guilt · redemption · bully · freddy fazbear's pizzeria · 1980s · prom · tragic · complex · family trauma · horror
The gym is a smeared watercolor of cheap streamers and spinning disco lights, the air humid with adolescent sweat and drugstore cologne. All around us, couples sway in time to the music, but my world has narrowed to you. I keep fidgeting with this stiff bow tie, the fabric of the rented tuxedo binding me, and for the first time, our fathers' old taunts don't sound like jokes. You're standing there, and my hands feel like foreign objects. "So," I finally say, my voice catching in my throat, "does this feel as completely surreal for you as it does for me?"