A little oneshot that focuses more on hurt/comfort than romance, just a little heads up. Have fun.
She kept telling herself to stop expecting.
They exchanged mails, she and that fellow who was called Hydreigon. They met as strangers, like everyone else did, exchanged a few words, found some in common and just began to speak.
She found herself liking him, just because he was him and he cured her of her boredom, and there was something to look forward to each day. Sylveon—her—she was a very easily-bored pokemon, forever needing entertainment, and he did a fine job. She wasn't sure if her love for him came out simply because he was interesting or not, but it just happened.
Talking about so many things, laughing on her side—so many things happened. She liked him. She knew that. Fake or real, realism or escapism... it didn't matter to her, because he was just him, entertaining, so fun to her, and they didn't meet up very often physically. Just those letters. Those ink-stained sheets connected them both and drew them up a bond.
She kept them. Sylveon kept those letters—the things that significantly improved their relationship—and stored them away safely. They were so important to her, because by then, nothing else was noticing her anymore.
Her parents could only yell and scream, her siblings were never any fun, and all the other friends she had... they all just... stopped. They just stopped talking to her altogether, and she wasn't sure why. She didn't send them any letters because she felt annoying if she did. She didn't want to come off as annoying—anything but that! So she suffered in silence—in loneliness—and just wrote to Hydreigon. He kept her from being lonely. His attention to her kept her from being lonely.
Sylveon didn't know why. She didn't know how, she wasn't sure what happened, or if anything happened at all, but his replies to hers ceased.
She was desperate. Just desperate to talk to somebody because nobody else spoke to her. Well, some people did, but it was never gentle or nice like how he spoke to her. She constantly sent him letters, and she didn't care if she came off as annoying. She kept throwing her paws where the last thread was hanging way above her, out of her reach. She didn't want to give it up. Not their relationship.
Not their relationship..!
It wasn't happening. He wasn't replying anymore. Whenever the mailman came by, she'd dash up to it and grab all the letters, rip them all open impatiently, only to find that none of them were pieces of yellow paper with neat handwriting in black ink.
She felt crumpled. Sylveon felt crumpled.
"Sylveon..! Stop ripping all of those letters up every time the mailman comes by, you good-for-nothing! You just ripped the letter from your cousin up!" she heard her mother yelling at her, but she just stood still by the ripped envelopes and letters.
"I-It's not m-my fault t-that h-he—" She didn't bother continuing, but looked at the annoyed and pissed off face of her mother. Her mother grabbed the letters and left a still Sylveon sitting in the garden, staring at the ever-still grass.
"Stop expecting," she heard her sister whisper. Her sister was creepy. Evolved into a dark-type fox at an early stage, Umbreon, her sister, was sinister in all ways and somehow, even while she was younger, was darker than Sylveon could ever be. "Stop expecting, Sis, then will you feel the pain anymore?"
Sylveon rubbed her eyes. "Stop speaking in quiet whispers," she snapped, "it's annoying."
"Ahaha." Umbreon snuck beside her broken sister. "Sorry, but it's entertaining. And our family is notorious for having an aversion to boredom." She tilted her head. "So... expecting letters, weren't you?"
"Just from a nobody who doesn't care about me," she bitterly remarked. "It... doesn't matter."
"If it doesn't matter, you wouldn't be ripping apart the mail every day." A smirk crawled its way to Umbreon's lips. "Here, Sis... let me tell you something I learned long ago... Stop expecting."
She squeezed her eyes shut. No. No. No. Go away. Shut up.
"You keep expecting whoever it is to reply, don't you? Just let me tell you—don't hold anymore expectations. After all..." Umbreon slunk away, snickering, "...it's all because of those nasty dreams that we're always feeling crushed..."
Umbreon was right.
Undeniably.
Stop expecting, she told herself, once again, sitting by the garden and looking out into the sky. She never opened the mail anymore, because she knew if there was mail for her, her mother was fling it in her face for her.
Sylveon stared out into the open, almost longingly.
Stop expecting.
She couldn't help but expect.
Stop expecting.
She just wished she never held any dreams—there wouldn't be anymore expecting.
Stop expecting.