"Foolish Dreamers" Michael Afton x Reader

𝓥𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓓𝓸𝓰 (Ch.15)

Monday
November 26, 1984 1:12P.M.

TW: Violence

Michael strolled through the nearly empty parking lot, the autumn breeze brushing through his messy brunette locks. He glanced down at his forearm, grinning as he ran a thumb over the numbers scrawled in Sharpie. "Angry bird," he muttered to himself with a quiet snicker. The way Y/N had grumbled, pulled her sleeve down, and stomped off like she was ready to peck at him? Yeah, that nickname fit perfectly.

He approached his car, a red 1983 Toyota Celica Supra and unlocked it with a satisfying click. Tossing his bag into the passenger seat, he slid into the driver's seat, tugged the seatbelt across his chest, and turned the key in the ignition. With a twist of the key, the engine roared to life, the sound vibrating through the frame and grounding him, if only for a moment.

As the car idled, Michael leaned back against the seat and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, his grin slowly fading. The high of flirting with Y/N and getting her number started to wear off, leaving him with that uncomfortable, familiar weight in his chest. He knew he shouldn't have opened up to her the way he did. Telling her about Heather, about the crap he pulled back in sophomore year—it felt like pulling a scab off a wound that hadn't quite healed.

He knew better than to get honest—especially about his past. Telling her about a bit about Heather and his old habits, about how he used people back in sophomore year, was like airing out old, rotting laundry. And yet, part of him felt like she needed to know. She was bound to hear about it eventually, and he'd rather she heard it from him, not Heather or some other drama-obsessed idiot at school.

Better to control the narrative, right? He sighed, though the justification didn't make the regret sit any easier.

He hated that part of himself more than he did the part of him who wants to prove and get validation that he was a good person. Hated how easy it used to be to mess with people, to use them and then shrug it off like it was nothing. But Y/N? She deserved to know. If she was going to get dragged into the drama Heather loved to stir up, she needed the truth from him—not from gossip or Heather's twisted version of events. . . He knows he isn't a good person, he knows he is probably the most flawed being around, yet he desperately wants Y/N to look past that. It was stupid.

Michael let out a long sigh, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Regret gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. Maybe it was better if he had kept things light and playful, the way he always did. It would've been easier to keep her at arm's length like everyone else.

But. . .

Y/N wasn't like most people. She didn't fake her reactions—whether she was annoyed, confused, or amused, it all came through loud and clear. And that... that made it harder for him to keep his usual distance. She didn't care about his feelings and told him straight up what she thought, like she was an open book with her feelings as he was an open book of his own personal flaws to her. It wasn't easy to mess with someone who saw through the bullshit, someone who didn't fall for every grin or smug remark.

"Shit," he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. He could already feel it—this weird, unsettling pull toward her, like he actually wanted her to stick around, to know him and it was scaring him that he felt that way. He hated it. This girl was someone who had been around for maybe almost 2 weeks? He lost count.

Michael sighed again, the weight pressing a little heavier. "Should've just kept it fun," he muttered, shifting in his seat. But the thing was... he didn't want her to get the wrong idea about him even though her picture of him wasn't exactly wrong. Not that he was some reformed saint, but still—he wasn't the same guy who toyed with people like Heather. Or at least, he wanted to believe he wasn't.