Brahms x Reader - After the killing

Chapter 13 - Bedtime story for Brahms

Beautiful, and rare?
At first you're not sure you heard him right. You look up at him, and the words hang in the silent air between you; just waiting for a reaction, to be picked up. You open your mouth to speak but your mind seems wiped from answers. Something deep down in your chest flutters lightly.
"Do you really think so?" you finally ask. "That's lovely... thank you."
"It's yours, if you want." Brahms says and looks at the bird in your hand.
"Wow, are you sure...?" you ask, feeling rather honored.
"I'd like you to have it."
"Thank you, I don't know what to say. It's beautiful." You tell him honestly.
You've never received a gift quite like this before, and you have a feeling there's a lot of painstaking thought put into it. Taxidermy might be an unusual and even morbid way of showing affection, but it's his way.
You look up at him and meet his eyes. They look calmly into yours, but you can't deny there's a darkness in there that can't be covered up by sweet gestures or thoughtful gifts.
Brahms reaches out and carefully strokes your hair once with the back of his hand, as if touching a fragile piece of artwork. The sensation sends a tickle through you.
He seems to be finished showing you the basement and grabs your other hand once again. He leads you away, turns the lights off and you walk up the tall stairs leaving the pitch-black room behind. He leads you through the passage and finds his way back to the library.
"I'll go put this in my room." You say and nod at the bird, and Brahms lets go of your hand.
He walks you back to the foyer and follows like a shadow up the stairs.
You reach the second floor and head on into your bedroom. You notice that Brahms stops as you enter the room and leans against the door post instead.
For a moment you wonder why, and what he's thinking about. Does he feel like entering your room would be intruding?
You decide the drawer will be the best place for your gift and put the bird down in front of the mirror.
"Y/n?" Brahms suddenly says.
You turn around and look over at him.
"Will you read to me?" he asks.
Apparently, he liked your story telling, you think to yourself a little amused. One of the original ten rules was to read a bedtime story every night, after all.
"Sure. What do you want to hear?" you wonder.
Brahms turns around and heads through the corridor to his childhood bedroom close by. You follow him in and see him by the book shelf, searching. He scans the book spines for a while before he finally picks one, and hands it to you. You turn the book over to see what it might be. It's "Around the world in 80 days" by Jules Verne, another famous classic.
Being in this house is almost like stepping into a different era of time. Strange but fascinating.
You sit down at the foot of the bed, while Brahms locks himself in his bathroom to brush his teeth. You open the book and can tell it's quite old, from the quality and color of the paper. It even has that typical old book scent.
Brahms steps out of the bathroom. He looks at the small bed where you have been resting for the past days. He seems hesitating, and you wait for him to say or do something, but he doesn't. You notice his eyes throwing a quick glance at the hidden hatch next to the fireplace.
"Is it... that you miss your usual room, perhaps?"
He looks at you and nods slowly.
"But you want to stay here, in the house?"
"Yes. It's just different."
You can't blame him. Living hidden away in loneliness for so long; creating your own world, existence and terms, and then trying to pull yourself out of that solitude. Of course he misses it, it's been his life for the past 20 years. And once again you wonder what exactly it was that led to all of this, to begin with. What actually happened on his eighth birthday, when a girl was found dead and the room in the west wing caught on fire.
The day Brahms was declared deceased.
"Would it make you feel better if I stayed until you're asleep?" you suggest.
"It would." he says.
You remember the doll in his hidden room wearing your dress, and the fact that he slept next to it. You still feel creeped out when you think about it, and what he must've done to it all alone. But somewhere in your mind you wonder if the doll resembling you maybe gave him some sort of comfort, or closeness at least. You can't imagine living like he has for all this time, but it's no mystery that it would seriously mess with someone's head. Maybe he's had that doll even since before...
You pull the covers from the bed.
He sits down and starts taking his cardigan off, exposing his bare broad shoulders and long arms. You get a quick look before you turn your eyes down at the book in your hands. You definitely feel some heat rising to your face. Holy shit.
He lets both his suspenders down, and for a nervous second you think he's about to keep undressing. But he doesn't, and lies down in his tank top and pants. You grab his cardigan before you lay the covers over him.

You clear your throat, swallow and start reading.