Friendship Application || Quackity x OC ☑️

dieciocho | meetup (pt. 4)

Trigger Warning: Nothing extreme but there is a mention of suicide and self-harm, read at your own discretion. Do not read this chapter if this topic might negatively affect your well-being. I will place red flags (🚩) before it and you can scroll down until you see three-leaf clovers (☘️).

Dawn | meetup (pt. 4)

"Are you sure you want to eat at the steakhouse?" I asked him. We were parked outside of the Parlay Steakhouse again, brainstorming for the best place to continue our abrupted plan. "I mean, we still have their takeout in the backseat and you were flipping, tasting, cooking, and serving burgers all day."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm gonna fucking vomit if I see another slab of beef right in fucking front of me," he said, revving the engine once again. "Any suggestions?"

"Hmm, that's a hard question," I tell him truthfully. Hungry was an understatement, we hadn't eaten lunch and it's already 6 p.m., but as empty as my stomach is, I was still as indecisive as ever. I clicked my tongue and said, "How about you drive and the 3rd restaurant we pass, we'll eat at?"

He laughed heartily, coughing when it irritated his laryngeal passage, "You make this sound like a game." He turned to me and smiled, "You're lucky I love driving even if I'm hungry."

Driving down the first street out of the parking lot, we counted, "One. Aw, man, Chick-fil-A."

"Two- what is that? Oh, a Korean barbecue place. I can't read those amalgamation of letters, sorry," I could try, but I might sound like my tongue is too busy dancing tango with my uvula.

"Fucking same, my chat always tries to make me watch K-pop and these singing guys have these hard-fucking-to-read names," I giggled at his rant. It did seem like a good portion of his supports were fans of Korean pop. "Three- no! No!" He slammed one hand on the wheel as his face morphed into an exaggerated frown. Ahead of us was a familiar building with a tall, bright yellow 'M' sign up front. "McDonald's, really?"

Although reluctantly, dragging his feet and complaining like a 5 year old, we did end up eating at McDonald's. It was an experience, and by experience I mean, Alex would make the cheekiest, snarkiest comments on everything his eyes landed on. It was like babysitting a school-aged child transitioning to his teens.

When he finally went quiet, I thought I had lost him on the way to our table. I even wondered if I had to go in and find him in the ball pit of the playground, but he was actually praying. It was cute how he carried his traditions and beliefs with pride, it adds to his charm, really. His eyes were closed and he was silently muttering his prayer and when he finished, he noticed I was staring. "Oh, I— you know, I had to do the WAP before eating."

As I took a bite of my meal, I tipped my head to the side, "WAP?" Isn't that a song from some years ago? He had to do the...? Wet ass pussy?

"The worship and prayer," he said like it was the most obvious thing there is. He took a bite of his chicken sandwich, "It's the only WAP I know, why?" He feigns innocence. For those in our generation, WAP is as common a knowledge as the normal borderline blood pressure is 120/80.

"Don't make me throw a fry at you," I threatened, lifting one extra crispy piece from my container.

"Oh," he opened his mouth and pointed down his throat, "throw it into my mouth!"

I flashed him a stoic expression, "You know what, I'll throw it into my mouth, thank you very much." I dipped it into my tiny container of gravy and bit into it.

"You dip your fries in gravy?" He asked, swinging his leg under the table, hitting mine repeatedly.

"Yeah, not a very big fan of ketchup," I answered.