The Alien waited until Mike's breathing had settled into the deep rhythm of true sleep before allowing themselves to make any significant movements. Their tentacles adjusted with incredible care, each one moving with surgical precision to better support their sleeping charge. One curled protectively around his shoulders, another provided perfect lumbar support, while a third ensured his neck was at the proper angle.

The human made a small sound in his sleep and tried to burrow closer to the warmth. Its bioluminescence dimmed to a soft nightlight glow, patterns flowing in gentle waves that matched Mike's breathing. Their three main tentacles shifted slightly to create a more secure nest, while the smaller ones took turns adjusting an arm here, supporting a leg there, until he was perfectly cradled.

Outside, the storm continued its rage, but inside their shelter, the alien had created a peaceful bubble of warmth and safety. One eye kept a watchful gaze on the sleeping human while another monitored the room's environment, automatically adjusting their body temperature to maintain optimal comfort.

When Mike unconsciously grabbed one of their smaller tentacles, the Alien's beak clicked in silent amusement. They let him keep it, their eye crinkling with fond satisfaction as they settled in for a long night of guard duty.

Consciousness returned to Mike slowly, in comfortable stages. He was warm, supported perfectly in every possible way, and something soft was gently stroking his hair. A peaceful hum surrounded him, and he felt more rested than he had in years. He snuggled closer to the warmth, sighing contentedly.

Then his brain began its morning inventory.

The surface beneath him was breathing.

The warmth around him had a pulse.

The thing stroking his hair was definitely a tentacle.

And he was clutching another tentacle like a child with their favorite plushie.

Mike's eyes snapped open to find one of the alien eyes watching him with what could only be described as morning-after smugness. Their bioluminescence brightened in a cheerful "good morning" pattern, and their beak clicked in that now-familiar chuckling way.

He tried to jerk away, but his body betrayed him – all his muscles had turned to jelly after what might have been the best night's sleep of his life. The tentacle he'd been cuddling gave his hand a gentle pat before carefully extracting itself.

The worst part wasn't that he'd fallen asleep on an alien. The worst part wasn't even that said alien had turned out to be an exceptionally comfortable pillow. No, the worst part was that he could tell from monsters eye-crinkle that he would never, ever live this down.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Trying to salvage some dignity, Mike attempted to casually extricate himself from the nest of tentacles. This only made things worse – every time he moved, his joints cracked loudly in the quiet room, announcing just how deeply he'd slept. Each pop and crackle made its eye crinkle more, their bioluminescence twinkling with barely contained mirth.

Then he noticed the evidence of just how thoroughly he'd made himself at home during the night. There was a small damp spot on Alien’s skin that was definitely drool. His hair was sticking up in directions that suggested he'd spent hours nuzzling against them like a cat. And somehow, during the night, he'd managed to wrap himself up in their tentacles like they were a blanket fort.

Alien wasn't helping. They were being deliberately careful with their movements as if trying not to startle a sleepy child. One tentacle was still hovering protectively near his head, ready to prevent any morning drowsiness stumbles. Another had somehow produced what looked like more of those fruits from last night, offering breakfast with an air of domestic routine.

The storm had clearly passed – sunlight was streaming through a newly transparent section of the wall. But that only made everything worse, because now Mike could clearly see his reflection. He looked exactly like someone who had just had the best sleep of their life while cuddling an alien tripod.

The final straw came when he tried to smooth down his hair, and its tentacle gently reached out to help, fixing a particularly stubborn cowlick with practiced ease.

All attempts at dignity were shattered when Mike's stomach growled loudly. Its eye lit up with what could only be described as delighted responsibility, and suddenly multiple tentacles were in motion. One offered the glowing fruit while another straightened his rumpled clothes, and a third continued its quest to tame his bedhead.

Mike wanted to protest, to maintain some semblance of independence, but his body betrayed him again – automatically accepting the fruit while leaning into the gentle grooming. His sleep-addled brain was still operating in the comfort of the night, not yet fully engaged in proper alien-abductee protocol.

The fruit's warm spiciness only added to the cozy morning feeling, making him feel even more like a kid at his grandmother's house. Alien bioluminescence had taken on a soft, morning-light pattern that made everything feel dreamily domestic. Their tentacles moved with the practiced efficiency of someone who had clearly spent the entire night perfecting their caretaking technique.

When he yawned, a tentacle immediately adjusted his position to something more comfortable. When he blinked sleepily, another tentacle dimmed the incoming sunlight to a more manageable level. Each automatic response to his needs only highlighted how thoroughly he'd been domesticated overnight.

The final blow to his dignity came when he absentmindedly patted one of its tentacles in thanks after they caught a drop of fruit juice that would have stained his shirt. The creature's eye crinkled with such profound satisfaction that Mike could practically hear the unspoken "Who's a good human?"