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It started out as a hobby. Gavin, having just gotten his first camera, quickly grew a habit for taking pictures of everything he could lay his eyes on. However, as a younger boy, taking pictures of walls, corners, grass, and trees got boring. It wasn’t until he had taken a picture of his fence, and the small, light brown, white, and orange robin perched delicately on one of the wires that he found what clicked.
That first picture was something of dumb luck— The sun was just rising, framing the robin in pre-morning light, and it was shaking itself out of dew that must have accumulated on its feathers over the course of the night.
Gavin had only really taken the picture because he thought the fence was a different color in the light.
Still, that little robin picture was what initiated the realm of ornithology to the boy, and while it wasn’t his only passion, it was the one that actually got him money he could feel happy about.
Unfortunately, ‘Ornithology’ was not exactly the coolest title a photographer could give himself. So, while he eagerly snapped pictures of birds and sent them in to various magazines, he also picked up slow-motion filming, partnering with a friend and creating the YouTube channel that would eventually land him the job he had with Achievement Hunter to this date.
It was fine there— He got along with everyone swimmingly, and even as the company grew, no one disliked him. Of course, not everyone actually knew what he did on those weekends when he went camping on his own. Geoff did, and while people would ask him, he would simply shrug. It was a sensitive subject for the younger man, he knew that— And it was really none of their business anyway.
When it got out, though, well— Needless to say, it wasn’t a pleasant time for Gavin, who already was hit and insulted plenty more than the average coworker in the large Texas warehouse.
Everyone meant it in good fun. That, at least, was a comforting thought. And while Gavin wasn’t ashamed of his passion for birds (it wasn’t like they were making fun of him because his pictures were bad, because that would just be a bold-faced lie.) it was a bit exhausting for the group of boys to always have that to fall back on—
"Gavin, what the fuck were you doing?" Michael asked as a blip on his screen told him Gavin had, indeed, fallen to his death.
A chuckle from the other side of Team Lads was accompanied by a sly, “Gavin, there’re no birds in this game. That white thing is a cursor, not a pigeon." The rest of the men in the small room giggled lightly, not looking up from their screens.
Gavin, however, rolled his eyes good-naturedly, scoffing as he respawned, “Wouldn’t really be a pigeon, then, would it? Be more like a dove. ‘Less it was albino, s’pose."
But it was fine. By now, Gavin was more than used to taking the teases his coworkers supplied to him. It was all in fun, right? Nothing to be upset by. Besides, even he had to chuckle at the vague thought of what an improvement birds would be to Minecraft. He’d never get off, honestly— Though pixel birds would be…. Difficult.
As the filming for the day finished, and all six men put their controllers down with a groan— Let’s Plays were nearly impossible to get through. It took a hell of a lot of work to sit around for three hours doing fuck all but dicking around— they slowly began to function as humans again. Sunset was dimming around the office, and most had already left the offices for the day.
Michael and Gavin, deciding to go get a drink, had their offers declined by Jack, Ray, Ryan, and Geoff— Girlfriends, house work, and apparently a sport game of some kind waited for all of them in varying degrees. Shrugging, the pair gathered their stuff with the rest, Geoff ruffled Gavin’s hair, telling him to call if he needed a ride, and they began walking the short distance to Michael’s flat.
Normally, they wouldn’t walk. But, after a Let’s Play it was nearly impossible to want to sit down again, so the walking was a welcome relief. That, and Michael had walked to the office this morning, so they sort of had no option unless they wanted to bum a ride. But still, the Let’s Play thing.
Tugging both his camera bag and his messenger bag over his shoulders, Gavin rearranged himself while idly talking about flat irons with Michael. He was not quite sure how the topic came up, but it was never a subject that Gavin had a problem discussing, smiling brightly and eagerly diving into conversation. Gavin didn’t straighten his hair, so he knew fuck-all about it. Didn’t even know how to do it.
A bet was forming about getting drunk and straightening each other’s hair before Gavin was cut off, eyes suddenly going wide as he looked over at one side of the forest they were walking through, Michael’s apartment ahead.
"…Hold on, Michael," Gavin murmured under his breath, glancing sideways at the other man and holding a finger up. Quickly, with an apparently practiced grace, he removed both his backpack and his camera bag from his shoulders, kneeling on the ground and pulling said camera out, snapping a rather large lens on before standing.
Michael watched as Gavin glanced both ways and crossed the street, camera in hand. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, feeling like a kid left alone at the bus stop on a snow day, before settling his own bag down and silently, carefully, creeping up behind the Brit.
It would be a lie to say Michael thought what Gavin did was stupid. Maybe he didn’t understand the particular interest to birds, but if there was something Michael did get, was the raw feeling of truly adoring something. Something about watching others— For some reason he really didn’t want to think about, Gavin in particular— doing the thing they loved made his blood rush. Quietly, he stood a bit behind and to the right of Gavin as the other man held the camera to his eye and began to take pictures of a bird in a tree.
Squinting, Michael looked where the lens was pointed, seeing a small yellow and black bird next to a duller brown version— Between them was what looked to be a nest, made out of… Well, Michael didn’t have super sight. It was probably just twigs and stuff. Nest shit.
If the spur of the moment photo shoot seemed to take a while, Michael didn’t seem to notice. He was too focused on watching Gavin.
Tongue stuck between his teeth, he watched the man adjust his lens with expert, skilled fingers, twisting slightly, shifting. He went from crouching to standing to even leaning back, almost entirely bending in half. As the light continued to dim on the day, Michael only noticed when he had to blink to keep Gavin’s features in focus.
"Light’s gone," Gavin muttered under his breath, sounding almost grumpy with the natural turn of the Earth. “I’ll have to stake this out sometime." He was talking to himself, making plans only he would know about.
Something about Gavin’s eyes had something grabbing at Michael’s throat in an iron grip. They were bright in an entirely different way than the chipper excitement that greeted Roosterteeth every morning at work. They seemed to be dancing in his skull, skittering this way and that as he ducked his head, squinting at the bright LED screen of his camera as he scanned through his pictures. Some he clicked his teeth at, others he smiled at, and by the time he was done, Michael was again engrossed in watching the man next to him.
"Oh, Michael!" Gavin suddenly exclaimed, the time and what had been happening just prior apparently slapping him in the face. He looked like a shamed puppy, looking over at him, “I’m so sorry, Michael, you could have gone ahead, I just had to get some pictures. I should’ve just noted to stake them out tomorrow but I just had to stop, yanno."
Michael was broken out of his reverie by the yelp, hastily shutting off the part of his brain that was musing over how pretty Gavin’s profile was in the blue-white glow of the camera. “What?" He said rather stupidly, but then scowled, eyebrows furrowing as he waved a hand, clearing away the apology like a swarm of gnats. “No, man, it’s fine. Any particular reason for the Picture break, though?" He asked, glancing back at where the birds had been— They had either been swallowed by night or had flown away. One of the two.
"Oh, yanno. Lame bird thing and all," Gavin shrugged, deciding to spare Michael to detail about his joke profession.
Michael frowned and rolled his eyes, “Yeah, ass, I noticed that. I meant why them in particular." He gestured to the empty branch.
"….Like, honest?" Gavin said skeptically, raising an eyebrow at Michael, who huffed out a yes.
"Well, that was a golden-cheeked warbler, innit?" Gavin said, glancing back at the empty branches before letting out a soft noise and beginning to follow Michael back to their bags across the street.
"Is that… particularly important, or just…?" Michael said slowly, hoisting his own backpack over his shoulder.
Gavin inhaled sharply, “They’re nearly extinct, Michael!" He exclaimed, “They only breed in Texas, and only between March and July, ‘n then they right flutter off to Mexico." Gavin was back to looking at his pictures curiously, leaving the small smile Michael had to go unnoticed. “Beautiful things, them. Smaller’n my hand." Gavin whistled appreciatively. “Wonder why those two decided t’nest over here. This ain’t anywhere near their natural habitat.."
"What do you mean?" Michael asked finally, looking over at him, trying to stop the smile on his face. But of fucking course, Gavin had some weird fucking effect on him. Fuck.
Figuring Michael was regretting asking him, but already on his new brain-track, Gavin was surprised when Michael opened his mouth to ask why. "….Really? You’re not setting me up for somethin’, are you? Gettin’ me to go all bird on you so you and the boys can have a laugh?" While he didn’t mind the jokes made at his expense, he would at least like to know about it.
Letting out another frustrated sigh, Michael groaned, “Goddammit, Gavin, seriously. I wanna know. It’s, y’know. Interesting." And he could have groaned again at not only how pathetic that sounded.
Gavin’s smile probably could have lit up the area well enough for a round-two picture session. Instead of giving Michael any crap about the confession though (Partially because he wasn’t sure if that was actually the case.) he went on, “They usually don’t nest in or around cities. But if these trees’re juniper, I s’pose it makes sense. They’re drawn to ‘em, see. I dunno, something about their scent makes them happy—" Gavin did know, and it was their scent, but best not to tell Michael he knew about what scents birds liked, “So they always nest in them."
"Oh," Michael muttered, startled by how that actually was a bit interesting. “So, they’re like, the pickiest birds in the world, huh?"
"How d’you figure?" Gavin mused as they continued to walk to Michael’s.
"Well. They only breed in Texas. They’re only in Texas from March to July. They only like juniper trees—"
"Well, live oak trees, too—"
"Okay, what the fuck ever, juniper trees and live oak trees. And then they just dart down to fuckin’ Mexico for winter. Always."
Gavin considered that for a moment before smiling, "…Yeh," he finally said slowly, “Yeh, they are a bit particular, ain’t they?" He mused, apparently seeming to consider it for the first time. “That’s interestin’— Never thought of it that way."
As the pair began the walk up the stairs to Michael’s apartment to drop off their things, Michael fidgeted with the keys to his car. Gavin finally settled, the pair headed off back to their original plans. “So, uh," Michael finally said slowly, unsure why that iron vice was back on his throat. Gavin made a small noise and looked at him, rapt. “Next time you go on one of those camping trips, uh. To take pictures or whatever. Do you think you need someone to… I dunno. Help or whatever the fuck?"
Gavin paused, tilting his head sideways not unlike a dog. “What you mean?"
"I mean, like. You know. To like, remind you when it gets dark out and make sure you eat and shit like that. Or whatever."
Slowly, as it hit him, Gavin smiled. “You wanna come with me birdwatching?" He asked carefully, not entirely able to keep the glee from his face.
Michael scowled, blush rising high on his pale skin, clutching the wheel of the car awkwardly. “I mean, or whatever. You know." No one was ever allowed to call Michael a Smooth Operator ever again. Not even as a joke.
Turning to fully look across the console at Michael, Gavin’s smile went full-bright again. “I’d like that."