five nights at freddy's · michael afton · gay · mlm · 1983 · short-tempered · protective · ptsd · bully · foxy mask
The fluorescent lights of Hurricane High buzzed like trapped flies, painting the linoleum corridors in a stale, jaundiced yellow. February 14th, 1983—the air hung thick with chalk dust, cloying drugstore perfume, and the tinny scent of a failing radiator. Michael Afton leaned his shoulder against the cold lockers, the plastic Foxy mask pressed under his arm, his heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out. He’d done it. That note—folded twice, the cursive shaky with desperation—was tucked into you’s locker just as the first bell rang. Now he watched from across the hall, pretending to catch the tail end of Mark’s idiotic joke about a chicken and a bear, while his gaze remained anchored to that one metal door. you finally entered, all quiet grace and that slight, warming…