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For once, you were awake before Corbeau. The sky was still dark, Corbeau was still snoring softly by your side, and you were hungry.
The pang twisted in your stomach, and you carefully lifted Corbeau’s arm off of you, sliding out from under the covers as gently as possible. Corbeau stirred, turning over onto his back, but settled again and didn’t wake. Quietly, you left the bedroom and closed the door behind you. Your footsteps still somehow felt loud in the wide, dark hall, and you made your way to the kitchen as quickly as you could.
In just the dim light from the bulb above the stove, you toasted yourself a bagel and started the coffee maker. When the toaster oven let out its loud ding you winced, your eyes flicking toward the bedroom as if you could see through the walls.
You didn’t wait for the coffee to be ready, instead plating and prepping your bagel messily in your hunger and bringing it to the kitchen island. A small pile of mail sat on the counter where you went to sit, and as you pushed it aside, something colorful caught your eye. You picked it up as you took a bite, your curiosity overpowering your manners in the early-morning fog of your brain.
It was a postcard from Vermillion City, depicting a beautiful orange sunset over a ship-filled bay. You turned the glossy page over, wondering who Corbeau knew in the Kanto region.
Cory~
I just got back to the mainland from a week on Cinnabar Island, the restorations they’re doing there are beautiful. Do you remember when we went and kept finding soot on our bodies for weeks no matter how much we showered? I was on the verge of stripping us naked and having your Gyarados just hose us down.
I’ll be in Lumiose in a few weeks, from the 12th to the 15th. I’d love to see you.
Miss you xx
Jaz
You flipped the card, as if the picturesque sunset would have any answers for you. Finding none, you turned it over again, staring at the loopy handwriting. Your bagel was forgotten as you reread the note. You had never heard of a Jaz or even known that Corbeau had ever been to Cinnabar Island.
You couldn’t help the jealous tightening in your chest and stomach, and as you read it for a third time, you did your best to rationalize. You didn’t know who this was, what they meant to Corbeau, how they knew each other. Corbeau had never been anything less than totally honest with you, and you knew that if you asked, he’d tell you.
Still, you were only human, and all the rationalization in the world couldn’t stop your imagination running wild.
You were still tense when you felt Corbeau’s arms wrap around you from behind, and you didn’t relax as he tucked his face into your neck and kissed it. His warmth did little to help the way your blood had run cold.
“G’morning,” he mumbled into your skin. “What’re you doing up so early?”
When you didn’t respond, he lifted his head. He seemed to finally see what you were looking at, because he stiffened himself. He was quiet for a few moments, and then he sighed, his arms sliding off of you.
Corbeau still said nothing as he walked around the kitchen island and went straight for the coffee machine. You watched as he prepped and poured two mugs and brought them back, setting one in front of you before sitting down on the stool next to yours.
You watched his face as he took a long sip. It didn’t worry you that he hadn’t spoken yet; Corbeau was very thoughtful and liked to take the time to choose his words carefully. He hated little more than being misunderstood.
“Jasmine,” he finally said, slowly, “is my ex-wife.”
You blinked at him.
“We met about five years ago, when I went to the Kanto region to see an old friend. I fell for her hard and fast, and we were married before I even came home.”
You picked up your coffee, taking a long drink of it and hoping it would help you process everything he was saying.
“It was shortly after I’d taken over at the Rust Syndicate,” he continued. “I was still mourning Lysandre, and I was… really lost. And she had this bright, free spirit and I just wanted to be around her all the time. She was fun and spontaneous and distracting.”
The jealousy was growing inside you, and you clenched your jaw to keep from saying something rude. You picked up your forgotten bagel again, taking a large bite and chewing roughly.
“But it didn’t last,” Corbeau said. “We didn’t even make it a year. We were happy here for a little bit but I wanted– I needed stability. And she needed to wander. She gets restless if she’s in the same place for more than a few months. So… she left. And I stayed.”
You took another drink and then planted your elbows on the counter, putting your face in your hands and rubbing your eyes. Finding out your boyfriend of seven months had a whole ex-wife was a lot to process at fuck o’clock in the morning.
“How often does she send you…” love letters “mail?” you asked through tight lips.
“I hear from her maybe once a year,” Corbeau answered. You turned your head and looked at him.
“Does she come to Lumiose a lot?” Corbeau shook his head.
“Twice.”
“Do you see her?”
“I have,” Corbeau said. “We had dinner last time she was in town. About two years ago.”
“Did you…?” you couldn’t help but ask, even if you couldn’t really say it. Part of you didn’t even want to know, but you knew you had to find out, lest the assumptions consume you. Luckily, Corbeau knew you well enough to know what you were asking.
“Yes.”
You stood up, crossing your arms over your chest and pacing a few steps away. You stared at your feet, trying to force the logical side of your brain to overpower the emotional side. Corbeau wasn’t admitting to any wrongdoings, he hadn’t cheated, he was just telling you about his past. You knew he had been in relationships before, he’d mentioned a few exes when it was relevant, but he had never specified an ex-wife.
Still, the whole situation made you feel icky.
“This is… a lot to take in, Corbeau,” you said.
Looking up at his face again, you saw his eyebrows were pulled together with worry. He looked so young in this moment, in his pajamas with messy hair and sleep still lingering in his eyes. He hadn’t even put on his glasses yet, so there was no barrier to hide the unease there.
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” you asked.
“It never came up,” Corbeau shrugged. “And I feel… totally separate from that part of my life now. It was a weird time where I wasn’t acting much like myself, and I don’t think about it very often.”
“Are you…” you nodded toward the postcard, then looked back down at your feet. “Going to see her? Next week?”
“What?” You heard the scrape of the barstool as Corbeau stood up. He walked up to you and put his hands on the tops of your arms, squeezing lightly. “Angel, of course not.”
You didn’t respond, and you didn’t look up, still battling with your feelings. Corbeau’s hands slid up to your shoulders.
“Hey, look at me,” he said. Reluctantly, you met his eyes. “I don’t have any interest in seeing her again. I– we wanted completely different things out of life, it was never going to work. At this point, you and I have been together longer than she and I ever were, and I am so much happier with you.”
“I just…” you trailed off, trying to figure out how to put what you were thinking into words. “You married her. You agreed to be with her for the rest of your life. I’m having a hard time believing that there isn’t any part of you that doesn’t still want her.”
Corbeau shook his head, frowning even deeper than he already had been.
“She and I were not right for each other,” he insisted. “Marrying her was the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done, and I paid for it in several ways. Please, please hear me when I say I would never even consider getting back together with her.”
“What if she called you tomorrow and told you she was ready to settle down?”
“Then I’d tell her I wish her all the best,” Corbeau said.
You bit your lip, willing yourself to believe everything he was saying. The jealousy was starting to subside, but whispers of it still lingered in your mind.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” Corbeau said softly, squeezing your shoulders. You looked past him out the window, where the first light of the sunrise was starting to appear in the sky.
“Jealous,” you told him. “Self-conscious. Inadequate.”
Corbeau hugged you to his body, and after another moment of stiffness, you let yourself relax a little, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head on his shoulder.
“I love you,” Corbeau said. “I only want to be with you. You bring so much joy and light into my life, and you provide me with the security and stability I’ve always needed. I feel safe with you. I’ve spent my whole life in fight or flight, and you make all of that go away.”
You hugged him tighter, and his arms around your shoulders squeezed. You stood there for a few minutes, holding each other quietly while the light in the room slowly brightened. You let his words sink in, reveling in the same feeling of security and safety he’d told you he also felt. When you relaxed, Corbeau took your face in his hands, turning it back to his.
“Okay?” Corbeau asked, his eyes searching yours.
“Okay,” you whispered. Corbeau pulled your lips to his, kissing you soft and slow.
“I love you,” he said, leaning his forehead on yours. “I love only you.”
“I love you, too,” you said back, and then you grinned. “Cory.”
Corbeau’s nose wrinkled at that, and he shook his head.
“I never liked that,” he told you.
“No?”
“No,” he repeated, placing one more kiss to your lips before peppering more down your neck. “I much prefer being your Beau.”