Jeremy flipped the last piece of french toast onto the third plate set up on the counter next to him. He carried the three plates of french toast towards the square, brown wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. With graceful movements gained from two years working in a restaurant, he skillfully places the food onto the table in front of Mike with care. He did the same with Fritz, but with a slight forcefulness that made the glass clatter when it hit the table. Fritz stared after Jeremy, who ignored the nervous look on his face. He placed his own plate down at the head of the table before gathering the silverware and doing the same. He went to the fridge, taking out a pitcher of orange juice. He placed it in the middle of the table, before picking up three glass cups in his arms, handing one to Mike and Fritz before placing the last in front of his own chair.

He pulled out one of the four matching wooden chairs, sat down, and waited while looking at Fritz with as neutral a face he could manage.

Fritz chuckled nervously, his eyes darting between the food on the table, Jeremy's impassive face, and Mike's death glare from his right. He scratched his orange hair with one hand while the other pulled at the color on his plaid T-Shirt. His blue jeans wrinkled as he shifted in his seat.

Mike let Fritz be uncomfortable for a bit longer, before snorting and leaning back in his chair. He looked the slightly pudgy man in the eyes and said, “So, Fritz. You look well.”

“Um, thanks,” Fritz scratched his reddish, patchwork of a beard with one hand, “Same to you. Have you been working out?”

“Not much else to do in the pokey,” Mike picks up the butter knife and holds it up to his eyes. He waves it around in front of his face while speaking, “You gotta be real diligent every day. Else,” Mike swiftly jabbed the knife into the french toast on his plate, making Fritz jump slightly in his seat. Mike laughed, before turning to the plate and beginning to cut into his food.

Calming himself, Fritz turned his attention to Jeremy in hopes that the more level headed man would be easier to talk to, “R-right. Sounds like a pretty rough place, huh Jeremy?”

Jeremy shrugged, “I wouldn't know. I haven't been there.” His eyes never left his plate as he carefully cut the french toast on his plate.

Fritz bit his tongue as he looked down at his own food. Nervousness sits in his stomach like a cyst, preventing him from picking up his fork and knife. Instead, his eyes shift between the two former nightguards at the table. His face continually relaxes then scrunches up again as he tries to find the right words to say. His eyes keep darting all over the room until they landed on the rightmost edge of the table.

With a hopeful grin he gripped his side of the table with both hands, “Wow, this thing is sturdy Jeremy. Custom built?”

“Nope,” Jeremy nonchalantly waved his fork around in the air, “just something I found at a furniture store nearby. It was on sale and looked nice.”

“Well, maybe you could tell me where it is?” Fritz picked up his fork with the grin still on his face, “I could use a new...uh, sofa, yeah a sofa! And it sounds like that place has some good deals.”

“What do you care about price drops?” Mike said while swallowing about half of his food then pouring some orange juice into his cup. He quickly fills it to the top, then chugs it down in one go. He wipes his mouth with a sigh before continuing, “Last I checked, you got promoted at your job. When was that again? Oh yeah, right after my court case!”

Fritz's grin disappeared as quickly as it came. He started to fiddle with the toast on his plate while trying to regain his footing, “C-come on, Mike. Let's not talk about-”

“Oh cut the crap, Fritz!” Mike slammed his palm against the table, making it shake. Fritz jumped slightly, nearly falling out of his chair at the outburst as Mike kept talking, “We know you didn't come here on a whim. You came here cause that old Fazfuck told you too! So what the fuck does he want with us!”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down, Mike!” Fritz said regaining his balance while holding his hands out in a placating manner, “I-I just came here because I wanted to see you guys after all these-”

“Bullshit!” Mike hit the table again, “If you actually cared about us, you wouldn't have sold me out!”

“W-what was I supposed to do?!” Fritz frowned as his anger began to rise, “Mr. Fazbear threatened to take away my job!”

“Like that's an excuse!”

“My mother has lung cancer!” Fritz stands up in his chair, “I'm the only one in my family taking care of her! Do you have any idea how expensive her medical bills are?!”

“You could've come to Jeremy,” Mike jerked his thumb at his friend, “The guy's practically rolling in dough now. Do you see this house?”

“It took him two years to get this. My mom doesn't have that kind of time!”

“Actually,” Jeremy interrupted while holding up a finger, “It took me one year, six months to get the house. I got the job two weeks after the court case. It took Mike two years to get out of prison.”

“Told ya!” Mike grinned smugly at the furious look on Fritz's face.

“However, he is right Mike,” Jeremy sat up straight while his friend looked at him with confusion, “You should try understanding his position. There's no guarantee that I would've been able to get enough money to support his mother while you were in prison. Give him a chance, and calm down, please.”

Mike frowned, stared at Fritz for a bit more, sighing, “Alright, fine.”

Fritz sighed in relief, feeling his anger fade as he sat back down, “Thanks, Jeremy. You-”

Jeremy held up a hand, “Do not misunderstand, Fritz. I understand why you did what you did, and it tells me that you truly care for your mother. However, it also tells me that you are not someone we can really trust. And we can't just ignore the fact that, at the end of the day, you did lie to the court and put Mike in a worse situation than before.”

Fritz's relief soon vanished, making way for despair at Jeremy's words, “But...Jeremy...”

“No, Fritz,” Jeremy let his hand fall to his side, “You've long since burned any kind of bridge you could've built with us. So, if you don't mind, say what you came here to say, and leave.”

Chastised and fully understanding the situation, sweat dripping down his neck, Fritz swallowed loudly as he tried to form the words. He took a deep breath before speaking, “Mr. Fazbear...is willing to offer you both your jobs back as nightguards at the new Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.”

“No.”

“Fuck no.”

Fritz held out both his arms in surprise at the simultaneous dismissal from the two, “You didn't even let me finish.”

“We don't need to,” Mike sniffs while leaning back in his chair, his plate clean of any crumbs of food, “There's nothing you can say that can will change our answers.”

“He's right, Fritz,” Jeremy nodded along with Mike, “Every experience we've had with that place has been a terrible one. We want to put it behind us, for good.”

“Besides, Fazfuck was pretty clear that he never wanted to see me near his restaurant again. Who's to say that this isn't an attempt to get me back in the slammer?”

“But he said he's willing to drop that,” Fritz nodded his head while glancing between the two men, “a-an-and he's even offering a huge pay raise! Twenty-five dollars per hour. Can you believe that?!”

Neither Mike nor Jeremy looked convinced. Fritz abruptly stood up from his chair, making it fall back onto the floor behind him, “Remember your old office? Complete renovation! It's got doors, shockers, more cameras, there's actual ventilation and a bunch of other stuff too! Plus..uh...uh...the place just wouldn't be the same without you two! Come on! Guys?!”

They both remain silent.

Fritz is hyperventilating by this point, causing the two friends to show actual concern on their faces. He places both hands on the table, “You guys aren't making this easy for me. Fazbear needs you back. I don't know why but....he said he'd cut my paycheck if I couldn't convince you guys to come back. I...I don't know how much of my payment I can afford to lose. The hospital keeps calling with bills and, and...you guys have got to help me! Please! Just come back!”

By this point, Fritz is kneeling on the ground with his hands clasped together on the table. His body is shaking, his eyes look bloodshot and scared, and the sweat has started to stain his shirt.

Jeremy and Mike looked at each other, a war of emotions warring inside them. Fritz was desperate, more so than they originally thought. Even Mike, who had already closed his heart off, took a moment to consider the implications.

If everything Fritz said was true, then coming back might be just what they needed. Jeremy didn't have to take the job but Mike certainly needed one. And twenty-five dollars an hour was nothing to scoff at. If at least one of them took it, maybe Mike would be able to move on with his life. Make something of his own, while Jeremy rose through the ranks and become an executive.

It seemed like a good deal.

Too good.

The two friends nodded to each other and turned to Fritz. The tension in the air was high as the current employee looked at his former co-workers. For a moment, he felt a flicker of hope spark in his chest one last time. That the two had heard his pleas and would return to the Pizzeria first thing in the morning.

That hope was dashed as Jeremy replied, with no uncertainty in his voice whatsoever, “I'm sorry, Fritz. But the answer is no.”

Jeremy unlocked the front door then pushed it open by the handle. He stepped to the side as Fritz started to walk past him. Fritz stopped right on the threshold of the house, turning to look at Jeremy with puffy eyes.

Jeremy gave him a concerned look, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Once again, I'm truly sorry Fritz. But if you ever need anything, come talk to me. It can be money, a place to stay, or even a new job. I'll do everything I can to help.”

“Including returning to the Pizzeria?” Fritz forced himself to chuckle at the joke. Jeremy reciprocated, a sad smile on his face. He took a step outside, then turned back, “Sure I can't change your mind?”

Jeremy shook his head. Fritz lowered his head, keeping his gaze at the ground for his entire walk home. Jeremy watched him leave, waiting until the Fazbear employee had turned onto the sidewalk before he closed the door. The blonde sighed as he walked back to the kitchen where Mike was washing the dishes. He came over to help, grabbing up one of the plates and a towel.

The two of them were silent, the only noise between them the squeaking of the plates.

“Do you think we were too harsh on him?”

“Hell no,” Mike placed his clean plate on the side right side of the sink before picking up Fritz's, “That guy threw us under the bus, Jeremy. He's little more than a filthy, fucking traitor.”

The two of them are silence once again, as Jeremy places his plate next to Mike for a second cleaning.

He leans against the counter with one arm, “I understand where you're coming from, Mike. But he had his mother to think of. Doesn't that count for something?”

Mike didn't answer, placing a plate down then grabbing up the one Jeremy had set down. He started to scrub it harder than before.

“Mike?” he didn't reply to Jeremy, his hands moving faster.

“Mike?!”

“Goddamn it, I don't know!” Mike hit the edge of the sink with his wrist, making the dishes clink together. A hand went to his forehead as grimaced, “I just...I want to be mad at him! I am mad at him! He's one of the main reasons I got put in the clink. But he did it to protect his mother and....fuck. Just fuck, Jeremy. Just fuck.”

Jeremy said nothing. He simply stared at his friend as he cursed out his frustrations. Mike was facing a dilemma there was no easy answer to, and Jeremy couldn't help. He didn't have the answer either.

The tension over the conversation was broken by the sound of an alarm coming from Jeremy's pocket. He pulled out his flip phone, looked at the screen then swore, “It's 7:30. I've got an hour before my shift.”

Mike smiled, thankful to have a change in subject, “Time for the daily grind, huh?”

“You know it,” Jeremy smiled back, lightly punching Mike in the arm as he ran off to get his work clothes on. Mike placed down the last plate and started heading towards the door while doing some stretching. Whenever Jeremy went to work, he always ran to the park to get some laps in. It was better than sitting around the house all day.

Just as he was getting his shoes on, Jeremy came down the stairs to the second floor. He had on a white dress shirt, black pants covered by a black apron, and black shoes to complete the outfit. He posed for a moment and asked, “How do I look?”

“Like someone who works a dead-end job,” the two friends laughed at Mike's joke before heading towards the door at the same time.

They looked each other in the eye, nodded, then went off to start their new lives away from the shadow of Freddy Fazbear.