฿Ⱡł₦Đ ⱠØVɆ | William Afton x Reader

₵Ⱨ₳₱₮ɆⱤ 6

     March 18th. The date repeated in your head as you attempted to get your hoodie on. March 8-fucking-teenth. 

     That was barely a week from now. The date indicated how long you had to pay your bills before you were kicked out. 

     The stress of the matter felt like it was going to drive you insane. You almost cried when you heard the date. It was impossible. There was no way you could get a job and then get enough money to pay for 2 months' worth of rent in a week.

     You finished pulling your hoodie over your torso and sighed. 

     I really fucked up this time, huh? 

     It had started a while back; a little around halfway through the month of rent your parents had agreed to pay for you. You kept telling yourself you needed a job, as the rent-free month wouldn't last forever, but you procrastinated. 

     Soon enough, the next month rolled around and you thought: Well call my situation shit on a shingle because S-O-fucking-S. 

     You really needed a job then. You applied for a couple of positions but none of them called you back. 

     Then you got your first notice saying you hadn't been paying your bills. 

     You tried to apply for a minimum wage job at your local Subway, but that hadn't worked out too well either. That's a story for another day, but let's just say that toaster ovens were turned many notches too high and footlongs were burned. 

     You got fired. 

     So the next month rolled around and you were so deep in a sea of your own lazily shat bull that you were choking on the stench. And that lead to your current dilemma: either get evicted or get evicted. Things weren't looking too good. 

     Anyway, you were trying to distract yourself from your sad life by doing the one thing you knew wouldn't be a problem for you; one thing you could control: returning a purple button up to William Vincent Afton. 

     You grabbed your keys off of the little coffee table in front of the couch and sighed, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

     Alright, you thought. Time to go back to Freddy's. 

     You closed your car door and looked nervously up at the building in front of you. 

     For some reason, it seemed scary to you. You had become so used to it yesterday, and yet returning here still made your guts tie themselves in loops. 

     Whatever, you thought, approaching it. 

     You opened the glass push/pull door and stepped onto the checkered floor, catching the attention of no one. 

     You didn't want to look up and meet those disturbing silver eyes for a second time this (already shitty) week, and so you didn't. You just kept your head down and hurried past their cheery music, trying to ignore the burning gaze you felt on your neck. 

     They're watching me, you thought, despite knowing that that was impossible. They can see me. 

     You tried to ignore the feeling by distracting yourself. Where exactly was his office again? You thought, trying to remember where you and Vincent had walked to find it. Right. It came to you.

     You knew that before anything, you had to make your way to the farthest end of the arcade. Dread filled you. You didn't want to make your way back through the busy place, but hoped that everything would be fine if you hurried.