Like a Surgeon- 80s!Weird Al xMale!Reader

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You sit alone in a chair in the corner of the emergency room, staring into space.

A curly-haired guy with aviator-style glasses dressed in scrubs walks over to you. "You alright?" He asks with a small, sympathetic smile, bending over to get to your seated level.

His sweet ramen waves distract you, and behind a curly strand on his forehead you can see his thin, perfectly filled eyebrows, as if designed by an artist.

"Uhm, I guess..." Your friends are all in separate hospital beds, being treated for the injuries they had gotten in the car accident 20 minutes ago, and you had been zoning out before this point because none of it felt real. It couldn't have even been possible.

The beautiful, somehow nerdy man smiles fuller, looking at you with energetic eyes. "Okay," he chirps. "Have a good one."

You watch him turn around, dressed in full light teal, to go back to a table and mess around with some scalpels. He seems to have a more low-level job in the emergency room, as he has time to talk to the one guy on the side and is currently sorting medical equipment. "Good job, Al," a black-haired coworker says as he gives the fluffy dude a soft punch in the stomach, making him double over with shock. When he realises Al doesn't vocally respond, he slaps him on the neck. The man, whose nametag reads ROBBIE, becomes angry. "Look at me when I talk, you accordion-playing loser!"

Al holds the back of his neck with a gloved hand and looks with a sad expression to the guy, who wears a red and purple striped vest underneath his uniform. His innocent, soft brown eyes are tainted with a hint of misery. It almost looks like he's used to this situation.

His evil coworker looks back at him, with a stare like a rotten noodle. "I am Number One, and you are nothing! Get back to work before I hurt you!"

Al returns silently to his equipment sorting on the table, and you wish you could comfort him until all his sorrow leaves. If you look from a certain angle, you think you can see tears fall. He wipes moisture off of his eyes to confirm your suspicion. The beautiful man whips his brown curls in the direction of the clock, pretending to care about the time, and runs off to the washroom.

You look down to your lap. Poor guy... You wonder if he's going there to cry more, and can't help but think of what would happen if you went over there to comfort him.

You take a look around, seeing everyone tending to their own stuff. They don't notice as you swagger across the room. In search of Al, you push open the door that has a simplified graphic of a stick figure with a head of tight curls. "Bro, are you okay?"

He's crying over the sink in the unlit room, small, squeaky sobs emanating from a face that doesn't deserved this kind of treatment.

You put a hand on his back, concerned. "Are... Are you alright?"

"No," he wails. Al lifts his face from the sink. "They all think I'm a dork!! They all hate me!" He sniffles and wipes his face before the plain mirror, taking in a shaky breath to calm himself. "Nobody even wants me around, they treat me like a worthless slob because I'm..." He cuts himself off with silence. "I'm..."

You wait, but the word doesn't come out. Just sniffling and small sobs. He seems scared to say any more. "You're what?"

The man in his fragile state takes his glasses from the edge of the sink and turns toward you. All his features are outlined in a soft red. "I'm... I'm a friend of Dorothy," he responds, shy eyes on a small bandage wrapper instead of being able to look at you. His shoulders curve in, scared of yet another person not accepting him. You try to look like you understand, but Al reads your confused face and starts to yell. "A donut puncher, a flit, a poof, a noodle man!"

"...A what?"

Al turns to the sink again, the mirror reflecting his rolling tears as they drop onto the clean porcelain. "Don't you get it? I'm gay!"

"LMAO, me too m8!" You hold out your hand for a high-5, but then remember, once Al's face turns somewhat disappointed, as if it was a cruel joke, that you are in the 80s. "Uh, I mean..." You clear your throat to take on a different, more relatable  approach to comfort the cute surgeon Al. "I too have felt the cruel welcome of the snickering, homophobic world once I came out." You hope that's a realistic and satisfying answer for the beautiful man you just met. After seeing what he has to go through at work, you definitely don't want to upset him any more.

"It's so hard to live like this," Al croaks as he wipes some tears away. "It's the year 1985 and we still haven't progressed enough to accept people!"

"It's alright." You put your arm around his teal-covered shoulders. "I accept you."

He looks up in disbelief through his reddish-brown curls. "Why?"

"A guy like you should be treated just like any other human being. In fact, you should be treated better! You're quite beautiful, and any guy who isn't gay for you is missing out." Your hand smooths his hair.

"I'm so sure," Al scoffs sarcastically. He retreats again to the corner of the washroom with the bandage wrapper.

"No, from what I've seen so far you're alright! It's society who needs to change."

He crosses his arms, slumped down in the corner.

"How about we go out to dinner?" You ask, for some reason willing to do whatever it takes to show this guy that he means something to the world.

"Fine." He cracks a tiny smile that releases happy blush. It looks adorable on his face. "You seem nice." Al's calming brown eyes meet yours. "Just don't be surprised if you're disappointed by the end of the night." He looks away, waiting for your reaction to his own self-depreciating joke.

You take a sticky note from your new date's hand and write down your name, fax and telephone number. "Honestly, it just doesn't look like I will be." You draw a little heart at the bottom of the blue, marble-patterned page and hand it over. A nurse comes to tell you that your friends are ready to go home.

Al watches you and your friends leave the emergency room with a slight smile. You blow a kiss to him, wishing everyone in the room sees it. 

Once you have left and the door has closed, Robbie walks over to Al. "Who the heck was that?" his voice is angry and theatrical. 

Al stutters and adjusts his glasses, searching his mind for a no-homo answer. "Uh, he gave me the number to his fax machine repair business! My fax has been broken for weeks." Al puts a hand on the back of his neck, under his beautiful hair. He hopes to look honest.

"You probably broke it by being gay on it!" Robbie yells. He then punches his cute brown-haired coworker right in the face, making him fall over. "Mwa hahahahaha!!" He laughs at Al's misfortune. 

Al looks up at him, wondering how his life could go back to being lousy in a matter of minutes. His expression of misery almost looks like it's starting to affect Robbie, as his features change on a very small scale to become soft. Al quickly finds he has been mistaken when he feels a net fall over him and Robbie tripping as he tries to get away. The sudden pull brings the net off of him, and Al runs out of the hospital as Robbie lies defeated on the glossy multicoloured flooring.