𝐬𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 | 𝐦. 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐨𝐧

seventeen.

you ended up hanging out in your room with michael after he was all cleaned up. he sat in one of your bean bag chairs in the corner of the room and you sat on the bed. there was an unnecessarily large distance between the two of you. michael flipped through a magazine he had found on your floor while you pretended to read a book. in reality you were looking over the pages and staring at michael. you were trying to gauge how he was feeling but he had that stupid blank expression on his face. the same face he had when he talked to you about what happened in the theater. he hasn’t shown emotion around you since then. except for when he glared at you earlier. you were dying to see his smile again.

after more than enough time had passed, you grew tired of how deafening the silence was. an hour of silence with michael afton was far too long. it felt like a whole week had passed and you guys hadn’t uttered a word to each other. you closed your book, the sound of the cover slamming shut slicing through the air and breaking the silence. michael jumped and looked up at you, hesitantly closing the magazine he was reading. you looked down at him and he shyly met your eyes.

“talk to me,” you said. your tone was calm but still demanding. you just wanted him to spit it out. you wanted to hear about whatever his problem was. what caused all this too happen. you needed to know. you couldn’t help if you didn’t know what was wrong in the first place.

“about what?” he asked, clearly oblivious to what you were wanting to talk about. he leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and crossing just his forearms. “what do you wanna talk about?” he asked further and gently tapped his feet on the floor.

“you know what,” you narrowed your eyes at him, as if you were challenging him.

a heavy sigh pushed its way out of his lungs and he slumped back into the bean bag. “why are we doing this again?” he said, running a hand through his hair before resting his arms above his head with his hands almost touching the wall.

“because i know if i was in your position i would want someone to talk to,” you said slowly. you were trying to be a bit more careful with your words now since you now knew the harm it could cause. you also didn’t want michael to try and turn this around if you said something that would let him in on your past. it didn’t affect you anymore so he didn’t need to know. that sounds a bit hypocritical though, doesn’t it?

he looked away from you, shifting his gaze upwards to the ceiling. he looked at the glow in the dark stars that were scattered across your ceiling. he scoffed to himself as if he was laughing at how childish you were. “well you’re not in my position now are you? you don’t know what i want, y/n,” despite his harsh response to you he was dying to talk to someone. he just didn’t like how you seemed to be pitying him. he didn't want your pity. he didn't want anyone to feel sorry for him like he was some helpless little animal.

you took in a sharp breath, your expression contorting from neutral to frustration. your brows knitted together and your lips fell into a frown. “why are you being so stubborn? i don’t understand you!” you raised your voice just slightly, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of your bed.

“i'm not being stubborn. you're just being pushy! what is it that you're struggling to understand? i don’t want your pity. why won’t you just leave me alone about this? i don’t want to talk about it. you don’t know how i feel so don’t try and pretend that you do. i don’t want your sympathy,” he stood after he was done speaking and let out a huff. he bunched up his shirt in his fists as he turned away from you and looked towards the door to your bedroom. he stole a glance at the clock to see the school day would be over soon. if this got to be too much he could easily leave.

“i’m not trying to sympathize with you. i know how you feel. you’re just not letting me help you,” you said, trying to lower your voice again and keep your tone steady. you both needed to relax before this got far worse than it already was.

“but you don’t!” he snapped, making you flinch. you took in a sharp breath, fidgeting with the blanket on your bed. “stop trying to ask and push and pretend that you understand how i feel because you don’t. you won’t get it because you’ve never been bullied, y/n.”

you scoffed, standing up and looking him square in the eye. “what would you know? you never bothered to ask. you just use me as someone to lean on. i’ve never been bullied? god, michael. how could you be so insensitive?”

he was quiet for a moment, trying to sort through his thoughts. his face contorted in confusion and he shook his head. “that’s not fair. how are you gonna pester me and make me feel bad when you won’t tell me about what you’ve experienced either. how am i supposed to just ask if you’ve been bullied? it’s not a pleasant conversation topic. you’re being a fucking hypocrite.”

you fell quiet, struggling to come up with an argument. it was a bit unfair of you to accuse michael of being insensitive when you hadn’t brought it up anyways. it was clear you didn’t want to talk about it either. you are being a hypocrite.

he scoffed and gave you a dirty look before taking a few short steps so he could collect his things. “i’m going home,” he shoved his feet into his shoes, not even bothering to tie them since he just wanted to get home. this was frustrating for both of you. he would rather be at home than be here. he left quietly. you didn’t even hear the front door click shut behind him.

once he was gone, you cursed to yourself and plopped back down on your bed. you rolled over onto your side, pulling your legs up and curling into a ball. you sounded ridiculous now that you thought about it. it wasn’t fair for you to demand that of him and make him feel bad when you were doing the same thing he was. this was all a mess and it was all your fault.