Death Of Me (William Afton X Reader)

ȻħȺᵽŧɇɍ Ŧwɇłvɇ

The forced day of rest on Tuesday had done nothing but fuel your restlessness, replaying every moment from Monday over and over in your head. William's unexpected display of care-the subtle concern in his eyes when you were close to passing out-had thrown you off more than you'd like to admit. You weren't sure what to make of it. Was it genuine? Or was he just tired of being bothered by your apparent incompetence? You couldn't tell.

By Wednesday morning, the unsettling thoughts were still gnawing at you, leaving you with a feeling of... something. You didn't know if it was hope or just an irrational wish that he might, for some unfathomable reason, start acting like a human being for once. You spent extra time getting ready, partly to avoid thinking about him and partly to remind yourself that you were in control of your own appearance-even if you still hated the idea of caring. You brushed your hair more carefully, letting the strands gleam under the light, choosing a shirt that didn't look like it had just been pulled from the laundry basket, and even added a hint of makeup. Nothing extravagant-just enough to look like you'd made an effort.

You made your way to Freddy Fazbear's, half-distracted by the thought that maybe, just maybe, William would act differently today. Yeah, right. Who were you kidding? He wasn't some misunderstood knight in shining armor; he was a man with a cold, unyielding exterior and a deep, dark pit of something inside. You couldn't figure it out, but you were definitely curious, even though you knew it was probably best not to be.

The familiar scent of grease, metal, and faint pizza sauce greeted you as soon as you stepped into the building. The kind of smell that could've been comforting if you didn't associate it with hours of work and low-level anxiety. The workshop door was slightly ajar. You pushed it open, finding William hunched over the animatronic Foxy, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the network of pale scars that ran down his forearms.

The sight was familiar, but something about it still sent a chill down your spine. You couldn't decide if it was the scars themselves or the fact that every time you saw them, you were reminded of the fact that you'd never fully understand him. Maybe you weren't supposed to.

"Good morning, Mr. Afton," you said, trying to sound casual. You made the mistake of smiling, but it felt awkward, like trying to wear someone else's clothes.

He didn't look up from his work, his eyes locked on Foxy's exposed inner mechanisms. "Morning," he muttered, his voice flat and lacking even the slightest warmth. The shift in his demeanor was instant, like flipping a switch. One moment, you'd had a glimpse of something-softness? Concern?-and the next, he was back to being the cold, distant mentor who barely acknowledged your presence beyond the job.

The air in the room seemed to grow colder with his indifference, and it was like the space between you two had just expanded by miles. You hated how easily he could do that-shut it all down without so much as a second thought. It stung more than it should have.

"Is there something wrong with Foxy?" you asked, crossing the room to get a closer look. The animatronic's lifeless form stood there, its jaw hanging open as if it had been caught mid-sentence, the gleam of its rusting parts an eerie contrast to the work that needed to be done.

William glanced up at you, his expression unreadable. It was as if you hadn't spoken at all. "Frequent breakdowns," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Something in the coding or hardware, I haven't pinpointed it yet. That's what we'll be focusing on today."

You nodded, your throat tightening a little. No mention of how I nearly passed out the other day. No check-in. Nothing. It stung, more than you cared to admit, even if you knew it was stupid to expect anything else.

His focus was now entirely on Foxy, his movements precise and mechanical, as if everything was just another problem to fix-no room for distractions, no room for anything that wasn't work. You tried to push down the sinking feeling in your chest, but it wasn't easy.