Broken Shadow ☆ Brahms x Male oc

☆two☆

The light seeped through the curtains above me. It was nearly five thirty by the position of the sun. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I reached for my watch from the bedside table where I had left it the night before, only to find it was gone. I chuckled.

“Silly, Brahms.” I said, standing from the bed. I dressed, eyeing the clock in the hallway.

Six-forty three.

Still to early to wake Brahms. I went to the bathroom to shave, hoping to pass the time. Once I had rid myself of any hair on my chin, I left the room again, eyeing the clock once more.

Six-fifty eight. Then the hand clicked again. Six-fifty nine.

I watched until it clicked again, before knocking on Brahms' door.

Once it was opened, I went inside, finding him in the spot I saw him last. I smiled.

“Time to wake up, Brahms. It’s seven on the dot.” I got closer, tapping his shoulder before lifting him onto my waist. I sat in the rocker, changing his clothes. “Good morning, Brahms. How about food?”

I bounced up, leaving the door open behind me. I descended the stair to see the Heelshires already packed. I furrowed my eyebrows at the minimal amount of necessities they had packed.

“I thought you said you were to be gone for two weeks?” I asked. They both nodded.

“We're light packers.”

I simply shrugged. “I’ve brought Brahms down to send you off.”

They nodded again, each kissing Brahms goodbye. On their way out to their car, Mrs. Heelshire called back. “We’ll send Brahms a letter. Leave it out for him, but do not read it.”

“Of course, Miss.” I said, waving goodbye.

☆°~°☆

It had been two weeks. Despite hearing creaking in the walls, I had not yet seen any rats in the traps. Malcom had been by once. He was unable to get by the second time due to a date he had.

Not that I minded, of course. Brahms and I were just fine by ourselves.

Now, I sat at the piano, next to the bench, a chair I had pulled up for Brahms. I began to play him a song I knew well from my childhood. My mother used to hum it to me as I went to bed.

Claire de Lune. It was always one of my favorites. I just hoped Brahms liked it.

After that, I made Brahms dinner. Chicken Alfredo with chunky noodles. I ate mine with him, sipping at my juice. Randomly, I turned to look at the doll.

“Do you like juice, Brahms?” I asked, aloud. “I’ll leave a glass on the freezer for you.”

By now, I had managed to convince myself Brahms was real. The food I left disappeared. Always rat noises, but no rats. Sometimes my things would go missing, and I would find them on my dresser a day or two after. Once, I swore Brahms moved after I set him down and left, only to return a few minutes later.

I guess I didn’t mind. I’d always thought it would be interesting to be in a situation such as mine.

But that night, as I bid my goodnight to Brahms, a high voice responded.

“Good night, Mikey.” It said. Only it sounded like it came from the walls. It was quiet, like I wasn’t meant to actually hear whoever said it. I merely smiled, glancing at the small hole in the wallpaper.

I kissed Brahms goodnight, hearing a small giggle come from the high pitched voice.

I stood, and flicked the light like I always did. I got dressed for bed, and wiggled my way under the covers. When I started to hear humming, it was closer this time. I peeked an eye open to see a large figure standing over me. I furrowed my brows.

“Brahms?” I asked, lightly, sitting up. The figure jumped, facing me.

“Yes?” The voice responded.

“I must be dreaming. Tell me. Am I dreaming? Or are you …” I trailed off, reaching out an arm to touch the figure. “… real…?”

I felt the rough feel of cloth against my fingertips. A hand grasped my wrist, gently. The figure chuckled, voice not so high pitched this time. “I’m real.”

“Did you always hum to me at night?” I asked, sitting up all the way, now, the hand on my wrist moving upwards.

“Yes.” He answered. I smiled.

“Your voice is soothing.” I smiled, sleepily, leaning against him. He took a surprised deep breath, and I could hear his heart beat faster. “Would you do it again?”

“Of course.” This time, though, his voice was normal, deep, like honey. I smiled. He started to hum a tune that was so familiar to me.

“Claire de Lune.” I chuckled. “You were listening.”

A light giggle interrupted his singing. “I always was.”