Bonnie released a disappointed sigh as he stepped out of the building behind him, one arm reached around to pull the door closed behind him. The other fastened a tight grip on the strap of his guitar case, which was slung over his shoulder so that the case itself was bumping a little uncomfortably into his hip. He glanced around the street ahead of him as he hopped down the three steps and onto the pavement, watching passerbys as his head clustered with thoughts.

Usually he'd have a plan in mind for when things went wrong, but this had been his last hope. Not many places in town were employing musicians nowadays, as most of them either had plenty or simply weren't interested. The few advertisements he'd seen had been specifically asking for certain types of musician - all of which were definitely not applicable to him. It seemed like no one really had use for a guitarist right now unless he left the town and went looking further along the coast. The last appointment he'd just been to about a job had exclusively told him (while looking a little snobbish) that the music he had played was 'not the right type'. There was so much he could do with an acoustic guitar, obviously!

Bonnie kept himself lost in his thoughts as he took the all too familiar path back to his apartment, slinking like a shadow between the people walking in the opposite direction. It was noon so the majority of people prancing along this merry path were people shopping who had all the time in the world. Bonnie confirmed that assumption when a particular shopper bustled past with what he guessed were eight or so bags of boxes and clothing, which bumped against him uncomfortably as the path wasn't wide enough to get past otherwise.

He was out of options. He'd have to move out of the apartment and try and find another one elsewhere. The music industry well of this town had been tapped dry.
It was subconsciously that he took a different route from the usual one, taking a turn without really noticing he was doing it. It was like he was trying to avoid going back for as long as possible, because he'd get home and then what? The path he'd taken was a small alley surrounded by grubby little houses that veiled most of the path in shadows, and was remotely silent.

He had just noticed he was unfamiliar with his surroundings and was about to turn around when he heard a distinct clinking, like cutlery. The sound seemed to wake up his stomach, which rumbled approvingly at the thought of food. Bonnie looked around him, running his eyes up the buildings looking for a sign that indicated a cafe or a restaurant, before they fell on a small corner cafe at the end of the street the path had taken him on. He realized the path had been a shortcut of sorts, and that it connected the main street to this smaller street. At least it was quieter.

The cafe in question was petite and cosy looking, dolled up ridiculously with boxes of flowers outside the door. Bonnie had never heard of any cafe called Common Grounds Cafe, which was ridiculous. Still, he wasn't going to fuss over names, as he stepped off of the pavement and crossed the burnt brick road to the door, pushing it open.

It was warm inside, and most of the room was captured by the sunlight through the glass, making it look more pleasant. Rather than small tables, the cafe had rounded seats and tables in corners. Each corner of the room had a speaker, and the display cases of food were opposite the door, curved around to hole off a corner that held a door which presumably led to the kitchen. The woman behind the counter was heavily in gossip with a customer, and, not wanting to get in the way, Bonnie instead went to sit down.

His shoulder was cramping from the weight of the guitar, so it was a relief to sit down and rest it on the edge of the table out of the way. He relaxed immediately into the cushions, thumbing through the small pamphlet that was on the table showing the snacks and food and drinks that the cafe served.
He was so lost in comfort and the engrosing list of snacks that he didn't look up at other customers, not pay attention to who was coming in and out. So Bonnie didn't notice the figure push the door open, bearing a frantic expression as he shrugged off a small bag and hurried to the counter to speak to the woman behind the counter. The customer who had been gossiping looked put off by the intrusion.

"I'm so sorry I'm late. I couldn't get a lift to the corner so I had to run here instead. I tried to call in advance but there wasn't any answer," The man said a little helplessly, one hand buried in the bag which eventually produced a key.

"Don't blame me if they dock money off of you for it, Fred, but its okay with me," The woman replied, reaching across the counter towards the hatch, unfastening it and opening it up. The man shimmied through the gap and vanished into the kitchen.

Bonnie, who had missed the entire thing, eventually settled on a latte and a lettuce and tomato sandwich, and slid out from behind the table to go and order. He was clueless to why the woman who had been gossiping simply threw her hands up in disgust and went to her seat, as well as the eye-roll of the woman behind the counter.

"Welcome to Common Grounds Cafe, the place where everything is served hot except the tunes. What can I get you?" She asked, not even looking at Bonnie and instead investigating her pinky nail. Bonnie placed his order promptly and waited, glancing back from time to time to his seat to ensure his guitar was okay.

He'd always been protective over the instrument, as it had been the reward of a struggle to save up money as a kid, and the only thing that guaranteed to keep his mood up. Whenever he'd been upset or angry or worried, he'd simply take his guitar out and play. One of the few memories he had of his father had been the times when, as a kid, he'd been upset, and his father had simply knelt down and asked him if he knew how to play a certain song. It would ensure several silly attempts, and end in peels of laughter between them. It was comforting.

Bonnie turned his attention back to the counter to watch his order being made. The woman was pursing her lips a little as her patience wore thin with the latte, which eventually fixed itself and resulted in her mouthing several relieved curses. Only then did Bonnie notice, while she was making the sandwich, the man slip out from behind the door, pushing it shut with his palm and ignoring everyone around him. He took the hatch in hand, slid out from behind the counter, and walked determinedly across the room, as though his sheer expression would make up for being late. Bonnie then noticed something else he had missed by chance.

The other corner of the room - aligned with the counter corner - was a small platform. It had been hard to see because no one had been on it, but the man he'd seen had just had to step up onto it, and who then promptly ducked down to forage through his bag. First he took out several metal cylinders, and stacked them to one side of the bag. Then he pulled out a base with three feet, which he spidered out and settled on the floor, before he pushed the cylinders in. The construction was so engrossing that Bonnie didn't even notice his food was ready until the woman behind the counter asked for his money.

Bonnie took his plate and mug back to his table, for the moment ignoring the stage as he made sure not to bump into anyone and spill it. When he sat down, his eyes fixated back onto the man, cupping his mug in his palms and blowing across the surface of the latte to cool it a little.

What had been a small base before now resembled a tall stand, which then bore a small claw-like shape on the top. It was this part that made Bonnie connect the dots, and his interest grew even more. It was a microphone stand, being wired up by the man who had came out of the back room. His stomach churned slightly in the realization that this cafe accepted performers. What if they were looking for another one?

By now everything had been plugged in and wired up, and the man was testing it out. He took the microphone in one hand, and spoke quietly and repeatedly into it, the other hand adjusting the dials of the box at his feet to check if it was working.

"I think I've got it now- Okay, there we go. Hi, ladies and gents, I'm Fredbear." Bonnie snorted slightly under his breath at the name, only just coming to realise that the man had a bear shape on his uniform. He took in the appearance of the man closer, taking note of him out of curiosity. He looked relatively young, for a start, with auburn hair cut short at the back, leaving a slight fringe at the front that fell across his eyes and that he had to brush to the side. His eyes were, at a glance, blue, but the longer looked at seemed to become silver. The bridge of his nose was peppered with faded freckles that spilled across his cheeks under his eyes. Despite the hideous mustard uniform and the silly bowtie, Bonnie wouldn't had assumed at a glance this man was working in cafes like this. He looked young and, even though he was talking calmly, his eyes held some enthusiasm in them. Clearly he liked what he was doing, but whether it was comedy or singing, Bonnie did not think that Fredbear should be working like this. He genuinely thought on sheer looks the man could probably make it big somewhere. Hell, he could probably model, though the idea made Bonnie swallow back a laugh at the mere idea.

He'd missed a lot of what Fredbear had been saying while he'd been distracted by his thoughts, and he shook himself back into focus, keenly listening to see what exactly Fredbear was here to do.

"Usually I'd start with something of my choice but I see a lot of frequents in here, so why not shout out a request?" That enthusiasm in the eyes was sparking up even more. Requests? That couldn't be comedy, surely. It had to be singing, or something vocal.

Around him, the few people in the cafe were eagerly making requests. Some of the quieter customers were occupied with their meals and drinks, or were simply flat out ignoring him. Bonnie set down the mug back into the saucer and rested forward a little on his palms, eyes glued. That voice at the back of his head was yelling at him to see if he could get a job at this place as long as it didn't provide such cruddy uniforms. It was small but at least it was better than playing on the streets for change. Bonnie didn't tell anyone that though - when he did it, he hid his face, and stored the change he gained away in his drawer in his apartment to save up.

"Okay, okay, you wanted the usual, I get it!" Fredbear laughed, brushing his hair out of his face again. The customers that had been making requests sat on eagerly as Fredbear turned to put the music on. It was a tune Bonnie recognized instantly - not from modern music, but from the music he'd heard on the radio when he was younger.

Quickly Bonnie found himself correct in thinking that Fredbear sang, but to call it simply singing was an understatement. He practically glowed as he sang his heart out into the microphone, often closing his eyes as though to blot out the cafe. He hit each pitch perfectly and it flowed together smoothly, as though the songs he was singing had been perfectly written for him. Bonnie was so shocked and captivated he didn't even notice when his latte went cold, and his sandwich laid half untouched. The hands on the clock were racing around and he never noticed a thing. It no longer felt like a cafe, but more like he was watching a legitimate singer perform infront of him.

All too soon though, Fredbear slowed to a stop on songs and disconnected the microphone to take a break for a drink. The world around Bonnie faded back into vision and he reached for his mug, bringing it up to his lips to take a drink to hide his gaping jaw. Unfortunately, having not noticed how long it had been, it was unpleasant to find the drink was cold, and he put the mug down, coughing slightly and shuddering in utter disgust.

"Hey there, you okay?"

Suddenly Fredbear was there, standing not far off and looking down at Bonnie with genuine concern, a glass of water in hand. Bonnie attempted to speak to tell him he was fine, but he merely swallowed back another cough and nodded his head.

"You need to be careful here. When they say they serve drinks hot, they mean it. Its why I always get water," Fredbear continued, sliding into a seat opposite Bonnie and loosening his bowtie with relief. The man clearly hadn't noticed that Bonnies drink was cold. "I haven't seen you in here before. Are you new to the place? Usually we only get tourists or people on work breaks."

"New," Bonnie confirmed, having found his voice again, "I just needed somewhere to stay a while. Its been a long day."

"I hear you on that," Fredbear rolled his eyes and tapped his fingers lightly against the glass, his nails making a clinking sound. "I hope you don't regret coming along. I mean- too hot drinks and, well, my cruddy singing-"

"You're not cruddy," Bonnie interrupted, "I'm surprised you're not professional. You could make it further than here, you know."

Fredbear laughed a little at that, "You think I haven't tried before? I looked for a long time. Auditioned all over the place, tried getting smaller parts. I only got this place because I came in here once to get a drink and subconsciously started singing at the table under my breath. They liked it so they told me to stick around. Apparently we're doing better now but I don't really believe them."

Bonnie didn't know what to say. His story was so alike Fredbears, but at the same time he couldn't go to a random place and start playing his guitar. At least singing was something you could do without being aware you're doing it sometimes. Guitars you manually had to get out and play. Upon thinking about his beloved instrument, Bonnies eyes fell onto his guitar case.

Fredbears eyes had found the guitar too. "You play? Are you a professional?"

This time it was Bonnies turn to laugh a little nervously, "No. I can't find work. I actually came here straight from an interview for a job. They turned me down."

"Acoustic?"

"Yeah."

"Hm." Fredbear tapped his thumbs lightly against his chin, pondering. "Are you going to stick around when you're finished?"

Bonnie was taken aback by the question. "Stick around?"

"I want to hear you play," Fredbear answered, "I'm curious. Usually all the music I have is pre-recorded. Sometimes its nice hearing something straight from the instrument."

"I'm not sure. How long do you want me to wait around?"

"Well the time is two'o'clock. We usually close up around five. There's a bar on the back of this place where the staff swaps to at night, so there's a two hour gap."

"A bar?" Bonnie glanced across the room to the door. Fredbear followed his gaze and went quiet for a split second, before he spoke again.

"I don't perform there, but yeah. I could show you but you don't work here so I think I'd get even more of a pay cut if I tried to show you. But the door leads to a hallway that divides the bar from the cafe. Halfway between the bar and cafe is the kitchen, so it serves both. There's also the break room and the bathroom, but they don't really matter. Only the people who work at the bar go in the break room."

"So you only work five hours?" Bonnie asked.

"Actually its flexible. Sometimes I'm in for longer, sometimes I'm in for a couple of hours," Fredbear replied, taking a sip from his drink. "So are you okay with that?"

"I don't know," Bonnie said uncertainly, "Three hours is a long time." He was careful not to mention he'd already been there two hours.

"Oh." Fredbear looked disappointed, scratching the back of his neck a little. Bonnie felt the twist of guilt in his gut at not being able to stick around, before he quickly spoke again.

"I could always come back before five," He offered. Fredbear looked up in surprise.

"Is that okay? I feel like I'm being a pain asking to hear you play - especially if you've come from a long way.."

Bonnie gave a short laugh.

"No no, I'm only a few blocks away. I can walk back here if you want."

"If you could, that would be great." Fredbears eyes were practically glimmering with excitement. He fumbled around in his pockets and produced a small keychain pen, reaching for one of the provided table napkins and scrawling something onto it, before offering it to Bonnie. Bonnie took it and looked down at the digits.

"That's my number in case they let me off early and I can't let you know. If I'm not here, give me a call." Fredbear drained his glass of water and began fixing his bowtie back up.

Bonnie didn't even think when he blurted out, "If I miss you, you could swing by my place if its easier?"

Fredbear stopped from getting out of the chair and looked at Bonnie, whose heart was pounding. He couldn't help it, Fredbear was nice and he could use a friend right now - particularly if said friend could help him find employment.

And then Fredbear simply said, "Sounds like a plan. I'll see you later, er-"

"Bonnie," Bonnie answered quickly, "My name is Bonnie Spring."

Fredbear laughed, "I'm half tempted to call you Spring Bonnie. It suits you though. I'm Fredbear, as you might have gathered-" He gestured to his bear shirt - "-But my real name is Freddy."

"Freddy," Bonnie said slowly, "Well. It was great meeting you Freddy. Maybe I'll see you later." The golden blonde slid out from behind the table, picking up the strap to the guitar case and towing it slightly over his shoulder again. Fortunately the ache from carrying it earlier had long gone.

Fredbear nodded, and turned to head back to the stage. As Bonnie reached the door, he did notice Fredbear giving him a little wave, and he couldn't help but smile awkwardly. It was always nice to make a new friend. And oh god did Bonnie need one now.