coldblood || Michael Afton X Reader

chapter 4 ~ i don't

Walking behind the counter, Jennie greeted me with a hug. Only she knew how much I needed it right now. The nights felt like they were getting worse, for sure a sign of the seasons changing soon. I was feeling it in my chest. Oh, that, and I was sneezing already. Fucking allergies.

I sat my stuff down, and decided I'd go say hi to Michael, earning a few hushed "oooo's" from the idiots behind the worn down counter. He was looking in the 80s box again, flipping through it hoping to find one of his favorite 80s albums I assumed.

As I was approaching, I could see the expression on his face. He had a rather somber look today, as if he had received some distressing news recently. I hoped he was doing at least, somewhat decent...

"It's good to see you again!" I said in a cheerful tone while tapping on Michael's shoulder. Hoping I could make him feel a little better, giving him a smile as well.

He turned around, I had accidentally scared him a bit. "Oh, I didn't see ya' there Y/N. How're you doing today? I hope good!" He chuckled, while trying his best to change his expression. I think he knew I already saw it though. He didn't know I could see him.

"Could be better, could be worse."

"Fair enough."

"So, what brings you in today, Michael? Anything you're looking for in particular?" I was curious why he'd come in two days in a row. Did he plan on frequenting this place, like buying a new record was his form of buying a coffee. I mean, to be fair, we did have a mini coffee shop in our store, but it was also ran by the four of us, so the menu was very, very, limited on options.

"I'm looking for Rio by Duran Duran. I hope you have one."

"Here, let's look together. There's five 80s bins, and one of our lovely co-workers never organizes the 80s in alphabetical order to spite me." I let out an irritated laugh while I grit my teeth. Like, seriously? Talk about petty, Masaki.

"I'd really appreciate your help! By the way, anyone who spites the 80s has something wrong with them. Who am I to talk about having things wrong with them though? I love the 80s and I've got plenty shitty....issues. What if we are the problem?" Michael snickers.

"You and me both. Trust me when I say we aren't the problem, though. We made it possible for everyone to have the fun they have now. The 80s rock." I have a smug look on my face. Nice pun, Y/N. Go me!

We both begin to laugh. I'm sure at this point we have the same humor, so I don't think I need to hold much back anymore on my jokes. I do wonder what that "something wrong" with him was. The glazed over looks he kept having? Probably. I might learn in time.

"So, may I ask what those tattoos you have mean?" Michael asked out of nowhere, the question kind of catching me off guard. I had tattoos on both of my arms. The one on my left arm connected to the one on my hand and middle finger. They were all dots, that came together to form a diamond. Above the diamond, were three smaller ones, then the smaller diamond directly below my middle finger, dotted up into my middle finger, until just above the knuckle, which had a heart on it.

"That one is just one that I got that I thought looked cool. Most of them are. To be honest, I really only have one with a deep meaning. It has a small iris flower with the words, vivid violet, above it. A friend of mine has a matching one in the same spot on his arm. A small blue bonnet flower, with the words, my blue, above it. Blue is my favorite color. Purple was his." I explain to him, he seems to be listening very intently. "Do you have any?"

He keeps aimlessly flipping through the records in front of him. He must be determined to find that vinyl, but I don't like being ignored. Suddenly he blinks a few times, and looks back up at me.