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Michael smiled down at you as you yawned, half asleep and mindlessly reading a book.
“Aren’t you tired, honeycandle?” It chirped, with the smell of birthday cake and buttercream wafting through the air as he spoke.
“Yeah.” You admitted. “I am.”
He giggled a savory laugh and took the book from your hands. “Come here, then, you sillyhead.”
You allowed yourself to be hauled up and onto its chest, where he gently laid your head down and pet your head with its soft hands.
“You know, breadstick,” Michael said softly. “Usually, my hands are sharp. They could cut someone to ribbons in just one flick.”
“I’m aware of this, you did it to an onion yesterday.” You said, causing him to laugh.
“Yes, yes, that I did.” It replied, resting its hand on your cheek. “But when I’m with you, I just…”
He laughed again, the noise coming off of him in warm pink rays. “You’re probably going to think this sounds silly, but my hands suddenly become… Dull whenever I hold you. Not in a bad way.”
It lifted your head up and brought you to his lips, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips. “I just can’t bring myself to cut you, even a little bit.”
You paused, and then smiled.
“Thank you for that.”
Michael smiled back. “You're welcome, honey. Now come here, get some rest.”
You obliged, falling asleep to the soft purr of its chest and the warm glow of his hair.
It’s weird. Michaels supposed to be a big, scary monster. People see him as one, maybe due to its hands or eyes, maybe even its hair.
But you see him as one, big, fluffy cat.