Broken || William Afton x Oc ||

4

FEBRUARY 20TH
1983

THE NIGHT AIR WAS CRISP, the midnight sky dark, an endless ocean of stars that fell into the depths, but lit up the dark. She had just gotten out of Afton's car, being forced against her will to stay at his house as he wanted to keep an "eye" on her.

The car ride was beyond awkward, as neither of them said anything. Occasionally she could feel Afton's short tempered gaze on her, and it made her grow irritated every single time, as she ground her teeth together and looked out at the daytime fading into the night.

Now she stood outside, shivering as she walked up the sidewalk of his house. It was a nice place; one of those stereotypical three story houses with a basement, and two main floors. The shutters were painted a purplish red, the siding pristinely clean and shrouded in the shadow of the night. It didn't look like a cheap place, but it wasn't overly extravagant either.

William had opened the door for her, and she found herself slightly surprised as he held it open for her. He noticed the sources flashing in her face for a moment, and he grinned. It felt like the first genuine smile she'd ever seen from him—the first time it wasn't a smirk.

With a deep inhale, she entered the house. She was prepared for him to slam the door, lock it, and jump her... but instead he made his way over to the kitchen, lazily throwing his leather bag onto one of the bar stools, and unbuttoning his suit-vest. She watched in silent awe as he methodically wrapped his fingers around each button and popped it through the hole, slipping the vest off and draping it over the same stool. He went to undo his tie next, his pale fingers working hastily, but smoothly. She couldn't look away...

He had really nice hands... it looked like the bones down his hands had been carved, the tool sliding up around his boney knuckles, and down his hand. They were ridiculously pale, just like the rest of his body, his knuckles flushed a very pale, hardly noticeable red, and his hands were veiny. Veiny... but not in a sickening way, but a masculine way that made her mouth water.

She found herself glancing back up at his face, her whole frame going rigid when she noticed his gaze was on her. She bit her lip, trying to ignore the jolt of anxiety and embarrassment that shuddered through her chest. She couldn't believe she was looking at him like that... he was a murderer. That was disgusting...

Still, she couldn't deny he wasn't a handsome man... as sickeningly frustrating as he was, he definitely was divinely inspired...

"Quit staring." He remarked quickly, his tone irritated. She found her cheeks flushing slightly as she crossed her arms, "I wasn't." She protested, only digging her grave deeper. William smirked.

"Oh? Really?"

Her gaze was heavy she stared at him, and she found her eyes tracing his features. His lips were thin, and flushed, and his cheeks looked tinted a bit too. But besides the small bit of color in his skin that proved he wasn't dead, she noticed a small scar on the top of his upper lip.

"How'd you get the scar?"

The words left her lips before she could think them over, and she found herself immensely regretting it when his smirk fell and his face turned sour. The furrow of his brows and the fake look in his eyes proved it was a testy subject, and she almost found herself feeling bad. Almost.

"It's nothing." He commented, tone harsh. She found herself doubting that, considering his reserved, harsh reaction... but she didn't pry. It wasn't in her place to, and she didn't want to die by pissing him off. So instead, she simply found herself awkwardly standing in the foyer, waiting for him to calm down. Luckily for her, he was great at pushing down sour memories, and quickly was poking fun at her again. Yay.