Brahms x Reader - After the killing

Chapter 15 - I heard you play

The slow melody seems to be floating towards you in the breeze, harmonizing with the fallen leaves on the ground and the grey skies. The whole scene is otherworldly, mystic just like something out of an old tale. The violin seems to be wailing in agony, and then speeds up to a nervous flickering noise; even screeching, only to slow down to a beautiful melancholic tune.
You lose track of time as you listen to his creative improvising.
You imagine that Brahms is far better expressing himself through music than words, and you even find yourself feeling moved when you hear the most mournful parts. You consider yourself lucky, getting to hear a fraction of his thoughts in the form of direct and unaltered music.
After quite some time he lets the sound fade out and stops playing. He looks down at his instrument, resting a moment before he begins to walk back to the house.
He hasn't seen you.
You step inside to make some tea. Brahms should be freezing after standing barefoot outside for so long. Doesn't he have any shoes? You wonder to yourself. You might just have to go do some shopping for him. This won't do.
You make your way downstairs to the kitchen and start preparing breakfast and tea for the two of you. As you're making a couple of sandwiches you hear a familiar creaking, and look behind you. No one there, seemingly. You have a feeling Brahms is somewhere nearby even though you can't see him.
Then a tune starts playing on the old Edison record player in the study. You recognize it as something from Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. Brahms seems to be in a music mood today, and that should be a good sign. You put two cups of tea on the kitchen table, and sit down. Just like you expect, he soon turns up in the doorway.
"Hi. I made us breakfast." You tell him and nod towards the tea and sandwiches. He sneaks into the kitchen and sits down in front of you. He fingers on his tea cup and looks up at you.
"Do you like the music?" he asks politely. You nod while chewing on your toast. It's not what you would usually listen to first hand, but you can definitely appreciate good classical music when you hear it. And you can see why it appeals to Brahms.
"I saw you play outside." You say with a little smile. "You're really talented, Brahms."
He looks at you in silence for a moment.
"You think so?" he says and sounds honestly surprised.
"Yes, I mean it. I'd love to hear more, sometime." You encourage him. "How long have you been playing?" You ask. He looks down at his tea and thinks for a while, sunken into memories seemingly.
"Since I was four, I think. I had lessons." He says thoughtfully.
Wow. That's almost his entire life, then. You imagine a young little Brahms, like in the photos you saw before, practicing on a tiny violin with his teacher.
"My parents..." he says, and you detect a deeper tone. "They never like it when I played my way." He continues and looks up at you. You sense a seriousness and almost a bit of anger.
"And your way was...?"
"What you heard today." He replies shortly, and keeps quiet for a moment. "You liked it."
He looks at you with admiration in his eyes. You're glad that fact that you liked it seems to mean something to him. You can't help but to smile.
"It was very expressive." You tell him. "Like painting, but with music." You realize it sounds a bit hazy, but Brahms seems to understand and nods.
"Thank you." He says quietly. "No one's said that before." He mumbles as he turns around on his chair to eat the sandwich you made.
You drink your tea to the sounds of the Swan Lake and observe Brahms back over the edge of your cup. You wonder if you'll ever get to see his face. Not that you're in a hurry to. He'll have to take his time. But still.
It's a very strange feeling, getting to know a person, his manners, hearing his voice and being around him... without knowing what he really looks like.
You hope that he'll be comfortable enough around you some day to show himself.
"By the way." You say "How come you had no shoes outside? Weren't you freezing?"
Brahms stops eating his toast, and shrugs his shoulders.
"A bit." He answers.
"You don't own any?" you ask and he shakes his head.
"I don't leave the house much."
You understand the Heelshires point of view. Staging their own son's death only so he wouldn't be prosecuted, he couldn't exactly start showing up outside after that. But there's not a soul out here on the countryside, deep in the woods. And especially not in the enclosed garden of theirs. The only person ever stopping by is Malcolm with the groceries, and that's just Thursdays.
"Well... would you like to go outside more?" you ask. He sits silent for a while.
"I don't know." He says at last and swallows.
He slides his mask back down and turns around to you. "Maybe with you." he adds.
"I wanted to ask if you'd take a walk with me." You say. "But you'll need shoes." Brahms nods and looks down at his cup.
"We could... look in my father's wardrobe." He says with hesitation in his voice.
You're surprised to hear him suggest that. You're still not sure what the situation with his father-son relationship was. Mr Heelshire did seem like the more down to earth one of the parents, you gather.
"Are you fine with that?" you ask on account of his tone.
"He won't need it." He replies and gets up from his chair. It could just be you overthinking, but you could swear you heard just an ounce of mockery in his tone.