"Brian," a golden tamarin monkey calls out to his feathered employee from across the counter. "I have some matters to attend to. Hold down the fort while I'm gone, will you?'

"Sure thing, Mr. Mico, sir!" Brian replies diligently, saluting the primate with a fierce hand to the forehead. Mico rolls his eyes and begins untying his apron. Within the second, he's hung the apron on its rightful hook and is out the door, leaving the rock dove in sole charge of the Golden Mug Cafe. He truly doesn't mind however, because a certain Humbolt penguin has been sitting at table 9 for the past two hours nursing the same latte. Humbert's eyes delightedly follow his boyfriend's bustling figure and secret smiles. It may not be the most hands-on date, but it is one they're very much used to. Their secrecy lends itself to valuing the little things, perhaps.

The pigeon has his hands full with the post-lunch rush, and Humbert wishes he could step in and help, though even if he were allowed to do so by the cafe standards, he's sure he wouldn't have the slightest idea of how to work that infernal coffeemaker. Brian eventually got the hang of it, but to Humbert, its mechanisms are still an absolute enigma. Regardless, Brian does not need his help. If there is anything the bird can pride himself on, it's his hardworking nature. Mile-long orders that specify bean type, milk type, and temperature down to the degree are commonplace in a fancy-schmancy cafe such as this one. Brian can get a hipster's coffee ready before they can even say 'manager'. Humbert finds it mesmerizing to observe, like watching a top player clear through levels of a video game in record time.

At last, through sweat, foam, and kombucha, the post-lunch rush begins to calm down, leaving only half a dozen or so customers in the establishment sipping their drinks. After wiping down the counter for the millionth time, Brian risks leaving his post once he confirms no new orders will be coming in for a bit. He trots up to Humbert, as he always does during these lulls in action, and with a twist of his bowtie, he clears his throat emphatically.

"How are you enjoying your refreshment, sir?" He asks in a stilted posh voice.

The penguin smirks, understanding the premise of this sudden improv session. "If I may be honest, it is simply inexcusable. You claim this is Kilimanjaro coffee, but it altogether lacks any hint of citrus or honey. I would not give this to the fleas upon my indentured servants' backs!"

"Oh, I'm s-sorry to hear that!" Brian giggles, struggling to maintain character. "I can add some lemon juice and some honey in it, if it helps!"

"Your words offend me and dishonor my family." Humbert sneers. "I demand proper compensation!"

Brian ducks down, closing in on the penguin's face. "I have an idea for compensation." He murmurs.

The black and white (and now red) bird fumbles, eyes widening in surprise. "C-cor blimey, you're a… b-bold one."

"Bry-Guy!"

A voice behind them snaps Brian to an upright stand to attention, now about half a meter away from Humbert's table. "We weren't doing anything!"

The voice chuckles. "That's no good. That means you aren't doing your job!"

To his surprise, that is not Mico's voice. No, it's perhaps the last voice Brian wants to hear now.

"Dad?"

Four rock doves stand by the entrance expectantly, two adults and two children. The squabs start to run in Brian's direction, no doubt winding up for a full-body hug, but the female dove catches them by the collar of their shirts, and with a glare, commands them to not make a scene.

"You mean, valued customer?" The elder pigeon winks, puffing out his chest. "It's been a while since we visited you at work! Last time must have been your first week here!"

"Oh." It takes a few moments before Brian recalibrates. "Oh! Isn't that nice! You really should let me know when you plan on visiting! That way I don't get so… surprised!"

"But that's the whole point!" May chirps, jumping up and down.

Brian laughs weakly. "Guess you're right… ha, ha…"

"I want pancakes!" Cooper announces, or rather, demands.

"We only order when we sit down and read the menu." His mother, Marsha, chides.

"Plus, we don't serve pancakes." His stepbrother adds. "But, let's get you guys seated first."

"Slow down there!" His father interrupts. "Are you gonna introduce us to your friend? Or do you joke around with all of the customers?"

His 'friend' remains immobile and mute, completely clueless as to how Brian would want him to react in this situation.

"Ohhh, how rude of me!" Brian laughs in three octaves too high. "This is Humbert! He's a regular here."

Alright, so he's 'just a regular'.

"Hi there," the penguin greets casually. "Your son makes a hell of a latte."

"He said hell!" Cooper screams gleefully, though his grin is quickly wiped off after seeing Marsha's face.

"He's our pride and joy!" The eldest bird nods. "I still can't make coffee taste as good as he can!"

"Well, he can't make coffee at all!" Marsha chuckles. "Even instant!"

"Yes, yes, that's why you guys all get free drinks!" Brian nervously herds the family flock to an available booth. "Out of my paycheck of course."

"Well, that's no fair." Brian's dad mopes. "If we drink for free, it's only right that the regular gets one on the house too! On us, that is."

"Oh, yes!" Marsha coos eagerly. "Take a seat with us, sweetie. As a thank you for being so nice to Brian."

Humbert's eyes dart to his boyfriend, checking for any signs of approval or disapproval. He remains utterly immobile, however.

"…I appreciate it." The Humbolt penguin starts suddenly. "Why not?"

It's probably not what Brian wants, but the flightless bird is too tempted. Maybe this will be a good opportunity to show him that he shouldn't be so scared to be seen together. After a very stilted taking of orders, the working rock dove tromps back behind the counter to prepare everyone's drinks, leaving Humbert within the flock of pigeons.

"So, son, you got a name?" The eldest pigeon asks.

"Had to borrow it from my parents, actually. Humbert. Nice to meet you."

The grey bird nods approvingly, both at the lame joke and the name. "You go to school?"

"Uh, yessir."

"You any good at it?"

"I'm good at going home!" Humbert jokes.

"I'm good at arts and crafts!" May chimes in.

"Ah, you should get Brian to tutor you then." Papa Pigeon huffs proudly. "Our boy's as smart as they come. He even won an award last year!"

Humbert swallows his 'I know, he told me about it' comment.

"But he's only any good at math." Cooper corrects his dad.

"Then you should learn from him." His mom quips. "I didn't forget about your report card, you know."

"Math is far from my strong suit." Humbert admits. "I stopped following after they started adding letters to it."

"They do what?!" May squeaks.

"Enjoy your youth while you have it, little sis."

Brian returns to the table surrounded by laughing beaks.

"Having fun?" He asks a bit too innocently as he sets down his little stepbrother's hot chocolate.

"Humbert here is a hoot!" Marsha giggles. "You two should exchange phone numbers later."

The barista nearly chokes on his spit.

"Yeah, you need more friends!" May chimes in.

"Did you know he doesn't even have a girlfriend?" Cooper nudges at Humbert.

Humbert grins a bit too widely. "No way."

His boyfriend seethes internally. He can tell he's having way too much fun.

"Say, Humbert, you must know that FlockCon is next week." Brian's dad interrupts. "If you got no one else to go with, why don't you join us? We make a day of it every year."

"Dad, no, I'm sure Humbert already has plans, and it's rude to invite someone you just met—"

"Sure, I'd love to."

Brian's beady eyes lock on Humbert.

"Ah, well that settles it then!" His father declares. "FlockCon is always better with a flock, as the motto goes!"

"Isn't this nice…?" The teenage pigeon whimpers. "I just remembered Humbert here has to pay off his bill. Come up to the counter real quick, please."

Humbert recognizes that tone of voice instantly. The 'he's in trouble' tone. With an oof, he squeezes past the other pigeons and hops out of the booth, following Brian to the register.

"You know," He starts in a lighthearted mood. "Penguins don't have bills, they have beaks."

"Why did you say yes?!"

The monochrome bird flinches. "I really think you're being a bit too paranoid about the whole thing. It's just a little outing. Besides, it's FlockCon, everyone will be distracted. They won't smell the homosexuality on us."

Brian raises a finger to his beak, admonishing the very use of the H-word. His lovebird sighs.

"Bri… you know I'll act cool if you want me to. But actually meeting your family, they obviously love the crap out of you. Would it really be the worst thing in the world if they knew?"

The pigeon scans Humbert's face. The usually smoothness of his facial feathers is compromised by the creasing of his brow, under which his eyes glow with a complicated concoction of hopefulness and hurt. "My parents wouldn't care. They can't be any more disappointed in me after I said I'm going into music." He insists.

"I… I know it's the right thing." Brian croaks out, placing a subtle hand over Humbert's atop the counter. "But… I'm scared. Even if they're okay with it… it's scary, you know? Saying it. Because then... you can't take it back."

His boyfriend tilts his head, imitating his distress.

"But," Brian quickly corrects himself. "You know it has nothing to do with you right? You're wonderful."

"I have been called Mr. Wonderful before."

"I love you, Birdie."

"I love you, too."

As soon as he says it, Humbert slaps Brian's hand away from his with a cheeky grin. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to being straight."

True to its name, FlockCon is an annual convention for all things avian. Every chick, squab and duckling can't pass up the opportunity to visit at least once in their lives. This year, the convention is set up in a neighboring town. In a rare display of extroversion for the Pigeon family, they zoom down the highway in Brian's father's muddy car, fidgeting on the crumb-covered seats with the extra weight of of an additional member to the flock for the day.

"Do you go to FlockCon often, Humbert?" Marsha asks from the passenger's seat.

The Humboldt penguin, squished in the middle seat, smiles. "Every year. It's hard to meet other penguins."

"I should have figured since you had a ticket. We buy ours one the first day of sales!"

"They do sell like hot cakes."

"Dad, I want hot cakes!" May squeals from her booster seat.

"We'll be eating like kings once we're there! Only the finest at FlockCon!"

The two younger birds rejoice, amusing the flippered guest. He looks to his side, where his 'friend' looks intently out the window at the panoramic view of the highway railings. Subtly, he sneaks his hand to rest on the pigeon's unsuspecting one. The unexpected contact causes Brian to jerk his hand away, before shooting an apologetic look at the penguin. The latter only brushes the silent apology away, but the undeniable hurt in his eyes only weighs down Brian's stomach even further.

Why, oh why, did things turn out this way?

The claustrophobia of the car ride lasts excruciatingly long, made even worse by his step siblings insistence on belting out only the most annoying songs in their catalogues, but eventually, God pities him enough to bring them to their destination.

Across a vast ocean of parked cars lies three huge, identical convention hall. Enormous banners hang on their otherwise naked sides, displaying a stylish emblem of a pair of angel wings and two fierce talons stretched out towards the bottom corners. "FLOCKCON" crowns the illustration in bold white lettering.

"We're here!" The birds cheer.

After the ever-infuriating process of finding an empty space in the parking lot (Brian tries his very best to memorize the spot, knowing he will inevitably forget it), the family trods along the concrete desert until reaching the bustling congregation of avians that encircle the imposing entrance. Every sort of beaked creature has come, from pelicans, to birds of paradise, to kiwis. Though there is a respectable blend of feathers amongst the crowd, most birds tend to flock next to those of a feather, creating an almost beautiful patchwork of convention-goers.

"Just as crowded as last year!" Brian's dad admires. "Even more!"

"Hold on to my hands tight and don't let go." Marsha cautions her chicks. "The crowd can sweep you up."

Even the rambunctious duo know when to listen to their mom. With a confident nod, they huddle up closer to her, their tiny palms gripping a different digit.

"So, what's the plan?" Brian asks his dad.

"I think we can do a general tour, then settle in the pigeon pavilion." The eldest rock dove scratches his ragged neck plumage. "Do you think the penguin pavilion is close by?"

Humbert tilts his head. "Judging by the map," He points to a large plan of the convention space displayed above the ticket booth. "They look to be quite a ways apart. But don't worry about me, sir. I'm glad we could just arrive together."

"Nonsense!" Marsha clasps his shoulder with her free hand. "At least walk around with us first."

Unable to resist, Humbert agrees. And so, the FlockCon plan is set in motion. After shoving their way past the crowd of idle loiterers, the Pigeon (plus penguin) squad show their tickets to the sturdy ostrich security guard, and happily strut in to the gated convention grounds. Out of all the sights of a bird convention, the most interesting are the guest themselves. It's very hard not to people watch (or birdwatch in this case) when colorful feathers are always in the corner of one's eye. It's especially entrancing to catch a glimpse of a bird dressed up in traditional garb, proudly posing for a giddy rotation of photographers.

"Wow, look at that guy!" Cooper points to a burly albatross in a decorated pilot's uniform. "So cool!"

"Those arms…" Humbert whistles. A twinge of annoyance pricks at Brian.

"Nobody can resist a male in uniform." Brian's dad chuckles. "How do you think I wooed this one?"

He proudly nudges Marsha, who seems thoroughly unimpressed. "Your postman uniform? Oh yes, it was love at first sight."

They reach the first building, and their beaks drop when glimpsing the inside's vastness. Endless rows of stalls stretch into a feather-scented expanse. Most of the guests wandering around are smaller birds: canaries, jays, tits. So this is the songbird pavilion.

"Usually, the pigeon pavilions are close by." Brian notes.

That doesn't stop the group from pursuing the nearby booths. Humbert and Brian take special interest in the ones selling songbird music: the penguin with a friendly curiosity, and the pigeon with a sulking jealousy.

"I wish I could sing like that…" He pouts, glued to the CD player.

"You could if you took lessons." Humbert restrains himself from patting Brian's head.

"Says you, Mr. Musical Prodigy."

"What's a projinee?" May materializes out of nowhere.

"It means when someone's really good at something at a young age." Brian explains. "Just like how you're really good at touching things that shouldn't be touched."

As if on cue, the little squab takes her hands off of a nearby CD case, a sheepish smile on her beak.

"Does Humby play music really good, then?"

"Humby—Humbert plays the drums."

May looks up at the penguin with sparkling eyes. "Really? That's so cool! Do you know rock and roll?"

"I'm more of a jazz bird, but I can rock out." Humbert sticks his tongue out and lifts his hand in the 'rock'n'roll' sign.

"Rock out!" May giggles, clumsily trying to imitate his finger work, but ends up raising a peace sign instead.

They exchange some passionate headbanging before getting dizzy and returning to the others. After a couple of more blocks, the stream of nearby birds slowly dull in color, meaning they are approaching the pigeon pavilion.

"Ah, here we are!" Brian's dad announces, spotting a mourning dove vender behind a display of pigeon-related bumper stickers.

Despite the large number of pigeons in society, the pigeon corner isn't all that big; perhaps because there's just not much you can hype up about the birds. Still, the atmosphere is good-natured.

"Let's try to find a place that sells good millet." Marsha tugs at her husband's sleeve.

"Read my mind." He agrees. "Better yet, some corn."

Before they can search out their lunch, Cooper suddenly lets go of Marsha's finger and runs off to a brightly colored stall.

"Cooper! Come back!" The female dove cries, and the group hurries to catch up to the squab.

Luckily, he doesn't run off terribly far, promptly stopping in front of the counter. The two fantails who run the booth greet him and hand him a little keychain.

"Cooper!" His dad squawks. "Don't run off like that!"

"Sorry about that," One of the fantails chuckles. "I'm afraid we may have made our booth a bit too colorful."

He might be right. The striped banners of the stall have all the colors of the rainbow, richly saturated.

"It sticks out in the pigeon pavilion of all places." Marsha says.

"Yes... but that's exactly what we're here to do!" The second fantail, dappled with gray, smiles.

"And what is this all about?" Brian asks.

"Well, we're with the Homosexual Avian Society!" One of the fantails announce proudly, gesturing towards a banner behind him spelling "H.A.S."

Brian wants to leave.

"We provide a safe space and advocate for all homosexual birds." The fluffy pigeon explains, handing the father bird a pamphlet. "We have bases in over ten cities, and each carry out a bunch of charities, activities, events, parties, you know."

"Goodness." Brian's dad murmurs, unable take his eyes off the rainbow-hued brochure.

"Now, we know homosexuality isn't talked about a lot. That's why we only managed to get a booth in the pigeon pavilion, after all. But even if you're not a member of the community, it's important to show support and stand up for what's right."

"Over 5% of all birds are homosexual, you know. That's one in twenty!" The other fantail chimes in.

"That many, eh…"

"If I'm a hokomechsual, can I get a keychain?" May peeks out from under the counter, pointing at the rainbow-shaped trinket.

"You can get one anyways, sweetheart." The fantail goes to hand her one, but her father stops him.

"We already took too much!" He laughs nervously. "Thanks for your time, let's get going, gang."

In a flash, he ushers them away from the rainbowed fantails.

An awkward silence passes before anyone says anything.

"I can't believe they actually exist." Marsha tries to lighten the mood. "You hear about these things on the news, but…"

"Yes, it was quite surprising." Her husband nods.

Humbert glances at Brian, who's now essentially catatonic. Hesitantly, he tests out the waters. "They were nice, though. Weren't they?"

"Yes, very nice." They mutter in agreement.

"Doesn't surprise me with fantails, they're always a bit… much." Brian's dad says, sweating.

"You know, I have some homosexual friends."

Brian looks at the penguin incredulously.

"Is that right?" Marsha raises her brows. "Females or males?"

"Both."

"Is that so…" She murmurs. "Yes, I suppose that makes sense with your generation. Young people find such interesting ways of expressing themselves."

Humbert frowns. "Well, it's not like it's a choice."

"Of course, of course." She agrees in a not-too-convinced tone. "But, look at us, talking about such things in front of kids. Let's change the subject."

The subject they changed to is yet more silence, now noticeably heavier. Taking it no more, the penguin deploys his escape strategy.

"Well, I guess I'll start heading towards the penguin pavilion."

"Oh, of course!" Brian's father perks up. "How about Brian texts you when it's time to regroup?"

"Sounds good."

Brian suddenly interjects. "I'd like to walk Humbert there."

His dad seems all too pleased with this. "Oh, great idea! Look at you, making friends! We won't leave the pigeon pavilion so take your time."

"Okay."

With an inscrutable face, Brian walks off, leaving a confused Humbert stunned in his dust. Once the Humboldt catches up with him, he leans in closer to counter the noisy chatter of the crowd.

"Are you okay? That was kind of rough."

His boyfriend doesn't respond. Humbert gulps. This is bad.

Wordlessly, Brian guides him to the neighboring convention hall, where the supposed penguin pavilion lies. They find themselves in the middle of a sea of black and white, penguins of all shapes and sizes waddling past.

"Hey, Bri—" Humbert tries once more to talk to the rock dove. "Listen, don't let that get to you. We don't need to tell them anything. I-if it worries you that much, then I understand if you'd rather we take a break or e-even—"

Humbert never gets to finish his sentence. He's pulled by the lapel of his jacket into a kiss. One that is bold, and unafraid, and stands out against the black and white background like a warm pink.

The penguin's eyes go wide with surprise, but his parters' is sealed shut, as if at peace.

With a final clack of keratin, Brian pulls away, finally opening his small dark eyes to inspect Humbert's burning face. His claws remain firmly rooted in Humbert's pleather jacket.

"I'm going to tell them now."

Humbert blinks.

"N-now? In the middle of FlockCon?"

"Yeah."

"Br-Brian, you don't have to do this, you don't need to prove anything to—"

"I know. But I'm still going to."

Brian's gaze is unlike anything he's ever seen before. A perfect painting: a stroke of resoluteness, a stroke of calm, a stroke of fearlessness, together creating the wonderful expression the rock dove dons.

"Then I'll go with you."

"No." His lover shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but I need to tell them on my own."

"…I understand."

"I'll let you know when I'm done."

"…Okay."

Like a mirage, the rock dove vanishes in a flash. Humbert almost wonders if he had somehow hallucinated the whole scenario, but the unmistakable tingling of his beak confirms what he just experienced as reality.

Who knows how long he spends aimlessly wandering the rows of stalls. His brain can't even process what wares are being sold; he might as well be walking around a desert. All he can do is put one foot in front of the other and pray he doesn't walk into a wall.

After 1856 agonizing seconds, he feels his phone vibrate. He whips it out like a cowboy would a pistol and scrambles to read the incoming message.

'come over'

Completely neutral. Curse Brian and his sudden need for suspense. Humbert dashes back to the convention hall housing the pigeon pavilion. With every stride, a thought repeats.

"I'll protect you."

Some hidden instinct guides him to his partner. He spots the family of pigeons seated at a table facing a wide backlot exit. He screeches to a halt behind the seated Brian, who turns his head ever-so slightly at his arrival. He immediately spots glistening tears in his eyes. Still slightly out of breath, he scans the birds before him as his chest rises and falls. They all wear… complicated expressions to say the least. Not a smile in between.

"Humbert…" Brian's father begins, freezing Humbert's movements mid-inhale. "I owe you a huge apology."

The penguin doesn't respond.

"Brian told us everything. I can't believe we acted like that in front of you both." He explains with a solemn voice. "If we had known Bry-Guy and you… well… we would have never said that."

"It's best to mean what you say."

The old pigeon flinches at his words. With his head hung low, he places his hand atop Marsha's. "It's true, we're from a different generation. I'd be lying if I said I understood all of this stuff. The rainbows, the coming out of the cabinet…"

"Closet, dear."

"Yeah, closet." He corrects himself. "But I support everything that my Brian is. If he's… homosexual, and it makes him happy… If you make him happy… then that's all there is to it. This is all brand new to me, as a parent and a person, but I really hope both of you can be patient with me. With all of us."

He reaches for his son's hand, who gladly accepts it.

"Of course, dad…" Brian hiccups. "You have no idea… no idea how much I tried to fight it. How afraid I was… b-because I thought you might never love me again… I thought I w-would lose my family… A-and you're all so important to me…"

It's his dad's turn to tear up now. "To think I made you suffer for so long… what a lousy father I am, for my own son to be so afraid of telling the truth me…"

"N-no, I was the lousy one…" Brian interjects. "I was ashamed because I was too cowardly. It wasn't fair to you or poor Humbert."

The Humboldt places a reassuring hand on the rock dove's shoulder.

"You're as brave as they come, Bry-Guy." His father lets out a trembling chuckle. "Your mother would be so proud."

"We're all proud." Marsha adds. "Truly."

"I don't see what the big deal is…" Cooper fidgets. "He's only got one boyfriend. I've got loads of girlfriends."

"Shut up!" May pecks her brother. "I don't know what's going on, but I don't like seeing my big brother so sad. We love you loads, Brian, even if you're hokomechsual!"

Brian laughs, his voice as clear and sweet as a bell. "I love you too, May-May. I love everyone."

On cue, the other birds huddle round the seated high schooler and envelop him in a warm, slightly chaotic group hug.

"This is turning out to be the best FlockCon yet!" The rock dove laughs from inside the hug.

"Just you wait, we haven't even got to eat yet!" His dad chortles. "I just gotta ask those fantails for more information first."

"Get me a keychain!" May yawps.

"Everyone gets a keychain."

"Wait, if you two are dating…" Cooper looks at the couple suspiciously. "Who's the boy and who's the girl?"

Humbert nods sagely. "We're both the girl."

"Humbert!"

"Sorry, lame joke."

AN: Thanks for reading. Was this chapter cheesy? Yes. Do I care? No. Brian deserves cheesy. About time we broke up the main conflict with a little side story. Maybe that's why it's on the longer side.

Take it easy and stay safe.