contestshipping was my first true otp!
Drew doesn't believe in magic. Never has. Never will. So there has to be some sort of science that explains how this one maddening rival of his managed to go from a victorious yet sweaty and all the more brilliant for it winner to some sort of princess in about seventy-two hours. To be fair, he's never really met a princess, but he imagines that one might wear something like what May's wearing. He's a coordinator through and through, and he picks up details here and there that talk of elegance. Thin silver necklace. Hair brushed down. Shoulders bare. Gloves.
Gloves.
Three days ago, he watched her figuratively crush every other coordinator in the contest hall, fists clenched within the same worn-out biker's gloves she's been wearing since the day he first saw her on that beach. So it throws him for a loop, seeing the soft white gloves she's wearing now. These stretch from her fingertips to elbow, tiny pearls dotting the back. He follows her hands with his eyes and marvels at the difference.
"Drew, you have to stop," a voice tells him, and he waves it off as his conscious. It's certainly been pushing and prodding and pulling at him lately in regards to May — May, who looks joyful as she gazes off into a crowd of people. A lot of people. So many that he can't really tell who she's looking at, though not for lack of trying.
"Stop it, Kiddo," the voice commands again, and this time he blinks, because only one person calls him that.
"Hn?" he says, and he sounds like he's still stuck in dreamland. But he can't help it.
Solidad isn't having it; she pinches his forearm and he hisses at her. The look of exasperation she tosses down from him doesn't help his ego. Also, since when did his voice of reason start sounding like Solidad?
"You're going to freak her out," Solidad says.
"Was she looking?" his traitorous mouth asks.
"Why don't you go talk to her," she suggests, barely on this side of a sigh. It's also not really an answer. Drew flicks his hair away from his face. The nervous tick has become a bit of a signature of late, and as far as those go, he's seen a lot worse.
"Nah." He glances up at his friend. Her eyes are still resting on the people milling about in their fancy clothes, considerably more calm than his own crazy eyes. At least, that's what she called them once. Or was it his conscious? Ugh.
"Go, Kiddo," is all she says.
"Pushy," he snarks, so she pushes him.
He catches his breath, mutters something choice, and heads across the ballroom. He wishes he could hear the sound of his steps falling, so he could have something other than the sound of his heart freaking out to hear, but the laughter and music and talking are all too loud. Drew looks up, sees May, and-
And he stops.
He stops, because someone else has beaten him to her.
Oh, irony. What Drew wouldn't give for it to be socially acceptable to go bang his head against the wall a couple times.
For a moment, he stays there, in everybody else's way, because he doesn't really care about anybody else. Just her. Her, and the guy she's currently chatting with, who Drew has effectively elected to hate on principle.
Well, never let it be said that Drew is one to be cowed.
So he keeps walking, picking up speed as the guy holds out one hand and May leans closer and the guy is grinning and May's eyes are bright, bright blue.
"Hey," he says, pressing every drop of confidence into the word. The two pause. May looks pleased to see him. The other guy clearly is not. "Who's this?" Arrogant, over-stepping, impolite, jealous. Yep. That's him.
"Hello to you too," May remarks, eyebrows raised at his abruptness. "Drew, this is my friend Timmy Grim. We met a long time ago, during one of the Verdanturf contests. And Timmy, this mannerless oaf is Drew." He bites back a snicker. It appears he's taught her well.
"Nice to meet you, Drew," Grim says sullenly. He's not even trying. "May's told me some interesting things about you."
Well, now, that's interesting.
"Yours truly," he says, giving the guy a hair-flick just because he can. It's for the sake of his signature. Really. It's not because uneasiness is sliding through his veins as if he were a sailor relearning his land-legs. Nope. "What sort of interesting things? I'm curious."
"Don't you know it's not polite to talk about a lady behind her back?" May interrupts. The Grim guy looks at her before meeting Drew eye to eye.
"My mouth is sealed," he says proudly. Moron. "Anyway, May," he says, "I was about to ask you for a favor." Drew can feel himself scowling, dark and unsubtle. Hopefully, it'll just pass for ordinary disdain.
"What is it, Timmy?" Her voice is higher than usual (a feat, truly) and he can't tell what it's supposed to mean.
"Would you like to dance with me?" dumb Grim asks, and May's mouth falls open a little.
does anybody actually remember this ghosty guy?