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“What's on your mind, little bird?”
Brewster's sudden question startles your heart, but you keep your expression steady. Staring into the warm brown hues of your daily cup of coffee, you bring the warm porcelain to your lips, breathing in the calming scent of french vanilla with a soft smile.
Feeling steadier now, you give an absent hum of acknowledgment, tracing the rim of the steaming cup with your index finger in small, calming circles. Your middle and ring fingers ghost over the side of the cup, trapped inside the small decorative handle, millimeters away from the slightly too-hot ceramic mug. The residual heat blooms warm on your icy fingertips from the trip here.
You pretend as though you’re lost in the atmosphere, as you often are, but your mind is firmly planted in the current moment. Apparently, you’ve let your foul mood slip, and the silent but ever-mindful barista you’ve come to know and love picked up on it in moments.
You’re silently hoping he’ll drop the subject. Take your distracted acknowledgment as confirmation that you’re okay. You doubt he enjoys emotional talks anyways, seeing as he rarely speaks at all. A man of few words probably doesn't want to spare his infrequent talking time on uncomfortable emotions, right?
Clink
A feathered hand taps the cup held between your anxious fingers. They were trembling. You didn’t even notice. Startled out of your head, you glance up to meet Brewster’s small, circular glasses. You’ve always thought they were comically small, but they suit him nonetheless. The small frames do little to hide the delicate worry tracing his expression, and you feel yourself sink into your chair under his gaze. The last thing you wanted to do was worry the poor bird.
Brewster relaxes his shoulders slightly, letting out a short and silent sigh as he gives you a look that says “You can't hide this from me”. This is what you get for befriending the birdly barista, huh…
He pushes his wing to rest over your fingers, offering his comforting touch as a silent plea for you to open up about your problems. The gesture is grounding, and you feel yourself melting into the touch, but your lips still refuse to spill your secrets. You’re not getting out of this, huh?
You stare at his wing as you think, avoiding his concerned gaze with every fiber of your being. Avoidance is your best friend after all, and with the twists and knots your stomach has been making avoidance feels like the only solution to your predicament. The light pressure of his touch turns firmer, and you know you're running out of silent stalling time.
Steeling your nerves with a deep inhale, you turn your gaze to his, praying your eyes aren’t as glossy as they feel. Brewster's eyes slightly widen in response, and you dart your eyes away as your fears are confirmed.
Much to your horror, the action drags a tear to the corner of your eye. It almost itches as it wells up, and no amount of biting your tongue and begging for mercy stops the damned thing from running down your cheek. Pulling your sleeve up to cover your palm, you turn away and lightly bat at the corner of your eye with your thumb, awkwardly giggling to cover up the sudden show of emotion.
Brewster doesn't comment. Instead, he slowly drags his feathered wing over your hand in a soft caress, comforting you through the moment. You can feel more tears well up at the action. You let out a cough, wincing at the slight break in your voice, and start to speak in stuttered sentences, trying to reassure the bird. Unfortunately, it seems as though talking only worsens the tears, and more come to join the first, falling past your eyes and down your cheeks before your covered palm can wipe them away.
“Sorry I- I didnt mean to… s-sorry.”
You sound pathetic, you know, but the tears won't stop, and you can't think for the life of you. One word, one emotion rings clear through the angry fog of your mind, and you decide upon it as your explanation.
“Im just… tired… I guess…” More tears fall at that, and you exhale in morbid amusement. God, you're being so dramatic right now.
Brewster lets out a low hum in response, softly nodding his head in understanding. You’re glad no one else is visiting The Roost right now. Your covered palm, once only ghosting over your face, now sits firmly planted below your eye, catching each and every tear before it can make its dramatic appearance on your now rosy cheeks. Your face always flushes when you cry, much to your dismay.
Gnawing on your lower lip, you gently squeeze the mug in your other hand, relishing in the grounding burn of the all-too-hot mug beneath your fingers. You desperately will the tears away, your face growing a darker shade of embarrassment from your ugly display of emotions. You look pathetic. You hate crying in front of other people.
Brewster lets you take your time, rubbing soothing circles into the back of your hand as a gentle reminder that he's here. You dont know if you’re comforted or embarrassed.
Whispers of apologies leave your lips as you slowly calm down. Your breathing remained steady through all of that, thanks to sheer willpower, but you could feel your nose getting stuffy. You give an embarrassed chuckle and ask for a tissue. Brewster’s wing never leaves your hand as he reaches below the counter and brings out a small tissue box, silently offering it to you. You mumble out a small noise of gratitude and grab a few tissues from the box with your free hand, turning away in embarrassment as you wiped the small streams of snot beginning to drip down your nose.
Cleaning that up quickly, You dont even consider blowing your nose, the embarrassment being far too large, and instead, quickly inhale to keep it all in. You hear a deep chuckle come from the pigeon, and your face burns brighter as you shove the tissue into your pocket to deal with at a later date.
You clear your throat and turn back to face the pigeon, expecting some kind of smug grin from the bird, but you should know better than that by now. Affectionate worry is the only thing showing on the barista’s face, absolutely no signs of smugness or disgust are to be found. It's surprising, but not shocking. Brewster was never one to make fun of someone for emotions. Doesn’t stop the embarrassment gnawing at your insides, though.
You think for a moment, consider your next words carefully, and open your mouth to speak. Nothing comes out though, and you close it again in defeat. You glance down to your hands, brewsters wing engulfing your small humanoid fingers as the feathered arm continues its soothing circles on your knuckles.
With a sheepish smile, you glance up to Brewster’s eyes. “Sorry… I uhm… I know that was a lot there…” You say, clearing your throat and glancing away in embarrassment. “Didn’t mean to, uhm… breakdown… like that, haha.” Brewster shakes his head “no” and slowly hums as he starts to speak. “Nothing to apologize for”. Your heart breaks into a million pieces, and you will the tears back once again. You're not gonna do this a second time.
Thankfully, those pesky droplets listen, and although they are glossy and red, your eyes dont water. You briefly consider apologizing again, but you’re not about to give in to that cliche.
Brewster hums again, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you two, and starts to speak. “If you dont want to, you dont have to speak… but it's unhealthy to keep it inside.” He says. Straight to the point, as always. And how does he know you haven't told anyone else? Assumptions, assumptions, hmm?
Not that he's wrong, but he still shouldn't assume. Sheepishly, you nod. He's right, but that doesn't mean you're happy about it. Somewhere in that little pea brain of yours, you’re still convinced you’d be a burden if you shared. Right now though, your childhood desire for an older male figure's comfort and validation is outweighing that ever-persistent fear of abandonment and rejection you’ve come to know and loathe. Maybe, just this once, you can let go…
A gentle, feathered squeeze to your hand confirms this thought, and you steel your nerves in anticipation of the rant that comes next. You only hope the tears won't accompany this one as well.
Gathering your thoughts, your lips part to speak, and you steady your gaze on the baristas. Unfortunately, your thoughts are still a jumble, and nothing leaves your open mouth. You close it in a tight-lipped frown and turn your gaze back down to your hands, somberly releasing the previous inhale.
Brewster picks up on these silent cues and puts light pressure on your fingers, eliciting a slight twitch from the anxious digits. He slowly starts up, that familiar, low hum of his voice filling out the sound in your ears, and he parts his beak to speak. “Trouble finding words?” His voice is soft, smooth like honey, and comforting. So, so comforting. like a warm hug, an embrace you’d never forget. God, you want a hug right now.
You nod with an awkward chuckle, giving the bird an apologetic glance and mindlessly tapping on the warm porcelain beneath your fingers. You steel yourself again with a few deep breaths, the confidence fading as your words take longer and longer to form on your tongue.
Brewster waits patiently, his light caress never ceasing but slowing even further as not to distract you from your ever-fluttering train of thought. It seems you’ve finally managed to grab onto an escaping thought, and you glance back up to brewsters silly glasses before you start.
“I just…” You cut yourself off with a sigh, eyes now vacantly darting around the room as you think. “Long day? I guess…” you let out a tired chuckle. Brewster stays silent as you search for more words, giving you ample opportunity to elaborate, which you take with silent thanks.
Bringing your gaze back down to the brown hues of your coffee, you start to speak again. It's almost incoherent, just jumbled thoughts from your brain straight to your mouth, but you can't seem to find an elegant way to word this.
You let your petty worries spill from your tired lips, chapped and cracking from lack of care. Brewster simply hums in response to your words, never ceasing his gentle touches to your hand as you speak.
“I just-” you sigh “I feel as though I’m doing too much- being too much. Like Im struggling too hard for someone in my… ‘position’, in life.” Your fingers tighten around the mug as you continue. “Like- Other people… they have it so much worse than I do, but somehow, I’m the one breaking, from like- a normal Tuesday afternoon or something.” Your face subtly scrunches into a grimace as you speak. “I feel so like… weak- and… stupid. Like, what is so wrong with me that I can’t even handle getting a- a bad grade on an assignment, or like- a single angry glance from a stranger. I mean, I-I shouldn't even care, really, I- I dont even know them! I-I’m just like- So.. fragile that I-I can't even handle that .”
Tears threaten at the corners of your eyes, and you can feel yourself getting worked up again. You take a silent moment to calm down. Letting your eyelids flutter shut, you take deep, long breaths, letting your shoulders rise and your chest fall as you do, grounding yourself. Brewster’s feather-light touch on your fingers helps to bring you back to reality, and you let your eyes flutter back open to rest on his. Embarrassment once again wells up in your chest, and you avert your gaze back to your coffee as you finish your thoughts.
“I guess, im just… tired… of myself.” guilt bubbles up from your outburst, and you try to take a moment to backtrack and minimize. “My problems aren't anything big, really, I just…” You look up to roosters glasses and give him a meek smile. “I’m… a bit of a wimp, ya know?” you exhale from your nose with your last self-deprecating comment. “Sorry I uh- sprung that… on ya. I didn’t want to bring down your day or anything like that.”
Embarrassment mixed with guilt burns at the back of your throat, and you go to pull your hands away from Brewsters in a desperate attempt to quell the burn. You overshared, didnt you? Now things are awkward, and he's gonna hate you. He probably thought you had some real problems, but no. You were just struggling with- what do you even call this??
You dont get very far though, as the pigeon applies firm pressure to keep your hands planted in their place against your mug. This was new, much bolder of a gesture than you were used to from the pigeon. You look up at his face in surprise.
“Don’t”
He read you like an open book.
Shame and embarrassment gnaw at your insides, but you let your hands rest against the coffee mug once again. Brewster's grip lightens as he confirms he's stopped your feeble attempt at escaping the situation, and he goes back to his previous, gentle circle on your hands.
He takes a breath and starts to speak again. “You’re not weak, little bird”
An indescribable emotion overtakes you. You want to cry but you can't even feel the tears anymore. You stare at the bird, dumbfounded, as he continues. “You’re strong” The burn comes back even stronger, but this time it's not one of shame or embarrassment. It's that same indescribable emotion from before, welling up inside of you with each syllable he speaks.
Brewsters pauses, considering his words for a second. He glances down at your hands, removing the limp digits from the mug and allowing them to rest in the palms of his wings on the table. He turns his attention back to your face as he continues.
“Tuesdays are hard, and… it’s okay to break at them.”
His callback to your “Tuesday” comment sends a light, amused hum through you, and he smiles at your reaction, moving the ends of his wings to hold onto your fingers.
“You.. you got back up, did you not?”
You consider this idea for a second. You’re still here, arent you? Still alive and kicking… You suppose you did get back up. You meekly nod.
He gently caresses your knuckles as he speaks, giving your hands a gentle bob up and down to punctuate his final sentence, tightening his grip. “Then that makes you strong.”
He says it with conviction. As if this were the truest statement in the world. Perhaps it is, you’d never know. Corny as it was, you find the tears that previously escaped you now threatening the corners of your vision. Fuck…
You tighten your grip on Brewster's feathery wings and bite back the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. You dont want to cry now, not again. You stay silent there for a while, just staring at his hands, before nodding, and humming in acknowledgment. You have more to say, so, so much more, but you dont trust your voice. Not now.
Thankfully, Brewster accepts this answer. He gives your hands a gentle squeeze, a soft smile ghosting over his face, and guides your hands back to the warm coffee mug. The heat no longer burns.
He lets them rest in their previous position, fingers entangled with the handle, and gives them a small pat, causing you to look up into his eyes once again.
“Drink up before it’s cold, little bird.” His voice is a near whisper, laden with affection and emotion you didn’t know possible from the monotone barista. You give a shallow nod, bringing your gaze back down to the swirling brown hues of your coffee with a slight smile. Brewster turns his attention to the mug he was washing before, leaving you to yourself with his presence right there in case you need him. You feel a tear slip from your eyes as you bring the warm coffee to your upturned lips.