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

12

First Person P.O.V - (Y/N)
Warning: The absolute most cheesy romantic shit I have ever wrote my fucking god......Also guns and injury :) ANGST

-I woke up to find out Brahms was no longer in his own bed, and rather the doll was in his place, as if he was trying to sneak out somehow. I can't help but snicker as I approached the toy, it's cracked face looking at the ceiling with a burning hatred in it's fake eyeris'. I glance around the room, checking the bookcase for any differences in the chance that he's hiding in the walls to watch me, before I pick up the doll and cradle it to my side.
-Of course the game ends when I step into the kitchen and I spot Brahms struggling with the curtains on the window; having not had much experience with them before. He had been living in the walls.. Speaking of the kitchen however, there were candles lit in the middle and plates of slightly overcooked meals sitting at each chair. I can't help but smile and set the doll in a spare seat.
-"What's this Brahms?" My voice causes him to jump, knocking the entire curtain down with the hooks and blinding my eyes woth daylight. I bring shade to my face with my hand, blocking it off and looking at his silhouette. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."
-"I-It's alright." His voice goes from deep to childish in seconds, and he clears his throat after. "W-Wanted to surprise you."
-"Well, I'd have given you more time if Brahms wasn't already dressed for some reason." I look at the doll. "Or, him? The young one.. I'd be dressing him otherwise." I look back at Brahms, who had previously reached down and is now holding the railing his hand. He looks at the ground. "Need help with that?"
-He nods, and so I round the table and he's lifting it up. Being much taller than I am, I get on my toes to just be able to reach, and soon enough the curtains are blocking out the sunlight. I look up at him, and I notice how the light sinks in to a very specific crevice, the crack lining from the top of his head, the inside of his right eye and then the side of his cheek. I reach up, my finger tracing it from beneath his eye and then to the side of his face. He tilted his head to look at me, trying to read my expression as I look him up and down.
-"You're wearing something fancy." A white button up with suspenders and a black bowtie, dressed like he's ready for a date or something. "Is there a special occasion?"
-"...I made breakfast."
-I smile, nodding, and looking up at him. "Well I bet it'll taste better than mine." I say, patting the side of his face calmly before I walk over and take my seat, and he sits to take his own.
-He's staring at me as I take my first bite, making sure he did well. It had a bitter taste, making me a little uncomfortable, but regardless it tasted good when I get past the mildly burnt edge. I smile at him.
-"How come I never learned how good of a cook you were?" I ask, and I can see his eyes crinkle through the mask as he smiles at me. Cute. "I really appreciate this Brahms."
-He nods, then looks down at his meal. Go back to mine, recognizing how important it is to compliment him when he puts in effort like this. He doesn't seem like the type to take care of me when he's so used to being cared for.
-I made sure to mind my own business when he moved his mask to the side of his face, hiding his features from me as he started eating his own meal. Then he grunts, acting like his own cooking was bad. Probably the burnt texture; he's always seemed to be picky on certain foods.
-"Lied to me." He mutters, and I shake my head although he can't see me.
-"You might not like it, but I like it. Everyone has different taste buds. Do you want me to whip you something up?"
-"...Yes?"
-I snicker, standing up and taking his plate from him. "Great, cause now I can get seconds of your wonderful cooking." I say, leaning over and popping a kiss at the top of his head before approaching the fridge.

-11am, play hour. He refused to go outside after what had happened yesterday, too frightened about getting caught in the way that he did. Instead we stayed inside, sitting around a board game that only old people tend to play; chess. (If you're not old and you play chess congratulations you just got called old by a 420 year old get rekt. Even though I just spent fifteen minutes playing chess with a robot to figure out how chess even works)
-Of course, regardless of my experience or not I let the man win, to the point that he let me win since he started feeling bad. Then he chalked it up that I didn't know how to play, and then he was educating me the ins and outs of the rules. How the Rook only goes vertical and horizontal, how the Pawns move forward and attack diagonally. He seemed very excited when I actually put effort in it, and even though I still lost in the end anyways, he liked the challenge.
-"How about we do something else exciting?" I ask, after our fiftieth game in half an hour. "You recall writing that book, right? You're a great story teller.. How about we try making tales?"
-He nods, getting up and walking over to a large cabinet. He takes out papers, a few pencils and some drawing supplies, before he walks back over to me and watches me carefully put the chess game back. Once all is clean, he sets these papers down and hands me half of the stack he took. Part of me becomes nervous, regretting the suggestion as I realize that I can't come up with a story off the top of my head. But it'll keep him occupied, keep my brain from losing it's sanity from playing chess for a literal hour. Half of thar hour was mind numbing enough.
-I put effort into the drawings I make as they come to me, maybe too much effort(much like how the writer is putting too much effort into this story and it's near damn embarrassing :/ ). But after fifteen minutes, Brahms his stapling together his own little book. He seems like a creative guy, having had so much time to think and watch people. It's interesting to see what's going on in his head, especially as I read the book out loud back to him.
-A story about a king and a queen -- characters probably having been inspired by our recent game of chest -- living with one another in a large castle. It's a surprisingly nice story, in comparison to the murderous intent that I've seen just about a week ago. It's odd, all the things we've done since then. Things that make me realize how human he still is. I can go ahead and say that he's just troubled, but that'd be the wrong label in a sense. He's troubling; and traumatized, unkept and has lived his childhood without nurture and care. Yet all it takes for him to keep his act straight is to follow his rules, keep him company. It's rather easy to keep along with, especially since it's kept me safe in the end, making me take care of myself better than I ever have before.
-If I really wanted to dig deep into it, the man was a walking red flag and I was blind as a bat. The possessiveness, not letting me leave, the jealousy that was brought upon his eyes when I told him Candy was in love with me. But in the end, I have to say that I understand somehow. I understand the loneliness, the fear of the outside world. I understand where he comes from, and given I know some of his history, I can most certainly say without a doubt that I'm not going to hold anything against him.. I will stay with him, and today is the day that I agree that I won't leave, no crossed fingers, no lies. (It's the Stockholm syndrome for me)
-"See? I told you that you make great stories... Here, I'll show you mine. Just be aware that it's no where near as good as yours."