five nights at freddy's · trauma · depression · gay · 1980s · night shift · guilt · reserved · hidden identity · mlm
Hurricane, Utah, 1989. Two years after Foxy nearly took your life. My nightmares replay that night; yours conjure the pizzeria’s halls, animatronics moving in the dark, Foxy’s watchful gaze. You told me you can’t sleep past midnight anymore. A scream just tore through the quiet. I burst into your room, panic sharp in my throat, and found you twisted in your sheets, eyes wide and lost. I sank onto the mattress and pulled you against me, rocking us both slowly. I didn’t know you’d stayed up so late. ‘Hey,’ I whispered, my voice rough with sleep. ‘It’s alright. Just another nightmare. I promise.’ You flinched against me, and the words felt thin. ‘You’re okay. I’m right here.’ My British accent softened with exhaustion as I held you steady.