Rest For the Wicked [Michael Myers x Reader]

Chapter 7

You wander down the hallway, your movements sluggish and far away- you did not sleep well last night. Michael was not in bed when you woke. Yesterday he'd still been unwell enough to mostly remain in bed, but if he was up today... Fear had taken you at first. Thoughts ringing too loudly in your skull: he's gone. He's gone to kill someone again.

But muffled sounds passed between your bedroom wall and living room. Cartoons. Tom and Jerry. You couldn't help but laugh.

You changed out of your dirty pajamas- never having really changed much in Michael's sickness- and into something fresh. Jeans and a big sweater. You brushed your teeth and inspected your neck in the mirror. Though Michael's fevered and half-dreamed attack on you had irritated the delicate skin of your neck, the bruises he'd left were fading quickly into yellow-green shadows.

Two days have passed since Michael's fever broke. He must've still felt awful to not be more active- though he'd been walking around yesterday and was independent enough to not make you help him to the bathroom again. He'd even put the mask back on, slept in it next to you once you'd dragged him into the shower and washed the sweat from his scalp. But he had not been too terrible of a patient, less standoffish than he'd been before he was sick. Maybe he had learned he truly preferred to stay in bed and watch TV than to be a thorn in your side.

You doubted it, though.

And as you got to the entryway and the openings between kitchen and living room, you find him- back in his now clean coveralls and mask- sitting on your couch and watching Tom and Jerry. It's good to see him up, you decide. The mask turns slowly as he acknowledges your presence.

"I'm making coffee. Do you want some?"

He nods. You smile, but try not to make a big deal about his continued communication. He still would not talk- you aren't sure if he even remembers how at this point- but he's at least more forthcoming with affirmative answers. 'No's are still silent or warning wrist-grabs. But maybe you'll get him to shake his head one day, too.

You pour grounds into the coffee maker and pick out the two mugs at the front of your cabinet. One is black with little red hearts on it, the other is a plain gray. You kind of want to give Michael the Valentine's Day cup, just to see its cutesy aesthetic in his big, indelicate hands. You decide against it- just in case Michael is feeling less generous today. Besides, you'd probably enjoy it too much and knock him out of a good mood if he happened to have one.

You stand in the kitchen and scroll through your phone as you wait, leaning against the entryway molding to peek into the living room, not too unlike what Michael does when he lurks near you.

The little black appliance beeps obnoxiously loud and you move back to it. You make your cup first, before starting to call back to him, "How do you- oh," The mask is already behind you, Michael cornering you in your little kitchen. It is not fear alone that makes you shiver, but his sudden proximity just another reminder how easily he could end you. The empty eye holes stare down at you; he does not reach for the cream and sugar.

So you do, turning away from him- turning your back on a murderer!- and towards the counter again. You pour one spoonful of sugar into the gray mug and glance over your shoulder- he does not nod, gives no indication to help you. You spoon another. Still nothing. You do another. The mask is unreadable and you wonder if he's having you pour sugar into an empty mug for no reason. Well, there is a reason: because he can. You wonder if he smiles under his mask. You know he doesn't.

You add one more spoonful of sugar- deciding that if this time you still get no response, you'll get out of his way so he can make his own coffee. But he does; in place of a nod Michael reaches for the creamer and puts it in front of you. You huff- at least this sort of unreasonableness you can deal with. It's childish, but hey. It's not showing up at your door with a bloodied knife or demanding to cum on you yet again.