Work Text:
You knew Brahms to be clumsy at times, calling him butter finger in the most affectionate tone. Right from the start, when he shuffled through the walls, he'd hit the beams with a thud which you brushed off as "old house noises".
But this particular day was something else. When you weren't carrying the miniature, Brahms himself would. So when you had exited out to the hallway from the study, only to hear the crashing behind you. Your heart sank to your stomach.
The crash was an understatement; it was a shattering that pierced your ears. Fill the silence with anxious energy.
" Brahms, is everything alright?" You were concerned as you peeked around the corner. Only to see Brahms hunched on the floor and holding a shard of what was the doll's head, specifically of its hair. His shoulders jerked, only worsening with a violent sniffle coming from behind the mask.
You quietly approached and picked up another shard; you presumed it was a section of an eye socket. The only detail was the delicately painted eyebrow. Your eyes followed the rest of the pieces like a jigsaw puzzle.
But you'd be interrupted by Brahms falling back on his rear after crouching for so long, hands clenched over the top edge of his mask. His body quaked with each silent cry.
"Hey hey hey! It's okay. It was an accident!" You begin as you rub his shoulder, trying to calm his shaking form.
"He's ruined. I ruined him." He gently wept.
"No, you haven't! We can fix him!"
"HOW?" He yelled as he brought his hands down. His breathing was heavy with frustration. Your cooing wouldn't calm him this time, it seemed.
"No, seriously. I know how! I." You begin to explain as Brahms stood up, beginning to pace in his distress.
"I used to restore old dolls before I met you."
He stops, head ever so slightly turning your way.
You continue, "I was bored… Saw some videos online of people restoring old items, and I wanted to try it for myself."
You explain the experience you had restoring these dolls from the painting and the repairing of the clothes. You nonchalantly spoke of this while carefully piling up the doll's pieces in the hem of your shirt like a pouch.
Brahms was convinced as he returned to you to help pinch pieces into your shirt, all the while listening was awe.
"You really think… you could fix him?"
"I can only say I can try my very best." You hum at your success.
---
It had been a long while since you had been to the basement, but you remember there being a workstation of sorts down there. While you carefully roamed, the remains of the boy sloshed in your pocket like a sea of dishes. Brahms, on the other hand, brought your art equipment as requested.
Before you knew it, you had dumped the pieces onto the station and carefully arranged them around by placement order. It was like staring at a page from a lego instruction manual, except with a doll instead of a structure from a beloved licensed franchise.
You two stare admiringly at the organisation of the piece for a minute.
"Now what?" Brahms Chimes
Your head twists to look at him, then down to an old bottle of wood glue. Dusted n dirty, old dried glue oozed down its sides.
"It's not the same stuff you'd use. But! It's a decent alternative!" You answer as you test the bottle's contents. Lucky for everyone, the glue was still usable.
You two spend the next hour or so carefully picking out pieces and glueing them back onto the boy's body. It took so long since you'd have to wait for a good minute or so before continuing to the next. Otherwise, all your previous teamwork fell apart.
But what truly mattered was that: You and Brahms were bonding. Brahms was learning while you were dabbling back into an old hobby. A pleasant way to spend your afternoon. Consider asking Malcolm to purchase a jigsaw next time he visits.
By the time you had finished fixing up the doll's head, it was time for you two to have dinner.
"Perfect timing, cause he'll need to stay here to dry."
"Stay down here? Alone?" Brahms sounded concerned.
"He'll be fine for the night. Only you and I come down here anyway" you grabbed his hand and gave an affectionate squeeze. Earning a cheerful huff in return, assuring he'd leave the doll be.
You intended to let go, but your hands were stuck together by the excess glue. You both rush back upstairs in a panic to wash your hands apart.