Brahms x Reader - After the killing

Chapter 22 - His Empty Grave

As you climb down you stop for a moment to look up at the square of light. Brahms silhouette is standing tall far above you looking down the hole. You hang on tight to the ladder and carefully make your way down through the dark space.
Once you're out of the chimney and standing with both feet safely on the wooden floor inside the room, you hear the hatch close somewhere above. It doesn't take long before Brahms' tall legs appear in the opening in the wall, climbing down, and he steps inside where you've waited. He sneaks past you with one quick glance, still seeming somewhat ashamed, and walks down the stairs from the loft.
You follow close behind as he heads on out of the secret room. You continue through the hidden corridor and down the narrow stairs inside the walls in silence, with your eyes on his back.
You get the feeling that Brahms tries to, for your sake, keep his distance at the moment. As if he feels that being too close would only harm you again. Or make you uncomfortable, or weary. As you reach the end of the passage, Brahms climbs out of the open trap door in the wall, and into his childhood room.
He turns around and looks down at you, seemingly unsure about if he should assist you or not. But he decides to offer you his hand once again. You take it, and he pulls you up and into the room, leaving the secret corridors behind.
"Thanks." You say and smile a little at him when he lets go. He stands awkwardly in front of you, and steps to the side to get out of your way. "Do you want to come see what I got you?" you suggest, trying to lighten the mood a bit.
Now it's his turn to follow you; through the hallway and down the stairs to the ground floor. You enter the kitchen with Brahms close behind. He watches with quiet curiosity as you pick up the bag and pull out the shoe box, handing it to him. You pray it's the right fit. Brahms probably, or most definitely, wouldn't handle you leaving again too well.
He sits down on one of the kitchen chairs, unboxing his boots. He examines them in silence, before he tries them on; carefully lacing and tying them up.
You observe his long fingers while he performs the task; slowly like a child who's just learned. As soon as it's done to perfection, he stands up from the chair and looks down. He seems pleased.
"Well?" you ask since he doesn't say anything. He looks at you, and in his eyes you see a soft look that makes you once again wonder what the rest of his face looks like.
"Thank you Y/n." he says shyly, and the way he says it makes you smile inside. "Will you... come outside with me?" He peeks at you through the wisps of dark hair falling down his forehead. You can sense he still feels bad about earlier. Probably not at all about killing the birds, but for deterring you with the story about them. In his mind that was probably a hundred times worse than killing an animal.
"Never thought you'd ask." You tell him and notice how his eyes light up.
You head out into the foyer and put on the jacket you left at a chair before, and since you're already in your sneakers, you're ready to go out in the crisp autumn afternoon. Brahms opens up the big wooden door and looks back at you, looking uncertain but determined. He looks around the driveway and front yard, perhaps in the very unlikely event that Malcolm decided to come one day early with the groceries. But it's as empty as always, quiet and still except for the wind rustling the tall treetops and blowing around leaves on the ground.
Brahms steps out on the stone porch, holding the door as you follow. It closes with a heavy thud behind you. He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his black coat and lets his gaze wander over the sights. You try to imagine a young boy running around on the grass, playing. Reading books. Celebrating a birthday...
"Y/n." Brahms interrupts your thoughts and does so with the strangest of questions.
"Have you been to my grave?"
He peers down at you with an indistinct look in his eyes.
The question itself is so random that you have to think for a second, before you remember that Brahms actually has a headstone here in the gardens. You nod at him.
"Obviously, it's always been empty." He starts, and before he continues you could swear you hear a muffled snort, like he's smiling underneath the mask.
"I didn't deserve to die, I thought. I didn't deserve to be buried. So... I'm glad to come across someone that did."