With a sponge, you scrub away the bits and pieces of the leftover dried fish stuck to your plate. You were in the midst of washing the last of the dishes when Brahms entered the kitchen. He was carrying his plate, completely clean besides a few fish bones. Brahms empties the remnants into the trash and then joins you over by the sink. He asks about the joke you made earlier. You smile to yourself as you explained the joke to him.

Brahms grabs a sponge, " So that's what that was?" He asks, referring to your attempt at an English accent.

" Was it that bad?" You ask, scooting over to make room for him. You take a bottle of dish soap and squeeze a quarter-sized amount onto his sponge.

Brahms side-eye's you then evades the question, " This show...," he says, " It sounds interesting. Tell me more."

" It's not as enjoyable if I just tell you about it," you reply, " It's too bad there's no internet or cable around here."

Brahms stops for a moment, " That's not true. There is—"

" —Yeah but we have to walk a mile outside to get a signal," You cut him off.

Brahms shakes his head, " There's a wifi router in the basement. I had it turned off," he says nonchalantly.

You were about to ask why but, you already understood. Brahms didn't trust you. If he did, he would've had it turned on considering he knows how much you needed it. Hasn't things changed since you've gotten to know each other more?

" Could you maybe turn it back on?" you ask.

Brahms doesn't respond and continues scrubbing at his plate. Your shoulders drop as you let out a quiet sigh. You place your dishes on the drying rack, " It's not like I haven't used my phone already," you try to reason, " I mean, I used it just yesterday to send an email to my professor when I could have called the police."

Brahms remains silent. All that's heard is the clanking of silverware and the running water of the faucet. As you were about to leave, you hear the water abruptly stop. You look behind and see Brahms drying his hands with a rag. He tosses it aside and jerks his head towards the hallway to the left. Brahms makes his way over and you follow shortly after. You both proceed down the unfamiliar hallway that you've never been through before. All that's there was a single door. When he opens it, you head down the steep set of stairs. You enter what looks like a wine cellar. There were cabinets full of wine and other alcoholic beverages. You could tell everything was expensive because you couldn't pronounce the names of any of them.

You walk over towards the various displays of red & white wine, taking one out at random, " Egon Muller Sch...Scharz..."

" —Egon Muller Scharzhofberger Riesling Trockenbeerenauslese," Brahms says effortlessly.

" Couldn't have said it better myself," You reply.

" All the way from the Mosel region of Germany," he informs you, " It's one of the most expensive white wines in the world."

" Of course it is, " you say, " How much?" you ask curiously.

" Around £9,000."

It takes you some time to convert pounds to U.S. dollars in your head. You weren't always the best at math. When you calculate that £9,000 is roughly $13,000 a bottle, your jaw drops to the floor. There were about 20 more bottles of that same wine! Why spend that much if it's just gonna sit here and collect dust? But then again, rich people don't need reasons to buy such things.

You examine the bottles of wine. All of which were filled to the brim.

" These all look untouched," you point out, " Do you not drink?"

Brahms nods, " I don't, though... If you'd like, you can bring a few bottles with you when we go back upstairs."

" Really?" you ask, " Thank you."

Brahms nods and goes into another room where you assume the router is located. While he turns the wifi back on, you browse through the cabinets. You try and pick out the ones that fit your taste, choosing wines that are sweet, have floral aromas, flavors of vanilla and almond, & use white fruits. You decide on only two, holding a bottle in each hand. As you and Brahms went up the stairs, he had to walk behind you since you had no free hands to hold onto the railings. As you were approaching the last few steps, you lose your balance and fall slightly backwards. It wasn't long before you felt a strong pair of hands around your hips. Brahms catches you and helps you regain your balance.

" That was just a trust fall," you try to play it off, " You passed."

For the rest of the way up, Brahms' hands never leave. They were glued to your hips until you're all the way up to the last step. Since you know Brahms can't see your face, you smile to yourself cheekily. After, you both decide to go to the library since the fireplace room still stinks of roadkill. Since there were no TV's, you were stuck watching Hell's Kitchen on the 6.5-inch screen of your iPhone. In order for both of you to see properly, you and Brahms had to sit relatively close to one another on the couch.

As you watched the show, you had tasted the wine. Although it was the best you've ever tasted before, it was definitely still overpriced. It went down smoothly and had a good balance between sweetness and bitterness. You enjoyed binge-watching together while drinking some exquisite wine. And Brahms seemed to be enjoying it too. Though he didn't comment very much, he was very attentive. Only taking his eyes off the screen when you sat up to pour yourself another glass. About three episodes in, you notice how his arm was laid very awkwardly next to yours. You felt bold at the moment, probably due to the wine, that you grab his arm and wrap it around your shoulder. At first, his arm felt very stiff. You notice his staring but, continue watching the show like nothing. Brahms' arm slowly falls limp, finally resting on top of your shoulder comfortably.

You lost count of how many glasses you've drank. You stopped counting after 6, which was when the graphics on the screen started to become blurry. You turn your head to look at Brahms. Usually he wouldn't notice, being so immersed in the show but, this time he actually looks back at you.

" Y/n? Are you okay?" He asks.

You part your lips to speak, your speech slurred, " Oh yeahh, I feel fine," you lied, " This wine is... It's amazing!" You lift your empty cup obnoxiously in Brahms' face, " Do me a favor and refill my glass...please."

With two fingers, Brahms gently pushes the glass out of his face and shakes his head.

" Why not?" You ask, annoyed, " I only had a few glasses."

Brahms looks at the bottles on the table, seeing that you had drank almost a whole bottle to yourself. He then leans forward, looking intently at your face, " A few glasses too many—," he says, " Oh, Y/n. It's quite stupid of you to get drunk like this..." he whispers.

You cup Brahms' face with your hands, " What did you call me?" You ask, his mask cold against the warm skin of your palms, " I'm not drunk! Maybe you just need a closer look," you say, pulling his head closer to yours with both hands. Your grip on him is weak. Weak enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. But, he doesn't.

Brahms' face is too close and too blurry to make out any facial features. Without a second thought, you start leaning closer until your lips nearly press against what you think and feel are the lips of his mask.

But, before your lips could fully touch, your stomach begins feeling queasy. You pull away and embarrassedly regurgitate a little bit of the white wine you had downed earlier in your mouth. It burns on its way up and you quickly force it back down with a big gulp.

You bring a hand up to cover your mouth, " I think I'm gonna be sick," you warn Brahms.

After that, he wastes no time getting you to the bathroom. He pulls you by your arm to get you off the couch. You lose your balance on the way up but, before you could fall, Brahms effortlessly lifts you with his arms. He carries you bridal style to avoid putting pressure on your weak stomach. When he brings you to the bathroom, Brahms sets you down on the bathroom floor next to the toilet while taking a seat for himself on the edge of the tub. He lifts the toilet seat up and brings your head closer. As you hover over, Brahms tucks the hanging strands of hair out of your face. While you vomit all the wine you had taken in, his other hand rubs your back for comfort.

With your sleeve, you wipe your mouth, " I'm sorry I—," you couldn't even get another word out before vomiting some more.

" —Shhh," he hushes you softly, " It's okay, Y/n. We'll talk later."

You nod and then continue puking your brains out. And when you finally finish, Brahms carries you to the room. He lays you down on the bed and tucks you under the covers. As if not wanting to leave, Brahms stands beside you for awhile. Though you were feeling drowsy, you muster enough energy and strength to tug on his arm. With little force, Brahms moves closer. You scoot over on the bed, leaving enough room for him. Still, he stands there, hesitant to join. You let go of his arm to pat the empty spot next to you. Reassuring him that it's okay. And with that, Brahms finally gets on. He's not too close nor too far away as he lies down, facing you with his arms crossed.

" Brahms," you mutter his name sleepily.

" Yes, y/n?" he replies.

" I almost kissed you earlier," you say, eyes getting heavy, " And you didn't stop me."

The good..or bad thing about being drunk is that, people tend to speak the truth more easily. Speaking out loud, every thought they have, unfiltered.

" Brahms, why didn't you stop me? Did you want to kiss me, too?"

You await to hear if Brahms has anything to say but, he doesn't speak.

" Brahms," you call out.

Again, no response.

" Brahms?" You say once more, but with confusion as you open your eyes to see that he's still there. Just staring at you.

" Why aren't you saying anything?" You ask.

Brahms finally speaks and when he does, he says something that makes your heart flutter, " I just like hearing you say my name."

You were thankful that your face was already flushed because Brahms can't notice you blushing.

" Oh yeah?" You say, " Well in that case..." You take a deep breath in and exhale, " Brahms, Brahms, Brahms, Brahms," You repeat his name over and over, quickly growing tired, " This is the part where you shut me up with a kiss."

You eagerly wait for Brahms to say or do something. His eyes shift between your left and right eye, as if he were thinking hard about his next move. Suddenly, Brahms' head tilts forward and so does yours. Your faces were about an inch away before Brahms stops. You lock eyes and in that moment, you wanted so badly to kiss him. Even if it's with the cold, hard lips of his mask. You tilt your chin up and your lips barely touch with that of his mask before Brahms quickly backs away.

When he does, it leaves you both confused. His reaction isn't what you hoped for and it seems as though Brahms didn't expect himself to react that way either. You both turn away from each other, embarrassed. There's an awkward silence that follows after. Brahms decides to break it by suggesting that you both get some rest. To which you agree. All the while, you're thinking to yourself, " Did I do something wrong?"