"You know the rules."
You looked at Brahms from your perch on the couch, face remaining emotionless.
You'd anticipated this reaction from him, but you'd had no choice and this had just become part of the routine.
Food was running low and you had had to order a supply to come to the house, especially as you still hadn't gotten around to finding a new grocery runner.
That in itself was going to be a hard job to get around, especially with Brahms getting possessive every time someone else so much as glanced at you.
How were you supposed to choose the right person if he was breathing over your shoulder and fretting that you would leave him?
You couldn't risk putting others lives in such danger, but it also meant that you could only have the groceries delivered and that led to much of the same.
Every time, without fail.
Sometimes were worse than others, that solely depended on who they had delivering that day.
Unfortunately, the young delivery man today was happy to stand around and chat, a wide smile adorning his face the entire time as he enthusiastically talked about his job and his day, ignorant to the fact that Brahms would be watching.
You had tried to get him to leave multiple times, though had never been too pushy about it in order to save face and not raise alarm that you were in the home of a complete psychopath with an unhealthy obsession with you.
It was a role you had grown accustomed to, the weird relationship did nothing to lessen your morbid love for the wall-living, masked man but you knew how it would look to anyone outside of the relationship.
Sadly, Brahms couldn't get his head to come around to the fact that you were genuinely happy with him and had no plans of leaving, despite what most clear-thinking people would say about your strange love for the deprived man.
Admittedly, there was a thrill to riling him up and working it out later on.
He just seemed to morph when he was angry and possessive and damn if you didn't like it.
"I know the rules, Brahms," you said softly, not breaking eye contact, "but he wasn't a 'guest', he was merely someone making a delivery."
"You were taking too long with him."
"He caught me in conversation, what was I supposed to do? Tell him to get lost?"
"Yes!"
You let out a loaded sigh and stood up, stilling having to reach up to be able to cup the edges of his mask between your hands.
"Brahms, you're overreacting."
"I'm not," he said, gentler than before but still on edge, "someone will come and take you away."
"They won't," you said softly, your fingertips tapping at the mask as they ran from the cheek down to the line of the chin.
You had especially learned after the last time he had gotten himself this worked up.
A lesson well taught at the bloody expense of a poor woman who had lost her way and had knocked on the door for help.
You had dared to greet her at the door and invite her inside to use the phone, Brahms made sure that she never made that phone call and you were given your first night of warning which left you aching as he seethed for days.
"I can't guarantee that."
"You don't trust my word?"
You hold eye contact and stare at one another for a lingering minute, a gaze filled with tension, insecurity and thrill.
"I don't trust anyone else," he eventually replied, placing his hands on your hips.
He gave you a harsh tug and pulled you into him, your chest pressing to his as he stared down at you.
"There are to be no guests."
"We need food, Brahms," you tried to reason.
His grip on your hips tightened and you knew that he'd easily bruise you if he continued.
"You aren't following the rules."
He dipped down, the lips of his strangely cold mask brushing against the shell of your ear, making a shiver of anticipation run through you.
"So I will have to remind you that you cannot get away, you are mine."