Brahms x Reader - After the killing

Chapter 23 - A world of its own

[Authors note: Thank you so much for your patience and support, I can't believe how the weeks fly by! I'm always continuing on this story little by little whenever I have time, hopefully it won't be this long until next update... Thanks!]
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You freeze to ice inside and forget to breathe, for a short but intense moment of horror. You look up at him, and his eyes are smiling at you; practically beaming. And then you realize, he's not talking about you. 
"That's where I put him. The intruder. Who came here for you."
He's talking about Cole. Of course. In a voice that someone would use when revealing they got an A+ on a big test. A voice bringing good news, even great news.
Thoughts spin rapidly through your head. That's where he took the body that night. A rotting corpse right here, in the garden... You picture the person standing in front of you dragging Coles heavy body in the dark of night, you can almost hear the thuds in the stairs beneath you. 
You swallow and stare at Brahms in silence, trying to say something but not coming up with anything at all. Just thinking about the intruder, as Brahms calls him, sends a shiver down your spine. Cole was a monster, always was. But he proved to be nothing against Brahms. Your worst enemy is now no more than a cadaver hidden in the earth. No more than common prey, hunted down and defeated by someone higher up on the food chain. 
But still. 
Outside these gardens, far away from these woods, out in the real world with its real laws... this isn't justice. This would be manslaughter. A murder with you as the only witness. 
But this isn't the real world. This place is in a world of its own, an unreal domain ruled by a dead boy in a mask. 
"Right where he belongs." You finally say. Brahms looks at you with a deep awe in his eyes. 
"Are you... happy?" he asks. 
He sounds shy, but you can tell he desperately wants your approval, to hear that he did good. 
It's an insane thing to ask. A despicable thing. But somehow, here and now it seems completely sensible. You nod at him, fully aware how deeply wrong it is in every way to be thankful for the brutal death and disposal of another human being. But you are, and there's no point in trying to convince yourself you're not relieved Cole is gone for good. As well as your moral standards, it seems. 
"Yes I am, Brahms." You reply, smiling faintly at him. He looks down at you for a moment without saying anything. You feel his eyes on you, like he's studying your every feature. 
"I..." he starts. "I want you to be." He says and you feel some heat rise to your cheeks, making you awkwardly look down at the ground. "I'm... sorry about the birds. Up there." He continues. 
Something about the way he apologizes sounds very unaccustomed. Like there's a question mark at the end of the sentence. Like it's the first time he's ever even said the word 'sorry'. 
"I didn't realize it would... disturb you." 
"Well... do you understand why it did?" you ask. He nods at you. 
"I scared you." He says quietly, and now it's his turn to look down, avoiding your eyes. "I didn't mean to. I won't do it again." 
You swallow. You want to believe that he'll never lose it again like he did today. But as much as you would like to fully believe that, you know by now that he's unpredictable. There are undeniably two sides to him; the child and the grown man, confused and scattered inside him like polar opposites. 
"I hope so." You say calmly, before you decide to change topics for the moment. "Will you show me around?" 
Brahms nods, seemingly thankful to leave the subject behind, and steps down the stone stairs with you by his side. Grey clouds are covering the skies, and the breeze carries with it a scent of damp leaves and earth. Walking across the graveled driveway you have to take extra big steps to keep up, even if he's not exactly hurrying. His eyes keep darting over the garden, as if he's seeing it for the first time ever. Or as if he's paranoid. It's obviously hard to tell with the mask on. Strolling through the garden, you spot the grave with its headstone further away near some bushes. You look away and try not to think about it. You wish you could forget everything about the person in that grave. 

Brahms walks you to the colonnade arbor walkways, where old dried up vines hang onto the pillars and stone railings. Red and brown autumn leaves lie in piles in corners, where the wind has blown them. You imagine the place looked much more impressive once upon a time, when it was properly looked after by staff. Now it's merely a shadow of its former self. But still a magnificent sight. It feels more like a public botanical park or museum than someone's own private home. Here and there through the walkways are stone benches and fine sculptures of different kinds, that you admire in passing-by. 
Brahms seems to be deep in thought and hasn't said a word so far. His stride has slowed down somewhat, so you can easily stroll beside him. Sometimes he stops for a moment to look around, or drift off in memories. 
You exit the arbor walkway after some time, onto a large flagstone patio that seems to have been a vegetable or flower patch once. Raised garden beds stand empty in symmetrical rows, only a few still harboring a wilting rose bush or persistent plants. But most beds host weeds of different kinds. Wild nature has taken over, now that no one's there to fend it off and tame it. The large patio is enclosed by towering hedges of thick juniper on the sides, and on the far end there's nothing but a tall iron fence with a gate in it. And beyond it, the forest. 
Brahms stands still for a moment, gazing at the gate far ahead. You decide to break the silence. 
"What are you thinking?" you ask, carefully. Brahms looks down at you, interrupted in his reminiscing. He gathers his thoughts for a moment. 
"It's strange." He says at last. "I remember it like... yesterday. Like I'm still there." His eyes stay steady on the forest. 
"Still... in your past?" you suggest, to keep him talking. He nods pensively. 
"As if I was just here." He says quietly. 
"What do you remember...?" you ask, both curious and a little worried with what you might hear.