disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon, just this little story :)
notes: This is last chapter of Existing With You.
Like all stories, there is no true end, like this one for May and Steven, but I hope you continue to make up their stories and remember them.
This was my first multi-chaptered story. Ever. I am a big procrastinator and I often lose inspiration, so completely this is actually a huge accomplishment for me.
For everyone who followed, liked, and reviewed this in the flow of time it took to complete, thank you so much. I cannot even explain with words how much your words and actions have meant to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
I'm actually somewhat satisfied with this chapter- it was the longest one to write! Hope you enjoy it! (: And hopefully you all stay updated on my future works as well!
Ah, and for context, this is Steven's thoughts of May throughout this entire set of drabbles, which is why it's only a brief characterization of their relationship. It is not very detailed in why he likes her, but more of what she means to him. Just a way to draw this to a close!
May Maple is an ocean- a spectating sight, but a void of the unknown.
She is quick on her feet, quick to shed tears, too quick to forgive. She is too short with frail thin sticks as legs, pearly pale sheets as skin. May Maple is too loud, immature, and boastful. She goes in head-first, not thinking about the dangers, never fearing the consequences. She is stubborn, selfish, smoldering- too reckless for her own good, too good intentioned for anyone else's.
Steven Stone is unabashedly drowning and he doesn't think he wants to come up breathe.
-;-
Like most things, they are accidental.
They help each other because it's the kind, considerate thing to do. Then he finds himself intrigued and he just wants more- to learn more about her, to talk to her more, to see her more. He doesn't know if that's right- if he has the right, but she lets it happen all the same.
It's not sentimental enough to be called a relationship, but labeling it as a fling is too crude.
Unlike accidental occurrences, they are typical. People gossip, they fight, she cries, they apologize. They hurt each other, countlessly disappoint one another, so much sometimes he doesn't know if he should be mad at her or more at himself. But he would never blame her.
However they might get into squabbles and past boundaries that was forbidden from long ago, she understands. She doesn't question his free holiday schedules, or comment on dull silver eyes lined with purple rings or his wayward trips across continents of searching and seeking.
She just looks him, without sympathy or concern, indifferent by his demons. She's there.
He cannot express why he is thankful for that.
-;-
Sometimes, he wonders if she regrets him.
He ponders if the whispers of the press, the glistening eyes from the gym leaders, the light glances from the Elite Four are worth it.
Other times he doesn't care because he doesn't pretend he doesn't want her- the way their legs weave together under crisp sheets on late Sunday mornings, twilight evenings of lulled strolls along beach shores, the way her lashes flutter against his cheek, her lips gliding on his.
He just wants to be with her, just simply existing along side her. He just wants to be able to love her, as stupid and corny as that sounds. Damn everything else.
It's immensely uneasy how unrefined she makes the world look, how she makes him so simple and vulnerable.
Or maybe he was always like that when it came to her.
Steven Stone no longer feels weightless and built up around iron walls that shut out the rest of the world.
She is dancing across boundaries, slipping between cracks, stepping through lines never crossed, not open to anyone.
He learns that if there is even such thing as love, he is satisfied. He can allow himself the pleasure of solid embraces, feathery finger-tips brushing purposely against his, the ease he feels when that someone is gripping their arms around his shoulders and softly cooing, "i'm right here, it's going to be ok."
If she's here, he is going to be okay
-;-
"One day, I want to marry you."
He blurts it out just like that on a casual Friday morning, speckled spots of sun leaking in through the blinds of his kitchen. He already feels the tingling of his ears turning hot pink.
She stiffens automatically, caramel eyes widen slightly, the hand holding a slice of jam smothered toast halting on its journey to her waiting mouth. She blinks and puts the toast down, staring at him with unrelenting eyes.
He wants to tell her to forget it, that it was just a spur of the moment in his mind, but a part of him feels wronged. He doesn't want to tell her to forget about it.
But she plays it off as coolly it started. "Why?" she asks.
Now it's his turn to stare at her. He frowns, "Why not?"
She props her elbow on the table and rests her chin on her palm. She sighs. "I like you. You like me. I don't see why we have to get married if we both already know that. We don't need to prove it to ourselves or anyone else."
"Then why not get married?"
She looks away from him and he feels knots in his stomach and anger boiling in his chest. He's about to open his mouth and demand why again until she adds softly, "I'm scared."
And suddenly he doesn't feel mad anymore, his eyes softening up her figure. He lightly asks, "Of me?"
She shakes her head and looks up to give him a small smile. "Not you. Never you. I just... do you really mean it? Do you really want to be with me? Marriage is supposed to be like forever, you know."
"I know," he says, leaning across the wooden table to grasp her hand between his. "Of course I know. Do you really doubt me that much?"
"No," she whispers, staring at their hands.
"We don't have to do it now. We don't have to get married until you want to."
She gently traces his knuckles with her index finger, making slow lines around the outline of his skin. "But if you could have anyone, anyone in the world, why would you pick me?"
"Because if I'm going to exist at all in this world, at least let me spend every moment of my existence with you. Even if you're a moron and you hog all the blankets at night, and you eat a lot."
She pouts cutely at him and then gets up from her seat, only to place herself in his lap two seconds later. His arm slides to wrap around her back, her hands meet the sides of his face. "You suck," she says, smiling widely before leaning forward.
He cranes his neck up, feeling the familiar sensation of his pulsing pounding in his ears, eyelashes fluttering on cheekbones, a warm breath mixing with his own. He can taste berry jam and something else, something sweet and distinctly May.
Every time he kisses her, it feels like a small victory, like he's gaining the best thing in his life.
These are little victories, but victories nonetheless.
He is glad he found something he always wins at.
-;-
May Maple is a storm- raging and relentless, but gratifying and lively and striking.
She is super violent, has a dirty mouth, and is way too friendly with other men. May is too oblivious, overbearing, and over-the-top. She pops her bubblegum when people are talking, nags people to insanity for someone to purchase her stupid seaweed chips, and she jumps on chairs while screeching when she spots bugs skittering across the floor.
She is a brat, a delinquent, an irritation.
But she is radiant and sunny like spring mornings, enchanting and dazzling like crystal nights and the dips of ocean waves in the depths of creamy sunsets.
She gives away her lunch to famished strangers on the train, places band-aids on the knees of crying children. She is poor with words, but delicate with actions, from soft kisses to gentle finger skimming across smooth skin.
Despite their outbursts and fall-outs, no matter how broken they become, it will always be her.
He wants to have her for the rest of his life.
Steven Stone is overwhelmingly sucked in and he doesn't think he ever wants to leave.
fin