Where I Begin

*Professor Sycamore confronts a young Trainer about their relationship. Sycamore/(Insert Pokemon Trainer of your choice)*

Rated G

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It's been bothering him for some time now.

You've felt uneasy about your relationship, but not in the way he does. There are plenty of others that deserve him far more than you ever will, including those your age. You really do feel like the Jewel Thief of Kalos, having taken something that really shouldn't belong to you: his heart. Him being around Lysandre was painful enough.

You aren't bothered by it. You don't see numbers when you look at him. You see beauty, cheer, warmth, a searing passion for all things Pokemon. But all he ever sees are numbers, and they're putting your relationship in grave danger. You can ignore it but he can't. He refuses to. And no longer able to ignore the chasm between you two, he gently leads you into his office.

Your heart sinks. There's a gentle, bewitching smile on his face, but its plagued by sadness. It's as if Muk had his entire body cast over the sun, blocking out all light. His hand is in yours, just as gentle as a newborn Pidgey's feathers. His Fletchling's perched on his armrest, visibly uneasy. Unable to tolerate the false show of calm any longer, you fold your arms and ask him something.

"What is this about? Is everything all right?"

He smiles at you with those eyes made of liquid crystal, warm but heartbroken. A cascade of sunshine has enveloped his body, spilling in from his window, but the day is far from bright. The Pokemon on your shoulder bristles, in sync with your uneasiness, your pacing heart. "Ma chere," he murmurs, taking both of your hands. His voice is like the lullaby of a Clefairy; soft, light and ethereal. Unfortunately, it's also saturated in poisonous sludge.

"I...I think it's time we end this."

"End what?"

He looks away, planting his eyes on the ground. "I can't do this to you any more, mon amour," he says, as if he's kept you in a torture chamber all year long. He's gripping your hands and it feels as if his hands are made of steel. On the other hand, they're able to fall apart any moment. The human whose heart you stole is a mystery much greater than Mew, Lucario and Dialga combined.

"I think...I think it's time."

You're a bristling Charizard, ready to set the entire lab on fire. If he had said anything else, anything at all, you would've been more understanding. Your Pokemon friend peers into your eyes worriedly, thoroughly uncomfortable with the tension between two loved ones. You speak as your body trembles, enraged.

"If you had finally opened your eyes, and realized you deserve more than I'll ever be able to give, I would've walked out. I would've ended this. But not like this. I'm not ending this because you want to run away!"

Your body is a burning mass of pain. He's hurt, confused, wanting to set you free as if you've been an enslaved Pokemon. You hate him just as much as you love him, which has you ready to explode like a Pokemon using Self-Destruct. "You think it's any picnic being with YOU?" you cry, tears racing down your cheeks.

"You think I'm happy competing against hundreds, no, thousands of your fans? People that deserve you far more than I ever will? No! I hate that you're with me, I hate that you're wasting your time with me, but to end this because-"

You can't speak any more. You bolt out of his office, Pokemon perched on your shoulder, iron lodged in your throat. You want to get out, need to get out, can't believe he wants to end it all over numbers, can't believe he wastes his smiles, his kisses on you.

You run by his worried co-workers, throw yourself into an empty research room and slam the door. Rivers flow from your eyes, your body shakes-

And all you can think about is the look on his face. The look you hate more than anything.