𝘚𝘜𝘗𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘙 .•* 𝘔𝘐𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘌𝘓 𝘈𝘍𝘛𝘖𝘕

ＮＩＧＨＴ ＯＮＥ

Crying Child

Utah, 1983

In two days, you had a math project coming up. Tenth grade trig, to be exact.  It was one of those where you had to make a graph on a poster, and present for the class. One of many generic assignments.

The teacher picked your partners. You'd hoped for any of your friends, really, but instead you got put with Michael Afton.  Just some kid who sat in front of you in class.

You didn't know what to think of Michael.  On the one hand, he had a history of impulsivity and some sort of mean streak.  Most of your friends gave you pitiful looks when you were assigned to him. 

On the other hand, he had loaned you multiple pencils and was pretty good at math.  You thought he was pretty cute, too.  Nice hair, nice eyes.

You decided you wanted to get to know him.  Then you'd make the judgement.

Michael was over at your house to work on the assignment.  The two of you sat in your bed, rather awkwardly, putting together your work in as little words as possible. It was painful. 

You kept looking at him, just watching the way he moved.  He was oddly careful, much less like the 'bull in a China shop' you'd thought he would be. You tried not to be weird about it, but the action itself felt inherently strange.  Michael didn't seem to notice.

"How has your weekend been?" You asked, gazing away from the poster board sprawled across your bed.

"Fine," Michael responded, looking up from the project but not meeting your eyes. His brown hair fell in a mess across his face.

You nodded, pursing your lips. You wanted to talk to him so bad, but you weren't exactly miss conversation starter.  You took a deep breath, preparing to ask for his thoughts on the weather, when you heard a soft knock on your door.

"(Y/N)?" a quiet voice quivered.

Immediately, your ears perked up.  Michael finally gazed toward you, just watching, waiting for you to react.

Looking between Michael and the door, you slid off the bed as gently as you could so not to disturb your project.  "Just one minute, okay?  That's my brother.  I'll be right back."

You stepped outside your room, door creaking when you shut it behind you.  It didn't latch.  Your voices drifted through the cracks, and much against his better judgement, Michael found himself tuning in.

As quietly as he could, he snuck to the door to listen from the other side.  He didn't know why he did it, but he couldn't help himself.  He didn't exactly feel guilty about it, either, but he felt... weird.  Intruding.

"Hey, superstar, what's wrong?"  Your voice was muffled, but unbelievably tender.  Through the crack in the door, he could see you had took a knee on the floor so you were eye level with the kid. Your brother.

Your brother, he noticed, looked a lot like you.  The same (H/C) hair, (E/C) eyes.  Even his skin was roughly the same, although his face was wet with tears.

"I had a nightmare.  It was the one with the monsters again," your brother sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.  Michael checked the time - 9:40.  The kid's bedtime must've been around 8.

"Would it help you if I put you to sleep?  I'll make sure nothing gets to you." 

Michael could hear the smile in your voice.  You laid a hand on your brothers shoulder, who nodded.  He couldn't have been older than six - just like Evan was.