Rest For the Wicked [Michael Myers x Reader]

Chapter 2

You stand quickly, ignoring the warmth both in your cheeks and that rekindling between your legs. He's injured. you repeat to yourself and dab your face with a towel. He's injured and lonely, that's all. Don't make this weird.

You turn,

And see his huge body is still blocking the doorway. Pointedly not looking at his waist, you meet his mask. "Excuse me,"

He does not excuse you, does not even give you the courtesy of a head tilt or any other sign of acknowledgement. His breathing echoes in the tiled bathroom as you wait. You frown and again doubt if the man actually knew what was going on.

You try for bargaining, "I can make breakfast, but I need to get by you."

He still does not respond. It's unnerving, his silence. He's different than just quiet people, than introverts or shy people. It's... intentional, pointed. Measured. The mask accentuating his breathing does not help, bringing the volume up as though it alone was his voice. You struggle to keep your nerves in check.

"I need you to step back." You say again, and this time to step toward him, you neck arching painfully back to hold his invisible gaze. When he still refuses to move, you reach out- and boldly place your hands on his ribs. You're gentle, remembering the horrible purples and blues from before, but you push against him, urging him to back up.

There's a catch in his breath, and with hardly any pressure from your hands, he steps away.

"Thank you." It's barely enough room for you to slip by, but you manage to with only minimal brushing against his ragged coveralls. You try not to pay attention to what you do feel behind the fabric.

Since he doesn't seem to want to leave you be, you decide not to change; your pajamas are warm anyway. Bootsteps behind you tell you he follows you out into the hallways and then into the kitchen. The bloody bowl and rag are still in the sink, isolated spots having oxidized and browned. You'd really have to wash that towel.

"Is there anything you want in particular?" You don't bother looking to him, it wouldn't be helpful with the mask on. Instead you open the fridge and look through what remained since your last grocery run. There's not much. "I know you need protein to heal faster after surgery, so I was thinking eggs?"

Breathing. You were really starting to stop expecting a response. You look over the edge of the fridge door. He stands in the entryway, body deceptively neutral. He stares at you, does not look around your kitchen. "If you don't like something, you'll have to tell me. All you have to do is nod." You seek his eyes in the darkness of his mask and hope he feels talkative today. "Do you like scrambled eggs?"

Nothing. You start to sigh- before the latex along his neck creaks, and very slowly his chin dips in a single nod. Your smile is disgustingly fast to spread, but you think you keep most of it hidden behind the door. "Thank you."

He lingers as you gather items to cook; watching your hands so intently as you break an egg into a skillet, you wonder why. Maybe he just likes to be near people? He's a people-watcher? Or he's making sure you won't poison him? He'd already given you a nod today, which is as much as you got from him yesterday. You didn't want to push him too far and-

You startle and look to him. He'd looked away at some point, staring out the window over your sink, but he snaps back to you so fast the mask shifts on his face, a sudden stiffness to his shoulders. You look him over, his injured body obscured by the bloody coveralls. His hands are still bandaged and dirty. "You shouldn't be up!" You frown sharply, waving him towards the living room. He tilts his head. "You're injured! Go, sit down!"

Your eyes flit between your masked guest, apparently intent on standing there and making you look like a fool and the quickly fluffing eggs. You wave your free hand at him again, shooing him away while you stirred and, to your amazement, you heard one floorboard creak. Your smile returns, as much as you wish to shove it down- but shouldn't you be happy? It seemed you were at least building trust with the stranger in your home.