Work Text:
Ever since he learned the sting of hunger from an early age, Corbeau never turned down food. He hated when people wasted food. His life centered around food and avoiding that gnawing feeling of not having food. Starving was a full body shock. He couldn’t think straight if he hadn’t eaten, and that scared more than the dumb gangs trying to stop his work.
Even now he eyed a cafe that always took their trash out just after closing. They threw out all the day-old stuff that didn’t sell and any pastries that didn’t make the cut. A woman tossed it into the dumpster nearest them and went on her way. Corbeau got into the bag and held it up to Trubbish to inspect.
Trubbish let him know it was safe through a friendly exclamation. But when he tore open the bag, he found coffee grounds over everything.
“Evil lady.” He attempted to just push it all off, almost as futile as trying to dry a donut that fell in a puddle. “Ugh, forget it!”
He shoved everything back in the bag and tossed it to Trubbish. He pulled Venipede off his back and pointed at both of them. “Stay here, I got an idea.”
Corbeau threw off his hoodie and fixed his hair on the way into the cafe, throwing on a pleasant smile as he approached the counter. “Hey, are you the owner?” He tried to keep his tone child-like but probably failed in doing that given her suspicious glance at him.
“Yes. What do you want?”
“My mom told me to ask you if you sell coffee grounds? For the garden? She also uses it to clean stuff sometimes. I know some places put them in the bags the coffee comes in to sell them on the side. Do you do that too? It’s good for the environment.”
Her face softened from his lies. She even glanced up to see who he was with and probably assumed the lady checking the cafe hours outside might be his mom. “I don’t. You know what, maybe you could come back some other time. I’ll make sure to set them aside. That would be pretty good for business too. A little change never hurt. Especially if it saves the planet.” She chuckled a little and flashed him a smile back.
He resisted smirking and went to turn on his heel to leave, perfectly happy that he’d find a meal tomorrow without grounds all over it.
But then she called out to him, “excusez-moi.”
He half turned and furrowed his eyebrows. Was she about to scold him for something? He didn’t take anything—mostly so he wouldn’t take away from this bit he performed for her. He really hated those coffee grounds.
“Come here.”
It felt threatening despite her smile and small voice. She was across the counter and much smaller than most older people, but he still dreaded the walk back and thought of how to escape if things turned ugly.
“Want a macaron?”
“I don’t have money for that,” he dropped his fake voice and kicked himself for it.
“No, just a little treat for a sweet, little boy. Here, if your mom worries, just tell her I was about to toss it anyway.”
Even when she held it out, he hesitated. After he took it in the napkin she wrapped it in, he quickly scurried out so she couldn’t keep him in there any longer.
He stayed suspicious and had Trubbish give it a smell. Trubbish reported that she hadn’t done anything malicious to it, and he ate it despite feeling odd about it.
--
Corbeau only occasionally took her for a ride. Angela, the owner, was incredibly gullible, but she could be sharp and unforgiving when she knew someone was trying to mess with her or the cafe.
Corbeau only tried to get fresh stuff from her once or twice a year. He’d go up to the counter, and one of his favorite go-to guilt trips was him asking for something for his birthday. Same day every year. The first time, she said she was more than happy, and so he knew he could probably do it again if he didn’t abuse it.
“What are your favorite flavors?”
“Chocolate with coffee, uh, Earl Grey tea, the green stuff that’s not matcha.”
“Pistachio?”
“Yeah. Anything with any of those!” He perfected a boyish smile just for her that he now used.
She passed him a chocolate croissant, different from her other ones somehow. Maybe this chocolate had coffee mixed in like he said. She even put it in a fancy box, perfect.
“Thank you!!!!” He ran out without looking back.
And in the proceeding years, she’d give him new things to try given those flavors.
--
A man walked into the cafe, confused and somewhat put-off by Angela’s fancy decor. His size and punk-looking clothes made her uneasy, but then he spoke in a voice that eased her worries.
“Bonjour. This box came from this cafe, no?” He set a small, light blue box on the counter that she instantly recognized even though the ribbon was missing.
Angela nodded with a smile. “Yes! We use that box as a special occasion box, specifically. Did your beau get you something special? I can help you find out what it was if you want.”
“It was exceptional,” he started, soft eye contact and a softer smile. “He gives me something every year, and I realized I never come here. I wish to return the favor on his birthday this time.”
“What does he like?”
He fidgeted and seemed to think about that.
“Not sure?”
“He eats anything, and he eats so fast, I never know what he’s enjoying and what he’s not enjoying.”
“What’s your name?”
He seemed thrown that she bothered to ask that. “Philippe.”
“Okay, Philippe, my name is Angela. Let’s think about something simple then. If he were here, what do you think he’d choose?”
Philippe shook his head. “He doesn’t work like that. He takes whatever you give him when it’s food.” But his eyes caught onto something. “Is that ube-flavored? I think he mentioned that once. He loves purple. And matcha? He confused pistachio for matcha once and hated me for that for a while—probably likes it. Oh, jam! He’d eat that straight out of the jar. Do those macarons have preserves or marmalades in them?”
She put together a celebration box of everything as he named it. He looked embarrassed when she grabbed one of each macaron. She reassured him, “all of these are very good, Philippe, and it’s fun to try them and choose your favorite.”
“How much?”
He paid her and gave her a good tip too. She tied a blue ribbon and pulled it off after a thought. “I have a purple ribbon that would be better.”
“Merci, you’re much too kind.”
“You know, if he comes every year, I probably would remember him…” she said, wanting some gossip since the guy had been so sweet so far. That, and no one came to mind as someone specifically getting their boyfriend a birthday pastry every year. But perhaps he had a plain face and came at busy hours.
“You specifically suggest things for him every year, so I would imagine so. He’s a little runt, purple hair, yellow eyes—he wears glasses now, black, circular frames. Last year he would’ve had a scar on his cheek from a bad scrape he got into.”
Someone came to mind immediately but didn’t sound right. She shook her head slowly to indicate she still wasn’t sure.
“He has a young-looking face so he might appear younger than he is.”
“What did he get you last year?”
“An Earl Grey tea panna cotta, and a small coffee,” Philippe easily answered for her.
“Corbeau?!”
“You do remember him.” He seemed impressed.
“He said he was getting it for himself: chocolate and with coffee, pistachio, and Earl Grey. He said those were his favorite flavors… I kept giving them to him for free since he was a little boy…” or maybe he really had been older than she thought this whole time.
Philippe took out his wallet and opened it up.
“No, it’s okay! I’ve known him for some time. I found out he was a little, homeless boy when I found him sifting through our dumpster in the back. I realized he convinced me not to mix old food with coffee grounds so that he could get them and eat them himself. I always wondered why he picked coffee flavored pastries after the coffee ground incident… But I never told him I knew, he is very private about what he’s going through. I did try to throw old pastries out in its own bag to help out though. And when he was brave enough to ask for a birthday present, I embraced that completely. He doesn’t like free things. He must really like you to give you food.”
He stood there dumbfounded by all of this.
“I mean it, Philippe. He made friends with trash and bugs, little Pokémon that could eat things he can’t himself, so that they wouldn’t need food he could eat himself. I’m careful throwing out moldy bread because I’ve seen him even attempt to make do with that.”
He put a hand out, and she frowned at him.
“Thank you, Angela. I had no idea he had such an awful relationship with food. I just assumed he enjoyed it so much.” He shook her hand and clasped the other one over top of her hand. “We’re both in your debt. As long as I’m alive, if you ever need anything, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
He left so happy that she felt happy too!