His Many Masks *The Boy fan fiction*

Chapter Twenty Seven

"No quote today, I think the chapter explains itself"
                                                                                   - Ri

Don't ask, don't tell. That was something Brahms and I developed early on. Was it healthy? No, but was it easy? Yes. Unfortunately easy and healthy don't go well together; but then again, neither do we.

I sat against the headboard. Most of my days were spent there. Whether I was thinking, pouting, or hiding, the headboard was my go to.

Brahms and I had been distant since that night. We never talked much and when we did, it was always forced.

It confused me as to why our relationship had taken suck a drastic turn. Wasn't sex supposed to bring people closer together? I wasn't as embarrassed as I thought I'd be about opening up physically to him, but I still wasn't comfortable and I knew he wasn't either.

I sighed loudly and stood up. I needed to talk to him. Either way would be a lose lose situation, I had nothing to gain but clarity.

As I walked down the steps, my anxiety began to get the best of me. I was never a communicator. Sharing my feelings and thoughts was always considered foreign to me. Doing this, I was showing myself how much I cared for Brahms; and that was what kept me going.

We had said we "loved each other," once but I feel like it was just heightened emotions. I doubted his words.

I found him where I figured he'd be. The library. For someone so quiet, his mind was always speaking.

I cleared my throat to signal my arrival, and leaned against the doorway.

Brahms immediately shot up from the book resting in his hands, and locked eyes with mine.

I swallowed. Be honest with him. He needs to know how you feel.

"Brahms? Can we talk?" I asked quietly, any inch of confidence I had, was now swirling in a metaphorical drain.

Brahms shut his book and placed it aside giving me his undivided attention.

"I've been meaning to ask you," I paused. My throat was tightening and my mouth was becoming dry, "what am I to you?" Words were just words to him. If he meant what he had said to me before, he'd show it.

Maybe it was the way I asked, or how I said it, but Brahms wasn't happy with me. His eyebrows furrowed, and his lips thinned into a straight line, "what do you mean?"

The fear of rejection sat in the back of my mind. I can't do it. The minute I tell him is the minute he knows my biggest fear. Being rejected.

"I- I just-,"

"What?" Brahms interrupted me.

"I need to know something-," I stopped. I can't do this.

"Go on?" Brahms probed impatiently.

"Do you love me?" I asked shutting my eyes preparing for the worst.

Brahms sat quietly. I couldn't hear anything which caused me to open my eyes. There he sat, sitting and staring.

"I don't lie Kátalin. If I say something, I mean it."

The way his tone was made me think otherwise. Why was he so irritated by my question? Had he never needed reassurance from anyone before?

"What makes you think I do not?" He asked almost comically.

I don't know..... maybe the fact you've been ignoring me for the last few days?