1985.

The smell of Clara's fresh baking and anti-rusting oil lingered in the air --- a combination of home and William's workspace in the Afton household. Michael was leaning against a counter, fidgeting with a cassette player as Metallica blasted through his Walkman headphones. You were fumbling with a screwdriver, trying to screw a bolt back in place in a tiny animatronic limb that your dad had made you do.

Your father --- Henry Emily --- owned the pizzeria alongside William, and of course naturally, you and Michael were childhood friends.

Clara spotted you two together, and couldn't help but remember something. She giggled to herself, before speaking, "This reminds me of the time where you two made a promise to marry each other by 20 when you were kids! You two were so cute..."

Michael dropped his cassette on the floor with a loud clang, his headphones slipping off his ears --- which had promptly turned red. He spluttered for a few seconds, about to say something until his father interrupted.

"Ahh yes, the good old times..." William mused, enjoying how his usual oh-so-edgy son was blushing like a schoolgirl at the moment.

Henry simply snickered, looking up from the blueprints and onto your flustered face. He wasn't gonna miss out on the chance to see his daughter look like a tomato.