Sorry for the wait. You *should* be getting faster updates after this, but don't count on it. Love you all!

xXLoveThatAccentXx

"It's very eccentric." Jeremy explained, covering one ear so he could hear himself speak. They'd made it to the basketball game with a couple minutes to spare, getting seats all the way at the very back. The night guards, being uninterested in sports, we're quite fine with sitting away from all the noise, however, Scott and his friends were not. They quite often complained about their position and screamed at the top of their lungs in an effort to be heard. Mike and Jeremy weren't flattered, and, instead of joining them in their loud shouting, engaged in conversation of their own. As of now, Jeremy was explaining to Mike his concerns about his favorite animatronic- the Puppet. "Easily spooked. But at the same time, it's like it's waiting for something. It scares me half to death but it's just so alluring. Sometimes, when it's crawling down the hall, I think I can hear... singing. Like, a little kid, singing. 'Pop! Goes the Weasel'." Jeremy suddenly squinted. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

Mike thought for a little. He shook his head. "Not you, specifically. Your dealer, maybe." He added with a grin.

"Oh, come on!" Jeremy complained. "I'm not high either."

"Maybe sleep-deprived, though. It has mostly the same effects. I know that as a fact."

Jeremy snorted in sympathy. Beside him, Scott shrieked, "HES GONNA DUNK IT! MARY, HES GONNA - OOHH COME ON!" And the crowd whined with him. On the court, one of the players was picking himself off the floor, cracking his neck. His teammates patted his shoulders while the other team looked a bit smug.

Mike examined Jeremy's sketch again; the one of the Puppet. It was a beautiful piece of work. It showed the animatronic peeking out of it's present, its glowing left eye piercing the dark of the room. A spindly black claw clutched at the rim of the box, and from its fingers dangled a tiny music box connected to a chain. The aura the picture radiated was something between mysteriously sinister and strangely captivating.

"So... you like it when it stalks you?" He smirked. "It's kinda like a clingy girlfriend, you think?"

"Ha and ha. Sure, but I wouldn't know. Never had one. But I bet you have." Jeremy winked. "You just seem like the kind of dude that all the girls would come running to."

Mike's smile faded. Jeremy didn't notice. He was watching the game, boredly following some random players with his eyes.

Amy wasn't clingy. Not exactly. There were times when she'd stick to him, but for the most part, it was Mike. He'd always craved her undivided attention, as it was the closest he'd ever been to truly feeling loved. Losing her had been more than a heartbreak. It was as though someone had removed his very soul, leaving him to wander aimlessly, trying to figure out what he was missing.

At least... that's what it had felt like. Mike blinked. Something was different now, as he thought about it. It didn't ... It didn't hurt as much as before. It was less a gaping, bleeding hole in his chest, but more of a throbbing bruise. He missed her. But in a way as if he actually accepted she was gone. Contrary to what he had felt, she wasn't the only person that mattered in his life. Now he realized there were people that accepted him; Scott and the other employees, his boss and his cousin, Mr. Smalls. Jeremy.

He realized just then he'd been staring into space. Jeremy was waving a gloved hand in his face. "Hellooo? Earth to Mike?"

Mike shook his head to clear his thoughts. As he summoned a smile and thought of something to reply to his friend, the pain of his breakup slowly melted away.

"Is that him, Mike?!" Chica squealed, hopping up and down on her heels and pointing to where Jeremy stood across the room, catching up with Mike's boss. "He's so cuuute!"

"Love his taste in music," Bonnie approved when he noticed Jeremy's My Chemical Romance t-shirt. "I can tell we're going to be friends already."

"Ye be right, Mikey. The lad re' is a wee thing." Foxy shook his jead, as though he never imagined humans could be short.

Mike chuckled. "Don't tell him that."

A sudden strum of guitar strings behind them announced the return of Freddy. He was grinning from ear to ear and his top hat was falling off his head. "Ready to perform?"

"What are you guys singing?" Mike asked, taking in Freddy's new attire; a eighties style sparkly button up and matching pants. He looked like his old psychiatrist's favorite rock star. Whatshisface Jackson.

"It's a surprise!" Freddy winked, and ushered the rest of his band on stage. "Come on, guys, get dressed!"

As they disappeared behind the curtain, Scott found himself near Mike again. "Hi, again, Miles!"

Mike rolled his eyes. "Hey, Scott."

"You're looking a lot better." Scott noticed with a smile, and Mike frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Weren't you sick or something? You had these dark circles under your eyes and you always looked tired. But you're looking a whole lot better. Glad to see it. Glad you could come! We enjoyed your company; you should come out with us more often."

Lies. "Sure, if I have the time."

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Came a sudden crow, and Mike and the others turned their attention to the stage. The lights of the pizzeria were dimming and the stage lights were popping on. Freddy's voice came again. "The moment you've all been waiting for! Freddy Fa-!"

"They get it, just get out there, Freddy." Came a hiss, recognizable as Chica, and the gang, all dressed in sparkly outfits, pranced onto the stage. The smatter of employees (you could hardly call them an audience) giggled at their childish movements.

Jeremy came to stand next to Mike. "What's going on?"

"I think they're going to sing."

"Oh no. Not the nursery rhymes." Jeremy frowned. But Mike didn't think they were going to do that. He shrugged and decided on waiting to see for himself.

Freddy cleared his throat and straightened his bow tie. Then Bonnie began to pick out a familiar tune. Mike raised his eyebrows. They know this song? Jeremy actually laughed out loud.

Freddy grinned. "Stacey, can I come over after school?"

"Oh my gosh." Scott shook his head, but he was smiling. "Not this one again!"

"Oh, come on, Scott- We can hang around by the pool!" Freddy sang. "Did your mom get back from her business trip? Is she there or is she trying to give me the slip?"

The employees began to clap along. Chica did the backup singing and Foxy joined in on the drums. Mike leaned toward Scott. "Exactly how many times do they sing this for you guys?"

"Every single time." He replied.

"Come on everyone!" Freddy encouraged, and the whole room joined in on the chorus;

"STACEY'S MOM HAS GOT IT GOING ON! SHE'S ALL I WANT AND I'VE WAITED FOR SO LONG! STACEY CAN'T YOU SEE, YOU'RE JUST NOT THE GIRL FOR ME...!"

Jeremy sat to the side in one of the booths, filling in some of the shading on his new piece of work as his targets twirled around on stage, squawking 'High School Never Ends' (Apparently even Bowling For Soup was fine to sing when no kids were around to judge you). He was erasing a few pesky lines when Mike suddenly appeared, peeking over his shoulder.

"Dude, you're really good at this stuff."

"I just capture a moment in time. The picture itself is up to everyone else."

"You're still good at it."

Jeremy shrugged and brushed away the eraser debris. In the process, the fabric of his gloves got caught on the sketchbook's spiral wire and tore into it. He gasped and nearly dropped his pencil.

Mike flinched. "Well, snap."

"It's okay, I have another pair at home." Jeremy picked at the fray, pulling out any extra long threads.

"Why do you wear those gloves anyway?" Mike asked curiously, and Jeremy pursed his lips.

"If I tell you, do you promise not to make fun of me?"

"Of course not!"

"Okay..." Jeremy pulled off the gloves with his teeth (which was technically the only way he could get them off) to reveal... some regular hands.

"What's up with them?" Mike asked, clearly not understanding.

"I have hyperhidrosis."

"What does that mean?"

Oh, right. He doesn't take my health classes. Okay, we'll go with the proper definition. "'Hyper, meaning excessive. Hidro, as in sweat. -Osis, as in condition'. I have hyperhidrosis, which means I constantly sweat from my hands, even when I'm not active or in warmer temperatures." Jeremy flexed his hands. Already they were getting damp. "It's a pretty rare medical condition, and I'm not proud of it. My brother and I agreed that I'd wear gloves to keep my hands dry, or at least keep them from getting everything wet."

Mike blinked. He didn't seem to know what to say. "Oh. I never knew."

"The more you know, huh?"

"Is that why you're bullied?"

"Not really. I try to keep it a secret. People only pick on me because I'm a social outcast. It's just what people do." Jeremy explained with a short laugh. "But I'm not a big fan of pity so don't go telling everybody to be extra nice to me. There are people that have the same problem as me, so I'm not special at all. I'd rather nobody knew."

It might have been Jeremy's imagination, but Mike's eyes seemed to show sympathy, as though he actually understood his statement. "I know. I won't."