Dedicated to: Samia, my wifey and muse, whom I owe a lot.
Notes: Yeah, haven't written for those two in a year.
The Semantics of Romanticism
"Are you joking," May said.
Drew stared.
"No, really," she continued, "nobody does that anymore. Except for Brock, maybe."
"And me." Straightening himself, he shoved the bouquet of red roses even farther into her face.
"Seriously," she stressed und scrunched up her nose, "are you drunk or is this a bet?"
"You didn't complain before."
"Well," she placed her hands on her hips, "that was when we were children. I haven't seen you in years. Besides, didn't you always say the roses were for my Pokémon?"
For a moment, total silence hovered above them.
"So," he said, "are you going to take them or not?"
May threw her hands into the air and promptly shut the door in his face.
"So, about, um, about Drew," Dawn paused to gather her thoughts. It looked like something that required great physical strain on her part. "Are you really going to reject him? Because. I have to say something about that. I have to say. Don't do it."
"I already did," May took a sip of her cappuccino and sighed blissfully, "plus, he had roses with him."
"But, I thought. I thought you liked that about him."
"Of course I did. I was twelve when I last saw him." Six years, she thought suddenly. Already six years had passed since then. She had almost forgotten about it, how he had won the Grand Festival and she'd lost, and then gone back home to take over her father's gym. Absentmindedly she wondered what he had thought about that.
"That's too bad," Dawn said mournfully, "I wanted to see what happens next."
May concluded that Dawn was probably not the right addressee for her Drew-troubles.
The same afternoon the phone rang. May wasn't exactly sure why, but she had a Very Bad Feeling when she answered it.
"Hey," a sultry voice greeted her at the other end of the connection, "what are you wearing?"
"Have I mentioned that I have a boyfriend?" She knew it was really futile, but she tried anyway.
Drew snorted. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that."
"He is very upset about your scandalous behaviour." She attempted to sound dark and menacing, but it came out like something between a whine and a raspy whisper.
"Uh-huh."
"And, he's, uh," she was running out of things to lie about, "he's very tall. And strong. A real towser."
"Look," Drew said, seeming alarmingly serious, "why don't you just tell me the truth?"
May hung up.
It rang again almost immediately. At first, she planned to ignore it. Eventually even he would withdraw. Hopefully.
He didn't. After ten minutes, she gave up.
"What."
"Don't hang up." Through the receiver his voice was almost solemn.
May hung up.
"Drew showed up on my doorstep a few days ago," she informed Misty, who was in Petalburg for a few days due to an annual international gym leader conference. "He was trying to woo me with a bouquet of roses."
The two of them were on the couch playing Mario Kart. Or rather, Misty was playing Mario Kart, waggling her controller violently, whereas May was merely watching as her car was repeatedly shot with Koopa Shells or pushed off the course.
"Just a second," Misty said, eyes glued to the screen. She was currently sniping her competition by using some sort of spark device to slow them down.
"Sorry, what?" she asked, once the race was over.
"Nevermind, I don't really feel like having a girl-talk anymore. Not after what you've done to Peach."
"War has no place for princesses in frilly dresses," Misty said, coy, and switched off the volume. "So why are you so against his courtship, anyway?"
"Hello? Roses?" May said accusingly, and waited for sympathy.
Misty gave shrug. "Ash gave me some on our anniversary."
"Only because Brock told him so," May shot back sourly.
To her mild surprise, Misty said nothing to that, and for a while all the two girls did was lie on the sofa, limbs entangled at impossible angles, and stare at the ceiling. The clock's hands crept slowly toward five in the afternoon and twilight began to envelope the room, drawing it into a dark blue haze.
"You're scared," Misty mused out loud at twenty to six.
"Save it," May advised, voice low. She was not willing to have this conversation, not here, not now, not ever. Drew was not the boy she used to know and she was not the girl he was looking for anymore. Besides, the whole thing was simply a bad idea. After all, he was acting like Brock. And that was just wrong.
It got even wrong-er.
As the third hour of the budget meeting dragged on, May and Misty had begun to settle comfortably into a mindless, half-zombie state. This was rudely disrupted when Drew strode into the room, once again carrying a bouquet of roses. This one was even larger than the last one. Also, it was pink. May gaped at Drew in horror. Misty was barely able to stifle her giggles. Brock, who was seated at the other end of the room, gave him a double thumbs up.
"Hi," Drew said to everyone, smiling broadly, and then loped his way down the long conference table until he was standing right in front of May. She glared at him icily.
"I got you a different colour this time," he held out the bouquet confidently, "what do you say?"
May hid her face in her hands and moaned.
"May," Cynthia said dryly, "we would appreciate it if you kept your personal affairs and work apart from each other. You have five minutes to settle the matter."
As if on cue, May shot up from her seat, grabbed Drew by the arm and lugged him out of the conference hall into the deserted corridor.
"WHAT THE HELL, DREW," she burst out, "DON'T YOU HAVE ANY COMMON SENSE WHATSOEVER?"
"You have cute wrinkles on your nose when you scream," Drew helpfully pointed out with a grin.
"GOD DAMN IT, DREW," May continued, "WHY ARE YOU SO—STOP APPRECIATING MY FACIAL FEATURES."
"I can't help it," he said gleefully and patted her on the head.
"I'm serious, Drew," she hissed, jerking her entire torso away from his hand.
"So am I."
"No, you're not, you're ruining my life," she gestured vaguely in the direction of the roses, "and that's why I think it's time we established some rules."
"Look," he said, evidently in his best salesman voice, "why don't you come to my place tonight and then we talk this out in peace?"
May eyed him with deep suspicion. "Why?"
"Because if you don't, I'll stalk you to work for the rest of your life," he explained brightly and without any hesitation.
There was a moment of silence.
"So, is half past seven good for you?"
Drew answered the door in a towel.
Naturally, this did not affect May in the slightest.
"You're blushing," he noted cheerfully as he let her inside. The jerk.
"No, I'm not." That was because she was not. That would be stupid.
He chuckled. "You don't have to deny it, it's adorable."
"I—you—what." The words ran together in her mouth into an incoherent puddle, because Drew had just used the word adorable, and the towel around his hips was starting to drop, and—God, he was so evil!
"What indeed?" he muttered, suddenly standing suspiciously close to her, and looked her straight in the eye as he said it.
May tried her best not to look away, but it was impossible. His stare was too intense, too personal, and it made her realise that she had no idea why he was even doing this. Not once had he articulated a proper explanation about what had happened to make him come back; what she'd done to vindicate his full attention all of a sudden.
"Drew," she said, eyes closed in order to escape the distraction that was his face.
"May," he mimicked.
"Drew," she repeated, " please stop."
"Stop what?" he purred against her ear, and she made a sound. He seemed delighted. What a creep. "I didn't know your ears were this sensitive."
"This," she said, panting. Just talking to him was more exhausting than two whole days of the gym leader conference. "This whole thing. It's a farce. I don't know what it is you really want, but I won't give in. You're not fooling me. So stop it."
He pulled away. When she opened her eyes again a few seconds later, she saw that the smirk on his face had been replaced with a thoughtful frown.
"Why do you still see me as an enemy?" He was slowly clenching and unclenching his right hand. Again and again. It appeared as though there was something else he wanted to say, but nothing came.
"I," she paused, "I don't know you anymore. I have no idea who you are now, what kind of life you're leading, and—"
He looked at her expectantly.
And?
And, without knowing why, she began to cry. Her tears rushed down her cheeks in violent torrents, and, balling her hands into fists, she banged them against his chest.
"—you never came for me!" she screamed, her voice stumbling over the syllables rather than really enunciating them. "And I was so afraid."