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Ze’s tired. He’d say he’s the most tired he’s ever been but he remembers being hazed at the start of bootcamp and that was not a fun experience. So, he’s tired, but realistically, he’s been tireder, Ze knows that, but it’s hard to remember with his eyes closing in on him and a yawn constantly caught in his throat. But he can’t go to sleep. Because Regect’s being a fucking idiot.
It starts, well, it starts with the day starting, because Regect being an idiot is a daily occurrence that Ze has to deal with for... Reasons. But Regect woke up and decided to be stupid and had dragged Moe into his mess and one of them had to be responsible and Ze was left with the job. And now, here he is, hours later, sleep baked deep into his bones, Regect and Moe in a mess in front of him.
Ze wants to kill them. Probably could kill them, realistically. But, well, he loves them. For some reason. And they look a little sheepish, at least.
He takes a deep breath and then gives himself to the count of five. Then, feeling much calmer than before, begins.
“What the fuck did you two do?”
Moe frowns, turning to look at Regect who responds with a confused shrug. Moe gives a questioning honk. Ze doesn’t have time for either of their bullshit.
“You are going to fucking fix this. Now.”
There’s another look between the two that Ze can’t decipher, but apparently Regect is nominated for whatever they’re debating as the entity is the one who steps forwards, hands out like trying to placate Ze.
“Uh. You. Maybe. Need to calm down?”
Ze sees a hot flash of red. He might actually strangle Regect. Fuck he doesn’t have a neck. Uh. He’ll dismember Regect instead, that sounds better.
Ze tries to answer but Moe honks over him in warning, which Regect does not listen to in the slightest. Ze can be a single dad. He thinks he can do a good job alone – a better job than with Regect, for sure.
“I will kill you. Violently.”
Ze expects some sort of snarky remark, maybe questioning how murder can be nonviolent, but there’s... Nothing. Just another weird look.
“Maybe you should sit down for a moment, Ze. Uh. Are you tired?”
“Am I fucking tired, asks the fucking idiot.”
Regect just stares at him blankly, looking awfully more concerned, “Let’s sit down, okay? We – We'll clean this all up, okay?”
Ze scowls, but then Moe is at his side and leading him to the table – to the only clean part of it – and pushing him down. Regect starts to tidy up the best he can, even if he’s just making a bigger mess of everything. Ze tries to get up but Moe just reappears beside him, cup of tea in her muddy hands. She honks, telling him to sit still with a raised brow, then goes over to help Regect who clearly desperately needs it.
“Thank you, Moe.”
Moe sent him a small smile, getting a mop from... somewhere? And starting to try and get the worst of the goo out of the everything it had seeped in. Regect still looks awfully confused and then he makes a. Well, he makes a bird coo. A bird coo likes he’s mimicking someone. He. He’s copying someone.
Immediately, Ze tenses, tries to speak and focuses on his words, letting out a small trill instead. Regect and Moe look over to him but he doesn’t notice, stuck in his own mind. He doesn’t realise he’s this tired. He hates that he’s this tired. He hates the cooing noises he makes. Hates the way his own body reacts against him. (Remembers, in the depths of a memory he’s tried time and time again to supress, a knife, sharp and glinting and a voice, old and stern and angry, telling him you better cut that out, boy, or I’ll cut them out myself. Remembers eyes across the room, watching, waiting, not intervening. He relives the memory once more before retiring it back down to the pit it came from, though it will be back again, he knows that much.) Hates when he lets down his guard and all the avian bursts up at him. Hates, really, being avian at all. He scowls, forcing his vocal chords into submission.
“I’m going to bed,” he spits, bitingly, “Fix this before I wake up.”
“Ze! Wait!” Regect calls, Moe honking beside him. “Shit,” Ze hears from the distance, “Moe, just, carry on, let me-”
There are more honks in protest, but Ze quickly walks out of earshot. He’s going to his room and he’s going to sleep and he’s going to hate himself for this later. Probably always, if he’s being entirely honest with himself.
“Ze! Stop fucking – don't speed up!”
Huh. That’s an odd sounding breeze, Ze thinks, absolutely nothing more to it, he thinks, he hasn’t started walking quicker at all, just randomly decides that his paces need to get longer and more frequent. There’s - there’s a claw grabbing onto his hand, forcing him to turn around. The grip is surprisingly strong.
“Ze,” Regect says, “Uh. Shit. That’s as far as I got when planning this. Fuck, give me a second. Um. Shit I should have let Moe do this. Um. You are pretty? Fuck, you know what, sure. You are pretty. And, uh, cute. And... Pretty?”
“Do you need a minute?”
“Yeah, yeah, uh,” Regect wonders for a long while, “Okay. You’re not the first avian I’ve met, you know? And, like, when I met the first one, or, well, when I met you. No. I thought I knew things about avians, and then I met you and all of that went out of the window. And. And. I was. Worried. I worry about you, Ze. Because, like, sometimes you look at your wings like you want to cut them off and I – they're so fucking pretty Ze. They’re beautiful. And, well, everything about you is and I don’t know how to-”
“Stop it,” he hisses, “Stop it. Shut up – fucking shut-”
“No! You’re so – you're so. You. Please stop hiding yourself, Ze. You’re just,” Reget sighs, “There’s nothing wrong with you, I guess. Like, fuck, Moe honks instead of talking, like, you, like, doing a bunch of bird shit isn’t weird or anything, okay? You – you're just you. And we love you.”
“...Shut up,” Ze says, but it’s quieter, mumbled under his breath.
“Okay,” Regect says, “But. Remember that, okay?”
He gives a nod. A small, sharp jut of the head.
“I don’t...”
“I know. I know,” and Regect’s voice is awfully soft, and his grip was loosened. Ze can turn away now, if he wants to, go back to his room, forget all of this. Regect and Moe won’t bring it up, he knows that much, at least.
“...You need to go back to help Moe,” Ze says, watching Regect’s mood diminish slightly, “...Then. Uh. My room – I mean, we could. Like, not really, but – if you wanted to-”
“I want to,” Regect interrupts immediately.
“Then. Um. I’ll see you later?”
Regect nods, and Ze can feel the grin, “Yeah. See you in a bit, Ze.”
Ze feels a trill build up inside him. He doesn’t let it go; it still makes him feel a surge of disgust and he hates himself, but. But. Regect doesn’t hate him. And Regect doesn’t think he’s disgusting. And that counts for something, he thinks, that that counts for an awful lot.