Christine hadn't planned to buy Erik a Christmas gift. In fact, she doubted that Erik noticed Christmas, let alone celebrated it. But once she'd stumbled upon the gift, she couldn't get the idea out of her head. Erik had given her so much – those dazzling sapphire earrings, the Grace Kelly tulle gown she'd worn for her debut performance, the speakers and headphones (she would not have her development delayed by faulty equipment), the brand new bicycle that he'd insisted she accept (if she would not let him provide a car and driver, then he would not let her continuing pedaling a crooked pile of rust), and on and on. And, of course, the music lessons. Christine's stomach twisted when she thought of it all. Too much. Much too much.

It had been a full two months since that terrible weekend – when she'd ripped off his mask and he'd locked her away, his flesh packed under her fingernails – and in that time, he'd only cried at her feet twice. But he'd been calmer over the past few weeks – his most gentle, engaging, brilliant self. He'd stopped moaning every time she left. He'd stopped asking sneering questions about that boy. He'd stopped saying he loved her in that awful, desperate way.

Instead, he played her music and made her tea (a sweet herbal tea she knew he despised, but bought just for her) told her stories and explained each exacting detail of each song and then, let her go with no more than a mournful look and a soft, "Goodbye, Christine," her name ascending from his tongue like a wish.

She guessed the snow (along with her unbroken promise to return for her lessons and occasionally stay in her room) had a soothing effect. The sky was dark before five, and the world seemed empty and hidden. The woods surrounding his house were even more silent than usual, and his gray stone door was difficult to spot through the frost. She imagined that this time of year made him feel safe. Well, safer.

Not that she'd asked. She hadn't asked him many things.

Guilty and nervous, she looked down at the silver-wrapped box in her hands. She was about to put her winter theory to the test.

Erik, frozen in his doorway, stared at the box as well, his mouth tight, barely visible under his full black mask.

"I was not expecting you this evening," he said, his voice grim. "Not for two more days. What's happened? If there's something you need, you know you need only call, and it will arrive at your door."

"I'm sorry to surprise you," Christine said, walking past him before he could stop her. She set the box down to remove her gloves and coat. His dress shirt was rumpled, something she'd never seen before. His cuffs were unbuttoned and his sleeves creases, as though he'd just unrolled the fabric back down to his wrists. He always exposed as little skin as possible, she knew, but now his hands were bare, as they often were when he played or composed. She must have interrupted him as he worked. Guilt, guilt, guilt. But she was determined. "Except that it's, well, a surprise."

"A surprise."

"Yes. Surprise! I know you're busy but please, come sit down with me. Just for five minutes." Christine walked down into the sunken living room, casting a glance out the broad window, over the granite courtyard and out onto the hazy valley far below. When she'd first come here, she'd felt sure the house was going to uproot and tumble off the cliff it had been carved into. Today, the frozen mountainside took her breath away.

Erik said nothing as he sat, not on the couch next to her, but the armchair at her side. He clenched his fists in his lap. Christine suddenly feared she'd badly misjudged all of this. Why had she thought tense, orderly Erik would welcome a surprise?

"I'm sorry again, Erik. To intrude. I know you like your privacy." She cleared her throat. "It's Christmas Eve, did you know?"

"Of course I know," Erik snarled. Christine felt her ribs contract. But Erik closed his eyes and steadied his tone. "I imagine you're on your way to a party. It's not necessary to drop in on me, my dear. I don't think much of the holiday."

Christine felt a blush overtake her cheeks. "No, it's not that. I came here to give you a gift."

Erik's arms seemed to tighten against his sides. He looked down at the box. "A gift."

"It's just a small thing. But I saw it and I thought…well, if we can pretend it's not for Christmas. But I'd like you to have it anyway."

Christine thrust the box toward Erik's lap. She scolded herself for interrupting his work, and for her fascination with the blue-veined, scarred skin of his hands. Silently, he began to pick off the scotch tape, his long, gray fingers working to unfold the wrapping at the edges rather than tear into the center, as she'd always done. His knuckles reminded her of marbles. He would hate to know she was thinking about his appearance. What was wrong with her? As the quiet hovered around them, Christine felt a wave of panic rise in her throat. She wanted to snatch the box back. She hadn't thought the gift through at all. How could she be so stupid! He would think she was laughing at him, or worse…

Erik wriggled the top from the bare cardboard box. He lifted the gift in the air between them. A black knitted ski mask, its features drooping from his hand. Erik stared without a word.

"It's not just a mask though," Christine blurted. "I saw it in the store and I thought, well, we haven't gone for a drive in a long time, and it's so cold out, so I thought maybe if you wore this, instead of your usual mask, we could go on a walk outside. In the park, they've set up all these lights on all the trees. And everyone's face is all bundled, so no one would know the difference." She couldn't find a way to make sense.

Erik lowered the ski mask into his lap. His own mask shadowed his eyes, and Christine couldn't read anything in his expression. She never could, to her endless frustration. She remembered, suddenly, Erik clenching his bare face, sobbing, screaming about the mask "gifted" to him by his mother. Trying to swallow the urge to vomit, she dug into the back pocket of her jeans.

"And look." She held up another knitted mask, this one a soft blue. "I have one too. I thought if we both wear one, we'll look more like winter wimps than bank robbers." She forced a laugh, but he didn't stir. She wanted to sink into the couch. "I thought about getting you a color, but I've only ever seen you wear black. I can take it back. I've hurt you, haven't I? I don't know what I was thinking."

"No," Erik whispered, shaking his head.

Christine met the flash of his yellow eyes, and although they retreated into the shadows of his mask, she knew he was starting right at her. His thin chest heaved.

"No one has ever given me a gift before. A true gift, with wrapping."

Christine forced herself to exhale. "You've given me so many things. And now I've messed it up."

"No, Christine. You don't understand. Of course you don't, my dear child. And you have not only given Erik a gift, you have offered to cover your own lovely face to make him comfortable. To go out in public with him. In all my life, never…" He ran his fingers over the knitting, dropping his gaze from hers. She knew by the new wet rasping sound that he was crying now, and although she'd suspected and learned some of the series of denials and rejections that had been his life, she was struck with the sharp understanding of what that really looked like. To live a whole life, offered nothing. With no other person caring for your happiness. And did she? Did she care? Why else would she have spent fifteen minute deciding which wrapping he would like the most. She'd pushed down the significance of her actions as she performed them, letting herself get caught up in the excitement of imaging the temporary freedom this might bring him. But now she had to wonder – why did his freedom matter to her? And, even more startling, why did she want to share it with him?

Erik's timid voice interrupted her thoughts. "You truly wish to go out with me? On a walk?"

"Yes. Of course." Although there was still fear, she knew this was true.

"Now? Can we go now?"

A warmth rippled over her. She smiled. "I think it's the perfect time for a walk."

Erik jumped from his chair. His limbs twitched, as though his body were unable to contain its joy.

"Oh, Christine. I wonder if this is a dream. Let's leave now, before I find out. Five minutes, I will come back in the proper clothes." He darted across the room, disappearing down the stairwell that led to the other rooms.

Watching his long back retreat, Christine felt a flash of apprehension. One moment she'd worried she'd wounded him, the next that she'd given him too much hope. But hope for what? She scolded herself. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted this moment. But that thought – that want – set something churning within her, a tangled jelly of panic and affection. Affection? Where had that come from? A memory of Erik sitting at the piano bench, turned toward her, explaining "The Jewel Song" while tracing the melody in the air, his fingers miming sunbursts on the short, high notes. His eyes sparkling as he praised her in his beautiful, impossible voice. Dimming as he escorted her to the front door. The way he kept his hands clenched behind his back, as though she wouldn't notice they'd been trembling.

They would go on a walk. In the fresh, cool air. Such a simple thing, and yet Christine felt herself rising up on a trapeze, unsure if this act would be disastrous or dazzling. Nothing was ever simple with Erik. Nothing was ever dull. She smiled at the thought, and she didn't want to run away. She wanted to make him happy, at least this once.

She pulled the blue ski mask over her face, arranging the eyeholes as best she could. For a little while, maybe they would see the world the same way.

Erik walked into his bedroom, his heart racing, the knit mask clutched in his bony fist as though it would evaporate if he loosened his grip. He wouldn't tell her that he had, of course, thought of her ski mask idea long ago. He owned several, along with various hats and scarves that did decent jobs of obscuring his freakishness. In some ways, winter was his favorite season. In years past, he'd found that he could, despite his unnatural height and thinness, pass almost unnoticed among the bundled crowds. He could run some errands on his own, without the assistance of the internet, though vey few store managers appreciated a masked man wandering around the produce section.

He removed his normal mask and pressed a towel to his dead face, drying it briefly so the wool wouldn't immediately stick to his skin. He also wouldn't tell Christine that the knit mask had its disadvantages. First, it would sit strangely on his face, too flat where the ridge of his nose should be. His cheeks would sting and then sweat, and the cold would sometimes cause the hole in the center of his face to run unpleasantly. Underneath the mask, he would be more of a mess than he already was. But she wouldn't have to know that. He would gladly suffer this discomfort for an hour outside, walking beside her.

Had she known how often he'd dreamt of this? To go on a stroll, in a park, together, like a normal man and a normal woman! Even now, the dark thoughts crept within him – of course she knew. Hadn't he yelled – no screamed – this exact wish on the terrible day she'd unmasked him? She pitied him then as she surely did now. This would be a grotesque farce. He had no idea how to behave as a normal man. He did not belong to the human race, and everyone would know it. Poor Christine, willing to walk with him, naïve enough to expect the members of the public to let him pass among them. He ached at the thought of her receiving the same stares, the same whispers. He should tell her he couldn't go. He should send her off to her Christmas parties and the company of the handsome boy.

He should, but he knew he was too weak for that. Not today. Not when she had sought him out – him! And not that boy! He pulled a sweater over his terrible head, yanked a coat over his jagged shoulders. He found a pair of thick leather gloves. Then, finally, the mask. It itched his neck. Although Christine had done well, had apparently taken care with her selection, he feared the mask exposed too much of his sunken eye sockets. He would need to be diligent about pulling it into place.

He closed his eyes. Perhaps it was a trick. He'd been humiliated before, why not again?

But when he returned to the living room and saw Christine there, already wearing her powder blue mask, looking at herself in her cellphone's camera, he knew he would take the risk. She was covering her own lovely face, for him. It was unthinkable, but there she was, her lips even pinker, her eyes even brighter. He blinked and willed his heart to stop ricocheting through his chest. She smiled at him.

"We look like members of that punk band, don't we?" She laughed, swinging her blonde braid. "Well, in my case, maybe some bizarre children's punk band? Plus I don't think there are guys in that bad? Yikes, what am I even talking about, huh?" She laughed again, but her voice rose as it always did when she was nervous. Uncomfortable.

"You don't have to do this, Christine. Truly, the thought is more than enough."

"Don't be silly."

"I haven't arranged for a car. How will we get there?" He couldn't stop giving her an excuse to escape this. Better to realize her mistake now then out there, when he'd come so close. At least then he could preserve the fantasy.

"I called for one already! It'll be here in two minutes. It won't be as fancy as your service, unfortunately, but I got a nice one. I think. Let's go!"

He stared at her, awed by her determination and cheer. It seemed it was he who couldn't escape this. The realization filled him with relief, and anxiety, and something truly frightening – hope.

As she'd said, the car was not as "fancy" or as private as the service he relied on for the rare occasions he needed to enter the world of people. But, the driver said almost nothing to them. And Christine sat beside him in the back, clapping her mittens together and grinning. By the time they arrived at the park, Erik was almost entirely certain that this was, in fact, a dream. How else could he explain the strange pastel hue of the light, of the leafless trees. The sun was just beginning to set, but somehow everything glowed. To his disgust, he felt almost dizzy.

And there were people here! Children sledding on a low hill. Parents watching with thermoses and cameras. Couples walking hand in hand. Too many people! Erik felt his muscles tensing, preparing to flee. Christine pulled up the faux-fur lined hood of her coat and hopped ahead of him, across the parking lot to a nearly-clear cement path. Against every better instinct, he followed.

"Look how beautiful it is!" She gestured to the smooth, plump snow. "It's really the perfect day to walk here, before the snow gets all slushy. I hope they turn the lights on soon. I'm sure they will. What do you think, Erik? Erik?"

Her words were rushing together, and she was smiling so broadly. When had he last seen such a smile? Not for months, surely. He walked just behind her on the path, torn between keeping watch on the strangers around them and letting himself get lost in her adorable glee. But, if he could see so much of her mouth, surely she could see too much of his. He turned his collar up around his jaw.

"It's…pleasant," he managed.

"Oh, Erik. From you, I'll take that as high praise."

Was she…teasing him? Nothing made sense. "It is," he said and continued along at her relaxed pace.

They walked in silence for a while. Then Christine blurted, "Why are you walking behind me?" She turned as she spoke, turned too fast, and slipped on a patch of ice. Erik caught her. His whole body tensed as her shoulder pressed against his torso, her arm against the crook of his arm.

"Oh, sorry," she said, her voice small, her blue eyes wide. "I mean, thanks." To his horror, neither of them moved. She blinked up at him, and then gasped. He felt himself coil inward.

"Look, the lights are turning on! Wow. They're kind of a mess, but I'm a sucker for lights." She was gazing around them now, taking in the colors twinkling over every tree, mouth parted in an awed smile. She lifted her arm and then, inexplicably, weaved it below his, linking their elbows together, before tugging him along the path at the same slow pace. "Is this okay? I fall at least once every winter, and I'd rather not start tonight."

He nodded, wordless, voiceless. She was an angel. That was the only thing he could think. Angel, angel, angel. His heart swelled with love for her. He had never touched anyone like this before. And she'd initiated! It wasn't his fault if she was repulsed later. He hadn't asked her to do this. Had he? His mind raced. No, no. She leaned against him as she tiptoed across a slick bit of walkway. She leaned against him.

They walked this way for a while. She looked at the lights. He looked at her. If she noticed, she gave no sign. She talked to him about Christmas with her father, years ago. She told a story about decorating cookies with paint and glitter that made them both laugh. He adored the sound of her laugh.

They stopped when they came to a large frozen pond. There were ice skaters, teenagers and adults stumbling and twirling to the gentle music drifting from large, ancient speakers. At his side, Christine gave a dreamy sigh.

"I used to love ice skating. When I was a girl. And look, you can rent skates! How great." She gazed up at him. "We'll have to come back sometime."

Again, Erik was stunned. Was the cold affecting her mind somehow? He wasn't familiar with the symptoms of hypothermia, but he imagined this obvious delirium might be one of them. "I've never skated." He cursed himself for his flat tone. Why couldn't he speak to her like a person? Why couldn't he even pretend correctly?

"You'll be good at it. You're good at everything. I'll teach you. I owe you lessons, don't I?" She giggled.

He couldn't take it anymore. Even earlier that day, he'd been able to sense her fear of him. Her enduring unease. What had changed? Why, now, was she looking up at him with those clear, peaceful eyes? He loved her so completely, and the wave of hope was too much. "Christine," he began, and he knew his voice betrayed him.

She blinked, and for a moment, he was sure he'd ruined everything. She seemed to remember who she was with, whose arm she held. She tilted her head.

"I don't know if it's the lights or this mask, but your eyes look so different right now."

He dropped his face, ashamed, and moved his free hand to adjust the mask. He'd forgotten! How had he let himself be so sloppy? But Christine stopped his arm.

"No, no. I'm sorry. I mean, I can see them better. That's it, I think. I can see your eyes better, and it's nice."

"Nice?"
"Yes." Christine shrugged. "It's not as hard to tell what you're thinking. Maybe. Not that you're ever easy to read."

"Ah."

Christine sighed, shaking her head. "I'm just teasing you, Erik. But that's not very nice of me, is it? Sometimes, I forget…"

"That it's dangerous to tease a monster." The feeling of her touch on both of his arms was becoming too much for him to bear. He wanted to bolt and hide, like the animal he knew he was. Sweat burned across his ruined cheeks.

"Erik! You're being impossible on purpose. I'm trying to be nice to you."
"I don't want pity, Christine."

"I don't pity you, you ridiculous man. I'm sorry that you've suffered so much, yes. But I don't pity you, and I'm hardly even scared of you anymore, but after tonight, I think you might be a little afraid of me, so you can stop trying to frighten me away, or whatever it is you're up to. Your eyes give you away. Did you know that? And I'm glad. It's nice. It's nice to see you. And I'm trying to be nice, but only because I like spending time with you. So shut up and watch the ice skaters with me, before I get really mad."

She dropped the hand on his lifted arm, but tightened her elbow around his, nestling closer to his side. He'd never felt so confused. He'd certainly never let anyone talk to him that way, not since he'd been a boy, when the harsh words came with harsher blows. Why would she scold him but stay near him, without hurting him? Nothing made any sense at all. She was even humming! Then she was singing along with the Christmas music, her voice quiet and soft and sweet. A knotted part of him relaxed. And that alarmed him more than anything.

Minutes passed, and the sky grew darker, and Christine began to shiver. His own toes were numb, and he could scarcely imagine the damage accumulating on his frigid, leaking face, but he couldn't bring himself to initiate their departure, even if he couldn't understand what they were doing there at all. Anxieties raced through his mind, but still, Christine was pressed against him. She liked spending time with him! She'd said it! He hadn't imagined it, had he? No, even though he'd imagined such words and touches so many times, he hadn't imagined those. He felt suddenly exhausted. He was just beginning to understand this evening was real, and now it was almost over.

Christine yawned. "I'm freezing," she said. "Can you… do you mind if I hug you for a second? And then we can leave, I promise."

Erik could only nod. Christine's arms, puffy and soft in her absurd, charming coat, wrapped around his waist. She lowered her head to his chest, and her faux-fur tickled his lips. He'd never been hugged before, but he knew his arms should go somewhere too. He tentatively draped them over her shoulders, letting his hands dangle awkwardly in the air behind her. His whole body trembled, and he nearly pulled back in shame. Then he felt Christine breathe deeply, again and again, until his inhales and exhales matched hers. It was hypnotizing, this rhythmic calm. He wondered if he would ever again be as happy as he was in this moment. She yawned again, against his coat.

"This weather makes me so sleepy. I have to make it to midnight mass with Mamma Valerius somehow. I don't know how I'll stay awake," she said. He could feel her jaw moving against his sternum.

He longed to tell her not to, to come with him and fall asleep in the room he kept for her instead. But he stayed silent. She pulled back and smiled at him.

"I'll call a car for us. It can drop us both off."

"No," he started. "No, please, let me, you've paid for enough." He'd almost spoken his wish! He was growing weak, it was certain.

"Tsk. It's a gift, Erik. That's how gifts work."
He began to protest, but stopped himself. She was watching him intently. Suddenly bold, he slid his hands down her arms and held her mittens, gentle as could be.

"Thank you, Christine. I will treasure this gift forever."

And she did not pull away. Instead, to his astonishment, she replied, "Me too."

Arm in arm, they walked back across the park, toward the car, toward their parting. But Erik did not feel the same familiar emptiness he'd become accustomed to at their goodbyes. Instead, he indulged himself, imagining Christine graceful and beautiful on her ice skates, her hands guiding his, teaching him how to glide.