Rosa/do

He pumped his fist in the air as he celebrated. “Yes! Okay, the theme is scary. No one’s gonna be doing that sexy costume shit.” You smiled even wider. “Great, I know what I want to be, I just have to make it. I’ll see you next weekend!”

That was last week. You’ve been talking to this guy named Jeff for 2 weeks and when he invited you to that party, you instantly agreed. To you, it seemed to be the next step in your potential relationship.

You planned your costume the whole week, looking up inspo, going out thrifting for pieces, and even pulling out your dusty sewing machine from your closet that hasn’t seen light in months.

You decided to dress as a clown, getting that inspiration from back when killer clowns made their appearances. You used to be scared shitless of them, but now it’s just a funny joke.

As the day of the party arrived and the time hit 10:47, you exited the taxi. “Thanks for the ride!”

As the taxi sped off you turned and stood at the front door of Brooke’s house. You could already hear the booming music and see flashing lights through the window.

With a deep breath you gave 4 specific knocks to the door. Jeff had told you to for whatever reason, but you weren’t gonna question him, you were just gonna do as he asked.

Silence took over the house as “hushes” could be heard before the door opened. You were met with a random boy dressed as an awful looking vampire. He didn’t even try to look scary, but more sexy?

As you walked through the entrance, the eyes on your frame multiplied as they watched your every move. You felt exposed.

Then, the sound of a familiar laugh caught your attention. “Yo bro, she actually showed up in a clown outfit!”

You looked around and caught the sight of laughing Jeff, who high-fived his friend. “She’s actually so gullible.”

Gullible? How were you gullible?

Jeff stepped forward, everyone watching for your reaction. “You’re actually so stupid. You showed up to a college party dressed as a clown. You really are one!”

Laughter erupted from those around you, your eyes traveling to the ground, trying to understand. He’s the one that invited you to this party, he’s the one that told you to dress as something scary, and now he’s making fun of you for it?

He stepped closer, his hand coming under your chin and pushing it up. He was looking at you with a sarcastic expression, a pout on his lips. “Awe, did you really think I was actually into you?”

Your eyes grew glossy as tears filled them.

His sad face turned serious, mouth forming into a thin line and eyes boring into yours. “I would never be with someone like you, you fucking freak.”

With a harsh push, you fell backwards, a whine coming from your lips, but covered by the laughter of other students. “You were nothing, but a dare. Although, I will say you are pretty easy to get to.”

You continued to look at him in disbelief, not believing what was happening.

Jeff’s friend slapped his shoulders as he laughed louder. That’s all you heard — laughter. You looked at everyone in the party, your ears muffling as laughter entered your head.

You were a freak show, and wearing this clown suit didn't make it any better.

Brooke came from the crowd, wrapping her slim arms around Jeff’s neck. “Baby, get this weirdo outta here. She’s ruining the fun.” She pouted while eyeing you.

Jeff stepped forward, threatening to hurt you. “You heard her, go!” You stood up on shaky legs. “B-But, how am I gonna get home?”

Jeff annoyingly groaned at your whiny voice. “Find your own way home, loser!” He stepped forward once more, your legs quickly rushing out the house and down the neighborhood.

As you ran from the house, you could hear the laughter slowly fade and the sounds of the music resuming. You don’t know where you ran, but you ran as far away from that house as possible.

As you came to your senses, you looked around you to see you somehow ended up at the Terrifier FunHouse. As soon as you sat down on a random log, the tears finally fell, releasing all the anger and frustration that grew over you in the short humiliated time.

You weren't as mad at the fact half of the school humiliated you, but that you should’ve known better. This is a college Halloween part for fucks sake, of course everyone was gonna dress seductively.

Your sniffles filled the area, catching the attention of a certain clown. You heard the footsteps before you saw him sitting in front of you, his trash bag slapping the floor beside you.

“Oh hi.” You muttered out while clearing your throat. “I like your costume, it’s much better than mine.” You complimented him while looking down at your now ruined costume. “It was pretty cool, but it got ruined. I think all those tree branches back there ripped it up.”

The clown looked at your costume, a questioning look taking over his face. What happened to it?

“What’s your name?” You were met with silence once more, a sigh coming from your lips. “You don’t talk much, do you?” He shook his head. “Well, I think your costume looks so similar to ART, that I’ll call you Fake Art.”

“Fake” Art had an offended look on his face as his hand came to his heart, acting as if he was hurt at your claim.

That made you laugh. “Sorry, but no one’s better than the original.”

Art smirked, agreeing with what you said.

Your eyes grew wide once you realized what you said. “Wait, no, I don’t think it’s good what he did. He’s actually a really bad guy!”

Art’s grin disappeared as anger took over his lips. You let out a breath, burying your face in your hands. “I’m lying, I'm actually infatuated with him. There's so much I wanna know about him, like what his favorite food is, or whether he likes white or black more. God I sound like such a weirdo.”

Art listened to you talk, not feeling angry at your words anymore, but more interested.

“Sorry about the rambling, I must sound so annoying. That’s probably when I was just humiliated in front of my whole school and played like a piano by Jeff.”

The clown made motions with his hand, urging you to continue.

“Oh it’s nothing, just some guy I thought was into me was actually playing me for a dare. He invited me to a party and I was the only one actually dressed up, so everyone was laughing at me. He called me a freak and even pushed me! I think I landed on my arm wrong because it still hurts.”

As you retold the story, you missed the way Art’s expression changed.

“That’s also why my costume isn’t as good, but you know that.”

You two sat in silence as you looked around the Funhouse, a reminder to you to go home.

“Well, it was nice talking to you, but I gotta get back to my dorm. It’s probably midnight and I got to work tomorrow, so I’ll see you around?”

The clown nodded his head, a genuine smile coming to your lips. “Okay, bye Fake Art!”

He waved back watching as you walked through the woods and to your dorm.

He gave it a minute or two before getting up and collecting his trash bag to follow you. He had to make sure you got home safe, and also pay a visit to this Jeff guy.

You had seen that name before, painted on cheap Halloween masks and horror posters. You had laughed nervously, pretending it was nothing. But standing there now, with your so-called friends jeering and shouting, it felt different. The air carried something heavy.

“Go on, it’s just a bunch of broken cabins!” one of them said, Jake, smirking as he shoved your shoulder. “What’s the matter, scared of a few spiders?”

You shook your head quickly, clutching your jacket closer.

“No, I just… this place looks dangerous. The floorboards could collapse, or-”

“Or Jason will get you?” another one interrupted, laughing loudly. The others joined in, their laughter sharp and cruel.

You looked at their faces in the flicker of the light and saw nothing kind. You had known them for years, but moments like this reminded you that friendship was not what tied you together.

It was convenience. You were the one they could tease, the one who never talked back.

“Fine,” you said quietly, your voice trembling just enough to make them grin wider. “I’ll go.”

The path to the cabins was narrow and uneven. The forest seemed to lean closer with every step, branches scraping your hair, roots tugging at your shoes.

You could still hear them laughing behind you, their voices distant now. The old buildings loomed ahead, shapes swallowed by mist and ivy.

The first cabin you reached had a broken window and a door hanging off its hinges. Inside, it smelled of mould and dust. The air was thick, untouched for years. You raised your phone to use its light. There were bunk beds, rusted metal frames, and a wooden chest collapsed in one corner.

You whispered to yourself.

“See? Nothing here.”

A plank creaked behind you.

You froze. Slowly, you turned your head, expecting one of them to have followed you in to scare you. But the doorway was empty. Only darkness stared back.

The wind picked up, rattling the door. The sound made your heart jump. You forced out a laugh, trying to shake it off.

“Alright, joke’s over,” you called. “I’m coming out now.”

No answer.

As you turned to leave, something moved beyond the window, a large shadow, slow and deliberate. You blinked, trying to make sense of it, but the phone trembled in your hand.

For a heartbeat, you thought it was your imagination. The shape didn’t move, just stood there. The outline was broad, the shoulders huge. A mask, maybe? You couldn’t be sure. You took a step closer, and it was gone.

You ran outside, your breath sharp in the cold air. The forest was too quiet. You could still see the glow of your friends’ lights somewhere near the path, and you started toward them.

Then someone screamed.

It was cut short, replaced by the sound of heavy footsteps crashing through the undergrowth.

Another scream followed, then another, each one snapped off mid-breath. Panic rushed through you.

You stumbled, falling to your knees, and tried to crawl toward the sound of the car, but your foot caught something metal.

There was a sharp snap, and a blinding pain shot through your leg. You screamed, looking down to see a rusted bear trap clamped around your ankle, blood seeping through your jeans.

You tried to pull free, crying out as the teeth dug deeper.

The forest was alive now with noise, footsteps, rustling, the thud of something heavy being dragged.

You looked up, and there he was.

Tall, silent, broad-shouldered, a hockey mask gleaming pale in the torchlight that flickered from the ground.

Jason Voorhees.

You froze. Every breath hitched in your chest. You whispered.

“Please…” without knowing what you were asking for.

He stood over you, machete in hand, his chest rising and falling with slow, deep breaths.

For a moment, you thought he would swing the blade. But he didn’t. He only looked at you, really looked.

The tears on your face caught the faint light, and something in his posture changed. The machete lowered slightly. His head tilted to one side, as though he saw something he recognised.

Somewhere behind him, another scream broke the stillness. Jason turned sharply and walked away without a sound.

You were left shaking, the night swallowing you again. The screams didn’t stop for a long time.

You had no idea how long you lay there.

Time bled into the dark, your tears soaking into the dirt as the cold crept into your bones.

The forest was silent again. Too silent. Even the crickets had gone quiet.

You tried to stay awake, but pain blurred the edges of everything. The bear trap still clung to your leg, teeth buried in skin. You pressed shaking hands against it, desperate to pry it open, but it wouldn’t move.

Blood slicked your palms, and the effort only made you sob harder.

The light from the ground flickered one last time before dying completely. You were swallowed by blackness.

When the footsteps came again, you almost didn’t hear them. Heavy, steady, crushing the leaves underfoot. You lifted your head weakly, heart hammering.

“Please,” you whispered, though you didn’t know what you were begging for.

A shadow stopped beside you. He knelt.

The light from the moon caught the shape of the hockey mask, smeared with dark stains.

Jason didn’t speak, only reached out one gloved hand and pressed it against the trap. His strength was effortless. The metal groaned, bending slightly.

You winced but didn’t pull away. Then, with a sudden jerk, the trap sprang open.

You gasped, collapsing against the ground. Jason stayed crouched, watching you.

The smell of the forest and old metal filled the air between you. His breathing was slow and deep, almost rhythmic.

You thought he might kill you now, that freeing you had been some cruel trick, but instead he slid his arms beneath you and lifted you up as if you weighed nothing. You cried out softly, clutching at his jacket, but he didn’t react. His grip was strong, almost protective.

The world swayed as he carried you through the forest.

The trees passed in streaks of grey, the lake glinting pale through the gaps. Somewhere in the distance, you thought you saw firelight, faint and flickering.

When he stopped, it was before a small cabin hidden behind a wall of overgrown vines. The roof sagged slightly, but smoke drifted from an old metal chimney. He kicked the door open and stepped inside.

The room was small and bare, with a single bed and a stone fireplace. Dust clung to the shelves, and the floorboards groaned under his weight. He set you down carefully on the bed.

You flinched when he reached for his machete, but he only set it against the wall. Then he turned to you again, kneeling beside the bed.

Your leg was a mess of torn fabric and blood. He tore a strip from an old blanket and wrapped it tightly around the wound. You tried not to cry out, but the pain was too much.

“Why…” Your voice trembled. “Why are you helping me?”

Jason didn’t move. His head tilted slightly, the mask reflecting the firelight.

You took a shaky breath.

“You killed them, didn’t you?”

He didn’t deny it.

“They hurt me,” you whispered, looking down at your bandaged leg. “Every day. They laughed, called me useless, ugly… I never wanted to come here.”

He lowered his head, shoulders tense, as though the words were heavy.

Something in the silence changed. You could feel it. The air wasn’t filled with fear anymore. It was something softer, something sad. You realised then that he understood.

Maybe not your words exactly, but the feeling. The loneliness. The cruelty.

You reached out a trembling hand, and though he didn’t take it, he didn’t pull away either.

For the first time since you arrived at Camp Crystal Lake, you felt safe.

When you woke the next morning, the cabin was filled with pale light. The air was cold, but the fireplace still smouldered faintly. You blinked, confused for a moment, before the memories returned, the trap, the screams, the man in the mask.

Jason.

You sat up slowly, wincing as your leg throbbed.

The bandage he had wrapped around it was rough but secure. Someone had placed a tin cup beside the bed, half-filled with water, and a bundle of dried herbs lay on the table nearby.

He was gone.

You thought about trying to crawl to the door, but a strange stillness stopped you. It wasn’t fear anymore; it was the feeling of being somewhere you weren’t meant to leave.

When the door finally creaked open, you startled, clutching the blanket around you. Jason filled the doorway, a shadow against the morning fog. In one hand, he held a bundle of sticks and something wrapped in cloth.

You didn’t speak at first. He set the bundle down near the fire and crouched, arranging the sticks neatly. The cloth turned out to hold food, berries, a piece of fish, and something that looked freshly cooked.

You watched him in silence, unsure of what to say. He moved carefully, almost cautiously, as though afraid of startling you.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He froze for a moment before turning his head slightly, not quite looking at you. You saw his shoulders rise and fall in a slow breath.

You tried again.

“You didn’t have to help me. You could have left me out there.”

No response. Only the faint crackle of the fire.

After a moment, you continued, voice small.

“They were never really my friends. I suppose you could tell. They liked making me feel small.”

He sat back on his heels, silent but attentive. His mask hid his expression, but somehow you felt he was listening.

The hours passed slowly. You talked about everything, your family, your home, the way the world seemed quieter in the autumn. You didn’t know why you kept speaking, but it felt right.

Every so often, he would move slightly, tilt his head, or adjust the fire, and those small gestures were answer enough.

That evening, he returned again with more food. This time, you smiled when you saw him, a small, nervous smile, but genuine.

He hesitated in the doorway before stepping inside, as though uncertain he was welcome.

“You can come in,” you said. “It’s your cabin, isn’t it?”

He turned his head slightly, as if thinking, then entered. He sat near the fire again, cleaning his machete with slow, steady movements. You tried not to look afraid.

When you spoke, your voice was calm.

“You remind me of someone I used to know. Quiet, but kind. He never said much, but you could tell what he felt.”

Jason stilled for a moment, then set the weapon aside.

You smiled faintly.

“You probably think I talk too much.”

His head tilted again, and for a fleeting moment, it almost looked like he shook it, a small, subtle movement. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you.

Days became weeks. Your leg healed slowly, though you still limped when you walked. Jason would appear and disappear without warning, always silent, always watching. You began to leave small things for him, a cleaned cup, a folded blanket, once even a wildflower you had picked by the lake. Each time, it vanished by the next morning, and in its place you would find something new: food, water, firewood stacked neatly.

One night, you sat by the fire and spoke softly, though you weren’t sure he was there to hear.

“You’re not what they say you are, are you?” you whispered. “You just… protect what’s yours. I think you’ve been alone too long.”

The wind shifted through the broken window. For a moment, you thought you saw him standing just beyond the trees, half hidden by mist.

“I’ll be here tomorrow.” You smiled.

The days at the cabin had settled into a strange rhythm. You woke with the sun, ate what Jason brought, and spent hours sitting by the fire or looking out over the lake. He was always there, silent, his presence steady and unyielding, and somehow, that silence was comforting.

You had stopped calling him a monster.

Even when you remembered the screams of your tormentors, even when you thought of the lives he had taken, the fear that once clenched your chest had softened. You had seen him care for you, had felt it in the gentle way he tended your wounds, in the careful movements that never hurt you.

One evening, you noticed him lingering at the edge of the firelight. His shadow was long and still, the mask glinting faintly in the last rays of sunset. Something in you started, not fear, not panic, but a strange, aching curiosity.

“Come closer,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to sound human.

He hesitated, as he always did, then stepped into the glow of the fire. The air between you was thick with unspoken words. You reached out, hand shaking, and rested it on the edge of his arm. His stillness was almost unbearable, but he did not pull away.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to be.”

The fire crackled, and for a long moment, he only looked at you. Then, slowly, deliberately, he sank to his knees in front of you, his massive frame folded into the shadows. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the weight of his presence, and something inside your chest eased.

“Do you ever… get lonely?” you asked quietly.

He tilted his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. You smiled faintly, taking it as an answer.

“I know how that feels,” you murmured, leaning closer despite your lingering fear. “People think you’re nothing. They don’t understand you. But I do. I see you. I see the person behind the mask.”

For the first time, he didn’t shift, didn’t hesitate. He only stayed, letting your words wash over him. Slowly, carefully, you reached up and touched the mask. The surface was cold and hard beneath your fingers, but his hand twitched slightly against yours, almost imperceptibly, and you felt the slightest movement, a nod, maybe, or a tilt of the head.

“You’re not just a shadow in the woods,” you said softly. “You’re… someone. Someone who can care, who can protect, who can… love.”

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, but not frightening anymore. Then he did something you had never imagined. With careful, deliberate movements, he leaned forward slightly, letting you brush your hand against his cheek beneath the mask.

You felt the warmth of his skin under, rough but real, and you shivered, not from fear but from the closeness.

“I… I trust you,” you whispered.

He remained still, but there was a softness in the tilt of his head, in the way he stayed near you. That night, for the first time, he did not leave. He sat by the fire with you, not speaking, but simply being there.

The quiet was no longer lonely. It was something else entirely.

Days passed. He learned, slowly, how to be gentle. He brought you food, tended the fire, and stayed close when storms rolled in over the lake. You spoke, and he listened. Sometimes, when the wind was right, you swore you heard him hum quietly, a sound so soft it could have been the forest itself.

One night, as the moon hung low over the lake, you found the courage to do something you had imagined for weeks. You reached out, touched the side of his mask, and whispered.

“I see you. All of you.”

Slowly, with a movement so careful it could have been broken, he leaned toward you, allowing you to remove the mask. Your hands trembled, but you saw him clearly for the first time, scars crisscrossing his face, eyes deep and dark, but alive, filled with the same quiet loneliness you knew so well.

“You’re… real,” you breathed.

He did not speak, but he stayed. His hand hovered near yours, then brushed it, gentle and deliberate.

You felt something ignite in your chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.

In the middle of the ruined cabin, with the mist rising over the lake outside, you realised that the bond between you had changed. Fear had given way to trust. Pain had given way to understanding. And loneliness had given way to love, quiet, strange, but pure.

For the first time, you were not afraid of him. And for the first time, you knew he was not afraid of you.

The days at the cabin became your world, a small universe tucked away in the folds of the forest. You woke to the mist rising over the lake, the quiet lapping of water against the shore. Jason was always near, never intrusive, never demanding, but his presence had grown into something steady, comforting.

You had learned the rhythm of his silence, how to read the small gestures that spoke volumes.

A hand resting on a log while he cleaned the fire, a slow tilt of his head as he watched you move about the cabin. You had come to understand that these were his ways of saying he cared, even without words.

One evening, you sat by the fire, your leg fully healed now, and watched him carefully.

He was at the edge of the firelight, his silhouette large and still. The wind rustled the trees, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth, and you realised with a quiet thrill that you were happy here. Not just safe, but truly happy.

You reached out slowly and took his hand in yours. The glove was rough, scarred from years you could only imagine, but when he allowed your fingers to press against his, it was as soft as any touch you had ever known.

“I don’t want to leave,” you whispered. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

He remained still, but the slight tilt of his head told you everything. He would not leave either.

The night deepened, and the stars began to peek through the thinning clouds. You felt the warmth of his body beside yours, steady and unwavering. For the first time, you dared to rest your head on his shoulder, and he did not flinch.

His weight of was comforting, a steady anchor in a world that had so often been cruel and unforgiving.

“You saved me,” you said softly, pressing your hand to the side of his face. “And I… I think I saved you too.”

He leaned slightly into your touch, the mask still on but the gesture intimate, accepting. You reached up carefully and lifted it, revealing his face fully. His eyes met yours, dark and deep, but with something new, softness. Vulnerability. Trust.

“We’re not alone anymore,” you whispered.

He did not respond with words, but his hand closed over yours, fingers warm, deliberate.

In that moment, you understood that the bond between you was more than protection or gratitude.

It was love. Quiet, unspoken, and yet undeniable.

In the following weeks, the cabin became a haven.

You and Jason moved with a rhythm that felt natural, living together in silence and understanding. He still protected the camp, still kept intruders at bay, but now there was laughter too, small, quiet moments that belonged only to the two of you.

Sometimes, you would sit by the lake, throwing stones into the water, and he would watch, his enormous figure leaning against a tree.

Sometimes, he would bring you wildflowers, placing them carefully in the cabin, a silent gesture that made your heart swell.

And at night, when the forest was quiet and the fire flickered low, you would lie together, your head on his chest, listening to the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

The world outside was dangerous, cruel, and loud, but here, in the folds of the forest, it did not matter.

You were seen. You were safe. You were loved.

And for the first time in your life, you felt that love was returned in full, in quiet, unshakable ways.

Jason Voorhees, the man once feared by the world, had found a home.

And you had found him.

The mist rose over Camp Crystal Lake, the trees swaying gently in the night wind.

Somewhere beyond the forest, the world continued, unaware of the strange, perfect peace that had settled here. But inside the cabin, by the fire, all was right.

You were together. And nothing else mattered.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

Calling the evening a failure would be an understatement. 

At least that was what you told yourself standing shirtless in the bathroom, letting water run over your blouse after having thrown it into the sink. It was all your roommate's fault really; her boyfriend had cancelled at the last moment and so she decided to drag you with her instead to the nearby party she had planned to visit. You cursed yourself for agreeing to it now as you tried to rub soap over the fabric; most of the pinkish liquid had washed down the drain but here was still a visible stain. 

Looking back you weren't even sure why you agreed, you didn't know anyone here and besides had a lot of chores to finish and deadlines to meet for the coming week. Maybe in order to be spontaneous for once and meet some new people? Either way, now you deeply regretted it. 

Since it was so last minute some improvisations were necessary while getting dressed up. The costume you wore had been thrown together from things you already had in your closet combined with a cheap pirate hat to make it seem like you at least had put in some effort in getting dressed up. The only catch was having to be careful with the blouse, as it was one of the few professional looking pieces you had. That clearly didn’t work out as you now occupied the downstairs bathroom for a while, trying to wash off the remnants of a drink some kid had thrown over you. 

There had been one important fact your roommate forgot to mention while trying to convince you to join her. Indeed, the party wasn’t thrown by members of your college that you hoped to get to know better, but teens from the local highschool. Who in true teenager fashion had seemingly no other concerns than getting drunk. And tripping around and spilling drinks on others, apparently. 

You sighed, rubbing your forehead to get rid of the newly arrived headache. No amount of soaking helped with the stain. It was very faint now but still visible. You’d have to throw the shirt in the machine at home and hope for the best. If you managed to convince your roommate to drive you back at the very least. She didn’t seem very keen on leaving the last time you saw her. 

Giving up you wrung the blouse out, threw it over your arm and grabbed a relatively clean hoodie hung on the towel rack. You had no idea who it belonged to but you were too annoyed to care, besides walking at night in a white, wet blouse didn’t sound like a very responsible idea. You could catch pneumonia… or the attention of something worse. The chance of convincing your roommate to actually drive you home as she promised was low so you were already anticipating your walk. Sighing one last time you unlocked the backroom door and made your way through the crowd. The place was truly starting to look like a mess, most of the people beyond tipsy now. 

Finding your roommate wasn’t an issue at least, but one look was enough to know that convincing her to leave would be just as expected. Apparently her boyfriend decided to join at the last moment anyway, as they now sat making out in the corner. 

You debated interrupting them for a second before figuring out that it wasn’t worth it. It looked like she was drinking anyway, and you didn’t want to take the risk of getting her to drive. Besides, it was only a ten minute walk. It would be a good way to calm yourself down too, as at this point you were raging on internally. Grumbling, you turned around and headed for the door. 

Outside you were hit almost immediately with a wave of cold air, it had cooled down significantly through the night. Shivering you headed over to the road glad to have stolen something to cover yourself with; the quicker you’ll walk the sooner you’ll get home. 

This plan seemed very simple but while walking through the short front yard something stopped you. Call it an instinct or something alike, but you suddenly got the deep urge to focus on a nearby rose bush instead of getting home as soon as possible. Stopping dead in your tracks you felt as ridiculous as it could get; it was dark, the wind was tormenting you, the wet shirt thrown over your arm already caused water to seep into the sleeve of the hoodie and you suddenly decided it was time to stare at shrubbery. 

Still- you could have sworn it moved. 

Despite every rational part of your brain telling you that it was the wind and that it will stop bothering you inside, you still decided to veer off your path to inspect said bush. Just for some guy to pop up from behind it as you approached. 

You gasped, stepping back, “What’s wrong with you?” 

He didn’t reply, just standing there. He appeared to be looking right at you but you couldn’t be sure as his eyes weren’t visible through the holes of the mask. A very familiar mask. The same mask that kid that tripped onto you and messed your shirt up was wearing. You pressed your lips into a thin line, crossing your arms as you stared at him the same way he looked at you. It was better to keep your mouth shut since you had nothing nice to say. Starting a fight with a drunken highschooler really would be a cherry on top of the mess that today had become. 

But there was no reaction, not indication he noticed you at all. Only a very immature imitation of a staring contest. 

You didn’t want to be the first one to look away but it was getting weird to say the least: After popping out from behind that bush like some kind of children's toy he just stood motionless in front you, the sound of his ragged breathing being the only thing to break the silence of the night. It was getting more ridiculous with every second and a suspicion was rising somewhere in the back of your head that there was just something deeply wrong with him that the use of alcohol couldn’t have caused alone. 

You made a face before finally giving up on this unsettling situation and tried to awkwardly start a conversation. “Are you leaving already too? It’s pretty early?”

No reaction. Great. Maybe he was just shy? Or the least charismatic person to exist. Or so buzzed he couldn’t tell what was happening anymore. Either way, it was time to cut this broken conversation short and head home- you thought before being interrupted by the alarm of a police vehicle speeding in the street behind you nearly making you jump.  

“I wonder what happened over there.” You said more to yourself than anyone else while looking over your shoulder to see the direction they were headed in. Not that there was anyone else except for your eloquently silent new friend. Even less encouragingly, the car seemed to drive toward the area you inhabited. Walking home alone seemed less appealing with each moment.

Contemplating it, you looked back over at the man next to you, with a new idea making its way into your brain. He might have been the last person you’d like to spend time with voluntarily, but you were pretty sure that you still preferred his company over the dark and unforgiving streets. Fairly sure at least. Okay, maybe you had some doubts, but it would be really irresponsible to go alone in this situation. 

“Do you live nearby? Maybe we could walk together?” You started, trying to test the waters. Yet again there was no movement or reaction from him. Not that you had any intention of giving up this easily. You looked over your shoulder back at the area the car just skimmed as the distant sound of sirens still hung in the sky, trying to seem thoughtful. “Quite a commotion, isn’t it? You want to go check it out?”

You looked over at him pointing your head in the general direction. He stood in the exact same way as when you last laid eyes on him. Not exactly the knight in shining armor you pictured but your only hope was that two would make a less appealing target than one. The only thing necessary for him to do was stand near you and look intimidating enough, which he already proved to be excellent at. You had made up your mind at that point. You tried a different attack motioning to the soaked blouse before stretching your hand out towards him, “I mean come on, it’s your fault I have to leave already, walking me home is the least you can do.”

For another dreadful few seconds he didn’t react, before slowly turning his head to the side and looking down at your outstretched hand. He didn’t grab it but this was still the most expressive he had been during the entire conversation. Maybe he just needed more encouragement. So you grabbed him yourself, before speed walking towards the end of the street, not giving him time to react. You essentially dragged him behind you, at least for the first few seconds before he caught on and followed on his own, easily catching up with your speed. 

As you reached the main road the atmosphere was starting to feel even more tense. The sounds of the party goers that formed a reassuring echo throughout the entire talk on driveway slowly turned into a faint memory as the realisation that the streets were pretty much deserted hit. The only detail reminding of the existence of others was the ever present sound of sirens further away. Sirens for sure, as now with the silence taking up most of your senses you could finally focus on the fact that the sounds must come from more than one vehicle. 

Slowing your tempo while changing directions you were suddenly reminded of the near stranger whose wrist you were still clutching onto. You took a peak at him but he showed no signs of being aware of the contact as he walked besides you staring ahead. He, at the very least, didn’t seem bothered by it and, somehow, to you, letting go seemed like the more embarrassing option. Probably accompanied by flustered glances while not making eye contact, like something straight out of a movie. You nearly rolled your eyes over the idea. 

Yeah no, it was better to make it seem like this was a fully intentional choice. It was likely the only way to get him to follow, so technically it had been, but it still left off the uncomfortable impression that to any passerby you’d look like a couple getting home together. Which was laughable, by the way.

Still, to prevent your thoughts from ever turning in that direction again you decided to try another, likely hopeless, attempt at a conversation. “You never told me where you live again. I hope I’m not dragging you in the entirely opposite direction.”

He didn’t react yet again, but you never expected him to, already getting used to his silence. In some ways it was actually kind of pleasant. “You know I still kind of think you deserve it, after all if you didn’t ruin my clothes I could have easily caught a ride back with my roommate later on.”

You shut yourself up quickly remembering that she wasn’t exactly sober and, besides, that you weren’t enjoying yourself at all. Still he didn’t need to know that and you’d have to replace the blouse most likely anyway, he deserved to suffer at least a little bit. 

You snuggled closer into your hoodie, before speaking up again. It was actually nice to have an excuse to voice your thoughts,  to have someone to talk to, even if he didn’t bother replying. Your voice somewhat cut through the silent tension between the two of you:  “I wonder whose this is. I pretty much stole it. I hope not yours, even if that would serve you right.”

You saw him turn his head towards you out of the corner of your eye. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right or did you already forget you threw that drink over me?” 

Scrunching up your nose in a laugh you continued walking beside him, the sirens still ringing off to the side. Looking over you felt the anxiety rise up in your stomach again, very thankful to not be alone in the deserted streets. “I do really wonder what happened, though. I’ll have to turn on the news back at home. Probably a car crash or something average like that but…”

Something felt off. A car crash wouldn’t cause this much of a commotion, even if it were to end tragically, but actually voicing your thoughts felt like a way to jinx your luck. Something deep inside you left you sure that in this case it is better to leave the conclusion unsaid, so instead after stealing one quick glance at the man next to you, you continued on in silence from this point on. 

At least until you got interrupted by an older man screaming erratically two streets further as he jumped out of a car at the sight of you. You didn’t even have the time to make out what he was saying as he ran towards the two of you waving his hands around with a police officer following right behind him telling him to stop.

Stepping back, your companion nearly pulled you against him as you froze up realizing the man wasn’t actually waving his hands but instead held onto a gun. He just ran up to the crossing you stopped behind, before the cop caught up with him on the other side of it. He got the man to stop from coming closer but didn’t prevent him from pointing the likely loaded gun at the two of you. 

Wide-eyed you stared ahead still pretty much shell shocked from the encounter. 

“Get away from him!” A yell from the other side of the street sounded as you felt the hand interlocked around yours grab onto you tighter. 

“What is going on?!” You finally regained your voice.

Instead it was the officer, still holding onto the other man, who replied, finally offering you some clarity. “A couple of hours ago, several teenagers got murdered by a suspect dressed just like your friend over there. We have to check just to be sure. ” 

Looking off to the side you held up your hands as you badly tried to sound a bit more calm than before, “We met at a party, we’ve been there all evening, you have got to have the wrong guy.” 

The officer didn’t reply as you stood there watching him wriggle the gun out of the other man’s grasp. Finally getting his hands on it he yelled over his shoulder for you to leave. It was a miracle it hadn’t accidentally fired by now, but you weren’t going to push your luck by standing around until it did and instead speedwalked to the other side of the street passing around them in a huge circle the moment you got the permission too. You saw the older guy following you with his gaze as the cop was ripping into him for frightening civilians. At least until you were pretty much dragged from his eyesight into the neighbouring street by your walking buddy. 

“Holy shit,” was the only thing you managed to get out of your system as you looked around when the two of you stopped, trying to order your thoughts and regain the direction. “That was intense.”

You finally let go of him as you walked a few shaky steps ahead, before stopping again and dragging your hands over your face. “What was wrong with that guy, did you see how trigger happy he was?” 

Looking back at him you noticed he didn’t seem as shaken up as you, standing as quietly as he did before. Still you weren’t going to forget how tightly he grabbed onto you in the moment. Finally you dropped your gaze, “Let’s just go.”

This time you walked ahead, looking back every few seconds to make sure you didn’t lose him, but not daring to touch him again, way too stressed out for any human contact. He followed you all the way to your apartment and stopped with you by the door. 

“I’m..” You began not knowing what exactly to say as you stood there with your hand on the door handle, “I’m sorry you had to go through all that, it was terrifying.”

Looking over you continued with something you never imagined yourself saying, let alone tonight, but after everything you were worried that if you left him alone outside he’d run into the clearly dangerous man who was likely still lurking around again or maybe even the actual killer and get hurt anyway. “You know, if you have far to go and don’t want to risk going alone, you can spend the night on the couch.” 

You couldn’t read anything of his body language, looking into the holes of his mask but him following behind you as you opened the door was enough of an answer to you. Your roommate would have a nasty surprise going back home in the morning, but for all it’s worth her getting drunk as the designated driver was what caused all of this in the first place, so you weren’t going to be very apologetic. 

Going inside you let him into the living room as you went off to grab bedding for him. 

“You know, you never told me your name.” You asked over your shoulder as you stood in front of the open hallway closet door. Even inside he didn’t bother taking off his mask, after you threw your hat on the hanger in the entrance, but you were way too tired to question it at this point in time. Walking back with the blanket in your arms you continued halfheartedly, “So is the silence a part of the costume or just who you are as a person overall.”

He looked up at you from his spot on the couch with a tilted head, clearly suggesting that regardless of the reason he wasn’t going to drop it even now. Handing him the blankets you decided to only confirm one final thing before heading to bed yourself. “Just, tell me how old you are, cause I don’t want to get in trouble with your parents tomorrow for letting a teenager stay the night.“

This one was not something you were willing to drop at all even if he didn’t reply, intending to push on until you got an answer. Surprisingly though, maybe seeing the concern in your eyes, he actually showed you, raising up two fingers and then one. 

“Twenty-one, huh? Surprisingly close to me considering how many kids there had been in that house.” Turning around on your heel you shot him one last glance before heading to your own bedroom, “Well, goodnight in that case. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You locked eyes with his mask yet again, before closing and locking your door as you headed off to bed. You may have gone through a lot together today, but he was still a stranger after all.  One you didn’t know the name of, too…

You’d have to get it out of him in the morning, one way or the other. It’s not every day that you meet someone like him after all. Smiling to yourself you fell asleep surprisingly quickly after such an eventful day. Hoping to get to ask more the moment you wake up. 

—

But as you did get up in the morning the whole house was deserted. Your roommate clearly spent the night at her boyfriend's place as her room was covered in a blizzard of clothes just as she had left it last evening when getting dressed, so there was no clear sign of her using it last night. On another, more disappointing note, your new favorite stranger also seemed to have disappeared, with the blanket left in a neat pile on the couch. 

Looking at it was more painful than you expected. Yes, you barely knew him, but that was exactly the frustrating part. You didn’t even get to discuss the crazy encounter you had yesterday, convinced you’d have time for that talk in the morning. Hopefully after he got dropped that Halloween Boogeyman act he was so attached to and actually agreed to talk to you. 

Instead you were left with an empty house and a lousy night of sleep. It was what you expected when leaving the party, sure, but for all that happened after you could have hoped for a lot more excitement in the morning. Instead the most interesting activity on sight was going to check if the car that you had just heard pulling up in the parking lot belonged to your roommate. 

But as you walked over to the front door you noticed something on the shelf below the mirror in the entrance. A single rose. Neatly cut and left for you to find. One that you’d recognize everywhere after yesterday. 

You were sure, even standing miles away, that it was cut from the exact same bush in front of which the two of you met the night before.

When he was taken away, sent to the mental facility, it did not break you. It only made your love bloom in quieter, smaller ways.

Weekly visits became your lifeline. Sometimes you came twice a week. You would sit across from him in the observation room, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your eyes tracing the contours of the mask he had worn for so long.

He never spoke. He never moved unless he wanted to. But you could see him.

You could always see him. The tilt of his head, the slow shift of his weight, the faint rise and fall of his chest when you spoke, each one a language only you understood.

“Hello, Michael,” you whispered one afternoon, leaning close to the glass, your fingers pressed lightly against the surface.

He turned his head just enough to meet your eyes. The mask hid his expression, but the small tilt of his shoulders, the way his hands flexed slightly on the chair arms, told you everything. He had waited for you. He always had.

You smiled softly, a mixture of longing and relief curling in your chest.

“It’s been a long week,” you murmured. “I thought about you every day.”

Michael’s hand twitched ever so slightly, a reflex, but it was enough to make your heart ache.

You wanted to reach across the glass, to touch him properly, to hold him, but you couldn’t.

Dr Sartain observed quietly from the side, clipboard in hand. He had arrived only recently, yet even now, you could feel his measuring gaze.

He wrote something down, adjusting his glasses.

You had seen that expression many times in doctors before, curiosity, obsession, the hunger to “solve” what they did not understand.

He cleared his throat.

“Fascinating,” he said, voice precise. “Your regular visits… twice a week, same time, very consistent. It appears the patient responds to your presence more than any of our tests.”

You barely heard him. Your focus remained on Michael.

The room held its breath. Michael shifted slightly, leaning forward in the chair, just enough for you to feel the recognition.

His eyes, dark behind the mask, never left yours. You smiled again, a small, soft smile that you had practised in front of the mirror for this very moment.

Dr Sartain scribbled notes, muttering to himself about heart rates and emotional recognition. You ignored him.

It did not matter what he thought. It was always just you and Michael, always had been, and nothing in that sterile, monitored room could change it.

You stayed there until the session ended, reluctant to leave, pressing your palm against the glass one last time. Michael’s hand lifted to mirror yours, just a fraction, yet it was enough.

It spoke volumes. Silent, steady, unbreakable.

When the door opened to lead you out, you hesitated. His gaze followed you, unwavering, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest.

He remembered. He had never forgotten.

And in that quiet, metallic room, you knew your love had endured.

The following week, you returned to the facility at the same time as always, your coat pulled tight against the chill, your steps measured and familiar.

Michael had been waiting, as if you had only just left.

You could feel it in the way the guards parted for you automatically, in the stillness of the observation room when you entered.

Dr Sartain was there again, clipboard clutched in one hand, a clinical smile playing on his lips.

“I’ve been reviewing your visits,” he said smoothly, voice low but calculated. “You come every week, sometimes twice. The patient… responds to you in ways none of our tests could replicate.”

You ignored him, letting your eyes fall on Michael.

He sat quietly, hands resting on the arms of his chair, shoulders tense yet composed.

The mask hid everything, yet you could read him like a book.

The faint rise of his chest as you spoke, the tilt of his head, the tiny shift forward in the chair, all of it spoke to his awareness, his longing, his unspoken words.

“Michael,” you said softly, pressing your hand lightly against the glass, “it’s me again.”

His head lifted, slow and deliberate, until the dark eyes behind the mask fixed on you.

The slightest nod, almost imperceptible, was his only response, yet it was enough. You felt your heart tighten. Years apart, countless visits, and it never failed, he knew you, remembered you, loved you.

Sartain scribbled furiously, muttering under his breath.

“Fascinating… emotional attachment… remarkable… possibly exploitable…”

You didn’t hear him. The words did not reach you.

The room existed only for the two of you.

You leaned closer to the glass, imagining the warmth of his skin, the strength behind that silent frame.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

His hand twitched, the smallest possible motion, and your breath caught. That tiny gesture was all it took to remind you that he had waited, that he had remembered, that he had loved you in silence all these years.

Sartain’s expression darkened. He was studying Michael, trying to read what you already knew.

“The patient’s reaction… it is… love,” he said under his breath, as if admitting it aloud made it real. “This is not what we expected. This… this could be used.”

Your pulse quickened, though not from fear.

The thought that someone else could try to manipulate what had been sacred between you and Michael sent a shiver down your spine. You pressed your hand against the glass again, wishing you could reach through, wrap him in your arms, and shield him from the world.

Michael shifted forward slightly, his body language protective, deliberate. He did not move toward Sartain.

He did not react to the presence of the doctor in the way anyone else might have expected. Every motion was reserved for you. Every ounce of his focus, of his energy, of his devotion, was fixed on your small figure across the room.

Sartain’s pen scratched across the paper, but his calculations did not grasp what was happening.

He saw the data, the movements, the heart rate, but he could not measure the depth of what existed between you and Michael.

Love, silent and unyielding, impossible to dissect, impossible to break.

The session ended as it always did.

You pressed your palm to the glass one last time. Michael mirrored you, hand rising slowly, deliberately, until it hovered opposite yours.

You lingered there, chest tight with emotion, memorising the moment.

Even as the guards led you away, you felt him watching. Not just watching, but waiting, always waiting, always remembering. And you knew, as you walked through the sterile corridors of Smith’s Grove, that no observation, no calculation, no doctor’s ambition could ever alter what had existed between you for years.

Love, unspoken, silent, and steady.

---

It was the week after your last visit when everything changed.

The facility had grown restless, the air thick with unease.

You had arrived as usual, and for a moment, the room was the same. Michael sat waiting, still and silent, yet every fibre of his being spoke of anticipation.

Dr Sartain lingered behind the glass, notebook in hand, a faint, predatory smile playing at the edges of his lips.

He had studied your visits for months, observing the pattern, recording the ritual of your presence and the way Michael responded. He believed he could use it to his advantage.

But he underestimated him.

The riot started suddenly.

Alarms screamed, the echo of shouting guards and panicked patients bouncing off the sterile walls. Metal doors banged, and the fluorescent lights flickered in rapid bursts.

You froze, heart hammering as chaos unfolded.

From the observation room, you watched in disbelief. Michael moved with terrifying precision. Where everyone else panicked, he was calm, methodical. The chains meant to restrain him were nothing. He slipped free with a grace that belied the weight of his body, every movement measured, every motion silent but full of intent.

Sartain’s voice cut through the alarms, sharp and incredulous.

“Contain him! Contain him at once!”

It was already too late.

You knew, with certainty, where he would go first. He would come to you. He always had.

Every instinct in your body screamed at you, but the chaos of the riot made it impossible to leave. Guards rushed past, knocking into you, shouting, their faces masks of fear.

Sartain, always quick, always thinking ahead, was faster.

A day later, he was in your home before you realised. He struck without warning, a sharp blow at the back of your head, sending darkness rushing over you.

You woke up bound to a chair, a rough tape across your mouth, a sting of dried blood along your forehead.

He had been waiting. Waiting for Michael to come.

The hours passed in a tense, unbearable silence.

You strained against the bindings, your heart hammering, but it was useless.

And then you heard it.

The subtle scrape of boots on the pavement outside, deliberate, steady. A shadow moved through the window first, then another step closer, heavier, unyielding. Your chest seized.

He was here.

Michael stepped into your home, calm and immense. His eyes, dark and unwavering behind the mask, found yours immediately. The world around you dissolved.

Sartain’s voice rang out, smug and cruel.

“Ah, he’s here. And now you’ll see what I’ve planned.”

A knife pressed against your throat, cold and sharp, and you could only watch Sartain’s shadow looming over you.

“You see,” he said, his tone smug, “he will obey me… or you will pay.”

Michael shifted, his body coiled, quiet, his every movement precise. You didn’t need him to speak. The way his shoulders tensed, the tilt of his head, the sheer intent in his posture, told you everything. He would not let anything happen to you.

The next moment was a blur of sound.

A scream from Sartain, the sickening snap of bone. You refused to look. You could hear it, the crushing weight of Michael’s rage, the violence exacted with terrifying precision.

And then... silence.

When you dared to breathe again, his arms were around you. He freed you from the chair, hands steady, protective. You collapsed against him, tears streaming freely, pressing your face into the hollow of his chest.

“I-I thought…” you whispered, voice quivering, “I thought I lost you.”

His hands gripped your shoulders, his body a fortress. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

The way he held you, steady and unyielding, said more than words ever could. You cried into him, your sobs muffled against his chest, and for the first time since he had been taken, you felt safe.

Michael had come for you. And nothing in the world could separate you now.

The moment he held you, the world outside ceased to exist. The room, the blood, the chaos of the riot, and the lingering shadow of Dr Sartain all faded into nothing. There was only Michael and the steady, unspoken devotion he carried in every movement.

You pressed yourself against him, hands gripping the fabric of his coat, face buried in the hollow of his chest. Your body shook with relief, with fear that finally, finally melted away. Tears streaked your face, leaving marks against the blood on your forehead, but you didn’t care. He was here. He had come for you.

“I… I thought I lost you,” you whispered, clinging to him as though letting go even for a second would undo everything.

His hands moved slowly, deliberately, one pressing against the small of your back, the other holding your shoulders, steadying you. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. Every line of his body, the quiet tilt of his head, the way he pressed his strength against yours, told you the truth you had known all along, he loved you.

Always.

You tilted your head up, forcing your eyes open to meet the dark, unblinking gaze behind the mask. It was terrifying and comforting all at once.

He had been called a monster, Evil, a thing beyond redemption, but when he looked at you, it was different. He was nothing but the man you had known, silent and unyielding, and entirely yours.

“I’m here,” you whispered again, pressing closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Michael responded in the only way he ever had, with action. His grip tightened ever so slightly, protective and possessive, and then he began to guide you out of the room. Every step he took was careful, silent, deliberate. You followed without hesitation, clinging to him, letting him lead.

Outside, the night welcomed you like an old friend. The streets were quiet, the air crisp and clean, carrying the faint smell of rain and earth. Michael kept close, a silent shadow, a guardian, his presence radiating reassurance and protection.

You lifted your head, finally able to see the sky, and a tremor of hope ran through you. The world had been cruel, and yet here you were, together. Unbroken.

He did not speak. He never had to.

When you reached a secluded stretch of road, you wrapped your arms around him again, pressing your cheek against his chest. You felt the rise and fall of his breathing, steady and constant, and you let yourself cry, let yourself feel the full weight of the relief and love that had been building for years.

Michael’s hands found yours, large and protective, and held you close. You whispered your thanks into the fabric of his coat, your words soft and broken, yet full of certainty.

“I love you,” you said. “I always have. I always will.”

His body stiffened ever so slightly, then relaxed, pressing you closer. He never spoke, but in the way he moved, in the way he held you, in the unshakable devotion in every fibre of his being, he told you the same.

The night stretched endlessly around you, dark and quiet, yet full of promise.

Michael had come for you, and you had come home.

Nothing could take that away. Nothing ever would.

And in that quiet darkness, you finally knew what it meant to be safe, truly seen, and utterly loved.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

His shirt is barely buttoned over his chest and his pants are still open while he puts on his boots. 

You were about to leave home with your shopping list in your pocket when Michael shuffled over to you in his jammies, pointing at your list to make sure you put candy. Usually you'd interpret that request easily, but since October is going strong, there are full aisles of different candies to choose from, and even ones you hadn't seen available before. His ears perked up as you listed them off; they put back that brand of candy corn? All hard candies half off? In this economy? And peelable gummies?? What are they even like...?

His eyes bore into you as he stays rooted to the spot–at least at first. You expect him to take the paper and start writing a mile-long list of the different brands of candy he wants, then fold it up, put it into your pocket, and stay home. But instead, he's stomping loudly across the floor, throwing himself into the shower, rushing for his clothes, and bounding back into the living room, basically ready to go out. With his boots laced, he snatches a facemask off the table near the doorway and crushes the keys in his closed fist, staring at you like this isn't the first time you're going out together so early in the day. You respond by pointing at his fly, and, only as a courtesy to you, he zips it up. Then he's out of the house. 

You have to pick up the pace as you lock the front door, because the car engine is already purring, and Michael is annoyedly toying with the pillar locks on the station wagon. When you settle next to him he effortlessly reverses into the street, already knowing where to go. Before he goes into drive, though, he pulls off his mask, just enough to kiss you on the cheek. He elaborates only by looking at the pumpkin air freshener–oh right, you put it up last night–before masking again. 

The Halloween decorations that are slowly cropping up on the neighborhood lawns has him cruising distractedly, his gaze floating away from the road. At first, it's nice, but the more Michael drives, the more people he sees. He sees the drivers in the cars he yields to, he sees the pedestrians, he sees the dogs. Even behind the windshield and behind a mask he feels exposed, and his muscles ache with a strange, irritating tickle. He glances over at you, not sure if for assurance or simply as a distraction. But luckily, it reminds him of why he's here. There will be people. But there will be you. There will be candy.

More resolute, now, Michael revs the engine, the exhaust from the car kicking up the fallen autumn leaves.

–

Of course, Michael is inexplicably good at parking, and chose a spot between two other cars with a decent walking distance from the store. He kills the engine, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. It's not like he hasn't been here before, or really, most spots in town to some degree, but camping out in an empty lot or store at night is a much different experience than coming to visit it in the late morning, and so spontaneously, at that. Breathing out another sigh, he gives you one more look, stone-faced, before he whips around and basically kicks the car door open, meeting you at your side before you're out of the passenger's seat. When you get up, he shuts your door for you and limply scoops up your hand in his, slowly closing his fingers until you nod when the grip is comfortable. It makes you blush before you partially collect yourself.

"You can get the cart and follow me. I'll take you to the candy aisle first," you tell him as you walk, Michael swinging your linked arms curiously. "But if there's a crowd, we'll just follow the list and circle back later, okay?" A few people walk past and you quickly slip your hand out of Michael’s grasp.

Michael looks conflicted on whether verbalizing your plan made him more or less nervous, but he nods.

–

The cart tends to rattle and one of its wheels spins around loosely, never touching the floor, but it helps Michael distract himself from the stress. His eyes flit between it and your back, making sure he doesn't lose you. Whenever you turn to check on him, his shoulders relax every time.

Unfortunately, the candy sections were busy, filled with parents and a torrent of carts and wheeled baskets. They were fairly preoccupied with all the candy, but even still, Michael quickly spun around and went down to a sparser aisle to avoid their gazes. You had to jog to overtake him and direct him back to where you needed to go. Worried, you tried to comfort him; but after looking down at the floor, his mind racing and his eyes flickering around, Michael shook his head sharply. He pointed at your pocket, at the list. Then he waited for you to unfurl it and start your rounds. He navigates the basket easily, but still feels a chill race across his skin when he passes too many people.

Eventually, you figure out a compromise on how to handle him; now you've got the cart handle in your hands and Michael at your side, buffering him from the center of the aisle. You keep to that formula when you finally circle back to the candy; there are still a few clusters of people, but now there's space big enough for, at minimum, your groceries, you, and a certain someone. That certain someone is looking at you and nodding, the speed of it giving away his excitement.

When you waltz in, Michael looks around like it's the Sistine Chapel–though the walls are much more interesting than the ceiling. And, besides the bat and vampire decorations, much more edible. The bulk packs pull him in, first, but then he practically drags you randomly across the floor, doing it often enough that he simply breaks off to wander around on his own. Sometimes he comes back with a bag or two, dumps them into the cart, leaves, and then comes back to swap them out. Though not necessarily out of intimidation, the other shoppers give him a wider berth, and he's more than happy to take advantage of the fact, swiping bags off of exposed shelves as soon as people pull out of the way. With enough time, you have a decent cache of hand-picked candy packs, and, sweetly, some of them are ones he grabbed just for you (for the most part). The whole process takes a while, and you, admittedly, want to get a move on, but he just needs one more thing: candy corn.

If he had to admit it, he was saving it for last. The candy corn is displayed on a modest shelf, but with them all stacked together, they stand out nicely, maybe even regally. He can't tell whether it's a surprise or not that the candy corn still looks the same so many years later. Even the packaging is oddly timeless. He slightly overthinks which bag to get; from your vantage point, the scene is oddly domestic. Eventually he turns to you, chosen bag in hand–when a cart crashes into the backs of his legs.

Michael stumbles, not very far but way more than he would like, and the candy corn bag drops and breaks open onto the tile floor. Michael manages to recover, but freezes, looming over the mess ominously. When the owner of the cart catches up to his groceries, he looks deeply apologetic; when he makes eye contact with Michael, he looks terrified.

"Oh God! Sorry about that!" He says, his voice wavering a bit more than he intended it to.

Michael tilts his head, and the man's eyes widen, looking like his choices are between flight, or flight.

"I–let me–I'll go get someone who works here for this, okay? My fault entirely. Sorry! Again! Sorry." The man reins in his cart and makes himself small, rushing down the aisle, about to cross you. You see Michael turn to watch him, and you catch the way the overhead lights make it look like he's giving him a dead, soulless stare. A part of your mind reels, thinking about Michael’s growing confidence, gone in an instant. When Michael turns to you, though, he gives a casual shrug.

The man, perhaps even more terrified, rushes out another apology as he quickly passes you.

"I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean to hit your boyfriend like that."

You jolt slightly. Michael, standing back at the shelves but still close enough to hear him, feels his eyes widen.

"Um. Have a good day!"

And then the man is gone. A few moments later, someone on the PA calls for a cleanup in the seasonal section.

You feel a bit dazed when Michael comes back, lightly tossing his second-most-preferred bag of candy corn on top of the grocery pile.

Boyfriend.

You're still distracted when Michael circles around to you, tilting his head again as he studies your expression. His stare is more pointed, searching for something. It catches you off-guard and you turn away slightly, shyly, but it's more than enough for him to catch. He’s already put two and two together.

Any anxiety from before, from being in public, melts. His eyes crinkle up with a sort of teasing glee behind them. Is it this easy to make you look this cute? …Maybe… he doesn't mind that someone actually tripped him… 

You have to deal with him smirking at you–you haven't seen it, yourself, but you know that's what he's doing under the mask–when pushing the cart to the front, checking out, getting the receipt, getting the bags, and finally leaving the store. As you walk in the chilly fall air, Michael playfully bumps into you, and each time you look back at him, flustered, he looks like he could throw his head back and laugh.

Maybe going out with you like this isn't so bad, after all. Not because he'll tease you constantly, but, well… It's not like he won't tease you every now and then. But being called yours, it's… Nice. He felt a sort of thrumming sensation in his chest at that. Maybe it was something like what you felt, even.

He tosses his half of the groceries in the back and manages to get your door open for you before you can do it yourself. Before you step in, though, Michael sweeps his mask off his face and kisses your cheek, then pockets the mask while your face grows irritatingly hot.

When you both climb into the car, Michael reaches over to the bags. Of course, he has to try some of the candy before the drive back home, as a(n extra) treat for his bravery.