Your POV

After the talk with Brahms in the library, I went up to my room. Since my time here, I have been dealing with the constant battle between what my values and morals were.

He killed an innocent girl for crying out loud. But, then again...he was just a scared little boy. He's never learned right from wrong and he doesn't how to react to certain situations. I can't say that Brahms is completely innocent in the same way I can't say he's completely guilty.

Was I beginning to sympathize with him?

As I sit on the bed, I start thinking about it more in depth.

Are psychopaths born or bred? It could be both. Either Brahms is a psychopath by nature, or he was molded into one by his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire kept him walled up; socially isolated. Brahms didn't have the chance to grow up or develop any sense of emotion or normality. If his overprotective and controlling parents raised him properly, he probably wouldn't be the way he is now. But, instead of trying to mitigate his behavior, they chose to take their own lives.

Brahms was already emotionally damaged as a child and, for his parents to confine him for all those years...How could they be so selfish and cruel?

Thinking about it made my chest grow tighter. As I try to ease the pain, my eyes stare blankly above the nightstand. I squint at it. Didn't I leave my camera there?

Slowly then all at once, I start to panic. I get off from the bed and start a search frenzy. In my mind, I run through a list of spots in the room of where it might be. I check under the bed, in the closet, even emptied out my luggage, and yet, it's nowhere to be found. Being a college student, money has always been really tight. I spent over a grand on that camera alone, never mind all my other equipment. I cannot afford to lose it!

I wasted a few minutes looking for it around the room. I would revisit the same spots over and over, as if my camera were to magically appear. The floor was littered with my clothes and the bed, stripped of its sheets and pillows. With no luck, I decided to look elsewhere.

As I was about to leave, Brahms stormed in frantically. His wide eyes glance at me, and then to the mess around the room. He was slouched over with one hand on his knee to keep himself up. His shoulders rising and falling as he pants heavily, like he had been running.

"Y/n-," he breathes out tiredly.

My body tense and eyes shut as I wait for Brahms to give me hell for the mess I've made.

"-Are you alright??" he asks, "What was with all that ruckus? And why are all your things tossed?"

His voice was full of concern rather than anger. It caught me a bit by surprise.

As I slowly open my eyes, I see Brahms, who was soaking wet from head to toe. He must've rushed out the shower...

His black locks stuck to the sides and forehead of his mask. Droplets of water drip from the ends of his hair. I watch as they leave wet trails from his neck, down to his chest. He had on a white, short-sleeved tee that clung to his arms and stomach.

I feel my heartbeat beginning to rise. I try to direct my attention somewhere else but, my eyes keep drawing back to his body. Though he wore a doll-like boy mask, with his manly physique, he was the perfectly odd manifestation of a man-child. Brahms' posture suddenly changes; now standing up with his back straight, allowing me to get a better look. His drenched shirt hugged around his slim waist and broad shoulders. It was so tight that, I could see the outline of his muscles...the defined ridges of his abs.

When I think of a wall-dweller, this body isn't exactly what comes to mind. Boy, was he fit.

When I am finally able to look up, Brahms' manner and expression had dramatically changed. Every ounce of anxiousness he had shown earlier has dissipated.

Now, as I gazed deeply into his eyes, his pupils had expanded in size. They were dark, intense, and full of longing as they fixated on my lips. As he continues staring, my mouth goes ajar.

At this point, I begin to feel a detachment from my own body. A surge of sensation runs through my lower abdomen, making its way further down my stomach. It's a strange feeling that I try to dismiss.

Brahms takes a step forward and before I could let my emotions take full control over me, I quickly jump back. While stumbling over one of my shoes, I abruptly interrupt him so he couldn't get any closer.

"-Where's my camera?!?"

Brahms gets startled and blinks his eyes at me.

That came out a bit too harsh...

Swallowing the big lump welling up in my throat, I try and ask again, " My camera, where is it?"

As a man of few words, he doesn't reply. Brahms tucks his hands into the front pockets of his black sweatpants. As he does so, his pants slide lower, just enough to expose his V-line. And, yet again, that feeling in my stomach comes back. Brahms, who seems unaware of what he's been doing, motions with his head for me to follow after him, leading me downstairs.