By now, you’d stopped pretending the house was empty at night.

It wasn’t.

It never really had been.

The rules were still there - quiet, unspoken, enforced in ways you only understood after breaking them once. Lights left at a certain brightness. Doors left exactly how they were found. Silence kept in the right places, at the right times.

But the biggest change wasn’t in the house anymore. It was him. Brahms was out now.

No more guessing in the walls, no more soft, hidden movements behind plaster and wood, now it was footsteps in hallways that didn’t belong to anyone else. The faint creak of floorboards just outside rooms you were already inside.

Presence, fully formed, fully aware, and always close.

Night had settled in properly when you noticed the shift.

The house went quieter in that specific way it only did when he was awake. Not peaceful, controlled. Like everything inside it was waiting for instructions it already knew it would receive.

You moved through the corridor slowly, already expecting it. The doll was gone from his usual place.

Of course he was.

A soft sound came from the end of the hallway, fabric brushing, a slow step, then stillness again. He's not hiding or rushing, he's just there, letting you find him when it suited him.

You turned the corner.

He was standing near the edge of the dim light from the window, half-shadowed, as if he’d always belonged there and the house was just catching up to the fact.

He's still masked and still quiet, watching and not doing anything else.

But he didn’t need to.

A pause stretched between you both, heavy with routine more than surprise now. This wasn’t new anymore. It wasn’t a shock.

It was just how nights ended.

A low creak sounded behind you, somewhere deeper in the house shifting into place, like it was acknowledging his presence too.

Brahms tilted his head slightly, waiting.

"Kiss?"

Whatever this need was, for sweet dreams in his sleep? It was already decided long before you got here.