Reflection. Lyra had a habit of doing so.
Often times it led to the crashing waves of bittersweet nostalgia. There she wavers, at the shores of Olivine, her mind a whirl of remembrance. The challenges, hardships, tough times. Raising her starter from an infantile Chikorita to the hardy Meganium it was present day, her faithful minuteman prepared to ever defend. Barreling through countless gyms, ambitiously striving for victory. Elm. Ethan. Lance. Silver.
Upon instinct, her nose scrunches. Silver. Who had started out as simply a Passerby Boy with a rotten attitude morphed into Lyra's top adversary. Words preceding their formal introduction still rattled her, ruffled her.
"You got a Pokémon at the lab? What a waste. A wimp like you."
Her continuous attempts to shatter his icy exterior with sweetness and patience were futile. Persistence was practically a trademark of hers, yet she found this particular person so exhausting, so infuriating, so unforgettable.
A mass of frustration consumes her. Breath exits her nostrils with a short growl, restraining the urge to stamp a foot; she isn't a child, she isn't about to throw a tantrum. But damn it...the mere thought of her foe made having a fit that much more tantalizing.
If Silver only knew just how worked up he got her, imagine! Lyra easily pictures his thin lips perked into a smirk, oozing with ego. Even nicer a mental image; those same thin lips contorting to lock with her own, resentful and burning with passion and-
"No!" She shakes her head with a tad too much vigor, ponytails whipping her cheeks with each movement. From beside her, Meganium glances up in concern, expression holding more emotion than should be capable of a Pokémon. Lyra huffs, straightens herself out, soothingly pats enormous vibrant petals. The apprehension lowers, though Meganium doesn't shut off its radar completely, keeping watchful eye on its trainer as it settles back into the sand below.
Stop thinking about him like that, Lyra demands of herself. Stop thinking about him.
Her hat travels from head to hand, free fingers running smoothly through brunette locks. Again, she can't restrain a sigh. It's a shame, truly, that she allows herself these emotions. Over a year had passed since their last exchange.
"...I haven't given up on becoming the greatest trainer...I'm going to find out why I can't win and become stronger...When I do, I will challenge you. I'll beat you down with all my power...You keep at it until then."
Whether it was a solid promise or spoken only to fill the atmosphere, a battle cry to cool his lividity, Lyra is unsure. Hopes for the former are sincere yet all the same fanciful. Silver was a maniac, unpredictable toxic in her veins. Narcissistically wicked! Self-centered, hoity-toity jackass!
Although it never exits the bounds of her mind, she regrets thinking so immediately, reacting with a shrill gasp. It again alerts her Meganium, who nudges its head into Lyra's palm, receiving a pat accompanied by a breathy giggle.
"Y'know, you're super at cheering me up," Lyra voices, continuing the strokes to its head, smiling at the feel of affectionate nuzzles. Gaiety lives for mere moments before issues of adoration surface once more, dragging along dismalness. She leers toward the horizon, then sets sights at her companion.
"What do you think?" is her question, hitting directly at a hopelessly illiterate target. Meganium offers a gentle cry of its name. Lyra burrows her face in her palms, noting with distaste at just how warm her cheeks have grown.
"I know, it's weird to like someone who's such a...such a...!" the statement ends with a flustered groan. "But I can't help it, I really can't!" Legs fold beneath her, plunking herself in the sand, leaning against Meganium's body. Onward she fulminates, vociferates, pontificates. Continues until she's breathless and red in the face, until the pounding in her chest and buckling of knees can no longer be excused as fury; rather, she accepts responsibility, her cross to bear.
Lyra is mad with infatuation, ridden with affection, caught in adoration that burns deeper than any crush.
"I'm in love!" she shouts to no one and everyone. She howls, cackles. "I'm in love with a jerkface!"
"How wonderful. Now quit shrieking, you'll deafen the entirety of Johto."
Facetious. Jeering. Arrogant. Lyra cannot, will not believe it. There's no way, absolutely, positively no way-
She glances upward. And her heart feels as though it has leapt straight into her throat.
"...Silver?"
His stance is wide, important, arms folded, scowl blaring. Though it is his name she's shakily murmured, and though he has heard it, there is zero sign of response. Lack of conversational reciprocation fails to hinder Lyra's euphoria. She hops to her feet, heels nearly slipping, bolts over to him.
"What are you doing-"
"I told you, I'd be back to challenge you. All this time, I've been training my Pokémon rigorously," he pauses, flicks a scarlet bang from his forehead. "It's time to see how much I've improved."
She's left speechless, left gawking. "Silver...you're here!" Giddy giggles slip past upturned lips, enchantment tightly raveled within the girl, captivated by rapture.
"I was just thinking about you," she breathes, allowing a grin, allowing herself to be consumed; allowing her hands to find his, delicate fingers wrapping around. He flinches, tugs away to save his dignity, yet is frozen in place by her relentless vise hold.
"...What are you doing? Let go of me."
Her flush is evident, yet last on her mind. She's captivated. She stares, stares, stares. Silent, still grinning, ever cunning. His demand is met, his hands dropped. A muffled chuckle.
"You're a real jerkface, Silver."
Mouth contorts into scowl, narrowing of eyes completing the glower. Poison, he's poison. And Lyra's just uncapped the vial, treacherously close to tipping it, pouring the bitter contents down her throat.
"I came here to battle, not be ridiculed by a noisy brat. Now, are we going to get to this, or are you going to keep acting like a halfwit?"
"Hm...both, I think."
His eyeroll is coated with loathing, her laugh airy and light.
He harrumphs, produces a Pokéball from a frayed belt loop. Surely it homes his Weavile.
Boots move confidently backward, one, two, three steps, before fingers on an outstretched arm tighten around the ball.
"No mercy," Silver informs curtly. "Get ready."
Lyra likewise shuffles behind, nod solidly affirmative, radiating confidence.
"Ready as I'll ever be."
A/N: soulsilvershipping is one of my fave pkmn ships tbh. like after chess & pallet, its right there. despite the abrupt cut off, this is complete. i might write another thing for them though. not sure when bc i havent slept in like 2 days so. later.