Friendship Application || Quackity x OC ☑️

ventinueve | george (not notfound)

Warning: Mentions of depression and invalidation.

Dawn | george (not notfound)

"And you, for someone smart, you could be so fuckin', so fuckin', what the fuck is the word for... dense, that's it."

"You're, you know, this— you can't read fucking people's feelings right!"

"You always think I'm fucking joking when I'm not. I did everything I could think of to— for you to know I like you but you think it's a— am I a joke to you? I can't, I don't fucking get why you don't see that shit. I've liked you for so fucking long but you never get it. What do I have to do for you to see me and me as more than just your funny friend Alex?"

"I like you, Dawn."

I like you, Dawn.

I like you.

"We begin autopsy, 5:56 p.m. Dr. Garcia? Dr. Garcia!" I jumped at my superior's sudden increase in volume, though this isn't an unusual occurrence, it doesn't quite lessen the fright I feel when it happens. "If you're going to daydream, get out of my examination room."

"No, doc, I'm sorry." I hold up my pen to show him I clicked on the top to eject the tip. He grunts and scowls but lowers his head to pray and pay respect to our patient. Our job isn't as high risk as those in the trauma department since we don't handle living people, but the profession does involve a lot of time and effort —visiting the crime scene, cut the patient up, and suturing them back together.

Proba mortem, prove one's death. Dr. Grumpy has enforced rules of his own, we pray for the dead and the body has to look better than before —which are both great rules. It's just that he can be meticulous, very meticulous, in fact, he takes at least 4.5 hours to finish one because he'd smell every crevice, that includes gastric contents and, well, those that need not be mentioned. But he's famous for it, he's helped solve impossible cases and is often praised for his exemplary work. That's why it's a privilege to work under him but sometimes I can't help but feel the urge to throw a rib cutter at his face. Because he's such a, well, he's such a rectum.

I like you, Dawn.

I can't believe Alex said that to me. I, I didn't even know he felt that way —not even the slightest clue. If I knew, I would have... I would have— I don't know what I would have done. Who am I kidding? It's not everyday that someone confesses to you, I'm not a celebrity, not at all physical-pleasing or have the best personality either. And it's especially not everyday that the very person you admire is the one to say they like you.

Kind of feels like high school, when I watched people I know gushing over their crushes and their crush liking them back.

If past Dawn was told this would happen, she'd refer you to the psychiatric department right away.

I like Alex and I know it, even if I tried to deny it, well, not deny it, more of... avoid it. I like him, I'm sure. It's just that— I'm scared.

I've only ever dated 3 people in my 29 years of existence, two of which didn't last long because I was "too boring" and "detached." And the other one, the first one, lasted 3 and a half years, but came crashing down because— I can't help but sigh every time I think about it.

George and I's relationship was not as rocky as most would think, in fact, we didn't argue at all. People say we were a 'match made in Heaven' because we got along so well.

It's been so long and the wounds have healed, but deep down I know the strength of its impact to me would be something I'd carry for the rest of my life (or at least until someone convinces me otherwise); to my confidence, to my self-worth, to my understanding of love —both positively and negatively.