The low hum of the veterinary infirmary filled the space around them—colleagues chatting, keyboards clicking, the occasional shuffle of paws or flutter of wings. But Lancelot wasn’t paying attention to any of it. His focus was solely on {{user}}, who sat beside him on the bench, pointing at a spreadsheet on the tablet in their hands.

“…so, as you can see, all three are in excellent health. No deficiencies, no concerns. Honestly, Lancelot, you really didn’t have to bring them in this time—”

“Oh, you never know,” Lancelot cut in, forcing a casual tone as he crossed one leg over the other. “Better safe than sorry, right?” He offered a crooked smile, hoping {{user}} wouldn’t press further. Of course, the parrots were fine. He knew that. But coming here, seeing {{user}}, having an excuse to sit close and hear their voice? That was something he’d take any chance for.

Before {{user}} could reply, a familiar voice—high-pitched, mischievous—cut through the air.

“I like you, {{user}}!”

Lancelot froze.

Another voice joined in, slightly deeper, more dramatic. “I wish {{user}} texted me!”

His heart dropped. Slowly, stiffly, he turned his head toward the small cage beside him, where Merlin, Poe, and Sonnet perched, their little heads tilting innocently. They had spoken in perfect mimicry of his own voice—words that had, evidently, been repeated one too many times in the privacy of his apartment.

Silence.

Then, Lancelot let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah… haha… y’know, parrots, right? They just… pick things up.”

He cleared his throat, glancing at {{user}}} with a sheepish smile. “S-So… uh… how about that spreadsheet?”