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Truth be told, Corbeau didn’t see himself doing this for just anybody. He was on his way to Hotel Z after dismissing you of your errands just a few hours prior, no longer needing you to come in to work to pay off Urbain’s debt, and considering the interest paid in full. It had been a fruitful two months — he hated to admit it, but none of the people working for him were as efficient as you were. Getting a job done within a few hours, on top of your already taxing day job. Part of him felt guilty for working you like a dog, but a contract was a contract, and it wasn’t his fault you were in this mess in the first place. Blame lay with that carefree young adult who was too busy making videos to promote the hotel to even realise he was in trouble. He assumed you’d be mad at Urbain for dragging you into even more labour, but Corbeau noticed that despite your disapproval for Urbain’s carelessness, you still cared for him enough to clean up his mess. He noticed you were like this with all of Team MZ — perhaps it was because you were older than them, and you just took on the older sibling role naturally. It was impressive and admirable. Which was why he was walking into the lobby of the hotel you and your found family resided in.
Eyes were immediately on him. Corbeau was well aware of what kind of atmosphere he brought with him, but he disregarded the glares he received from the kids, and merely focused on how you were looking at him. After all, he had been spending time with you the most, or rather, you were running errands for him the most. And while you may have expressed that you weren’t necessarily fond of him, it was also clear to Corbeau that your lack of liking wasn’t a sign of hatred — no, he’d realised soon enough that you didn’t hold a grudge against him, not even if he was the source of stress for all of Team MZ. Perhaps you noticed the work he’d done for Lumiose, and that he wasn’t quite the monster that the rumours made him out to be. Still, though, you were currently looking at him with caution, a hand on Urbain’s shoulder to reassure him in silence, though he was far from a child needing to be coddled. He stepped up to check Corbeau in like he would any other guest, careful he wouldn’t offend him, but still making sure that he wasn’t wanted here on a personal level. Corbeau simply filled out the form, neat handwriting behind the printed letters, then gave Urbain a smirk as if he wasn’t considered an opponent to all of the people in this room.
Before the elevator closed, he saw the look on your face briefly — it wasn’t contempt, it was… what exactly was it? It wasn’t the usual poker face you kept around him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but was it at least curiosity? Interest? Something that would nudge you into wanting to see him, at least. Alas, it didn’t matter what Corbeau wanted, as he assumed that any relationship aside from their strictly professional one was out of reach, and pursuing it would prove to be useless.
The key in his hand unlocked the door to Room 401, but Corbeau lingered in front of the elevator, staring at the keys and its label. It wasn’t hard to find — he was sure that the room was only around the corner, but he couldn’t move from his spot. It dawned on him, the reason why he was here in the first place. It wasn’t just out of generosity, out of kindness towards Urbain, as he was planning on dissolving his debt the morning after — there were more factors at play, and Corbeau realised that that factor was you. Sure, he had realised a month in that you piqued his interest, what with your calculated strategies in battle to your high efficiency in delivering your work, but later on, something about you personally pulled him deeper in. Your thoroughness not only in your work, but also in your relationships with Team MZ, something that Corbeau considered to be your family at this point. How it was obvious you cared for them even when you were slaving away at Rust Syndicate, how you would always make sure you mentioned one of them when you were with him. Perhaps it was to make him feel guilty about plunging Urbain into debt, or that the rest was so worried about the amount of interest he owed that they could faint, but something about you mentioning them at any opportunity was endearing.
Ah, what point was there in thinking about you? This line of work wasn’t suited for romance at all, especially not when he had only put a burden on your shoulders. Corbeau didn’t expect anything out of this, out of you. Still, it didn’t hurt to think about it — to think about the possibility of you working for him full-time, getting to hear you talk about people he didn’t particularly care about, but seeing how a smile manages to find its way onto your face every time was worth the endless chatter about those three brats.
He was so deep in thought, he didn’t even hear the zooming of the elevator behind him. Corbeau only snapped out of his unlikely fantasy when the elevator door opened, and when he turned to see who stepped out of it, his heart seemed to stop for just a moment before he could process that it was you. The elevator door closed and you stood in front of it for a few seconds, looking at him with an incredibly exhausted look on your face — one that he was responsible for, surely — and then sheepishly looked at the keys in his hands. Before Corbeau could say anything, a witty remark or something considerable for once, you beat him to it. You pointed at his hands, your eyes narrowing a little to focus your attention despite your exhaustion.
“You can’t find your room?” you asked, then looked at Corbeau directly. It was a simple question, and from the outside, Corbeau hadn’t lost his stoic front at all. On the inside, however, he was trying to figure out what to do, what to say, anything to keep the conversation flowing without one of you having to retreat to their rooms. It was an impossible task to accomplish, yet Corbeau was willing to try.
But he was too slow — you grabbed the keys from out of his hands and observed the tag attached to it. “Room 401,” you muttered, then walked a few steps forward to reveal the entire hallway of doors. You pointed to your left. “Right there,” you said. “All the way at the end.”
Perhaps this was the first time you found Corbeau speechless, but you couldn’t even notice it past your need for sleep. You walked back towards him to return the keys, then turned on your heel and made your way to your own room. Corbeau watched as you turned the keys into the lock of Room 405, all the way at the other end of the hallway. You didn’t even look back at him as you disappeared into your room. The silence allowed him to finally let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding — he just needed to go to his room and retire.
The room was well-kept, not to Corbeau’s surprise — the hotel wasn’t so popular as it had an unfortunate location, so there were no guests to mess up the elegant layout of the rooms. Everything in the room seemed to be untouched at first glance, but as Corbeau inspected the details, he realised that the toiletries had been changed, the refreshments in the cupboard hadn't expired, and the bedding wasn’t covered in dust. Despite their lack of guests, Hotel Z seemed to be doing a good job at maintaining their dozens of rooms, even if it all seemed pointless to do when there was no one around to admire it, save for the hotel’s token older sibling. Whenever you were asked whether you were tired of working so hard, you simply told Corbeau that everybody in Team MZ worked hard — Urbain was running around helping various people outside while also tidying up the rooms at the hotel, Lida balanced her studies with hotel work as well, and Naveen had his sewing commissions he spent many sleepless nights over. And then Corbeau realised — had anyone ever praised you for your hard work? Be damned, he was guilty of failing to do so, too. But as you didn’t work for him anymore, telling you you were doing a good job for him seemed rather untimely and, perhaps, even awkward.
Out of the bag he took with him, Corbeau took out his pyjamas, placing them on the table as he retreated to the bathroom to get ready for the night. He took off his glasses and put them on the sink, sighing at the wall mirror not reflecting his image because it wasn’t set to his height. He took the toothbrush from the shelf and brushed his teeth, pacing around the room instead of looking at the reflection of his forehead.
When he was done, Corbeau changed into his sleepwear, stretching his shoulders and feeling exhaustion creep in. The amount of paperwork he had to fill out today was simply ridiculous, and part of him wished that he simply could do some fieldwork once in a while. He pulled down the sheets of the bed, and lay down on the soft pillow. It was cosy — it truly had the feel of an outstanding hotel. If only more people discovered this hotel, it would soon gain a reputation of vintage, elegant, comfortable, and whatever other good adjectives existed. He turned on his side, hearing the wood of the bed creak at his movement, and closed his eyes.
Seconds, minutes, hours… Corbeau opened his eyes again, scanning the walls for a clock, but complete darkness met his gaze. He grabbed his phone, and it returned the time for him: three o’clock in the morning. He’d been awake for four hours, and there was a clear reason why — he just simply couldn’t get you out of his head.
It was insane, he was quite aware. Corbeau was never quick to harbour any romantic feelings towards anybody, and even when he did, the feeling would soon fade, knowing that nothing would ever come out of it. The subject of his admirations were always out of reach, at the other side of the line. Maybe what he felt was pure desire in the heat of the moment, never giving it much thought afterwards because the feeling wasn’t solid enough to be relevant at all. But this, you, and your subtle glances, your smile, your enthusiasm — your kindness! — drew Corbeau into a spiral that he could not begin to crawl out of. He sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes to get used to the dark, then reluctantly got out of bed. Perhaps a walk would clear his head, get his mind off of you, even if he had to be honest and say that he didn’t want to do that at all. You deserved to live in his mind forever, even if it would drive him crazy due to the fact you’d never reciprocate his feelings.
Looking presentable was one of his priorities usually, but Corbeau couldn’t be bothered to change into his regular clothes for a mere walk. He put on his coat and put on the shoes that strangely matched his pyjamas. As he locked the door behind him and walked towards the elevator, Corbeau heard another door on this floor open. He turned his head, and you were there — struggling with the lock, dressed in a comfortable outfit, but not too comfortable for sleep. He simply stared — didn’t offer to help, didn’t say hello, couldn’t do anything but observe you. As you finally finished messing with the lock, you joined Corbeau in front of the elevator. He hadn’t pressed the button yet — you furrowed your eyebrows at him. Then, you noticed he was wearing pyjamas, and it got a chuckle out of you. To say it annoyed him would be a lie, but the reaction certainly made him self-conscious.
“You really do dress consistently,” you said, a smile on your face that Corbeau probably hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t exactly the same as when you talked about Team MZ and it was certainly not like the smile you forced onto your face to be polite. No, it was a smile that was your own — simple as it may seem, a smile that was there because you were content and satisfied. With what, he could not tell. He wasn’t in a position to find out, was he?
“That’s the point of having a style,” Corbeau replied, grabbing at his collar to fix a tie that wasn’t there, then fumbling with the button of his shirt. He looked at you. “You don’t seem to be dressed for bed,” he then said, eyeing you up and down.
“Battle Royale isn’t waiting for anyone,” you said, holding up your phone. Corbeau raised his eyebrows.
“At 3 AM?” His tone held obvious surprise, but he minimised the expression of it. He was supposed to be serious, after all, but Corbeau found it awfully hard to keep his guard up in your presence.
“Yes, the battle zones don’t just disappear when you go to bed, you know,” you joked, and for some reason, it pulled a reaction out of Corbeau, too — he scoffed. It was the very height of appreciation of your humour. You shook your head lightly, the smile still on your face, as if you weren’t talking to somebody who put you through hell for two months. Well, hell would be an exaggeration — you couldn’t help but admit that you enjoyed doing the good work that Rust Syndicate put on you.
“And where are you going in your pyjamas?” you then asked.
Corbeau pushed his glasses up, clearing his throat. Well, the truth was to go and clear his head, because he couldn’t stop thinking about you and the fact that you were sleeping only four rooms over. He looked at you, and part of him wished he could be truthful. The moons were not aligned for him to do so. “I wanted to get some fresh air,” he simply said. “I was wondering about the area around here. Paths for leisurely walks are very important for a resting place to have, you know?”
You sucked in a breath, a painful expression on your face. Corbeau seemed confused, but held his facial expressions back. “Right, this wasn’t the greatest night to pick out. The battle zone is directly attached to the hotel area.”
Oh, talk about tough luck. Well, how bad could his luck be when he was conversing with you so casually in the middle of the night? Corbeau drifted away in his thoughts, a mix of both his crush on you and fatigue catching up to him, and you had to snap him out of his thoughts by waving your hand in front of his face.
“You seem… a lot less tense when you’re not working,” you then said. Corbeau looked at you, witnessing you visibly drop your guard around him as your gaze softened. Your head was tilted slightly to your right. You observed Corbeau and he simply let you. “I mean, you’re not at all as intimidating as when you’re at the office.” And to quickly add after that, before the moment lost itself: “It’s nice. Maybe it’s because you’re wearing pyjamas.”
A chuckle left your lips and you did not know that the reason for Corbeau’s reduced stoicism was because you were standing in front of him. His wished so eagerly to talk to you without a care for his image, but he had a reputation to uphold, and if you or anyone else found out that the boss of the infamous Rust Syndicate was longing for you, it would be so over for him. Well, as if it wasn’t over for him already — he wanted you, as pure as he could articulate his desires. But self-control had been his long friend, and he would not lose face in favour of his heart.
You finally pressed the button of the elevator, stealing glances at Corbeau as you waited patiently. Ah, it completely slipped his mind that he was keeping you from the Royale. As there was no place he could walk comfortably without being ambushed for a Pokémon battle, Corbeau believed it was best to retreat to his room again, simply having to force himself to sleep despite knowing that he wouldn’t rest for a moment with you having settled in his mind.
“Well, since the ZA Royale forbids me from having a good night’s sleep…” Corbeau turned around, hands in his pockets, about to step away nonchalantly before he was stopped by you grabbing the fabric of his coat, slightly pulling him back, which caused him to turn his head at you slowly. It scared you a little, but the fear left your body instantly as you met his eye. There was no anger, no disapproval, not anything hostile towards you. What was in his eyes was truly a mystery to you, but it was clear to you he meant you no harm. He faced you completely now, waiting for the reason you stopped him from his night’s rest. You scratched your head, then looked at the elevator as it opened for you. You hadn’t let go of Corbeau’s sleeve yet — instead, you pulled him inside of the elevator with you. And instead of down, you went up — much to Corbeau’s surprise.
“Up?” he asked. “You’re entering the battle zone via the roof?”
God, he could listen to you laugh all night.
“No, I’m just taking you to the roof for some fresh air,” you chuckled. “I think the rooftop is incredibly cosy, and the view is beautiful. And plenty of fresh air for you to enjoy.”
The elevator opened to the hallway, and you led Corbeau to the rooftop entrance, still holding onto that little piece of fabric of his coat. You opened the door and the chill of the midnight breeze was calming — Lumiose may be chaotic at night, but here on the rooftop, it was safe. You finally let go of Corbeau’s coat, much to his disappointment, and faced the Prism Tower, walking backwards as you fixated your eyes on the huge monument in the middle of the city. How beautiful — it truly was the pride and joy of the capital of Kalos. What was more beautiful, though — or at least, in Corbeau’s current view — was you gawking at the tower as if you hadn’t seen it many times before. It almost got a chuckle out of him. If you paid attention to him, you’d see his smile. Corbeau decided to sit down on one of the couches, leaning back in his seat and taking in the fresh air as much as he could.
After letting you stare at the Prism Tower for a few more seconds, Corbeau finally broke the silence. “You’re not going to the battle zone?” he asked. He was aware that the ZA Royale was a job to you, much like it was to him, and Corbeau hated it when people kept him from his job. You finally turned your attention to your guest, paused for a moment to contemplate where to sit, then opted to sit on the same couch as Corbeau, albeit on the other side, plenty of distance between you two.
“The battle zone can wait,” you said, allowing yourself to lean back. You let the silence sit for a moment, trying to make sense of Corbeau’s face, but nothing of his expression gave away how he was feeling at the moment. Then you continue. “I actually wanted to talk to you anyway, so this is good.”
Corbeau rested his ankle on his knee, placing his hands together on top of it. Talk to him? For what reason? Neither of them shared too many conversations during the time you worked for him, so to strike up a conversation now seemed questionable, and Corbeau was expecting you to use it to cuss him out for throwing stupid jobs at you. But, before he could even ask why you would want to talk to him, you sighed, and lost eye contact with him, your gaze fixed on the floor.
“I don’t know how to say this without sounding stupid, but…” You trailed off. Corbeau wanted to respond that you could never be stupid in his eyes. “But, well, thank you, I guess.”
He raised his eyebrows slightly. “To what do I owe this gratitude?” Corbeau asked, not with a smile, but definitely not with contempt. Lord, he was ecstatic to know you had positive feelings towards him. It was absolutely thrilling to him that you didn’t want him dead like a lot of people in the city did.
“I was just thinking about the jobs you had me do. Cleaning up the sewers, making sure kids don’t get bullied, overall putting a smile on people’s faces. And while they were incredibly tedious and drained my energy until there was nothing left, I…” You had to laugh nervously to keep your monologue going. With all the courage you could muster up, you looked Corbeau in the eyes. “I guess I’m grateful that I could do this. You know, helping people out. It makes me feel like I make a difference, somehow.” The last part was muttered rather softly, but Corbeau could make it out all the same — a smirk crept up on his face, one that he could not contain, because aside from gratitude, he could sense a hint of respect.
“And it just made me realise you’re not as scary as people say you are. You know that time you were helping a Skitty out of a tree? Well, I was watching. And the way you coddled it when it came down—”
Corbeau cleared his throat, interrupting you, but the smug look on your face lingered. He remembered very well what incident you were talking about — some old lady’s Skitty was stuck in a tree, and to break its fall, Corbeau sent out his Scolipede to catch it. When Skitty fell, it fell on top of Scolipede’s head and bounced right into Corbeau’s arms. And, convinced that nobody was watching to witness this, he cradled it and whispered words of comfort as he walked back towards the old lady. Truly awful that you happened to see that side of him. Perhaps not, if it made you like him more.
“I’m glad you liked working for Rust Syndicate,” Corbeau said, his gaze on the nightsky, unwilling to look you in the eye for a moment of vulnerability. “I must say you did well on all your tasks. You were efficient, quick, and skilled. You put my employees to shame.” He took a glance at you for a split second and he didn’t even know if you noticed. “A pity you won’t be working for me anymore.”
You hummed, which caught his attention. “So you did like me around, then,” you said, lightheartedly. “I thought you hated me for talking about Team MZ so much.”
Hated? Corbeau hated many things. He hated how the battle zones disrupted his sleep, he hated the ridiculous fares of Lumiose cabs, and he hated the anti-homeless benches spread through the city, but he could never hate you. “No,” was all he could respond with. It was simple and he believed it’d suffice as an answer. He came up with more to add, though — “While I may not care much for Urbain or how fast he is at changing the bedding, I find it endearing that you talk of them as if they’re your family.”
He saw a grin form on your lips, as if you were proud to have broken his shell of some sorts. “Endearing?” you repeated, shifting slightly to close the distance between you and him. Corbeau didn’t back away from the sudden attempt at closeness — in fact, he welcomed it. “Well, if you say so. Did you know that Lida showed me how to slow dance? I thought that girl only did hip hop breakdancing stuff, but apparently she’s learning a lot more at that dance school of hers. I’m proud of her for chasing her dreams, so I’m—”
You stop mid sentence to see Corbeau looking at you with eyes you had never seen him make at you before. Softness, tenderness, care… Maybe it just slipped your notice previously because you were too busy talking about your family, or too busy disliking Corbeau for scamming Urbain out of so much money. He finally looked like a human with emotions. And as if you were rewarding him for being vulnerable, you shifted on your side, your head resting on the back of the couch, curling up your legs and staring at him for a moment to attempt to break his stoic facade further. He seemed to know what you were doing, though.
Your attempt to fluster him was adorable, and frankly, simply staring at him with those eyes may be enough to finally get him to crack. Corbeau fixed his glasses, looked away to steel himself, then looked back at you. Oh, how evil of the night to have you positioned perfectly in the moonlight, making you look so… so perfect. He lifted his hand, intending to cup your face with it, but he refrained from doing so — it felt like he didn’t have the right to do so.
For a split second, it looked as if you were pouting, but you controlled your face within an instant. You looked up at Corbeau, without moving from your position. It was so damn obvious he liked you — you suspected as much when he started giving you more jobs. At first you thought it was because he hated you extra, but really, it was just an excuse to keep in touch with you. The boss of Rust Syndicate had a weird way of showing his admiration and affection, but that didn’t mean that he was incapable of it — and that was endearing to you. You only kept a professional act up because he was doing so, not because it reflected your feelings towards him. You found out soon enough that Corbeau wasn’t as evil as people made him out to be. And you found out soon enough that Corbeau wouldn’t let himself be anything but the boss of Rust Syndicate in fear that it would undermine everything he had built for himself. You let out a sigh, not out of disappointment, but out of pity for the man sitting before you — it must be lonely.
“You’re allowed to say and do what you want,” you then said in soft tones, afraid that the wind may catch your words and spread it throughout the city, revealing how soft he truly was. “You’re not here as the head of Rust Syndicate. You’re here as Corbeau.”
Corbeau feared that if he said what was on his mind regarding you, you’d freeze up in fear, then walk away in horror, or in the worst case scenario, jump right off this roof. He wanted to tell you that merely the sight of you drove him mad, that he wished he could claim you as his own, to pamper you, to spoil you. To listen to your long talks of nothing that concerned him, even if it meant getting distracted while working. God, he’d even imagined the moment of you waking up next to him, and how the sunlight would highlight your features much like the moonlight was doing now. He thought of kissing you, of keeping you close, of spending the night with you… Lord, he felt pathetic. The blush on his face was impossible to stop now, and Corbeau had to hide himself behind his hand as he fixed his glasses once again, looking away to ease the embarrassment. You, however, did not let him. You had his chin between your thumb and index finger and kept him in place, facing you.
“Mm, keep looking at me,” you murmured. Whatever Corbeau was thinking about when he was looking at you, he was making this face you could not get enough of. Your focus was divided, though — as much as you wanted to pay attention to the look in his eyes, it was impossible to tear your eyes away from his lips, which, if it wasn’t your imagination, seemed to inch closer.
The hand he had lifted before finally made its way to your face, his thumb caressing your cheek as delicately as possible, as if he was afraid you’d burst if he pressed too hard. You let go of his chin, fairly certain Corbeau wouldn’t let you out of his sight. Instead, you grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him into a kiss, his lack of tempo in making any moves agitating you. The kiss lasted briefly, as Corbeau pulled away almost immediately. A scoff left his lips, accompanied by an eye roll at you.
“You lack class and style,” he smirked, then grabbed your face — gentle enough not to hurt you, but firm enough to let you know he was serious. “But if you’re so impatient, let’s do things your way.”
Corbeau leaned forward to kiss you, your face still in his hand as he pushed you down ever so slowly. You couldn’t help but put your hands in his hair as his hand on your face travelled down to your hips, holding you firmly. You cupped his face with one hand, melting into the feeling as Corbeau moved his lips to your neck — at first he placed innocent kisses on your skin, but they soon turned into soft bites, leaving you breathless as he trailed them down. Then, right as he left a mark on your neck, Corbeau pulled away, and you frowned at the sudden disappearance of his weight on you. He stepped off the couch and pulled you up with him, still holding you close like he’d always wanted to.
“It’s cold out here. Let’s get inside.”
You tried to mask your disappointment. You leaned against him, having found comfort in his presence. He led you towards the elevator, not letting you go on the way. As you two were in the elevator, Corbeau glanced at you.
“Do you have any preference of what room we share?”
You blinked. “Hm?”
“Your room or my room?”
You blinked again, and grinned. “My room.”
( . . . )
A sigh escaped his lips as he woke up — Corbeau was disappointed his rest ended here, but by the gods, did he sleep well. It had been a while since he slept this well. He slowly opened his eyes, expecting you to be there, but fear of an empty bedside got the better of him. He closed his eyes before he could see whether you were still next to him or not and let out another sigh, a deeper one this time. His anxiety was eased when he felt your hand on his — he opened his eyes at the sudden touch, and found you looking at him with sleepy eyes. You inched closer, trying to steal Corbeau’s warmth for yourself. You were met with a kiss to your forehead and a hand on your lower back to pull you even closer.
While the sunlight did not quite reach your face because Corbeau’s back was shielding you from it, this wasn’t far from the scenes he played over and over in his head. How delicate you looked within his arms, how peaceful you drifted back to sleep against his chest. When enough time in silence had passed, you looked up at him, eyes a little more awake now, with a little smile on your face. Corbeau kissed your nose in response.
“Good morning,” you said. You turned your attention to his shoulder, tracing the Scolipede tattoo. Doing so made him melt into your embrace, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a deep sigh, his warm breath tickling against your skin.
“Good morning,” he muttered against your neck, lying still for a few seconds before pulling away again. He wished he could live in this moment forever — to not have a care in the world but you right there with him. Corbeau brushed his fingers through your hair, and you continued to trace his tattoos in silence.
For a moment, you were both at peace. Even if it was the weekend, you both had things to do after leaving the house, and so, staying in bed like this was like postponing the start of the day. You could fall back asleep at any given moment, while Corbeau was content with watching over you.
Unfortunately for the both of you, your peace was interrupted by a loud knock on the door, followed by the loud voice of none other than Urbain. “Yo! We’re holding a strategy meeting, so we need your input! Also, do you know where Corbeau is? I went into his room to clean, but all his stuff is still in there. He didn’t bolt without paying, did he?!”
You heard Corbeau let out a scoff, followed by a murmur that sounded much like “Does he think I’m too poor to afford this place?” You punched him lightly in the chest, before emerging from the bed, leaving Corbeau to stare at your bare figure as you found pieces of clothing to wear to open the door. For some reason, you could only find Corbeau’s shirt and your pants on the floor, and you only had time to button the shirt halfway before reaching the door.
“You’re up later than usual,” Urbain said, looking at your messy hair. Then, he looked at your top. “Did you get a new shirt? It kind of looks like the stuff Corbeau would wear— Oh!”
The door was slammed into his face immediately.
“Start the meeting without me and brief me on the details later,” you shouted from the other side of the door.
“Hi Corbeau!” you heard from the other side of the door, and you hid your face in your palms as you heard the elevator go down.
You walked towards the bed, finding Corbeau putting his pants on. He pulled you closer to him, his fingers unbuttoning the shirt you were wearing, looking at your bare chest in awe. It was a little embarrassing, but flattering at the same time — he kissed your chest, then kissed your lips.
“Don’t keep them waiting,” he told you, but from the way he had his arms wrapped around your waist, you knew he didn’t want the day to start yet either. When you tried to walk off to find your shirt, Corbeau held you in place, face flat to not give away how much he really needed you here with him — as if his actions didn’t already give it away.
“Corbeau,” you purred, your arms around his neck as you looked at him. He returned your gaze, a fuzzy feeling in his chest as you stared at him for longer than necessary. The sound of his name rolled perfectly off your tongue — he wasn’t sure whether he preferred it when you said it normally or when you gasped it like last night.
“Hm?”
“We need to get ready for the day.”
You grabbed some clothes from your drawer and disappeared into the bathroom, gesturing for Corbeau to follow you.
If he must be honest, Corbeau didn’t know what came next. He wasn’t sure if you wanted more or if this remained a one time thing — he was quiet through the entire shower, deep in thoughts as he cleaned you off, wondering if perhaps he got ahead of himself. What if this was the last time he’d ever see you again? While it would break his heart, Corbeau was not the type of man to beg somebody to stay, and therefore, if you really wanted this to end, he’d simply let you go. Rust Syndicate would not be a happy place for a few weeks at least, though — Corbeau had a habit of snapping at anyone who approached him when he wasn’t in the mood, increasing their workload so they wouldn’t talk to him again.
“You’re quiet,” you said, handing him a towel while drying yourself off.
Of course you noticed. “Am I not always quiet?”
“That is true.” Your smile saddened Corbeau slightly. “But there’s something on your mind, I think. What is it?”
Corbeau glanced at you for a second before looking away. “I plan to tip Urbain for his perfect housekeeping,” he said. “Even if I didn’t end up sleeping in the room… You told me how well he cared for every room and I’ve seen it firsthand — he should be rewarded, in some way.”
You nodded. “How generous. I agree, though, he works hard, and he deserves a bit of extra cash.”
“¥100,000.”
Your eyes widened at the mention of the amount, but you soon realised that was simply the man Corbeau was. You scoffed, walking out of the bathroom in contentment, finding it funny how Corbeau had the most roundabout way of caring for people while still maintaining that terrifying Rust Syndicate mask. Corbeau followed you out of the bathroom, finding his underwear and pants, and buttoned up his shirt, then stood in front of you, who was sitting on the bed, all dressed to tackle the day.
“What is it?” you asked, sudden unease creeping up your spine as Corbeau looked at you. You blinked once, then twice, but he said nothing. “You want to tip me too?”
“What?” The word came out with offense, as if it was outrageous you would ever suggest that in the first place. “Excuse me? No.”
You laughed nervously. “Forget I asked. I just assumed this was a one-time thing. Or my last job, so to speak.”
If he didn’t regard you with the highest respect and admiration he could possibly have, Corbeau would’ve yelled at you for saying something so absurd. Instead, he blinked in confusion, then fixed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh before he spoke.
“I’m a bit offended you think so little of me,” Corbeau said, keeping an eye on you. His gaze was piercing, but not at all intimidating. You regretted your words and wished you could swallow them immediately, but unfortunately, the damage had already been done.
“You mean you want to see me more?”
“If you so wish.”
You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “You know, I know your actions speak for you, but it’d be nice to hear you use your words sometimes, too.” Sometimes, a verbal confirmation of everything you had been doing up until now was appreciated, mostly so that you wouldn’t live in doubt constantly. “I like you, so I want to spend more time with you. I’ve only ever seen you as the boss of Rust Syndicate, and tonight was the first time I’d ever seen you more at ease.” You looked away. “I want to get to know you better, you after hours.”
Words weren’t easy for Corbeau — it wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say, because he knew exactly what he was feeling for you, but he simply didn’t know how he could say it. How it could leave his throat and reach your ears. But, for your sake, he’d try — he cupped your face and made you look up at him, kissing your forehead firmly, before closing his eyes to refrain from looking you in the eye. He took a deep breath.
“This is something I’ve been wanting for weeks,” he said, finally opening his eyes to look at you.
“Sex?” you asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you dense? No, I want you.”
You leaned your head into his palm, a cheeky smile on your lips as you stared at his baffled expression. “And? What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Surely you have more to say. When you stare at me for too long, it’s kind of obvious that you’re thinking about me. What exactly are you thinking about?”
Must you torture him so? He was thinking about how he’d return home this afternoon, set aside a portion of his money to spend on you — whatever you needed, whatever you wanted, he’d give it to you if you’d only ask. He wanted to take you to the most expensive restaurants there were in the city, not because the food was particularly fantastic, but because you would look radiant in the fancy restaurant lights. And afterwards, he’d take you to his place, tend to your every need, and give you another night to remember. Corbeau sighed, pushing his glasses up again. You snapped him out of his thoughts by pointing right at his nose.
“See? You’re doing it again. Thinking, but never speaking your mind. What are you thinking about?”
There was simply something so attractive about you demanding to know his unspoken thoughts, to get to know him better, and Corbeau wanted to push you down on the mattress and consume you once again — but, you wanted words instead of actions. And whatever you wanted, he’d give to you.
“I think you look good with me,” he said, caressing your face with his thumb.
“You’re holding a lot of things back. Are you embarrassed to say your thoughts out loud?”
Yes, was the obvious answer. Corbeau took his hand off your face, sitting down next to you, his ankle on his knee. If you so insisted on knowing, then… “When you first entered my office, I thought you looked pretty. Usually, pretty ones prove themselves to be frail and unfit for the work we do at Rust Syndicate. You, however, are far from frail — you stand your ground against foes twice your size, and there seem to be no boundaries of what you’re willing to do to help Team MZ out. It’s admirable, really, to see you work so hard, to see you care so much about people who aren’t even related to you by blood. It drew me to you, though I had to keep a straight face the entire time to stay professional. I couldn’t have you thinking I was some sort of pushover who’d let you off the hook simply because you caught my eye.”
You grinned. It was cute to finally take a peek inside of Corbeau’s head for once — to see what he was hiding behind that stoic expression of his. “What else?”
“What else?” Corbeau repeated, but he rather eagerly continued to talk about this — you had been on his mind for so long and he simply had nobody to tell, and this was his moment to unwind. “Well, I realised that despite your exhaustion every day, you still kept a smile on your face. You claimed everyone at the hotel was working hard, so you have to do your part as well. Perhaps part of me wished your smile was because you didn’t mind being around me.”
“You were insufferable,” you said. “But, it was an acceptable amount of insufferable. But if you insult Naveen’s designs one more time, I’m pushing you off the Prism Tower.”
Ah, how could he not do so? That kid’s designs were absolutely horrid. But, if you wanted him to play nice, Corbeau would play nice. At least, as much as he allowed himself to.
“When I decided to go to the hotel, it was to settle Urbain’s debt. However…” He paused, fixing his collar. “I also wanted to see you. Because I thought I never would, ever again.”
The smile on your face was heartwarming — Corbeau could look at you all day. You gently caressed your hand over his cheek. “And now?” you asked. “What do you want now? You know, with us.”
He’d given the question a lot of thought prior already, yet the words were hard to form. He wanted to keep seeing you, to get to know you better as well, to see more of you than someone at work, to see you relax and have space to breathe for a second. And, if he had to be honest, to let go of his thoughts like this wasn’t so bad after all — to have you listen to him ramble about things, mainly you, the one that had his full interest.
“I want to have you.” Perhaps that was not the proper way to say it, but it was what he decided to blurt out unfiltered.
“Then have me.”
He looked at you with something of a mix between confusion and joy on his face. You didn’t want the silence to linger for too long. “Do you want to get breakfast together? There’s a café not far from here that I always go to before work. I’m not sure if it’s up to your standards, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.”
How adorable of you to assume that he wouldn’t enjoy any place he spent time with you. It didn’t even matter if you decided to take him to a Trubbish nest — well, he sure hoped you wouldn’t — he’d still appreciate your company no matter the location. He’d just have to burn his suit and get a new one after being attacked by a Garbodor. Sure, it is a Poison type, which he specialised in, but Corbeau would rather not keep a stinky beast on his person at any time.
“I trust your judgement,” he said. “I’ll pay for breakfast, so don’t hesitate to order anything you want from the menu.”
He finally stood up, needing to get out of his pyjamas, but his clothes were in his own room. Corbeau turned to you, straightening his back. “You should get to that strategy meeting,” he said. “I’ll get changed. Meet you in the lobby.”
Before he turned around to open the door, you jumped off the bed and rushed up to him. He placed his hand on your back and kissed you almost instinctively.
“What is it?” he asked.
You shook your head. “Nothing. I’m just clingy.”
“Hm.” A smirk on his face. “Good.”
Corbeau turned the handle and left the room.
You gathered your stuff, hung your satchel from your belt, and then went out of your room as well. You glanced at the room all the way at the end of the hallway, where Corbeau was in, and couldn’t resist a smile. There was something so sweet about a man who was so intimidating and scary from the outside, but if you took the littlest bit of effort to look closer, you’d see that his care was out of this world. You rode the elevator down, wondering when you started to have feelings for him. It had been a few weeks already. Was it maybe the Skitty moment? You couldn’t place an exact time, but what did it matter if your chest would combust if you thought about him for any moment longer?
AZ was looming over the reception as usual and you were greeted by Floette’s chipper noises. The rest were gathered in the lobby, and once you entered their line of sight, all eyes were on you. Curse Urbain for being a blabbermouth — you were certain he’d relayed the scene he witnessed to his friends.
“So…” Urbain had this stupid grin on his face. “You and the boss of Rust Syndicate…”
You closed your eyes to resist beating this kid up on the spot. As much as you cared for all of them, sometimes, Urbain in particular, they could get on your nerves! You looked at him.
“Were you not having a strategy meeting?” you asked.
“Yes, but this is more interesting,” Lida said. “I mean, I would never have thought… Are you just into bad boys, or something?”
Red flushed your cheeks and you hid behind your hand. If only they knew how soft Corbeau was in reality… But you didn’t want to blow his cover.
“How did it happen?” Harmony asked, and Lida nodded, wanting to know as well. You honestly weren’t sure how to answer this question. Actually, you weren’t even sure if you had to confirm you and Corbeau were dating. The three of them pushed for answers, while Naveen sat quietly in the background, only his phone having his attention. As you pushed away their questions, you all heard the elevator door open, revealing the very guest you were all talking about.
“There he is,” Lida whispered, a little too loudly, so literally anybody could hear. You watched as Corbeau paid the fees to AZ. When he turned towards you and the group, you gulped — you weren’t sure how to act at all.
“Urbain, you are in charge of housekeeping, I heard?”
Urbain stood up from his seat, tension shifting all of a sudden. He kept a stern look on his face, what you recognised as him keeping a strong front despite his fearful anticipation. “Yes,” Urbain responded. He watched as Corbeau dug through his bag, then handed him an amount of money that made everyone’s jaw drop.
“This is…” Urbain couldn’t even finish his sentence. Corbeau zipped up his bag, then glanced at you.
“You owe it to someone who wouldn’t stop talking about how proud they were of your hard work,” he added. Urbain looked at you, gratitude written all over his face.
“If there’s no strategy meeting, I’m going out for breakfast,” you then said, ruffling Urbain’s hair before you walked to the door with Corbeau.
“Wait! There is a strategy meeting, it just hasn’t started yet.”
“Brief me on the details later, okay?” You went outside as Corbeau held the door open for you. Before he followed, he looked at the rest of Team MZ.
“Get used to me visiting the hotel more often,” he said, then closed the door behind him.
The lobby fell silent, mainly because the group had no idea how to process what just happened. Urbain was the first to talk, fiddling with the stash of money Corbeau gave him. “So… Should we start the strategy meeting?”
“We need to come up with a strategy on how to handle frequent visits from Rust Syndicate’s boss,” Lida muttered, and they all left the lobby to meet in the dining room.
The next week, more guests came to Hotel Z. Apparently, someone had written an article about how cosy and comfortable and romantic the hotel was, and it went viral — none of them were ever sure if Corbeau was the one who wrote that article, and he, of course, would never confirm or deny it.