5 A.M. At Freddy's (Fem!NightGuard!Reader x Mike Schmidt)

Chapter 3

        You yawned, pulling your apartment key out of your back pocket. As you walked up the stairs to get to your floor you dropped your key. You stopped walking, bending down to pick up the piece of metal. As you stood back up, you heard the soft sound of voices. Giving in to your human curiosity, you looked to where the voices were coming from. A couple or that's what you assumed they were, was at their apartment door. Based on their slurred voices and inability to stand, they both were very drunk. You looked away, feeling like you were invading their space. You continued walking to your apartment, sighing softly. When you arrived, you adjusted the metal number that was close to falling off the door. You were going to have to fix that. You put the key in and turned it, opening the door quietly. You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you. You locked it and dropped your key into the bowl on the small table. All the lights were off. Tyrone must've been sleeping.

        You tip-toed to the kitchen, doing your best to not disturb your roommate. You put your hand out, feeling for the fridge door. When you came in contact with it, you ran your fingers over to the handle. You opened the fridge, the light inside turning on. Moving a few items around, you grabbed three beers from Tyrone's "secret" stash. Holding the glass bottles by the necks in one hand, you used your other hand to pull out your pack of Camels and f/c lighter. Shutting the fridge with your left foot, you turned into the all too familiar darkness and shuffled your way to the sliding door. Using the hand holding your cigarettes, you unlocked the glass door and slid it open. Stepping out into the cold early morning air, you shivered.

        You set the beers on the ground next to you. You flipped open the pack of cigarettes, pulling one out. You sighed. You've had two smokes that week, three counting the one you were about to light. This was not helping you quit. Shrugging it off, you lit the nicotine stick, putting it between your soft lips. You sat down on the cold concrete, staring past the black railing to the city. Even though it was still fairly early in the morning, the city was still alive with cars. The city was bright with traffic lights and lit windows on short and tall buildings. With your dominant hand, you pulled the cigarette away from your lips, blowing out the smoke. You put the cancer stick back in its previous spot. You looked up at the sky. You couldn't see many stars, now that the sun was slowly rising. You grabbed one of the beer bottles and twisted the cap off. Removing the cigarette and exhaling the smoke gave you a chance to take a large swig of alcohol. And you took that chance.

        The generic branded beer burned your throat as it traveled down to your stomach. The beer didn't taste like heaven, it was just some shitty Bud Lite. You hadn't had a sip of the mortal version of the gods' nectar in years. The last time you drank and got "white girl wasted" (as Tyrone would say) was at a karaoke bar with Ty and some high school friends. You took another large sip, smiling as you thought of drunk Tyrone hitting on the male bartender. You winced at the sound of a motorcycle roaring down a road. Putting the cigarette back into your mouth, you inhaled, removed it, and exhaled before drinking the last portion of the intoxicating beverage. Your eyebrows raised with slight amusement. You finished the bottle in three swigs. A new record. You repeated this process with the two other bottles, taking shorter sips to enjoy the alcohol. 

         Eventually, your cigarette burned to a small stub. In your drunken state, you flicked the stub through the metal railing. You were down to your last bottle. You drank slowly, savoring every last drop. You sighed dramatically when a tiny drop fell onto your tongue. The last drop. You groaned with annoyance. You set the bottle on the ground next to the others and pushed yourself off the ground. You would have fallen back down if you didn't grab on to the railing. You decided to leave the bottles where they were, you'd pick them up in the morning. You took a shaky step to the glass door, sliding it open and stepping inside. You shuffled through the darkness, hitting your hip on the corner of the table. You bit your lip, keeping yourself from cursing loudly. As you walked to your room you started to fall to the ground. You stuck your hand out, trying to lean against the wall. You missed, hitting a lamp instead. The lamp, which was a gift from Tyrone's mother, teetered towards the edge of its little table. Desperately, you grabbed it. It slipped through your loose grip. You tensed up, preparing yourself for the sound of shattering glass. But by some miracle, the lamp just hit the ground with a loud thud.