Roommates - Ch. 10 (Working Out)

Roommates has moved! You can now read it at Archive of Our Own: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11250126/navigate

Roommates - Ch. 10 (Working Out): http://i.imgur.com/GLD2OoF.png
Inspired by Weaver's Five Nights at Freddy's Apartment AU: http://i.imgur.com/LnDJVNL.png
Part of an ongoing series written for the /5N@F/ General Discussion Thread at /vg/.
Sincerest thanks to Weaver (http://tgweaver.tumblr.com/) for all of the invaluable assistance in writing, proofreading, and editing this story as well as for illustrating the chapter title cards.
Questions or comments? Drop me an ask at http://roommatesau.tumblr.com/

---

While the girls occupy themselves with getting ready for your impromptu group exercise session, you find yourself drifting through the complex's courtyard, taking a moment to unwind as you walk around in the nippy winter air. Snow's probably not far off now, and with it, whatever seasonal gift exchange holiday this world celebrates. Fortunately for your rapidly-dwindling bankroll, another stipend should arrive just in time for you to at least buy a few cheap presents.

You find yourself fighting a wry smirk -- though you've only been here a week, you're already thinking about what kind of gifts your roommates might like. In a way, you suppose it makes sense -- it's not like you've got anyone else in your life to buy for anymore. Sure, you should probably try to do a better job of holding onto your cash than you have been, but the thought of seeing Bonnie's face as she rushes out to the tree is too heartwarming to pass up.

Of course, if you're getting Bonnie a present, it wouldn't be fair to leave out Chica seeing as how she's been so good to you -- after all, she did get you those pajamas and she has welcomed you into her home. Though, if you're buying for two roommates already, you suppose you might as well pick up something for Freddy too, to show him your appreciation for sharing his room with you, not to mention all the delicious food. And heck, as long as you're doing that, you can't forget about --


Ah. That's right.


Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhale sharply. There's that feeling churning around in the pit of your stomach again. Despite everyone's attempts to console you about it earlier, you still find yourself feeling guilty -- and just a touch hypocritical -- after making such a big deal over Mangle violating your privacy. There's a lot of words you could use to describe the mysterious, fashion-minded fox, but "malicious" isn't one of them. The massage, the shave, the good-natured teasing -- before, it seemed creepy. Now you realize it's simply Mangle's way of trying to make you feel welcome too.

Taking everyone you've met so far into consideration, you can't really say any of these people have been anything less than friendly to you. The rudest person so far is your own landlord, and even then he just seems timid more than anything else. Besides, you yourself are a stranger in a strange land. Some of your mannerisms have to seem bizarre to them, too.

"Don't I feel like a heel," you mutter, kicking a nearby can as you shuffle down the sidewalk.

At the end of the day, honest mistake or not, you resolve to apologize to Mangle at the first opportunity you get.

After all, misfits have to stick together.



While you kill time in the courtyard waiting for Bonbon and Chica to rejoin you, you let your gaze wander around the complex in an attempt to get a better idea of your surroundings. Seems there aren't very many people out right now, and most of the apartment windows are curtained off or covered up, but one lone building across the street has an open window where a tiny red snout can just barely be seen poking out, looking around erratically.

Ahhh, there's Foxy -- looks like he's enjoying the fresh air. He seems to be saying something, but you can't possibly hear him at this distance. You smile and wave to him, even though you know he probably won't notice you. To your surprise, however, not only does he see you, but he excitedly gestures animatedly at you with his hook and good paw. You realize now that he is in fact talking to someone, but unsurprisingly, there's nobody next to him. Carrying on a conversation with himself, maybe? Seems about right for --

...no, wait. Hang on.

Stepping forward into the street, you squint, trying to focus on his window. There's definitely something in there, but it's -- surely that can't be a person?

It's difficult to make out due to the lack of light from inside the room, but some immense, bulky figure looms in the darkness behind Foxy. Your only indication anything's there at all is a vague silhouette and a pair of pinprick lights glinting from the reflection of the afternoon sun. Contrasted against the silly, simple-minded Foxy, something about this fills you with a crushing sense of dread. A shiver runs down your spine, and it's not because of the cold.

A large hand thickly bound in bandages reaches forward past Foxy into the filtered sunlight, slowly sliding the curtain to a close. Foxy peeks out at you from behind the fabric with one last cheerful wave of his hook before disappearing inside altogether.

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" Bonbon skips up to you, carrying three bottles of sports drinks in her arms. "Orange or lemon-lime?"

"Oh -- uh, either's fine, thanks," you reply distractedly. "I'll take whichever nobody wants."

"Nah, they all taste like salt water to me," Chica chuckles, plucking a lemon-lime one from Bonbon's paws. "The electrolytes are good for you, though -- keeps you from cramping up, you know?"

Taking an orange bottle from Bonbon, you quietly turn it over in your hands for a few seconds.

"Say, do you know if Foxy has a roommate?" you ask.

"Which Foxy?" Chica and Bonbon reply simultaneously.

Son of a bitch. How the hell does nobody else notice this?!

"Never mind," you sigh. "Let's go get our crunches done, or whatever."

"Crunches?" Chica gives you an incredulous smile. "Hah, you WISH! Mike, you'd barely last on a recumbent bike in the shape you're in right now. We're starting you off light."

"Y'know, I might be tubby, but in the time I've known you, you sure seem to do a lot of sitting around on the couch yourself, princess," you retort, folding your arms.

"What'd you just say?" she replies with a bug-eyed glare, leaning down to look you in the eye. "You, uh, you want to put your money where your mouth is, shortstack?"

"Sure thing, drumsticks," you fire back. "With all the guff you've given me about my gut, I can't help but wonder if all that fatty food Freddy cooks hasn't been going straight to your hips!"

You can practically see the steam coming out of her ears, and for a brief, fleeting second you wonder if you might have gone too far. Bonbon's hovering behind both of you, eyes wide and smile wider.

"Oooh! Oooh! How about a competition?" Bonbon enthuses.

"Yeah, Mike, how about it? Let's see how far I can run your blubbery butt before you drop," Chica snarls.

"Name your terms, Chica."

"All right -- thirty minutes on the treadmill, and if you're still moving, we'll go onto sit-ups. First one to cave buys ice cream."

"Half an hour of just walking? Too easy." You thrust your hand out for a shake. "How about something ACTUALLY difficult, like lifting weights?"

"Are you sure you should make the wager be ice cream? Doesn't that defeat the point of exercising...?" Bonbon interrupts, only for both of you to pointedly ignore her.

"You're on, Schmidt," Chica affirms. Her grin is more than a little unsettling -- and not because of her scars.

You suddenly wonder if you haven't walked into a trap.



You walked into a trap.

"I gotta hand it to him, he almost managed to make it to twenty minutes," Bonbon observes from overhead as you sprawl out on the floor, wheezing.

Your lungs burn like you've been huffing asbestos, and every muscle in your body feels like it has the consistency of stretched-out silly putty. You never even made it to the sit-up portion of Chica's challenge -- the first ten minutes on the treadmill were a cakewalk until Chica dared you to double the speed. You considered crying foul when you realized all too late that her longer legs would equal longer strides, but nevertheless, you gave it your all.

Unfortunately, "your all" sucked ass, and now you're almost crying as you lay on your side, trying to keep from moving into the light.

"How do those words taste, fatty?" Plopping down on a nearby bench, Chica playfully pokes you in the side with one of her feet as she unscrews the cap on her sports drink.

"I'm just catching my breath," you gasp, though it sounds more like a death rattle.

"Ohhh, Bonbon, you hear that?" Chica gleefully sing-songs. "Three scoops of rocky road a-callin' for me. They're calling my name, Bonbon!"

"Three?! I mean, I'm all for sweets in moderation -- but I don't know how you can eat that stuff," Bonbon replies, wiping her face on a towel. "Keep gobbling down those calories and you're gonna wind up looking like Cheeky."

"Cheeky?" Chica deadpans. "As in the Cheeky that lives in 93-B? THAT Cheeky?"

You think you've recovered enough to sort of prop yourself up.

"Wait, Foxy lives in 93-B, right?" you ask.

"That's the one!" Bonbon chirps.

"I'm not that, uh -- rotund, am I?" Chica interrupts, looking down at herself. Standing up from the bench, she stares at a nearby mirror, wings on her hips. "Crap. My yoga pants DO feel a little tighter through the waist, too... M-maybe just the one scoop -- and a waffle cone."

"Or maybe just tofu and water," Bonbon giggles. "Those are some birthing hips you got going on there, Chiclet."

"You know, just because you exercise a ton does NOT mean you're strong, rabbit," Chica growls, whirling around in a flurry of orange, fangs bared and wings raised. You can tell she's trying to look menacing, but it mostly just comes off as hokey. "I'll have you in a headlock begging for mercy if you keep that kind of profane talk up."

"Mercy!" Bonbon mock cries, laughing so hard the other patrons in the exercise room are starting to stare at your group with bewildered expressions.

"All right, Chica, a win's a win," you wheeze, stumbling to your feet and brushing yourself off. "C'mon, let's go get some ice cream."

"Well, not now," Chica protests as the three of you begin to filter out of the gym. "Uh, tonight. After dinner -- you know, as a treat. I mean, we haven't even had lunch yet. If we come in with ice cream, Freddy'll be some kind of pissed off."

Freddy, angry? You can't tell if she's joking or not, and you're not sure you want to chance it.

"Fair enough," you reply, following Bonbon and Chica outside. You're sore and stiff, but at least you can leave with your head held mostly high -- if nothing else, you gave it your best shot. As you limp down the road, you make a mental note to find some way to get Chica back -- just as soon as you stop chafing. Maybe something less athletic, like a movie trivia contest or something.

Yeah, that'll show her.



Bonbon almost begged off of having lunch with everyone until she realized you were having soup and salad, and then at that point you practically couldn't keep her away. Turns out that despite her lithe frame, Bonbon eats as much as Bonnibel doesn't, quickly downing two bowls of salad and setting to work on a third. No wonder they call it "rabbit food".

"See, Bonnie?" Chica says, nudging a sleepy Bonnibel. "I told you that you'd eat more if you just manage a little exercise. Why don't you go with us next time? Mike did and he had fun. Isn't that right, Mike?"

"I saw my life flash before my eyes," you mumble.

"Maybe," Bonnibel yawns. "These pills make me so sleepy. Hey, Bonbon, how's Peanut doing?"

"Didn't I -- oh wait, that's right, you weren't around earlier! Okay, so -- funny story! You know Mr. Fazbear in 93-A, right?" Bonbon wipes her mouth on a napkin.

Bonnie's yawn must have been contagious, because your own eyelids are getting a little heavy. A quick nap sounds awesome right now, so you politely excuse yourself from the table and head for your room.

As you meander down the hallway, you wander over to Mangle's room and press your ear to the door, listening for a few moments.

Nothing.

You contemplate knocking, but ultimately decide against it. Best to give Mangle a little time and distance. With a sigh, you head back to your shared room and gently close the door behind yourself before climbing into the top bunk.



When you wake up, it's almost six in the evening. Rubbing your eyes, you frown -- so much for a quick nap. It feels like you just had lunch even though you're only just now waking up in time for dinner.

After a trip to the restroom to relieve yourself, you make your way into the common area. Bonbon's long gone, leaving just Chica and Bonnie on the couch watching game shows while Freddy's engrossed in a book at the kitchen table.

"Hey, sleepy Schmidt! I was starting to think you were never going to wake up," Chica jokes.

"That workout of yours pushed me harder than I expected to go." You scratch the back of your head sheepishly. "Guess I really am out of shape -- what can I say?"

"Well, hopefully you're not SO whipped that you won't be able to jog your ass down and get me an ice cream after dinner."

"I'm a man of my word," you chuckle. "Are we going to the soda fountain Bonworth took us to the other day?"

"Nah. We wouldn't be able to make it before they closed if we took the bus downtown," Chica replies, lazily twirling one of Bonnie's ears around with her wingtip. "There's a local mom and pop place about two blocks from here that's open till eight."

"Wait, we're having ice cream?" Bonnie asks excitedly.

"Yup, Mike's treat."

"Oooh. I think I'll have rainbow vanilla this time," she says.

"Hey, Chica -- any, uh, Mangle sightings?" you venture carefully, taking a set on the couch.

"Neither hide nor hair," Chica replies. "I'm starting to get a little worried myself. It's not like Em to sulk like this."

You watch television with them in silence for a while. Well, mostly silently, unless you count Chica's occasional quips and Bonnie frustratedly yelling out answers at the clueless contestants every now and again. Around half past six, Freddy sets his book aside and gets up from the kitchen table to begin preparing dinner. Twenty minutes later, the four of you are seated at the table eating spaghetti and homemade meatballs.

Mangle, notably, does not show up to dinner.



By this time of night, the temperature's dropped considerably, so you bundle up before heading out.

"We must be crazy if we're going out for something cold in this kind of weather," Chica says with a laugh as she wraps Bonnie up in her muffler. "Tuck your ears in, Bon. We don't want you getting another ear infection."

"Ugh, for real -- ear infections are the worst," you agree.

"She was sick for a week last year during the freeze. You should have seen us -- we made quite the pair," she comments with a wistful smile. "We hated it then, but looking back on it, it was actually kind of funny."

"Oh, was that when the 'incident' happened?" you ask, thinking back to what Chica told you when you went downtown recently.

"Yep," she replies, rubbing one of her tailfeathers. "Every now and again I have to reach back there and make sure I still got 'em."

The concession stand's a much simpler affair than the nostalgic, old-timey soda fountain Bonworth took you to. It's not much more than a small trailer in a department store parking lot with a few fold-up picnic benches out front for customers to sit at. A chalk sign with a hand-written menu hangs off the front of the trailer, listing common concession stand fare including hamburgers, french fries, corn dogs, and other junk food.

The owners are a pair of friendly, down-to-earth cats -- a violet-furred male and a bright pink female. Seems they're twins. Thinking back to Leo, you wonder if cats are drawn to ice cream places. Then again, you're standing next to a neon blue lop-eared rabbit and an enormous beakless chicken. You could very easily be the weird one in this scenario.

While Chica and Bonnie place their orders, you take a moment to size up the menu.

"Mangle likes strawberries, right?" you ask.

"Loves 'em," Chica replies. "Get something that will travel well, though."

"Let's go with a strawberry shake then, and..." Your eyes flicker across the counter, falling on a case full of novelty oversized lollipops shaped like cartoon characters. "How about one of those? Which one's popular?"

"Ah, our best seller. Candy makes 'em himself. Pink lemonade's my favorite, and easily our best seller."

"Perfect," you reply. "I'll take a pink lemonade one, then."

After paying for your purchases, you follow Chica and Bonnie back towards the complex.

"That was real sweet of you, Mike," Bonnie says as she licks her ice cream, smearing rainbow food coloring all over her muzzle.

"Hey, you're welcome," you reply.

"Actually, um -- I meant that," Bonnie says, pointing to the bag in your hands with Mangle's shake and candy. Well, as much as one can point while wearing a mitten, anyhow. "I'm sure Mangle will love it."

"You think?" you ask.

"Eh, stop worrying, Mike. Everything will be fine," Chica finishes her ice cream in just a few bites, tossing the cone's wrapper in a nearby trash bin as you pass by. "Em ain't the type to hold a grudge."

Shifting the bag around in your hands, you nod.

"Thanks, guys."



Arriving back at the apartment, you set the bag down at Mangle's door and knock twice before quickly retreating to the living room.

Bonnie excuses herself for the evening, thanking you again for the ice cream before retiring for the night. Noticing that it's just the two of you together on the couch, Freddy heads to his room as well with a knowing smile.

"Looks like it's just you and me now, Mike. How about a movie?" Chica asks. "Anything you wanna watch?"

"You know, Chica, how about you pick?" you comment, taking a seat on the couch.

"Oh, uh -- okay," she says, surprise in her voice as she gets up, thumbing through the DVD rack. After a few seconds, she produces another rom-com. "Um, how about this one then?"

"Works for me," you reply.

As she starts to load the disc in the player, the telephone in the foyer rings.

"Oop, hold on." Chica sprints over and picks the handset up off the cradle. "Hello?"

Without warning, her face falls slightly, and you find yourself leaning forward, suddenly apprehensive.

"Wait, here? There's nobody else that can take -- are you serious?" Running her free wing through her headfeathers, Chica frustratedly stomps her foot on the carpet. "Marion, don't do this to me. Are you ABSOLUTELY sure you don't have anywhere else you can put her?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Chica mutters something under her breath. Whatever it is clearly has her upset -- you're practically on the edge of your seat with dread and anticipation welling up inside your chest.

"Of course. No, I get it. Fine. Fine, I'll -- I'll figure something out for Mike. You know what, though? You're waiving our rent for the month," she snaps, slamming the phone down.

"What's going on?" you ask, nervously standing up.

Turning to you, Chica holds your gaze for several seconds, her face a mix of frustration and remorse.

"Mike... how soon can you be ready to move out?"