KUONhotachii

“I’m sorry for laughing,” he said. “That wasn’t what I was expecting to find when I heard you scream.” “You’re telling me,” you said, laughing a little yourself. Then you looked down at your soaked shirt and frowned. It was sticking to your skin uncomfortably.

“Do you want to borrow something to wear?” Corbeau asked, still cleaning up. “You can go get something out of my closet, if you want.”

“That would be amazing, thank you,” you said, turning to leave the room.

Corbeau’s closet was huge. For a guy who wore the same thing nearly every day, he had a lot of clothes. You stepped through slowly, letting your fingers trail over the multitudes of purple button-downs, and looked around for something a little more casual. You were planning on staying in tonight, and wanted to be comfortable. Eventually you came to a shelf with a small stack of t-shirts, and the one on the bottom caught your eye.

While the shirt itself was black, there was a bright, colorful design on it. You pulled it out from the stack, curious. You held it up and let it unfold, and in front of you was Canari’s winking face, her hand holding up a peace sign next to her cheek. Her name was written across the top in a graffiti font, and her Eelektross was included in the design as well. You laughed, deeply confused about how and why Corbeau came to own this shirt. He didn’t dislike Canari in the same way he loathed Jacinthe, but he’d never shown any particular fondness for her, either.

You slipped the t-shirt over your head, and it fit loosely, maybe one size too large, but it didn’t swallow you. Though it wasn’t a surprise, you were happy to find it smelled like Corbeau, and you took a moment to hold the fabric to your nose and breathe deeply, letting the scent of him warm your heart. You made your way back out to the living room where Corbeau was waiting on the couch, having made your drinks and queued up the movie you were planning on watching.

“Where did you get this?” you asked, tugging the shirt so the design would be displayed clearly across your torso.

Corbeau looked up, a small smile crossing his lips when he saw what you were wearing.

“I forgot about that,” he said as you sat down beside him on the couch. You crowded into his space, pushing him back so you could rest your head on his chest. “Some event a few years ago. Her grandfather wouldn’t let me leave without one.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, closing your eyes as Corbeau placed a kiss on your hair. “I like it. It’s mine now.”

-

The Canari t-shirt became your favorite to sleep in. You wore it nearly every night, but particularly on the nights you and Corbeau couldn’t be together. You’d caught Corbeau wearing it a few times too, particularly in the morning when he picked it up off the floor, having pulled it off you and carelessly discarded it the night before. You loved when he wore it, there was something about the sight of him in a simple t-shirt, his tattoos spilling out of the sleeves, that made you want to run your hands all over his torso.

Corbeau loved when you wore it too, you knew. He was always a little extra affectionate when you had it on. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands off you, coming up behind you in the kitchen and wrapping his arms around your waist. You let him hug you as you continued to cook, his hands sliding up under the shirt to settle over your sides or stomach, just enjoying the feeling of your skin on his.

And if you were really lucky, he’d spin you around, pulling you to him and taking one of your hands before beginning to turn slowly across the tile. You’d tuck your face into his shoulder, smiling widely, and let him lead you. Corbeau’s lips would find your ear, and he’d sing whatever song was in his head, low and pleasant. You’d stay like that as long as you could, wishing those moments could last forever.

-

“Well, I didn’t ask you to do that.”

You blinked, hardly able to process what Corbeau had just said.

You’d hoped this would be an easy conversation. With anyone else, it probably would have been. You were in his office, trying to convince him to work more closely with Quasartico Inc, which he was hesitant to do because they’d recently gotten a rather sizable donation from Jacinthe.

“You have to look past this grudge you have for her,” you said, exasperated. “This beef is one-sided, you know, she doesn’t have anything against you.”

Corbeau’s eyebrows knitted together, though he didn’t look at you.

“It’s none of your business,” he said.

“It is too my business!” you huffed. “I love this city as much as you do, you know. I want what’s best for everyone here.”

“And how could you know what’s best for everyone?” Corbeau asked angrily, his eyes flashing to yours with more frustration than he’d ever directed at you before. “You’ve lived here for what, a year?”

“That may be so, but have you forgotten everything I gave up for Lumiose?” you asked, your anger matching his. “I was supposed to come here on vacation, and I ended up getting roped into saving it from literal destruction. If I didn’t care for everyone here so much, you’d all be dead!” “Well, I didn’t ask you to do that.” Corbeau turned back to his laptop, and you stared at him in shock. Pure, unadulterated hurt coursed through your veins, and at the same time your vision went blurry from tears, you thought you might throw up.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the office, not looking at him even when he called your name, and jamming the elevator door button as hard as you could. When you reached the ground floor, you ran past all the Rust Syndicate grunts and out the door, jumping into the first taxi you spotted and asking the driver to take you to Hotel Z.

Corbeau tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up. Then he tried to text you, and you turned your phone off.

You put the cab fare on Corbeau’s credit card, because fuck him.

Luckily, no one was in the lobby when you reached the hotel, and you were able to go up the elevator and to your room without having to speak to anyone. You threw open the door and then slammed it shut behind you, and you threw yourself onto your bed, hugging your pillow to your chest and letting yourself cry.

How could he say something so hurtful? Why would he let whatever problem he had with Jacinthe come between the two of you like this? You’d thought he’d loved you more than he hated her, but clearly you’d been wrong. Did he resent you, for some reason, for saving Lumiose? You didn’t talk about it often, but when it did come up, he’d never expressed anything less than gratitude. Had he been lying through his teeth this whole time? Why would he want to be with you if that’s how he felt?

You cried until you couldn’t anymore, the sun long having set outside your window. You decided to shower, hoping the water would help wash away some of your sadness.

It didn’t work.

You pulled open your dresser drawer, instinctively reaching for the shirt that always managed to bring you comfort. When it wasn’t where you usually kept it, you dug through the drawer, making a mess of your tops as you pulled them half out. Then you looked in the drawer above and below, but it wasn’t there.

You had left it at Corbeau’s.

You pulled out another shirt at random, sliding it over your head and hating the way it felt on your body. It wasn’t the same, it wasn’t your shirt. Slowly, you sat down on the floor again, unable to stand any longer, and cried again.

After a few minutes, there was a hesitant knock on your door. When you didn’t answer, you heard a key turn in the knob, and the door opened slowly.

“Are you in here?” You heard Lida’s voice call.

“Y-yeah,” you sputtered, still crying. You pulled the neck of your–wrong–shirt up, wiping your eyes and nose.

“I’m sorry for using the master key,” Lida said, stepping into the room. You watched as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. You hadn’t bothered to turn on a light. “Corbeau called me, and when your phone went straight to voicemail I got worr– oh, honey, what happened?”

When you woke up the next morning, your head hurt. Lida, ever the wonderful friend, had planned for this, and there was a bottle of water on your nightstand. You sat up slowly and opened it, powering on your phone with a sigh. You took a long drink as you waited for it to boot up, not wanting to deal with anything you would find there, but knowing things would only get worse if you put it off any longer.

You had six missed calls, five from Corbeau and one from Lida, and a myriad of texts. You opened Corbeau’s scrolling through them as you drank your water.

Please come back, I’m so sorry.

I was an asshole.

I didn’t mean it, of course I didn’t mean it.

Please call me.

Just let me know you’re safe.

I’m so sorry.

You locked your phone and set it on the bed next to you, still contemplating how you wanted to respond, what you wanted to say. Your stomach rumbled, and you decided you’d have better luck thinking after eating and having some coffee. In your sadness, you’d skipped dinner the night before, and your stomach hurt as it practically tried to digest itself, dissatisfied with only water.

You didn’t bother to change out of your pajamas before heading downstairs to the kitchen. When you reached the lobby, Naveen was standing behind the desk.

“Hey, good morning,” he said hesitantly, looking at you with concern and pity that you would have hated if you had the energy to.

“Hi,” you replied, hoping that was the end of it. You didn’t have the energy to talk about it, or anything yet.

“Um, Corbeau came by last night,” Naveen said, and you stopped in your tracks. “Lida wouldn’t let him up, but he left something for you.”

Naveen slid a small paper back across the counter, and you took it. The top was fastened together with a small piece of tape, and you pulled it open. Inside was a familiar pile of black fabric, the slightly faded yellow, pink, and blue design was instantly recognisable to you, even folded over on itself the way it was.

You hugged the bag to your chest, tears filling your eyes again, but they weren’t from sadness this time. You turned and headed back upstairs, eager to get dressed. Corbeau could make you breakfast. Corbeau would make you breakfast, and he’d have to look at both your face and Canari’s while you ate.

-

“I do have to give a special shout out,” Corbeau said, “to Canari.”

Corbeau stood at the front of the room, champagne glass in hand. He was in the middle of a toast, addressing all the guests of your engagement party. You smiled brightly, understanding what he was saying before anyone else did. When Corbeau spoke Canari’s name, all eyes turned to her, who looked shocked and surprised.

“Early in our relationship,” Corbeau continued, pulling out his phone. He pressed a few buttons and suddenly there was a picture of you, from about two years prior, projected onto the wall. You were leaning over his kitchen counter, chin in your hand and smiling brightly. You were wearing the Canari t-shirt, and it looked far newer than the faded shirt that was tucked away in your dresser drawer at home. “My betrothed borrowed a shirt and never quite gave it back.” Corbeau slid his thumb across the phone screen, and another picture appeared, this time you were napping on the couch, blanket loose around your waist and the t-shirt’s design fully on display.

“Whether you knew it or not, Canari,” Corbeau said as more pictures slid across the screen. You covered your hand with your mouth and laughed quietly. The shirt grew more faded with each picture that was displayed. How many of these did he have? “You’ve been with us through every up and down, every fight, every moment of joy. Your eyes have probably seen more than you’d want them to.”