Michael Afton X Fem Reader | In Tangles of Mangled Ecstasy

"You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," you answer. "You?"
Skepticism reflects from the narrowing of his deep blue eyes, "Right..." He points, "What's that then?"
You follow the line of his finger to the word "paranoid" in splotchy red ink peeking out from under your gym shorts. You lie, "It's some dried paint from art class."
He blinks slowly, "You don't take art."
Your eyebrows crease. Why would he know that?

Far in the back, a decrepit old vanity stares back at you. Foggily reflecting your outline in its black spotted mirror. The floor creaks underfoot as you step into the shadows. You approach your obscured reflection, singing softly, "So distorted, deformed it was hardly a face. In that darkness. Darkness."
"Wow," a voice coos from the shadows, "you have a beautiful voice y/n."

The soft orange dress you're trying on is a little tight in the sleeves. You tug your arms back out of it, letting it slide down your back. The doorlatch clicks and the changeroom door swings open.
Your arms leap to cover your chest and you snap your head to catch the invader.

Michael's mask of nonchalance cracks for a moment. Eyes wide, head tilted back his mouth falling slightly agape. It's something familiar to you. Some taboo emotion that you know all too well. The choking euphoria of plunging into the darkness within.