"Foolish Dreamers" Michael Afton x Reader

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓐𝓷 𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓸𝓷, 𝓐𝓬𝓽 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓘𝓽. (Ch.8)

Thursday
November 22, 1984 6:00 P.M.

Afton Household

The Afton house radiated holiday warmth, with festive decorations adorning every corner. Twinkling string lights lined the windows, casting soft, golden hues over the furniture. A garland of pine branches, dotted with crimson ribbons and miniature ornaments, draped along the mantel above the fireplace. A centerpiece of fall flowers and candles sat on the dining table, already set with polished silverware and the family's best china. The faint smell of roasted turkey and cinnamon wafted through the air, giving the entire house a cozy, nostalgic feel.

Upstairs, however, Michael Afton stood in front of his mirror, struggling with the knot of his tie. His reflection glared back at him, frustration tightening his jaw.

"Perfect son," he muttered under his breath, pulling the tie too tightly and then loosening it again with a sharp tug. "Perfect son for Mr. Afton."

He shook his head, scoffing as he reached for a small bottle of hair gel on the dresser. Squeezing some into his hand, he raked his fingers through his messy brunette locks, trying to smooth them into something presentable. His mind drifted back to the early morning hours, when he had returned home around 3 A.M. from dropping Y/N off.

The moment he walked through the front door, his father was waiting for him in the darkened living room, the glow of a cigarette in his hand the only light in the room. His father's voice was low, controlled—but unmistakably laced with disappointment.

"No more of this. You're staying home for Thanksgiving. You're an Afton, not some delinquent. Act as such.," his father had said, cold and final. Before Michael could even take off his shoes, his father had reached out, snatching the car keys from his hand. "And forget working at that damn 7/11 tonight. You will stay for dinner."

Michael had said nothing. Why should he? It wasn't worth it. He learned a long time ago that arguments with his father only led nowhere. He was supposed to be the compliant son—the one who didn't talk back, who did what he was told. At least, on the surface.

He smirked bitterly as he smoothed his hair.

Compliant son, yeah. Right.

But things had changed. Especially after the incident with Evan. Michael's stomach churned at the thought. He had stopped arguing with his father after that—mostly because he no longer had the energy to fight. The memory of what almost happened that day haunted him. The fear in Evan's big brown eyes still burned into his mind, and guilt twisted like a knot in his chest. Michael hated remembering how close he came to doing something unforgivable.

Sometimes, he couldn't even bring himself to look at Evan without feeling the crushing weight of guilt. He knew it was eating him alive, but he also knew he deserved it. Maybe that's my punishment, he thought grimly. I don't deserve to feel any better.

Just as his mind threatened to spiral further, the sound of tiny footsteps brought him back to the present. Two small heads peeked around the edge of his bedroom door—his younger siblings, Evan and Elizabeth.

Michael's expression softened instantly, the bitterness melting away as he turned to face them. Elizabeth, with her long ginger hair and sparkling green eyes, stood with a wide grin on her face. She wore a festive red and white dress, her excitement for the holiday clear in her bright gaze.

Beside her stood Evan, quiet as usual. His dark brown hair hung slightly over his forehead, and his large, doe-like brown eyes peeked up at Michael from under his bangs. He wore a neat little navy sweater with black pants, clutching the sleeve nervously with one hand.