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"