𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭

"𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩, 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩.

𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚. 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙩, 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩."

They told you to stay away from him. Not to talk to him. Not to breathe in his direction. They said that he was cruel and temperamental and everything bad in the world. And you heard them, but you did not listen.

Michael was working at the Plex long before you arrived. He kept his head down and did his job without a fuss. On several occasions, he even held the door open for you so you wouldn't have to fumble for your ID card in the rain. But for the longest time, that was the extent of your interactions.

As far as you were concerned, he never bothered another living soul.

To the dismay of all the girls who worked with you behind the diner's ice cream counter, you didn't go out of your way to avoid him at all costs. In fact, you even made a habit of offering him a piece of candy whenever the two of you crossed paths. 

You hadn't meant for it to go on as long as it did, but it was the least you could think to do when everyone else at work pretended that he didn't exist when they weren't talking about him behind his back. 

You even started stocking up on candy specifically for him without even realizing it, grabbing a handful from the bowl in the kitchen before leaving for work each morning. Your gesture didn't erase the rumors, but it certainly made going to work even the slightest bit more tolerable for the both of you.

"𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙖 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙, 𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙖 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙡.

𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮, 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙮. 𝙇𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙙,

𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙨. 𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮, 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩'𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙨."

The first time you did it, he was confused. More than confused. You stood there together in the middle of the empty corridor, a single piece of candy outstretched in your open palm. "It's for you," you explained timidly. 

You never wanted to believe what everyone said about him, but you were still afraid. Afraid that they were correct. Afraid that you had been wrong.

Like a wounded feral cat, he reached out and accepted it quickly before excusing himself from the interaction faster than it had begun. 

It wasn't until the third or fourth time that he mustered up the courage to thank you softly. You didn't know it then, but you fell in love with the way his long hickory hair would tickle his sharp jaw when he smiled. Maybe it was for the best that he didn't do it very often. 

The girls were horrified when they learned what you'd been doing. You let it slip offhandedly during one of your quieter days up at the diner. They all crowded around you in their uniforms, eyes open wide with morbid curiosity. It was like telling a bonfire story to a troop of trembling girl scouts. You might as well have been. 

They wanted to know everything. What he said, what he did, what he looked like up close, if his skin was really purple (which, yes it was, but you had no idea how to go about telling them that).

"You've really done it now," scoffed one of the older girls. She'd been there almost as long as Michael had. Or so you've been told. The crowd parted as everyone's attention directed to her. She only stared right back at you, continuing to mop up a spilled ice cream cone from the black and white tile floor. "Should've left him alone like we said."

"𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙣𝙤 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙞𝙩.

𝙅𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙨 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩, 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙩.

𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮, 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙩, 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠."

A few weeks into this routine, he began following you.

He was always lingering around Bonnie Bowl while you were working, sliding stealthily into the diner and propping himself up against a back wall. He was always so good at that – becoming a fixture of the room. He was harder to notice that way.

He spent his breaks in the furthest corner of your eye. Always watching. Always surveying. You figured it was part of his job. Security guards needed to keep an eye out everywhere, didn't they? 

But it wasn't the diner that he was so intent on protecting. Because when you left to deliver birthday cakes in other parts of the building, he was always five steps behind you, sending murderous looks at anyone he deemed a little too close to getting in your way. It didn't scare you, though. At least not right away.

It was always one of the other girls who was the first to notice. "The cat came back," they would snicker, teasing you with nudges to the elbows while you cleaned glasses and topped off milkshakes behind the counter.

Like clockwork, you would wipe your hands off on your apron and smile in his direction, offering him a quick wave. And like clockwork, he would respond by nodding until the brim of his security cap obscured most of his features. Until the only thing you could see was the thin white stick of the lollipop you surrendered to him when you saw each other before opening up earlier that morning.

When you went to drop off your coat in the break room, you overheard two of the mini-golf attendants whispering offhandedly behind a row of lockers. About the things that his father had done. The things that he'd done.

The Afton's are murderers. It's a legacy. It'll start again, just you wait. As long as he's here, none of us are safe. 

You made a point to slam your locker door shut as loudly as possible before storming out of the room. You never believed any of that crap. It was all made up for that stupid haunted house that they put on a few years back. People didn't actually believe that Michael was responsible for anything like that, did they?

About once in a blue moon, your breaks would intersect and you would pass Michael on your way to clock out for the company-approved fifteen-minute break period. You would say hello and he would nod to you again like a cowboy in an old western film.

And that was enough.

Until he showed up. 

(A/N: Um this is inspired by a Hozier song, obviously. But the song was used in a cosplay TikTok of Michael and that's literally the only reason I wrote this. There are going to be three parts. The second one is in Michael's POV and then the third is in yours again. Experimenting with shorter stuff because I'm trying to dual-post on ao3. Um. That's it, I think. Let me know your thoughts! Coming back to edit this heavily).