Work Text:
Midnight. Office. Fear.
It must be that every employee working the night shift at the restaurant “Freddy Fazbear's Pizza” knows these words. That very feeling of fear, which binds the body from the mere thought that at any moment, when you distract yourself with a minor trifle, you can lose everything. The night guard tirelessly smashes his head with various fantasies.
What is the worst-case scenario? Is it painful to die? And what's scarier to die from: a bullet piercing hot flesh or spring clamps inside animatronic robots, which, under bad circumstances, will dig into your immobilized body. The caretaker grabs a tablet with trembling hands and, trying to drive away nasty dark thoughts, checks all the cameras. The trio of mascots, for some reason so beloved by children, peacefully rests on the stage. But he knows for sure that this will continue until a certain time. And then... He presses the next one. But suddenly jerking his whole body from a ringing phone call, he gets not on the camera where he would like to look. He does not intend to pick up the phone. Too much bothered by the chatty guy on the phone. But on the camera showing a long corridor, the guard sees a man. Why, in fact, and chokes on hot coffee, spilling a little on an ironed shirt, until he realizes that today he is not the only person left in the building for the night.
“Michael?” he hears a familiar voice, “Can I come in? Oh, my God, what's wrong with you?” the night visitor asks, noticing that the security guard is still trying to swallow the boiling water. Michael winces and swallows, burning his tongue and throat. A hot sensation remains in his chest. The security guard holds up a hand to indicate that he is fine. After swallowing a few more times, he responds, “Good evening, Mr. Emily. Did you have something you wanted?”
“Nothing,” the director says with a sigh of relief, “I just wanted to pick up some important papers.”
The man takes slow steps and, once he reaches the table where Michael is sitting, he begins to sort through a neat stack of documents. “William and I are staying overnight,” he informs the security guard, who is already aware of the situation, “I think it will be quieter tonight.”
“Do you think these devils will be afraid of your presence and won't visit me?”
“Respect,” Henry mutters softly, “They're smart. However, I don't think they'll be afraid of me... More likely, William...”
“Yes, that's true,” Michael says, adding a forced laugh to the atmosphere. He studies Henry's face, which is remarkably youthful for his age.
Emily's movements are slow, disorganized, and clumsy. Even now, as always, the man is lost in thought. His mind is filled with a white gas cloud, and all he can think about are the papers and animatronic robots that have captured his heart. Perhaps, too, there is the comforting thought of his little daughter. Henry has always been eager for something new and vast. However, it seems as if he doesn't really want it. He couldn't even understand what he really wanted.
His thoughts were a dark space. He was always thinking about something. Something inappropriate. It was as if he wasn't in this world, but in his own. It was foreign. He never wanted to understand anyone. Even during important interviews, when it seemed that he was genuinely interested in a particular topic, his light-colored eyes remained blank and cloudy. Even then, he was thinking about something else. But now, looking at the man, Michael knew for sure that Henry was innocent. He had always been and wanted to appear kind and smiling to everyone. He truly cared about the people who worked in his restaurant. It was important to him to know their condition and even when they last ate.
But most of all, he wanted to appear useful and a good father to his little girl. Especially after his wife's sudden departure. However, there was something abnormal about him. Something strange. He was a tricky one, all the same.
At such moments, Michael wanted to ask him a lot of questions. First, he wanted to know if he knew that his robots were trying to communicate with him by saying incoherent things, and that they thought he was an endoskeleton without a suit. Of course, he knew... He wanted to talk about it, but he couldn't bring himself to bring it up.
“They're so kind... Even carry it to the workshop.” Michael thought sullenly, remembering how soft, but strong iron paws dragged his body, dragging it along the hated black and white tiles. He could not resist. And he did not see the point. But miraculously survived, thanks to William Afton. After, the young man was of course given a big scolding by his father, but was happy and grateful for his salvation.
Finally, after some time, having found the necessary papers and humbly asking for forgiveness, the man leaves the guard's room.
Emily pulls the door handle and steps into the office. William is sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair and resting his feet on the desk. He is smoking a cigarette and exhaling slowly.
“Would you mind giving me a seat?” Henry asks, “Really, Will, get your ass off my chair and get to work!”
“Why would I do that?” Afton smirks, blowing smoke through his clenched teeth. He tries to hide the twinkle in his eyes, but he can't help but smile with his trademark smile. It's a sly, slightly intimidating smile, revealing a missing tooth that looks more like a sharp fang.
“I've been told that you fixed Foxy,” ignoring the sarcastic grins of his colleague and best friend. Afton nods.
Lowering his feet to the tile, he stubs out his cigar on the iron handle of a drawer in his desk and throws it into a trash can. He rises from his chair and heads to his workspace at the end of the room, which consists of a small desk piled high with various items, boxes of mechanical parts, and a comfortable chair. Plopping down in the chair, William leans his head back and squints.
After looking at Emily. Thus, he can only see a thin figure; the back and fragile shoulders of Henry. The inventor, as always, hovering over the table, something quickly writing, sometimes throwing papers from one corner to another corner of the table. William catches himself thinking about Emily often. Remembering his thin body, pale face and misty eyes.
When the memory of those bright eyes comes to mind, Afton becomes particularly excited. He doesn't quite understand how someone so disorganized and simple-minded could achieve such success. At such moments, a deep-seated sense of long-standing envy prickles at the back of his mind, longing to be released. It's like the old days when Afton couldn't stand him. Oh, how he hated him! It was a powerful feeling of envy. However, things soon changed. The intense hatred gave way to a strange admiration and perhaps even affection.
And recently, William has felt something completely new. It was gradual and at the same time so unexpected. A strange feeling spread warmth throughout the body and accumulated somewhere in the lower abdomen, from the mere sight of Emily. When he throws short glances, helps to tie a tie, touching the bare neck with cold fingers... Trying to get rid of the tingling feeling inside and stop thinking, William shakes his head from side to side. He brushes his unruly hair away from his face and gazes at the framed photo on his desk. It shows a smiling girl, her curly golden hair falling over a bright pink shirt, and a little boy next to her, whose smile seemed very sad. William smirks and turns back, looking at Henry's back. He knows that Emily has a framed photo of a dark-haired girl with a mechanical rabbit in her hands on her desk. It's a photo of his daughter.
“William, give me…” Henry suddenly asks for something. He gets distracted by reading some point in the document and stops in mid-sentence.
“Wow,” Afton laughs impudently, “So, straight to the point?” in an attempt to make a vulgar joke, he gives out.
“Sorry?” Henry bats his eyelashes uncomprehendingly, “I… I wanted to ask you for Michael's license.”
“Oh, for God's sake, I'm sorry! I must have misheard you.” the cheerful Afton responds loudly. He rummages through the table and grabs a document, heading towards Henry. William slowly passes the sheet to Henry, desperately trying to touch his pale hand, as if by chance. Emily notices this action, feeling the warm touch. The man blushes awkwardly, but pretends that he is too busy to be distracted by such trivialities. Henry almost pushes his nose into the papers again, reading something. Meanwhile, Afton looms behind him. He smirks menacingly, narrowing his eyes.
He's up to something. After standing there for about three minutes, Afton flirtatiously runs his finger along the back of his colleague's shoulder and neck. Then, placing his hand under Henry's writing hand, he innocently reaches for his favorite black pen.
“Tsk! Be careful!” Emily scolds, lifting and lowering her hand on Afton's arm in search of a comfortable position. After a while, William stops pretending that he needs a specific pen when he has an entire collection on his desk.
He kneels in front of Henry's chair and rests his head on the table. He studies Henry's face, illuminated by the flickering light of the old lamp. He caresses Henry's cheekbones with his gaze. He examines every freckle on his face. He closes his eyes, imagining how it would feel to bury his hands in Henry's thick, brown hair. It must be soft... A familiar sensation tingles in his lower body.
“Please remove your hand,” Emily says sternly. He knows that Afton is watching him, and he doesn't hide it. He's done it many times before, but Henry can't understand why he's wasting his time on such nonsense. “I'm not comfortable writing this down.”
Afton ignores his request. Instead, he tightens his grip on the edge of the table, his hand extended almost under Emily's chest. After a moment, he clicks his tongue against his teeth and asks a question. It's a question that Henry hates more than any other. It's a question that he can't answer.
“Henry, what are you thinking about right now?” voice cuts through the air like a blade, with a slight huskiness.
Emily takes a deep breath. He frowns and meets William's gaze. William knows how much Henry dislikes these questions, as he can't answer them. He can't think of anything specific. So he simply sighs in frustration.
“What's stopping you from doing your work?”
“You're distracting me…” Afton purrs back.
“If I go out, will you get to work?” Henry asks irritably.
“No. I'll only get upset,” William pouts.
“Oh, I don't understand you at all…” Henry whispers in resignation, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“You don't need to understand me,” Afton replies with a crazy smile, “You need to... love me, for example.”
Before Henry can come to his senses and ask what he meant, he's almost knocked off his chair by Afton's lips. Henry feels an inexplicable fear. His heart is racing, about to jump out of his chest. He does not understand what this psychopath wants from him and, uncertainly, clumsily, unknowingly, begins to respond to a greedy, persistent kiss.
“You're a terrible kisser,” Afton grins against Henry's lips. Emily seizes every opportunity to take a deep breath. He is now like a small, fragile boy, cowering under the onslaught of a rapist. “Don't be afraid,” William says, pulling away from his bitten lips, “I'm not that dangerous.”
With another shuddering sigh, he puts all his weight back on Henry, pinning him to the chair. Gradually losing interest in his lips, Afton caresses the skin on his colleague's neck. Henry tries to push him away, but not at the most opportune time, he is once again stolen by a whirlwind of new extraneous thoughts.
Does he need it? Is it worth stopping this mess? Does he want to end it? After all, once will not change anything... However, he has long been experiencing an inexplicable sympathy.
The heavy footsteps of the animatronic robots echoed in the dark corridors. In the kitchen, there was a loud crash, as if a whole shelf of ceramic cups had fallen. Somewhere in the distance, a melody was playing, perhaps from a music box. Somewhere far away… Perhaps at the end of the festive hall, or near the principal's office.
Body trembled with every touch of his hot fingers. He arched his back and moved his hips in response. He clenches his fists and scratches his skin until it turns red, making him feel a dull pain. Heart is pounding fast. No longer from fear, but from the increasing pace.
Other one can literally hear the sounds of his heart, muffled by nervous sobs and moans.
“You scratched my back,” Afton hisses in the ear of his desired and easily controlled love.
In response, he receives a guilty sob, barely touches his lips to the temple, feeling the pulsating vein, and buries his hand in someone else's hair, fulfilling an old desire. And they are indeed soft…
Emily wriggles from the slightest pressure and receives a new wave of either cold or burning goosebumps. He presses himself closer to his chest, scratches hot body with his nails, and squeezes his with hips, forcing his to slow down. He nuzzles his neck and moans softly, whispering his name. Afton was usually annoyed by his name, but now he was happy to hear the soft, indistinct “Willie.”
The legs of the wooden table wobble and creak. Another pile of documents falls onto the cold tiles. Emily clings to the thought that he'll have to clean it all up by himself.
Sitting on workbench, Henry quickly tries to button his white shirt with trembling fingers. He's still breathing heavily. When he catches Afton's sly glance, he jumps in surprise and lowers his flushed face.
“Here, let me do it,” William snorts, rolling his eyes. He reaches for Henry's shirt and buttons it up with quick, confident movements. Henry mumbles something incomprehensible in response. He glances back at the photo of his daughter, then looks at William's desk.
“Don't worry, I'm divorced too,” William says with a smile. Henry looks at him in surprise. Noticing smile, he returns it with a gentle grin and looks down shyly. Afton chuckles sarcastically again.