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oftenwantedafton · 6 months

Text

Kismet - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Word Count - 6k

CW - none for this chapter

Also available on AO3

Dave Miller sinks lower into the bathtub.

Contemplating. Reminiscing. Thinking about the events that have led him to collide with you not once, but twice now. Seeming coincidences. But he doesn’t really believe things are that incidental. Everything has purpose. The challenge was figuring out what that purpose was. Taking advantage of it.

The first encounter had been after he’d taken care of the security guard.

A useless employee from the start. Bothersome. Woefully inept. He’d been pitifully easy to dispatch. But messy. So much blood. An industrial level washer was needed to take care of things. He hadn’t thought anyone would be at the laundromat at that hour.

But there you were. Catching him off guard. Only for a moment. Your eyes on him. Not paying any attention to what he’d been carrying. And why would you? What reason would you have to suspect the laundry he was carting around so casually was in fact saturated with another man’s lifeforce? Simply watching him. Trying to be surreptitious and subtle about it and failing miserably. Amusing. You’d bolted like a frightened rabbit when he’d finally spoken, bidding you goodnight.

The Kawasaki Ninja is a newer purchase. A reward for himself. Not something he would have imagined himself operating even a year ago. But times are changing. He’s changing. Entering the next phase. Camouflage. Difficult to detect. Blending chameleon-like. It’s how he’s managed to avoid getting caught for any of his crimes. Elusive and stealthy.

Except when he’d literally almost run smack into you. Distracted. A lapse in judgment and a last minute decision. The weakness for animals forcing him to maneuver away. The scratches on his hands are already mending. He looks at them beneath the surface of the water. Thinks about you on the back of his bike. He’s never allowed anyone onto it before. An impulsive decision he can’t explain. He’d enjoyed it. Feeling your arms wrapped around him. Clinging. It’s not like him to let anyone get close. Yet there he had been, encouraging it.

He slides down further until he’s submerged. Holds his breath. Waits until the burning pressure borne of desperation for air becomes unbearable and then breaks through the surface. Slicking back dark tendrils of hair as the water tracks down his cheeks. He’ll visit you again soon. And then he’ll just let fate take its course.

It hasn’t failed him yet.

***

You step into the darkroom and switch on the safe light, bathing the small, confined space in a red glow.

You’d spent most of the morning taking pictures around your college campus. There aren’t nearly as many people around in the summer, but you kind of like that solitude. Summer classes aren’t bad either. Accelerated, yes, but less work in the long run. A good way to get some required electives out of the way. General Anatomy and Introduction to Psychology are the two you’re currently tackling. At least the first is helpful for drawing. The other, well. It’s easy enough. You’d already taken it in high school. This version was even easier. No exams. Just a paper due at the end of the semester. You have a bad habit of procrastinating, but you’re good at achieving something impressive in the eleventh hour. Working better when you’re under pressure.

This film you’re about to develop, though; this is nothing like a chore. Your true passion. You like digital photography well enough, but there was something about old school picture developing. The hands on feeling of creation. Waiting for the result to develop. More rewarding for the additional effort, you think.

You place the first negative on the enlarger tray. Focus until the depth of field is altered. Photographic paper now laid on the baseboard. Set the timer. Exposure. Covering more and more of the picture as the seconds tick by in increments of ten. You’re creating a test strip to determine what length of exposure works best. Now bathing the paper in the trays of chemicals. Developer, stop bath, fixer. You make sure the box of photographic paper is sealed before switching on the regular light. Clear demarcations on the test image ranging from bright light and a fainter print to the final column that’s deeply shadowed and darkly printed. Eighty seconds seems to be the best of the lot, somewhere in the middle range. You repeat the process again, adjusting the timer countdown and letting the entire sheet of photographic paper be exposed. Studying the result. Perfect. Rinsed and hung up to dry. That’s your first image done. Safely set aside as you begin again. The afternoon wanes. You glance at the clock. Time for a quick bite to eat and then you’re due back at the shelter.

Your university is mentioned on the five ‘o clock news you switch on for background noise when you return home. You’d heard some girls talking about it during class earlier. Someone attacking women. You’ve got mace and a concealed self defense weapon on your keyring. You’re not quite as worried since all of your classes are during the day, but still. You suppose that doesn’t give you immunity. Anything could happen.

Case in point, your run in with that strange man Dave Miller. Two run ins, no less.

You’d trusted him enough to go for a ride on his bike. After he’d nearly run you down on it. Maybe not your sanest idea. You’d intially felt like he was dangerous. Just something in the way he’d carried himself. After actually holding a conversation with the stranger, you’d found that feeling dissolving. Maybe not really dangerous. Just aloof. A little odd. Intriguing, though. Difficult to explain. You hadn’t really spoken all that much. He’d invited you to ride with him again. You’d accepted. Now you were just in limbo. Waiting for another visit. Or a chance encounter. Another late night rendezvous at the laundromat, maybe. You really should be more careful. Maybe going out alone in the wee hours wasn’t the best idea, even if it was so close to home. Who’s to say the campus stalker wouldn’t broaden his target range? Or some other psycho. Either way. You should be more careful.

No new animals for the intake today. The kittens are growing rapidly. You make sure the back door is always firmly shut now, lesson learned. Sweating inside the building. Making sure the animals have plenty of fresh water. You’re getting used to the routine. It’s much earlier when you leave. You might have time to get some homework done before attempting sleep.

You find yourself driving in the opposite direction of your apartment. Heading to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.

It’s a dumb idea, admittedly. There’s no guarantee that Dave will be there. And even if he is. He’ll be working. Hardly free to entertain you. But you’re kind of curious about returning even without the security guard’s presence. It’s been so many years since your last visit to the establishment. It would be an interesting site to take pictures of.

Pulling into the parking lot, you realize just how run down the place has become.

No effort made to clear the lot of the weeds and other vegetation that have reclaimed their territory. The exterior of the building in disrepair. Smashed lights. Pieces of the wall tiling missing. Graffiti spray painted all over every surface. A far cry from the cheerful, colorful pizzeria you remember from your childhood.

You don’t see the motorcycle anywhere but you suppose the employee might have parked elsewhere. There’s a buzzer by the front door. You press it, waiting. It’s difficult to see inside the building. Minimal lighting. Now something moving in the shadowed interior. Someone. Walking forward. Tall, slim. It’s Miller.

You hear the sound of a lock turning before he pushes the heavy glass door open. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Sorry, I know I wasn’t invited. I just was heading home and I thought…” Well, what could you say, really? That you’d decided to head in the complete opposite direction on a whim, on the off chance that he’d be there? You had no idea how many different employees guarded the building. Maybe he was the only one? Did anyone safeguard during the day? You somehow doubted it.

“I was actually planning on visiting you soon. So this worked out well. Welcome back to Freddy’s.” The older man smirks and you feel something flutter inside you. He was attractive, you had to admit. Maybe slightly harsh features, but they were growing on you the more you looked at them.

He doesn’t move from his position holding the door open and you’re forced to squeeze by, brushing against him. Deliberate? There’s a strange smell inside the restaurant that assaults you as soon as you enter the dining room. Chemicals. Strong. You bring your hand to your face to cover your nose and mouth.

“Floors were washed recently,” he offers, letting the door swing shut before he pulls a heavy keyring off his belt and fits one into the lock. “It’s not as potent by the offices.”

You nod, looking around. Another cascade of deja vu spilling over you. There’s the prize counter, next to the arcade. The infamous ball pit. A small curtained stage and its much larger counterpart. “Are they still up there?”

“Yes. You can have a look, if you want.”

Morbid curiosity gets the better of you. You ascend the short set of stairs to the raised platform. A place you weren’t allowed to go as a child, for employees only.

The drapes are heavy. It takes a lot of effort to shift them. A hand on your shoulder makes you jump.

“Sorry. Want a flashlight? It’s dark back there.”

You accept the offering, switching it on. Nearly jump again when the beam falls on a large blue rabbit right in front of you. Bonnie. Still clutching his red electric guitar. A little dirtier than you remember, but surprisingly intact otherwise. You pan the light around. Freddy front and center with microphone in hand. Chica with her bib and oversized cupcake companion sitting on a plate. You remember the pirate fox occupying the smaller stage nearby.

“Did you have a favorite?”

You duck around the curtain again, handing the flashlight back to Dave. “Not in particular. I just remember having fun. Until, you know.”

“Such a shame.” He thumbs the switch off and slots it back in his belt.

“This place would be amazing to photograph.”

“You’re a photographer?” He sounds surprised.

You nod. “It’s what I’m studying at the university.”

“What do you take pictures of?”

“Anything, really. Whatever inspires me. I love prints still. Physical media. Black and white especially. There’s something special about images captured that way. People dismiss it so readily now. But there are so many levels to it. It’s not just black and white. There are colors in between that. Degrees of darkness and light that you’d never notice otherwise. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“A bit. But I don’t mind. You’re passionate about this.” He tips his head to one side thoughtfully. “Do you have your camera with you now?”

“In the car, yeah.”

“You want to take some pictures?”

“Am I allowed to? I’m not even sure I should be in here. I kind of feel like I’m trespassing a bit.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have invited you in otherwise. I don’t think the owner would appreciate just anyone in here snooping around, but…you’re not one of those people looking to exploit this establishment’s remains. There’s a genuine kind of reverence. Nostalgia. I know for a fact he appreciates that kind of sentimentality.”

“Do you know the owner well?”

A faint smirk. “You could say that.”

“What’s he doing now that this place is shut down?”

A heavy sigh. “As you’re probably aware, the media did not paint him in the kindest light after the allegations. Even though he was cleared, the damage was already done. Name tarnished. Reputation demolished. Difficult to come back from in a small town like this. So he’s just trying to lead a quiet life now. Trying out a new existence. Not quite willing to let the past go…” His voice trails off.

“I’m going to go get my camera, then.”

Dave’s gaze sharpens, whatever odd reminiscing he’d found himself lost in dissipating. “I’ll unlock the door for you.”

You return with a fresh roll of film loaded into the camera, another tucked into the pocket of your jeans. You’d been glad to get a little fresh air. That chemical smell really hits you as soon as you enter the building. Your initial enthusiasm to begin taking pictures wavers a bit when you realize a fundamental problem.

The security guard sees you hesitating as he finishes locking the door again. “What’s wrong?”

“The lighting.”

“Is that all? Easily fixed. Give me a moment.”

The tall man disappears back through the employee restricted area. Nothing. Then, everything happens all at once. The center stage curtains slide back. Rows of luminaires suddenly glow. A blossoming rainbow of bright primary colors. Neon signs on the checkerboard patterned walls humming. The arcade games switched back on. Digital music. Bright red scoreboard displays on skeeball lanes. A wave of nostalgia washes over you. This was more like what you remembered from your childhood. Staring open mouthed. Your gaze finally landing on Dave, leaning against the wall near the stage with his arms folded across his chest. Looking almost smug. Proud. Something.

“It all still works?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“It’s amazing.” You’re genuinely impressed. It takes you no time at all to fill the roll. Part of another. You’re excited. Wondering how they’ll look.

You settle into a booth near the stage across from Miller. Pop music from the eighties playing. The animatronics moving jerkily in time to the sound. You’re still taking it all in. Feeling your male companion’s eyes on you. Maybe it’s not impressive when you’re surrounded by it every day. You just think you’d be awfully tempted to play in the arcade if you worked here.

You glance down at the camera. Several shots left. You lift it to your face, focusing on Dave’s. He immediately blocks his features with his hand. “No. Not me.”

“Why not you? You have an interesting face.”

“I don’t like having my picture taken.”

“But you’re so photogenic,” you protest, lowering the camera. “They’re just for me, anyway. It’s not like I’m showing anyone else.”

He lowers his hand, scowling. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Hurry, before I change my mind.”

“Okay, can you just turn your face. There. Like that. Lean back a little.” You can feel his impatience wafting across the table. You’ll have to rush it a bit. “And…done.”

“I need to shut things down. Get back to the security office.”

“Awww. Okay, I get it.” Of course he was here to work. Guarding the property. Still, you wouldn’t have minded a little more time basking in the glory of retro Freddy’s.

“Are you coming with me?”

“To the security office?” He nods. “Am I allowed to go back there?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” That little secret smile again. You follow him back into the restricted area.

“Let me finish giving you the grand tour.”

The security guard leads you to a panel with the controls for all of the lighting and equipment, switching them all off. Past this there are several offices. Storage rooms. One massive section labeled Parts and Service that’s cluttered with equipment. Broken animatronics. Shapes that are hard to make out in the dim lighting and the older man makes no offer to brighten your view any further.

The tour ends in the security office itself.

Dated looking technology. Several monitors stacked on a battered desk. Yellowing plastic controls. Something about the flame retardant they’d used in old computers and other electronic devices, you remember reading somewhere. A poster of the lead animatronics and some children’s drawings tacked to the wall, including a trio of animals created out of construction paper and paper plates. A steel filing cabinet. A large clock that reminds you of the kind in your elementary school. A hardbacked chair tucked into the corner that he drags closer to the swivel one in front of the desk for you to sit on. A desk fan hums as it attempts to circulate the stale warm air around. He’d been right, you couldn’t really smell the cleaning solution back here. But the place was cramped, dreary. You can’t imagine spending eight hours stuck in this room. He sits in the office chair, that lean figure draping over the structure, spinning the chair slightly. Clearly waiting for you to sit.

You find yourself doing so stiffly. Close to the edge, as if you aren’t intending on staying long. Ready to bolt. You have this strong feeling that you don’t belong here. You’re definitely intruding. Trespassing, no matter what Dave says.

“So. Now you’ve seen what most visitors never get to. A behind the scenes peek.”

“It’s cool.” The nylon strap of your camera pulls at your neck. You’d never been overly fond of keeping it there.

“You know, it’s interesting. When we first met, I thought the animals were your vocation.”

“Oh, you mean the shelter? No, that’s just a part time gig I enjoy doing.”

“How is the rabbit?” The guard lifts a paper cup bearing the logo of a local fast food joint off the desk and takes a sip from the straw. Grimacing a bit. Probably watered down by now.

“Still there. Doing fine. We haven’t gotten anyone new. No one’s found a home, either.”

“How far along in your studies are you?”

“I’ve finished my first year, taking summer classes before heading into sophomore.”

Dave sets the cup back down. Looking at you. That perpetual look of amusement tugging his lips into a not quite smile. You don’t know what to make of it.

“You don’t look comfortable. You can sit back, you know. Nothing’s going to reach out and grab you.”

“I know.” You push back further into the chair. The movement makes the metal legs scrape the floor and you wince at the harsh sound. “How long have you worked here?”

“Not long. This place has a bit of a high turnover. I had to fill in rather last minute.” A more defined smirk now. Almost sinister looking. Deep shadows under his ash gray eyes. He really is an insomniac like yourself.

“What did you do before this?”

“Oh, this and that,” Miller replies vaguely, stretching. First his long legs straight out in front of him. Then each arm, twisting to rotate both shoulders. Finally his neck, which cracks loudly.

“Do you get bored? I mean, I can’t imagine there’s that much excitement just staring at the monitors. Doing rounds in the dark. Unless you switch things on regularly…”

“No. That was a special occassion. Normally things are…yes, I guess they are quiet.” He’s hiding something. Changing what he’d been about to say. You’re certain of it.

“Must be lonely.”

Dave leans forward slightly, his hands clasping together. “That problem’s been solved, though, hasn’t it?”

A little somersault in your stomach. Not once since you’ve entered the restaurant has it occurred to you that you’re locked inside a building with a virtual stranger. In an establishment that had been shuttered because children had gone missing. Yet here you were, chatting it up in a restricted area. The man seated very close to you. “I can’t stay all night,” you say quickly. “Just so you know. I only stopped by to say hi.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves a hand in the air breezily, leaning back again. He really had such elegant hands. Speaking of which.

“How are your hands, by the way?”

“Oh, they’re fine. Healing quickly.” Holding up a palm for you to see the red lines that are already fading. “What’s your schedule like? We should go for another ride soon. Maybe get something to eat.”

“I don’t work at the shelter on the weekends. I do have a class on Saturday mornings, so…”

“Perfect. Anywhere in particular you want to be picked up? I know these days people tend to be…restrictive about revealing where they reside.”

“You have to be careful. There’s a man stalking women at my school.” Not that you were really being careful right now. But honestly, if he was going to try anything unsavory, wouldn’t he have done it already?

Dave frowns. “Really? What about campus security?”

“It’s not the greatest. I can tell you for a fact that…well, maybe it’s just them turning a blind eye,” you amend hurriedly. You’d been about to say you’d heard more than one person brag about getting lucky in the parking lots.

Miller’s not letting you off the hook that easily. “Tell me what for a fact?”

You feel your cheeks flush. “Nothing. Just…kids messing around and no one stops it.”

“Ah.” He folds his arm across his chest. “Well, it’s difficult when you’re young. Troublesome curfews. Nosy adults. Limited places to…engage in activities.”

“Yeah.” You squirm in your chair, wishing he’d change the subject.

“You live on campus or off?”

“Off. Apartment.”

“Hmm. So you don’t really have those concerns to worry about anymore, do you?”

Was he flirting? Suggesting something? It was so difficult to tell. “I guess not,” you mumble.

“Well, figure out what day and where to meet you and let me know. Easy enough since you know where to find me.”

It suddenly clicks that he hasn’t looked at the monitors even once since you’ve entered the room. You glance at them now and he seems to see the direction of your gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m well aware of what’s going on.”

“How? Do you have eyes in the back of your head?”

“Something like that.” Another one of those grins you don’t know how to interpret.

You stand finally, willing some feeling back into legs that were going numb from your awkward positioning. Dave escorts you back to the main entrance. “I’ll stop by again to let you know when I can go out.”

“I look forward to it. And bring the photographs with you. I’m curious to see how they turn out.” You nod, once again forced to press close to the guard when you exit the building. Maybe it was unintentional, but you’re fairly certain he knows exactly what he’s doing.

The question is, do you like it? Do you like him enough to come back again? To go out with him, spend more time together?

You feel his eyes on you the entire walk back to your car.

***

You should be studying anatomy. There’s an exam on the skeletal and muscular system on Wednesday.

Instead you’re back in the darkroom. Developing those film rolls from Freddy’s. The results are not what you’d expected.

The pictures of the restaurant came out fine—great, even. It’s just the ones of the animatronics that are wonky. A strange blurry effect on each that you can’t account for. It’s on every single image of the mascots, directly over their faces, and appears no where else. You just can’t make sense of it, disappointed that the iconic figures weren’t properly captured.

You’re holding a picture of Dave now, the print nearly completely dry. Eyes piercing right through the paper at you. Everything contrasting sharply. Pale skin. Almost as white as a ghost in the photograph. Dark messy hair. Those sooty smudged undereyes. The way his body is positioned, it looks as if he’s recoiling from the stage illumination nearby. Hunching into the shadowed recesses of the booth. The elegant line of his hands resting on the table. Tracking back up over the skinny black tie and silver badge to the epaulets bridging long neck and wide shoulders. Pouting lips. Those eyes demanding attention again.

It’s hot in the room suddenly. Pricks of perspiration on the back of your neck. You gather your things and step outside, squinting against the suddenly bright illumination of the hallway and the sun outdoors.

Back home you’ve got your textbook open. Over two hundred bones to learn. Fingers creeping repeatedly towards the folder beside your backpack. You tell yourself to focus. You keep seeing the blurred mascots. Dave’s eyes.

You’re going back tonight.

***

Dave Miller senses there’s a different energy in the air tonight.

That feeling one gets before the start of a thunderstorm. A charged sort of anticipation. Hairs lifting. A certain scent. One of Hurricane’s rare rain storms approaching. Bringing you with it.

He doesn’t waste his time in the security office. He’s outside by the entrance. Leaning against crumbling mortar. Listening to the hum of insects. The first muttered rumble from the heavens.

Your car engine. Twin lights in the darkness. Your approach slowing when you realize he’s standing there.

“Hi. Is everything okay?” Surprised to see him outdoors, he thinks.

“Yes. Just enjoying the weather.”

“Oh. Yeah, I love thunderstorms.” You halt when you’re still a good distance away.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” As if he doesn’t know. A slim folder that must contain the photos you’d taken the other day. He admits he’s curious to see them. It had been so long since anyone had captured images of the restaurant. Not since the disappearances. Interested to see what you think of them. What the establishment looks like through the lens of your camera. Through the focus of your eye.

“I’ve got the pictures. Um, some of them came out kind of weird.”

“Weird how?” He pushes off from the edge of the building. More thunder now, and a brief flash of lightning. The storm was drawing closer. “You should come inside before you get drenched and ruin those. It’s going to hit any second now.”

You finish your journey to his side. He holds the door open. The first drops of rain fall, sinking into his shirt, his hair. A kiss on one cheek. You hurry inside.

He relocks the door and leads you back to the security office. The sound of the rain is muted here.

You lay the folder on one of the few empty spaces on the cluttered desk.

“Have a seat.” He pushes the swivel office chair and you sink into it. The hardbacked one still hasn’t been returned to its former location. He neglects it, remaining standing. Looking over your seated form.

“The majority of them came out great. But the animatronics…” You withdraw a photograph and hand it to the security guard.

Miller studies the picture for a long time. He knows instantly what the strange hazy effect is. Fascinating that it had been captured on film.

He can hardly reveal what it truly is to you, though. So he shrugs and hands it back. “Something with the film itself, maybe. A defect. The lighting, perhaps. Maybe the motion—”

“—There’s nothing wrong with the film,” you say firmly. “Every other picture is fine. And it’s not the lighting or the movement, either.”

“So what do you think it is, then?”

You sigh and set them back inside the folder face down. “I don’t know.”

“May I see the rest?”

“Yeah, sure.” You hand the stack to him.

He’s certainly not an expert on photography, but he can see you’ve got a good eye for it. It’s not simply a collection of random snapshots. There’s a variety in terms of focus. Attention to detail. Instead of an entire arcade machine, a close up of the joystick controller, the lit screen adding a hazy pop of color to the background. A close study of the artwork on a pinball machine between the levers. The way the lighting shines through a long vacant glass sitting forgotten on one of the tables. A kind of eerie beauty to it. Haunting. And it was haunted. You’d captured it. You just didn’t know it.

The images of himself are at the end of the pile. These he doesn’t linger on. He’s thinking of the press. Nosy journalists invading his privacy. He’d looked different then. Heavier. Known for being cheerful, friendly, approachable. Until he’d lost his youngest son. Until the disappearances. Losing the joy from life. Food tasting like ash. No longer comforting. The smile evolving into what it is today. A smirk over a private joke only he can enjoy.

Dave hands the photographs back to you. “What will you do with them?”

“I don’t know. Put them in a binder, I guess.”

“You’re talented. Gifted, I dare say.”

“I guess.” You seem discouraged. Disappointed that the pictures weren’t what you’d hoped they’d be.

“Nothing is ever as clear as a memory. Nor as deceiving,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He glances at his wristwatch. “You’re here very late. It’s nearly four.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You struggle with that a lot.”

“So do you.”

“When do you want me to take you out? If you don’t mind hanging around for a couple more hours, my shift will be over. We can go out to breakfast if you’d like.”

“Okay.” You’re nervous. He can feel the energy of it, not unlike that tension that had preceded the storm outside. “What are we going to do for two hours?” This said softly, as if you’re reluctant to voice the query.

“That’s entirely up to you.”

You start to rise from your seat. “You can sit here if you’d rather…”

“No. Stay.” The guard slouches into the empty chair next to yours and hooks one foot underneath the wheeled bar at the bottom, dragging you closer in one smooth motion. A little gasp from you at the abrupt shift in your position. “You spent a long time looking at that picture of me.”

“What?” You’re blushing. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. You know how I know? Because your fingerprints are all over it. Only that one. Not even your…interesting captures of Freddy and the gang have that much attention on them.”

“I just…I just think your face is interesting,” you murmur defensively.

“Interesting how?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyes evade his.

“Suddenly shy when you’ve been bold enough to come here not once, but twice. Why do you think that is?” You shrug, shaking your head. “This is going to be a very long two hours if the conversation continues to be one sided.”

“Maybe I should go.”

His lips press into a thin line. Not the reaction he’d been expecting. “If that’s what you want.” Your eyes finally meet his. “What, did you think I was holding you prisoner? Come. Go. Entirely your decision.”

“I need you to unlock the door.”

“Of course.” He shoves the chair back roughly, watching you hesitate over the folder sitting on the desk. “Keep them. You wanted them.”

“The rain…”

“Fine. I’ll drop them off some other time when you’re working. Or you can come collect them.”

You exit the office empty handed and he walks behind you. You have no trouble finding your way back to the entrance now.

Through the glass doors he can see the rain is torrential. Sheets of moisture that cascade down, the sky weeping furiously. You’re staring at the deluge, wide eyed.

“You’re sure you want to go out in that?”

“Yes.” Your voice wavers but you’re already reaching for the handle.

“The driving could be dangerous,” he cautions.

“I’ll manage.” You shove the door open. The scent of petrichor. Warm, wet air. You inhale deeply. Bracing yourself. Darting into the downpour.

You nearly make it to your car. Turn to look back in his direction and stumble, going down. An arc of lightning illuminates your soaked form.

Dave curses, exiting the building. Instantly drenched, clothing plastered to skin. Lifting you to your feet. A deep, jagged tear in the asphalt nearby causes you to lose your footing again, but he holds you upright.

“My ankle, I think I…”

It’s difficult to hear you, forced to compete with the sound of the storm. Rainwater runs into his eyes. He impatiently shoves at the damp tendrils of hair plastered against his face, scooping you up into his arms before you can even react, carrying you back to the restaurant.

You wince when he sets you down to open the door.

“Can you walk at all? Bear weight?”

You bite your lip, nodding. Limping inside, leaning heavily on the older man’s shoulder. The door hisses shut. The sound of water pattering on the linoleum. He crouches down, moving the hem of your damp jeans and peeling down the wet ankle sock. Gently probing. “Sprain, most likely. Come sit down.” He drags one of the chairs from the nearby tables for you to sit on.

“How can you tell?”

“Because my eldest son had a knack for getting sports injuries.”

“You have a child?”

“Three.”

“Are you married?”

“Was.” He yanks another chair over and sits next to you. “What?”

“I didn’t know you had kids.”

“They don’t live with me. They’re…grown now. Gone. Why do you look so surprised?”

“I just…I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I don’t really know anything about you.”

“You could have started learning. You know, over breakfast today, for example. Except that idea seemed unacceptable to you, so, here we are.” He rakes a hand through his damp tresses again. “Why were you in such a hurry to leave?”

“I got scared.”

He scoffs. “Of what? Of me? What did I do?”

He watches you tentatively stretch your injured foot out, grimacing. “Nothing. I just…I don’t know. I got nervous all of a sudden. I don’t really know you,” you repeat again.

“So get to know me, then.”

“Alright. I’m sorry you got wet.”

“Wet is putting it mildly,” he mutters.

“Okay. Drenched.”

“Mmm-hmm. Let me go grab the first aid kit. I can wrap your ankle, stabilize it. Get some ice from the freezer. I always keep some made. And you should keep that leg elevated,” he adds, standing and moving his chair so you can rest your foot on it.

Miller returns shortly with the supplies. Kneeling down. Unlacing your canvas sneaker. Pulling off the shoe and sock as gently as he can. Winding the elastic compression around the swollen joint, then setting a plastic bag full of ice chips on top of it.

“Thank you. You’re good at that. Gentle.”

“Like I said, a lot of practice. It’s the exact treatment you’d get if you went to urgent care.” He straightens.

“Are you close with your kids still?”

A long pause. “No. Not by choice, just…it’s complicated.” He notices you staring again. This time at his arms. The single layer of the shirt can’t conceal the scars beneath, the red patterns peeking through the damp material. “There’s a lot to unpack. With me. It’s going to be an investment. A commitment. This isn’t some teenage romance. You’re with an adult. An entirely different playing field. So you should be certain that’s what you want.”

He sees you swallow. Hears it, even. “Okay.” Your voice cracks a little. “Okay,” you repeat more firmly.

“Not going to run again?” Shifting some of your damp strands of hair now. Grazing your cheek. Your gaze still holding steady.

“No.”

“You know if you hadn’t looked back, you probably wouldn’t have tripped and fallen. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“I felt bad.”

“Why?”

“For leaving you behind.”

“You’re not going to make that mistake again, though, are you?” His thumb drags against your lower lip. “Because you want to stay. You want this.” You nod slightly, your face moving against his fingers.

Dave smiles.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x you #dave miller x reader

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