It was one of those rare, strange moments where Michael Myers was sitting still and actually letting you do something… absurd. Of all things, you had somehow convinced him to let you put stickers on his infamous mask. The kind of thing that sounded impossible, and yet, here you both were, sitting on the couch in your living room, surrounded by a variety of stickers—mostly glittery ones, and the occasional Hello Kitty.

You were excited, almost giddy with the absurdity of it all. You hadn’t expected him to agree, not in a million years. But there he was, sitting silently, his usual cold demeanor unshaken, while you placed the stickers on his mask. The sight of his usual, terrifyingly expressionless face now adorned with sparkles and adorable kittens was almost too much to handle, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little as you added the final touches.

Michael didn’t say a word, as usual. He just stared at you with those empty, haunting eyes through the eye holes of his mask. There was no indication that he minded—at least, not overtly. But his lack of resistance spoke volumes. This was your time, a rare moment of calm, and for some reason, he was allowing you to have it. It was oddly peaceful in its own way, even though you knew the man sitting beside you could be one of the most dangerous people alive.

You finished placing another sparkly star sticker on the side of his mask, and then looked up at him, your face lighting up with a smile as you took in the sight of him. He looked… ridiculous, but somehow, in a way, it suited him. The glitter was probably the most out-of-place thing anyone could imagine on him, but there he was, looking like a bizarre, homicidal arts-and-crafts project.