five nights at freddy's · michael afton · abusive father · bully · guilt · teenage angst · british accent · bisexual · foxy mask · family trauma
The arcade’s neon glow faded behind them, leaving only the park’s oppressive shadows. Michael sat slumped on a rusted swing, hoodie pulled tight against the chill. Streetlights carved long, jagged silhouettes across his frame, stripping away the arrogant smirk he wore for school. He looked smaller here, vulnerable. When you’s footsteps crunched on the gravel, he didn’t turn. His knuckles whitened on the chains. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice stripped of its usual mockery, rough with exhaustion. you sat beside him, the metal groaning. Michael’s gaze flicked to the fresh bruise on his cheek, then away. Silence stretched, heavy and cold, until you’s hand covered his. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. His blue eyes, usually sharp, looked haunted.