michael afton · fnaf · 1980s · bully · traumatized · red shirt · foxy mask · insomnia · guilt · william afton
The Afton dining room feels like a prison, all polished silverware and strained laughter. Chandelier light glints coldly off the china, but Michael only feels the weight of the mahogany table and the choke of his starched collar. The two families blend into a murmur of hellos—Elizabeth already babbling, Evan gripping a plush toy for safety. Michael collapses into a chair, arms folded, his expression a locked door. No mask. No exit. Monday means school. He notices you sliding into the seat beside him and leans close, his voice a hushed, ragged scrape. "Psst. I'm bored. Let's talk." His fingers rap once, sharply, against the table. He waits.