πππππ² ππππππππ² - β¬.β
the day started... weird.
which is saying something when someone's living in the heelshire manor.
it was too... silent.
not the comfortable kind i'd grown used to living in the manor. not the distant groan of old floorboards settling nor the soft rustle behind the walls, the sounds that always told me brahms was somewhere nearby.
but this was different.
i woke up alone.
usually, i'd open my eyes to find brahms draped across me like an oversized, possessive cat, already demanding attention before I was fully awake. the moment sunlight slipped through the gaps in the curtains, he was there nuzzling into my neck, pulling me closer, silently insisting that my entire morning should belong to him.
but this time, the space beside me was empty.
the blankets were cold when i touched them, as though he hadn't been there for hours. his pillow lay untouched and flat, holding none of the familiar impression of his head.
for a moment, i just stared.
at first, I didn't think much of it. brahms wasn't exactly known for normal behavior. there were days when he'd disappear into the walls for hours simply because he felt like it. sometimes he wanted space. sometimes he got caught up in one of his strange little projects. sometimes he simply enjoyed making an entrance later.
so i stretched, got dressed, and went looking for coffee.
the manor felt unusually still.
no footsteps.
no movement.
no feeling of eyes following me from behind hidden peepholes.
nothing.
the silence followed me throughout the day, while i went about my usual routine.
i emptied the mouse traps, grimacing as i put their tiny bodies inside the trash bag. i checked the fireplaces, making sure the flames burned steadily without getting out of control. i dusted, tidied, and wandered through the endless rooms of the manor, listening for any sign of movement.
nothing.
by lunch time, the quiet had started to feel less peaceful and more unsettling.
i made tea, the blend brahms liked most, thinking that I would be able to coax him to show up by the smell alone. i let it steep for exactly the right amount of time before pouring a second cup and setting it across from me at the table.
steam curled lazily from the porcelain.
i waited.
and waited.
the tea grew cold.
the chair remained empty.
still nothing.
no mask peeking around a doorway. no large figure lurking in the hall. no impatient hand reaching for the cup before i could offer it.
that's when i was beginning to feel irritated.
it was my birthday after all!
not that i expected some grand celebration. brahms wasn't exactly the type to throw parties. but i at least expected to see him, to get a muttered "happy birthday" and maybe even a hug, catch him awkwardly avoiding eye contact after giving me some strange handmade gift.
something.
instead, he had apparently vanished from the face of the earth.
"brahms?"
my voice echoed through the manor, swallowed by the vast hallways before fading into silence.
i decided to checked the library first.
the armchair by the fireplace sat untouched. no discarded book. no white porcelain mask lurking between the shelves, waiting for the perfect moment to pop out and scare me just so he could smugly reveal he'd been messing with me all day.
the music room was next.
the piano stood exactly as it had that morning, the keys gathering dust in the shafts of afternoon sunlight. mo half-finished melody. no sign that anyone had stepped foot inside all day.
"brahms?" i called again, louder this time.
i even knocked on the walls a few times.
"brahms, if you're hiding from me, you're being incredibly rude."
no answer.
i narrowed my eyes.
"especially today."
still nothing.
"seriously."
i huffed in frustration and headed toward the drawing room, already bracing myself to find yet another empty room.
the moment i stepped inside, something felt off.
it took me a second to realize what it was.
something was missing.
my blanket.
the soft green one i always curled up with while reading even if it itched my nose.
i stopped in the doorway, blinking at the sofa.
maybe i'd left it somewhere else but still i searched the drawing room to be sure, checking the sofa cushions, the armchairs, even the floor beside the fireplace where it occasionally slipped when I fell asleep with a book in my lap.
nothing.
frowning, inchecked the library once again.
but then inrealized something i hadn't noticed the first time I'd been in there.
my book was gone.
the novel I'd been reading the night before had vanished from the armchair.
i stared at the empty surface.
i knew I'd left it there.
i remembered closing it before going to bed last night, thinking how i was too tired to read in bed, placing it gently in the armchair i was sitting on for the better half of the day, i even remembered thinking i'd finish the last few chapters tonight.
yet now there was nothing.
s faint suspicion began to form.
later, that suspicion had become certainty.
because then my favorite mug disappeared.
the blue one with the chipped handle I used every single day had vanished.
i set it beside the sink after washing it in the morning. i knew exactly where I'd left it.
and now it was gone.
completely gone.
i searched the kitchen from top to bottom.
every cabinet. every shelf. every drawer.
i stood in the middle of the room with my hands on my hips and stared at absolutely nothing.
"brahms."
silence.
my eyes narrowed.
"brahms heelshire."
still nothing.
but now the silence felt different.
less eerie. more guilty.
i crossed my arms and looked up toward the walls.
"whatever you're doing," you called, "i'm going to find out."
the manor remained stubbornly quiet.
the only response was the grandfather clock ticking somewhere down the hall.
by the beginning of the night, i had worked myself into a state of dramatic indignation.
i was sitting on the sofa with my arms crossed when i heard it.
a sound.
a quick scuff of movement.
i immediately sat upright.
"there you are."
a hidden panel shifted and brahms stepped out.
my irritation evaporated instantly.
his hair was a complete mess, dark curls sticking out in every direction as though he'd spent hours running his hands through them. the sleeves of his cardigan were rolled up unevenly, exposing his forearms, and dust clung stubbornly to his clothes and even to the smooth white surface of his mask.
he looked exhausted.
but more than any of that, one thing stood out immediately.
he looked nervous.
which immediately made me suspicious.
"brahms."
his eyes flickered toward me.
then away.
then back again.
"hello." i smiled "where have you been?"
"busy."
"doing what?"
"things."
"things."
"yes."
i narrowed my eyes.
"you stole my blanket."
"no."
"you stole my book."
"no."
"my mug?"
"no."
a beat.
"you absolutely did."
i knew him well enough to know he was grinning like an idiot behind the mask. a tiny laugh escaped him a second later, as if he couldn't quite contain his satisfaction with himself.
caught.
before i could continue interrogating him, he suddenly reached for my hand.
"come with me."
i blinked.
"what?"
"come."
"brahms-"
"please."
that single word stopped me.
not because he said it often, he absolutely didn't.
but because of the way he said it.
there was something strange in his voice.
i glanced at him for a moment before finally sighing.
"fine."
the relief in his posture was immediate.
without another word, he grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the wall.
a hidden passage swung open.
then another.
and another.
we descended deeper into Heelshire Manor than i'd ever gone before.
the familiar routes i knew gave way to older corridors, narrower ones, passageways that looked as though they hadn't been used in years. the walls twisted around us like a maze, turning left, then right, then left again until iblost all sense of direction.
brahms never let go of my hand.
if anything, his grip tightened the deeper we went.
excitement began to replace my confusion.
what on earth had he been doing all day?
"brahms, where are we going?"
"you'll see."
the answer only made me more curious.
eventually he stopped in front of a narrow wooden door i had never noticed before.
for a moment, he simply stood there.
suddenly looking uncertain.
like he was reconsidering the entire idea.
my fingers tightened around his.
"what?" i asked softly.
he swallowed and pushed the door open.
the room beyond glowed with candlelight.
i stepped inside.
and froze.
the room was illuminated by every lamp in heelshire manor.
from table lamps to reading lamps.
at least three of them were missing from rooms I'd walked through earlier.
one of them, i was fairly certain, had been in the library that morning.
a laugh escaped my lips as my eyes landed on the floor.
my blanket.
the green one I'd spent half the day searching for.
it had been spread carefully across the center of the room surrounded by cushions.
slowly, my gaze moved further.
my book sat neatly beside the blanket.
the novel I'd thought had disappeared.
next to it rested a stack of gifts wrapped in paper that looked suspiciously handmade.
my blue mug sat beside a steaming teapot.
the chipped one.
the one i used every morning.
flowers filled old glass bottles and jars, gathered from the manor grounds. handmade paper decorations hung from the ceiling, swaying gently whenever a draft slipped through the hidden corridors.
then my eyes found the far wall.
and my breath caught.
a banner stretched across the stone, the letters weren't perfectly straight and some were larger than others, one even looked as though it had been attached twice after falling off.
but i had never seen anything more beautiful.
'HAPPY BIRTHDAY'
for several long seconds, i couldn't speak.
couldn't move.
couldn't do anything except stare.
trying to understand that Brahms, the man who avoided people, avoided attention, avoided almost everything, had apparently spent the entire day building this.
for me.
every missing item.
every strange disappearance.
every moment he had been gone.
it had all led to this.
i turned slowly toward him.
he looked absolutely miserable.
not because he regretted it.
because he was waiting for my reaction.
terrified i wouldn't like it.
"it isn't much," he mumbled.
i actually laughed.
a helpless, disbelieving laugh.
"brahms."
his shoulders tensed.
"it isn't-"
"this took you all day."
silence.
"you made all of this."
silence.
"you stole half the house."
i looked around once more.
at the lamps, the flowers, the gifts, the banner that was very obviously handmade.
at every small detail that proved he'd noticed things I hadn't even realized he paid attention to.
my favorite blanket, my favorite mug, my favorite book.
not random choices.
things that mattered to me.
things he'd remembered.
my chest tightened.
because no one had ever done anything like this before.
not really.
not with this much thought.
not with this much care.
when i looked back at him, his eyes were fixed on the floor.
unable to contain myself anymore i crossed the room and wrapped my arms around him.
and felt him go completely still.
"itβs perfect," i whispered. "this is the best birthday i ever had, brahms"
for a moment he didn't move.
then i felt him exhale.
a long, shaky breath.
like he'd been holding it all day.
slowly, his arms wrapped around my waist.
his forehead rested against my shoulder.
and hidden deep inside the walls of heelshire manor, i realized that nobody had ever made me feel more loved than the strange, lonely man holding me in his arms.
