Hello! So school starts on Wednesday, and it'll probably change my updating status drastically. (Not like I had a good updating schedule anyway... sorry). Anyway, I'm going to try my best to keep the chapters coming as quickly as I'm able. Thank you SO MUCH for your patience ^^ Enjoy the chapter!

~xXLoveThatAccentXx

It'd been about a week since the 'employees' day out'. Since then, Mike had been able to grow closer to the animatronics - not only through his shifts at night, but through his visits during the day.

Freddy, as it turned out, was a football fan. He had been exposed to the television at the corner of the restaurant, and while on break, took every free moment to watch the game. He didn't know what was going on most of the time, but the concept seemed to excite him to no boundaries. He even memorized the Jersey numbers he did and didn't like, and would cheer and groan according to what would occur. Mike wasn't much of a sports fan, but Freddy's reactions were entertaining enough.

Bonnie really liked to read. He was especially into the young adult novels and series, like Harry Potter, Percy Jackson and the Hunger Games, and in some cases, even fangirled over them. He wasn't familiar with the sort of 'fangirl lingo' that Mike saw on social media all the time, but his descriptions came pretty close. Once Mike offered to bring the Harry Potter movie series to his shift so they could have a marathon, and Bonnie went absolute nuts. He made Mike promise to bring it on Friday, so they could watch it all night long, and Mike laughed and agreed.

Foxy, strangely enough, had a knack for anything creative. He could build things, sew things, sculpt things, fold things... He was an artist. Not in the way Jeremy was, but an artist nonetheless. Mike first found out when he spied Foxy fixing Chica's bib by sewing a tear. When he'd asked about it, Foxy had shrugged and demonstrated what he could do with his hobbies by stitching up the bib at an impressive speed, then making the Sphinx of Giza out of pizza and mashed potatoes. Not bad for a hobby, really.

Chica... she was a fantastic cook. Unsurprising, yes; Mike wished there was more he could say about her but she simply never left the kitchen. She was just too content with her ingredients. Not that that was a bad thing, of course. Chica would often let him steal one or two treats from her basket of fresh-baked goodies. Not to mention she made a couple of things specific for him; especially during counseling.

...Counseling was the time of the day that Chica the psychiatrist would sit him down and ask about how he was doing. If he was making new friends. If people were treating him well... And about Amy.

Oh, why was he still haunted by Amy?

Ever since Jeremy tripped his way into the picture, it'd been a lot easier for Mike to forget about Amy. Well, not forget... but, in a sense, to un-remember. Thinking about his friend - what he could be doing, what he was learning in school now, what his brother was like - was his personal way of ignoring the dull, lingering ache in his heart that demanded the love and attention he required from Amy.

The more Chica would bring up the girl, though, the longer she'd stay, and the more forceful his regret would pound on his conscious. He thought he was getting better, but now it was coming back. He missed her. He missed her tan and her smile and her voice and her stupid fashion sense... he even missed those accursed jean shorts of hers! He hated those because that's what she wore when he caught her kissing someone else. He never told her that he knew. He was too afraid of losing her. But now she was gone, so would it really matter if she knew? Truthfully, he hoped he'd never see Amy again. But a small part of him still wished that he could just wake up from this bad dream; wake up in Amy's arms, just like he used to.

It was eleven o'five at night, and Mike stared out the window into the dark, watching the occasional car roar by, as Chica tried to make him feel better about the resurfacing feelings of his horrible ex-girlfriend.

"I know how it must feel, trying to put the puzzle back together, especially when she stole a piece." Chica was saying, trying to compare lighthearted things to the aching void within her patient. "But think about this instead; there's an even larger puzzle, an even bigger picture, that is consisted of one piece from everyone's puzzle. I belong in it, Freddy belongs in it, Foxy and Bonnie and even Jeremy all fit into this puzzle. And if you leave us..." Chica put a hand on his arm. "We'll have lost a piece of our puzzle."

"But what about the piece she took?"

"Experience. You become smarter with each piece you lose. Until you're left with one piece left. The one that really matters. The one that fits into the big picture."

"Your picture?"

Chica nodded. "It's okay to miss her. But it's her time to leave. So it's time to let her go."

Mike sighed. His eyes burned, but they were too dry to give tears. His throat constricted, but he was too tired to sob. A cloud of confliction hovered over his mind. He knew with all his heart and soul that Chica was right.

So why did it still hurt?