Friendship Application || Quackity x OC ☑️

uno | love or host

Note: Empirical evidence has shown that some may be confused by the first chapter and I understand why this is so. I would just like to remind readers that this is a future fic, set about 8-10 years from 2021. That would explain the synopsis.

Dawn | chapter 1

I sat in my chair and stared at my lap so intensely, almost burning holes through my twitching fingers. A man's baritone voice, one I was so familiar with, seemed to recede in the background as I try to concentrate on steadying my respiration.

I can't believe I'm actually doing this.

I didn't know what I was thinking. Sure, it was an impulsive decision, but I went through with it, thinking I wasn't going to be accepted anyway. My application sounded so much like a curriculum vitae or even a thesis defense than an 'ah yes, I want to engage in potential procreation with you' so I said hey, why don't I do this for fun? They'll most likely find me much too dull for viewers and not allow me on the show anyway so what do I have to lose?

My dignity, apparently.

That judgment was even more erroneous than giving a patient an IV push of potassium chloride and inserting a catheter into the same patient's vagina.

I mean, co-authored Cytotoxicity, Phytochemical Analysis of- I do not even want to delve further into the embarrassment I gladly called an application to Love or Host.

The Love or Host.

Austin's show that has over thousands of views with every video and, most likely, my only opportunity to actually talk to the guy who had piqued my interest all these years.

People would have referred to this act as simping a few years back, but now, I don't even have the slightest knowledge on any of the words young people use. I'm not exactly old, but old and busy enough in a sense that my colloquial vocabulary is, what people can call, obsolete.

I'm 28 years old and been working for the healthcare system for years -that in itself screams tremendous work and lack of sleep. Where I found space in my schedule to squeeze this obvious act of courage induced by a 36-hour duty sleep-deprivation? I have no idea, but somehow, what was left of my brain cells have decided that I had space to 'date' right now.

I groaned as the clock subtly ticked. You have to do the laundry, review patients' charts, and- I cannot even recall the last time I looked in the mirror! Cheesecakes and crab apples. "I can't believe I didn't even bother to check how I looked like before connecting to the call." One of my many genius moves, note the sarcasm.

I pick up a brush from the drawer of my desk to, hopefully, remove my matted mane. "Whoa-ho, you're looking great, man," Austin's voice suddenly blares louder through my headphones, causing the brush in my hand to slip out of my fingers. Perspiring digits, just what I needed. In a futile attempt to catch it, I only hit it transversely and the force I exerted had me tumbling off of my chair. My clumsiness is exactly why I can't be a surgeon.

'Oh, I accidently punctured your jugular artery and other parts of your vascular system with my #3 blade, oops,' the mere thought of messing up during surgery compels me to willingly self-induce an air embolism into my own vein.

"-I come prepared just like last time. I'm stacked and ready all day for this." His voice resounds in my ears as I continue to rest my cheek on the ground. Please, don't let them notice. Please, don't let them notice! I took a deep breath and casually sat back down on my desk chair with my eyes shut closed. I know how receptive humans can be to emotions when looking at the eyes -there must be a mix of dread, embarrassment, and regret in mine right now- I cannot let them see that to keep what's left of my dignity.