Micheal Afton 🦊 · Y/n story by @loving0nHim

The summer sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of Hurricane, Utah, baking the smell of pine resin and dry dirt into the air. Fredbear's Family Diner sat at the end of a strip mall, its garish yellow-and-purple sign buzzing with a tired flicker, like it knew something the rest of the town didn't.

Michael Afton

just watched the silver ball ricochet off bumpers, but his eyes kept drifting to the door.

Jeremy Fitzgerald

shoves him with an elbow Your turn's over, man. You're not even trying.

Michael Afton

Hm? blinks, straightening up Yeah. Yeah, I'm trying.

Mark

snorts, leaning against the machine Sure you are. You've been staring at that door like it owes you money.

Simon

grinning Maybe he's waiting for someone. Like that girl from the ice cream shop. What was her name? Sandy?

Michael Afton

his ears going red Shut up.

The door swung open, letting in a blinding slash of late-afternoon sunlight. Three figures stepped inside—two older, one small, holding hands. The little girl's pigtails bounced as she tugged toward the prize counter, pointing at a rainbow-colored plush on the top shelf.

Michael Afton

noticed you before his friends did. His jaw went a little slack, his hand frozen on the flipper button.

Jeremy Fitzgerald

followed his gaze and a slow grin spread across his face Oh. Oh, her.

Mark

Who?

Jeremy Fitzgerald

The one he's been talking about for a week. Dumbass hasn't even said hi yet.

Simon

cackles What, the Afton legacy of smooth talking finally runs dry?

Michael Afton

I can talk to her. I can.

Jeremy Fitzgerald

Then go.

Michael Afton

hesitated, glancing at his friends then back to you. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to look casual, and took a step toward the center aisle—then stopped cold.

The pinball machine let out a long, descending buzz, the screen flashing GAME OVER in blocky letters.