“do well for me, okay?”

mike blinks in surprise when your hands smooth over the noticeable wrinkles on his security vest — the comforting warmth of your palms melting through the black fabric.

all he’s ever done for the past few days was sleep heavily during his night shifts at the abandoned children's entertainment center, permanently haunted by the time loop of his younger brother — snatched from his youth and into the hands of a cruel stranger.

but he won’t tell you that, it’s more embarrassing to say he has slept through the only job willing to accept him.

“yeah, of course.” mike doesn’t elaborate further, much too flushed by your fleeting touches — every brush of your nimble fingers rendering his body hot and fuzzy.

you step away for a second until your eyes light up in realization. rummaging a quick hand through your pocket, a metal security badge glared over the warm ceiling light — the golden paint bruised in black blotches and dented from the grueling years of past security guards dropping it during their inevitable encounter with ghostly animatronics or even discarding it when they realize the horrors they would endured from keeping such a shitty, unfulfilling job.

mike won’t tell you that part either, for the sake of your sanity.

“don’t forget this too, you always seem to leave it at home.” your voice sounded so soft and quiet in his ear, too afraid to wake up abby down the dark hallway.

“r-right … sorry.” he nervously gulped when you gently tug at his vest. mike carefully gazed at the needle threading the cheap fabric that didn’t have his work title — all in effort to avoid looking at your pretty face. he tightly held his breath, unclenching his fists once in a while to ease his nerves. your breath fanned his face, the small details on your skin that were once blurry were much clearer with you so close — only he was too afraid to memorize them, in case you noticed his staring.