Chapter Text
Teenagers’ chatter buzzed, eager for the weekend.
".... Oh, and before you're all dismissed today, remember to chec-"
2:53pm. Tick, tock.
Michael hung his head on his desk. Fridays always dragged, but this one felt worse. He tried to ignore the growing pit in his stomach, its black tendrils crawling up his throat. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe his father had a big day at work, too tired to care? His furious glare substituted for the usual cold indifference, mind wandering elsewhere, back to the machines. Those fucking creepy machines. Sometimes it felt like his father loved those bags of metal more than his own s--
"Michael Afton. Are you listening to me?" He lifted his head off his desk to meet the eyes of his teacher and feebly rubbed at his eyes.
"Yes, sir. Um, sorry." The eyes of his classmates bored into him, watching nervously. Michael tried to stare ahead, feeling his cheeks flush. Though the older man's mouth didn't as much twitch, he could see the resigned pity in his teacher's eyes. The entire faculty knew of his father's surliness; they saw the bruises on his son's face, too scared to say anything. Even though the investigations always went cold... he heard the whispers around the school.
....disappeared.... murderer.... what a creep....
Sometimes he wondered if what they said about his father was true. Sure, he was a strange man. Too touchy with the children. But that was just his way. His father was just a man who didn't care about the opinions of the "unwashed masses", as he called them. Violent, but not a murderer.
"That's fine, Michael. Please spend the weekend going over your results for this terms math test, there'll be a review on Monday." Finally, his teacher broke his gaze and turned to clear the whiteboard. The others returned to their cheery conversations, boys and girls giggling about parties, football, and crushes.
And like that, Michael was back in his little bubble, invisible to the rest of the world. Well, except for Charlie, and her gentle blue eyes... soft pink lips... The damned lips that got him into this mess in the first place. He sighed.
The clock's lazy hands ticked away from the top of the wall patronizingly.
2:59pm. Almost there.
Maybe on a regular Friday, he would take his time walking through the park with his few friends, or catch a movie with Charlie. Without his father's knowledge, of course. The clock was his good friend, and he would join the bustling chatter of his peers in the halls, excited to go home. The bell finally rang, and the gaping pit in his stomach sank. Michael sighed. Not today.
The office was cold and drafty, sad pot plant shrugged in the corner. A large metal nameplate sat on the desk in front of him. His father would scoff at this display. 'The feeble like to think themselves the most important', as he would always say. Of course he would. The clacking of fingers on chunky keys brought him out of his thoughts and his principal met his eyes over the large boxy screen. "Thanks for joining me, Michael." Like I had a choice. "Your father should be here soon." Michael looked down at his hands, playing with his nails. Maybe his father got held up at work? Maybe the meeting will be postponed; He can go home to tease his little brother, drown himself in his walkman until the night comes. His father would leave him alone.
His hope flicked away like a dying light when he heard the familiar slick voice emanate from the hallway outside. making idle small talk with a receptionist. He could no longer ignore how the pit inside him twisted and turned, aching and tugging. He should have sneaked away, gone to Charlie's house. There was no escaping this now.
After what felt like hours, the door opened. The principal stood up. Michael did not.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Afton. Thank you for coming in today to discuss your son's behaviour. I hope this timing was of no inconvenience to you - I know you must have a busy schedule."
"Of course not." William hummed dryly. "I regret to hear Michael has been causing issues in your fine establishment."
The way his father spat out his name made his cheeks sting. The same way he would say fucking kids after a long day at work. Messy, dirty, loud kids. Michael.
"Please, Mr. Afton. Have a seat. This won't take long." William sat down on the chair next to his son. Michael's gaze remained in his lap, but he felt his fathers cold eyes stare into him. He didn't dare look up. He couldn't bear to see the hatred in them.
"Well, to get right to the point, Mr. Afton, your son has been skipping classes to have, say, inappropriate 'relations' with a girl from the year below. This sort of conduct is completely unacceptable here - This is a school, not a brothel. We understand teenagers will begin to explore love and relationships here at New Harmony High, but not when it interferes with attendance, and certainly not in the-" He clears his throat "-boys' lavatory."
William froze in disgust.
Michael wondering if he had been drinking, if he would lose his temper like he does with Mum. But his father's shoulders relaxed, and regained his composure. Tension hung heavy in the small office, suffocating Michael like a blanket. His face was burning, tears choking in his throat.
Silence. And then;
William leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he fixed the older man with a practiced smile, his voice smooth and measured. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Wright." He clicked his tongue softly, his gaze drifting to Michael, lingering just a moment too long on the boy's exposed thigh. "Rest assured, I’ll see to it that Michael receives the thorough discipline he deserves for such… distasteful behavior."
Mr. Wright nodded, tapping something away absently on his computer. “That’s the spirit, Mr. Afton. A firm hand at home will do wonders.”
Michael tried to hold back a sob. William rubbed his son's shoulder, as if pushiing him to challenge the authority of his father, but of course he didn't. Michael’s eyes burned with defiance, but his voice stayed silent... he knew better than to challenge his father here.
"I presume the school will be administering appropriate disciplinary measures?"
Mr. Wright blinked, somewhat caught off guard by the question. "We are still deciding the correct punishment for Michael. He might be facing suspension, unless we see a swift turnaround in his behaviour. He is a bright boy, but he simply refuses to apply himself".
“I have every confidence that Michael will refine his behavior under my… intimate guidance at home. Won't you, my boy? I’ll make sure he understands the consequences of his behaviour.” Michael’s head snapped up at his father, who was looking at him with a sick amusement. His fingers dug into his palms, the pain grounding him as his father’s words coiled around his heart. That smile - William’s smug, untouchable smile - made it clear he was enjoying this, reveling in the control he wielded over everyone in the room, especially Michael. Nobody saw the truth. Nobody ever did.
Mr. Wright nodded, satisfied. “I’m glad to hear you’re taking this seriously, Mr. Afton. Michael’s lucky to have such an involved father.”
As if to break the unbearable tension, his principal stood up from his desk and brushed off his trousers. "Well, that's all the time I have today. I hope to see an improvement in Michael's attitude toward school in the coming weeks. Please reach out to the faculty if you have any concerns, Mr. Afton." William mirrored the action and shook the portly principal's hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Wright. I'll ensure it."
William stepped away towards the door and turned around.
"Michael. Come." Any previous amusement in his voice melted away, leaving nothing but ice.
Michael stood up, feeling the room spin. His father seemed to loom against the doorway, looking at him expectantly.
"Um, t-thank you sir, Mr. Wright." His principal's eyes flashed sympathetically at him for a moment before he felt his father's hand grab his shoulder and guide him into the bright hallway.
The car ride home felt like an eternity. The houses streaked past the window, probably full of happy children laughing with their smiling parents over dinner. The sun was beginning to dip in the cold autumn sky, casting a soft yellow glow on the hills of his hometown. William refused to even glance at Michael the entire time, the tence silence filling the car. The pit in Michael's stomach had begun to grow into bitter hunger - He now regretted throwing away his lunch. Lost in thought, he barely noticed they had arrived home until he felt his father's rough hand on his arm pulling him out of the passenger seat.
His dark blue eyes gazed down into his son in the fading daylight. Through him. Unreadable. Michael felt the full weight of his father’s presence bearing down on him. He was still holding his arm tightly.
"I'm disapointed in you, Michael."
William's nails began to dig into his son's arm until the pain became unbearable. His grip wasn't giving up.
Ow, SHIT, what is he doing?
Tears sprang into Michael's eyes as he gasped. "D-dad, please, can we go ins-" His hand dropped in momentary relief, before William backhanded his son square in the mouth, causing him to topple. Michael's vision swam as he slumped against his dad's car, seeing stars. He could no longer hold back the tears that had been building up in his chest since school, and his body was racked with painful sobs.
“Daddy, I’m -” Michael started, his voice barely a whisper, desperate to explain himself, to deflect the storm he knew was coming.
“You little whore,” William cut him off, his voice low and venomous, the word slicing through the air. The shock of it alone made Michael freeze, his tears halting. His father leaned forward, his eyes glinting with a sick, perverted satisfaction that only Michael could recognize. “My son, turning into a little man-whore. Destroying his education to sneak away with little girls. Those women will forget you in a year, Michael. And you will be nobody. But a failure.”
He stepped back, his face now contorted in disgust and fury. Michael knew better than to open his mouth again. But the silence didn’t save him. William’s hand shot forward, seizing a fistful of Michael’s curls, yanking his head back with a force that tore a cry of pain from his throat.
“Don't you open your fucking mouth” William snarled, all false tidy composure from their previous meeting gone. Before Michael could brace himself, William slammed his face against the bonnet of the car, the metal cold and unyielding against his cheek. Another ragged cry escaped him, pain exploding behind his eyes as his vision blurred.
“I have been too lenient with you,” William began, his fist still tugging painfully at Michael’s curls, keeping his head pinned against the car. His voice dropped, low and deliberate, each word dripping with contempt. “From now on, I will be keeping a much closer eye on you. You will do as I say. You will go to school. You will come straight home. You think I don’t notice your blushed cheeks when you return from whatever… escapades you think it’s appropriate to embark on after school?” He leaned closer, his breath hot against Michael’s ear, his tone shifting to something softer, more insidious. “You are an Afton. My son will not become a disgusting failure to this family. And you, Michael, will learn to stay close to me, to yield to my touch as you always have, not become a cheap fuck-toy for the girls at your school. Do you understand me, child?”
Michael’s breath hitched, a sob trapped in his chest as he fought to stay still, the pain in his scalp and face warring with the sickening dread of his father’s words. William’s grip tightened briefly, as if to drive the point home, before he released Michael’s hair, stepping back with a satisfied sigh.
“Get inside,” he ordered, his voice monotone like ever. “We’ll continue this lesson later.” Michael stumbled upright, his face throbbing, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and helpless rage. He would always be an Afton. A curse he could never escape.
His mother was busy preparing dinner as they walked inside; his siblings were playing in the living room, blissfully ignoring their presence.
"How was work, honey?" Clara asked boredly, cutting potatoes.
"Fine, dear." William replied, laying a kiss on his wife's cheek.
Their false sweetness made Michael sick. He knew they resented each other, only staying together 'for the kids', as if he didn't have to comfort his crying sister every time their parents began yet another violent argument, the sound of screaming accompanied by smashing plates. Gripping the straps of his school bag, he hurried towards his room, hoping to avoid any questions from his nosy mother.
"Michael?" He stopped and clenched his eyes in anticipation, before turning around to face her. She seemed to ignore the dried blood on his lips. "How did your math test go today?" He dropped his shoulders. Of course. It felt like a million years ago that he was sitting in the classroom, mind barely present in his head.
"I got a C+" Clara hummed dismissively, and Michael took it as his opportunity to leave. He tried to ignore the feeling of his father's stare burning into the back of his skull.
Michael had showered, scrubbing the dried blood off his face, washing his curly dark hair. As he stepped out, he looked at himself nude in the mirror. A small-framed boy, but he had grown a few inches in the last few years. In more ways than one. His once small manhood was becoming modest in size, accompanied by a scrub of dark curly hair sprouting around it. An uncomfortable thought flickered in the back of his mind, about something he heard in biology class.
I wonder how big da-
He pushed the thought away, ignoring the strange feeling in his stomach. He toweled his hair off and went to his room to get dressed.
Dinner went by uneventfully; thankfully, his father knew better than to start an argument at the table in front of the younger siblings. Nobody mentioned the darkening purple cloud forming over his right cheek, or the red indents on his forearm. They didn't have to ask.