They walked over to an empty table near the back and sat down.
"You seem pretty interested in supernatural stuff."
"I have always found it to be an interesting topic."
"By the way how's your brother doing? Is he still working in that mall?"
"He is doing great, and yes, he still works there. But I still think they unreasonably fired me. I mean, sure, I punched the guy who I thought was kidnapping a kid, but how was I supposed to know that kid was his son?"
Mike chuckled. "Sounds like something I would do."
"So," Jeremy said eventually, clearing his throat, "you busy this weekend?"
"Why don't you come over?" Jeremy offered. "We haven't gotten the chance to hang out in weeks."
Mike thought about it. "Sure," he said. "Why not. I was getting bored anyway."
Jeremy smiled. "Well, I think I should head home now. My brother'll be back soon, so I should do the chores quickly."
Jeremy finished his coffee and offered Mike a ride home, but Mike refused.
Eventually, Mike headed home. Shoes off. Bed. The usual dream.
The next few days blurred together. He talked to Jeremy now and then. Still no call about the job. The animatronics, though—they were strange. Glitchy. Watching adults for far too long. With kids, they were fine.
Then Freddy's closed for investigation.
Saturday morning, Mike got dressed and drove to Jeremy's place. The sun was just cresting the rooftops, washing the streets in warm light.
Jeremy waved from the porch.
"You actually made it," he called.
"Wouldn't miss it," Mike said.
Inside, Jeremy's brother—Jeremiah—was sitting on the couch, looking far too comfortable for someone who usually never got a day off.
"Hey, Fritz," Jeremiah said. "How've you been?"
"Good," Mike replied. "You?"
"Same as usual," he said with a shrug.
The three of them sat together and started playing games, crowding around the screen and slipping into easy banter. Controllers clicked, voices overlapped, and for once the tension Mike usually carried eased just a little.
"Okay, that was cheap," Jeremiah said, pointing at the screen. "There's no way that move should've worked."
Jeremy smirked. "Sounds like something someone who lost would say."
Mike shrugged, not taking his eyes off the screen. "You're both bad. I'm just less bad."
Jeremiah snorted. "Wow. Confidence."
Jeremiah glanced over, "Just out of curiosity, Fritz... you never told us anything about your family."
Mike let out a short laugh, eyes still on the screen. "What, you want the tragic backstory or the boring version?"
Jeremy blinked. "Uh—either?"
"Dad worked too much, home life was a mess, and nobody talks anymore. Roll credits."
Jeremiah snorted despite himself. "Wow. You really know how to sell it."
"Hey," Mike replied, smirking, "I save the emotional bonding for special occasions."
"But if we're talking about family," Mike said, glancing between them, "what about you guys? Where's your family?"
Jeremy's expression shifted, the smile fading a little. "Our parents died a while back. Car accident."
Mike was quiet for a moment. He knew that weight—losing family, having pieces of your life ripped away when you weren't ready. "I'm sorry," he said, and meant it.
"Thanks." Jeremy looked down at his hands. "We were pretty young. Jeremiah practically raised me after that."
Jeremiah shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. "Somebody had to make sure you didn't burn the house down."
Mike nodded once, understanding settling between them—the kind that didn't need more words. "I guess that explains why you two look out for each other so much."
Jeremiah cleared his throat. "Anyway… you guys hungry? I'm thinking about ordering pizza." He reached for his phone, already scrolling like he knew the answer.
Jeremy perked up immediately. "Yeah. Definitely."
Mike paused, then shook his head. "I'm good."
Jeremiah glanced over. "You sure?"
"Yeah," Mike said lightly. "Not really hungry."
Jeremiah shrugged. "More for us, then."
Jeremiah and Jeremy argued over toppings while Mike stayed quiet. The smell of food didn't appeal to him anymore. It was easier than explaining that eating meant dealing with a digestive system that had stopped functioning.
The knock at the door cut through the low noise of the TV.
Jeremiah was on his feet instantly. "That should be the pizza."
He grabbed the pizza and set it on the table, the smell of grease and melted cheese filling the room. Jeremy opened the box, steam rising as he pulled out a slice.
"Smells amazing," Jeremiah said, already biting in.
Mike went back to playing games, fingers moving automatically over the controller. The familiar button clicks drowned out the sounds of eating behind him.
Jeremiah leaned forward, focused on his slice. "You're way too good at this," he muttered.
Mike let out a short breath that might've been a laugh. "Practice."
The screen flashed with movement and color, something predictable—safe. For a moment, it almost felt normal. Like he was just another guy hanging out with friends.
Then the memory hit—sharp and unwanted.
Different friends. Laughter that felt meaner than it should have. A prank that went too far. Garrett's head pushed toward Fredbear's jaws—
Mike blinked hard, forcing the image away. The sound of the crunch never left him. No matter how many years passed.
Some moments never really ended. They just waited in the background, ready to loop when you weren't looking.
"You good?" Jeremiah asked, noticing him freeze mid-combo.
"Yeah." Mike's voice came out steady. "Just zoned out."
"Alright, guys, I think I'm going to head home now," Mike said, standing up and setting the controller down. He checked his watch—almost 7 PM. He glanced toward the window, where the sky had begun to darken. "It's starting to get dark."
Jeremy groaned, leaning back on the couch. "Already? We were just getting to the fun part!"
Jeremiah shook his head with a small grin. "Jeremy. He's got his own stuff to deal with."
Mike laughed softly and pushed the door open, stepping into the dimming light outside.
Back home, Mike kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed. The familiar routine—hollow, predictable—wrapped around him like always. He stared at the ceiling for a few moments before closing his eyes.
Sleep came easier than it should have, dragging him under without resistance—and, of course, into the usual dreams about killer animatronics.
Mike's phone buzzed on the nightstand, dragging him out of it. He grabbed it, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the blinds.
The screen showed one new message from Jeremy, sent a few minutes before.
He unlocked the screen and read:
*Hey Fritz. Weird update—turns out the night before last was actually my final night shift. Management moved me to day shift without telling me. There's an event at Freddy's today and I have to be there for it. Heads up, though—someone used one of the old yellow suits. Don't know who or why. The animatronics have been acting weird since then. Like, weirder than usual. If you come by today, be careful around them. Gotta run.*
Mike stared at the screen.
Someone used an old yellow suit.
Yellow suits. Spring-lock mechanisms. His father's face hidden behind a grinning rabbit.
He typed back quickly: "Stay safe. Let me know if anything happens."
Then he got out of bed and started getting ready. If William Afton was anywhere near that building, Mike needed to be there too.