M4M4 has never really remembered anything. To be honest, he had never really wanted to. He woke up one day half rotted, then healed, and lived on. The woods was the only thing he could recall with certainty, and just resided there complacently.

So why, despite his own self-proclaimed complacency, did he even bother befriending someone? He should've killed them. Should've ripped out their tongue and thrown it in the lake. But he didn't and now he felt stupid. Because his heart, upon regrowing, felt weird because of it.

Being human is loving. Kind of. And with all of M4M4's best efforts being to avoid the label of a human, he did not want to love either. But nothing had been that easy.

You got along with him, and didn't expect him to change, or hide his sharp teeth and black claws. You didn't tell him to cover his warped skin or change if he didn't want it. The more he experienced it, the more he wanted to run and hide, and the more he wanted to say he was something other than just a cryptid.

The thought nagged at the back of his mind harder than most things did. For someone who claimed to not think so much, he was often hit by clarity like a brick to the face. It made his eyes darker than usual, almost like they were sucking the light around them in like a sponge.

But he didn't have to hide that, not if you were awake, and especially not in the present when you were asleep.

He went to your house alot, was all, usually when it was night and there was no need to hide. But that also meant you actually needed to sleep, oddly enough. And on the nights where you'd be asleep early but he was too stubborn to just leave through the window again, he would sit there. And think. Yet again, he insisted he wasn't a thinker.