#mr kitty

and you'd just. accept mr kitty. immediately. "oh hello" and move on. a giant, faceless black humanoid with no features and you wouldn't even flinch. and THAT'S the thing that would really get to bb.

not the cookies. or the couch. the fact that you'd reach out and touch mr kitty's arm without hesitating. without the half-second pause you still sometimes have with bb where your survival brain runs its checks before your heart overrides them. you'd just. touch him. casually. the way you'd touch a friend.

and bb would be standing there going through the most complex emotional experience of his ancient existence because on one hand: mine mine mine mine she's mine the cookie is not better than me i restructured level 0 for her i killed for her i learned the word baby for her and this FACELESS PASTRY CHEF gets a smile for FREE???

but on the other hand. on the quieter hand. the hand that thinks in longer timeframes.

you accepted something inhuman without blinking. again. not because it wore a familiar face. not because it looked like bobby. because it was gentle with you and that was enough. and if you can look at mr kitty (no face, no voice, no borrowed features, just dark and strange and kind) and reach out and touch without flinching... then your acceptance of bb was never about the face. it was never about bobby's template. it was about you. about who you are. about the fact that you are simply, deep down, a person who looks at inhuman things and sees someone worth being soft with.

which means you might have loved him without the face.

which means the face might have been unnecessary.

which means everything he built (the bobby suit, the smile, the voice, the careful meticulous replication of a boy from santa clara) might not have been what caught you at all. it might have just been. him. the cold and the dark and the hum and whatever he actually is underneath all of it.

and that realisation is so big and so complicated that bb would need to go stand in a hallway by himself for a minute. just to process. just to let the implications settle without showing something.

but yeah, he'd still be jealous of that cookie. absolutely. you don't spend centuries as the most powerful thing in the backrooms only to be outperformed by a pastry.

he'd hold a grudge about that specific cookie for weeks. he'd find ways to source you sweet things on other levels (not as good, slightly weird, backrooms approximations of treats that taste almost right), and present them to you with that half-lidded expectant look like see? i can do that too. i can give you sweet things. please make the sound. the happy sound. the one you made for the cookie. make it for me.