(Continued from the previous chapter)

The new's room certainly didn't look like a proper reporter's office. Jeremy was lucky enough to find it in time, just passing a muck green door with golden lettering on the window. Peeking through the tinted glass, he could see someone sitting at a lone desk at the far side of the room, head bent down as they read and shifted through a stack of papers.

Sensing Jeremy's presence, their view lifted to stare at the door. Amber eyes caught sight of a figure behind the glass and motioned for him to come in. "Whattaya waiting for? Come in!"

The voice was cheerful and friendly, which was a refreshing change from the solid looks and glares Jeremy's been getting as he wandered around the building. Taking a deep breath, he turns the door knob and steps inside the office, shutting it softy behind him. "H-hi...."

The student raised a brow at the greeting. "Shy one, yeah?" He chuckles, "That's fine, better than some snobby nosed dimwit who knows how to press a camera button" He grins at the unease on Jeremy's face before looking over to the wall, eyeing the high hung clock there. "You're late"

Embarrassment flared in Jeremy as he wrung his hands together, "I'm sorry...I c-couldn't find the office and um..." He trailed off. Yeah, he was late, and it was mostly him just having no sense of direction. Besides, saying he was stalled because he accidentally pictured a boxer who wanted to break his nose afterwards didn't seem realistic in any sense, so he kept quiet.

To his surprise, the student only shrugged. "Not surprised. We're in the middle of fucking no where-excuse my language" He quickly added, Jeremy only giving a small nod in return. The man eyed the clock again, a smile on his face as he piled the stack of papers into one neat corner on his desk. "It's only 7:08 anyway, which really isn't that bad..."

Jeremy wants to pipe up again and modestly apologize, but considering earlier events, maybe it was better not to deny a kindness. "Besides, I was worried you wouldn't want to come anyway. It wouldn't have been the first, heh..." The reporter smiled to himself, clearing off his desk so he could set his elbows on the wood, propping his head up to talk to the teen.

"Jeremy Fitzgerald, right?" He grinned, "I'm Fritz, nice to meet ya"

The hint of an accent in his voice was charming. "Nice to m-meet you too" The photographer stutters, tracking as the other man gestured for him to seat. Hesitating, Jeremy plopped down in an old chair just in front of Fritz, settling his hands politely in his lap.

"Soooo, you accepted right? You wouldn't be here otherwise, yeah?" Fritz piped, asking questions he already knew the answer to. Regardless, the teen nodded his head. A look of glee flashed across the reporter's expression. "Perfect"

Tapping his finger's against the wood, thinking for a moment. "Alright, I know I said I had food but..." He looked to the side, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "I was kinda convinced you flaked out on me, so I ate it. My bad."

Jeremy smiled. "T-that's fine, I'm not hungry" Well, he might have been a little hungry, just in the slightest. But it didn't matter; he came here for the job, not for the food. Besides, the crumbs collected around the desk and the wrappers stuffed roughly into the nearby garbage can indicated that whatever Fritz had brought wasn't much anyhow.

The reporter seemed unconvinced, narrowing his eyes at how petite the teen's frame was, but only shrugged. "Suit yourself, it'd be better if you'd get something to eat before you start your assignment tonight though. Just saying"

The teen furrowed his brows at the statement. "Assignment? Tonight? But it's already so late...."

Fritz clicked his tone, this time a little guilty. His foot tapped on the ground as he spoke. "Believe me, bud, I wouldn't be here if I had a choice. We gotta have a story by tomorrow and I'm running out of informants." He leans back in his chair, watching the teen's reaction. "Yeah, I know what the contract said; you're just supposed to be a photographer, right?"

The brunette doesn't answer, instead silently ushering for him to continue. "Well, just play reporter for tonight, yeah? Snap a few pics while you're at it? I mean, you'll get credit for it, and it'll be the last I'll ask of ya that isn't photos" He mockery holds up two fingers, crossing over each other. "I swear it"

This was such a quick and lighthearted request for someone like Jeremy to take on so suddenly. He quietly remembers agreeing to take photographs, not to write for the newspaper. For someone, much less an entire campus see your pictures was a stomach churning thought to think about; reading a story you put together was a whole other world, and it brought a sickening spin to Jeremy's head.

Fritz must have sensed his unease, because he leaned forward from his seat, eyeing the teen with mental worry. "Hey, you don't have to worry about the whole story-writing part thingy, ya know?" He reassured, licking his finger and picking a single sheet out from the many piles. "I'll take care of the actual article, bud. I just need you to get me the information."

The compromise the man was offering sounded a lot more appealing than the thought of Jeremy's name beside a terribly written newsstory. He could barley imagine the critique he would receive. "I don't know anything about p-putting a story together..." He began, "I thought I was just here to take pictures..."

"It's just this once, and besides, I can get good word put in for ya with one of those big-shot studios, yeah?" Fritz grinned when a light beamed in Jeremy's eyes. "I hear they sponsor photography students, especially young talented ones like yourself. Might even issue you a camera. A nice one, better than what shit school could afford-" He stops himself, thinning his lips. "Sorry, gotta stop doing that"

Jeremy gives a soft smile. "It's fine, I don't mind" Although not much of a cusser himself, he certainly grew up surrounded by the language. There's another reason why public schools like his had to fight with the system to stay in the bored. Fritz sighed, giving a quiet 'hmm' as he thought for a moment. "....speaking of cameras, where's yours?"

Reflexively, Jeremy reaches for his side, emerald eyes shrinking when his hands found nothing but air. In the midst of his shock, he notes the gray beanie stuffed neatly into his pocket, forgotten.

Whatever expression he dawned at the realization must have been hilarious. Fritz rose eyebrows at the action, baffled. Then, a raspy laugh came from the man, morphing into coughs, much like he was trying to hold himself together. "Forget it?" He chuckled, entirely amused. "Well, I guess we got some spare pics to fall back on. They're a little old, but no one's seen them yet" He smiled, "Mistakes happen sometimes, right?"

The brunette recollected himself, both surprised and relieved at the kindness in the students tone. Now that he thinks of it; almost everyone's been kind to him lately: Bonnie gave him a ride, Foxy pointed him in the right direction, and the crowd of party goers down by the rink weren't half bad once you got passed the stink of sweet and beer.

And then there was that asshole: Mike.

Jeremy's throat is going dry as his hands self consciously hover over his sides, fidgeting back and forth. That camera was a gift from his mother, something he promised to take care of. It was one of his greatest treasures, not to mention worth quite a buck if you knew the right people. He didn't want to imagine how heartbroken his mother would be when he told her, or even if she became angry. A snippet in the back of his head convinced him that she wouldn't have cared as long as he himself was alright, but that voice was drowned out as his conscious convinced that he was the one at fault.

Fingers glide over his pocket and lightly touch the beanie, softly griping the fabric. He honestly forgot to give it back, truly, but it was too late now. Whoever the boxer was, Jeremy was sure he had his beloved camera, doing hell knows what with it. A sinking feeling swelled somewhere in his rib cage as the image of his precious Polaroid being smashed to pieces flashed through his mind. His knuckles went white as they gripped the ends of his seat, focusing on the thought.

He was going to get his camera back, no matter what.

For one, Fritz seemed oblivious to the teen's distressed. "How about this?" He began, flipping a couple of drawers. "You can be a photographer another day, when you get your camera. But just for tonight, you're a reporter alright? And we need a story before curfew..." His sentence trails off as he pulls out a few more sheets of paper, reaching up to messily staple them to each other. He looked up from the packet. "You can stay late, right?"

Well, he didn't have a ride home at the moment, so there really was no reason for him to say no. Besides, maybe he could phone a taxi while he was working. Giving a nod, Jeremy watched as a satisfied grin flashed across Fritz's face. "Good, have you ever interview anyone before?"

The photographer shook his head this time, earning a thoughtful nod from the reporter. Stapling the last of the papers together, he held the packet out to the brunette, urging for him to take. "It's cool. You don't gotta be an expert or anything, you just gotta ask a couple questions and write some stuff down. Really easy, ok?" He assured.

Jeremy took the packet, green scanning over the bulletins as he quickly flipped through it. It was thin, with each page dawning only a few lines themselves. Some paragraph's sentences were marked completely out, while some were highlighted brightly. He blinked at the writing before peering back up to the expectant reporter. "W-what's this for?"

"It's a list of questions to ask in the interview," Fritz answered, "Just scribble down whatever they say underneath the bulletins, and I'll whip a article together in the morning. Try to ask every question highlighted, those seem to be the in-demands on campus." He chuckled as Jeremy flipped to scan over a few, "This kind of junk really sells"

Most of what was highlighted was common, typical questions you'd expect. They were so simplified, it was almost middle-school level. But as Jeremy traveled further down the page, his nose wrinkled at a few of the reads. These questions were getting quite....personal. Was it really allowed to be asked certain things like that? Of course, it was nothing too explicit; thought he didn't think someone's sexuality should be published in a campus wide-newspaper, regardless of their stance on it.

Jeremy bit his lip, flipping the packet closed. "I'm not good with...socializing with people" Fritz thinned his mouth, pausing. "Just let them do the talking then, all you really have to do is take note of what they say" He tapped his fingers on the desk, pondering. He must really need that story if he's trying this hard to convince him, Jeremy thinks to himself. The reporter clicks his tongue before continuing. "Besides, it's just this once, alright? You might even find it fun!"

The false cheer in his tone was enough to make Jeremy inwardly cringe, but he nodded in polite agreement anyway. He wanted the credit, and he wanted his camera, and this was another excuse to scower the campus looking for where, or really whom, it had to be.

He tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach as he pipes up a peppy smile. "Maybe..." He muses. "I'm starting tonight, right?" He asked, receiving a single nod in return. "W-what exactly am I s-supposed to be doing, then?"

Amber eyes blinked for a moment, almost surprised. Then, a toothy, warm smile broke out on Fritz's face, quite proud of the meaningless victory. Jeremy observes carefully as he shifts through a few more papers, the pride never faulting. Wow, he must have really thought Jeremy would have chickened out or something.

"Great! This is good, dude..." The college student cheered, happy with the new recruit. Plucking out a envelope, he tore it open in a single beat, quickly scanning over its contents. "Right, so we get prompts from students every now and then, yeah? This week's article is gonna be on this guy..."

He spins the paper around for Jeremy to see, green eyes squinting to read the tiny text. But before Jeremy can so much as make out a name, Fritz spins it back again, slamming it face down on the table. "Gotta have those questions by tomorrow morning, buddy. I can email your high school teachers, let em' know you can miss a couple classes"

The mention of morning brings the reminder of sleep, and the reminder of sleep bared the question of his ride home. Shaking the thought away, Jeremy sighed. "When will I need to be here-?"

"ASAP, dude. I'm can slap together an article hardly worth's a rat's ass and no body will notice; that is, unless the information isn't good." He chimed, eyes lit up with enthusiasm. Jeremy frowned at the interruption, but kept quiet. "People really dig the whole 'inside story of a celebrity' thing. Not really my preference of read, but hey, it get dough. Know what I'm saying?"

Honestly, no. But was Jeremy in position to bail out now? In case you're wondering, the answer is still no. "Celebrity...?" The brunette repeated. "I didn't know there were-"

"Ok, not big-shot famous, kid...but 'well-known', if ya catch my drift" Once again Fritz butts in, his excitment getting the better of him. "Not popular, but everyone on the campus knows of him. One of kind, real piece of work that guy, heh" A hint of amusement forms over his mouth as Jeremy tilts his head, baffled.

The photographer nervously taps his fingers in his lap, locking with amber eyes. "W-who are they?" He watches as the man pulls out a small notebook and pen from a nearby drawer, tossing it towards the teen.

Fritz smirked as Jeremy barely caught it, staring down at the lemon printed cover. "From what I've heard, he's pretty big in the boxing rink," He begins, raising a brow when the brunette promptly froze at the sentence.

"You're interviewing a guy named Micheal Schmidt. If you're lucky, he'll still be down by the rink by now" Fritz misses the look of ironic misery flooding the brunette's expression.

"Try to get it done before curfew," He gave a wink, "And try not to get pounded. Good luck, bud"

---

For the fifth time that hour, Mike seriously considered smashing the Poleriod onto the concrete.

Not because it belonged to a certain dweeb, who still had his beanie mind you, but because something so small and so seemly insignificant should be so damn hard to operate.

Growling, he twist the object in his hands, mindful of the click. It looked decently sized when the little brunette photographer he met earlier held it, but now that Mike had it in his grasp, he finds that either the teen's hands were significantly smaller than his, or the camera had some magical property to shrink over time. He votes for the first theory.

The sun has already set, painting the sky a deep shade of red and purple, fading upwards until stars began to peak out from behind the clouds. A cool breeze sweeps past him, and Mike has to straighten his upturned hood to prevent exposure.

He didn't exactly need that beanie back; since he had a whole array of them, plus hats and caps and bandannas and just other headgear attire back in his dorm room to boot. But as he roamed the hallways, he found himself peering around corners for a tuff of brown hair anyway.

He waltz into the courtyard, the dim lights of the campus lamps riddled along the pathway shining shadows on the beds of flowers he passed. The yard was fairly big, a place where students could retreat to if they wanted to eat in a more serene environment, hangout with friends, study, or even just take a walk to unwind.

Mike's found himself taking one or two of those walks a week, claiming he was getting an athletic run-time when anybody asked. Hell would freeze over before he'd admit to anyone that the sole reason he liked the park was because of the long line of clovers growing along his favorite corner of the grass.

Even from outside the building, he can hear the school bells chime. It's a few hours before curfew, he remembers. Though, he's never really followed that set time anyway. But the bells are still quite attention taking; ice eyes gazing over a Polariod camera as the last chime is rung.

He's just about to give up and walk back to his dorm room when he spots a figure sitting on a bench, right smack in the middle of his patch of clovers. Go figure.

Jeremy has the question packet in one hand and the pencil and pad in the other, flipping through the pages as he collected his thoughts. When he arrived at the rink earlier, there was no one to greet him aside from the old janitor who hardly spared him a glance, much too preoccupied with sweeping up red cups and the strange amount of wrappings that littered the floor.

To his horror, there was no one in the locker room, his camera gone as well, bag and all.

After his talk with Fritz, he spent the last half hour scowering the hallways in search of the boxer, hoping in the back of his head that he would be unfortunate, or in this case: fortunate enough to bump into him again. But as he peeked his head unannounced into classrooms, all he found was plenty pairs of eyes staring at him in bewilderment, none of them holding the same cold pierce as Mike's.

Eventually, he ended up here. He let his feet rest, surprised at how the campus seemed much smaller than what distance he had walked. With day turning to night, and the pressure of losing his camera and the interview beating down on his conscious, he concludes that the next few hours were either going to be full of guilt or regret, or simple just hurt. Maybe both.

Jeremy sighs as he flips through the packet, oblivious to the figure sneaking up behind him.

"Boo"

Green eyes flew wide in surprise, whipping around. A flash of light forces his pupils to shrink, sending an ache behind his eyes. Groaning in pain, he covers his face with his arm, blinking the sting away as a laugh sounded from above him. "Karma's a bitch, isn't it?"

That voice was oddly familiar. Still rubbing his eyes clear, Jeremy manages a whine. "W-what was that for?!" He squeals, the notebook dropping to the ground. The sting eventually faded to allowing him to open his eyes again. Jeremy froze, staring widely at who greeted him.

Mike's pulling the picture out of the Polaroid's slot, shaking it dry. He gives it a thoughtful 'hmm' as he holds it up to the light, quietly observing the photo. "Cute"

The comment goes unnoticed; Jeremy's full attention set on what the boxer held. "Hey! T-that's mine!" His stutter doesn't fit well with how he boldly points accusing finger at the man. "You stole my camera!"

The olderman chuckled, icy eyes lighting up in amusement. "On the contrary, you left in my locker room" He replied, watching the flustered teen go pink. "Anything left in my territory is automatically mine. No exceptions"

Jeremy inwardly cursed his body's habit of blushing so easily as he eyed the sinister man. "That's silly! Just b-because I forgot it doesn't mean you can use it!" He sputtered, "I really need that! What if you had broke it?"

Mike shrugged. "Be glad I didn't. Hell, I was gonna be good saint and return it, I swear." He pockets the picture, twirling the camera strap between his fingers. "Until I realized you had something of mine"

The brunette's expression twist in confusion, and Mike adjusts his hoodie in emphasis. The beanie in the photographer's pocket instantly burned in the teen's mind; pulling it out without a second thought. His gaze darts from the clothing back to the camera. "So...T-trade...?"

A disgusted frown falls upon his face as Mike smugly shakes his head, dramatically holding the camera away from him. "Nah, I think I'll keep it" He chimed, grinning at the pout the brunette displayed. Though, he kept a close eye on the beanie held in small hands

Jeremy finds himself stuck, unable to think retort. Just when he's ready to spit out a reply, Mike dully gestures towards the ground. "What's that, hmm?" He bends down, picking up the notebook and packet. The butterflies in the teen's stomach morphed into wasps. "That's not y-yours either..."

"Oh really?" Mike snickers, "It's got my name on it"

"That doesn't mean anything..."

"Sure, it doesn't" The boxer snarked, tone heavy with sarcasm as he turned back to the front page. He carelessly tossed notebook in the younger male's direction. Blue eyes scan uninterested over the fine print, only widening the slightest as they reached towards the bottom of the paper. Jeremy didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad one, but he didn't the sudden mischievous that surrounded the man.

"So you're a reporter now?" He jokingly tossed the packet back to the brunette, "I thought you were a photographer?"

Jeremy fumbled with the catch, trying his best to flatten the now-wrinkled paper. "I am..." He trailed off, searching for the right words to explain his situation. Luckily for him, Mike didn't need an explanation. "So you're both now?"

The teen pauses, "K-kinda...I guess-"

Mike plopped roughly down beside him, slumping back into the brick wall. Taken aback, Jeremy leans away from the older male, holding the papers protectively to his chest. "That's real neat and shit, kiddo" He kicks his legs up, slumping back to relax. Shutting his eyes, he listens as the teen shuffles nervously besides him. "Hope you're not expecting me to answer them."

Well, that was rude. "I don't like it as much as you do..." Jeremy voices, nervously looking away. "But w-we need an article for tomorrow....and I only need you to ask answer a few-"

"Tough luck"

"...I'll tell on you"

"That's adorable"

"D-do you just sit here to annoy me?"

"Yes"

"Could you at least g-give me back my c-camera?!"

"Not until I get what's mine back"

Jeremy's fingers curled around the beanie, nails sinking into the fabric as frustration boiled up inside of him. If he had the courage to; he would have simply thrown the hat to the ground, swiped up his camera and walked home, absolutist winging the information needed for article and just be done with it. But alas, he hardly had enough bravery to speak up in class. How could he possibly best a bully?

He tries anyway. "Well....y-you're not getting it back until you answer my questions!"

Goosebumps trail over his skin as Mike peeks open one eye, blue eyes glaring darkly out from underneath his hood. "I don't have to do shit" He muttered grimly. "I could just hurt you"

An uneasy feeling sinks into Jeremy as he peddles away from the boxer, clutching his hands to his chest. He's at lost for words, resorting to subconscious defense. Something panged within Mike as he watched the teen instinctively make himself smaller, biting his lip at the feeling those big green eyes brought.

Fuck. He's never felt this guilty so fast.

It's silent between them for a moment before Mike sighs, looking away. "I'll answer a few of your...questions." He mumbles, going sheepish. For a minute, there's no answer, just the brunette staring at him both a little afraid and a little intrigued. "Only a couple, though"

The weight in Jeremy's chest lifted. "R-really?" He piped, smiling when the boxer gave a slight nod of his head. Mike caught onto his child-like demeanor and swallowed.

"On one condition"

Jeremy's smile dropped. Of course there would be a catch, there always is. "Ok..." His lips thin into a line, thinking. "What would that be?

"You have to answer my questions"

A cool breeze blew past them, ruffling Jeremy's hair to fit nicely with the wide expression he dawned. A blue gaze trails up to linger on the fluff, seemingly distracted before pulling away. "Deal or what?" Mike voices, "We either do this my way or you're just wasting my time-"

"No, I'll answer them! R-really!" Jeremy cuts in, a bit too hyped. The clovers at his feet brush against his sneakers as the wind pushed them, sending a smell of fresh dew into Mike's senses as he quietly stares at the teen. He looks expectant, but in the inside, he didn't think the kid would actually agree.

Mike wordlessly takes a finger and playfully jabs the teen's mid-section, lips twitching into a smirk as the brunette jumped a little. "What are you waiting for then?" He urges, "I don't have all night"

Night? Jeremy blinks, looking up to the sky. The red was long gone, leaving a deep purple in it's absence. The stars haven't begun to peak out quite yet, meaning they had another hour or so until it was actually night. But dear, it was getting quite late.

Taking a deep breath, he straightens the packet best he could and sets it propped up on his lap, flipping to an empty page in the notebook. Nervously uncapping the pen, he eyes the first highlighted question.

"Uh...W-what inspired you to be what you are t-today?" His tone held false professionalism. "You know...a boxer-"

"I like to hit things." Mike dully interrupts, resting his head back against the wall. "My turn"

Jeremy faultered. "That's n-not a very good answer..." He mummered, falling silent as the olderman gave an glare. Sighing, he scribbled the dialogue down. Considering who he was talking to, that was probably the best response he was going to get.

"....Do you always stutter?"

He looked up from the notebook, stilled. "W-what-?"

Mike cuts him off, "That. What you did just now." He accuses, "Do you do that all the time?"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jeremy falls quiet, looking back on a few memories. "No, not always..." The older male ponders for a moment before giving the soft nod the head, acknowledging. "Your turn"

Trying to ignore the last minute, green gazes down to the next bulletin. "What b-background do you come from?"

He can sense a sudden tension the air, but as he looks to Mike, the man seems entirely unphased. Although, he knows that body language could be just as deceiving as verbal. "...Why would that be relevant to boxing?"

The teen gives a soft shrug. "I don't know....m-maybe they're interested in you and not the sport?" He regrets voicing his conclusion when the older man's lips rise to a sneer. "Right, I get it. They just sent you to get dirt on me" Groaning, he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Like I didn't have enough rumors floating around already"

The distress radiating from the boxer is enough to make a Jeremy feel a little guilty, though he knows it's really none of his business. He's about to say he doesn't have to answer this one in particular when the boxer opens his mouth again. "Single mom, no dad, no siblings. That enough for you?"

He spat the sentence out so harshly, Jeremy felt like he had been physically shoved. His fingers tapped on the pen nervously for a moment, quickly scribbling down a few words before looking back to the packet. "Ok, then..." The pen's movement's stopped, waiting patiently for Mike's turn.

The man huffed, attempting to return to his state of relaxation. "How late do you usually stay after school?"

The brunette falters. "I-I don't know..." He pauses, "I guess I take however much time I need..." Thinking, he sets the notepad down in his lap and gives the boxer a baffled, but curious stare. "What about you?"

Mike's eyes open slightly, probably signifying he wasn't expecting so simple of a question. "Everyone on campus already knows my schedule. How is this related to athletics anyway?"

"It's not for the n-newspaper" Jeremy answers, briefly looking out across the park. "It just seems kinda late around curfew a-and I'm just c-curious..." He brings his gaze back to meet blue, going pink when they held a taint of suspicion. "I know it's none of my business w-what you do in your free time..." He quickly added, "I was just-"

"I don't follow curfew."

Jeremy blinked. "But isn't that against the rules?" He stammered. Mike simply clicked his tongue, amused by the brunette's apparent respect for authority. "Yeah, but who gives a damn? This is college, not a daycare. We don't have a 'bedtime' like you high schoolers." He turns to him, "Fuck high school by the way; that place was hell."

The brunette tilts his head. "You d-didn't like it?" He stills as Mike bares his teeth, not at him thankfully, but generally at the memories. "I-it's not that bad..."

"Listen kid; high school is shit, college is even shittier." The corner of Mike's mouth twitches upwards when Jeremy's forms a soft smile. "I'm not sure if I should t-take advice from someone like you..."

His mouth twitches again, and he has to make an effort to force it neutral again. "Trust me, it might not seem like it, but this campus is a battlefield when people aren't looking" He blinks when the teen gives a short giggle. "That's a bit dramatic"

Mike catches himself zeroing in on the sound, frowning and shaking it from his mind. "My turn," He states, hood slightly pulled back from the friction against the wall. He hears a noise of protest from beside him. "But you already a-asked a question!" The teen stuttered, "About my height-"

"Yeah, and you asked about my 'free time'." The boxer snarks, smirking when Jeremy faltered as he realized his mistake. "Why are you here so damn late? Aren't your parents worried or something?"

The sentence brings the question of the exact time to Jeremy's mind, and he flips out his phone for a split second, staring at the screen. Mike watched as the screen cast soft light against his face, making it easier to see how his lips thinned into a stressful line. "M-my mother works at night, so she wouldn't notice...."

"Do you even have a ride?"

"N-no, I was going to call a taxi" The teen stuffs his phone back into his pocket, "How did you guess?"

"Shot in the dark"

It goes still for a moment, Jeremy straighten the packet when a thought strikes him. "That was two questions!" He openly declares, missing Mike's huff and eye roll. "I get to ask you two questions n-now, ok?" He giggled.

The Polaroid camera is still sitting in Mike's lap, fingers tapping gently against it's cover as the boxer dwelled on the laughter once more. He gave a shrug. "Whatever"

Batting the notepad rings with his pen, Jeremy scans the the packet for the next decent highlight. "What are your goals in life?"

He pouts when an amused snort comes from the boxer, the olderman obviously entertained by the question. "That's hilarious" He snickers, recollecting himself. "I don't have any goals"

Another breeze bows Jeremy's bangs over his eyes, and he has to swipe them up with his hand to better his glare. When the ice gaze stops laughing and locks with vivid green, he thinks his technic to be working. Only when a knowing grin split the older man's cheeks does he know he thought wrong.

Mike could have sworn those emerald iris weren't as capturing as they were now. Probably due to the fact they've been half shielding by the brunette's damn bangs. "Do you ever cut your fucking hair?"

"That was another question!" Jeremy whines, "It was s-supposed to be my turn!"

"Well then what the fuck are you waiting for?" Mike sneers, tapping in the camera in his lap mindlessly. "Ask me, nothing's stopping you"

The brunette wants to muster a smart remark back, but decides against it. Giving even the slightest sign of an argument would probably just encourage him. "Fine..." He straighten the packet once more. "What do you like best about b-boxing?" He mummers something under his breath after the sentence, Mike's ear peeking to hear it.

Jeremy must have not noticed how keen his sense of hearing was, giving a innocent look when Mike rose a brow in question. "Big meanie? Seriously?" He confronts, "What are you? Seven?"

"...J-just answer the question please..."

Rolling his eyes, the boxer runs a hand down his face. "Already told you; I like to hit things" he voiced, gazing out into the park. It was comfortably warm, and the campus lights shining down on the both of them gave the scenery a cinematic feel. What made it feel even more movie-like was the little leaves of clovers drifting from the light breeze.

A little leaf ends up in Jeremy's hair in the midst of his look of disbelief. Mike watches him shake it away, trailing it as it hit the ground. "You can't really f-fight people just because you like to h-hit things..." The younger male voiced, "That's kinda brutal"

Mike frowns. "I have reasons. Reasons I don't want out in the paper where people could read it. If you got a problem with that, then consider this interview over"

"I wouldn't put anything in the paper you wouldn't want me to!" Jeremy back peddled, looking up from the notepad. "It's m-mean, ok? Look, we'll just use another q-question then..." He quickly fumbled with the packet, flipping over a few pages and settling on a random choice, avoiding eye contact.

Mike sets his feet to lean at another angle, staring at the brunette thoughtfully. "This interview is really important to you, huh?" He muses, tone having gone lazy. The teen pauses his page turning for a moment, thinking. "The job is important"

Mike blinks, clicking his tongue and tapping his foot, urging the conversation to move forward.

Jeremy sighs at the man's notion, picking out a simple question. "What are some of your hobbies?" He waits patiently, readying his pen.

The boxer bites his lip. "I like to hit things"

"...that's the third time you've said that"

"I have nothing else to do with my time"

"N-not studying? Video games? Reading?"

"Nope"

"Television? Dancing? Friends?"

"None of that"

"Anything? Anything at all?"

"....I like to mess with dweebs like you"

Jeremy paled, giving a little huff as he scribbled out whatever he had written down. Frustration built up in him and after another breath, he ended up tearing the paper out, crumbling it in his hands. "You're no help" He mumbled, tossing it to his feet. "And you're a bully"

Mike rolled his eyes, bending down and snatching the paper up. "Yes, yes I am" Aiming for the trash can settled a few yards away, he shoots. It lands directly in the bin. Jeremy blinks, scribbled something general down before stopping again. "Why?"

"...Come again?"

"Why do you like to hit things?" Jeremy asks, eyes taking the light of childish curiosity. "You were being r-really mean to me because I took your picture. But now...." His gaze darts from the ground back upwards. "Now you're just being weird"

To his surprised, the tension in the air grows heavier. Mike shifts uncomfortably in his spot, biting his tongue as the photographer waited patiently for an answer. Not like he was expecting a decent one, if anything he was going to get some typical smart remark back. But shockingly, Mike delivers a response of a different kind.

"I'm sorry, ok?" He mutters, voice low and deep. "I shouldn't have threatened you like that, back in the locker room. I just get angry sometimes and uh.....yeah, I'm sorry."

Jeremy's mouth falls to gape. Well, he was expecting something, but it certainly wasn't an apology.

The lack of response from the teen mixing in with the silence of the night was unnerving, especially for a certain boxer who's hardly ever apologized in his life. Mike felt heat rise from his neck to the sides of his face, fidgeting under the teen's unbelieving stare. He swallows the frog in his throat, looking away.

"I-is that why you keep asking questions about me?" Jeremy softly voices, "Because you feel guilty?"

"...That's not the only reason"

Jeremy tilts his head, completely oblivious. "What is it, then?"

He watched the boxer self consciously run a hand underneath his hood, feeling the stitches against his palm. With a deep breath, blue meets green in complete seriousness. "Why weren't you freaked out by my scars?"

"...You're acting as if I'm s-supposed to be..."

"Most people are"

Gaze lingering down on the notepad, Jeremy caps the pen momentarily. "I'm not"

"...Are you sure?"

"Why would I be?"

Mike opens his mouth to retort, only to shut it back again. It takes a moment before he can find it within himself to speak again. "You can stop with the modesty. I know you're disgusted by them, don't lie" He snarls, his tone dipping low. "Everyone hates them. You shouldn't be an exception."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Despite the hostility, Jeremy's pitch is even and well held. "Just because people don't like the way you look d-doesn't mean you have to be mean about it..."

"Bullshit" Mike's foot angrily taps the ground, anxious. "You may haven't of noticed, but the way people see you is how they're going to treat you. So if you look like a freak, they're going to treat you like one, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it"

There's a certain acidic lace in his rant that makes the photographer inwardly cringe. Yet, as the man's icy gaze sails out among the clovers, Jeremy can't help but feel not pity, but something else churning inside of his chest. He knows the feeling, but he refuses to call it admiration"

"So what?" He dawns a soft smile, "What's w-wrong with being different?"

Mike's grip around his camera tightens. "Everything" He mummers, "Nobody likes a freak"

"I do"

A third breeze is gracing them as Mike turns his view back to the photographer, eyes widened by the statement. As bold as it was, Jeremy still looked to the ground, avoiding eye contact.

The conversation between them dies again, and Mike finds it very unsettling how his lungs suddenly decided to fail him. "So..." He muses, trying to pick up from the awkwardness. "You still have questions, right?"

He almost misses the pink that musters up in the teen's face. Keyword: almost. "Y-yeah, um..." Jeremy scans the sheet, uncapping the pen. "How old were you when you first started b-boxing?"

"Thirteen" Mike waits for him to scribble the information down before continuing. "How old were you when you started photography?""

"Twelve...How many m-matches have you won?"

"More than I can count. What do you take usually take pictures of?"

Jeremy shrugs. "Uh..I-I don't know...Just a bit of everything, I guess" He continues, "How many matches have you lost?"

"...One" Mike mummers, "Do you ever plan on getting on getting a haircut?"

Jeremy frowned. "That's i-irrelevant..." He blushed, "Do you play any other sports?"

"Nope. Any siblings?"

"Only child. Have you ever been i-injured while boxing?"

"Plenty of times. What's you're home life like?"

The brunette tilts his head. "W-why would you want to know?"

"Curious"

"...It's fine"

"Hmm"

Mike silently muses to himself as Jeremy flips the page, eyeing the next highlighted sentence. His face goes from a baby pink to a flowering red, stuttering nervously at the question. There was a little star marked at the end of the bulletin, meaning Fritz probably wanted this information seriously.

The boxer notices the photographer's unease. "What?" He wonders out loud, "What's the question"

Jeremy swallows nervously. "W-what's your s-sexuality?"

"...None of their god damn business"

The teen shuffles, looking away embarrassed. "S-sorry..." He stutters, pen shaking in his hand. "I don't m-mean to make you..uh, uncomfortable...."

"What's yours?"

"E-excuse me?"

"What's your sexuality?"

The look on Jeremy's face was absolutely comical. "I'm n-not going to answer that!" He stammered, red reaching to the tip of his ears. "That's none of your business"

Mike grins. "I'm messing with ya. Chill."

The papers in Jeremy's grasp crumble with embarrassment. "Can we p-please get back to order?"

"Boo hoo, screw the order" The boxer's snark is full of sarcasm. He holds up the camera, rotating it dangerously in his grasp. "I'm running the interview now, m'k?" Grinning, he watched as a fearful expression ran across the teen's face.

"That d-doesn't make any sense..." Jeremy protest, eyes darting from the man to the camera. "I'm s-supposed to be the reporter here!"

"Last I checked; you were a photographer" Mike avoids a the teen's look as he smirks, lightly running his finger tips over the camera's newly cleaned screen. "No offense, dipshit, but this whole reporter thing isn't your forte"

Jeremy looks down and bites his lip. "I know...It w-was only supposed to this article" He bites a little too hard, hardly breaking the skin when he forms his mouth into a frown, missing Mike's focus on them. "You have my camera anyway. H-How would I be able to take pictures-?"

"You click a button on a camera. It can't be that hard, just borrow someone else's."

Jeremy frowns. "That camera in s-specific means a lot to me" He mutters, "And photography is harder than you think-"

A flash of light cuts him off, blinding him once more. With a whimper, he shakes the dizziness from his head as Mike hums in front of him, the sound of paper being wrung. He holds up up the picture for Jeremy to see, waving it with mockery in front of his face. "Anything could pass as pro-photography nowadays."

He flicks the photo to Jeremy's lap; the teen scrunching his face at the image. It was blurry with the colors disoriented, probably the result of Mike drying it too quickly. The boxer grins "See? Masterpiece"

Jeremy openly dims and gives him a look, holding up the photo. "Half of my face is practically melted. T-this isn't a masterpiece"

"Any picture of you is a masterpiece"

Mike laughs when the brunette goes a beat red. Completely flustered, Jeremy avoids his entertained gaze and fumbles with the packet, feeling confused and slightly embarrassed. "C-can we go back to t-the interview? Please?"

The boxer only shrugs, earning a glare from the teen. This man had threatened to smash his face in only a few hours before, and now he was shamelessly flirting with him. Either he had extreme mood swings, or he was deliberately trying to exact revenge on the photographer. Nothing was more embarrassing then this, after all.

Jeremy grims. Mike must be messing with him.

The sky is fully black now, mooning shining brightly as the star hovered around it. Mike gazes across the dimly lit park, taking note of the bright led lights shining down upon them as he checked his watch. He frowns. It's way past curfew, much too late for someone even like himself to be out. Even worse for someone like Jeremy.

He turns back to the brunette, listening to him sigh. The photographer looks exhausted, showing not nearly enough energy to phone a taxi, much less start walking home. He straighten the paper, flips the notepad closed and hold the beanie tightly in his hands. Innocence glares up at Mike.

"We're done..." He states, offering the beanie. Mike grabs it without hesitation, hastily pulling his hood down and rushing over his head. Jeremy blinks at the scars running over his skin before it's covered. "C-can I have my camera now"

Mike smiles, weighing the object in his hands. "Depends. Will you let me drive you home?"

The brunette's cheek's flushed. "W-why would you want to do that?" He asked, trying to hide his tinted face. "I don't even like you"

The boxer laughs. "I don't like you either" Grinning, he holds the Polaroid away from the teen, extending his other hand towards him. "Let's fix that. I'm Mike, nice to meet you"

The photograpgher's confusion morphs into a soft smile. "H-hi..." He meets Mike's hand. "I'm Jeremy"

---

Woop.