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Last night was one of the most harrowing nights of their lives. The oppressively familiar feeling that it very well could have been their last. But keeping a level head and developing the perfect action plan in the face of imminent danger, the threat of Ange Floette had been neutralized. To have been a part of the collective efforts of Lumiose City’s best and brightest and assisting Team MZ reach that final stretch made Corbeau and Philippe feel unstoppable.
Arceus, there was so much work to be done.
Corbeau laid there in bed, staring at the ceiling and rapidly searching through his mind on how he wanted to tackle the day. A dim square of light from the horizon was already casted onto the ceiling from the balcony’s sliding door. Sunrise already? He’d barely slept a wink! Maybe an hour or two at most.
He restlessly shifted on the mattress as his mind shifted onto work matters. Which teams of grunts were going to be best at handling debris removal alongside Racine Construction? He desperately needed to search through his spreadsheets to find grunts with larger Pokemon that were experts at heavy lifting. Which teams were going to be better at helping Lumiose’s citizens get aid? Where would he and Philippe be needed the most throughout the day? How much was he willing to do himself on such a limited amount of energy after a night of constant battles and sprinting around? How put together would he need to be in the instance of a press interview? The urge to spring into action was already tugging at him, begging to yank him from the bed and send him into a frenzy of keystrokes and clicks.
The strong arm wrapped around his waist had other plans.
Philippe was sound asleep, snores escaping his throat. Corbeau released a small sigh. No sense in letting his mind run laps if he had no outlet for that energy. On the other hand, there was no way he’d be able to fall back asleep. Nothing to do but watch the sun creep over the mountain, beams stretching and yawning across the ceiling.
Corbeau turned his head to catch a glimpse at the sleeping man at his side. He watched the gentle rise and fall of Philippe’s chest with each inhale and release. His face looked so placid, wedged between the pillow and Corbeau’s shoulder.
As he watched his beloved’s dreamless sleep, Corbeau’s mind continued to wander.
“Oh, Philippe…” Corbeau whispered to himself, his eyes tracing the body of the large, sleeping man.
Lumiose’s fate depended on those broad shoulders more than he would like to believe. If someone were to tell Philippe to his face how instrumental he was, they would be met with scoffs. And sure, Corbeau tried to tell him countless times how important he was, but he would be met with just the very same response.
Corbeau felt Philippe’s arm tighten around his waist reflexively. How on earth could he feel Corbeau exuding guilt even in his sleep? Corbeau clicked his tongue, “Thoughtful bastard.”
Letting out a sigh, Corbeau’s mind slipped from the countless thoughts of work and drifted to the solid foundation of the man against him. Just how much was he in debt to Philippe for all he had done in the prior months?
The first strike: The day that Corbeau had intended on participating in the ZA Royale. Philippe declined in joining, saying his energy was much needed elsewhere. Corbeau already had a full plate, but Philippe could never tame his boss when ambition took its hold. As the always loyal right hand and doting boyfriend, he couldn’t help but support Corbeau’s ambitions nonetheless. He would sometimes be watching on the Rotom phone and give helpful strategies. He would help Corbeau pick outfits that would disguise him so as to not draw unwanted attention. Sometimes it was a large hoodie that drowned his diminutive frame, a pair of tinted glasses to hide his distinct almond shaped eyes, a beanie to hide his uniquely colored hair. If Philippe thought Corbeau was on the verge of being recognized, he would be quick with suggestions for a new outfit the next time Corbeau chose to stalk the night in search of victory.
Of course, those victories wouldn’t be assured if it wasn’t for Philippe, once again. Strike two. Every night, before Corbeau’s departure, Philippe would chime in that he packed Corbeau’s bag full of supplies. Revives? Check. Full Restores? Check. A bottle of water and a snack? Double check. And every night Corbeau would return to Philippe’s arms, greeted with a kiss before heading to bed. It was Philippe to thank every morning when greeted with a cup of coffee and a hearty breakfast. He would do anything and everything to assure Corbeau could get through the work day even when running on three or so hours of sleep.
Strike three. It was Philippe to thank for assuring work went smoothly and all clients were vetted properly when Corbeau was running ragged. Corbeau was endlessly thankful when Philippe suggested to keep an eye on that new kid who was the poster child of Team MZ. In fact, it was Philippe’s idea to lure Paxton into their cause through the ever flighty and obtuse Taunie. How devilish, Corbeau had thought at the time. But The Rust Syndicate was never ashamed of taking dubious actions in order to achieve positive consequences. No doubt about it, that trust between Team MZ and The Syndicate wouldn’t have been without the keen eye of Philippe.
Corbeau knew he’d lose count of the mental hash marks he had been tallying for every grateful deed of Philippe’s. Why keep count when he knew that Philippe committed a compassionate deed for every star that hung in the sky. As he felt grounded by watching Philippe’s chest rise and fall with each breath, Corbeau’s contemplations continued.
How could he forget La Tounoi de Jacinthe! Though embarrassed to admit it, Corbeau upon receiving the invitation felt a wave of nausea. How could he stand to face his very own rival in a semi-public setting and not assure his victory? A meeting of Lumiose’s strongest trainers and he had to prove his mettle.
Oh, how he hated to admit to Philippe his anxieties about the soiree. But Philippe, ever accommodating, spent long hours with Corbeau in the battle court at the office pointing out Corbeau’s weak points.
“Be careful, you get too hot-headed when Barbaracle misses Stone Edge.” It was true. Barbaracle was his newest teammate and Corbeau felt he was still learning new things about the barnacle monster every single day.
“You always do your best when you pace yourself. Put Arbok in the lead. You two have a special connection.” After that advice, Corbeau stopped putting Gyarados first in hopes of intimidating his opponent from the very start. Philippe was right about Arbok. The snake, while equally intimidating as the massive dragon, was excellent at communicating with Corbeau on a special wave-length. Arbok’s instincts matched with Corbeau’s relatively silent style of battling and helped to keep any opponent guessing what his next moves would be. Whereas Gyarados still needed commands to be called vocally.
By the time La Tournoi had rolled around, Corbeau found himself in victory after victory until face to face with Paxton, a battle he was never ashamed to lose. And it was Philippe who reassured him after the fight. It was a worthy match to lose and further solidified Corbeau’s trust in this up and coming hero.
It was Philippe who later that night assuaged Corbeau’s anxieties of seeing Lysandre again, face to face. Philippe had held Corbeau in his arms, letting him talk through his feelings. Though it really had been more of a tumbling diatribe of insecurities. Philippe never once interrupted Corbeau’s ranting, letting him come to conclusions on his own time. Lysandre didn’t rise from the ashes of a long burned fire just to manipulate and taunt Corbeau. He wasn’t alive to spite him. And certainly he didn’t scramble from the haunting ruins of Geosenge town just to tell Corbeau his life wasn’t worth saving. The hollow shell of the leader he once was had no idea what life he led so many years ago and that was the saving grace for Corbeau. With gentle arms wrapped around him, Corbeau was able to process his grief and proceed with business as usual without a looming spectre of his past abuse clouding his judgement. Once again, it was all because of Philippe.
As they were right now, it was because of Philippe that Corbeau was able to survive last night. It was Philippe who packed his bag full of revives and restores. It was Philippe who approved of the last minute plans when each team combined their efforts. It was the thought of Philippe that kept him steady through the night–the very knowledge they were protecting the city they wanted to grow old together in.
Just as he was, deep in his slumber with his arm wrapped around Corbeau, it was proof alone that they had assured the dream would come true some day. All thanks to Philippe. The ever humble Philippe.
Corbeau sighed again, his eyes settling on Philippe’s well-rested face. The very same face he woke up to every single morning after every milestone had been met. Every morning after fighting in the ZA Royale. Every morning after an arduous work day of contracts, battles, and diplomacy. Every morning after training for La Tournoi de Jacinthe. The morning after Lysandre’s return. And this morning especially, the morning after Ange Floette had been subdued and the city had been deemed safe from destruction once again.
How that sight grounded him like nothing else in this world. Without a thought, he had found his fingers tracing the faded tattoos intricately dancing along the muscled biceps and shoulders. Firm, always steady, just like the man they belonged to.
Mindlessly, Corbeau brushed his hand along Philippe’s neck until his slender fingers rested in his love’s beard, the gray spikes messy from sleep. Each snoring inhale pulled Corbeau closer, grounding him in the feeling of being so very much alive, right until he was nose to nose with Philippe. He tried to pace his breathing to Philippe’s, letting the silence of the room be drowned by their matched breaths.
Philippe’s eyes fluttered open, half startled, head recoiling slightly. His arm gripped Corbeau’s waist ever so tighter.
“Oh, sorry, did I wake you?”
“Good morning.” Philippe greeted through a half-awake and bewildered mumble.
“I just couldn’t wait, I’m sorry.” He curled his arms around Philippe’s shoulders and pulled himself closer.
“What’s got you so eager this morning?”
“You.”
“Me?” Philippe couldn’t help but chuckle as he accepted the gentle morning kisses. “I’m not complaining, by all means. Just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”
Pulling away from a few more delicate kisses, “I’m just glad to have you here. I don’t think I tell you enough.”
Philippe rubbed the sleep from his eyes so he could get a clearer view of his love’s face in the inching sunrise. “I don’t need to be thanked. I’ve told you this before. Just seeing you satisfied is all the thanks I need, I’m serious.”
“You humble dolt! Can’t you just take the compliment?” Corbeau rolled his eyes playfully.
“Is that an order?” Philippe teased back, mussing Corbeau’s plum-hued hair with his knuckle.
“Indeed, it is!” Corbeau laughed and leaned into Philippe’s embrace. His excitement melted into serenity as he listened to the shifting of Philippe’s body enveloping his own. “I’m serious,” he continued his reverie. “I really don’t think I tell you enough how grateful I am for you.”
As much as Philippe wanted to deflect the compliments, he felt a striking feeling in his chest as he knew Corbeau was right. His actions often were thankless and he really didn’t mind. It almost made him doubt how much he was really contributing to their cause. What he felt was a normal amount of effort very well could have been above and beyond and he wouldn’t have noticed.
“Beau…” Philippe’s voice settled solemnly in his chest. “I’m going to be honest. I thought I was going to lose you last night.” He felt Corbeau tense against him. He matched by tightening his embrace around the smaller man. “When we got separated last night… I couldn’t help but feel scared that maybe I’d never see you again. Maybe I wouldn’t be there to save you if you got stuck under the rubble. Or maybe you’d get struck by some scaffolding or seriously hurt by a rogue Mega. I couldn’t get the image out of my head…” He paused as the memories tunneled through him. Corbeau craned his neck up to get a better view of Philippe and placed his hand on his cheek, fingers gently scratching as the beard underneath. The gentle rubbing sensation almost instantly soothed Philippe’s rising panic.
“You have no idea how relieved I felt when I saw you again,” Philippe continued. “It really was you… You were the only thing I could think of all night. Just seeing your smile when I caught back up to you and I knew all my fears were stupid.”
“Philippe, they’re not stupid. Would you think them stupid if I told you I had the same thoughts?” Corbeau replied.
“No. Not at all.” Philippe leaned into Corbeau’s hand, turning his head just enough to plant a light kiss on Corbeau’s palm.
“I was getting so impatient. I was trying so hard to hold myself together and I didn’t want the grunts to know I was getting so desperate that I almost called you a million times. So no, you’re not stupid.”
It was hard for Philippe to fathom how anxious Corbeau had actually been last night. How had Corbeau managed to look so put together? Then again, Philippe was a master at hiding his anxiety behind his usual tough-guy facade. Perhaps he hadn’t given Corbeau enough credit either.
“Well, I’m right here. Right where I need to be.” Philippe smiled his trademark brilliant smile.
“Thank you, Philippe. Thank you for being what Lumiose needs. Thank you for being what I need. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
Philippe hesitated to receive the compliment. But Corbeau was right. His humility often got the better of him. “Thanks, Corbeau.”
The conversation lulled and the two nestled against one another, feeling the warmth exuding in their embrace. While they very much desired to stay like this for eternity, there was so much to be done as the dawn rays peeked through the window.
“Shit… what time is it?” Corbeau grumbled, his face buried in Philippe’s round chest. Philippe glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
“You don’t wanna know…” Philippe groaned.
“We gotta get to work. Lumiose ain’t gonna clean itself up, y’know.” Corbeau sighed. He pulled himself from Philippe’s embrace reluctantly.
“Wait, before you get up,” Philippe interrupted the smaller man’s motion with a quick hand on his shoulder. One more kiss for encouragement, a simple promise that no matter what disaster befalls their beloved city, that he was going to be there for him. A promise that Philippe would stop at nothing to protect his devotion. Though he may have been reluctant to believe Corbeau’s words, he carried himself differently that day. The world rested on his shoulders and that was something he needed to be proud of, a pride that was well deserved.