The Mask Of Beauty and Rage (Brahms X Greta)

Chapter 12 - Little Brits

It had been quite the dilemma for the past few weeks now. The tightrope was unsteady between the two souls. Whether one or the other would cut the string that held them together was uncertain. The long hours made it seem impossible for the days to pass.

Still, they were occupied with other tasks. Brahms had led his Greta to his room in the deepest part of the manor. She asked for a washer, and he obliged without questioning. It had been a few hours; Greta made her way along the inner walls and walked the dreadful floors. Trying to avoid every cobweb that landed on her newly cleaned bed sheets.

Greta folded the clothes and placed each set on top of the nearby table. They'd been stocking their piles for years now. They hadn't run out of anything. The Heelshire's replenish constantly since Brahms's accident. Greta took a jug of soap and put it into the machine for another refill.

She couldn't help but glance at Brahms's back. He was on the outside of the room where his work desk was. His broad back was hunched over as he worked on his task. He kept his mask on because she was in the room with him. Thankfully he let Greta do as she pleased. He wasn't harping on her like he always did, perhaps because he knew she was already in the same room, so he didn't feel the need to fret as much.

Greta hadn't any clue as what Brahms was doing at his desk, but she was thankful he was occupied. She wasn't the center of attention and believe it or not she was perfectly fine with that. She took a soft sigh but got a whiff of her sweater. She grimaced at the smell; it wasn't flowery. She slipped out of it and tossed it into the machine. She would clean the clothes she had on now, but she wasn't alone, so maybe another time, she thought.

Greta looked over at the quiet man once more. Her eyes went to the dark patches of his own sweater. He rarely ever took it off, why she thought, maybe it was his favorite. She couldn't comprehend why she felt bad for him at the moment. He was a killer and liked to play games, but she still found herself mournful, even if it was just a tiny piece, she did feel sorry for him.

Putting her own pride aside she cleared her throat as began to speak.

"Hey Brahms." She announced. Brahms turned to her almost too quickly to beckon her call. Almost like he was trying to hide something from her. Greta even felt herself go unsteady by his abruptness.

"Do you have anything you... need me to wash?" She offered to him.

Brahms stayed in his seat quietly and turned his head away slightly as he even looked about the room. Oh boy, everything could use a good wash, considering it has been years since its last cleansing, but Brahms wouldn't make Greta wash anything around the house. He wouldn't subject her to becoming a full-on cleaning lady twenty-four hours a day. Noticing Brahms didn't say much else she offered once more.

"I could, clean your sweater." She pointed at it. "I'll do it right now." She encouraged a little as she dared walked around to his side of the room. Brahms just sat and watched her moment. He wanted to but at the same time this sweater was all he had left of his parents.

Greta could see he wasn't budging as she drew near him. It felt odd being taller than Brahms as he stays seated.

"Only if you'd like." She added swiftly. "I just thought you'd appreciate it even more... if it was clean." She shrugged a little, but her voice was soft. Brahms seemed to be debating with himself as he looked down slightly at the sweater. It was overdue for a cleaning, and if it'd make Greta happy, then he would succumb to her wishes.

Brahms stood from his seat with ease. Greta was taken back slightly by his unexpected stance. He slid out his cardigan without a quarrel. Revealing his toned and lean form. Greta looked down slightly noticing his was wearing his white tank top. That also needed a good scrubbing, but another time would be more suitable for him to get naked when she wasn't around.