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As soon as Corbeau stepped out of the Rust Syndicate, his glasses tinted from the bright sun. The clear, sunny, spring day hit them both in the face, and Corbeau started it with sneezing ten times in a row until Philippe passed a handkerchief his way, almost annoyed at the incessant sneezing.
Once he adjusted to the air, they continued their journey to the canal. In Lumiose City, along the canal, stood rows of cherry trees that blossomed around this time for about a week every year. It was around this time nearly five years ago that Lysandre almost inadvertently destroyed the Kalos region. In order to preserve his name, and the good acts he did before the incident, Corbeau popularized the blossoming of the cherry blossoms into a city-wide event. The entire city turned pink to celebrate ephemeral beauty. Beauty was just that, ephemeral.
Philippe grabbed his shoulder just as a kid ran by them, saving him from tripping. “You okay, Boss?”
“Yeah, I was just deep in my thoughts.”
He noticed everyone wearing pink around them. Old people, young people. Some Pokémon in cutesy pink outfits.
Philippe also wore pink, a suit close to what he’d wear everyday, but in the pink that celebrated the day. Corbeau had it under his jacket, but he was waiting for a better moment to reveal that.
Someone got the Saison Canal to turn bright pink. Everything looked so obnoxiously pink. Corbeau pretended it annoyed him, but Arceus, Lysandre would’ve loved this. If he was still out there.
Flowers rained down from the cherry trees taken by the wind. Some flew by Corbeau’s gaze. Perfect timing. As long as the Sakura Festival lined up with the blossoms, it was a good day.
Philippe coaxed him closer to a gathering of grunts wearing the pink version of the Rust Syndicate uniform. Some regular citizens also stuck around there. He usually gave a mini speech, and ordinary Lumiosians often liked to hear him. Especially those who previously liked Lysandre.
“Okay, you lot, you know what we’re here for. It’s Pink Day—and for those of you who are new, it’s the day that Team Flare almost ended it all to conserve Kalos’s beauty. But beauty’s not permanent. It’s ephemeral, like the cherry blossoms. Why celebrate that? Well, we have something that is permanent. Community. Lumiose City is just a big neighborhood with a ton of visitors, right? So, let’s take care of the neighborhood and clean up the rust, not to make Lumiose City permanently beautiful, but so that our kids grow up respecting the community too. The way Lysandre would’ve wanted.”
He waved them away and passed his jacket to Philippe to carry. He wore the usual dress shirt but in a deep pink instead of purple. Very unlike him but some people literally dyed their hair, so he wasn’t being totally crazy here. Some people came up to him and greeted him in that extra friendly way people did during festivals. He let them for a while and eventually signaled to Philippe that he wanted to slip away.
They found an isolated rooftop to watch the cherry blossoms with some privacy. Philippe pulled out a chair for him, and in no time they both sat and watched the scene below them.
“Do you truly believe that, Boss? What you said down there?”
“I do.” Corbeau met eyes the color of fluffy clouds. “Does that surprise you?”
Philippe reached out a hand that Corbeau grabbed. He wasn’t that surprised.
“On a more personal note, would you describe love as ephemeral?”
“Off the record?” Corbeau smirked at him. “If you mean us, we’re not a springtime fling, Philippe. We’re like the rust growing on the side of Prism Tower, spreading and strong—a chemical reaction between two things that corrode each other—there until someone removes it. That’s what we are. This pink thing is a nice metaphor, but it’s to bring people together and have them remember Lysandre for the good he did. I don’t care about beauty, but I do care about this city.”
Philippe shook his head. “So, you don’t think of love as beautiful?”
“I do. But not ours. We’re powerful, lasting, passionate. It’s different. Beauty is temporary, aren’t you listening? But the Rust will outlast us, and that’s what makes our love better.”
Philippe pulled him gently, calling him over to him. Honestly, he wanted to go to him too, so he closed the distance between them and sat on his leg. “We’re in public, Philippe.”
“No one’s looking up.” Philippe kissed his cheek to tempt him and successfully had him chase his lips.
Below them, a burst of laughter caught his attention. Corbeau pulled away and looked down there, watching a group of kids playing, wearing pink, with their pink partners in tow. They were young enough to where they probably didn’t remember a time before they started doing the annual festival.
A lot of couples also started hanging out by the trees now and being sweet on each other while sporting their pink dresses and suits. Older people sat on benches nearby and admired the trees. They even wore pink. The popularity of the festival was remarkable, impossible for him to replicate into anything else. If the trees hadn’t bloomed the day after the tragedy, he would’ve never thought of it. Maybe something else, but this worked better.
He tilted his head and smiled at Philippe.
“That’s why we do what we do, you know?”
“For the people.”
“For all of them. But also for you, Philippe. You’re part of them too, you know.” He touched his chest.
“You too, Boss. You’re an important part of his City. And I’m sure you’re going to say that you know that, but you don’t see everything I see. You have something, something that even the great Lysandre didn’t have, at least not at the end anyway.”
Corbeau furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”
“A true appreciation for people. The future isn’t yet decided, but by supporting the community, maybe we’ll be okay. When you have too much power, it’s easy to separate the ideas from the actual people. Accidentally dehumanizing them in the process. I remember that from my time being in charge. But you don’t do that. If we had more leaders like you… maybe all of this wouldn’t be temporary.”
“Philippe, it’s always going to be temporary. That’s the point.” He laid his head on his chest.
Philippe murmured into his hair. “He would’ve loved this. The old Lysandre. People and Pokémon just playing. No worries. Nothing bad happening.”
“They have these same trees in the area I was born in, you know. It’s ironic that they followed me here. Like a pretty reminder that life is fleeting. As if I need a reminder about that, of all people. I hated these flowers. But you know what, after what happened, I decided I didn’t hate it anymore. Hating stuff just makes you bitter. It’s a waste of time.”
Corbeau stopped talking, and Philippe looked at him seriously to find out why, as if he would say something deep and philosophical.
Instead Corbeau sneezed another ten times, and Philippe scolded him for the initial sneeze that hit him while passing him another handkerchief.