and Team Rocket. She saw how good he was to his Pokémon, how sometimes he avoided entering contests just to give them a break. Eventually, everything added up to make her fall in love with him.
The roar of the crowd startled her from her thoughts. Drew had finished his appeal, another stunning one, judging by the reaction. Her eyes had been trained on the TV, but she hadn't seen it at all. It was her turn now.
She rose from her seat and walked towards the stage. It turned out that becoming a coordinator made you an extraordinarily good actor. No one noticed how dazed she was or how sad she was feeling, not even Drew as he passed by on his way out. He gave her a confident smirk and she felt a burst of electricity run through her veins. She disguised it by using her happy coordinator mask, twisting her face into some semblance of the passionate expression she used to wear.
Somewhere along the line, competing in contests became painful. They meant she had to see Drew again and maybe he'd give her another rose if she did especially well, and she'd fall deeper and deeper in love. She still loved being a coordinator, but now the contests caused her more sorrow than pleasure.
She walked onto the stage with false confidence in her stride. It was easy to fake after experiencing the real thing so many times. Pasting on her phony smile, she released Beautifly and began her appeal.
She didn't need to concentrate. After practicing for so many hours, this appeal had become second nature. She was on autopilot now, which she hated because that just gave her more time to think.
More time to feel.
More time to hurt.
She wanted to lose herself in the contests again, be swept away in the joy of the moment and be carried high on the excitement of the crowd. But she couldn't. She didn't even get to make the choice. Her unoccupied mind simply turned to Drew. Was he watching her? Did he think her appeal was good? Had she done anything to earn another rose?
Beautifly landed gently on her head, the signal that she was finished, and May turned to the judges. After they finish their usual comments, her score flashed on the screen. 28.5. A good score. But it wasn't their approval that she wanted. It was Drew's.
As soon as she left the stage, she let the cheery countenance drop. She let her footsteps become mechanical and robotic, let her grin fade away. She quit making the effort to appear alive with passion as she once had been.
Yes, on stage she was put together, bright, happy, bursting with spirit. On stage she shone like the brightest of stars, smiling and radiant and sparkling with vitality. She was a diamond.
But now it was the intermission.
AN: God, I was not intending to write this. I was just browsing through some stories and I came across one called Intermission, and after seeing the title, something about pretending a relationship was perfect, followed by "But now it was the intermission" drifted into my mind. I knew it was a perfect last line. I'm not the biggest fan of ContestShipping (I do think it's the best one for May, though), but I was running through a list of shippings I could use, and I hit upon the idea of it. I'd read a good one earlier, and well, the term intermission is perfect for a coordinator. I was originally intending this to depict their crumbling relationship and the intermission be metaphorical, but it didn't fit right, since I can't see why they'd pretend. Then I mentally switched the theme of the second to last line to "She pretended everything was alright on stage". Then I realized "Wait, that works," a lot better than the original idea too. Then I fiddled with that until it became an unrequited love set in a contest, with a literal intermission (they don't have a set one, but the breaks are close enough).
I didn't know how to start this, so I was stuck for a while. I'd already written the withered rose bit, then I ended up connecting it to the blue rose through a mental image from FMA, and I worked in the Roselia connection . . .
I'm rambling, aren't I? No one wants to hear this. Sorry. Bad habit.