He was supposed to be dead.

Mickey was a murderer, a gruesome one at that. His village had sentenced him to death by The Box, where he was supposed to be starving and eaten alive by carnivorous bugs.

Now, he was in your room by the window. The wind came in from the outside, blowing against his fur, so he gently closed it.

Mickey knew you were awake. He could see it in the way your body had stiffened under the blankets at his arrival.

He had taken a liking to you before he was discovered. You'd been too kind to him to want to kill you, so he spared you in favor of seeing you.

"Hey, kid..." He said quietly, stalking towards your bed.