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The sound of the lock on your backdoor being broken off had you sighing, you let your head fall onto your arms and your eyes fall closed, and perfectly pictured your routine of buying a new lock, wishing that you could just think it into existence. Opening your eyes and not seeing your new lock magically in front of disappointed you slightly, and you half wished you had the guts to tell Michael to go find the money to repay you. Turning around from your position leaning against the counter, you watch Michael throw open your door and you recoil from the sound. ‘There's another complaint from the neighbors.’
He slams it shut and his head slowly turns toward you, his heavy breaths moving the mouth part of the mask in an almost comical way and if he wasn't in such a shitty mood you would have laughed. You knew not to, as there would only be the kitchen island keeping him from slaughtering you where you stand. And maybe the fact that he sorta-kinda liked you, but right now you couldn't guarantee that he’d think of that. You wanted to run, your baser survival instincts kicking in like they did occasionally, but you stayed put, knowing that's why Michael liked you in the first place. You were the only person who didn't bother running from him and at first, it was frustrating, but soon after it became interesting to him. How come you weren't scared of him? After a certain point, he could care less about that and was more interested in what you were cooking that night.
Your first meeting was a stare-off, him waiting for you to run so he could get the thrill of chasing after you, and you waiting for him to pounce so you didn't have to go to work the next morning. It lasted around ten minutes before he threw a small hissy fit and walked out, leaving you there in shock and confusion. He kept coming back, each time you two ended up staring at each other. Eventually, when you were able to somewhat recognize a pattern of his intrusions, (which at that point had cost you well over a hundred dollars in locks) you left a small offering of leftovers and sweets on the kitchen island. He took your offerings and peace was finally a guarantee and not an option, as long as you kept feeding him that is.
You knew now that food would not quell this beast, you don't even think that sex could get him to calm down, and you were very grateful for that; you wanted to go out tomorrow and walking was needed for the adventure you had planned. He slammed the door shut and walked toward you, your heart racing in beat with his loud, rushed steps. He trapped you against the counter, lowering his head toward your ear, just out of your vision, and tearing off his mask. He continued to huff into your ear, the longer he sat there just doing that made you realize just how fucked he was feeling at the moment. He never hesitated to take you when he wanted, just like if he wanted to hurt you, which normally consisted of him marking you by biting up your shoulders and neck, he would just do it; not sit there and… breathe.
You raised a hand and placed it on his cheek, “Michael, what's wrong baby?”
He sighed, letting his knife drop to the floor with a loud clang that startled you. He immediately pulled away when he felt you jump, speed-walking off into your shared bedroom and slamming the door behind him. It only took you moments to take off and shoot up the stairs, hoping he hadn't already barricaded himself in. Thankfully you managed to squeeze through the door before he could throw the dresser in front of it, and you threw yourself in front of him, watching him stop in, what looked like, rage. You knew he wasn't pissed, but he was definitely upset. You reached up to put your hand back on his cheek but he didn't lean down to reach you, instead, he just stared down at you, his hair obscuring his face like it normally did.
“Michael, I didn't expect you to drop the knife. I’m not scared, I promise.” You walked toward him, gently pushing him backward toward the bed and stopping just before he could fall. “Can you tell me what's wrong? I can only help if I know the problem.”
He didn't move for a bit, so you took this as a sign to continue, hoping that you could get him comfortable enough to draw out whatever was troubling him, the only way of communication you two had established. You reached up for his zipper and he grabbed your hand softly. You shook your head, knowing exactly what he thought you were going to do. You knew he assumed you were going to suck his troubles away like you normally did, but instead, you shook your head and spoke, “I know bab. I know you don't want that right now.” You smiled up at him with a reassuring glance, “I want you comfortable, not naked.”
He let his hand fall and let you continue what you were doing, taking off his blood-soaked overalls, undoing his boots and helping him out of them, taking his shirt off and replacing it with a cleaner one. Slowly but surely he was left in just a shirt and his boxers, his perfect comfy combo, and you could finally push him back into bed. You climbed in next to him, letting him get comfortable on his back while you remained sitting up, fondly looking him over as he lay there. You cupped his cheek once again, just watching for a reaction.
It took awhile but soon he closed his eyes and leaned into your palm, you couldn't help but frown and let out a soft, “Oh, sweetheart…”
You did your best to adjust him so he was laying his head on your chest, but he got tired of your fidgeting and did it himself. He was face first in your breasts and you didn't do anything but pet his hair softly.
There was no movement from him for the next few hours, you couldn't help but wish he’d talk, you wanted him to tell you all his problems so you could fix them one by one, just so he wouldn't have to feel like this again. You would have scoffed at that thought any other time, but now, seeing the big bad Michael Myers, a man who strikes fear into everyone's hearts, holding onto you for dear life and being vulnerable, worried you.
After a while, you softly spoke, “Michael?”
He hummed. Good, he was feeling somewhat better, at least it was enough to respond and you hoped it was enough to get him to eat something as well.
“Why don't we go get something to eat, hm?”
He hummed again, this time moving just enough for you to slip out from under his grasp. You watched as he lay flat on his face again, knowing that he wasn't reading to get up just yet. You quickly made your way back into the kitchen and maneuvered around quickly to pull out the ingredients for a quick and easy meal. It wasn't soon after that you heard his heavy footsteps come down the stairs, causing you to smile. When you had your back turned this relationship was somewhat normal. Your large boyfriend was coming downstairs, only to latch onto you from behind and cement you in your spot for a bit. Only when you looked up and saw the emotionless look on his face, did you recognize it as the one they would show on the news in the mornings.
It didn't keep you from smiling though, so you did, and you gently reached up and pushed his head down to meet you in a kiss. You felt him huff against your lips when you separated, and you were sure he would call you insane for kissing a man who was soaked in blood mere hours before, but he didn't talk, so (most of the time) he didn't judge. You continued on with the meal, letting him “sneak” pieces of meat and other things when he thought you weren't looking, and when you finished the food you watched him take his meal and scarf it down like he was starving. You wouldn't doubt that he was, he had been gone longer than normal and he didn't eat anything but your cooking, not even takeout.
For once, he patiently waited for you to finish your food before picking you up and taking you back to your bedroom, carefully placing you on the bed and getting right back into his previous position. You just smiled, knowing that with the small nip at your breast, he was feeling much better.
It's surprising what a good meal and some affection can do for the boogeyman.