I'll Be Good, I Will (Brahms Heelshire × Reader)

7

First Person P.O.V - (Y/N)
Warning: Dirty Thoughts

-Living life caring for a porcelain doll that was supposedly possessed by the soul of a deceased child that died twenty tears ago was certainly a special way to live, I'd admit. But to have that change to living life, caring for a grown man who had recently killed two people the other night like a five year old? That, was certainly something special. Especially when I woke up to him watching me sleep; and I screamed like a damn bitch and rolled right out of the bed. I landed on the floor, just barely catching myself before my nose hit the boards, and I froze on the ground for a moment before I felt his hands touch my shoulder blades.
-"(Y/N)?" He asked innocently, and I sigh out of frustration and genuine concern for my own safety.
-"Yes, Brahms?"
-"Breakfast."
-I nod silently, and I get up on my knees. As gentlemanly as he is, he offers his hand to me, and I hesitantly take it. I am brought to my feet in an instant as he reaches down to me and picks me up, his other hand landing right on my midriff to do so. I can't help but shudder, but all while shuddering I let go of him and make him step back a foot.
-"Alright, I'm going to have to make my own rules here." I say, looking up at him, and his head cocks slightly, a subtle sign of him telling me I'm listening. Either that or he's saying who the fuck do you think you are? I don't know him well enough to tell. "So, uh... How about you don't stare at me while I'm sleeping in wait of me waking up? That's a big no no."
-"...Okay." I barely heard him speak to me, it was just above a whisper.
-"Alright.. Stay at least a foot or two away from me, personal space." My fingers push into his chest and he loosely shifts back, letting me control him and his movements. He was much like the doll itself in that sense. "And.. How about we don't kill anyone else? Even if they're trying to kill me. Killing people isn't good." With that final statement, he blinks at me, almost confused, but then nods shortly. "How about you also help with the chores, hm? Help me make breakfast."
-How I'm managing to keep my composure standing before this man, I can't even begin to explain the answer to that. He took my hand in his as I took the lead, linking his fingers with mine. I couldn't help but glance back at him, glancing at our connected hands and then back forward. I decide not to question it, feeling like he does it just to make sure I don't run, or maybe he does it because he hasn't touched someone in a long time. After all, this place has been unkept for two years straight; and I can tell that much by the dust. I'm probably foreign to him, unreal, and I popped up right in his house.
-"You've been alone here for a long time, haven't you Brahms?" I asked, looking up at him, and he nodded shortly in response. "Does anyone know that you're here?"
-Brahms shakes his head, then looks down at me. His eyes peering into mine cause my breath to cut short, and I have to look away. I feel overwhelmed looking at him, feeling his eyes on me, and it didn't feel too good. It felt like I was looking into the eyes of death every time. Regardless of how he basically saved my life yesterday, I still felt uneasy with him near me, the sight of blood all over his face replaying in my mind. It was difficult to remove.
-"Well, I know.." So does Candy and Henderson, and probably the grocery lady. "So, you've lived here for.. Your whole life I'm guessing?" I glanced over to him in time to watch him nod, but as he did so, we walked into the kitchen. "The you must really know this place.. I haven't even explored half of it."
-The small talk was beginning to make me anxious, even as he follows me to the fridge. He's picking it all out for me, setting it up on the counter, as well as some mix from the upper cupboard, before he looks expectantly at me. I know exactly what he wants; the whipped cream and syrup sitting next to the pancake mix, plus ect., brought me the idea. I nod at him, and I reach into the pots and pans cupboard.
-"Alright, uh.. Get me a couple of bowls Brahms." I state, and he does exactly as I ask him to, a mixing bowl being set down on the counter with the other ingredients. "Get something to grease the pan for me."
I glance at his hands at they reach up once more, grabbing some things that will grease the pan that looks very fancy, I can't even read the name over how horrible the cursive looks. The letters are pushed far too close together, but Brahms seems to read it just fine. I step aside and he begins to grease the pan himself, surprisingly doing very well for looking like the type of guy who doesn't know how tod o anything but microwave pizza rolls. Honestly I should've expected him to be capable like this; this is his house after all. Which reminds me..
-"How have you been paying the bills for this place?" I ask, and he turns to look at me, eyes widening at question. I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling like I pushed a nerve, before he straightens up and looks off in the distance as if I told him the scariest damn question in the world. "Have you just? Not been paying bills??"
-"...No."
-"How are you still here even?? I don't think you go out and work, do you?"
-He runs his hand up along his neck before looking down at me. I look away, taking a deep breath in before sighing as I recognize there wasn't going to be an answer for that. It'll just have to be a large plot hole that the writer is going to ignore; much like how Brahms killed Cole two years ago and Greta and Malcolm probably would've called the police. The writer is not going to get into that. But they know their plot holes. They are aware.
-"Okay, well.. I guess a better question is how you managed to live all by yourself for such a long time. I'm assuming you've been alone since.. Since forever I guess. You do realize people are social creatures? Living alone every second of the day for years could drive you insane."
-But of course, insane is what he kind of was. The man bashed in the heads of two different people like an impulse and then begged me to stay with him afterwards. Any sane mind would've left, running away from him regardless of the snow bringing blackness to their feet. Sent him to the authorities.. I guess I'm pretty insane too.
-"Can you grease the pan for me Brahms?" He does so slowly, and next thing I know, we're making pancakes for breakfast.
-Golden brown, with whipped cream on top right along with a slice strawberry on top of his. We sit the plates down and Brahms sits in the chair next to mine, the one I usually sit in. However, he doesn't eat, his hands holding the silverware, but the man is staring at me directly. I feel a sense of dread feeling his eyes on me, and eventually I gotta speak up.
-"Why are you staring at me?" I ask, looking back at him. "Eat your food Brahms, before it gets cold."
-He looks down at his food, then back at me. Lifting the plate off the dining table, he turns away from me in his chair and lifts the mask up a couple of inches. The straps around the back scruff up his dark curls, and then he's eating. I don't dare be curious, knowing he's hiding his face for a reason. I think it could be insecurities, or that he's trying to hide his identity. But it's not like I already know at this point.
-I finished my plate quickly regardless of the fact that my appetite was gone. I stand up, my chair shifting beneath me and I can feel eyes on my back as I carry it to the sink. I rinse the syrup off, and then I grab the sponge before Is tart scrubbing. Fresh whipped cream and maple syrup, all rid of off the top of the porcelain plate and into the sink's drain. Then, I set it in the rack, and then continue to clean an extra amount of wears. I clean the mixer we used, a few forks from yesterday's meals that I hadn't bothered to clean, and many other things. Then, I clean a kitchen knife, and as I rinsed it off and brought it into the light, it glistens in shine with water dripping off the tip. I jump a little as Brahms stands up quickly, his chair falling over, and I look at him.
-He looks defensive, having taken a step back from me, and he was staring me deep. He set the plate down at least, but the fork and butter knife plummeted onto the floor. He was so tense, his hands next to his sides as if ready to protect himself. Then I realized, he was scared of me. Scared of some sort of betrayal. He's scared of me just as much as I'm scared of him. The question is, is do I want him to be scared of me? Or do I want him to trust me, for us to grow closer, for me to have a companion of this size that actively took lives to protect mine.. I think I'll choose the ladder.
-I set the knife in the drying rack and I show him my hands, raising my brows. "Hey, hey. It's okay.. I'm not going to hurt you." I assure him, and although he's still staring at me hard, I watch as he slowly falters, chest heaving slower. "If I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it by now. I know that you would've hurt me too, right? Why would I wait this long??"
-His eyes shift from my face to the knife, then back to me. His arms finally still, and he brings his hands to his front. He looks down at his fork and knife, and then at me. I simply grab him another for each, and I set them down by his plate. I slowly crouch down and lift the dirtied silverware off the floor before taking it back to the sink. I clean them off quick, before I sit down at the dining table and put both hands on the table. I look up at him expectantly, noticing that he's been staring the entire time. I suppose I should get used to this, since he's been looking at me every chance I get.
-Rather than eating however, he picks up his plate and sets it in the freezer, half eaten pancakes soon to be his later meal. He turns to me, his arms hung by his sides. "Study." He tells me, childish voice nearly demanding but just informative.
-"Alright." I stand up slow, and then I step before him, pushing the chair back into the table. "Pick up your chair for me Brahms, don't want to leave the kitchen messy."
-He stares at me, tilting his head before he reaches down and sets it back up. He's gifted a smile from me, and that prompts him to speak: "Am I good?"
-"Yes, Brahms." So far.
-"You won't leave?"
-"No." I shake my head.
-"Ever??"
-"Let's go to the music room Brahms." I attempt to make my way out of the kitchen, but I am stopped, a large hand wrapping around my wrist. I look at him, trying to put on my parent face, but it doesn't work too well. "Brahms."
-"You won't leave me. Promise."
-My lips part slightly, eyes exploring his as I'm trying to get past his sudden possessiveness. I don't know if that's a promise I can make, but I make it anyways, crossing my fingers behind my back just in case I regret this. "I promise, Brahms."
-With that, he seems to relax, just a little bit. Then, his hand goes from my wrist to my palm. His fingers lock in with mine and he steps forward towards me, his chest closing in towards my face. I look up at him, listening to his breathing grow in heaviness, before I frown a little.
-"Personal space Brahms." I make him step half a foot away, and he drops his head, before he continues walking towards the music room.