Jeremy gripped his bag's shoulder strap tightly, holding his arms against himself. The wind harshly beat against him as he walked up the sidewalk, sparing short glances towards shabby buildings and slow moving cars as he passed them. It was cold today, much colder than he thought it's be.

He woke up late that morning, quickly throwing on a pair of jeans and a striped hoodie, barely able to stick on his shoes as he ran for the bus stop. Mother always protested his late hours spent at Fazbear's, often complaining of the call she was getting from multiple teachers, all equally angry that he'd been sleeping in the middle of an important lecture.

Then Jeremy would remind her that it wouldn't be much longer till he graduated, and she'd hush, knowing that her son was much too determined to break routine now. So she'd just force a smile as she watched him leave every night, making sure to have breakfast at the ready when he returned. He'd sleep for an hour, then leave again for school, returning home as nothing more than a mass mix of exhaustion and desperation.

But this time, he wasn't going home. He was going to Mike's.

He found himself doing a lot of that lately, it seems.

Stepping up to the apartment door, he took a deep breath before knocking. One, two, three knocks, and he let his hand drop to his side. No answer.

Jeremy pressed his lips together in a thin line, unsure. Should he just walk in? Wouldn't that be rude? Maybe he isn't home...

He glanced around, squinting when he spotted an run-down truck parked on the far side of the lot. Mike was here, he would never leave his beloved truck behind. The poor thing could be missing a door, a tire, and it's windshield and Jeremy still wouldn't be surprised if the guard insisted on pushing it everywhere he went.

He gave the truck a dull observation before reaching for the door handle, turning it quietly as he could and stepping inside. "Mike?...."

No answer, again. The inside of the apartment was dark; even the windows that usually let a few rays of light seep through them had been completely covered, the curtains pulled over each other in a messy fashion.

Adjusting his eyes to the dimness, Jeremy placed his hand on the wall, carefully running against it until something rectangular ran under his palm. He flipped the switch on, flinching as the sudden light brought a sting to his eyes. Shaking the feeling away, he pushed the front door shut, looking around the room. "Mike?"

There was no one to answer him, no one to stop him from walking out of the tiny entryway and into the living room. He blinked, taking in his surroundings. Nothing was out of place. Everything seemed to be perfectly fine, given who lived here.

Jeremy took a deep breath, letting his bag drop to the floor. Setting it against the wall, he reached his hand inside his pocket and pulled out his phone, staring thoughtfully at the screen. He glanced around the corner into the kitchen, just to make sure. No Mike.

Furrowing his brows, he switched to his call history. One missed call from Fazbear management, two from Fritz, and a single text message from Mike. Combined, these factor's only confused the poor night watch, which pretty much set things into motion.

He remembers his call with Fritz vividly.

"W-what do you mean he didn't show for work?" Jeremy questioned, trying to keep the phone pressed between his cheek and shoulder as he stuffed textbooks into his old bag. "He's never missed a day. N-not even when he was sick!"

"I don't know, man." The voice on the other end responded. "All I know is he didn't clock in, so they called me" The night watch could hear children yelling on the other end of the line, confirming Fritz was still on shift, and Mike still hadn't shown up. That rules out over sleeping, he guessed.

"Look, all I'm saying is...go and see how he's doing, alright?" He heard Fritz groan. Another kid must have popped the bouncy house again. "Mike hasn't been himself lately"

Confused, Jeremy pressed the phone closer to his ear. "What do you mean by that?" He shut his locker, hoisting his backpack up on his shoulder as the school bell rang. He paused, looking down at his shoes. "I haven't noticed anything wrong..."

"Don't feel bad bout' it, bud." The other male added, eyeing a rampaging child from across the room. "I don't think it's serious-"

Jeremy flinched as a loud beep burst in his ear. He groaned, pulling the speaker away from his head and eyeing the screen in surprise. One new text message.

"I heard that" A voice said faintly from the device. Another yell followed, and Fritz sighed. "Listen, I gotta get back to work. Text me later, buddy" Jeremy mummered a goodbye before ending the call with a click, switching over to the messages. His eyes widened, staring at the words. The sentence was horribly misspelled and badly misspaced, almost as if it had been typed mindlessly.

4:12 PM

Mike:

ib laem y ou

Jeremy stared thoughtfully at the text another moment before turning the phone off, stuffing it inside his pocket. He wasn't going to bother to translate it, even though it would hardly take a moment. He was going to Mike's anyway.

His nerves got the best of him and he glanced around once more. He eyed the laundry baskets, the coffee stains on the couch and the mud track around the front door. Mike really needed to take better care of himself, he thought, frowning at the little holes dotted in the window curtains. He'll remind himself later to force Mike to pick up a little, or just do it for him.

Green eyes traveled from the curtains to the walls, locked onto the hanging posters. Old, but framed, Jeremy recognized the red printed symbol at the top of each page. A boxing glove, the same icon used to represent the athletic sport in clubs at his high school, and if he remembered correctly; the local collages.

The night watch walked up to the biggest poster, stepping over what looked like a bottle on the ground before getting closer. He squinted, trying to read the faded words behind the glass frame. There was a paragraph that mostly consisted of a repeated 'congratulations', mentioning the terms 'game' and 'match' and even 'injury'.

There was a name at the top of the document. Micheal Schmidt.

Jeremy blinked, surprised at the new information. Mike never told him he did boxing back in the day. In fact, Jeremy hardly knew anything Mike did before he became a security guard, aside from him dropping out of collage for some reason. As much as he wanted to know more, he'll admit, Jeremy wasn't going to pry on his back story. Maybe he's hiding something, maybe not, but it wasn't his business.

Something hard slammed on the table behind him.

Jeremy whipped around, instinctively making himself smaller in the process. He recognized the blue eyes glaring harshly at him and relaxed, though, eyeing the glass bottle Mike had just slammed down onto the coffee table. His vision darted from the bottle to Mike, giving a little gasp.

Putting it lightly, he was flushed pink, but the bags underneath his eyes seemed to have gotten heavier, giving him somewhat of a sickly look. He wore his slacks, work shoes, and even his untucked blue shirt with the tie undone, hanging loosely around the collar, as if he was getting ready for work. Only one thing; his hat was missing.

Mike sneered in his direction. "What are you doing here?"

Jeremy pressed his lips together, confused and at the slightest; afraid. He dug in his pocket for moment, pulling out his phone. "You didn't show up for work" He reasoned, stepping closer to the guard. The man's scorn only deepened.

"You didn't call in to say why..." Jeremy trailed off, searching for words. "So Fritz wanted me to check up on you" He stopped moving, his eyes widening in the slightest as he watched Mike lift the bottle, chugging a large gulp before slamming it back down on the coffee table loudly. Jeremy flinched at the noise, a bit uncertain now.

Mike zeroed in on the reaction. "...You texted me too" He switched to his messages, holding up his phone for him to see. Oddly, the guard kept his glare on the teen, ignoring the phone completely. "I...did?" He mused, his voice slurring into a question.

The teen nodded. "Yeah...management's going to hate you now, you know..." He joked, giving a soft laugh. He stopped abruptly, watching Mike's face of confusion twist into aggression. Jeremy squirmed underneath his glare, detecting some kind of wrath, that thankfully didn't seem directed towards him."Fuck them" He muttered, angrily bringing the bottle to his mouth again. "Fuck all of them."

Jeremy remained silent as the guard swallowed the rest of the bottle's contents, tossing it away once it was empty. The teen eyed it as it skid across the floor, rolling to a stop against the wall. He wrinkled his nose. "...You shouldn't do that"

"I shouldn't do a lot of things, Jeremy"

Said night watch glowered, walking over to pick up the discarded bottle, along with some others. "Gross, Mike" He nagged, his arms full of glass now. He spotted a tipped over trash can in the corner, flipping it upwards with his foot and dumping the bottles inside. He halted at the last one, rotating it in his hands. An unpleasant feeling crept up in his chest and he had to take a deep breath to beat it back down. The bottle wrapping clearly pictured it was Alcohol, and one of the strongest kinds if he remembers correctly.

Jeremy remembers being offered it once, behind the school building where the delinquents and the drop-outs usually hung out. He remembers laughing voices around him, and a bottle being shoved in his hands. He knew better, thankfully, and left the still full bottle sitting on the concrete, picking up his book bag and walking home, vowing to never try and make friends like those again. That lifestyle was the complete opposite of what he was made for.

Mike, on the other hand, he wasn't so sure of.

"It's my fucking place" The guard groaned, raising a hand to clutch his head. A hangover of massive proportions was sure to come. "I do what I fucking want" Mike felt the stitches on his skin glide underneath his palm, a familer sense of anger and unease crawling up his throat. He snarled at himself. Emotions like those were the reason why he kept cigarettes in his pockets. Only, now he had upgraded to the real stuff.

Jeremy, being as innocent as he was, had no clue to tell whether this had been Mike's first time drinking, or if it was just level in a train of patterns. The flushed cheeks and slurred sentence favored the first theory. But there was a lot of bottles sitting in that trash can, meaning either Mike was born with the alcohol tolerance of a god, or he's just had a lot of practice.

He watched Mike turn his back on him, sauntering towards the kitchen. "Go home, Jeremy" He ordered. The night watch inwardly cringed at hearing his name come out so mangled. "Dear ole' mother gonna miss your dumb ass"

"She knows I'm here" Jeremy interrupted, pacing to match the security guard. Mike hardly spared him a glance before reaching the kitchen, leaning on the door frame. He exhaled, catching his breath. Was he really so out of it that walking a couple of feet was tiring? Or was this something else?

Concerned, Jeremy reached out, grabbing hold of the his sleeve to offer support. His heartbeat hitched when Mike slowly turned his head, exhaustion laced in his solid glare. "I told you to go home..." He growled, slipping on the door frame slightly.

A voice in Jeremy's head told him to back up, grab his book bag and just walk out the front door, but the pang in his chest only allowed him to retract his hand. He was about to take a step back when his wrist was caught in Mike's grip, a whimper escaping from his mouth.

Mike's glare had turned into something softer, more curious even. "Why...are you here?"

The night watch eye brows furrowed. "I-I already told you..." He answered, his eyes darting to the side. "You didn't show up for work and we-"

"I'm not talking about them" Mike interrupted, his hand tightening. "I'm talking about you"

Jeremy felt the pressure around his wrist close harder and swallowed, stammering before he could form a coherent response. "I-I was worried about you..." He stuttered, pulling his wrist back towards himself. Unfortunately, it was held secure. "I-I thought you were sick or s-something!"

Mike pondered on the words for a moment, a eased look coming across his features. "Oh" His lingered on the feeling of Jeremy's wrist in his grasp before letting it go. "Sorry..."

The night watch pouted, rubbing the faint shapes that coiled around his skin. It wasn't bad, really. "Um..." The teen for a moment, the brown bag sitting on the kitchen table stealing his attention. He squinted at the logo printed at the bottom of the bag and sighed. The local liquor store's symbol, he concluded. Funny, Mike was a whole year under the legal age limit. They didn't card him than.

The security guard took a step forward, his sights set on the paper bag, but stopped. His legs were numb, he realized. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. Or, at least he doesn't think it was. Maybe he was given the wrong idea, that this wasn't the best decision he could have made. Maybe he should cut back, just hop into bed and await the incoming hangover he's sure to get in the next couple of hours. Or maybe he just needed to drink more.

He glanced at Jeremy from the corner of his eye, his throat going dry. Yeah, he definitely needed a drink.

Mike attempted another step, freezing when a figure rushed out in front of him. "You're getting another bottle, right?" He heard Jeremy's voice through the fuzz. His sweet, innocent voice. "Let me get it for you! Just...uh, go sit down."

As much as he wanted to argue, the words couldn't form themselves. So forth, the protest died inside of him. Mike stared at Jeremy, ignoring the sudden urge to ruffle the mass of hair sitting atop his head. It looked so soft. So touchable. And he was close enough too. Just close enough that if Mike just reached out a little, he'd be able to-

Hands braced themselves at his shoulder, turning him. "Just, uh... take a seat" Jeremy eased, guiding Mike towards the couch. In front of him, Jeremy could hear Mike breath some feeble disagreement, but kept his feet moving noneless. "And I'll be right back!"

He practically had to push the stumbling guard down, sighing as his sloppy form flopped onto the cushions. Mike's eye twitched, blue orbs rolling upwards to glare into green. It was intimidating, to say the least. Especially since Mike had half of his delusional mind telling him to grab for Jeremy's ankle and take him down with him.

But the teen was gone before he could make the move, alone with his drunken thoughts.

Jeremy ran into the kitchen, taking a deep breath before peering into the bag. One bottle left. He grabbed it, back peddling towards the sink and unscrewing the cork, pouring it's foul liquid into the drain. Paranoid, he took a weary glance over his shoulder as he waited for the bottle to empty. Wouldn't want Mike catching him doing this, that's for sure.

Not like Jeremy thought he'd do anything drastic, he was sure. The bottle was nearing empty when he spotted something glinting off the counter. He shook the last of the alcohol out, rinsing the bottle out with water a few times before filling it up completely, staring at the object.

He popped the corkscrew back on and dried the edges around the opening. The alcohol had been clear-colored beforehand, and if Mike was drunk enough, he wouldn't even noticed the different in taste.

The object caught his eye once more, and Jeremy made sure to pocket it before he left the kitchen. Just to be careful.

He turned the corner, yelping when he collided head to chin with Mike, whom seemed unfazed by the whole event. Jeremy rubbed his forehead, moaning. "I-I thought you were still in the living room..." He mumbled, locking green to dazed blue.

Mike ignored the statement, tilting his head at the bottle in Jeremy's grasp. Without so much of a word, he easily plucked it from his fingers, using his thumb to uncap the cork and cocking it back, taking large mouthfuls of the liquid. Jeremy didn't stop him, and just watched and waited as he downed half the bottle.

In the middle of a gulp, Mike stopped. He pulled it away from his mouth, eyeing the label with suspicion. "You..." His deep voice muttered under his breath, laced with intention. Jeremy tensed, a thousand explanations whipped through his mind as he quickly shifted through them.

It came to a halt, however, when Mike took a swig once more. "...need to go home. Get ready for work..." His missed the night watch's sigh of relief, much too occupied with his drinking.

The guard paused. "Work..." He repeated, walking past Jeremy and into the kitchen. "I need to go to work..." He used the wall for support, leaning against it as he made his way to the counters. His fuzzy vision scanned over the counter tops, snarling when he couldn't locate what he was looking for.

Angry, he swiveled his neck around to glare at his co-worker, who stood watching from the door-frame. "Have you seen my keys?"

Jeremy bit his lip, feeling the metal in his pocket against his fingertips. "No, sorry"

Mike growled, I mean, actually growled. He watched a startled reaction fly across Jeremy's face and a grin echoed back onto his. His back hit the counter and slid down, settling on the floor. A deep, rumbled sounded from his dry throat. "I'm gonna get fired" He chuckled, the bottle slowly slipping from his fingers. "I'm so gonna get fired"

Jeremy gulped, watching the bottle fall from his gasp and roll away. Mike sat there, snickering to himself. Having the time of his life laughing to some inside joke taking place inside his head, a party full of illusions and bad decisions that the poor night watch wasn't a part of. Though, he was perfectly fine with not receiving an invite.

Mike heard soft, hesitant footsteps. Suddenly, Jeremy was in front of him, crouching down to his level. He focused on the night watch's lip, the little tiny teeth marks left behind from the teen's own nervousness and habit. Breathing deep, he licked his own, wondering why his clouded head was so alarmed all of a sudden.

The brunette sat down on the tile. A little further and he would have been in the middle of Mike's outstretched knees, but he kept his distance, watching the security guard wearily. Almost as if he'd known he'd be grabbed should he come close enough. "You're not going to get fired"

Mike scoffed. "Says who?"

"Fritz is covering your shift today, remember?" Jeremy responded, pulling his knees to his chest. "Besides, you've missed most of the hours anyway. No sense in going now-"

"Shut the fuck up and go home, kid"

Jeremy's tongue stopped mid-sentence, taken aback. Was it something he had said? Mike's view darted from the shocked night watch to behind him, where the bottle lay innocently. He outwardly cursed, his dry throat turning it into a raspy whisper, one that did not go unheard of.

Although shaken, Jeremy held his ground. "W-why?" He asked, instantly disliking the crack in his voice. "Mom already knows-"