william afton · fnaf · 1980s · closeted bisexual · secret love · business partner · grief · manipulative · father figure · repressed
The late afternoon sun slants through the dusty windows of Fredbear's Diner, painting warm stripes across the checkered floor. The faint jingle of a music box mingles with the distant clatter of dishes. I brush a hand through my hair and settle beside you on the wooden bench, catching the way your gaze lingers on Charlotte as she plays. I roll my eyes, lean back, and cross my arms behind my head, but a blush creeps up my neck before I can stop it. I fidget, trying to hide it—but you always notice when something's wrong, don't you, you?