𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘴 //

010

now playing..

"It's Been a Long, Long Time"
-Harry James

-

     The house was eerily quiet, usually filled with running and childish chaos from the twins fighting or playing in places they knew they shouldn't.

But then again, it was seven in the morning.

   You'd usually be asleep right now, though your mind seemed to torture you with overthinking at these hours. You made an attempt to not make any noise as you made your way downstairs, peering into the living room.

Although you soon realized that was completely unnecessary because Henry was already awake.

      "Morning." You greeted, heading towards the kitchen for a drink, stopping as quiet music filled the ground floor of the house.

  "Is this, Elvis?" You questioned, looking back to where Henry sat at the kitchen table with a few papers scattered across the surface.

  "Blue Suede Shoes, to be exact." He smiled towards you, his tired eyes clearly not having been shut for more than four hours.

   "Didn't know you were a vinyl junkie." You laughed, making your way to the cabinet full of cups and other dishes.

  "Oh, most of them were my father's. I developed his love for them as a child and we collected them together."

    You grabbed a cup from the cabinet next to the fridge and turned the faucet on. "You have a good ear for music." Henry mentioned, his fingers grasping the coffee mug on the table.

   You noticed the drawings on the fridge, the colorful stickmen standing with smiles on their faces. "Thank you." You ran your finger over the crayon drawing. "Are these the twins' drawings?"

   "Oh, yes." You heard Henry's voice from the dining room, your eyes drifting to the one on the far left. It appeared to be a drawing of what looked like Henry, his brown hair and glasses prominent. His name was scraggly drawn out next to him with a small arrow pointing to him.

    It seemed to be the two twins, each child drawn in a different art style, like the two of them drew themselves individually. Their names were next to their respective drawing.

      The figure next to them looked like you, your features prominently displayed on the paper, your name drawn out next to you with a smiley face and an arrow as well.

   You didn't know whether you wanted to cry or smile. Or both.

  "It's really sweet, huh?" Henry's voice nearly made you jump, his figure standing behind you.

   "Yeah, it's super thoughtful honestly. I love it." You let your focus go back towards the drawings. "I'm glad they like me."

  "Of course they do, you're like a.." his words stopped as he moved onto a separate topic.

  "Anyhoo, I'm going to head back to Fredbear's to clear a few things up.." he muttered, almost nervously. "Will has been stressing me out a lot with his.. new ideas."

  "New ideas?" You questioned, your attention returning to the man next to you.

  "I'll just have to show you."

-

It was freezing cold outside—you're able to see your breath every time you took one. You thought a long sleeved shirt would be enough but you were so unbelievably wrong.

   You walked into the building in hopes it would be a little warmer, but to your dismay, it was just as cold, if not colder than the outside world.

"Is there not a heater or something?" You asked, trying not to stutter because of the cold. You shivered as your eyes roamed around the lobby of the building.

"No," Henry sighed. "Just air conditioning."

He ran his fingers through his hair, taking in the scent of the building before the pizzas were cooked and before people began showing up.

   A ginger bomber jacket covered his white t-shirt, the jacket having a little wear and tear in it, showing how much it's been used and loved.

"You're shaking." He mentioned as you zoned back in. "Huh? Oh- I guess I am." You laughed in an awkward manner as you shoved your hands into your pockets.

He looked down at me for a second before taking his arm out of the jacket sleeve. He handed the bomber jacket to you with a small smile.

"Oh! No I'm fine. Plus you'll be cold." You declined his offer for the jacket, though he seemed to insist. "You're cold. You need it more."

"But Henry-" you protested before he placed it into your arms. "Take the jacket, Y/n." His voice was surprisingly condescending.

    That was the first time you've ever heard Henry do anything remotely assertive. You weren't lying when you say it shook you a bit.
  
    You did as you were told and put the bomber jacket on, watching as Henry walked towards his office.

      Henry is a guy with broad shoulders whist having a slim body type. He has surprisingly veiny hands and arms, although you shouldn't be surprised since he works with machinery for a living.

      You always joked with him that one paper cut and it's all over, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to know what his scarred skin felt like. You'd often curse yourself for even thinking like that.

  But the more you tried to get rid of those thoughts, the more they reoccurred.

The bomber jacket is several sizes too large for you, but it's still a jacket nonetheless. You shoved your hands into the fuzzy pockets, walking to Henry's office. He was sitting at his desk in deep thought.

His eyes glanced up to me, his hand having a grasp on a pencil above a notepad you've seen him with before.
 
  "What are you doing?" Your curiosity got the better of you as you walked over to him at his desk.

"I'm just writing down a few ideas." He said, focusing on the little notepad.

"I'll be right back." He said, getting out of his chair and walking out of the room.

  You looked back to his desk, eyes scanning the papers throughly. You hated how curious you were, though something caught your eye.
 
You moved a few papers around to properly read a different, smaller piece of paper. It looked like a checklist.

It listed off a few reminders on things to do, such as take the trash out of the office but one caught your eye, scraggly written at the bottom of the paper with an underline below it.

"Don't forget to take medication."

A poorly drawn smiley face was next to it, your confusion only growing as you noticed a little bottle on the top of the filing cabinet. You carefully picked it up and examined it, turning it over to read label.

  Prozac, a sub for Fluoxetine.

      You could only recognize it as an SSRI, and antidepressant. Your eyes were drawn to the trash can, a few empty bottles of the same medication in a pile. You understood Henry was a stressed man, but you didn't quite think he was this unstable.