The neon sign outside flickered like it always did.

Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza buzzed in warm reds and yellows against the early evening sky, the parking lot dotted with boxy cars and the low hum of engines turning over. Inside, it smelled like grease, soda syrup, and something faintly metallic beneath it all—something Michael had never quite been able to place.

He pushed the door open anyway.

The bell chimed overhead as he stepped in, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes scanning the room out of habit. Kids laughed near the arcade machines, their quarters clinking loudly. The animatronics on stage stood frozen mid-performance, plastic smiles locked in place beneath dim lights.

Michael shifted his weight.

Come straight to my office after school, William had said that morning, voice calm but firm as he adjusted his tie. I need your help organizing some files. And I’d rather you be here than… elsewhere.

Michael knew what that meant.

Carter. Greyson. Kage.

His grip tightened slightly on his backpack strap before he forced himself to keep walking.

William wasn’t wrong—but that didn’t make it easier.

The hallway behind the main floor was quieter, the noise fading with every step until it was just the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Michael reached the office door and hesitated for half a second before knocking.

“Come in.”

William’s voice was steady, familiar.

Michael pushed the door open—

William stood behind his desk, sleeves neatly rolled, posture straight like always, but his expression softened the second he saw Michael. Across from him, leaning casually in one of the chairs, was someone Michael didn’t recognize.

Older.

Tall.

Strawberry blond hair that caught the light just enough to look almost golden, and bright blue eyes that flicked toward Michael the second he entered.

Then William cleared his throat lightly. “Michael. There you are.”

Something in his tone shifted—still professional, but warmer now. Softer.

Michael stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. “You said you needed help?”

“I do,” William replied, but his attention briefly shifted to the other boy. “But first—this is Noah.”

Noah stood up, easy and unhurried, like he was comfortable anywhere he went. Up close, he looked even older—confident in a way Michael wasn’t sure he’d ever felt.

“He’s one of our employees,” William continued. “And on the basketball team at his school, from what I hear.”

Noah huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that’s me.”

William’s lips twitched faintly before he gestured. “Noah, this is my son, Michael.”

Noah turned fully toward him.

Michael felt it immediately.

That weird, sudden awareness—like everything sharpened all at once. The way Noah’s eyes were on him, steady but not intimidating. The way he smiled, just a little, like he already knew something Michael didn’t.

“Oh,” Noah said, like it explained something. “You’re Michael.”

Michael blinked. “Yeah…?”

Noah stepped forward and held out his hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

His hand was warm.

Firm, but not too tight.

And for absolutely no reason at all, Michael’s heart tripped over itself.

“Nice to meet you too,” he managed.

Noah’s smile tilted just slightly, like he caught the stumble.

Michael pulled his hand back, suddenly very aware of himself. His hoodie. His hair. The fact that Noah was older—way older, it felt like—and somehow completely at ease standing in William’s office like he belonged there.

William, for his part, was watching the interaction with quiet interest.

“Michael’s been helping me stay organized,” William said after a moment, tone returning to business—but that softness was still there underneath it, especially when he glanced at Michael. “I figured it would be good for him to spend more time here.”

Noah nodded easily. “Makes sense.”

His eyes flicked back to Michael again.

“Better than getting into trouble somewhere else.”

Michael flushed slightly, looking away.

“Alright,” William said, straightening slightly. “Michael, I’ll show you what I need help with.”