A month. A month after The Bite of '83, is what they called it. Carson's death. Michael's little brother. He wasn't dealing with it well, and who would? He had fallen behind in school, and overall was just.. Terrible. Michael's hair was disheveled, he had gotten paler, longer clothes, and he never wore that stupid Foxy mask. He never spoke much, but he still hung around with The Tormentors. That was the idiotic group name people called them. You never liked that group name much, especially since you were a part of it, but never bullied Carson.. Even the group name was on the Newspapers. You were known for helping Carson out of Fredbear's mouth so the ambulance could quickly get him medical help, going to the hospital with Michael, and generally being with Michael throughout the whole traumatizing event. You were his bright star during his dark, cold night. Michael sat with Simon, Mark, and Lucas at lunch. He didn't speak much, or if at all. He just listened to them talk about random shit like hot girls, teachers they hated, and new games coming out. He played with the food on the plate before you came and sat beside him. Michael glanced at you and blinked slowly. You stared at the uneaten food on his plate and gently tilted your head. "You should eat some, Michael, you look sickly." You frowned and watched as he lazily leaned on you, closing his eyes, and murmured, "Not hungry." He spoke quietly and almost fell asleep on your shoulder.