starry eyes ✮ slashers.

chapter 011.

eleven. out of the red.

Brahms closes his eyes, head falling back against the tub as Lyra's fingers curl into his hair, massaging shampoo onto his scalp. She rinses her hands under the tap and scoops water in her palms, running it through his beard.

She's focused on massaging his face and skin, blushing when their eyes meet. She hands him the bottle of body wash and turns away, afraid to intrude on his privacy. Although he seems perfectly comfortable with his nudity.

"Wash your body with this, please." Brahms confusedly does as she says, remembering bath times from when he was much younger. However back then his mother would do everything for him, it seemed he'd have to do some things himself now.

Reluctantly, Brahms follows her instructions, the water turning even murkier brown, he looks down at it in disgust. Perhaps these baths would come to be a regular occurrence.

"Can i ask, why wear a mask?" Lyra asks, having turned around and caught sight of the porcelain object on the drawers. She gives him time to tell her to stop as she slowly reaches to brush her fingers across it. Incredibly smooth and sculpted, after all these years he'd never broken it.

"Brahms done bad things, mask helps comfort." Lyra looks at his tilted head, he's wondering why she's inquiring, but truthfully she didn't know. She likes his face, even the burn and doesn't think he should cover it. But knowing the mask is comfortable to him changes the way she sees it.

He's sweet with or without the mask.

"My boyfriend, Tom, he used to wear a mask. When he was Harry." Lyra begins, Brahms listening to every word carefully. It didn't matter that it was him she spoke about, because she was talking to Brahms. So it was special. "Harry was a miner, he went mad and killed a lot of miners and then he killed a lot of civilians." She recites, unsure if telling Brahms is helping the memory or hindering it. "That's where I met Tom, he was helplessly under the swinging pick-axe of Harry, seconds away from death but the police came in and killed Harry."

Brahms notices her mood fall ever so slightly but remains still and quiet, afraid if she remembers he's there, she'll stop talking.

"Tom left town, when he came back, he'd developed the personality of Harry Warden in his mind. He killed a lot of people. I think because i was also there that night, they both felt weirdly caring towards me. But yeah, he wore the mask—the whole miner suit." Brahms nods, seeing Tom in a different light. They're the same, dark past but neither would hurt Lyra. He knows Tom wouldn't see it that way, understanding that he's jealous but a small spark of an idea forms in Brahms' mind.

What if she dated them both?

Is this the wrong time, he wonders. The wrong time to begin his thought becoming reality? Lyra solemnly stares at her hands, playing with her fingers as she thinks of her mother.

"Brahms hurt people too. When i was small, i killed a girl, and when i got big i killed babysitters." He tells her in what was supposed to be a reassuring way but Lyra's heart thumps that slight bit faster. She nods and places a hand on his shoulder momentarily.

"Thank you for telling me." She speaks, removing her hand. What else was she supposed to say to that revelation? She lives with two murderers now, why does she seem to attract them so dearly?

"Dark outside." Brahms mutters and Lyra looks up to the window, the sun setting before her eyes. She's barely seen Tom today, he won't be very happy about that.

"Time to get out now, Brahms. Bedtime routine." She passes him a towel and lays his newly washed clothes on the drawers, waiting for him to get dressed.

She turns around when he brushes her wrist with his fingers and she can't help the smile that forms across her lips. He's a handsome man. The beard could really do with a trim too but that was for another day.

"Come on, Brahms." She takes his hand and pulls him along, the man grabbing his mask on the way out as they're led to the attic. Perhaps he could use one of the better beds downstairs but he liked being away from people, having one point of entry that was rather noisy, encase of attack.

Brahms climbs into bed and watches her expectantly, putting his mask back on. His bed is clear so Lyra ticks him in and smiles warmly.

"Goodnight, Brahms, see you tomorrow." She presses a kiss to his forehead, the gesture feeling quite sincere now she can imagine what's under the mask. As she's leaving, Brahms catches her wrist and pulls her back quickly.

"More kiss." His deep voice rings into the silence and hesitantly, Lyra presses another kiss to his porcelain forehead. Before she can pull back fully, Brahms hand guides the back of her head to place a kiss on the mouth area of his mask. He closes his eyes beneath it to enjoy the moment before allowing her to pull away.

Lyra stares wide eyed at him and Brahms smiles under the mask.

"Sleep well Lyra." He tells her, closing his eyes and leaving her to find her way out. He believes it to be a successful attempt, even if he'd forced her head to stay with him. He believes he's winning her over, is that the truth however, who's to say?