The JereMike Collection

Skin

Note: The picture has nothing to do with the story, it's just random JereMike.

"You look like a damn train wreck"

Jeremy frowned, subconsciously brushing his bangs closer to the center of his face. His hair was as messy as the rest of his appearance, choppy ends and ruffled strands sticking out in directions that Mike didn't believe was scientifically possible. It still held its lovely shade of honey brown, but the shine of it was lost when ice eyes narrowed, gaze seeping past the nightwatch's shield to rest angrily on the darkening bluish hue of the skin. "The fuck happened to you?"

He receives some sort of half-hearted shrug a few seconds after, the brunette taking a moments to shield his face, giving him time to think of an excuse. His lips part slightly as if to give a vocal response, but shuts soon after. Jeremy had no explanation for this.

That, or he just didn't want to share it, Mike sneers to himself."Fine, don't answer then." The snark comes out a bit more hostile than he intended, but the flash of guilt that flew across the younger male's features implies that he more than well got his point across.

The nightwatch blinks, emerald eyes darting to the right. He was hiding something, and it wasn't just the obvious either. Not that his bangs covered much of his eye, anyhow. He remained quiet, silently unzipping his backpack and restocking his work locker with the usual's. Nothing important, just a spare t-shirt and pack of shoelaces should his work uniform get torn sometime during a night shift or he clumsily spills something on himself again.

There have been close calls with the animatronics that neither of them would like to remember, but Mike has a certain tie with it's length sliced off at a quarter inch from the knot, a gentle reminder that he had come uncomfortably close to decapitation one grave evening.

He frowns at the memory, unlocking and grumpily swinging open his own locker, eyeing the fabric stuffed unceremoniously in the corner of it. Both of them have abstained injuries from unfortunate encounters with the animals, Mike mostly, since it's clear that anything intending to harm the younger nightwatch would have to go though the seething security guard first. That, and the eternal grudge the man had against the furry robots, a certain hooked hand individual especially.

Mike glances behinds his shoulder, the other male to busy finishing up his stock to be aware of the other man sizing him up, mainly, the swollen skin on his upper cheek. Mike's been in enough fights to know just how hard someone has to punch to cause a black eye of that severity. Mostly because he's the one who's gave them.

As if the indirect injury wasn't enough, the fact that the kid refused to tell him how it came to be irritated him even further.Normally, sympathy and concern were the usual reactions to things like this, he's gotten plenty when he didn't wanted. But there's a sour taste in his mouth and his fingers are twitching, not something the body does naturally when concern is felt.

Mike has to inwardly remind himself that he should not be directing his rising frustration towards the wrong person.

"Have you at least treated it?" He breaks the silence,removing his gaze before Jeremy could turn and spot it. "Put alcohol and peroxide on it, I mean. You can't let it fester."

His expression remains stoic as the younger male shuffles his feet nervously. For what seems like like an eternity, Jeremy finally gives some sort of response. He shakes his head, simple and doesn't imply much, but an answer none the less.

An answer that makes Mike grit his teeth. "Sit down"

There's so much authority in his tone that Jeremy hesitates protesting, uncertainty across his face when Mike takes a step forward. He reached out in a singular swift movement and slams Jeremy's locker with a bang, sending shudders down the nightwatch spine. He's angry with him, as if the bruise wasn't bad enough.