Brahms x Reader - After the killing

Chapter 14 - Music from outside

(Authors note; First of all, thank you so much for the positive comments and votes! I appreciate it a lot and you inspire me to keep at it. Second, sorry about the scarce updates! Making time for writing isn't always easy. In my mind I'm continuously coming up with ideas for After the killing however, so thank you for being patient! There's much to come. PS. Do you like the length of the chapters? Should they be longer/ shorter? DS.)

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"Alright, let's see..." you begin. "Chapter one, in which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout accept each other. The one as master, the other as man. Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872..."

You read all the way to chapter three, losing track of time as you engage in the story.

You look up from the pages now and then, over at Brahms to see his green brown eyes peeking back at you through the holes of his mask. As you finish the third chapter you look up once again. Brahms eyes are closed, and you can hear slow breaths behind the mask. You realize your throat has gone dry from all this story telling. Very slowly, not to wake him up, you crawl off his bed and carefully put the book on the chest by the bed. Then you stand there for a moment just looking at him.
What face is hiding right underneath this thin mask?
Who is he really in there? A cold-blooded murderer, a child, a man...
There is so much that you don't know. That you want to know - you think so, at least.

And right now, he's a boy sleeping in his bed. A boy that told you that you were beautiful and rare in his basement full of dead animals. You smile to yourself, confused but intrigued. For some reason you feel kind of at home despite everything that's going on. And you're curious to see how it all unfolds.
You tip toe over to the door and turn the lights off. You're just about to leave, when suddenly the silence is interrupted, almost startling you.
"Kiss."
Brahms whimpers quietly in the dark.
A child's innocent voice but spoken from a man's lips. Not sure if he's awake or just dreaming, you hesitate for a moment. A goodnight kiss, one of the ten rules. Is it just a chaste peck on the cheek he desires, or an actual kiss...? Sure, it was one thing to kiss an innocent lifeless doll goodnight, but the real and human Brahms...? You feel a strange tingle in your stomach and swallow, unsure if you're ready for this.
You turn around to see his eyes staring with a certain demand at you in the dark.
Slowly you walk back to him.
How are you even supposed to kiss? Are you going to kiss the mask or is he actually going to remove it? You stop at the bed, and wait for him to do or say something, but he remains quiet. Carefully you then lean down towards him, as his shadowed eyes are looking right at you. You can hear his muffled breathing. Is it just your imagination, or is it getting heavier...?
You aim for the forehead of his mask, closing in. But as you're just a second away from touching its cold porcelain surface with your slightly pouted lips, you suddenly change your mind. The soft scent of shampoo reaches your nose as you bury your face in Brahms messy hair, and lightly kiss his head. He gasps quietly and lies still.
You stand back up again, and try not to smirk at the sudden look of sheer surprise in Brahms eyes. Got you. You wonder if he might be blushing behind the mask right now. Or if your touch even sent his blood rushing to somewhere hidden underneath the covers.

"Sweet dreams Brahms." You whisper, and he swallows.

"Goodnight Y/n." He answers quietly.
You leave the bedroom and close the door behind you a little bit. You head to your own room down the corridor, in a kind of haze of different feelings. After you've brushed your teeth and changed into pajamas you crawl into your big bed. You lie awake in the dark for some time, looking up at the ceiling in the dark, both exhilarated and nervous.
You wonder what made you change your mind about kissing Brahms on the head instead of the mask. Maybe because that's the real him? Maybe because you wanted him to feel it?
You think about the bird he gave you, standing on the drawer close by; watching over you as you fall asleep at last.

You slowly wake up in the late morning to something that you think is part of some dream, at first.
Music. The soaring sound of a violin.
You look around in the room. Pale sunlight is shining through the lace curtains and you can't seem to make out where the music is coming from.
Newly awake you sit up in bed and listen.
You don't recognize the melody, but it's very beautiful and a bit sad. It reminds you of something, but you're not sure what. Maybe a feeling more than something you've heard.
You step out of bed, drowsily, and change into your day clothes. You peek out the hallway outside your door, and walk to Brahms room. His room is empty and the bed is made, a bit carelessly perhaps but you can tell he's tried. The music seems louder in here. Is it coming from inside the walls...?
You put your ear on the wall hiding the secret passage, but it's silent in there.
You go ahead and pull the curtains aside from the windows and look out at the big garden with its trees, bushes, stone walkways and statues. You listen up again.
The music is definitely coming from outside. You head down the stairs to the second floor, where you open the glass doors to the wrap around porch surrounding most of the building.
The sound of the violin is getting even clearer, reaching your ears as you step out on the cold stone veranda. It's a bit chilly, you really feel that summer is at end and autumn has started to take over. You realize you haven't been outside in days and wrap your arms around yourself.
You walk along the railing, looking out over the grounds and the towering forest further away.

Then you see him vaguely through the morning mist, like a shadow. He's standing tall and slender, barefoot in a white buttoned shirt, black pants and suspenders down on the dewy grass, with his back against the house. Playing a violin, seeming completely immersed in his music. The scene reminds you of old folk lore tales.

You lean you elbows on the railing and observe him.