"Foolish Dreamers" Michael Afton x Reader

𝓘 𝓕𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓤𝓹. (Ch.22)

Tuesday
November 27, 1984 5:21 P.M.

The second Y/N stepped inside, she was met with Joyce's cheerful voice.

Joyce was mid-sentence, hands animated as she spoke while putting up some plates, she had clearly been here for awhile waiting for Y/N. "Nana's upstairs, out cold. Poor thing probably didn't even notice you weren't here. I told her you were at one of those club interest meetings—figured it'd sound legit. Anyway, don't worry. I totally covered for you. It's all good."

She glanced up from fussing with clean plates —and that's when she saw Y/N's face.

The grin that had been playing on Joyce's lips vanished the second she noticed the redness around Y/N's eyes, the way her shoulders slumped like the weight of the world was pressing down on them. Y/N stood frozen just inside the doorway, gripping the strap of her bag as if it was the only thing holding her together. Her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Joyce's brows pinched, and her carefree energy shifted in an instant to concern. "Hey... What's wrong?" she asked softly, her voice quieter now, cautious.

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Her throat felt tight, and everything inside her twisted painfully, making it hard to even breathe. She looked down, blinking rapidly as if that would keep the tears at bay, but it didn't help. The ache sat heavy in her chest, and the more she tried to swallow it down, the worse it got.

She didn't even know how to begin—how to put into words why the ache in her chest felt so sharp. It wasn't just Michael's hurt expression, or the way he told her to get out of the car. It was everything. The confusion, the fear, the way her own indecisiveness mirrored his. And now, it was the regret gnawing away at her because she knew she'd hurt him, maybe worse than she'd intended.

Joyce's expression softened even more, and she stepped closer, her earlier playfulness gone, replaced by a deep worry. "Y/N..." she whispered, inching nearer as though sensing her cousin was about to break.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her voice a fragile whisper. "I... I don't know... I-I fucked up so badly. . ." And with that, the tears started to slip down her cheeks, unstoppable now.

Joyce's heart sank at the sight, and without another word, she pulled Y/N into a tight hug. "Come here," she murmured, wrapping both arms around her. "It's okay. Whatever happened... it's okay. I've got you."

The warmth of Joyce's embrace made Y/N's breath hitch as she buried her face into her friend's shoulder. The comfort felt both like a relief and a reminder of just how broken she felt inside. The emotions swirled in her—confusion, guilt, and regret all tangling together in a mess she didn't know how to untangle.

Joyce rested her chin lightly on Y/N's head, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "You don't have to explain, not right now," she whispered. "Just... breathe, okay? You'll get through this."

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling the faint scent of Joyce's lavender perfume, but it didn't stop the tears from coming. All she could think about was the way Michael looked at her—hurt, disappointed, like she'd crossed a line she couldn't uncross. And the worst part?

She hated that it hurt so much to see him that way.

Joyce lowered them both gently to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the entrance door, her arms still wrapped around Y/N as she crumbled in her grasp. Y/N's bag slipped from her shoulder, thudding softly to the ground as she buried her face into Joyce's shoulder, her body shaking with every ragged breath.

"I messed up... I messed up so bad," Y/N sobbed, her words breaking apart between uneven gasps for air. She gripped Joyce's hoodie as if holding onto her cousin could somehow keep her from falling apart entirely. "I don't even know what I was thinking. I—" Another wave of tears came, cutting off her words as she pressed her forehead against Joyce's collarbone.