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Parrot fiddled with his wings in the mirror; they were almost too tangled to differentiate some feathers when he stared back at himself, despite the width of the glass.
A flood of memories that were people complaining about Parrot's untamed & messy wings that classmates bumped into and glared at in the halls had yet to leave his memory, no matter how hard he tried. He wasn't usually one to give attention to people's thoughts, but this situation was also influencing his own emotions.
It was not only uncomfortable to sleep with, but it was knotted and nearly repulsive to look at, which made him gradually lose his appetite for flying, and there was an aching feeling in his stomach and throat.
He knew it probably wasn't a big deal, maybe it was just the loathsome sight of neglected wings that left him suddenly dehydrated when he centered in on them for too long, but he felt like he was losing a part of himself too. The only other 'logical' reason Parrot could think of for his dissatisfaction was that he just... didn't know how to preen his own wings. Like despite his ancestors spending millenniums worth of time and materials just to invent & learn something that Parrot could learn his whole life, but didn't care enough to. He felt his eyes stray away in disappointment and anger at himself.
He remembered his mother teaching him how to preen his wings a few times when he was a young bird, but during those boresome hours, he would lose focus and daydream his way out of it. Yet even when he did try to focus, the information went in one ear and went out the other.
Now, he was suffering the consequences of his own pitiful actions. Yet he couldn't just ask his mother how to preen as he did, for his parents would probably scold him for his lack of concentration. He loved his family, but he couldn't just walk into a lecture and sit there for half an hour when he could use that time for more important things-- like hanging out with his best friend!
He gasped and felt his lips curve in an upwards manner as he reached for his phone, his bird-claws clamping on his discarded phone on his bedroom blankets.
He almost always reached for Wifies' contact in his phone when he was in need. No wonder they had a plethora of text messages and images they sent to one another, compared to the shallowness of his texts to his family & other friends.
"Hey dawg" he typed out, sending the message before he could properly think of what he was asking of.
"I was wondering if you could come over and help me out with my wings. Preening is it?" He typed with such a pace, eager for Wifies' response as he felt his heart quicken with the three moving dots on the screen that signified he was going to respond.
"Of course I would. It'll just take like a few hours."
"Oh, like for you to get here? Yeah I understand, don't worry man!"
"No like, it'll take us a while to preen your wings. It's time-consuming, especially if it's your first time."
Wifies then went on to ramble on about avian-human hybrids' physical and emotional differences compared to other species of hybrid, sending a text message that might as well be the Declaration of Independence just based on its length, which somewhat unsettled Parrot with the idea that Wifies is more knowledgeable about his own species than himself. He obviously didn't read it the full thing, only skimmed over it.
"Sooooooo" Parrot dragged on, "can u come over right now?" He inquired, but it might as well have been a beg.
"What do you think I'd be doing by now?"
He probed with sarcasm at his side, sending a photo of him in his boots, which he wore religiously in winter, seemingly heading over to the house he recognized as basically his own.
***
Soon enough, they were on Parrot's bed, the avian practically hunched over and quivering with excitement at how the two could catch up on all sorts of things while Wifies preened his wings.
Wifies gently climbed onto the bed, attempting his best to be gentle and earn more of Parrot's trust. His eyes were staring directly at the bird's wings, its overgrown roots knotting together.
Nonetheless, Wifies wouldn't put his yapping to rest as he went on about how important it is that the other take care of himself and educate on preening as he gently caressed a delicate feather that wasn't as tangled, noticing how it glowed with warmth-- even in winter days.
The self-deemed preening specialist picked up the bottle of preen gland and squirted some of the cold oil onto his hands like sanitizer. He took a deep breath and rubbed it on a few plumes, making a mental note on how it didn't scare Parrot when he did, but made him flinch from the unusual sense.
"Where'd you get the oil from?" Parrot intrigued
"Oh, from the local market-- one down the street, but not the one near the one closest to our hangout spot. It's a little bit farther. I picked it up a month ago." He observed Parrot's thought process to locate the store, but his facial tension faded as quickly as it came when he gave up thinking.
"Yeah. Just send me the location," he nearly concluded.
He quickly jammed in another note to Wifies' already collective brain, "--oh, and can you pick up a few more bottles, my tail is too short to get decent oil gland."
He had yet to respond. His only important task was to inspect how Parrot's feathers that he oiled turned into a light glimmer, almost immediately settling in his wings.
Parrot took it as a yes.
"Heads up, I'm not the best at coming through with anything, truly," Wifies warned, and Parrot tried his best to hide his underlying clenching of jaw and teeth, putting his utmost trust in his best friend as he nodded lowly.
Wifies clenched onto a cheap bristled comb, feeling his own sweat and palm combine at times.
"I'll try my best to be gentle, dude. But based on the look of your wings and their current state... that's gonna be kinda tough. I won't seriously damage you though. Promise."
As long as Parrot was comfortable, so was the other half that connected their destined existence.
His thoughts were quickly interrupted by Parrot's squawk of impatience. That was all the permission he needed as Wifies dove in with the comb and as the few plumes started to actually look like feathers instead of knots.
"What'd you get on the math finals? Not to brag, but I got a 93%. Fifth highest in Mr.Oliveira's class."
He totally meant to brag, but Parrot couldn't care less. So what if math was his strong suit? Parrot's fine with being only better at geography when it comes to competition between the two.
"Yeah? Well I got 96% in the geography final." He stood proud, fixing his postural stance as Wifies jerked back with the sudden movement.
"I didn't even take Geography this year, how would I know?" He bantered back with a cynical tone that laces in his voice as he still cared for the bird-hybrid's wings just as once before.