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A little after they started working together, Philippe learned the hard way that Corbeau hated to be grabbed.
They naturally bickered about their positions in the Rust Syndicate. Philippe insisted Corbeau take the lead, and that he’d make the others follow him. That way Corbeau’s plans would be respected and the grunts would be expected to listen without questioning his authority. Corbeau dismissed this idea several times already, careful about staying anywhere for too long—most likely because no place had been permanently safe.
Philippe knew this, and he also knew if he could prove he could be loyal and helpful, Corbeau would eventually give in and take it. Corbeau wanted it; the young man was just careful. Careful because of whoever hurt him in the past. Philippe didn’t know much besides that, and only that much because he knew what trauma looked like.
So, they walked down the shopping district together, arguing about the usual dynamic issue. Corbeau mentioned uniforms to make the Rust Syndicate identity more unified and easy to identify. Philippe shot back with how the leader should have their unique look to signify that he’s in charge and stared at him hard until Corbeau basically hissed at him.
At that moment, time slowed down. Philippe saw a car going too fast to make the turn right where they stood, and he knew exactly where it would hit the sidewalk.
He automatically reached out, grabbed Corbeau, and pulled him away enough where they wouldn’t get hurt.
The car drove into a building but missed everybody completely.
But as Philippe yanked him out of the way, Corbeau, also reflexively, pulled away from Philippe’s grip. The momentum resulted in Corbeau flinging himself to the sidewalk and crying out at the initial impact.
Purely an accident, but Philippe kicked himself for grabbing Corbeau like that when pushing the man would’ve accomplished the same thing and would not have ignited the escape response that grabbing him did.
Broken. His left arm was broken. Philippe drowned in guilt over that, but Corbeau barely blinked at the injury. The only hint at his pain was that initial scream after he first hit the ground. After that, Corbeau showed no pain on his face at all.
Corbeau even went to work as soon as the hospital released him.
Philippe put a hand in front of him, without touching him, to stop him from entering the Rust Syndicate building. “There’s nothing else to do today. I’ll take you home.”
Corbeau eyed him in silence before finally agreeing. “Fine. If you think it’s for the best. You got a car?”
He should get a car. If anything to use it in order to get around and run errands for the Syndicate. And possibly to help his future boss get around.
“I have a bike, but you can’t ride like that. I’ll walk with you there.”
Corbeau walked ahead of him since he didn’t know where they were going. Philippe kept looking at the arm, and it just hurt every time he thought about it.
“Sorry, about what happened. I never apologized…”
“Why would you? It was break my arm or be squished. I’d rather break something that will actually heal over being paralyzed or dead.”
“But, I shouldn’t have grabbed you—I could have pushed you, and if anything happens again, I’ll remember that. We were enemies until the other day; your reflexes to escape from my grasp are completely understandable.”
Corbeau turned around and looked up at Philippe with a stern look. “Listen, Philippe, you need to reframe this. Your reflexes are fine. Mine aren’t. You saved my life—I didn’t trust you and made myself fall to get away from you. I don’t blame you for this, and you shouldn’t either.”
Philippe hesitated. “You’re not angry?”
“No. You’re the only one angry with yourself.”
“Well,” Philippe rubbed his head, “I still feel guilty. So if you need help with anything, helping you would help me not worry about you struggling with this so much.”
Corbeau looked away thoughtfully. “There is some stuff I won’t be able to do with my right hand.”
“You’re left handed?”
“So you can predict the future but you didn’t notice which hand I favor?” He smirked at him.
Philippe thought back, but Corbeau often changed hands. Of course he was just teasing him. “You’re ambidextrous.”
Corbeau shook his head. “No, I just don’t like people figuring me out. I have a non-dominant right hand, but if people know that, they’ll take advantage.”
They made it to Corbeau’s place while Philippe replayed the many times Corbeau switched hands on him to confuse him. But it was true, when he worked out of reflexes, he used his left side, kicking, hitting, even itching something.
Corbeau opened the door and left it open. It stayed open to let Philippe know he was welcome. Surely this was Corbeau’s subtle way to tell him to enter. Philippe walked in and closed the door behind him.
“Knowing your weaknesses would help me protect you better. I will make up for any of your weaknesses. I can be your right hand man if you lead the Rust Syndicate.”
Corbeau tilted his head and hummed. He looked at his arm. “Fine. After this, I trust you. Once this cast is off, I’ll do it.”