Chapter Text
As the sun finally peeked through your curtains, you groaned in annoyance. You were awake long before this moment, but your eyes preferred the comfort of the darkness around.
No matter, there was no reason to stay in bed any longer. He wasn't here.
You swung your legs over the edge of your mattress, careful not to step on the empty take-out boxes, and walked to the window in hopes to see him in the backyard, staring back, but that was merely a wish, one that did not come true. You steadied yourself against the windowsill, knuckles turning white, fighting back the stinging tears. The shape of Haddonfield was on his killing spree for the last month, which, as devastating as it was for the city, was even more to you and your psyche.
You were sharing your living space with Michael Myers for almost three years and you got used to his outings very quickly, it was like having a very outdoor-loving cat, but ever since you two showed the feelings you were holding towards each other, his tours were taking longer and longer. You didn't mind at first, knowing he probably needed his personal space and time to regain some sense of being in a romantic relationship, and after all, he always came back, relatively unharmed, and often would fall back to his usual schedule for some time, but every time the span turned over a week, something inside you always broke.
It started small, your mind creating more and more scenarios of his demise, or of him being taken away from you, simple nightmares you could cope with on your own, but they turned into dread after some time, leaving you severely anxious every time he left the sanctuary of your home for too long. You have tried many things to get rid of these thoughts, new hobbies, exercising, housework, but nothing worked and over time you decided to give up and settled on eating comfort food whenever you started to spiral again.
Making your way to the kitchen, you stopped in front of a mirror. You looked like shit. Not that it surprised you too much, you looked the same yesterday, and the day before yesterday as well. A mess of hair, dark shadow circles under your bloodshot eyes, puffy nose and chapped, dry lips, but the biggest eyesore to you was the exposed plush skin of your midsection, uncovered by the rolled-up t-shirt, once nicely fitting, now starting to be a bit too tight to be comfortable.
You hated it. You hated the fact that you let yourself go like this. You hated that you didn't stop with the emotional eating when you first noticed the result of your habits. You hated that he never seemed to notice. You hated that he never comforted you, that he wasn't there at the moment to comfort you, you hated that he wasn't there. You HATED him. No, that wasn't that, you LOVED him, this wasn't Michael's fault, it was your doing, you're the one to blame...
So there you stood, spiralling further and deeper with new hateful thoughts, eyes burning a hole in the reflection of your hand slowly running over the soft, dough-like flesh of your gut, tears overflowing and silently falling down your cheeks.
So there he stood, watching you from between the door frame, head tilting in curiosity, but you were too occupied with your reflection to notice. It didn't take Michael long to figure out what was on your mind. It wasn't like he never noticed the change in your body, one could say he even noticed sooner than you, he might have found it somewhat cute somewhere deep within his mind, but if anything, he just did not care for it, and he assumed you didn't either. Looks like he was wrong for once.
In an attempt to turn your attention away, Michael knocked with his still bloody knife on the metal rim, almost chuckling as you jerked at the sound. You turned around, wide-eyed from the surprise of seeing him. "Micheal! Oh my- you scared me! How long have you been standing here?" you asked, not exactly expecting an answer from the head-tilting man, "Come, you must be hungry, I was about to make breakfast.". Putting on a smile for him and wiping your tears, you walked towards the door he was standing in.
Keep it cool, it's not his problem, it's not like he would care anyway.
You expected him to move out of the way, but he instead closed the distance between your bodies, catching your shoulders and keeping you still, even though your body jumped at the sudden touch. You looked up at the shape, his head now tilted to the other side. Did he truly want to know? He had never done this before.
"Michael, I-... Just... let's just eat first, please, I- I will tell you, but... later" you stumbled over your words, emotion set in overload. He briefly squeezed your shoulders before you pulled away. "I missed you..." you whispered as you passed around the man.
You opted for making scrambled eggs. They were quick and easy, not to mention one of the very few things that were in your freezer. Michael, of course, was soon hot on your trail, stepping aside only to discard his knife in the sink. The smell of dry blood started to get a bit overwhelming for your taste, "Michael, could you go and change into something less bloody? I'll wait for you at-", there was no need to continue the sentence, he was already on his way upstairs. It was rare for him to do as you told him, usually taking quite some persuading to do something he didn't want to. Maybe you could get him to shower too. He needed a shower... You both needed a shower.
Michael was back way sooner than you anticipated, standing so close behind you that he practically trapped you in between him and the stove. Yet, he tried to move even closer, leaving no space for you to step aside, his body heat intoxicating every inch of your being. You couldn't help but lean on him.
He took that as an invitation, a confirmation, that he could indeed get a little intimate with you. At least in his own way. His head laying on top of yours, unmoving and steadily breathing. The smell of latex enveloped you, it was so familiar, so comforting in a strange way.
You raised your hand out of reflex to the back of his head, massaging the spot under the mask. That was something he was waiting for, you easing up enough to leave space for his little plan to work.
He sneaked his hands around your waist, careful not to touch and alert you of his action. Then, he slowly tightened his hold. Your whole body froze once you realized what was going on. "Michael..." was all you could muster out and he still shushed you with a grunt.
You decided to pull the pan from the heat. This was going to take a long time.
So there the two of you stood, both perfectly still. You, hungrily watching your breakfast getting cold, and him, calculating the right moment to advance to the next phase of his scheme.
Michael moved his head a bit, his masked nose now buried in your hair. He couldn't smell a thing except for the odour of latex, he just wished he brought you some sort of ease with it. You pushed your head a little more back to try and erase the space between. A good sign for Michael, now the last part.
Michael's arms wrapped around you, hands resting on the opposite sides of your waist. Though you were a bit squished, it felt... nice, safe, even. That is until the feeling of a soft lingering touch moving up and down on your doughty flesh, sometimes sliding under your t-shirt too. Your breath hitched at the contact, you wanted to jump out of your skin, but Michael hold you tight.
Any attempt at speaking was thereafter shushed with deep growls, you had to calm down once more. It wasn't that bad, yet, it still felt weird, as if the skin around these places didn't belong to you, but, you could get used to it.
Sighting in defeat, you loosened a bit more in his hold, letting Micheal know he could take full control as if he hadn't had it already. And that's when you heard it. Or at least you thought you did. The faintest little whisper, its voice strained and rough.
"Pretty."