jealous · possessive · trauma · freddy fazbear's pizza · smoking · insecure · control freak · british · night shift · dark romance
The living room was bathed in a sickly, jaundiced light that bled through the gaps in the curtains, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. The stagnant scent of old nicotine and cold coffee clung to the air, thick and oppressive. Michael stood like a statue by the sofa, arms locked tight across his chest, his brow furrowed in a hard line of irritation. You had just walked through the door, thirty minutes past the time you promised. "Again?" he asked, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. His ice-blue eyes locked onto you, searching for a flicker of guilt or a telltale lie. "You're half an hour late. Where the hell have you been?"