𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙚 || 𝑩𝒓𝒂𝒉𝒎𝒔 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒆 × 𝑭!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

007 | Body Language

Brahms's POV:

I hadn't shown myself for around two days, and it seemed to get Y/N on the edge, which is precisely what I wanted. It made her think about what she said, and it actually made her apologise. I was surprised it took her that long; I didn't tell her that she 'misunderstood' the intent of the men that hurt her either. There was no reason why she was allowed to make such accusations against my parents.

They didn't want me anymore once they realised I had survived the fire; they ignored me and wanted me gone. They got completely infatuated with a doll that looked like me before the fire, before I was burned, and before I gained a personality. They didn't like that I had a mind of my own, one that didn't always listen to them, one with opinions and needs. So they erased me from their minds, believing I was dead and that my spirit stayed. They neglected me and hurt me. The only way I could feel their love was by their affection for my doll.

Maybe that's why I made a doll for Y/N as well; I don't remember how to give affection; I've not seen it given to me in a total of twenty years. I can only copy my parents with a doll since the only affection I saw was towards a doll. I was planning on learning how to do so, though; I didn't think Y/N would allow any other way of getting close to me.

Y/N was relieved to see me, visibly relaxing once she figured out where I was. I didn't say much, though. I wasn't used to speaking for a long time, it felt odd, almost unnatural. 

Y/N's POV:

''Brahms, you're back,'' you whispered the moment you saw him standing in the hallway connected to the kitchen. You got spooked; Brahms seemed to know how to silently approach anyone he wanted. He nodded but didn't say anything.

''Are you hungry? You can sit down if you want some; I made fried eggs and grilled cheese.'' No response, as usual. However, he did come into the kitchen and sit down in the chair, watching your movements intently. It made you nervous, yet something told you it was because he most likely didn't know social cues; he'd been hiding in the wall for around twenty years.

You placed two plates of food on the table, one in front of Brahms. You started eating, yet quickly noticed he wasn't eating; he was only watching you. ''You can eat, Brahms.'' He shook his head, not explaining why he couldn't eat. You didn't understand until he pointed at his mask. ''Of course, I'll eat in the living room; you can tell me when you're done.''

Somewhere, you were afraid he'd disappear again, but something told you he wasn't planning on doing so. He took Gregory for some reason, and he showed himself for reasons you didn't know as well. It was as if he wanted to be seen and wanted to be there with you. So you allowed him; he cared for you in his odd way.

Brahms's POV:

Y/N had been incredibly kind and understanding, which may have been because of the uncanny feeling she dragged along with her because of the situation she found herself in. It's not like I minded or cared, as long as she let me close to her, liked me, and wanted me near her. She'd get used to me soon enough.

It did become clear that she had some needs herself. She asked- no, demanded I bathe, clean, and shave myself. She said it would prevent me from getting ill, meaning she cared for me. I hadn't gotten sick in up to ten years, and yet Y/N is still worried about that being a possibility.

I refused, however. She bathed my doll; she had to bathe me too. I voiced this to her, and it was clear she didn't enjoy the idea. She tried to convince me to do it myself, but I simply refused; I wasn't going to let her manipulate me in such a way. Me getting cleaned was something she wanted, not me. Therefore, she had to do it. 

She took me to the bathroom and, uncomfortable, told me to take off my clothes, just not my underwear. I knew I had already pushed her pretty far, so I chose not to go over her boundaries more than I already had.

I adored her facial expressions as I undressed; they were a mix of curiosity, fear, and vulnerability; they made her look attractive, like someone you could simply take with you and never let go. She nodded for me to get in the shower as she took hold of the shampoo and body wash.

She almost made me whimper as her soft hands and fingers glided through my hair, over my shoulders, and back. I couldn't help but wonder how it'd feel if she touched my cock, how quickly she'd make me cum, and how loud she'd make me moan. 

Her hands told a story different from her body; it was as if they were curious and not uncomfortable. As if she wanted to touch me, there was no way she would touch me so carefully, kindly, and softly if she found everything uncomfortable. It was as if she wanted me to think she didn't like this but secretly enjoyed it. As if she was teasing me.

I couldn't help but notice her shirt had gotten wet as she trimmed my beard; her shirt had become see-through, and her bra was in clear sight. You could even see how her cute nipples had hardened because of the water, or the excitement that I gave her.

It took everything in me not to touch them, touch her. I didn't want to let her win, show how desperate I was for her, or give her what she wanted yet was afraid of. I didn't want her to think she had me wrapped around her soft, slender fingers. 

After she had cleaned me up and given me a pair of my father's pyjamas she refused to give me a goodnight kiss. 'I already showered you, Brahms. I hope you don't mind.'' She had stuttered as she played with her fingers. I, in fact, did mind. But I was also aware that the shower may have been too much for her. 

I knew this because I heard her silently cry a couple of hours later. She talked to Gregory like she always did. She told him she was afraid and that her therapist had made a mistake, but that she had to go through this to heal and learn.

She confused me. She was so needy for me, yet afraid. Her touch told a different story than what she herself told. My mother had lied to me many times as well; I couldn't trust her word. Yet, somewhere, it seemed like what she said was the truth, meaning I had to find out how her mind worked.

From the moment she came here, she kept her distance from men—my father, Malcolm, and even me if she had the chance to. She had spoken about PTSD with Gregory, meaning that was what I had to read up on. I hated psychology books because of how my mother used them against me, but it seemed like I had to to gain what I wanted.