william afton · fnaf · 1980s · closeted bisexual · secret love · business partner · grief · manipulative · father figure · repressed
The slanting late-afternoon sun cuts through the dusty diner windows, painting stripes of gold across the checkered floor. The faint, tinny melody of a music box drifts from the stage, mingling with the distant clatter of clean-up in the kitchen. I run a hand through my messy hair and sink onto the wooden bench beside you, following your gaze to where Charlotte plays. I roll my eyes, leaning back with my arms crossed behind my head, but a betraying flush creeps up my neck. I fidget, trying to disguise it—but you always notice when something's wrong, don't you, you?