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At the beginning, Sasha would simply press the doorbell attached to her keychain and it would show up and take her letters away. Then, it started bringing her little gifts. It brought her a rock from the moon and ice cream and a boomerang and several things that Elias later confiscated.
Her desk was filled with little knick-knacks at this point and she wasn’t throwing them away. She wasn’t shooing Michael out from under her desk either and often Martin would lock eyes with it whenever he asked her for something.
There was no malice in those eyes, only an odd, swirling… curiosity.
But Michael was not a cat and it was most certainly not their cat to feed and care for.
Martin repeated that statement in his mind as he watched Michael shamble through the office. Its hair hung low in matted patches, its body was hunched over, and it would cough terribly every few minutes. It resembled a sick animal, unable to tend to itself or even stand up straight and Martin couldn’t quite look away from it as it listened to Sasha’s instructions.
She didn’t look unnerved at all. Did she know something he didn’t?
Martin hesitantly approached the two of them, giving Sasha a friendly wave before turning his attention to Michael.
“Wouldn’t he need cash for that?” it asked, its voice hoarse and much deeper than usual, like it was too exhausted to be chipper. “I can’t exactly transport him in the state I am now.”
“Fuck, that’s true,” Sasha mumbled. “Okay, just hang tight, I’ll ask Elias.” And she turned to Martin. “Just a minute, Martin, this is important.”
And just like that, she hurried away. Martin hesitantly looked up at the monster towering over him but Michael didn’t seem interested in small talk. It stepped around him, opening a door that hadn’t been there and smacking violently into another door placed snugly within the first one. It was wrapped in yellow and black tape.
It muttered something under its breath, rubbing at its face and Martin peeked around it to take a better look.
“Under Construction?” Martin asked and it ripped away the tape before trying the door, its fingers twitching in irritation when it found it was locked.
Stepping around Martin once more, it tried a third door and entered into a heavily dust filled corridor. The corridor's walls were half-stripped, exposing patches of raw brick beneath the peeling wallpaper. In other places, crude patches of white paste covered the scars, sanded until smooth, resulting in the thick layer of dust that hung in the air. Rolls of wallpaper littered the floor and Martin could spot power tools as well.
Michael wordlessly entered and slammed the door closed, making Martin jump back.
“What was that??” he asked, looking at Sasha who had just returned.
“Ugh, Elias is being difficult,” she said, catching her breath. “Where’s Michael?”
“It just left,” he said and she sighed, collapsing into her chair. “Um, what’s wrong with Michael?”
“It’s sick,” she said, looking through some paperwork. “Fuck, I don’t really want to push my luck but we really need this done…” and she fished her keys out of her bag, pressing the doorbell. “Don’t try to be friendly, Martin, it’s in a very sour mood.”
Martin felt uneasy. Michael was viciously dangerous on a good day but still…
“Shouldn’t we help?” he asked and Sasha’s gaze softened.
“I’ve tried but…” A door creaked open and Michael came out, coughing violently into its sleeve, its hair covered in the same white dust that littered its halls as though it had rolled around in it. “Look, Michael, I know this is asking a lot but-“ and it hurled a creature- a human- into her arms, covered completely in dust. “Perfect!” she said, holding the man by the arm and helping him to Elias’s office. “Thank you! I owe you one.”
Martin watched in bewilderment before looking back at Michael who was staring at him. It had terrible bags under its eyes, its lips cracked, its eyes red and teary. It turned away and stepped into its halls once again, and Martin floundered, his hand instinctively latching onto its wrist.
“W-wait! Wait one moment, please?” thankfully, it listened, turning just enough to look at him. “Would you like to sit down for a bit? Maybe have some tea?”
It turned fully and Martin tried his best not to be intimidated as it stepped closed. It stared at him, tilting its head slightly, but didn’t refuse and when Martin showed it a chair, it sat down, letting out a puff of steam. Martin carefully brushed the white dust off of its hair and after a moment of hesitation he felt its forehead, which felt eerily… normal.
“You feel alright,” Martin said, getting no reaction from Michael. “That’s… bad, isn’t it?”
“It’s fine,” it said, eyeing him with the kind of suspicion he had only ever seen from Jon. Was it scared of him? It looked away, staring at the ground. “Could you heat up some olive oil for my hinges?”
“Oh! Yes, um, I’ll see if we have any- does it have to be olive oil?” And again, it glared at him with that fear in its eyes. “Okay, sorry, I’ll see what I can do,” he said, hurrying off to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a mug, relieved to find Michael still sitting at the exact same spot.
He had assumed it might leave the moment it wasn’t being watched.
“We didn’t have any olive oil but we had some butter and margarine so I heated up the latter because the internet said-“ it swiped the cup from him and downed it in one go, sighing afterwards. Martin heard a whisper of a chorus of doors, infinite and everywhere, squeaking before growing silent. Michael let its head droop forward, its hair obscuring its face.
“Did that help?” he asked.
Michael did not answer and Martin wondered if he had anywhere else he had to be when suddenly he felt something bony holding his hand. Michael. Its fingers snaked themselves up his wrist and he swallowed, looking at the creature for an explanation that never came.
“You must be exhausted,” he decided, looking away anxiously. “Um, do you sleep?” It tilted its head, staring at him through its hair in a manner that he found incredibly unnerving. “Sorry, I just- I just want to help, is all.”
It seemed to deflate a bit at that and after a long moment, it nodded. “I can sleep.”
“You look like you need it,” Martin pressed. “You don’t look like yourself.”
“Can’t sleep.”
“But… you just said that-“
“There’s construction,” it said, ruffling its hair and getting more of the dust out before coughing.
“That’s not good… Um, have you tried earplugs?” he asked and it blinked at him blearily. “Oh, sorry, its you that’s under- Sorry, um… Can you maybe halt the construction so you can get some rest?” and it began coughing again, which devolved into some quite aggressive hacking.
“I am the noise,” it rasped before clearing its throat. “The building and the crew. They rest when I do. It’s… fine. The construction is fixing me. I’m not broken because of it.”
“You’re being fixed?” and it nodded. Martin fished a larger piece of drywall out of its hair. When Michael didn’t react, he cautiously brushed away the dust, noticing that it leaned into his touch. He kept his hand stationary, surprised at how peaceful it seemed. Its hold on his hand was still firm. “Are you tired?”
“Maybe…” and it wiped at its eyes. “Maybe a bit tired.”
“Would you be okay with sleeping here somewhere?”
“I can’t sleep,” it repeated.
“I know but maybe…” and he gave its hand a squeeze, which caused it to look down and let go of him. Had it not realized? Martin gently stroked its hair, feeling it flinch at first before gradually relaxing under his touch. “You seem so tired.” Martin mused and it leaned into his touch. “I feel like you just need someone there with you. Should we try that?”
For a long moment, it remained silent as Martin continued to pet its hair. Finally, it gave a soft nod and stood up. It grabbed the handle of a door that hadn’t been there, pulling to reveal that the door was a blanket. Martin wondered if it would be rude to applaud as it curled up into the nearest corner, in the strange nook between the wall and the cabinet mounted against the wall, right behind Martin’s desk.
It shouldn’t fit but after folding its legs at angles that didn’t look right, it did. A sigh escaped it and it pulled the blanket close, relaxing into its little nook. Martin sat down next to it, hesitantly placing a hand on its knee, careful not to think about the bones beneath.
“What do you normally do before you fall asleep?” he asked and it pondered the question.
“Feed,” it decided, which made Martin feel so much more uncomfortable. “and… and see if there’s any leftovers…”
“Leftovers?” he asked and it nodded, miming running with its fingers.
“Exhausted travellers,” and it mimed a person collapsing. “Tired. Tired like me.”
“Oh,” Martin said, smiling politely and looking away. “What do you do with them?”
He froze when it took his hand and pulled him closer. Martin prepared to punch it in the face when it began to rumble out a strange sound, like a gate opening or… or a purr. It pulled him close against its chest and Martin froze up. He felt its arms tighten around him, its breath falling on his neck as it made itself comfortable on his shoulder.
“Just like this…” it said and yawned. “You taste scared.”
“I am scared,” and he chuckled nervously. “You’re not planning on eating me, right?”
It grimaced. “No, no eating. It’ll make me sick again,”
“You’ve been sick?”
“You worry too much,” it mumbled, putting more and more weight against him. “You’ll stay…?”
“Do I even get a choice?” Martin joked and it nodded, which threw him off. “W-well,”
He did want to hug the tired monster but he it didn’t feel right to admit that. No, that would be weird and rude, right? Michael was quite fond of being intimidating, after all, it would be very rude to tell it that he’d wanted to bury his face in its hair since the third time he’d met it-
The purring had stopped. Michael was asleep. Its head hung loose over his shoulder, its hair tickling the side of his face. Its breathing was even and its hold on him loose, although he didn’t dare move.
Had… had his anxiety really put it to sleep?
Had he really managed to mimic someone who thought they were going to die by simply being awkward?! Martin sighed deeply. This was just another sign that he really really ought to see a psychiatrist about his rampant anxiety. Still, Michael was fast asleep and that felt like a very good thing.
It’s hair sizzled slightly, the dust melting into its strange, glass like fibre. Martin let himself explore the texture, finding it soft to the touch but strong like wires. It didn’t make any sense and yet, when he brushed against it, it was flowy and when he rested his hand, it held him back, wrapping itself around him and keeping its shape until he moved even slightly.
It was being gentle.
He couldn’t help but frown. He’d never seen Michael like this and he wasn’t naive enough to believe that Michael was secretly a very trusting person. No, it was intentionally secretive and vague and it must have been quite desperate to trust him like this.
How long had it been “under construction”?
How long had it been sleepless and sick, aimlessly wandering and doing chores for the Institute? And if the construction really was fixing it, what had caused it so much damage? Would he ever find out?
Martin sighed and leaned against a pillow of hair, feeling the little tendrils wrapping themselves into his hair. Cute. It was as though every inch of it wanted to be close to him. He smiled at the thought.
Martin rested his eyes, listening to the sound of keyboard clacker and paper rustling. It was peaceful like this. But… but shouldn’t he be working?
His anxiety spiked once again at the realization that taking care of Michael was in no way a part of his job. He should have asked it- oh, but he would have NEVER dared to invite it to his home, let alone without knowing that it was, indeed, safe to be around.
The sound of heels clacking against the ground made him stress even more, smiling nervously when Sasha peeked around the corner. If she was surprised to see him all wrapped up like this, she didn’t show it.
“Oh good,” she said, leaving a pile of paperwork on his desk. “No, don’t move, it needs the rest. I was hoping it would take a nap or something. Way to be proactive about it, Martin.”
“I didn’t think it would cuddle me,”
“You poor naive soul,” Sasha said, leaning against his desk. “Yeah, it does that a lot. I was trying to coax it into hugging me yesterday but it refused, you know.”
“Really?”
“You’re more huggable,” she reasoned and Martin couldn’t exactly argue with that. “I wish it would just use a pillow or something when its being antsy but no. It just won’t do it.”
“It mentioned it liked to hug exhausted travellers,”
“Oh,” Sasha said and pulled a face. “Christ, that’s disturbing… Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” he assured her. “Just, uh, can’t work like this.”
“It’s okay, I’ll cover for you,” Sasha said, taking half the paperwork with her. “It’ll help all of us if Michael’s better. Just yell if you need something.”
She was gone so quickly that Martin couldn’t even shower her in gratitude. He felt Michael’s hold on him tighten and it coughed weakly, soothed when he pet its hair. Michael was easy to care for, even if that meant having to share some of the workload with Sasha. A purr rumbled in its throat and Martin smiled. Perhaps this wasn’t so bad.