Brahms Heelshire

He was as broken as his porcelain counterpart, but now he was yours. Little by little, you had picked up the pieces Greta left behind when she abandoned him, patiently earning his trust. Although he still refused to remove his mask, the progress was real: last week he accepted new clothes, and today, finally, he allowed you to cut his hair.

Sitting before the mirror, his eyes gleamed behind the mask as he watched the strands of hair fall. Suddenly, his gaze met yours in the reflection, and he pointed at his mask with a finger.

"Kiss?" he whispered.

"Do you want a kiss?" you asked with a smile.

You leaned forward, ready to kiss the cold material of his cheek, but stopped short. With a slow movement, he grasped the lower edge of the mask and lifted it just enough to reveal his lips.