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Michael greeted his return from the Pizzeria with an unceremonious swing of the door, the wood slamming against the wall of your house with a thud.
“I’m back.”
He muttered out, no sign of fanfare in his voice. And you knew exactly what happened. While you don’t question everything that happens each night at work, you get the gist of what he goes through. And you know for sure it isn’t pretty.
You’re there by his side immediately, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack near the entrance, while he struggles to take off his shoes and socks.
“Do you want something to eat?” You ask, and he shakes his head.
“It’s fine, I’m not sure if I can eat right now..”
He replies back. You worry about him when he says that, because you know he often skips meals or starves himself. So you wonder if he’s saying that just to dodge the question or if he actually means it. But you don’t want to push him too much, so you let it be. He falls silent for a moment, his eyes falling to the floor and tugging at the shirt of his security uniform, like he’s begging to take it off and get rid of all the stresses of the day but doesn’t have the strength to.
And that’s when you get an idea.
“Hey, how about this?”
You start as you put a hand on his shoulder. He turns to you with a hum, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“How about tonight, we have a little spa day together, you and me? I got that bath set for you, remember? We might as well put it to use.”
Michael looks surprised at the offer as his hand brushes his hair back out of nervousness, a familiar habit for him.
“N-No, you don’t have to-”
He says, which is really, code word for “I would actually really like that thank you, I just can’t say it”, because he thinks he’ll be a bother. You see right through that however, because you’ve gotten used to it. Sometimes, it feels like you know him better than he knows himself. (All the time, actually.)
“No, I want to, Mike.” You respond, firmly. “Besides, I can do everything. I wouldn’t want you to overwork yourself more than you already have. For now, why don’t you just sit on the couch while I set up the bath, alright?”
If he said anything else as a rebuttal, you don’t hear it as you disappear down the hall and into your shared bathroom. He supposed he didn't have anything else to do, so he does as you told him and lays down on the couch. Already he feels drowsy, his back and limbs tired and aching, and it feels like the couch could just swallow him up at any moment.
Meanwhile you were in the bathroom setting up the perfect bath for him, rolling up your sleeves and making sure the water was at the perfect temperature, pouring in the scented oils that smelled vaguely of lavender and chamomile.
The bath set you mentioned to him earlier was one of the first things you bought him when you started dating. You learned that he had trouble taking care of himself, both mentally and physically after years of trauma and abuse from a young age that no one should go through. You knew you couldn’t heal everything that he’s gone through, but you figured, at least, you could help lift a bit off his shoulders, even if it was through small acts like this. It was the least you could do for him, for someone who has gone and endured through so much.
You bought him a bath kit at a skincare store, because he always felt like shit every time he came back from work and him generally being unable to take care of himself due to his depression. You figured something nice like that could help in making him feel better. He’s refused to celebrate his birthday ever since he robbed his brother of his, but this was the first thing he’s received since that day that might’ve felt like a gift.
Once you got the water at the perfect temperature, and the water smelling so strongly of flowers it could almost make your head spin, you open the door to find Michael, already practically half asleep on the couch. His eyes are almost fully closed out of tiredness, but he managed to open them at the sound of your footsteps, a hum barely escaping him.
“The bath is ready. You wanna come in?”
You help him stand up, his legs shaky as you lead him to the bathroom. Once inside, you reach out to help unbutton his blouse and help him out of his clothes, but then he flinches.
“Is something the matter?”
His hands nervously grasp at the collar of his shirt, switching from nervously looking at you and away from you.
“I just..don’t want you to see-”
And you get the idea.
“It’s fine Michael, I mean..I’ve seen you naked before.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood, and you have, but you know it’s not just about that as you give him a reassuring smile, placing a hand on his, your voice softening.
“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve always thought of you as the hottest person ever.”
You say, both equal parts joking and sincere. And he gives a tired laugh, as if he can’t help but find your joke ridiculous despite not wanting to admit it. A bemused smile on his face showcasing a bit of that small dimple you always thought was the cutest thing on Earth.
He pretends to roll his eyes at that as he unbuttons his shirt and takes it off, spurred on by your reassurance.
“Thanks.”
He scoffs, although you know there's no bite to his words, and in fact the little banter you share with him makes him feel more alive. As if he’s actually here and that he has a place in this world. Or maybe just yours.
He takes off his shirt, revealing to you what he was so afraid of, despite you seeing it several times before. His chest and arms covered with various markings. Some (The ones on his arms) self-inflicted due to his depression, others (the ones all across his body) from various incidents , from gang fights he got into as a rowdy teenager, to the near death experiences he dealt with as an adult fighting various killer animatronics.
Then there were the stretch marks on his stomach, which were a more recent development.
He’s always been a bit underweight as a result of him being unable to eat properly. Even if he did, he wasn’t able to eat without throwing up or gagging, which always made him feel bad, especially when it came to the food that you made for him, cause he always loved your cooking, he just wished he could eat it properly. With a little time and patience however, he’s slowly been able to eat again, and thus gaining more weight again, with the stretch marks symbolizing his dramatic change. He’s been healing again. He’s been able to take care of himself again with time even to the point of gaining some of his weight back. And he’s been much happier again too, his stomach filling out with the little pudge that you thought was so adorable. And complete with the little trail of hair from his navel to below his jeans, the muscle gain on his arms and back from him working out and his experience from handling the animatronics, you thought he was the hottest person ever. You wished he could see himself the way you did, because it was unfair that someone could be as attractive and yet adorable as he is.
He takes off his clothes completely with his pants and belt dropped on the floor, and for a moment he looks at you as if he’s a bit afraid. As if he wants to hide himself away from your gaze, but you're there to reassure him.
“Hey, don’t be like that Mike..”
You murmur, pulling his arms away from covering his own chest.
“I think you’re absolutely beautiful.”
And that was the absolute truth. Because while he only saw the bad in his scars, the pain and the hurt, you only saw beauty in them. Because they’re a symbol of what he has survived and endured.
You don’t say anything else as you help him into the bath, watching him settle himself into the water with a sigh. He rests his forearms on the rim, and he looks at you curiously.
“Are you..not gonna join me?”
He asks, and you let out a hum of consideration.
“Uh..maybe next time. I just wanted to focus on this bath for you today.”
You reply. You wanted this bath to be for him and him only. Although the idea of bathing with him sounds perfectly enticing enough, tonight you just wanted to focus on him. You briefly stand up to pick up his discarded clothes.
“I’m gonna get some new clothes for you, but I’ll be back to help wash your hair alright? For now, just relax okay? I’ll be back soon.”
You say before leaving the room briefly to grab a change of clothes, as well as put his uniform in the laundry, the clothes smelling of pizza grease and motor oil.
With that, Michael takes the time to sink deeper into the bath, just enough so that his head can poke out as his eyes fall closed, his mind wandering.
Why did you always go out of your way for him? He thought he didn’t deserve it. You deserved better than someone with a weird job of having to watch animatronics in an (secretly haunted) pizzeria. Not even taking into account all his family history, but still, you insisted. You treated him with more care than he deserved, treated him with things he never thought he could have. Even now, with his scars, you never thought of them as ugly. You called him beautiful when he didn’t feel that way at all, and he found it impossible to believe.
He opens his eyes again, resurfacing as he hears the padding of your footsteps. The water overflows out the tub as you open the door to the bathroom and on the floor, and he gives you an awkward smile, apologetic.
“Oops, sorry about that.”
You shake your head, to reassure him that it was no big deal.
“It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m glad that you’re enjoying yourself, Mike.”
You say as you put the stack of clothes on the toilet seat, before grabbing a towel to wipe the wet floors and sit down next to the tub. He sits there in the water, laying his arms against the rim of the tub as he rests his head on it.
You think he looks like an angel. Like something out of a beautiful painting. You lean your head against the rim in a similar manner from outside the bathtub, and for a moment you two just sit there. Lost in the quiet intimacy growing between you.
You reach out to stroke his cheek with his thumb, and the touch elicits a small chuckle out of him, his face growing slightly red at the contact.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
He murmurs breathlessly, voice laced with a hint of shyness to it. As if you looking at him with such adoration makes him overwhelmed. Funny, because you also feel the same way towards him.
“Why should I when you look so beautiful Mike? You know I can’t look away from you.”
There’s that word again. Beautiful. He knows he doesn’t deserve such praise. Not with all of..his baggage. But you insist. You keep calling him that over and over hoping that one day, he’ll believe it for himself.
You hold his cheek with your hand, and he places his on top of it, giving a small kiss onto your palm. The gesture feeling especially vulnerable. You continue to stroke his cheek with his knuckles as a placating gesture, before pulling away slightly, if only to grab the shampoo on the bathroom shelf.
“Here, let me wash your hair for you.” You offer, and he already has his palms up in defense by the time you’ve squeezed out the foam.
“No, I can do it-”
“Michael.”
You insist, full name and all.
Shit.
He thinks to himself, as he puts on an awkward smile again while you look at him with a severe look, arms crossed.
If the full name comes out from you, that means it’s serious business. So he sighs as he turns around in the bath, hugging his legs to his chest as he lets you wash his hair.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, indulging in the feeling of your nails lightly scratching through his hair, before murmuring,
“I just don’t get why you would do all this for me.”
He murmurs, as if he didn’t intend for him to say it out loud, but it escaped him without realizing. And you reply adamantly.
“I do this because I want to, Mike. And you deserve it, you deserve nice things, and I want to be the one to give it to you.”
More than nice actually. You want to give him the world actually, because he never thought he deserved anything good in his life. His eyes tremble slightly, continuing to face away from you.
“But..I just think you deserve better than me. Someone..without all this shit happening in their lives-”
Your hands pause in their movements, and you sigh.
“Hey, don’t be like that.”
You turn his head to face you, and you look at him worriedly, eyebrows furrowed.
“It’s not about deserving you, Mike. I chose you because you're an amazing person. You’ve done bad things but you’re making up for them, and you're doing more than enough to do that. So don’t ever feel like you don’t deserve me, because I’m perfectly fine with being with you, and I’m not going anywhere, alright?”
A pause as he gives a small, imperceptible nod. Michael never makes it obvious how much your words of affirmation affect him. Because he’s not used to hearing such words, to receive such affection. But you know it's everything, just from the way his face softens as he nods again. He still has trouble believing your words, but he chooses to accept them for now, and that’s enough for you. One day, he’ll be able to believe them entirely. And it’ll be the day when he’s finally free from all his demons. Maybe live a happy life with you like he’s always dreamed of, though he knows it’s too much to ask for someone like him.
You continue to wash him as he relaxes, rinsing off his hair before the water gets too cold before helping him out of the bath, and drying him off with the towels. As he glances at the bathroom mirror beside him, he realizes he isn’t scared of his own reflection anymore. Because you're there with him. And you made him feel beautiful. Renewed even, even with his scars and imperfections.
“You’re beautiful, Mike. Absolutely beautiful.”
You reaffirm him one last time. And for once, as he gets the courage to look at himself in the mirror, he just might be able to believe it.
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You crawl into bed with Mike after drying him off, putting his old clothes and the towels in the laundry basket along the way. Michael crawls in with you, only having on a pair of boxer shorts as he was too tired to put on anything else.
“No shirt?” You ask.
“As long as it’s you, I’m okay with not wearing one.” He replies back, a contrast to the nervous and insecure state he was in before.
“Good choice.” You tease lightheartedly. The bath must’ve done wonders for his self confidence, considering earlier, he was so scared of you seeing him like this. But he knows you accept every part of him. Scars and all, so he isn’t afraid.
Despite this, he can’t help but ask for your reassurance once more, so as you were about to turn off the lamp on your nightstand, he can’t help but reach out to you once more as he lays on his side.
“Do you..not mind them?
You turn to face him with a hum. “Mind..what?”
He glances down at himself briefly before looking at you.
“The weight. And the stretch marks..I know I got them since I started eating again. I thought you wouldn’t find me attractive anymore–”
His voice trembles as he says the last part, but your voice interrupts him before he can spiral into his insecurities yet again.
“Of course I love them Mike.”
“But I thought-”
You shake your head.
“No, I really do love them Mike. Because…”
You start as you shift closer to him, placing a finger on his chest, right over his heart, your voice a soft murmur that eases his worries like a warm fire after a cold day.
“It means you're getting better Mike. It means you're getting healthier.”
You look up at him, your face faintly illuminated by the lamp behind you. It’s Michael’s turn to think of you as an angel. Your other hand that wasn’t placed on his heart moves to gently caress his cheek, and he leans into the contact.
“I’m so proud of you and how far you’ve come Michael, every single day. And I’ll never stop being proud of you, okay Mike?”
Again, he has trouble believing that. Because he was never told that as a kid. He’s still working on believing it, and perhaps one day he will.
“And besides, I like it because I can do this-“
He doesn’t notice your finger on his heart suddenly tracing downwards to tickle his stomach, and he jolts at the contact as he tries to slap your hand away.
“D-Don’t, don’t do that-"
You only laugh at getting that reaction out of him, and he knows you’re messing with him. One of the many ways you’ve managed to bring light into his life. One of the many ways you’ve managed to remind him his life was not entirely hopeless as he once thought. Because you’ve changed his life for the better, and seeing your smiling face, he can’t help but return it.
“Is that enough to convince you how much I love you Mike?”
You ask him, and he nods, sinking back against the pillows and sighing.
“I-It is. Thank you.”
“No problem Mike. You know I’ll never get tired of reminding you, right?”
He scoffs, although there’s no bite behind it.
“Well I’ll get tired of hearing it.”
You only shrug, clicking your tongue.
“Well I guess you’re just gonna have to deal with it if you’re gonna be stuck with me.”
This time, you both laugh at your little joke, easing the tension as you turn off the lamp behind you, the only sounds being the light ambience of the night that surrounds you. A safe one compared to that of the decrepit silence from the pizzeria he returned from. One that reminds him that he's home, both literally and figuratively. You pull the blankets over yourselves as you watch his face slowly drift off to sleep. He looks so innocent as he does, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he’s finally able to relax and let his worries go for the night, his lashes gently fluttering with every shallow breath. You smile at the sight, placing a hand over his. He’s just barely able to open one eye at the contact, a light chuckle escaping him.
“Sweet dreams Mike. Rest easy okay? You deserve it.”
He hums, the tiniest nod before sleep takes him completely. He knows he will, for once because you're here. Because instead of the nightmares about his past, or the animatronics that threaten to consume him, he’s dreamed about you. About your smile, your laugh, about a future with you he knows he doesn’t deserve, but you've promised to fight with him for.
The last thing he feels his something plush against his forehead and warm arms enveloping him as he drifts off to sleep, already anticipating the moment he'll wake up with you by his side and the morning light.