The small sheet of paper, stuck on his desk, was inconspicuous amongst the various letters he'd received the previous day from fangirls—oftentimes, they'd start or end with an undying vow of love. The Coordinator enjoyed reading through these as, more times than not, it made him laugh out loud and wish he had company at the moment, although some of them were a bit disturbing for him to make that leap into narcissist humor.
It stuck out to him, though, as it was mostly clean and smelt, very vaguely, of perfume he immediately recognized. Drew whipped up the small note and read it, scanning each line carefully and concisely,
Hey Drew!
It's May, in case you haven't guessed.
Just telling you that I'm going out with this wonderful guy called Brendan Birch; he just told me yesterday that he liked me, and to be honest I was rather surprised. We've been the best of friends ever since… well… forever! I'm so excited! We're going to the cinema tomorrow, so can you maybe drop by at round three at Lilycove Shopping Center to help me pick out an outfit? You know I'm helpless in the fashion area… heck, it was actually Brendan who helped design my current wardrobe—he's so girly but so hot in that way!
Well, see ya then!
Last one there's a rotten egg!
Lots of love,
May
Drew did not really know what he should be feeling, although his heart felt like it was being slowly decapitated the further down the message he proceeded. When he reached the end, the green-haired Coordinator felt like ripping the letter to shreds. Yet he couldn't.
He glanced up at a monumental board he had kept on a separate wall, all of its own—on it, Drew had pinned souvenirs, all of which he had pinned onto it and those that he couldn't he had kept in a separate drawer. Nimbly picking up a tack from the desk besides his own, the green-haired Coordinator pinned May's letter onto the board before turning away to swallow the sob which had formed in his throat.
The Coordinator no longer cared that his jade hair was falling into his emerald eyes on an accord of their own—where areas he would have stopped to self-satisfactorily flip it out of his gaze, he did not that time. Instead, Drew simply threw on his lilac jacket and walked out his room's door, prepared to fly away on his Flygon. Perhaps to Mirage Island if he could get there—and if not, he could always join that Onix-mourning guy in the Sevii Islands.