Brahms takes me into the walls, showing me a different entrance from the last time. Once again, I get to see into Brahms' lair. I found it odd that, even when he doesn't need to anymore, he still sleeps, eats, and showers in there. Speaking of showers, when we enter, the room was congested and filled with warm steam. I could already feel my hair starting to frizz and a dewiness form on my skin.

Immediately, my eyes try to search for any gleam of shiny metal that might be part of the camera I was looking for. The fog obscuring my vision made it difficult to do so. Brahms leads the way into the mist. He was too far ahead of me that I began to lose sight of him. I watch as the fog wraps around his body like a blanket until he completely disappears.

Where did he go?

While looking around, my eyes catch a wink of something shiny. In short little struts, I carefully follow towards the faint glimmer. As I creep closer, the brighter and more visible it becomes, revealing it's pale white color. It seems that I'm now in an arms length of it so, I hold out both hands in front of me. Taking my time, I reach out to try and touch it. Pushing my fingertips out until it meets with something hard. As my nails comes into contact with it, it makes the sound like that of something fragile; a thud that echoes many times before dissipating. My fingers trace around the white object. It's cool to the touch and smooth on the edges. I feel a space in between where my fingers can fit. When my hands grip the sides, I begin to lift upwards.

As I do, I feel a sudden grip on my right wrist. It's strong, stopping me from moving my hand further away. I hear a clicking noise that's followed by the feeling of a breeze that blows at me from the side. The breeze was coming from an oscillating fan that I can see now due to its wind circulating the air. The dense fog had quickly faded away, uncovering to me what I've been touching. That pale white color, thin and delicate, smooth to the touch...it was Brahms' mask.

To my disappointment, he was still wearing it. My hands still held onto its sides, hoping he'd let me continue. However, the look in his eyes told me otherwise. Brahms' unmoving gaze was accompanied by deliberate slow breathing, like he was fighting back something.

As his grip around my wrist tightened, through gritted teeth he growls, " Let go. "

His deep voice reverberated through my bones. The low tone sent chills down my spine like a roll of thunder. At his demand, my fingers release. He loosens his grip, causing my arm to fall from his grasp. As he does so, I make a mental note.

Do. Not. Try. To. Take. Off. His. Mask.

Brahms then walks past me, blocking air from the fan, long enough for me to catch a whiff of his scent — intermingling with the outlandish aroma of pine and sweet honey-suckle. With my hands now glued to my thighs out of fear, I turn my body towards him. Feeling like one of the Queen's guardsman, I watch as he walks over to a rocking chair. On top of its seat, lay my camera.

I rush over to the chair to get a hold of it. I was expecting for it to be shattered but, the lens didn't even have a scratch on it. My camera remained in perfect condition which made me let out a big sigh of relief.

"Why did you take it from me?" I ask Brahms softly.

He answered back, plain and simply put, "I was interested."

"Have you never seen a camera before?" I asked curiously.

"I have, thought it's my first time seeing one that resembles yours."

I nod.

I can understand his fascination. Considering his parents were old fashioned, I don't expect him to know much about modern technology. I mean, they own a freaking phonograph when iPhones and bluetooth speakers exist.

"This camera is important to me," I tell him, "It's the camera I'm using...was using to potentially start my career in filmmaking. I know you were interested in it which, is totally okay to be but, you could've asked...You-you can't just take things that aren't yours."

That last bit felt awkward coming from my lips. I was scolding a grown man; a man a few years older than myself. I was hesitant before saying that last sentence, not knowing how he'd take it. This man did have the temper of, well...an 8-year-old.

Brahms had remained silent after but, his lowered head and eyes that drifted to the side told me enough.

"Maybe I could show you how to use the camera sometime..." As soon as I said that, I wanted to take it back.

I glance at Brahms. His eyes had lit up. With his head nodding vigorously, his tangled mess of curls bounced. He seemed to like that offer. Too bad for him, it was an empty promise that I would not be able to fulfill since, surely, I would be out of here soon.

Author's Note: Feel free to check out my twitter for some Brahms shitposts/edits/etc.. @heelshireboi