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Truth to be told, Corbeau had seen it coming from a mile away.
A deep ache that began to settle in his bones and never went away, no matter the absurd amount of scalding-hot showers and back stretches he did to delay its full-blown symptom. The faintest hint of scratchiness that made itself home in his throat, pesky and growing increasingly-hard to ignore once they punched coughs that seemed to rattle his heaving lungs; a futile effort to get the sticky, yellow mucus from clinging along his respiratory system. Loss of focus, gradually rendering him useless at work when he was no match against the lethal combination of cloudy vision and a pulsing headache between his eyebrows, blurring the numbers across his spreadsheets into a sea of incomprehensible mess.
Finally, a skyrocketing fever was what struck him down.
Several instances where Corbeau could have said something prior, to ask for help instead of swallowing his suffering alone and letting it fester into a curse waiting to explode in his face, yet here he was now: running a fever so high that he felt both boiled alive and dunked in glacier-cold water in the same breath, and no matter how desperately he begged his mind to rest, it seemed like the entirety of Quasartico's gratingly-loud construction noises were crammed directly inside his head.
None of that agony could ever compare, however, to being carefully awoken by soft, gentle fingers that caressed his matted hair with a loving tenderness that its disgusting condition did not deserve, only for Corbeau's world to collapse when his hazy eyes cracked open and met Philippe's concerned ones, blearily taking in his boyfriend’s frown and the tension that pulled his spine ramrod-straight so early in the morning, before he recognized the reason for that.
Right. Today was Valentine's day, and it was supposed to be the first one they celebrated together as a couple.
Years of what could have been lost to test the fine line between being friends and lovers, all while juggling the horrendous reality of building a business among Lumiose's worst economical state in history, and Corbeau just had to ruin their love story by falling sick on such an important day.
Some boyfriend he was, really. This stupid flu should just wipe him out from the face of the Earth already, especially since Philippe deserved a partner who could be more comfortably honest than Corbeau could ever learn how to.
It took all of Corbeau's willpower to ignore the lump that now lodged itself in his throat, because fretting about the idea of Philippe leaving him for someone better should not be his current priority. Through the soreness rubbing his throat raw, he croaked out the only thing that mattered, in this moment. "I'm sorry. You should go, Philippe— I can't allow myself to ruin today more than I already did by getting you sick, too."
That sounded like the most logical choice to make, but Corbeau was quickly proven wrong when Philippe's beautiful, gray irises lost its light; haunted in a way like all those times his right-hand man had found his boss isolated at night, guarded by a tower of paperwork and empty beer cans surrounding his desk, drunk to the point of passing out when his grief had convinced him that he was alone, in the torture that was mourning Lysandre, when that could be no further than the truth. Arceus above, it almost looked like his lover was upset, too, on top of everything else, and he has to rectify his mistake now, if he dared to hope to keep Philippe around. Corbeau's words, however, seemed to float among the twinkling stars dotting his sight, when his weary minds could barely gather them all the way down from Earth, and the frantically-put apology that he miraculously prepared had no way to take shape into existence, when cough after cough was spewed from his dry lips. Just one chance, he only needed a brief respite to—
"I'm not going to leave you, Corbeau. Not now, and not ever, unless death took me first," Philippe replied, and as if hearing such a big promise alone did not seize Corbeau's heart into a frantic stop, his boyfriend leaned in close, taking a second to tuck his flyaway bangs out of the way before he planted a kiss on his burning forehead, revering it like the temple that it was. Their relationship has always been like a waltz, really— built upon a decade of push and pull, fleeting and electrifying touches that meant more beneath the surface, both parties never dreaming of breaking their rhythm to wield bolder moves, in fear of losing what they already have. One tantalizing dip was all it took for them to put more purpose, in their next twirls and steps, as they now swayed to the beat like a single entity, instead of two separate minds. Perhaps the novelty that came from learning how even the faintest intimacy could be felt like a music's crescendo to their hearts, or what Philippe continued to say next, was what rendered Corbeau speechless. "Nothing is ruined for me, as long as you're here."
It was entirely unfair how a single sentence was all it took to quell the darkest parts of Corbeau's heart, but it was also a blessing, too, that only Philippe held the power to do so in this world.
Corbeau did not realize just how scared he was of losing Philippe, until his boyfriend had to slowly pry his grip away from those strong, tattooed biceps.
"Would you mind if I run to the grocery store and pharmacy to stock up?" Philippe asked, mindful as ever, as if being left alone in their apartment while his lover ran errands would be the end of the world for someone who was bedridden like Corbeau. Then, because Philippe never ceased to validate his existence as the best romantic partner that one could wish for, he also added, "We're running low on both food and flu medicines, so I'll be sure to be quick. We can just stay at home for today, and I'll cook you something special that's not porridge, but also safe for your throat, okay? We can still have our own fine dining experience and celebration at home, just without nosy people checking us out."
The burst of laughter from his end was worth the series of coughs that tormented his lungs, Corbeau decided.
Anything would be, if Philippe was waiting for him on the other side, in both their joys and sorrows.
"Fine," Corbeau whined, like holding his hormones in for a week was such a hardship, when he has never felt more alive after knowing that Philippe would stay, through sickness and health, for someone like him. Perhaps he would regret saying this later on, when the fog shrouding his mind has mercilessly receded, but what else was Corbeau supposed to do, than to indulge in this playful mood and tease Philippe? "I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' if you get infected after you’ve nursed me back to health, so you better not be too clingy around me.”
The chuckle that bounced around the room like a gleeful melody was the second best thing to happen to Corbeau today, with the one claiming the first position being the kisses that Philippe now peppered on the back of his palm, both fearless and foolish over a warning that anyone in their right mind would heed. For someone who was holding the hands of a contagiously-ill person, Philippe should not have sounded so delighted, when he agreed, "Got it, boss. No takebacks— I never dream of ever letting you go.”
It took all of Corbeau's willpower to not go back on his words and kiss Philippe on the lips, right then and there.
After yet another few minutes of fussing and making sure that everything was within grabbing distance for today’s patient, Philippe was off, the tail of his coat fluttering as the door to their apartment clicked shut. Corbeau finally allowed himself to rest back against his fluffy pillows, then, this time with a content smile and a giddiness that not even his raging headache could smother its spark.
Not even five minutes later, however, an all-too-familiar rustling was heard from their nightstand, growing louder and restless the longer that Corbeau ignored it.
"Okay, okay. Give me a second, you impatient lot," Corbeau huffed, using his elbows to crawl across the cramped bed and waves of damp, crumpled white sheets, just to reach the ceramic bowl that was the designated storage for their Pokéballs on their nightstand. Slender fingers traced each ones that were still strapped onto his leather belt, and he thankfully has the wherewithal to keep his eyes shut as he did, sparing himself from a nausea-inducing dizziness that getting blasted by the dazzling brightness of releasing his team would do. Lips half-muffled by the pillow, he hoarsely explained, "Philippe should have laid out breakfast for you all. Finish your food first, and then you can play in the living room until he gets back, okay? But don't go too wild and make an awful mess there, too— he's already got his hands full taking care of me, so please don't add more to his already-full plate, got it?."
Scolipede usually took the reins, during particularly-bad days where Corbeau was bound to his bed for one reason or another. It was the one Pokémon who stuck with him the longest, through thick and thin, and was thus acknowledged as the eldest in his team; both a leader and a role-model for the rest to strive for. Anything that his strict Scolipede supervised was ensured to end in perfect order, so Corbeau only had to strain his hearing to catch its signaling chirr, trusting that the pitter-patter of their footsteps meant that his team were now happily devouring their breakfast, even if it was just regular kibble for this particular morning.
Except, what enveloped the bedroom was a silence so thick, it raised the alarms in Corbeau's fever-addled mind when not a single racket burst the apartment’s peaceful bubble. He has a nagging suspicion that explained this phenomenon, but it was only confirmed when a pointy-steel beak carefully nuzzled his matted hair, the softest, "Skar?" murmured with worried affection.
A peek with one eye was enough to tell that the amorphous blob standing across from the bed lacked the vibrant colors that his Pokémon team adorned, all gray with only a dash of red to one side.
Philippe and his Steel-type team were impossible to miss, even when Corbeau was half-blind due to his missing glasses.
That idiot. Leave it to Philippe to be the only person in the entirety of Lumiose to mix up their regular Pokéballs, in his haste to set a world record for the fastest errands run done in humanity.
Well, considering he was in desperate need of a cold patch and a means to salvage their Valentine's day, Corbeau supposed he could work this plot twist into his favor.
"Hi there, Skarmory. You're looking as handsome as ever today, huh? Are you here to keep me safe from possible intruders, guard our home with those fierce wings of yours?" Corbeau cooed, ignoring the unforgiving itchiness in his throat, to make sure that Skarmory heard his praises loud and clear. Where it took Philippe a millenia of jumping through many hoops just for Scolipede to stop pecking him from his blind spots, all that Corbeau needed to do to win over Skarmory's heart was by discovering its favorite spots to be petted, like the crown of its head that he was now currently brushing. That, when combined with a hefty amount of praises to fulfill its ego for days? It was the quickest method to ensure he now has a 50 kilograms cooling compress wriggling its way into their bed, just to find the perfect cuddle spot with his flushed body. Relief welcomed him like a hug after a long day, and only after Skarmory had settled to cover Corbeau's sideways body with the entirety of its right wingspan, did he gain the clarity to address the rest of Philippe’s team. "If anyone else wants to join in on our cuddle pile, could one of you help me first by bringing the silver box I hid in my wardrobe? Its size should be slightly smaller than Scizor's pincers, and I tucked it behind my tie rack."
Their apartment bloomed with life, after that.
On the floor, Aggron and Steelix were content to sprawl on top of each other, being mindful of their enormous bodies so as to not knock down any furniture or jam the door. Scizor waited diligently for Klefki to open the wardrobe's sliding door with its Psychic powers, and only after they carried the gift box to him did the two curl around Corbeau's free side, the press of their bodies against his clammy skin soothing the shivers that still wrecked him by that point.
Funny how a Pokémon could take after its trainer to an eerily-similar degree, as Corbeau did not need to say anything, for Skarmory to lift its right wing up; like it instinctively knew what he needed, without him having to speak up, that its aid was required to make his surprise plan for Philippe work.
Sleep did not evade him this time around, when he was surrounded by the gentle purr of Philippe's team and the proof of his love nestled inside the gift box, now shielded neatly beneath Skarmory's wing and the crook of his own body, waiting for its moment to shine.
Yeah, their first Valentine's day could still be saved, despite its disastrous start.
Two stops: the grocery store, and the pharmacy next door.
One would think that, with an efficient list and an urgency to care for a sick partner hanging over his head, those tasks could be done in under 45 minutes; maybe an hour tops, if he took his time.
The universe just had to spit on Philippe in the worst way possible, especially with the hitchhikers now dictating his every choice, sprinkling their brand of chaos into the already-packed grocery aisle.
"Scolipede, put that back!" Philippe groaned, taking the chocolate wafers that Scolipede had dumped into the shopping cart and slotting it back into its designated rack, wincing when he noticed a puncture on the Munchlax logo printed on the front; damage that undoubtedly came from where Corbeau's ace dug its snout to carry the item over. He has a horrible feeling that he would develop an aneurysm faster than getting infected by his boyfriend's flu, when he caught Roserade dropping a pack of Teddiursa-gummies the second his attention was diverted from the shopping cart. "Not you too, Roserade! We can't—"
What had so rudely interrupted Philippe's speech, as it turned out, was Barbacle stealing his shopping cart right under his nose, steering it from the front and allowing Arbok to, practically-speaking, sweep a whole assortment of packaged cookies into it, wielding the end of its thick tail to do the job. One of them missed its target, bouncing off the cart’s handle before landing next to Philippe's shoes, a caramel-swirl Alcremie smiling up at him from the plastic film.
Not one to miss out on the fun, Scolipede and Roserade rushed to catch up, cackling with the other duo like a pack of satisfied Mightyena after a successful night of hunting, as it stacked the mountain-tall pile of sweets in the cart with yet another layer of Luvdisc-shaped marshmallows.
Rarely was Philippe ever torn about anything, but he found himself standing on a crossroad this morning, debating if he should first count his blessing that Garbodor and Gyarados knew better than to release itself inside the hectic store, or if he should kick himself for not paying attention to which Pokéball strap he had grabbed before he went out.
Poor, innocent bystanders stuck in the wrong time and place were downright astonished by such blatant display of naughtiness from a Pokémon team. Philippe on the other hand, was not, for this was not his first rodeo in tackling such troubling behavior.
After all, Philippe and Corbeau’s menacing team of Poison-types never got along well from the start.
It was understandable, really, when one looked at it from their point of view. Philippe did not come bearing peace during his first few meetings with Corbeau, all those years ago; his then-to-be-boss— a young, brazen kid who had mistakenly thought his impoverished turf was the best place to start pickpocketing —became the target of his ire the moment his people had reported the little thief to him. Months full of chasing each other in narrow streets and trading bloodied blows flew by before the tension between them finally broke, revealing a sliver of hope that was muddied and soiled from their relentless rivalry, but still gleaming with promised potential, much like a diamond: despite their radical differences, both of them craved to realize the same dream, which was to create a better quality of life for Lumiose City.
Slow-but-steady development from unlikely friends to committed business partners and romantic lovers mattered little for Corbeau’s Pokémon team, when Philippe first came into their lives with his fists raised; being partners was no guarantee of such violence from fully disappearing. Perhaps out of everyone else in Lumiose, Philippe grasped about the lasting effect of violence directed on any being the best, and if he ever had a chance to meet Celebi and redo how his past unfolded, he would pick any other method that was much less brutal in confronting Corbeau’s younger-self in a heartbeat.
But he was just a regular Pokémon trainer with duties tying him down to his beloved hometown, and the bottom line was: they had all the right reasons to not accept Philippe as anything to Corbeau, and perhaps this accidental Pokéball-switching might give them the chance to reconsider.
From the corner of his eyes, Philippe spotted a scrawny, teenage employee hesitantly approaching him with one hand raised, and the older man had to remember to reel in his annoyance, when he thwarted that physical contact from ever happening with, “Could you clear this aisle for a moment, please? I need some time to talk with my Pokémon team in private. It shouldn't take no longer than 5 minutes."
Perhaps not all of his reputation was lost to this embarrassing ordeal, when other shoppers and the clerk himself instantly fled upon hearing his order, and Philippe swore that the universe held its breath, waiting for what was to come.
By the time Philippe stood back up with the discarded pack of cookies in his right hand, his game plan was already formed in his mind, and Corbeau's team must have picked up the shift in the aisle, for their shoulders were all squared up, poised like they were ready to battle. Any other time, and Philippe would laugh at the uncanny resemblance between their tense standoff and the Unovan-made blockbuster movies that Corbeau kept on rewatching— he could finally sympathize with Brycen now, during that iconic scene in the height of his career, where he and another cowboy gauged who would pull their gun out and make the first shot in heart-stopping silence.
Instead of a bullet, Philippe only had to be worried about getting struck by a Pokémon move, but he trusted that possibly to be a slim one, if his intention to connect with them could knock at the door of their hearts.
That was how Philippe came to know Corbeau as more than just a struggling, homeless orphan, after all.
"I apologize for taking the wrong Pokéballs when I left, when I'm sure you all want nothing more than to be beside Corbeau in his time of need. This was entirely my fault; I should've checked properly beforehand," Philippe attempted, taking slow, measured steps with his palms raised up, one hand holding onto the packet of cookies, still. "If it's any help to ease your mind, rest assured that my team will never hurt Corbeau— they love him just as much as we all do. In fact, they should be watching over him at this very moment, and their steel bodies are perfect to act as cold compresses, if Corbeau ever needs to use them."
Scolipede stomped its feet, silencing the whole store from the sheer strength of its volume, and Philippe has to remember that tiny as they may look compared to the rest of its body, they were capable of unleashing powerful attacks like Megahorn and Earthquake in its move pool that heavily relied on the strength of its legs. He has seen Scolipede throw explosive tantrums like this, more than once, particularly when Corbeau has to leave his team at their apartment during date nights, and those were usually thwarted by returning it to its Pokéball.
That was not safe to replicate, for how Philippe handled the next issue could, quite literally, make or break both the situation and the grocery store. Corbeau would surely appreciate not waking up to half of the Rust Syndicate's funds being paid to renovate an entire building and ensuring that no evidence of such an accident would spread like wildfire on social media.
"We can't take all of that back home, however," Philippe pointed out, and predictably, a chorus of protests were simultaneously flung his way, squawks and howls guaranteed to irritate anyone within earshot. He patiently waited until their screechings eventually lost its steam, all while recalling how Corbeau always used logic to teach his team their manners, and pinning his hope that it would work too, for this case. "You've all known Corbeau longer than I do, so do you think he'd be happy to receive a whole bulk of sweets, especially when he can't eat them in his current state? Would he be pleased to know that our trip spanned on longer than intended, all because we spent unnecessary time arguing in the grocery store aisle? He's currently waiting for us to come back home, you know, believing that we're being as fast as we can to pick up necessary supplies and medicine for his needs."
The change was near-imperceptible, and one that would be missed by anyone who never hung around this rowdy bunch, but from a mere glance alone, Philippe noted how Barbacle and Arbok shifted their weight from one side to the other, their gazes ever so gently lowered to the linoleum in shame. Roserade, too, was now stranded at a turning point, as it glanced back and forth between Philippe's thoughtful frown and Scolipede's venomous hissing, looking more terrified than unsure over which side to take on.
Now, the last thing that Philippe needed to pull this off was to bear his heart, which has thankfully become second nature to him, ever since Corbeau taught him how.
"I'm all up for spoiling Corbeau as much as possible; believe me, I do. But there's a time and place for that, and most importantly, some gifts can feel even more special when they're picked with consideration, instead of chosen at random. Did you all remember that time each one of you plucked a bunch of wild flowers growing around the park, and how Corbeau's the happiest receiving the ones with purple petals, even though all of you provided plenty of beautiful options? Think of it that way, if you will," Philippe suggested, and he knew he has their curiosity hooked on his proposal, when even Scolipede paused to share a look with the rest of its teammates— a telepathic communication that, once again, Philippe could only wish was a positive sign. He offered the pack of cookies to their leader, an olive branch and peace offering altogether. "So, instead of exhausting our time and efficiency, how about we all settle on a compromise? Each one of you could pick only one item to take home for Corbeau, and that way, there'd be a distinct, meaningful touch for all of them. We could all make Corbeau's day better together, this way."
Philippe and victory were old friends that go way back, and his previous reputation as a fighter allowed him to be familiar with it, just as he was with grief and loss.
Throughout Philippe’s short life, perhaps the moment that Scolipede nipped the cookie packet from his right hand and gave him a firm nod, followed by the mad scramble of Corbeau's team to return and decide which snack to pick for its trainer, was his most thrilling win yet.
Later on, as they pass Autumnal Avenue and the cacophony of construction where Quasartico’s newest headquarters would take shape, Philippe would feel a hesitant tug on his coat's tail, not a single thread fraying when Scolipede let its mouth go, once its trainer's boyfriend came to an abrupt stop.
"Huh? What's wrong, Scoli—" Philippe's question was answered by a combination of six different horns, limbs, and tails lightly tapping against a storefront's window display, and this time, he allowed himself to finally laugh at the absurdity of today's chaos, for the product that was just unanimously chosen by Corbeau's team may be the perfect gift he could ever buy for Valentine's day. "Oh. Well, I suppose we can afford to buy one more thing for your trainer, huh?”
Corbeau would have drifted back into the relaxing dream that cocooned him in its solace, had he not caught the faraway noise of laughter echoing from the other side, followed by firm fingers that knew all the right ways to brush and scratch his hair, as they coaxed him out of his sleep.
There was no escaping its influence, when chaste kisses left its mark of affection all over his face. What a nice way it was, Corbeau realized as well, to wake up in a fit of giggles.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually jealous of my own Pokémon team," Philippe said, in lieu of a greeting, his hands pulling away from Corbeau's hair. He has no time to mourn the loss, for what he got in return was no less enjoyable to witness: Philippe playfully smacking Skamory's plump body with an ounce of strength to shoo a skittish Budew away, only for the steel bird to snap its beak at its trainer with petty vengeance, washing away the remnants of sleep clinging onto Corbeau’s eyes, when both laughter and cough were pulled from his lips. His lover’s handsome face was instantly crestfallen, as he asked, "How are you feeling now? Are you up to getting some food into your system?"
Corbeau took a moment to catalogue himself, noting how the headache has now dulled, with the smallest reduction to his fever. After giving an appreciative pat on Skamory's head, he wiggled his way to sit up, ready to rattle his answer until, "Oh—"
The gift box.
He had forgotten about his so-called surprise tucked from view along with his body, and now the lid of its gift box had splayed open, when Corbeau jostled the sheets and Skamory out of the way. Even with his lagging mind, he could spot the moment Philippe and his team froze, as they registered what laid inside it.
Well, there was no going back now— today has only been an endless lesson in adapting, for Corbeau.
"Happy Valentine's day," Corbeau murmured, the reddening flush of his own cheeks going unnoticed, when he was suddenly dizzy from being at the receiving-end of the awe that consumed Philippe whole, widening his eyes and slackening his jaw in the process. Ever so carefully, his boyfriend accepted the gift box, prying it apart to confirm that what he had glimpsed was, indeed, a set of five Heavy Balls— one of the rarest Pokéball customization hand-crafted from Johto, highly-sought after due to how little was imported all the way to Kalos. "You've talked to me several times about wanting to rehome your team in this specific Pokéball, so since we can afford it now, I shipped them here just for you. I thought it might also be a fitting time to get this particular task done, since we’re planning on remodeling the Rust Syndicate too, right? Might as well start with the bosses and their Pokémon team, while we’re at it."
Deceivingly small as they seem, they weigh as much as a baby Aron when Corbeau first picked it up from the mail, but Philippe has no problem inspecting them in those strong hands of his, watching how the silver casing reflected light like a freshly-polished Steel-type Pokémon, his smile growing wider as it dawned on him that one of his dreams was now in his grasp.
Philippe has always been vocal about his feelings, be it rage or desire, and it would be a grave mistake for Corbeau to believe that he has seen all the ways for his boyfriend to express his devotion, when he currently dated the most romantic, love-sick fool in his era.
"Guess we can match now, huh? Call it an upgrade for an upgrade, if you will," Philippe replied, and the next thing Corbeau knew, his Scolipede had sauntered into their bedroom, giving his boyfriend a never-before-seen affectionate nudge before it lowered the shopping bag on its trainer's lap, leaving only its paper handle dirtied by its slobber. That was not what stilled his heart, for what was peeking from inside the bag between six different types of sweet snacks was... "It's an unusual gift for Valentine's day, that's for sure, but you've eyed them every time we pass by the Pokéball Boutique, so it seems like the right time to purchase them for you. Now we both can look the part as Lumiose’s next leader, don’t you think?”
The six Dark Balls sitting inside of the bag were not heart-shaped chocolates, bouquet of roses, or even matching rings, but Corbeau saw them as what they were: a promise of love, to always strive to be the best trainers that Lumiose could rely on together.
Corbeau has no doubt of that taking shape in the near future, when he has Philippe and their rambunctious Pokémon team side-by-side.
Perhaps this Valentine’s day was always meant to conclude in such an unexpectedly happy ending, despite its twists and turns.