The JereMike Collection

Jeremy gripped his bag's shoulder strap tightly, holding his arms against himself. The wind harshly beat against him as he walked up the sidewalk, sparing short glances towards shabby buildings and slow moving cars as he passed them. It was cold today, much colder than he thought it's be.

He woke up late that morning, quickly throwing on a pair of jeans and a striped hoodie, barely able to stick on his shoes as he ran for the bus stop. Mother always protested his late hours spent at Fazbear's, often complaining of the call she was getting from multiple teachers, all equally angry that he'd been sleeping in the middle of an important lecture.

Then Jeremy would remind her that it wouldn't be much longer till he graduated, and she'd hush, knowing that her son was much too determined to break routine now. So she'd just force a smile as she watched him leave every night, making sure to have breakfast at the ready when he returned. He'd sleep for an hour, then leave again for school, returning home as nothing more than a mass mix of exhaustion and desperation.

But this time, he wasn't going home. He was going to Mike's.

He found himself doing a lot of that lately, it seems.

Stepping up to the apartment door, he took a deep breath before knocking. One, two, three knocks, and he let his hand drop to his side. No answer.

Jeremy pressed his lips together in a thin line, unsure. Should he just walk in? Wouldn't that be rude? Maybe he isn't home...

He glanced around, squinting when he spotted an run-down truck parked on the far side of the lot. Mike was here, he would never leave his beloved truck behind. The poor thing could be missing a door, a tire, and it's windshield and Jeremy still wouldn't be surprised if the guard insisted on pushing it everywhere he went.

He gave the truck a dull observation before reaching for the door handle, turning it quietly as he could and stepping inside. "Mike?...."

No answer, again. The inside of the apartment was dark; even the windows that usually let a few rays of light seep through them had been completely covered, the curtains pulled over each other in a messy fashion.

Adjusting his eyes to the dimness, Jeremy placed his hand on the wall, carefully running against it until something rectangular ran under his palm. He flipped the switch on, flinching as the sudden light brought a sting to his eyes. Shaking the feeling away, he pushed the front door shut, looking around the room. "Mike?"

There was no one to answer him, no one to stop him from walking out of the tiny entryway and into the living room. He blinked, taking in his surroundings. Nothing was out of place. Everything seemed to be perfectly fine, given who lived here.

Jeremy took a deep breath, letting his bag drop to the floor. Setting it against the wall, he reached his hand inside his pocket and pulled out his phone, staring thoughtfully at the screen. He glanced around the corner into the kitchen, just to make sure. No Mike.

Furrowing his brows, he switched to his call history. One missed call from Fazbear management, two from Fritz, and a single text message from Mike. Combined, these factor's only confused the poor night watch, which pretty much set things into motion.

He remembers his call with Fritz vividly.

"W-what do you mean he didn't show for work?" Jeremy questioned, trying to keep the phone pressed between his cheek and shoulder as he stuffed textbooks into his old bag. "He's never missed a day. N-not even when he was sick!"

"I don't know, man." The voice on the other end responded. "All I know is he didn't clock in, so they called me" The night watch could hear children yelling on the other end of the line, confirming Fritz was still on shift, and Mike still hadn't shown up. That rules out over sleeping, he guessed.