The JereMike Collection

Drabbles 5

Note: In case you're not aware, ALL of the Fazbear Guards had a bit of a redesign, so some details are different. This will soon be effective in all the chapters. *cartwheels into fire*

201: Basketball
Mike flexed his fingers, using his palm to dribble the ball halfway down the court again, unamused. The court itself is nearly empty, save for himself. It's still a fresh Saturday evening, so the sky was getting darker with a new hue of pink and purple flooding the clouds. All snotty kids and bratty teenagers had gone home for the day, and there was only soul left with enough interest to spectate the athlete. If hardly.
Jeremy sat quietly in the bench a few yards away, his nose buried in a book. It's a story he's already read, but too good of a tale to put down.

He's halfway through the page's second paragraph when it's ripped not so graciously away, the book dropping to the ground in a clutter of pages. Green eyes turn from the crumpled mess to the rolling ball retreating from the character, trailing his gaze to the culprit besides him. "What was that for? I was r-reading that!"

Mike shrugs. "You looked bored."

Jeremy wrinkles his nose. "I was perfectly fine reading."

"Fine. You sitting there bores me." Mike snarked, striding over to the basket ball and bouncing it back up into his hold. "You gonna shoot or what?"

As expected, the nightwatch raises a brow in confusion. "...I don't play sports. You know I don't have a chance at getting a score."

"What's the harm in trying, then? Chicken."

Jeremy would like to say that the sly comment was immature, but he catches himself sticking his tongue out at the remark, keeping his retort to himself. "I'm not chicken"

The ball is flying towards his head before he can register it. Instinctively, he holds up his hands to shield, only for the surface to contact with his palm, shakely catching the projectile. He looks up to a smug smile, Mike shoving his hands into his pocket. "Prove it"

Taking a deep breath, Jeremy stands from the bench and walks a few yards, sneakers only stopping a few paces from the clearly marked line. He spares Mike a half-hearted glance to the side before squaring his shoulders and breathing in. With as much strength as he could pull together, he pushed his palms forwards and shoots.

Not only does he miss, but the ball had the nerve to bounce directly off the edge of the basket ring, sending it spiraling back towards the pair. Mike's too busy trying to think of some sort of half-ass remark on the kid's poor aim to see the ball incoming.

"FUCK!" There's an audible thwack as basketball makes impact with his nose, and Jeremy swears he hears something crack. Half a second later and Mike has his torso craned towards the ground, hissing. Jeremy hesitates, walking closer. He can't tell if the security guard is laughing or cursing him underneath his breath, but it doesn't stop the tiny giggle escaping his throat regardless. "Told ya"

202: Bloody Nose (Continued)

Mike pinched his nose, holding his head backwards until he could feel a trickle of liquid slither down his throat. It was a strange feeling, but the hands cupping his cheeks were a much more distracting factor. "This was your fault, you know." He spies Jeremy wiping his blood off of his hands onto his sleeve, 'his' being Mike's, mind you. "You're such a fucking twat"

Jeremy smiles. "C'mon tough guy, d-don't be such a chicken..."

203: Fishing

"So..." Mike trails off, "How am I supposed to hook this again?"

Jeremy glances up from the bait box and stares, eyeing the security guard attempt at attaching bait to a poorly strung string and fishing pole. "You're going to s-stick yourself if you keep trying to tie it like that!" He interrupted, swiftly taking the pole from the man, much to the guard's distain. "I'll fix it for you. Can you keep an eye out for any activity in the water, maybe?" He urges, pointing off towards the pier. "Just don't go past the safety bars, ok?"