Note: In case you're not aware, ALL of the Fazbear Guards had a bit of a redesign, so some details are different. This will soon be effective in all the chapters. *cartwheels into fire*

201: Basketball
Mike flexed his fingers, using his palm to dribble the ball halfway down the court again, unamused. The court itself is nearly empty, save for himself. It's still a fresh Saturday evening, so the sky was getting darker with a new hue of pink and purple flooding the clouds. All snotty kids and bratty teenagers had gone home for the day, and there was only soul left with enough interest to spectate the athlete. If hardly.
Jeremy sat quietly in the bench a few yards away, his nose buried in a book. It's a story he's already read, but too good of a tale to put down.

He's halfway through the page's second paragraph when it's ripped not so graciously away, the book dropping to the ground in a clutter of pages. Green eyes turn from the crumpled mess to the rolling ball retreating from the character, trailing his gaze to the culprit besides him. "What was that for? I was r-reading that!"

Mike shrugs. "You looked bored."

Jeremy wrinkles his nose. "I was perfectly fine reading."

"Fine. You sitting there bores me." Mike snarked, striding over to the basket ball and bouncing it back up into his hold. "You gonna shoot or what?"

As expected, the nightwatch raises a brow in confusion. "...I don't play sports. You know I don't have a chance at getting a score."

"What's the harm in trying, then? Chicken."

Jeremy would like to say that the sly comment was immature, but he catches himself sticking his tongue out at the remark, keeping his retort to himself. "I'm not chicken"

The ball is flying towards his head before he can register it. Instinctively, he holds up his hands to shield, only for the surface to contact with his palm, shakely catching the projectile. He looks up to a smug smile, Mike shoving his hands into his pocket. "Prove it"

Taking a deep breath, Jeremy stands from the bench and walks a few yards, sneakers only stopping a few paces from the clearly marked line. He spares Mike a half-hearted glance to the side before squaring his shoulders and breathing in. With as much strength as he could pull together, he pushed his palms forwards and shoots.

Not only does he miss, but the ball had the nerve to bounce directly off the edge of the basket ring, sending it spiraling back towards the pair. Mike's too busy trying to think of some sort of half-ass remark on the kid's poor aim to see the ball incoming.

"FUCK!" There's an audible thwack as basketball makes impact with his nose, and Jeremy swears he hears something crack. Half a second later and Mike has his torso craned towards the ground, hissing. Jeremy hesitates, walking closer. He can't tell if the security guard is laughing or cursing him underneath his breath, but it doesn't stop the tiny giggle escaping his throat regardless. "Told ya"

202: Bloody Nose (Continued)

Mike pinched his nose, holding his head backwards until he could feel a trickle of liquid slither down his throat. It was a strange feeling, but the hands cupping his cheeks were a much more distracting factor. "This was your fault, you know." He spies Jeremy wiping his blood off of his hands onto his sleeve, 'his' being Mike's, mind you. "You're such a fucking twat"

Jeremy smiles. "C'mon tough guy, d-don't be such a chicken..."

203: Fishing

"So..." Mike trails off, "How am I supposed to hook this again?"

Jeremy glances up from the bait box and stares, eyeing the security guard attempt at attaching bait to a poorly strung string and fishing pole. "You're going to s-stick yourself if you keep trying to tie it like that!" He interrupted, swiftly taking the pole from the man, much to the guard's distain. "I'll fix it for you. Can you keep an eye out for any activity in the water, maybe?" He urges, pointing off towards the pier. "Just don't go past the safety bars, ok?"

His response is a curt scoff and a sharp turn of the heel, grumpily stalking off in the direction of wherever the nightwatch seemed to have directed him, mumbling something like a child being sour about being scolded. "I'll go as far as I fucking want to" Mike spat, stalking away.

Jeremy sighed, readjusting the hook and attaching the bait properly. It didn't surprise him that Mike's never been fishing before, having been raised in the city and with no one to teach him. Though, it was never too late to learn and summer vacation was always a good chance to-

The sound of water splashing breaks his concentration and he glances up from the pole, blinking at the spot where Mike should have been. But there's no one on the pier but himself.

204: Yard Sale

Neither of them were going to be allowed yard sailing in the neighborhood ever again.

Mike was either too busy trying to haggle a couple hundred dollars worth of absolute junk for a couple bills he had stashed in his pockets, while Jeremy is off poking random assortment of objects, resulting in one broken glass, a crying baby doll with a broken voice box that won't shut up, and apparently the owner's cat that Jeremy had the unfortunate experience of discovering that no, it was not a stuffed antique.

205: Fuzzy

Mike, for the most part, didn't care about his appearance when it wasn't being a factor held against his work. So outside of the security guard position, he hardly kept any of daily weekday routines in check. One of the which would be the most vital part of his morning: Shaving.

Jeremy doesn't seem to realize, or at least care, in the sudden change of pace until mid-holiday break, when neither of them have been to work in days and Mike's outwards appearance has taken a turn for the I-really-don't-give-a-shit route. Sure, the guy still showers, but the scruffy texture along side the bottom half of his face was making him look much older than he was supposed to seem.

The man could grow a head of hair if he wanted to, save for the fact that it would be untamable mess and he would have absolutely no experience on how to take care of it, style it or such, but Jeremy remembers being told something about hair getting in the way of treating the scar when medical attention was needed. And since it was an often occurrence, Mike kept his 'hair' extremely short. Hardly anything, sometimes nothing.

With all the factors in mind, Jeremy couldn't care less how the man looked, just as long as he shaved that scruffy, scratchy facial hair Mike seemed to accumulate after some time off. Though, the security guard makes sure to shove his face into the crook of Jeremy's neck and nuzzle his skin just to annoy the absolute fuck out of him before having to be rid of it. Typical Schmidt.

206: Happy

There's something about a late night text on a weeknight in the middle of a nightshift and a drive back home, or the slow mornings with textbooks scattered across the coffee table and shoes tossed carelessly towards the door that give him a feeling he can't quite place.

It's not relief, he'd know it if it was. It wasn't routine either, like an OCD or a feeling like something had to go a certain way or everything would fall out of place. No, more like 'this has to happen and this must go this way for it to happen again because I want it to happen again'.

It's a complex thought and not something Mike's brain damage could properly process. He knows what happiness is, and he knows how it's achieved, whether to get the mind drunk or the body beaten, there was always a human need for content. One that needed to be satisfied. How he got to that point, however, it beyond him. He knew what it was, he just didn't know how to reach it yet.

Turns out, with one addition of some goofy kid with a hair full of fluff and a mouth full of stutters, he wouldn't need to learn how to get his 'happiness', just figure out how to keep it.

207: Repair

"Seriously? You don't know how to change the oil? Change the tires?" Mike scrolls from underneath the truck. his back kept safely off the hot concrete thanks to some scooter board Jeremy's mother had stashed away in their garage. "Do you even know how to drive, dipshit?"

Jeremy frowns, kicking a pebble with his flip flop. "I n-never had a an issue with cars or anything like that...and your truck is pretty run down anyway."

The security guard's response is to roll out from underneath the vehicle just enough to give the brunette a greasy glare. Luckily for Jeremy, he's hardly bothered. "You have oil on your shirt."

"Yeah, sure, whatever" Mike waves him off, giving a playful kick towards the younger male's legs. "Go play with your barbie buggies or whatever."

Jeremy huffs, crouching down to his knees. He can practically feel the emerald burning through his skin as he rolls back under the truck, a smug grin plastered on his mouth. A moment passes and he thinks Jeremy's gone back inside the cool, air-conditioned house. But he feels a tap on his ankle and inwardly moans, rolling back out for what seemed like the fifth time that minute. Jeremy is crouched down to his level, "What-?"

He's being kissed before he can do anything to prevent it, not like he'd want it to stop anyhow. With his back laying flat on the skateboard, Jeremy uses one hand to hold his bangs from drooping in his face as his mouth locks with Mike's, taking the security guard by surprise. Needless to say, he returns the favor.

Breaking apart, Mike raises a brow and sets his wrench to the side, sitting upwards. He opens his mouth to ask the obvious question, but Jeremy beats him to it.

The nightwatch beams a bright smile. "Teach me out to change the oil? Please?"

208: Bunny

Blue eyes narrowed, tracking the subtle movement in Jeremy hoodie jacket. Something was off, and the choice of clothing itself was a hint. No one should be wearing a bulky hoodie in the middle of spring, not even Mike himself was closed in enough to pull a stunt like that and risk heat stroke. But sure enough, Jeremy was bundled in a jack a good two sizes too big for him, looking quite content with himself.

Though, he's being undoubtedly still. "...What are you hiding, Jeremy?" Mike teased, only partly joking. "Drugs? If you're trying to smuggle shit, you're doing it the wrong way."

The brunette thins his mouth into a line, body growing even more tense. "I-I'm not hiding anything!"

"Bullshit." Mike snarks, walking a bit closer. He half expects the night watch to step away, but he stands his ground instead. Without warning, much less hesitation, the man takes a finger a prods the front of his jacket, jabbing his index into Jeremy's chest. The nightwatch raises a brow, unphased.

For a moment, a flash of a frown spreads across MIke's face and he believes he's been beaten, but then something shuffles underneath the clothing. Jeremy pales as the security guard gives a sly smirk, reaching forward and quickly tugging down the younger male's front zipper before he could protest. "H-hey!"

A small, furry little ear peaks out from the confinement of the hoodie, followed by another. Soon enough, the head popped through with glossy innocent eyes, and a soft pink nose.

Jeremy shutters nervously, timidly placing a protective hand over the bunny's head in a feeble attempt to coax it back inside the jacket. Mike stifled a chuckle, pointing towards a poster on the far side of the wall. "No outside pets in the pizzeria."

The argument is expected. "B-but he's just-"

"I am not going to lose my job because you brought a damn rabbit to work."

209: We're Keeping It (Continued)

It's only 3:42 AM and Mike is pretty sure the rabbit is going to be the end of him. Except this time, it wasn't a metal, haunted torn up robotic one. It was one much smaller, much cuter, and much, much more annoying.

Jeremy makes sure to keep his thumb on the music box control as he softly pets the creature, it's white form snugged up near his nametag, nuzzling into his neck. Mike catches himself glancing at the runt every moment or so, from the flashlight to the hallways to the bunny making itself comfortable.

He groans to himself when Jeremy leans his to the side ever so slightly, a tiny smile on his face as the bunny brushes against his ear. Mike's usual snark is tardy. "One day, I'll have to stop letting you break rules like this."

Jeremy pouts. "Like you haven't b-broken them yourself before..." He smiles, using a single finger to lightly pat the bunny's head. "Besides, you like her."

"Shush"

210: Bookstore

Mike promised him one. Not two. Not three. One book, and only one book.

How they ended up with a cart full of trilogies and a handful of sketchpads was entirely beyond him. He could practically feel his wallet aching.

The woman at the cash register looks nothing more than amused, watching the man mutter something rude under his breath as he digs for a few bills, a peppy, more than ecstatic brunette standing behind him. She laughs as he pays the tax, scoops up the load of literature and practically stomps out the bookstore's door, the smaller figure following close behind.

"What are all these for, anyway?" Mike groans, tossing the merchandise in the back seat of the truck. Emerald eyes swiftly turn to glare at him for a split second before returning to adjust the seat, raising the books against their sides so they wouldn't topple to the floor boards. His lack of response makes Mike impatient.

"You promised you'd buy me some, remember?" Jeremy beams, already climbing into the passenger seat and buckling his seatbelt before the security guard even has time to round the hood of the truck. "You know, last night when-"

"I said I'd take you to get one book for your Mom's birthday, not that'd I'd buy you a damn library." The older man's tone is full of annoyance, and there's a hint of exhaustion in his voice as well. "You fucking owe me for this"

"...Can I just read you a bedtime story instead?"

Before turning the key and starting the engine, Mike hesitates. "Maybe"

211: He's not feeling like himself.

Jeremy will give himself credit; he's been getting better at detecting a lie.

He's naive, and he knows it. But lately, things have been a lot more clearer than they had been, not that any of the strange occurrences made any more sense, just that he was able to pick up on clues that he normally wouldn't have been able to notice before. Simple, little things. Changes in body language, a shift in the way someone talked. It was become a second nature to him.

Ironically, the one to blame for this new development is someone who's bullshit meter should have been hitting the rooftops by now.

It's the same excuse nearly every evening, only modified. "One of the kids threw something at me" Mike would say, careful to clean the blood off of his neck. "It's only a scratch, don't sweat it, kiddo."

And as you'd believe, Jeremy would trust him. The subject was dropped and the conversation never arose again. But when the injuries began to occur more frequently, that's when the puzzle pieces began to click.

If it was a bruise, it was simply a 'trip over a stage wire' story. If it was a cut, it was a 'sliced while dividing the pizza' lie. The man even had the nerve to come up with excuses on the spot the moment Jeremy could tell that two of his fingers were broken.

Mike had a plan, one to keep things under wraps and to let it all blow over. Things were complicated, too far gone for even him to understand. The less Jeremy knew, the better.

But the plan turns to ash and so does his hope of walking out of the building without a confrontation when he turns the corner into the locker room, shocked to see Jeremy peeking a intrusive nose into what was supposed to be Schmidt's locker.

"I don't understand..." The brunette whispered, hand brushing over the handle of the axe. It was supposed to be hidden underneath his casual change of clothes, but apparently, Jeremy knew better to look past the obvious. "Mike, tell me what's wrong."

Shoulders tense and avoiding eye contact, the security guard feels something bad churn in his stomach, but he's able to shrug it off. "I'm fine."

Jeremy looks less than impressed, settling the axe back into it's spot."You're not"

He can feel his fingers twitch in his pockets. "I'm telling you, we're fine-"

"We're?"

Jeremy repeats again, just to watch the body swallow and realize the mistake. With a curt nod and turn of the heel, Mike walks out of the locker room. leaving the nightwatch in silence and confusion.

212: Stories

He's known as the lost cause. That dramatic tragedy that starts off bad and spirals into a shit storm of agony with burnt lies and no hope for the future. Mike's entire goddamn life story is cliche, one big mess of plot twists and dead characters and an obviously head coming for an unhappy ending.

Jeremy doesn't like how that fairytale is going to end. So he's going to rewrite it.

213: Arson

You can never tell a if someone's a pyromaniac from the first impression. You only learn it later, whether by accident or by obvious intrusion, when something gets set ablazes and it's ashes forever, and the only one to blame is someone you trusted the most.

Jeremy is one spark away from losing it all, and Mike is already convinced he's got nothing else to lose.

The security guard realizes his mistaken assumption when he spots a flash of green amongst the blaring heat.

214: Red Cheeks

For the first time his his life, Jeremy isn't the one with the tomato pasted skin. It's a humorous change of events to be Mike this time, burying his face into his hands and trying to lower his beanie over his eyes. The best part? It's not just some pink tint or light flush, it's a full blown out red faced mask, speaking from his nose to his ears.

Mike grits his teeth, the nightwatch giving him a soft, clearly entertained laughter. "Y-You're blushing!"

"It's sunburn."

215: Learning Manners

There have been times when Mike should have known to keep his mouth shut.

The man was as rude as they come, cursing under his breath in public, roughly bumping into other people on the streets and hardly sparing an apology, if someone just so happened to jump on the same bus as him that he just had a 'feeling' about, he'd say what's on his mind, resulting in many arguments and fights that could have easily been prevented.

It was routine by now; the landlord lady knew he would always rant her out every morning, the city bus driver groaned every time he climbed aboud, even Fazbear's Manager was beginning to lose patience when Mike started picking fights with kid's parents, criticizing just how easily they let their little brats out of their sight.

Things because a lighter, and a little stranger when over time, there's a shift in the behavior.

He doesn't pick fight with strangers anymore, and if someone even attempts to strain his nerves, surprisingly enough, he turns the other cheek. He's not as loud, he's not as grumpy. Hell, this last Friday, that poor landlord of his almost had a heart attack when the man gave a small smile while paying his rent, even so much as muttering a "Have a good day" when leaving the office.

As he left, he locks hands with a stranger she doesn't recognize, the brunette turning his head and giving her a pleasant smile as they walked away.

216: Vending Machine

There were mixed feelings on the new addition to the Fazbear employee's locker room, including on the thought on how Management was even able to afford the thing, much less it's purpose.

Fazbear's is a pizzeria full of cheesy triangles, cheap candy and enough frosted cupcakes to fulfill a childhood dream, and then some. Sure, it wasn't the best or the healthiest meal to eat for lunch everyday, but it was still food. Mike's eaten enough pizza on his breaks that he's more than willing to give this new vending machine a chance.

The machine demanded payment, however, and with his pitiful wage, he'd be damned before he pays $1.50 for a bag of lays that's 70% air.

Jeremy is less than impressed one evening when he clocks into work, stepping inside the locker room just to see Mike turn around with sharp movements, hands behind his back, hiding in a comical fashion.

Before he can even open his mouth to explain, Mike watches Jeremy's eyes trail from him to the wired vending machine sat up against the far wall, raising an eyebrow when he realized the glass hinges were unscrewed, leaving the food inside exposed.

The security guard shuffled his hold of merchandise into view, quickly stuffing the bags into his respective locker "Don't tell the Manager."

Jeremy pouted. "Only if you share!"

217: Silver Voice

Once you know someone for a while, you get accustomed to their voice. The way they speak, how they sometimes stutter or perhaps slur certain vowels. There's always that one word they can never pronounce correctly or even regular pitches their voice raises to when speaking on a certain term.

The thought recurs in Mike's mind as he listens to the click of the phone hanging up, Jeremy setting it back down on the holder and turning away. The security guard made sure to keep his sights on the tablet, flickering to camera and screen as the nightwatch plopped back down in his seat, flashlight in hand.

"So..." The older man coughs, not sparing a glance. "Who was that on the phone just now? We're not supposed to get calls at night."

Jeremy hesitates to answer, staring blankly at the flashlight switch. With a deep breath, he puts up a smile. "Wrong number."

There's a catch in his tone that brings Mike's attention to look up. "Wrong number? Who calls a children's pizzeria by accident?" He questions, scrunching up his nose. "At night?"

The light haired brunette shrugs, fingers tapping dully on the light switch. "Sometimes,." His smile softens, "People don't know any better."

The nightwatch turns and shines a light down the hallway, Mike watching in suspicious. Honestly, there was no reason to feel as cautious as he was, but as Jeremy swivels back towards his direction, he could have sworn he saw a flash of silver over those green eyes.

218: Good Boy

Fazbear's new animatronic has been a hit with the kids, no doubt about it. Though, it's purpose wasn't really made for the children to interact with in the first place, it didn't stop the brats from following the dog all around the Pizzeria as it made it's rounds, keeping careful guard over the ball pit and the merry-go round.

Jeremy is just clocking in as Management leaves the building, waving with a discord face to a Fritz situated on the far side of the room, occupied.

Amber eyes stare forwards, watching as the security dog plucked a child out of the ball bit and set them gently on the ground, walking away with even more toddlers trailing on his tail. "They really seem to like the new Guard dog animatronic, don't they?" The temp worker jokes, elbowing the nightwatch as he fixed his bag to the side. "Don't know why they still pay me when this mutt can do my job. Ya know? Replace me, I mean."

Jeremy sticks his bottom lip out, sparing a glance towards the bot. "H-He's not supposed to interact with the children." He pauses, attaching his name tag properly into place. "What if he hurts them? Picks them up too h-harshly or something..."

Fritz snorts, crossing his arms and leaning against the support beam. "You don't see him during dayshift hours like I do. He's harmless, Jere." His reassures is hardly anything worth note taking, but it's a start. "He's just a puppy."

Jeremy blinks. "He growls at night."

"At you?"

"...I don't know.."

Taking a deep breath, Fritz picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, checking the time on his phone. "Families are almost done piling outta here and your shift starts in a few. I already plugged the tablet up for you, but I couldn't find the flashlight." He stuffs it back inside his pocket, shuffling towards the door. "I think there's a spare in one of the employee trunks."

Nodding, Jeremy straightens his shirt and gives a solid thumbs up. "I'll find it. Thanks, Fritz"

Fritz smiled and mumbled something too quiet for the nightwatch to catch before sauntering out the door, bringing his headphones upwards and turning up the volume to what Jeremy assumed to be the loudest. The man stepped past the glass doors and disappeared down into the parking lot.

Jeremy stands and watches the last family take their leave with careful observation, about to turn on his heel to head to the locker room when something lightly brushes his shoulder. Feels like...breathing?

He whipped around, heart pounding and eyes wide. Blinking as reality came back to him, he rolled his eyes and slouched, feeling a headache just around the bend. "D-don't sneak up on me like that." He moaned, "It scared me."

Mikey's plastic eyes simply stared, his body frozen less than inches from the nightwatch's figure. A bit too close than Fazbear's rules stated, for a human being to get to an animatronic without proper authorization. But with this robot picking up children and practically acknowledging the managers existence, it's safe to say that certain rules were not coded properly. If there was any at all.

The nightwatch is about to sidestep the animatronic when a glint of light catches his eye. Tilting his head up, he stares directly into the mutt's mouth, it's teeth dangerously close to his head, just brushing the tips of his hair. But there's something stuck, or even being 'held' in it's jaws. A flashlight?

If the manager caught him pulling this sort of stunt, Jeremy would have been given janitor duty, or at least a warning. But who's to blame him for trusting an animatronic so easily, especially when all the puppy wants to do is play fetch?

And so, without hesitation; Jeremy raises his arm, sticks his hand between the dog's teeth and plucks the flashlight from his mouth, smiling as the mutt whined in response. Of course Mikey wouldn't bite his hand off; he'd sooner chase his own tail.

Speaking of which, Jeremy's smile brightened when he spots the tail beginning to wag, the animatronic ears tilting and turning as far as it's bolts would allow it to. It's cute, but he can't waste his time to give this puppy a belly rub when they both needed to get to their respective stations anyhow.

Attaching the flashlight to his belt and leaning up on his tippy toes, Jeremy clasps the sides of Mikey's muzzle, bringing him down just enough to plant a soft, little kiss at the tip of it's nose. "Good boy."

219: Space

There are some kinds of people in this world that walk into the room and take all the space available in it and then some. They leave no spot untouched, gracing every spot with either a breath or a glance. They took up too much room. Too much time. Too much space.

Mike's mind may be damaged, but he know better than to allow this sort of reaction from himself. Though, even when he tried his hardest to keep Jeremy off his mind, it gets cluttered.

He can't bring himself to get rid of such pleasant memories.

220: Jersey

The room smells like stale alcohol and sweat, something Mike was accustomed to. Add the crowding bodies all shuffling together in one big group and the blaring ceiling lights, and you had what someone might have called a riot. It wasn't, though. No, it was just a harmless get together, or so the security guard claims.

Emerald eyes watch cautiously from the sidelines, knees pulled up onto the seat as Jeremy stared out into the rink, tracking a familiar figure. Grey tank, black bandana, not hard to miss. But with all of the constant movement, one punch being thrown after another and repeated dodges to the outer line, he would catch himself second glancing.

The nightwatch dully notes the seat next to him creaking as someone sat down, a blur in the corner of his eye.. "...I thought boxing matches w-were supposed to end when the competitors reach a certain amount of points." The brunette's soft voice is hardly heard over the cheering crowd surrounded the pit, but Fritz manages to hear him anyway. The nightwatch fidgets for a moment. "It's been ten minutes since the bell rang...shouldn't they be finished by now?"

The temp worker gave a shrug, flicking his phone out for a split second. "Eight minutes, actually," He corrected, texting a few numbers and adjusting his cellphone volume. "Mike's got too much pride to finish on a draw, Jeremy. He doesn't the follow the rules."

A grace of a smile crawls onto the younger male's face. "No, he doesn't." He repeats, a hint of laughter in his tone. "Neither do you. Cell Phones were supposed to be turned off once we got inside, Fritz."

Amber eyes lit up with amusement, a smug smile sneaking onto his face. "Well, you're not supposed to be wearing the key player's boxing jersey, but you don't see me complaining, do ya?"

A hot, flush feeling ran up the nightwatch's skin and settled at his cheeks, Jeremy resisting a pout as he crossed his arms. The motion only made Fritz laugh harder. "Dude, you're wearing the name 'Schmidt' all over you. You might as well get it tattooed on your forehead."

Rolling his eyes, Jeremy snagged the phone from the distracted man's grasp, ignoring the playful grunt he received in response. Keeping the prize far away from it's original owner, Jeremy took a deep breath and prepared a retort."I spilt something on my shirt on the way here. Mike was just h-helping me out."

"Is that why he keeps glancing over here at every minute break?" Fritz interrupted, his smile growing wider at the younger male's realization. "If you want proof, nows your chance to look."

A confused green haze stared blankly at the older male, blinking before swiftly turning his attention back to the rink. Sure enough, green met blue, and Mike quickly turned away, acting as if the act had never occurred.

Jeremy felt the phone slip smoothly out of his hand. "Boy, look at you, Fitzgerald." Fritz chuckled, raising a brow at the ever growing hue in the nightwatch's cheeks. "Oh my fucking god, you're a fucking cheerleader." He snorts, tossing his arm around the smaller figure. "What? Aren't ya gonna stand up and dance for him?"

The brunette puts, gluing his eyes to the rink as Fritz laughed into his shoulder.

221: Snore

The first night they slept in the same bed together, Mike nearly kicked Jeremy off the bed and the poor nightwatch almost considered smothering the damned security guard with a pillow.

Many nights of footsie and blanket hogging later, it's safe to say that Mike still snores like a walrus, but Jeremy drools all over him regardless.

222: Love Letter

Never in his life has Mike Schmidt written a love letter.

Petty, useless pieces of paper with cheesy words scribbled on them. It was pathetic, even more so to think that a couple of pencil marks against some printer paper stuffed inside a envelope was going to help him 'woo' whatever or whoever he decided was worth giving a damn about.

There's some repressed memory in the back of his mind consisting of a rainy Thursday, with his old high school self opening his locker to see some pink, crumpled piece of scrap tumble out. Thinking it was a spare note, thank god, he unfolded it and straightened it best he could. What he hoped to be some roughly written history notes was actually some neatly, pretty cursive writing decorated across the page. A sneer crawled on his face, tossing the letter into the trash nearby, not caring to read what was inside.

Later that day, he hears a classmate of his gossiping about this chick getting stood up behind the school. When he overhears the part about her apparent cry, he doesn't know whether to cringe or to laugh. So he snickered in silence.

Now he wishes he wasn't such an asshole, wishing that he would have had least skimmed the letter before tossing it away. Because here he was, clueless as he could be with a pencil attached to his palm and a paper with eraser shavings scattered all over the front of it.

The furthest he got so far that could qaulify as 'decent' was a "Dear Fucksgerald-"

Mike groans, snatching the paper up in a fist and throwing it across the room. His head hits the table with a solid thud just as the crumple bounces into the trashbin, comically surrounded by it's other failures.

He'll figure this out. Eventually.

223: Aquarium

Tan fingers tapped against the thick glass, earning a few stares from passerbyers and the aquarium employees that happened to be stationed nearby. Jeremy was sure even some of the fish was attempting to glare at Mike through their protective barrier, quickly swimming to and fro as the security guard disturbed their tank.
"Heh, look at em," Mike smirked, standing straight up. "You wanna hurry up and go see the sharks already? These lame twats ain't shit. They're harmless"

Jeremy shifted his feet, his hands stuffed securely in his pockets. "The l-label on the tank says they're dangerous..." He glanced towards the fish again, eyesing it's bright red scales. "Maybe you shouldn't provoke it like that....What are you doing?!"

224: Steal (Continued)

The older man froze mid-motion, his souvenir cup dipped halfway in the tank water and inching deeper. "What?"

"Y-you can't steal a fish from the aquarium!"

"Not if you don't keep fucking quiet." Mike hissed, tilting his head down the corridor. Sure enough, they were as isolated as the building would allow them to be, the nearest other human being concerning what Jeremy assumed to be the janitor mindlessly sweeping the floor. With headphones on the sides of his ears, he was completely oblivious.

By the time Jeremy turned back to give protest, Mike was already screwing the lid back on. "Keep your trap shut and just pretend it's soda." He muttered, holding the cup so casually that even the dampness staining his sleeves was hardly noticeable.

The light haired brunette whimpered something incoherent as the cup is shoved roughly into his chest, gathering to catch is before it tumbled to the floor. "W-what am I supposed to do with this-?"

"Well, don't drink it you dipshit." Mike snorts, "Now follow my lead."

225: Fishbowl (Continued)

It's a tiny, cheap, store bought fish bowl the size of a two soup bowls with some colorful rocks at the bottom. It was a bit pitiful, but Mike honestly looked too proud of himself that Jeremy couldn't find it within him to tell him any different.

They sat it on their coffee table, tracking the fins with blue and green eyes. The younger male sighed to himself, listening to the older man shuffle beside him as he tossed in bits of food like a child.

The guard had a goofy smile on his face. "Let's name it Jeremy."

"I am not a stolen fish,Mike."

226: Late Night Thoughts

There's a soft hum in the air, weaving through like silk. It's almost music, soothing and easy conducted as it was. A low pitch and a rumble in the back of Jeremy's mind, lulling him to sleep.

He's nearly dozed off when he rolls over to his right, intending for more comfort as something warm to stop him from falling off the edge of the bed before settling back again. But the spot is empty, and so forth he nearly topples to the ground.

Green eyes blink as he shakes his head, dazed but somewhat aware. Sleep still crept in the corners of his vision and his mind was a haze of dreams and peaceful thoughts, but fingers feeling around the sheets disappointed at the lack of findings was enough of hint to him that something was missing. Or someone, in this case.

There's hesitation when stepping out from underneath the comforters, half of conclusions fearing the skin of his bare feet meeting with the cold floor before awakening realization that socks do exist, and he stands with a slow stride, glancing towards the alarm clock. The blinking 'AM' in the digital display declares it morning, but the darkened sky past the bedroom window stated otherwise.

His body is moving before the mind could process it, towards the door in the hallway before he can stifle his own yawn. His hair is fluffed and wild, he's sure of it. His sweatpants and the shirt that wasn't really his were probably just as wrinkled and disheveled as well, but he didn't bother to peek inside the bathroom to check the mirror and gussy up. He's already in the kitchen before the thought crosses his mind.

227: Hot Chocolate (Continued)

As expected, Mike is sitting at the dinner table with his head slumped over and a still steaming of cup of something held in his open hand.

He must have passed out getting something to drink. Jeremy walks closer, rubbing his eyes to rid the blur from his sight. Peering over into the cup, it's filled with something creamy and sweet smelling. Hot chocolate, most likely.

He's half a second away from turning heel and fetching Mike a blanket, given that he obviously wouldn't be able to drag the security guard back to bed with his own strength, when a tan hand twitches, reaching out and gently clasping around his wrist as he waddled past him.

Mike keeps his head down, but he's awake. "...Morning..."

Jeremy blinks once, twice, and gives up on the third. The voice is muffled, but welcome to his ears. "Morning, Mike"

"...What are you doing out of bed?"

He hears Jeremy giggle. "I w-was about to ask you that."

The man lifts his head ever so slightly, bright blue peeking out from the darkness of the home like a glow. "I needed to think."

"Oh" Jeremy musters, his dazed mind too fuzzy to comprehend the statement fully, much less a better response for it. "Okay"

A minute passes and Jeremy takes a deep breath, the slow soothing wave of exhaustion falling over him again. Now, he could either stand here in silence or he could leave Mike be to his thought and return to that oh-so-welcoming bed and all of it's comfort again. And given the man's characteristics, Mike would probably want to left alone anyway.

But for some, absolute silly and strange reason, Jeremy feels the need to stop his thoughts and sit on the floor.

Mike's head tilts up and a grace of a smile tints his mouth as he watches the younger male cris-cross his legs and stare up at the security guard, half-lidded eyes blinking slowly. "What are you doing, Jere?"

"...I dunno" Jeremy yawns, sparing ices a warm smile. "What are you doing?"

Mike's smile fades. "I don't know."

"That makes two of us."

The security guard rolls his eyes, resisting a scoff. Without so much as a word, he leans down and nips at the nightwatch's neck with his fingers, allowing the brunette to give a soft giggle before he's pulled upwards in the other man's lap. With this sudden warmth, the bed doesn't seem as inviting anymore. Jeremy quite happily situated where he is now.

Mike is slouched back in the chair, thankful that it was cushioned instead of those cheap, hard wooden dining chairs you'd get from a garage sale or something. It's easy to stretch his legs out too, his shoulders relaxed and his arms curved around Jeremy, the brunette's head tucking underneath his chin.

The apartment is silent, save for the deep rumble of a hum that can still be heard flowing through the air. It was nice, calming even, and the way it harmonized with Mike's heartbeat only made sleep much more evident. It wouldn't be long before he was out of it again.

"So..." Jeremy yawns again, his voice hardly a whisper. "What were you...thinking...about...?" He smiles, soft voice trailing off.

Mike blinks slowly, taking his fingers and running them up from the back of the brunette's neck to the top of his head, tenderly twirling locks around his fingers. "...If you would say 'yes' or not..."

Jeremy doesn't hear him, too lulled by the rumble of the night. Mike follows soon after, both falling into a tranquil sleep.

By the time they wake up, the Hot Chocolate on the table has gotten cold.

228: Silent Return

Jeremy recalls this one night, when he forgot to charge his phone before he left for work and to mention it to his nail-head of a co-worker as he left. Sure, it didn't really mean anything bad for him, but considering he had no way to contact the outside world while working on the most dangerous nightshift this week. The best part? Mike wasn't allowed to tag along for the ride.

So imagine that early Saturday morning, as a yawning Jeremy lifts his head up from the desk, rubbing his eyes. He usually follows routine, double checking the animatronic positions, plugging up the charger, storing the flashlight and unlocking the front doors. This morning, however, had a slight change of pace.

Mike is wide awake, bags under his eyes as he readjusts his position in his swivel chair. He's still wearing casual clothes, just a pair of jeans, sneakers and what Jeremy assumes to be an old college sweatshirt. His beanie looks like the only unwrinkled article of clothing he had on at the moment, but either way, the man looked exhausted.

Dazed, emerald eyes blinked the sleep away as he blew the bangs out of his eyes, staring up into icy blue. No words were needed.

Mike had this bad habit of coming back in the middle of the night, right smack dab as the shift took a turn for the worst. How he manages to make it to the office without getting stuffed is a mystery the nightwatch will probably never know, but he'll nag him about it later.

Right now, Jeremy just needed to get his poor Mikey a cup of coffee. The man looked horrible. Proud, but horrible.

229: Sight

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Blue eyes swerve from side to side, breath heavy and speech slurred. A loopy grin split the security guard's cheeks, spreading from ear to ear as both eyelids droop in slow, fluid motions.

Jeremy didn't even have to get close to the man to smell the alcohol on him. "Mikey, I n-need you to look in this direction for a moment..." He speaks as if he were talking to a child, but the security guard manages to turn his head his way regardless, slightly leaning to his right. Careful, the nightwatch steadies the man with one hand, holding his other up and open palmed for emphasis.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" He repeated. "...Mike?"

One blink, two blinks, the smile gets wider and a deep, rumble of a laugh echoes softly from the older man's raw throat. Instead of giving some bullshit answer, Mike raises his hand, palm facing outwards and places it gently over Jeremy's.

He stares at the difference with a satisfied daze. "Such...little hands..." He chuckled, "Baby hands"

Biting his lip, the nightwatch simply scoffs and lowers his arms to the security guard's sides, turning him on his heel and pushing him towards the bedroom. "Bedtime, Mikey."

230: Sharpies

The entire apartment was in ruin: Furniture turned over, light fixtures broken, picture frames dropped to the floor, couch cushions piled on top of one another and last but not least; a variety of markings scribbled all over the walls, from the tiled floors to the wooden boards to the wallpaper and even the inside of the door frame. There was not an inch of the apartment untouched.

Jeremy has his palm resting against his forehead, his other hand firmly grasping the confiscated sharpies used as accomplices to the crime.

Peeking through his fingers, he glares at his little cousin, sitting satisfied and rolling like a madman on the floor, covered in rainbow scribbles and elmer's glue.

Mike was going to kill him.

231: Magic

The protest in Mike's sneer was worth more than all the pairs of eyes the couple had upon them, eyeing him in disapproval whilst covering children's ears as strings of curses flew from his mouth. Jeremy managed to convince him anyway.

"This is fucking lame" The security guard grimed, glaring at both culprits. "Both of you are idiots. Magic isn't real, it's fake."

"Hypnosis isn't magic, sir, it is simply a trick of the mind." A strange man, clad in a theatrical vest and bow tie held the microphone. "It's completely safe, I assure you."

Mike was about spew another insult, something involving the velocity of the stranger's hat, yet he was cut off by a much more chipper voice. "I-It looks like fun! We don't get to see things like this around here often, so that means we should at least t-try it out, right?"

Blue eyes darted to green, the older man giving Jeremy a critical stare. But to his irritation, the younger male hardly seemed phased by his act of intimidation. "I'm not doing it."

"Pleaseeeeee?"

"No."

"But it's my birthday!"

"Your birthday isn't until next week."

"...you actually remembered?"

Mike's eye twitched, shrugging towards what little of a crowd the performance had attracted. There's hardly anyone paying attention. An old couple, a man with what looked to be his toddler daughter, a woman having no notice as to what's around her and some teenager glued to their phone.

Only six people, none of which look ready to humiliate him, or Jeremy in anyway. Not like he was paranoid or anything, he just simply didn't want to get bored, that's all.

Mike sighed and stepped up on stage. "Fine, but only once."

He catches a glimpse of Jeremy's glee filled smile as the teen returns to his seat, swinging his legs anxiously while watching the guard take his position. Mike swallows down the urge to twitch his own mouth into a grin. Now was not the time to toothy moron.

The stranger, now pleased to have a new victim volunteer, directed Mike to stand, sticking his hand into his vest pocket and pulling out what looked to be a small black case.

A lump forms in Mike's throat when he pulls out a watch on a golden chain, it's dial and numbers inscribed in red

"Now, try to relax, sir. Allow your energy to seep from your skin and out from your head." The stranger smiled, swinging the clock. "Simply allow your thoughts to go Blank."

232: Hypnotism (Continued)

Jeremy watched in awe as Mike's breathing became slower, his eyes drooped and his limbs went limp. The guard on stage was standing still, but obviously deprived of consciousness. The stranger, however, continued his chant of hypnosis that he couldn't quite hear.

The crowd had dispersed, the few remaining keeping their sole attention on the act. It was incredible, at least to the night watch, to see such a usually stoic and stiff man follow orders so with calmness and ease.

The time limit was sixty seconds, and the hand on the clock was ticking near fifty. So of course, the stranger turned back to the crowd. "As you can see, hypnotism is completely harmless. It's even healthy to be practiced in most cases. Good for stress and-"

His voice over the room abruptly cuts off, a hand reaching forward and snatching the watch from his grasp. Blinking, the stranger whips around to stare into the darkened eyes of his volunteer, raising a brow at how the man rotated the object between his fingers, glaring at it will dull interest.

Strange. They haven't gotten to the awakening step of hypnosis yet.

Though a bit confused, he simply adjusted his bow-tie and offered a polite smile. "I appreciate your admiration for my watch, sir, but I'm afraid I'll need it back. That doesn't belong to me, it belongs to my company, I'm afraid."

He was completely ignored, a harsh neutral expression plastered on Mike's face that he couldn't quite identify.

Impatient, the stranger placed a friendly hand on the security guard's shoulder. "Sir, I asked that you-"

Jeremy heard two things: someone screaming behind him and the sound of bone snapping. That, and perhaps his own heartbeat was making thrum as well.

The stranger's hand was caught mid-contact, another arm trailing up to grasp the elbow and forcibly twist the other in the opposite direction. With fingers curled around the man's wrist, his other hand pressed against the back of the arm, Mike grit his teeth as he pushed downward.

The bone had put up some resistance, naturally. But with another bend and curve of Mike's shoulder, he pressed his weight until the sound of something cracking could be heard, the sound of the bone's breakage drowned out by the man's painful wail.

Jeremy's already on stage at this point, chest hammering and fingers digging into the back of Mike's sweatshirt in a feeble attempt to pull him away. "MIKE!"

The watch, as well as the damaged stranger, fell to the ground as said guard whipped around, sharp eyes piercing the teen's own gaze and sending a shudder down his spine.

He raised his hand towards the brunette's neck, but paused when a familiar voice reached his ears once again.

"STOP IT"

One blink. Two blinks.

"...Mike, please..."

Three blinks. Blank.

"Jeremy?"

Breathe.

The night watch felt his worry die, pulse slinking to normal pace as Mike's skin returned from it's pale and sickly look, eyes gaining it's bright blue once more. Those eyes, with his expression, however, fell into a look of despair.

He takes one glance towards the mangled man beside him and snatched Jeremy's wrist, pulling him off the stage. "We're leaving"

"B-But...th-that man is h-hurt-!"

"You think I don't know that?"

With the pressure of Mike's grip around his wrist, Jeremy's feet are flying out from under him at this speed. Yet, he manages to spare a glance behind him, throat going dry at the scene.

The mall's security guards are rushing though the crowd, whom of which had the good sense to scatter before any more trouble could arrive. On the floor surrounded by men in black uniform sat upright the stranger, his broken arm laying limp beside him, whist staring grimly at his cracked watch with his other.

He looks up with fearful, angry eyes, mouth moving in what can only be assumed a stream of curses directed towards them.

Mike makes the mistake to glance back with Jeremy, catching sight of the man mouthing the word 'freak' just as the glass doors shut behind them.

They haven't been back since.

233: Weak

At first glance, Jeremy Fitzgerald is a petite, soft minded boy with a fear of heights and a fondness for all things sweet. The very definition of vulnerable.

He doesn't look like he would be able to lift more than he weighs himself, and that isn't very much to boot. Small, fragile hands and a voice as light hearted as a box of kittens, the night watch was virtually harmless.

All it takes it one very well coordinated scare and an a black eye for Mike to realize that Jeremy wasn't as weak as everyone thought. He was just incredibly oblivious.

234: Ornaments

"If you needed help reaching the top of the Christmas tree, you should have just let me do it."

Jeremy frowned at Mike's remark, readjusting his position. "J-just stay still, ok? I want to get this done before mom gets home."

"Well, speed it up then." The security guard mummered, keeping the nightwatch firmly raised by his shoulders. "Next year we're getting a shorter tree-"

Without warning, the front door swung open, a blast of cold winter air flowing into the living room at an alarming rate. The sudden temperature drop wasn't the only surprising factor, however, as another figure quickly stepped through the doorframe.

Both guards yelped in shock, tumbling to the floor. "I'm home! Picked up some more lights for the house!" Mrs. Fitzgerald smiles as she stepped into the warmth of the home, unwrapping her scarf and setting down shopping bags. "I figured you boys would like some help, so I came home...early..."

Mike groaned, an ache in his side an a pain in his cheek, lines scratching where Jeremy instinctively tried to catch his balance before crumbling the tower before them. Green and blue blink simultaneously, looking down at themselves in horror before switching attention to the amused observer in the room. "It's not what it looks like, we swear-"

"Really, now?" She laughs, "I was hoping it was. But to each their own, I suppose"

235: Monster

The funny thing about creatures like him was that he never asked to be this way, to become this sharp edged, tragic, mistake. Fairy tales make tough guys like him seem admirable, like they're something to live up to. But the lie in the tales were always covered by a lace of humanity and violet smoke.

He tried to make things right, honestly attempted to live how he wasn't destined. But it takes him six years, one lie and a coma later to realize that you can rip all the petals you want off a flower, but it always forgives you until you pluck its stem.

Wilting is something you can never prevent, and while he'll do anything to prolong that from happening, the thought of crumpling the flower himself when he's worked so hard to protect it is going to end him.

236: Morning

Mike threw the covers off of him with alarming speed, sitting upwards and glaring in the darkness towards a certain nightwatch, just sitting at the end of his bed.

Looking innocent enough, Jeremy simply smiled as ice iris seemed to glow from the darkness of the room. The security guard's mouth turned upwards into a teeth baring sneer. "You better have a damn good reason for waking me at the ass-crack of dawn."

A wide, cheek splitting smile flew onto Jeremy's face, the boy dramatically throwing his hands in the air. "Happy Birthday!"

He was met with dead silence, then a hand reached and snagged him by the front of his shirt, pulling him forward and pushing him back onto the mattress.

Jeremy yipped as he was pressed against the pillows, Mike mummering sleepy, slurred curses against his neck. "You're too fucking much" He sighs, a chuckle lacing his breath. "I'll deal with you in the morning. Go back to sleep"

237: Left Overs

It certainly wasn't the best looking dinner, but you have to admit that Mike did try, at least.

Jeremy hesitated before sticking a fork into the 'food', unsure of it's qualities. Smelled like meat, but textured like salad? Why is it colored like that, was it supposed to be that way? Did he intend for it to be so sticky?

Taking a deep breath, the nightwatch braced himself and closed his teeth around the fork, sliding it into his mouth. A few chews and a hopeful swallow later, he turns to an expectant Mike and raises an eyebrow, a trace of a smile on the corner of his mouth.

"You took all the leftovers of stuff I made and mashed them all together, d-didn't you?"

Mike stuck his tongue out. "Give me some credit. I heated it up."

238: Senses In Our Dreams

Your senses are supposed to amplify when you're in danger, being the natural human response as it is. Your hearing is sharper, your sight is more accurate, and even your sense of smell is enhanced, picking up on even the slightest oddity.

It's smells of iron in pitch black darkness and Jeremy swears there's something that's supposed to fufill the silence.

Animatronic's footsteps are getting louder. Growing nearer. His heart beat is pounding in his chest, racing at a pace that he can't keep up with. Goosebumps trail over his skin and his hair raises on end when suddenly, a slam is heard and screeching consumes the quiet. He screams too.

Then he wakes up. Golden Freddy is gone, he's safe at home in his bed and there's a familar figure shaking him harshly by the shoulders.

He can't see Mike as well as little light passes through the window that's beside them, but the fear in his eyes was as clear as the tears running down his cheeks.

239: Repeated

"I don't think you understand, Mike"

"I know"

"...I don't want to talk to you"

"I know"

"I don't want to see you here"

"I know"

"...Stop r-repeating that..."

Mike tapped his fingers against his pants leg, breaths shallow and calm as if his lungs were falling away. "Okay."

With his eyes glued to the ground, he saved himself from the pain of having to look Jeremy in the face. Seeing those tears stream from emerald iriris wasn't something he could handle right now, not when his own were threatening to do the same.

He hears Jeremy shutter a breath. "P-Please go away."

"I can't."

There's a moment of silence, then another sputter. "Why?"

"I just can't" Mike mutters, his tone viciously low. "I couldn't go even if I wanted to"

"Staying wont fix anything."

"And you think me leaving will?"

"Yes."

The security guard swallows, biting his lip. "I'm not going."

"Why not?" The soft voice cracked in the sentence, but his stance was still firm. "There's nothing for you here."

"There's nothing for me anymore at all."

"So why stay?"

The repeated question comes out so strained, the soft voice crying out was already broken into hisses and coughs of a restrained sob. Eye contact is still hastily avoided, but the sound is deafening. "Why can't you just m-move on?"

Mike simply blinks. "Because I hate myself."

"...Why?"

Mike finally looks up from the ground, grinding his teeth and clenching his fist. With a twitchy fingers, he raises his hand and uses his thumb to wipe the wetness off of the nightwatch's cheek. He tried to ignore the initial flinch the boy gave in response, but his point is only emphasized.

"Why?" He repeated, his voice deep and barely even a whisper. "Because I had one reason not to. And I fucking lost him."

240: Pillow Fort

To say that Mike didn't expect this would be a lie. Jeremy's was up to his childish shenanigans again, and this time, he claimed the living room as his domain.

The security guard shuts the front door behind him, careful to lock it with the softest click he can manage. The work bag weighing on his shoulder is dropped also, gently placed on the wooden floor as he slipped on his shoes. Socks didn't make as much noise as his sneakers.

There's no brunette in sight, but it's obvious that he's been here. The living room looks spotless, thanks to none other than his neat freak of ta co-worker, despite that Mike was obviously OCD himself. The only sign of habitation, however, was the stack of pillows and comforters overwhelming the spot where the couch had once been, now only a prop to hold the fort's 'walls' and 'defenses' in place.

Mike's only assumption was that the prince of the castle was somewhere inside the creation, tucked away among the cushions.

To test his theory, he saunters up to the fort and plucks a single pillow from it's collection, peering inside.

Sure enough, there's the dweeb. Curled up against the warmth of the fort and it's hold around him, face flushed with his hair softy tended against his ears, his chest rising in slow, steady breathing. He's been there for a while.

The security guard is about to carefully put the pillow back into place and carry on with his business when an emerald eye flutters open, rolling over with a sleepy gaze to the older man.

Jeremy gives a soft yawn, still partly asleep. "H-Hi..."

Mike smiles down at him. "Morning, pipsqueak. You look cozy."

A giggle emits from the inner soundings of the fort. "It's r-really warm in here, and comfy." The nightwatch stretches and changes position, allowing a little more room to spare inside the walls. "Come in and see."

The security guard's smile falters, looking up and glancing over the pillow's fort's structure. "I can't. It will fall."

"So?"

Huffing, Mike pondered on the possibility. He took another look over the creation, then back down to Jeremy, then rolling his eyes and stepping a foot through the hole, just barely able to slink in. "Fine, but don't blame me if this shit crumbles."

241: Hum (Continued)

Jeremy only scoots back with a laugh, the both of them now crammed inside a small space with hardly any room for error.

There was almost no room to breath now, much less move. If anything, Mike's spot in the fort had not only proven to be uncomfortable and confining, but he was also sure he looked ridiculous, to boot.

The lights were off in the living room, the window being their only source of illumination. Yet, only tiny slivers of light peaked out from the creases of the pillows joined together, the inside of the fort consumed in low, dim light with hardly anything visible.

Mike can feel Jeremy's toes brush against his as he shuffles uncomfortably in his spot, groaning when he backs up to give himself more room, only for the slight shift of the comforter threatening to have the fort topple over them. "I thought you said this was cozy." He groaned, "I'm still cold."

Jeremy simply prods his toes against Mike's, catching his attention and extending his arms. "C-come here!" He giggled, voice slurred over by his sleepy daze. "Warmth."

A grin itched it's way onto Mike's face. With careful precision, he managed to crawl over, laying besides the brunette with his arm tucked underneath him, Jeremy's arms coming around his mid-section and one hand resting on the back of his head, the two of them locking in a close, cozy cuddle.

"See?" Jeremy slurred, eyes drooping as he nuzzled deeper into the other man's neck. "It's warm here. It's safe..."

Mike rolls his eyes, grip around the night watch tightening as a faint snore sounded from the younger male. Jeremy wasted no time in falling back asleep, which didn't sound half bad to the security guard himself, to be honest.

Though, sleep didn't come as easily to Mike as it did to Jeremy, unfortunately. So instead, he slides his palm up the base of the brunette's neck, intertwining his fingers with honey brown locks and twirling them around his fingers.

From inside the safety of their pillow fort, Mike hummed a lullaby.

242: Tuxedo

"Seriously?" Mike snickered, tweaking at the younger male's bowtie with his thumb. The response was immediate, Jeremy swatting his hand away with a pout. The security guard leaned back, amused. "White tuxedo? Bowtie? What are you, like, ten?"

The nightwatch simply crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. "At least I'm not wearing some stupid fedora."

"Hey, I look fresh as fuck in this."

"You look like you're stuck in the 'friendzone'."

243: Swing Set

There's a park not too far from Fazbear's Pizzeria, a decent location since they were both children's entertainment spots. Though, nearly every time Jeremy walks past it, to or from school or work, the park is always empty. Not a soul in sight.

Tonight, however, as he has his bag slung over his shoulder and a familiar song stuck inside his head, he stops in his tracks. There's a figure in the distance, something he can only spot thanks to the little light the fresh dawn is breaking out over the horizon. It's foggy, and the air is lukewarm, but goosebumps are trailing over his neck as he narrows down his sights on the stranger.

He's sitting unmoving on the swingset, his head craned down and what looks to be a bottle in his hands. It's hard to tell who he was, given the literally light of the situation, but Jeremy's feet are moving before he can protest.

He's a few feet away when he hears a choked sob.

244: The Stitches Are Unraveling. (Continued)

He's screaming. But he's silent.

He can't get him out of his head. Just like the one before him, and the man before him ended at his own hand. His? Hand? Whose hand? Surely not his, only theirs. Theirs? Us, we, them, two, many, whoever that was before it was him. It's him now, but it's not. It's supposed to be him, but it's not. It's not. It never was and it never will be but it already is.

The mind is racing, it's crumbling and crashing down onto sharp rocks of thought and he can't catch up with them enough to save himself. Or who ever he was supposed to be. Or is already. Who was he supposed to save again?

Is it supposed to hurt when it ends? He remembers dying, sharp springs puncturing his back and snapping his spine, blood spiraling down skin and soaking into his clothes. The agony in his headache has nothing on the feeling of his lungs being stabbed into, needles and rods gouging out his insides until he's nothing more than the skeleton he needed to string. Then they're chewing on the bones.

He's going to die. Again.

He's going to feel his skin blister in the fire, he's going to have his organs spill out of his mouth and blood trail down out of all the holes being ripped inside his chest. It's a severed nerve from the mind to the body, from the brain damage to the teeth he's so close to sticking a pair of plyers in his mouth and ripping out every edged tooth until all his gums and tissue come with it.

The other him is in pain too. He deserves it.

He's drunk and scared and angry and lost and confused and he's himself. He's just a repeat.

It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt and it's going to repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat.

There's someone else here.

The swing isn't moving underneath his weight, but even throughout all the noise, Mike feels smaller hands take the bottle out of his own grasp, set it gently on the ground before crouching before him. He doesn't bother to raise his head up this time, he's been glaring at the dirt for so long he's afraid that if he breaks eye contact, it will swallow him whole.

Dead grass and ugly mud is replaced by pale skin and scared eyes, the boy placing both hands on either sides of his face until he had the sense to meet his gaze with his own tear filled one. Then he's hugged, and it's warm. Oh god, it's so safe.

He can't hear Jeremy's voice, but he can feel his lips moving on his shoulder, in hushed, frantically worried tones. It will be ok, he says. It will be ok.

And for some reason, Mike believes him. They both do.

245: Sleeping On The Job

Jeremy honestly did not understand why Mike bothered to stay the night with him when all he was going to do was prop his feet up and take a nap mid-shift, as if their very lives weren't in danger. Maybe he was confident, and there was no doubt that he was tired from the day before, but still. He was putting himself at risk for no reason aside from the claim that 'he didn't want to leave Jeremy alone' or whatever. He could take care of himself, couldn't he?

The security guard shouldn't have been surprised when one morning, after a timid night and a long, well deserved sleep in the office chair, he woke up with marker scribbles and sticky notes plastered all of his face and uniform.

When Jeremy laughs as he tries to scrub it off, Mike reminds himself that maybe he should be more weary of the nightwatch then the animatronics themselves.

246: Electricity

"oH FUCKING HELL-"

A call and a crash sounded from the maintenance room, Jeremy's head swiftly turning in response. "M-Mike?" He called out, standing from the bench. As the air went quiet, he gently set his book down and slipped on his work shoes, all the while keeping his eyes on the door. "A-are you ok? Did something fall over?...Mike?"

His hand is just hovering over the door handle when it slams open, Jeremy stepping back in quick reaction and a disgruntled security guard stomping inside, a sneer plastered across his mouth. "Fuck that suit. Fuck it."

Emerald eyes blink, scanning the older man for injury. Nothing was visually wrong, but it was clear that the man was in distress...and it could be just his mind playing tricks on him, but for some some detail, was Mike's tie a bit...singed?

Concerned, Jeremy takes a breath to question, but Mike beats him to it. "I was trying to repair one of the animatronics. Just a quick fix, so we don't have to call the mechanic." He begins, sighing and running a hand underneath his cap. "I was screwing the pirate's eye back into place when the little fucker shocked me. Felt it all up my fucking arm."

As if to emphasis his point, he rolls up his sleeve. Sure enough, there's no lingering damage aside from the swollen, long vein stream where the electricity must have shot through. "Fucking ferret."

Jeremy glanced at the vein, frowning. "You mean Mangle."

"Whatever."

Sighing, the nightwatch cleared of his spot on the bench, gesturing for the security guard to take a seat. "Let me see if we have something for that..."

"It's just a sting."

"You're burned a little."

Mike bit his lip. "Sure, fine."

Without another word, Jeremy sauntered over to the employee trunk, breaking out their well-used first-aid kit. It would need to be restocked soon, he noted. "W-why were you trying to fix Mangle anyway? You don't have any experience with mechanics..."

The security guard mumbled something under his breath, taking off his cap and setting it to the side. "Boxing wasn't the only thing I majored in before I dropped out of school." He watched Jeremy shuffled through the box's contents, gaze held low. "I studied a bit of robotics. Got bored with it, though."

"Robotics?" Jeremy repeated, a smile etching onto his face. "W-wow, I'm shocked you ever liked something so involved in math"

"Was that a fucking pun."

247: Stuffed Animal

"God, you're so pathetic" Mike chuckles, leaning over from his spot on Jeremy's bed to pluck the plushie out from underneath his pillow, rotating it in his hands. "Stuffed toys? Grow up a little."

Jeremy doesn't even look up from his homework. "Says the man who can't sleep without holding me like a one."

"...Yeah, sure but it's different, I swear."

248: Observant

Jeremy, as you may have discovered already, has a good eye for things.

He can tell if a picture frame is slightly tilted to the left from across the room. He can spot a spelling error in a contract with words so tiny, you'd need to magnifying glass to sign it with. He could even read a nametag off of the grocery store clerk worker that's walking to work all the way down the street, and just what exactly the stain on his shirt was too.

He catches on to shifts of shades, the difference in hues and behavior, even once had a game with Fritz on picking out certain customers and telling what they worked for and how they're personal life was. It was hilarious to the both of them.

But for some reason, Mike decides, Jeremy was still oblivious to all the hints.

249: Undead

"If I were a Zombie, I'd eat you first."

Mike winks in his direction, and Jeremy can only cringe. "You don't realize how bad of a pick-up line that was, do you?"

250: Bam

Once upon a time, there was this super duper big kingdom called Fazbear's Pizzeria! And it was like, really really big with all the robot animals and stuff. It had all kinds of fun stuff in it, like, uh....Pizza! And kids, and dolls and racing cars and bears and-

"There's no racing cars in the pizzeria, kid"

Anyway.

There was this really really mean guy that always watches the kids at daytime, and he's like, super mean. He wears an ugly hat and a weird suit thing with a badge on it or something, and he's always yelling sooooo loud. Legend says that if you even so much as put your toe in the ball-pit, he'll swoop in like a dragon and eat you up.

"Damn straight."

Everyone hated him cause he was a poopy-head. A smelly one too.

"Now hold the fuck up-"

But then one day, a prince decided he wanted he wanted to see what the kingdom had in store, so he walked in and saw the mean man. And the mean man was like 'ewwwww i don't like him'.

"Not exactly, but close"

Shhhh, and the prince was all like 'Oh but I like you! Let's be friends!'. But Mr.Grumpy didn't want to be friend because he was all scared that the pretty prince would die! Like, in a movie and stuff. So he told the prince all about the evil robots and what they do to little boys like him, but the prince shook his head and was all like 'I'm super duper brave! I can do it! And he backflipped into a whale to prove it.

"He did not."

It's my story. Shh.

So Mr. Grumpy and the prince were in charge of watching the kingdom to make sure everything went according to plan. But the meanie was only in charge in the daytime, while the prince was in charge at night time, even though it was waaaay past his bedtime.

But then when the prince had to be ruler for a little while, the meanie got all scared. He knew that the robots were gonna try and hurt his new best friend, so he burst in and saved the day!

"That's...sorta how it went. How did you know about that anyway-?"

And then he died because he's a butthole.

"Listen you little shit I'm not dead-"

But the prince was all sad, and he started crying like a big baby. So he used his magical healing powers of Love! The prince leaned down and gave the meanie true love's first kiss and brought him back to life!

"That's not-"

Then they both burned down the kingdom with their intense, fiery love and got married and lived happily ever after with me as their baby. The End!

"We did not have you as a baby-"

"What are you two doing?"

Mike swiveled his chair around, narrowing his eyes in the darkness of the bedroom. Jeremy stood in the doorway, light illuminating behind him as he stared at the two figures, the security guard sitting near the nightstand with the Cousin sitting on the bed, bundled with an array of blankets and holding a flashlight up to her face.

She catches Jeremy's confusion and gives a big, toothy smile. "Story time!"

The nightwatch furrows his brows, slowly turning to look at Mike. His expression talked for him. "I was checking up on her, something about her night light not working" He gestures towards the plug in the wall, a tiny Freddy night light glowing in the dimness of the room.

Jeremy didn't seemed convinced, and Mike wasn't surprised. "...How much did you hear?"

"...A Lot of it." The younger male muttered, a tint of amusement in his tone. "W-what's this about you d-dying, or something?"

"She keeps killing me in her stories."

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling upwards. "I'm not surprised."

The cousin simply whined, rolling backwards to fall onto the bedroom floor with a bam. Mike rolled his eyes as Jeremy glanced back and forth from the two, exhaustion in his notions. "Both of you should b-be sleeping."

"Nah" The cousin giggled, wrapping herself in the sheets. "I gotta think of an ending first."

Mike wrinkled his nose. "You already have an ending, one that's all sappy and junk."

Popping her head up from the ground, he gives her a glare as she climbs back into her spot. The toothy smile returned, innocence in her voice as she laughed. "I lied."

---

RIP: the fourth wall in the last drabble.

I fucking winged that one

Pretty sure there are some mistakes in here that I've looked over, so tell me if you see one.