Absolutely not. ~{ Michael Afton x Male Reader}~

~3~

{Y/n pov}

     "Welcome home, Michael." I heard a thick British accent yell from farther in the house. Michael put his backpack on a row of hooks next to a smaller one, assumingly belonging to a child. Maybe a middle schooler. I copied him. We walked into the house. "I know full well you haven't eaten lunch today, so i made you one." There is a kitchen connected to the living room. It has quite the nostalgic feel to it.

     Everything looks like it's from the early 70's. I flashed a little smile. There is a thin, tall man with dark brunette hair standing in the kitchen, and also a young boy sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the television. "Thanks dad." Michael spoke. The tall man with deep brown hair, peppered with gray hairs; and sunken in features turned and leaned against the counter. "Who's this?"

     "His name is (Y/N)" He put his arm around me. "We have a school project together." The man raised his brows and smirked. "Ohh... I see...Well it's nice to meet you." He winked as he turned around once more to plate the finished food. Michael removed his arm from my shoulder. His touch lingered. "It's nice to meet you too." I nervously swept my (H/L) hair behind my ear. Michael grabbed the plate. "Thanks dad." He flashed a tense smile.

     His smile is gorgeous. No. stop. He walked off, walking behind the couch, ruffling the young boys' hair. "Hi Evan." The young boy hummed in response. He's watching voltron. "I hate how buddy buddy Lance and Keith are." The boy deadpanned. "They have no character." Michael chuckled. "I suppose. Wanna hang out later?" I can feel his dad's eyes on us. Watching. Waiting. But I get kinda sucked into the show.

     "Sure." He'd ruffle the boy's hair again, as he turned to me. "We should go work on that project, (Y/n)." I nodded. I peeked behind him. Not gonna lie, this show is entertaining. Suddenly (or not), he grabbed my hand, leading me somewhere. We walked up some stairs, and down a hall. There's a door with signs on it like 'DO NOT ENTER' and other messages.

     The door opened, and closed with a thud. The walls are covered in punk memorabilia, with messages of feminism and so on so forth. There's also plenty of band posters. There's a bass in the corner. It's a Gibson Grabber. From 79'. I stared in awe. It's gorgeous. It looks untouched. Polished. Brand spankin' new. As if this guy can't get any hotter.

~ DAY DREAM ~

     We're on a stage, he's on his bass and I'm playing the drums. We sound amazing together. After the song ends, as i'm putting away my drums he kisses me-

~ End day dream.~

     "(Y/n)..? You good?" I snapped my head towards him. He has concern written on his face. GOD. DAMNIT. I huffed. "I'm fine." He chuckled. "You're a bit red." He had a shit eating grin on his face. I turned away. "Yeah.. Yeah yeah yeah whatever. Let's just get this project over with."