Mike sat awkwardly in his wooden chair, flipping through the screens on Jeremy's tablet while Jeremy himself was tapping away on a netbook next to him.
"Don't mean to bore you. Taking advantage of the last five minutes to finish this essay." He mumbled as if reading Mike's mind. "Harvard can be a real mess, can't it?"
Mike shrugged stiffly. "I wouldn't know. I've never gone."
"What are you talking about? I always see you during lunch." Jeremy looked up from his text for a moment to give him a weird look.
"Ah, that was just a privilege of mine; get to eat free at the university. Trust me, I'm not smart enough to get into Harvard. You're one lucky dude."
"...Thanks." Jeremy seemed taken aback at the praise.
"Anyway. I never had the chance to properly introduce myself; I'm-"
"Michael Schmidt." Jeremy supplied. "My history professor yelled at you."
"Ah, right."
"Right. And I'm-"
"Jeremy Fitzgerald." Mike intervened. "That's what those bullies called you."
"Yeah. Yeah." Jeremy agreed. "Glad that's the only name of mine you picked up from them." He glanced at the time on his netbook. "Time to start the shift. Can you watch those creepers while I put this away?"
"Mm hmm." Mike examined the robots through the different cameras. They were very similar to the animatronics in Mike's own workplace, just a lot newer. They looked more like toys than actual attractions; shiny, plaited, and brightly colored, whereas the ones at Mike's were worn and dark. For 'crazy evil robots', they looked pretty harmless. It was probably that case anyway, as Jeremy was pretty small. Also, ventilation shafts and no doors? If the robots couldn't get to Jeremy even with all these advantages, then Foxy was right; they really were laughable.
"So, tell me about these animatronics," Mike requested, frowning at a particular image of a dismembered white and pink Foxy sprawled on the ground. Just its appearance told Mike all he needed to know about it.
"What's there to tell, other than the fact that they're creepy, mean, and really strong?" Jeremy muttered. "It's really not a good combination. They come and try to murder me every night for no apparent reason! But I trust you've been in that situation before, so it's not like I'm getting special treatment, right? Worst thing is, they'd probably get away with it. They get away with everything. They could hack NASA and everyone would be cool with it; shrugging it off because they're so 'innocent'." Jeremy rolled his eyes. "One of the reasons I'm glad you're here tonight. So that I can prove I'm not crazy and these robots are actually homicidal."
"I believe you." Mike replied sympathetically. "Trust me, I know."
Jeremy raised his eyebrows. "How'd you get yours to stop?"
"I didn't do anything, to be honest. They stopped on their own. Guess they just liked me or something." Mike admitted.
To this response, Jeremy stopped and gave him a long, long look. Mike shifted. The look Jeremy was giving him wasn't relief.
"...So, there's no guarantee they won't kill us tonight?" He was blunt. "I thought you could tame the robots."
"...Sorry, no."
He blinked a few times. He sighed and shrugged a little. "It's okay... It's okay... Let's just hope these ones like you too. You seem likable." He seemed disappointed that Mike didn't meet his expectations, but he tried not to show it. If anything, he seemed to be attempting optimism. More likely for himself rather than Mike.
Jeremy reached across the table to grab a small round mechanical thing, attempting to mask any disappointment with preoccupation. "Well, they should be activating anytime now. Take this." He grabbed Mike's wrist to give him the metal thing. His grip was unsurprisingly weak, and Mike barely registered his gloves' cotton material. "It's the Marionette's music box. It starts to freak out if the song stops so you'll have to keep this wound up. I'll watch the cameras."
"A music box? Why not turn on a radio?" Mike looked critically at the music box in his hand.
"It's super picky. Won't calm down to anything not played on a music box. Unless it's sung in person. That's why it's calm during the day. Likes the way Freddy and Chica sing. Not Bonnie, though. Bonnie's not a very good singer." Jeremy snorted.
Mike snickered at that and wound the music box.
The night progressed much like any night at Mike's own workplace would've went a week before, when the robots actually stalked him. It wasn't that bad, really. Jeremy would check the lights, check the cameras, hide from the robots behind a Freddy mask (Mike borrowed a Bonnie one) and often talk to himself. The 'peace' was only pushed when Mike forgot to wind the music box.
Jeremy's expression went from tense to terrified when he realized the music box wasn't playing music. "Wind it! Quick-wind it up!" He yelled suddenly, scrambling to check the cameras. As Mike turned the lever in confusion, he took a peek of the footage on Jeremy's tablet and almost dropped the music box; Crawling out of an oversized present was a freakishly tall, black, spindly creature, the white mask that served as a face glaring straight at the camera.
Mike and Jeremy held their breath as 'Pop! Goes the Weasel' played throughout the empty restaurant. The scary tall thing stared at the camera for a moment more before slinking back into the box in a horribly disturbing manner. Jeremy let out a sigh of relief several seconds before Mike did.
"That stupid puppet!" He groaned. "Gets me every time."
"What if he got us?" Mike asked squeamishly.
Jeremy's expression answered that quite quickly, and Mike groaned as well. "How do you deal with this every night? Why do you deal with it?"
"...Probably the same reason as you." He replied.
"...I don't think so." The only reason Mike had kept his job earlier on was the life-threatening gamble. He doubted that Jeremy was one to put his life on the line for sport.
In any case, though, Mike's respect for Jeremy increased a bit.
It was four o'clock in the morning. The only conversation the two had exchanged had concerned the robots, or the differences between the two restaurants. Mike told Jeremy about Freddy and Bonnie and Chica and Foxy, and, ensuring he left out his depression, explained his new relationship with them. Jeremy seemed pretty impressed by that.
"Why can't you be nice like that, Freddy?" Jeremy called out to the toy in the hallway, flicking the flashlight on and off a couple times to disorientate it.
The shiny robot grunted in frustration, glaring at them before slinking off.
As Jeremy set down the flashlight, Mike once again noticed his gloves. He decided to take a shot at asking. "What are the gloves for?"
Jeremy was taken aback and he glanced down at his hands, rubbing his fingers together. "Um... Just a medical condition. Nothing too special." As Mike tried to think up an answer, he changed the subject. "Well, I'm more interested about your short description from your boss. Said something happened to you a week earlier so naturally, I'm curious."
Must've been a really personal question if he's asking me that in return. Mike sighed. Jeremy was vague. There was no reason Mike couldn't be either. "Just a problem with the GF." Just thinking about it... recalling the words Amy had said to him that night... It didn't hurt as painfully as before, but it left a pretty decent mark. "Hey, did you ever get your sketchpad back?" He asked, changing the subject before Jeremy could ask about the details.
"Mm hmm. I got it out of their bag while you were beating them up. I won't ever be able to thank you enough for that." He sounded sincere when he said the words 'thank you'. "My brother gave it to me, so I consider it one of my more important possessions."
"Not from your mom." Mike confirmed, remembering what the bullies kept saying.
Jeremy nodded slowly. "Not my mom."
"Speaking of your parents, do you live with them or do you live on campus? Your boss said you just turned seventeen, so I was curious. Didn't think you could live on your own until you're eighteen."
"You can't." Jeremy admitted. "I live on campus, but only because I'm privileged; like the one they gave you, to eat at the university for free. I get to pay a lower rent and they ignore my age, but that's just about it. That's why I work overtime, you know. College dorms are expensive-even the tiny discount ones, like mine."
"Living with your parents would be a lot easier. If you graduated high school early, then you must have scholarships to pay for a lot of your classes; you could use the money you earn to handle the rest-"
"I'm not living with my parents." He cut in firmly.
"Okay." Mike shut up.
They stopped talking for a few minutes to ward off a couple robots. When the halls were clear again, Jeremy muttered. "What about you? You going to college?"
"Nah. Grades sucked, didn't get any scholarships, can't pay for it. Nothing I want to study anyway."
"Too bad. Would've liked to see you around Harvard. You're pretty cool."
Mike's mouth quirked a bit. It was nice to hear that coming from Jeremy. He remembered back when he thought he'd regret standing up for Jeremy, but honestly, Chica was right. This did feel pretty good.
The night ended quicker than the boys expected. Quicker than Mike really wanted, to be honest. Jeremy seemed a lot like himself in a way-withdrawn, quiet, kind of sensitive. To talk to someone like him was nice, and Mike would even go as far to say-although he'd never admit it to Jeremy-it was a bit therapeutic.
The robots returned to the show stage and the Kid's Cove. With them out of the way, the boys left the office in peace, and walked out into the the empty parking lot, locking the pizzeria doors behind them.
As Mike headed off toward his pastel green pickup (Not his favorite color, but it was the cheapest thing he could get and beggars couldn't be choosers), he noticed that there was no other car in the lot. He turned around to see where Jeremy was heading to, and to his surprise, Jeremy was walking straight to the sidewalk. Was Jeremy going to walk home? Harvard was quite a ways from this pizzeria.
"Hey!" He called out. The other watchman looked back at him from the sidewalk.
"Yeah?"
"Do you need a ride to the campus? I pass it on the way home."
"...No, I'm fine."
Mike could respect that. Walking and thinking was therapeutic in itself. With a shrug, he swung himself into the driver's seat of his pickup and stuck the key into the ignition, cringing a bit as the car loudly sputtered to life. Stupid truck. It was a nineteen fifty-something and it was trash. At least it still ran.
Waving to Jeremy, Mike pulled out of the parking lot, and started on his way home.