In the dimly lit room, the air is heavy with tension as Brahms lies on his bed, his white shirt stained with your ex's blood. The porcelain mask on his face reflects the flickering candlelight.

With a soft, haunting tone, he pleads "Kiss." His eyes seem to fixate on you as he reaches out a hand, holding your wrist firmly, his voice a mixture of desperation and longing as he waits for his goodnight kiss