~~ finally getting the beginning uploaded ~~
>> I may edit some sketch links into this later! <<

Summary: When Kyle gets a promotion at work, the budgeting constraints lift from his and Chuck's relationship. The couple take to Friday night outings, endeavoring to try out all of the restaurants in town--and Chuck starts trying all the meals, too. But as the last restaurant left untried approaches on the calendar, Chuck worries about how he can make such a milestone as iconic as it should be, owing so much thanks to Kyle.

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It only took one pay raise to bring luxury to the avian home. Formerly tight on their budget, Chuck and Kyle kept a close eye on their savings and rarely afforded any special excursions or purchases. Take-away was for "other people", restaurants were for the well-off, and second-or-third-hand furniture and clothing was a lifestyle that they never thought they would surpass. Life was simple, uninteresting and unspoilt. Until it was that the word of some CEO somewhere made life become abruptly more exciting.
Kyle had worked in private interior design business for three years since obtaining a graphic design degree. Condemned to being an office bird through his original internship--drafting out lounge suite layouts and condominium renovations on a digital program--the flamingo relished in his sudden promotion to field work. For once, Kyle actually got to visit strangers' homes in person, rather than through a screen!
He showed them how to make clutter into quirk, drab into modern, gaudy into chic. The payouts were handsome, and the more business he earned, the more reputation and clients he gained and the more income he brought in.
The extra change started out modest, a few hundred extra dollars at the end of a week.
Kyle checked the bank account with stars in his eyes after his first payout. He felt a soft weight on his shoulder and turned his head to peck his partner's cheek lovingly. "Not bad, hm?"
"You deserve every cent," Chuck cooed, stroking the flamingo's long, sloping neck. Kyle felt his feathers standing on end at the electric touch. Chuck smiled wider and cupped the flamingo's beak in his hand to pull his head down for a smooch. "I'm so proud of you!"
Kyle hugged his partner tightly, feathered arms sinking slightly into the warm pudge around the yellow parrot’s middle. As he withdrew, he looked the parrot brightly in the eyes. "Let's go out for dinner. What do you think?"
Chuck laughed and pushed Kyle playfully back. "You really don't need to spend it all at once. I think we have a microwave pizza in the freezer."
Kyle gagged and fell back into the sunken old couch. He held one hand dramatically over his brow and the other flew blindly through the air above him. "Oh, please! Anything but that!"
Chuck stuck out his tongue. He wasn't a large bird, though he was heavyset for his species after years of frequent muscle work as a mechanic. His diet was cheap and basic and mostly microwavable and it showed; his brightly colored yellow and green feathers tended to be dull or slick with grease, there always seemed to be circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept quite enough, and a gut the size of a basketball bulged from his middle. But he was kind and bright, cheerful and good-natured, and Kyle adored every piece of him.
The flamingo took Chuck by the hand and pulled him up off the couch. They stumbled together, for Chuck rose easier than Kyle had anticipated and he put more strength into his tug than he needed. Kyle tripped backwards and caught himself on Chuck's muscled forearm. He looked into his partner's shiny orange eyes and nodded, grinning. "We're going out. Get your sweater! We're going out."

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They tried a new restaurant every week after the first night out. Friday nights became the highlight of their lives, strongly anticipated every other day. Boy, did they relish in it!
Chuck was too bashful to order as much as he was interested in most of the time, though all the variety made his eyes bulge and his mouth water. He wanted to try everything, and Kyle could always tell. After the first few weeks of Chuck insisting one small platter was all he wanted at each eatery, the flamingo took to ordering far more for "himself" than he could eat, just to make sure Chuck could get a taste of real--not microwaved--meals, and not feel bad. It was Kyle's money, and this was how Kyle wanted to spend it. He would push away full plates and moan, "Oh, it's too much, Chuck! I simply can't."

He had expected leftovers; food to take home for later, but he was quickly surprised at how much his beloved could pack in. At first, he was left in a state of shock. Three main meals, in one sitting? He'd expected Chuck would try a few bites from each plate and leave the majority for a doggy bag. Soon enough, three meals became somehow normal for the stocky bird.
"Do you think baklava would be nice?" Chuck asked, resting after downing a whole four meals mostly on his own. He looked absently towards the kitchen and rubbed his cheeks. They'd filled out slightly after nearly three months on the new and exciting restaurant schedule. After paying for this meal, only one restaurant remained in town which they hadn't yet tried. They hadn't decided a favorite yet, but they had saved the best for last according to glowing reviews from friends, family, and the internet. Chuck’s cousin, Wilbur, insisted their final restaurant was the pinnacle establishment of the state, perhaps even the country—he would make special trips from the next state over just for a good meal every month or two.
Kyle's brow pinched and raised, looking from the cleaned plates between them to the bird that had consumed the vast majority. "Well… if you've got any room, we can order a plate of it."
Chuck grimaced and looked down at the hard, tight lump that had replaced his stomach. A button at his peak girth strained slightly. He adjusted the shirt and the strain relaxed. "No, I couldn't eat another bite."
It was the first time he'd brought up ordering more, and the last that he would decline to follow through. After leaving the establishment so stuffed that it hurt to move, he couldn't get the idea of the dessert off his mind. Kyle insisted his partner rest and not overeat again, for poor wheezing Chuck had cramps well into the morning and choked up a portion at the smell of breakfast. All the while, baklava swam in his thoughts.
By the end of the weekend, he was well again and his feathers seemed brighter than ever. Kyle brought in a Monday treat of takeaway from the same restaurant, and Chuck graciously accepted the opportunity to try the dessert he had missed.
He scarfed it down, going so far as to lick each finger meticulously in a show of appreciation.
"I knew I missed out," he marvelled. "That was amazing."
Kyle smiled and broke away half of his own serving. “Here. Have mine.”
Chuck bit his beak and eyed his partner uncertainly. “Are you sure?”
The flamingo nodded and pushed the plate over. It was too sweet for him and his bland pallet, but he adored the excitement it brought his beloved. Chuck readily accepted the offer and plunged into the last morsel of their takeaway order with wagging tailfeathers fanning from his behind.
Friday came quickly for Chuck—too quickly. The yellow parrot sat in the receptionist’s office on his lunch break, the constant grating sounds of the mechanic shop whirring beyond the long window overlooking the garage. There were always baked goods to be found in the office, brought in daily by the shop owner’s wife for clients, and Chuck was guilty of taking a few treats for himself at almost every opportunity.
This afternoon he held the whole bowl of eclairs on his lap as if his five-pack binge of instant noodles hadn’t been enough.
“I eat when I’m nervous,” he admitted to the golden retriever reclined on the sofa across from him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to—” The bird shook his head, chuckled, and offered out the éclair bowl. “Please help yourself, Wilbur! They really aren’t meant for me.”
Wilbur, a solidly built young fellow with a prominent hunch, waved the eclairs away. The watch around his wrist looked as if it had been fitted a few hundred pounds prior, enveloped in chubby wrist weight on either side.
“You’re nervous!” the dog said. He shrugged. “So, eat.”
Chuck bit his thumb for a moment, thinking hard about the decision, and shortly brought the bowl back to his lap. His green-feathered fingers were coated in chocolate and cream. The layers were bound to thicken before lunch break was over.
“What’s gotten you so wound up, bud?” Wilbur asked.
Chuck swallowed a bite. “Dinner tonight. It’s been three months since we started eating out—almost four! And this is… It’s the last restaurant in town. That’s a milestone, don’t you think? And Kyle’s been at the center of it all.”
“Okay…”
Chuck moaned, forgetting the gooey state of his hands as he threw them over his face. “What have I done? You know? Shouldn’t I take over on this one? But I hardly make a quarter of what he does so even if I want to take him out—I’d really just be using his money. And I always end up eating so much more than he does, wasting so much more of the budget that he earns. What kind of boyfriend does that make me?”
Wilbur leaned forward to pat Chuck’s knee. He smiled sympathetically, and his heavy round cheeks swelled in layers in the motion. “You are a wonderful boyfriend. You and Kyle are the cutest couple I know, and I know that Kyle will not hold your budget over your head. My dear cousin, you simply worry too much.” The dog leaned back again and held up his paws. “Make a romantic gesture. That’s all you need to do.”
“A romantic gesture?”
The office door opened and one of Chuck’s colleagues, a scruffy terrier, stepped in with a clipboard. His eyes landed on the eclairs in Chuck’s clutches, hovered for a moment, then lifted to Wilbur. “Wilbur?”
Chuck scooted his swivel chair out of the way, blushing, and tried to make himself scarce while Marty conducted his business.
Wilbur gestured to himself. As per usual, he wore a stained shirt stretched to the point of losing its elasticity. There was a distinct pawprint spear of some orange sauce over his moob. “That’s me, the one and only.”
Marty gestured out the long window to a beaten-up Mazda. It looked unbalanced, the body leaning distinctly nearer the ground on the driver’s side. Countless mechanic stickers from around the country were displayed on the rear window like souvenirs.
“We’ve done all we could for your car,” Marty said, pursing his lips. “I’m afraid she is not long for this world. She’ll get you around a little longer, but I’d… I’d really recommend looking into a new and sturdier ride. She won’t pass a warrant of fitness again.”
Wilbur grimaced and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, I was afraid of that… Will she make it back to Tennessee?”
Marty grimaced and should his head, eyes crinkling with sympathy. “I wouldn’t risk it.”
Wilbur sighed. “Alright.” He glanced wryly at Chuck. “Looks like I’m staying in town for a little while longer, huh? Maybe I can help you out with your…” He held up one hand to block his lips from Marty’s view, and mouthed ‘money troubles’.
Chuck’s feathers ruffled all at once, turning him into one tall ball of fluff. He laughed too loudly, eyeing his work colleague with anxiety, put the eclairs aside, and very quickly and awkwardly made haste for the door. Rife with embarrassment, the parrot wiped and wiped his sticky fingers over his shirt and went back to work early. He hoped it would take his mind off things.
A romantic gesture? He pondered while he worked. Cranking wrenches, twisting sockets, opening hoods, he thought less about the job at hand and more about how on Earth he could make a meaningful gesture worthy of a flamingo as perfect and loving as Kyle.