Work Text:
Old habits die hard, and bad habits take a lifetime to correct.
Philippe was a man that lived in rituals. He awoke a certain time each day, he ate the same food for breakfast, he worked out at the same place, and walked the same way to work. Routine helped him thrive...
However, some rituals were unhelpful and considered bad by most (himself included). Philippe swore like a sailor, drank like one too, smoked until he was green in the gills and raged like a Gyarados... At least, he was that way in his youth.
Young Philippe had been hard to be around, crumbling under the stress of running a gang and keeping those he cared about safe; drowning out the memories of his childhood with every distracting mechanism he could.
If Corbeau hadn’t stepped up, throwing Philippe's life off-kilter, Philippe knew he’d be in an early grave. Either at the hands of his vices or the enemies he’d been racking up. He hadn’t the time to consider liver or lung disease when he was in survival mode.
It’d taken years to kick some of the habits that once plagued him on the daily. His speech had much improved with enough light scolding. He drank only socially and with support. His rage was channelled into safer avenues.
Occasionally though, on bad days, Philippe would slip back into old routines... However, now he had Corbeau. Who would offer a hand to take if needed, reprimand certain behaviours, and find more productive outlets for whatever he was dealing with. Corbeau was patient, and also a man with his own demons.
So he understood:
That old habits die hard, and bad habits are a burden, but they can be corrected... You simply needed the support of someone pushing you in the right direction.