Chapter Text
You wake up on your floor, tangled in your clothes and dusted with the pulverized package of cookies. You groan and sit up, rubbing your eyes as you free yourself. You stand up and stretch, slide your headphones off, throw them on the bed, and massage your pinched ears. You grumble to yourself about your bad habit of falling asleep while listening to music. You grab a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt to change into and take a shower. You let your hair air dry as you neaten up a bit, shaking the crumbs off your clothes and throwing everything onto the bed so you can vacuum away the chunks of Biscoff cookie. You leave your room to look for the vacuum, your bare feet creaking on the old wood floors.
In the hall you pass Brahms' room and double back to grab the doll remembering rule two, to never leave Brahms alone. You step into the room, glancing around, feeling conflicted. The complete stillness of the house should make you feel lonely or a bit creeped out but for some reason, you don't feel alone at all. You shake the feeling of inexplicable comfort and pick the Brahms doll up gently and carry him on your hip like a small child or a laundry basket. You hum as you wander the halls with Brahms in your arms, finally locating the vacuum. You are faced with a dilemma, you can't carry both. You look at the vacuum cord and then at Brahms getting an idea. You tie the doll to the vacuum handle with the electrical cord and then drag the makeshift stroller/vacuum to your room.
When you see the contraption in the mirror you can't help but burst out laughing at what your life has become. You swear you hear a second voice join in on your giggling but when you stop you hear nothing so brush it off as early-onset cabin fever. You disentangle the doll and set him on the mountain of clothes on your bed.
"You're king of the hill huh Brahms?" you say looking at the doll.
He doesn't answer so you hum and nod knowingly as if he had.
"True, true. It has been quite a long time since we've played that game, but I was much better at it than you, that much I can remember," you say in an exaggerated voice, somewhat reminiscent of the Heelshire's posh accent.
"But I don't remember much..." you mutter to yourself as you plug in the vacuum.
You vacuum the floor and begin to put all of your things away as you basically treat the Brahms doll like the camera and you 'story time' a summary of your life since leaving the Heelshire estate and how you ended back up in the United Kingdom.
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Brahms had hardly slept. Whenever he tried, his mind wandered back to y/n, who was back to him, and sleeping under the very same roof he laid under. He tossed and turned all night in his secret apartment, a wild smile on his face, pulling tight on his facial burn scars. He was nervous and excited, his heart thumping in his chest hard enough to choke him, his hand pressing against it as if to keep it from breaking through.
There were a lot of logistical issues he would have to figure out and fast, like how to shower without y/n hearing the running water, how to keep y/n from ever leaving him again, how to sneak around without her noticing so he can watch her as much as possible, and how to make sure his parents don't interfere with his plans. These thoughts and a thousand more filled his mind to nearly breaking that night. His world was full of light and sound again after so long living in the quiet dark, and y/n was his savior like she always had been.
The promise of a future with the girl he had loved since before he could remember, even a future where he has to keep hidden in the shadows, was more than he had ever let himself dream and here it was almost falling into his lap. He could barely let himself be happy about it, almost too scared to smile like the universe would take it as a sign to punish him for daring to covet what he doesn't deserve. And he knows he doesn't deserve y/n, but he selfishly needs to possess her anyways.
He awoke from his fitful sleep at dawn and quietly made his way back to the spot in y/n's room's walls where he could see her easiest. When he saw her just as he left her the night before, curled up on the floor among her varicolored belongings, his hands twitched to brush her hair behind her ear as he read heroes doing in books. He bit down the urge, wanting to play it safe and hidden rather than give in to the unknown pleasure of being close enough to touch the object of his obsessive affections.
He watched her sleep for about an hour before he shamefully gave in to the temptation, sliding from the back wall and into her closet through a loose panel. He crept towards y/n in perfect silence, knowing the house so perfectly as to avoid every noisy piece of flooring, and stopped just above her, careful not to create a shadow over her eyes in case the shift in lighting might have woken her. Brahms bent down slowly, his mask less than a foot from y/n's face. Y/n sighed in her sleep and shifted, scooting imperceptibly closer to him, but he noticed how y/n, even in her sleep, sought him. He bit his tongue to not curse her family for taking her away from the Heelshire estate and him, something he could never imagine y/n wanting for herself.
Brahms knelt down at her side, leaning in, his cheeks warming as he felt her breath ruffle the ends of his hair and he smelled her sweet perfume. He gingerly and as slowly as physically possible brought his hand to her cheek, not daring to touch her, just hovering. He felt like a kid about to be caught in the candy jar and he smiled remembering the times he and y/n were just that, both having had a rebellious streak and sweet tooth as children. He gently pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, his body electrified by the contact, however minimal. His breath came out shaky, an almost whimper at being so close to his love. She shifted again so he stilled, waiting some minutes before regretfully going back to his hiding place in her walls. In his little cubby, he ran his finger that had touched her hair along the side of his blushing face, aware of how desperate and odd he was being but not being able to help it.
It was hours later when she finally woke, Brahms knew she was a natural night owl, the same as him, so wasn't miffed over the long wait. He couldn't stop the adoring look on his face as she got up and got ready for the day, it was so delightfully mundane, he felt like he and y/n were a married couple. At that thought his whole face went red and his muscles tensed up in embarrassment for thinking something like that of y/n. One of his hands covered his already masked face as if to hide himself from his desires but at the sweet feeling of that thought and the way his chest warmed and his lips twitched up, he wondered briefly if he could allow himself the fantasy if he only ever left it at that. It couldn't hurt y/n, it wasn't immoral to love someone and to want them to love you back? Right?
He was broken out of his thoughts when y/n left the room. Brahms had to stop himself from following, knowing that she must be coming back soon and not wanting to risk making noise by following her. He breathed a sigh of relief when she came back, only to have to muffle his laughter when the Brahms doll tied to the vacuum was revealed, and y/n herself cracked up at the sight of it. She extricated the doll from the contraption and set it with her things on the bed.
The sound of her voice shocked him so badly from his trance of lovingly watching her that he didn't catch much of anything she said except for what she mumbled to herself, of not remembering much. This made him frown deeply, and his eyes prick with tears he'd shed frequently over the years over his predicament and disfigurement, things he wouldn't mind if not for how they kept him from his love. He remembers everything, or at least believes himself to remember most of their childhood, however short the time they had together actually was. He grits his teeth at the possibility she can't remember him any longer and prays it's not true.
"So Brahms, we've got a lot to catch up on now, don't we? Hmm... where to start?" y/n says to the doll.
Brahms smiles at how she treats the doll effigy as if it is sentient, then forces himself to ignore the bitter taste of not being the one she was speaking to, touching, holding.
"Well I'm sure you're curious about my years in the States but honestly Brahmsy boy there's not much to say. Went to school, went home, worked at a record store for most of high school almost went to juvie when said record store turned out to be a drug front but that's a whole other story, still can't believe I didn't notice but hey the owner was my type you know, tall, scruffy, quiet... but anyways...shit, where was I?"
Y/n pauses folding her clothes and then resumes when she seemingly finds the thread of her thoughts again. Brahms clenches his teeth and hands painfully when he hears about the owner, supposedly her 'type', he may not know much of the modern world but he knows what a type is from annoying Malcolm's conversations he's eavesdropped on over the years. How was he supposed to compete with another man? Should he even think about competing in the first place? Of course not, but his imagination was running wild with thoughts of y/n, and entertaining the idea of being a man in her eyes, an alive one at that, was a favorite fantasy of his and had been since before she left.
"So anyways after the whole Michael versus William saga I went to art school in New York for undergrad, getting out of Utah thank god, but that's where I met Leon so maybe I jumped out of the frying pan of boredom and right into the hellfire of stupid himbo boyfriend bullshit. Like I don't know what the hell I was thinking dating a ceramicist, they are way too good with their fingers and are all players I swear to god. He's not my type like at all, a total gym bro in a derogatory way of course, and he had the gall to cheat?!"
At this point Brahms is so incensed at the idea of Y/n with another man and with one who seemingly didn't treat her with the devotion and love she so obviously deserved, he forgets himself for a second and hits his fist against the wall in frustration. Y/n pauses, her head shooting up and eyes looking straight at where Brahms is standing behind the wall. She slowly makes her way over to the wall and presses her ear up against it. Brahms holds his breath with body-shaking concentration, begging her mentally to write it off and to step away from his hiding place, as much as he will reminisce later on how close they are at the moment, the fear of being caught overpowers the thrill. He hears her mutter 'weird old house' as she turns away from the wall and goes back to her clothes, shooting another skeptical look towards him behind the wall. She's silent for a minute, seemingly still listening for whatever made the noise. Brahms mentally berates himself for letting his emotions overpower his control.
"Well anyways, Leon was a total dick but at least he could find the clit...' y/n pauses to look at the Brahms doll, 'Ignore that I said that I forgot you're still eight years old Brahms."
Brahms makes an amused face behind the wall and his mask, ignoring the jealousy simmering beneath his skin. It was sad but a bit funny how she still saw him as his eight-year-old self despite him being twenty-eight and in such a state he doubts y/n, as creative as she is, could imagine him. Who would imagine such a detestable creature? He fiddles with his mask as if checking if it still hid him.
"But yeah, my life since leaving hasn't been all that interesting just going from graduation to graduation and dumb boyfriend to even dumber boyfriend. That's why I'm so happy to be back Brahms, everything was magic here way back when, I think I'm chasing that high a bit, to be honest, I know I won't catch it, wouldn't be the same without you obviously, but it's nice to be close to where you once were, you know?' y/n nudges the Brahms doll who flops lifelessly to his side, 'I guess you don't get it but still."
Brahms lets out a silent but frustrated breath, wishing he could tell her he understands perfectly. He may not know much about her life outside of the Heelshire estate's walls and is simultaneously curious and angry at that fact, but he understands her relief of being reunited with the thing that symbolized the good times in one's life. For y/n it may be the estate itself and the memories she has or innocently exploring it as a child, but for Brahms, it was y/n herself, the object of his affections and many years of obsession fueled by isolation. The relief of y/n being back and tied to him, even just contractually without her full knowledge, was like breathing air after decades of being buried alive.
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After putting away that last of your clothes and arranging your wall decorations, mostly a myriad of movie and band posters, you put your hands on your hips with a satisfied sigh. You turn to the Brahms doll as your stomach growls. You check the time and see it's seven pm. You pull a face at having slept most of the day.
"Dinner time? I'm thinking of making your favorite, spaghetti carbonara. Malcolm better have gotten what I asked for.." you say as you grab the doll, your phone, and your Bluetooth speaker.
You walk downstairs and through the house to the kitchen that is quaint but feels airy with how pale everything is, from the checkered floor, grey walls, and gleaming white vintage fridge. You put the Brahms doll in a seat at the kitchen table, pushing the chair in so he doesn't fall over, and start gathering the ingredients.
You regale the Brahms doll on more stories of your borderline delinquent high school days and describe your college years. You describe your friends, the drunken adventures you've had, the many shitty professors you've had, and complain an ample amount about Leon, your ex. Leon wasn't all that bad to be honest except he was exceedingly unfunny, a mid ceramicist (you secretly think he only became one because of that one scene in Ghost), and had of course cheated on you. He fancied himself a player, despite being bitchless before you, and you caught him a week before graduation in the yarn store room on campus naked and tangled up with a mutual friend of yours, Luis. You promptly dropped his ass publicly and not long after you had been contacted by the Heelshires, leading you to where you are now. You don't dwell on Leon much in your one-sided conversation with the Brahms doll, you were over Leon the minute you caught him, and part of you couldn't be mad since you were never very invested in him or anyone else you had dated.
You finish the prep work for the meal and decide to 'educate' the Brahms doll on your favorite music. You play your 'ratatouille hours' playlist of music you like to cook to, a mashup of genres mostly new wave, alternative r&b, and eighties pop. Cooking is one of your many hobbies, you're a bit of a jack of all trades master of none with how you bounce from interest to interest and phase to phase, never sticking with any one thing long enough to learn much. You can cook very well though since you've been cooking for yourself since you were a child.
When you finish you dish up some for yourself and put the rest in a container to be frozen in accordance with commandment number three of the Heelshire codex (the list of rules they left you). You sit next to the doll and dig in, turning the music down a bit so you can comfortably talk at the four-foot effigy. You speak to yourself constantly normally and now that you had a thing to speak at specifically you were taking full advantage of it. Your incessant self-talk was the cause of many odd looks in your life and so the fact that you were completely and utterly alone in the house made you feel delightfully comfortable and led to the constant chatter.
When you finish your food you wash all of the dishes and then start to wander around the first floor with the doll held on your shoulders, part of his body slumped over your head. You got a kick out of treating the doll like an actual child and so played the part of 'cool babysitter' to pass the time. You get bored of walking around the labyrinthine estate, there's only so many creepy family portraits and dusty chandeliers you could take. You bound up the steps, the Brahms doll jostling violently, and deposit him in his room. You change him into his stiff little pair of pajamas, tuck him into his suspiciously fresh bed, and kiss him goodnight, ever the rule follower. You whisper goodnight as you close his door and then giggle to yourself as you go to your room.
For the next couple of hours, you blast Oingo Boingo and David Bowie as you tape and pin-up posters, art, tapestries, and photos to your walls. You hang fairy lights and a collection of random keychains off the push pins and at the end your room looks like a blend between the stuffy old aesthetic of the Heelshire's and the room of a 90s high school rom-com girl. You jump into your bed reading for hours before falling asleep more out of boredom than actual need.