Work Text:
You woke up with his soft, purple hair tickling your cheeks. Corbeau's back pressed against your stomach, curled up in the same shape he fell asleep in. His muscles, normally taut from the thrill of battling or the stress from Syndicate work, were relaxed.
Your fingers, subconsciously and practiced, traced the intricate tattoos on his skin, hands moving softly underneath the covers. Then, under the blankets, there was a grumble. Corbeau shifted, rotating to bury his face in your chest. "Too early," he muttered, voice laced with sleepiness. You laughed lightly, running your fingers in his hair. He further nuzzled into your chest, eliciting a "mmph" of happy sensation.
"Morning, Beau," you murmured. "What's in store for today?"
He pulled away from you, eyes squinting to peer up at your face. "Syndicate management work. Boring stuff." He pouted.
You held his face in your hand, thumb lazily caressing his cheekbone. "Well, I'm going to visit the orphanage this morning. We have extra baked goods from the Rust Syndicate gala last night. If work can wait, do you want to join me?"
Your heart warmed to see his pout disappear in an instant, replaced with curiosity in his golden eyes. "The orphanage...?" he mumbled. "Do you think they've grown up? I hope they're all still small. I like when they're small."
You smiled at that musing. "Maybe we shouldn't bring the leftovers, if you're adamant on their small size. But I think kids are always growing, Beau." He chuckled at that statement, then conceded, eyes full of warmth and adoration.
"No, let's bring the food." He kissed your cheek lightly, then re-buried himself in you, his arms wrapping around your body tightly. Muffled by the blankets, he whispered, "I wish I had someone like you when I lived there. I wish I had someone pretty who brought me baked goods."
You thought about how he does have that someone - you've lived with him for half a year now, and he had gotten well accustomed to getting fed your baked goods as he (over)worked at your dining table.
The room went quiet, sunlight filtering lazily through the curtains. You rubbed Corbeau's back and tucked his forehead underneath your chin. As long as you had been together, Corbeau was intentional about leaving gaps in stories about his past. You knew his time in the orphanage was not full of the happiest memories. Sometimes, memories of his tumultuous childhood would seep into his nightmares, and he would jolt awake, grasping for the parent figure he could not have. You felt lucky that you were there to soothe him back to sleep - reminding him that he was safe, he was with you, the Syndicate was just downstairs.
Amidst your musings, you said, "You don't need to come with me, if you're too busy. You visit there often enough." You both knew he wasn't too busy, but you provided the out. This visit could stir up the nightmares, or worse, a terrible attitude at work. You winced, thinking about how that attitude could lash out on some poor, unsuspecting grunt later.
Corbeau untangled himself from your embrace and sat up. "No. I'll join. It's important to me." Now that sounded like the Corbeau of the Rust Syndicate, pride and self-assurance wrapped into a professional tone. He reached for his glasses, then for his robe, and stretched out, leaving you alone in bed. But before he left your room, he turned back to you. You were surprised to see his eyes unusually misty.
"I -". He paused, blinked hard, and continued. "I wish I could tell little me that I would find you, and everything would be okay."
You would never fully understand his past, but he knew how hard you were trying. And you would keep trying, for him. You stood to join him and wrapped your arms around his small frame, kissing his forehead before letting go.
"I love you, Beau. Now let's get ready - you know the orphans cannot wait to see us."