Gift Wrapping
Erik had never wrapped a gift in his life. He rarely gave gifts, to begin with, and when he did, he just stuck it in a bag and handed it over. He usually gave his friend, Ann Giry, a gift in an appropriate bag – snowman at Christmas, balloons on her birthday, etc., but Nadir was lucky if Erik even bothered to put it in a plastic grocery bag.
But this Christmas was different. Because Christine was different.
Erik was afraid that 35 was a little old to find his first love, but find her he did. Well, she had found him. More precisely, she had found the section of his chamber music choir's website advertising their summer auditions, and she had signed up for one.
Christine had been new to the city when she waltzed into the audition room. On paper, she was overqualified. She had a BFA and an MFA in Voice, had several soloist credits to her name, had even sung a couple of leading roles in her hometown of Seattle. But this was New York City, and she had not yet landed an audition at the Met. She was looking for exposure while she waited tables, which is what brought her to his choir.
Hmm, exposure, he thought wryly, as he remembered her dark curls, bright blue eyes, long legs – the resume on the back of her headshot listed some dance credits – and her sunny smile. The little sundresses in the summer, the spaghetti strap tank tops and cotton shorts in August when the air conditioning was out, the tight leggings in the fall…and the thrice-cursed lumpy sweaters she'd worn since the temperature dropped!
Oh, yes, Erik would love to see her a little more exposed...
He shook himself out of his daydreams and anxiously ran his long, thin fingers through his black hair.
This choir was just a hobby, really. He composed music for a living, but he enjoyed working with voices, too. There was no instrument in the world more sensitive or varied than the human voice. There was nothing capable of so much expression. Erik loved playing piano, organ, violin, guitar, etc. – they all had their own personalities – but he often felt that nothing compared to a lilting soprano, a steady mezzo, a lyrical tenor, or a deep bass.
Voice was his true passion, but his tragic appearance made it difficult to get close to people, difficult to spend time alone with someone before questions arose. A choir was much less personal than one-on-one lessons, which suited him just fine. A choir was simpler.
Everything had changed at that audition.
Yes, on paper, she had been promising. In the flesh, she was perfection. Her voice was glorious, she was gorgeous, and…Erik was in trouble.
He immediately told her there was a spot for her in his choir, and then he found himself offering her a solo in Handel's Messiah for Christmas. Christine had accepted with so much excitement, he had grinned like an idiot until she walked out of the room.
"There is a process for these auditions, you know," Nadir pointed out in clipped, offended tones once she was out of earshot.
The grin slid off Erik's face – the part anyone could see, anyway – as Erik remembered that he wasn't alone. Honestly, from the moment Christine had sung her first note, it was like Nadir didn't exist.
"Did you intend to turn her down," Erik asked incredulously.
"No, she's one of the best singers I've ever heard," Nadir conceded. "But we're supposed to hear everyone before we make our decisions, and we're definitely not supposed to hand out Christmas solos in July!"
"I don't care," Erik shrugged. "We're not going to get anyone better. Not in this lifetime. I'm not going to pass up the chance to work with a singer like that."
"Not going to pass up the chance to look at her every week, more like," Nadir had muttered before going out to call in the next singer.
And they hadn't gotten anyone better. This wasn't a paid gig. Singing with this group was purely voluntary, but word had gotten around that Erik had connections, that working with him could get you noticed. His little chamber choir attracted some serious talent, but Christine blew everyone out of the water.
Her rounded tones, her crisp diction, her three and a half octave range, her effortless breathing...sure, there was room for improvement, but he knew it wouldn't be long until someone else snapped her up, and her career would be off like a shot.
And that was just his semi-professional concern. He'd eavesdropped on enough choir gossip to know she was romantically unattached. But how much longer would that be? There were thousands of handsome young men prowling the streets of New York City looking for vulnerable young women they could charm with their perfect teeth, perfect hair and perfect faces. Anyone of them could easily fall as hopelessly in love with her as Erik was. But with the distinct advantage of being able to show his face in public without frightening children.
He could just see him now. He would probably have a trendy, foreign name, like "Esteban," or "Fabrizio," or "Raoul." He would be blond, blue-eyed, muscled. He would come from a wealthy, stuck-up family, but he would be a perfect, gracious prince of a man. He certainly wouldn't be pale, skinny as a beanpole, and horribly disfigured, like Erik. He knew he had to do something to convince her to give him a chance, something to distract her from all of the Raouls out there.
Erik had started off by offering her some free lessons after everyone left choir practice each week. He had said he wanted to help her with the solos he assigned her, but he quickly opened it up to audition pieces, broadening her repertoire, working on her expression, etc. These lessons were the highlight of his week, and she didn't seem to mind being alone with him. That had been Phase 1.
Phase 2 was working up the courage to ask her to get coffee with him across the street after a lesson. He had felt so giddy when she said, "Yes, I'd love to," that he had no idea what he'd even ordered when they got there. It had tasted awful, whatever it was, but he had beamed through their conversation about Baroque music, regardless.
Coffee after practice had then become a regular part of Tuesdays and Thursdays. They talked about music. They both adored Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt and Chopin. Art – she loved the French Impressionists, while he preferred the Pre-Raphaelites. Literature – they both favored the Brontë sisters. Movies – he even watched Star Wars after she mentioned how excited she was to see the next one, and some of them weren't bad. They talked about her deceased parents and how she sometimes felt alone in the world. Seattle, New York City, his travels –
"Oh, I wish I could go to Paris someday," she sighed. "I've always dreamed of seeing the Palais Garnier."
He wanted to buy plane tickets right there in the coffee shop – he could afford it – but he figured he should start with dinner for the first date and then move on to spontaneous European getaways for the second. They could walk hand-in-hand down the Champs-Élysées. He could buy her flowers from a street vendor. They could visit the Louvre and talk about how overrated the Mona Lisa is. He could take her to little hole-in-the-wall restaurants where real Parisians ate. They could spend the night together in a hotel room overlooking the Bois de Boulogne and fall asleep in each other's arms after making love in the city of lights. What would that be, Phase 46 or so?
Phase 3 had been inviting her to see Ann's daughter Meg dance in Giselle a couple of weeks ago. Unfortunately, Nadir overheard and said he wanted to go. Erik knew Nadir had a crush on Ann and was always looking for an excuse to see her, so Erik chose not to wring his neck for butting in. He could feel pity for the poor dope now that he was also a man in love. While Erik did get to have dinner with the woman of his dreams, Nadir had made an extremely vocal third wheel, so Phase 3 was a draw.
Phase 4 was sitting right in front of him, wrapped in shiny gold paper with a red bow in the direct center of the top of the box.
Whoever said, "Measure twice, cut once," was a poseur. Erik had watched twelve different YouTube videos, trying to find the best way to wrap a gift. He had spotted the flaws in every technique and perfected the best one. He had calculated the exact amount of paper needed, as well as the ideal tape-to-paper ratio. He had used a long, sharp knife to cut the paper, rather than scissors to make sure he made perfectly straight, clean cuts.
He'd gone from being a guy who'd never wrapped a gift before to the world's foremost expert in the art. Nothing was too good for Christine, and nothing was so trivial he wouldn't do it if he thought it might make her smile. He just had to get through tonight's performance – their last performance of Handel's Messiah – and then he would give her this gift.
xXx
"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the Earth."
Erik was in Heaven. Christine's smooth voice wrapped him up in a bliss even brighter than the golden paper around the box in the back seat of his car. He was conducting, so his back was to the masses behind him, but he sensed they shared his awe. Her eyes flickered over to him. She had to engage with her admiring audience, but her eyes always came back to him, glowing with the delight of the piece, but also seeking assurance and guidance, which he readily gave his shining star.
They were on the final part. It wouldn't be much longer now...
Finally, the full choir sang, "Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the lamb, for ever and ever. Amen."
Applause, applause, applause.
Erik bowed.
Applause, applause, applause.
Bows from the soloists.
Applause, applause, applause.
Bows from the Chorus.
Applause, applause, applause.
Encore of the Hallelujah Chorus.
Applause, applause, applause.
Everybody bows.
Erik was relieved when he and the soloists finally left the stage. The Chorus filed out of their rows, and the audience got up to leave.
Some of the Chorus members joined friends and family out in the auditorium, and a few chatted or stopped to compliment the soloists. A couple of the men shook hands with Erik. A few of the women threw knowing glances between Erik and Christine, which he absolutely did not notice.
Erik hung back, desperately hoping he could get a moment alone with her. Finally, the last soprano, Jessica, left, giggling as Christine sat down to look something up on her phone and Erik hovered awkwardly near her chair. He had the distinct feeling that Jessica knew something he didn't, but he was too focused on his beautiful angel to puzzle out what it could be.
"You were amazing tonight," Erik hurriedly complimented. "Not that you aren't always amazing," he stumbled. "You were just...so perfect."
"Oh, I don't know," Christine reasoned demurely. 'I think my breathing was a little off on the 'Rejoice greatly.'"
"Okay, maybe a little," he admitted. "But you were still wonderful."
"I think I missed the last bus home," Christine sighed, quickly flashing her screen at him and then away. He completely missed whatever was on it. "I guess I'll have to take an Uber or the subway."
"I drove in, so I could give you a ride," Erik suggested, suddenly glad that he lived out of the city and needed to commute. Traffic was murder, but he preferred the solitude.
"Would you really," Christine asked with relief. "That's too sweet of you."
"Of course," Erik assured her. "I'd be afraid you wouldn't make it home safe if you took the subway this late…" He frantically searched for a reason she shouldn't summon a rideshare service.
"And this is a peak time for Uber, so it would be crazy expensive," Christine offered.
"Right," Erik agreed, nodding a little to emphatically. "Paying to ride with a stranger would be ridiculous when you can ride with a friend for free."
Erik escorted Christine to his car, and opened the passenger side door for her. They were both quiet on the way to her apartment. Erik tried to think of clever, interesting things to say that would impress her, but he was too nervous. His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure she could hear it over the classical music playing on the radio.
Occasionally, Christine pointed out Christmas light displays she liked. Erik agreed with everything she said, even when he thought they were terrible. She giggled a few times, and he really had no idea what that was all about. Did every woman know something he didn't?
Yes, of course, they do, he griped to himself. They know exactly what they're thinking. You'll never know that, no matter how high your IQ is.
After what felt like hours of awkward silence interspersed by white lies and Christine's directions (as if he needed them!), Erik pulled up to her apartment, finding an inconvenient parking spot three blocks away. He got out, opened her door and walked with her to her building, silently trying to come up with some reason to prolong this moment. She took out her keys, and he suddenly remembered the gift in the backseat.
"I have something to give you," Erik told her. "Let me go back and get it." He hurried to the car while she stood in the foyer. He handed her the box in its shiny gold paper.
"Would you like to come up for a few minutes," Christine asked with a shy smile.
Erik was stunned. This was exactly what he wanted to do, but he couldn't believe she had actually asked him to come up. "Uh, yeah," he said. Oh, God, I just said 'Uh, yeah.' For the first time ever, a woman invited me up to her apartment, and my best response was "Uh, yeah," like some stupid boy. Very smooth, Erik.
Her apartment was a small studio, neat and tastefully, if somewhat cheaply, decorated. His eyes swept over the furniture. He was painfully aware of the full-sized bed in the corner. There were little white lights strung up on the walls around the bed, which might have seemed like a comforting glow from Christine's perspective. To Erik, there might as well have been a flashing sign pointing to the bed that read, "THIS IS WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENS!"
Erik felt Christine's hands on his arm, and he realized she was trying to take his coat. He shrugged it off, and she hung it up on a peg next to her coat and scarf.
In the corner by the sofa, there was a little, fake pre-lit Christmas tree with a few presents under it. The analytical part of his brain that could never quite shut off noted that she had done an adequate job wrapping the presents, but her technique could use some work. Christine sat on the sofa beside the little tree and then patted the cushion next to her. Erik lowered himself onto it gingerly as Christine admired his handiwork.
"You're quite the gift wrapper," she commented before carefully removing the paper from the long box. She set it aside and slowly lifted the lid. Erik watched her expression as she found the contents, a few sheets of hand-notated music. She raised the paper out of the box and began studying the title and dedication: "'Beauty in C' by Erik Rousseau. For Christine Daaé."
"Oh, Erik," she breathed, looking up at him, teary-eyed, "it's beautiful. No one's ever –" She couldn't go on, too moved by the gesture. "Will you…will you hum it for me?"
He didn't need to look at the sheets. He had started writing this after he returned home the day of her audition, and he'd spent months perfecting it, attempting to express everything he thought and felt about her. Her warmth, her kindness, her intellect, her beauty, her sense of humor. He knew this by heart; that's where it had come from, after all.
Oh, great, now you're a total sap, Erik.
The song didn't have lyrics. Okay, it did, but he wasn't quite ready to share those yet, so he sang it on nonsense syllables. He hummed it all the way through as she stared at him in admiration and gratitude. It was all worth it, even if they were never more than friends, or teacher and student.
"I got you something, too," she choked after he fell silent. "It's not as…as thoughtful, or as precious, or…or as brilliant as your music. But I hope you'll like it."
She carefully placed the song he'd written for her back in the box on the coffee table and turned to the tree, wiping a few stray tears away. She grabbed a box wrapped in red with white music notes. He recognized it as "O, Holy Night." There was a little green tag with his name on it, "To: Erik, From: Christine." This wonderful little tag proved that she really had gone out of her way to pick out something for him. It wasn't a generic gift she'd bought and wrapped in case someone surprised her, like he had. He took it in trembling hands.
He impatiently ripped into the paper, which made her giggle. What was with all the giggling tonight? He pulled the lid off the box and found what looked like fake green plants with white berries wrapped up in a ball and hung from a red ribbon. He had no idea why she was giving him this, but he looked into her blue, teary eyes and truthfully said, "Thank you, Christine, I love it."
She giggled again, intensifying his confusion. "You don't recognize it, do you?"
She definitely knows something I don't. "Not at all," he admitted sheepishly.
"Well, you hang it up by this," she hinted, scooting a little closer to him and showing him the red ribbon.
He still didn't get it.
She gently took it from the box and held it up directly above her head.
"What about now," she asked breathlessly, leaning in a little closer.
Erik glanced from her blue eyes to the ball of greenery, and then back to her eyes. Back to the ball, and then down to her lips. Back to the ball.
"Mistletoe," he whispered almost reverently, as if this green ball was the answer to his prayers.
"Erik, do you know what to do when someone waits for you under the mistletoe," she questioned, now just inches from his face.
"I do," he said, nodding. Erik met her pleading eyes, and he couldn't understand how she could want anything from him other than music lessons. He felt like she was hypnotizing him. He couldn't look away or move, even if he'd wanted to.
"The mistletoe isn't really the gift," Christine explained with a nervous giggle, scooting a little closer. "May I give you your real Christmas present?"
Oh, so that's what the giggling was about…
"Yes, please," Erik whispered, barely daring to hope that she intended to go through with it. I mean, this was skipping ahead by at least three phases.
He leaned in, still a little uncertain of her reaction. But she leaned in, too, tipping her head back to accommodate his mask, and their lips met with a gentle pressure.
Her lips were soft and smooth, and Erik had never felt anything so wonderful. It was utter agony when he felt her pull away, but she was still smiling. She didn't seem at all disgusted by his thin, rough lips.
"That's the greatest gift anyone has ever given me," Erik murmured in a low, husky voice. "You were wrong, though. That was every bit as thoughtful, precious and brilliant as my gift to you."
"Well, it's a gift that keeps on giving," she said, leaning in and kissing him again. Erik thought his heart would explode. If this was how he died, he would go happier than he'd ever imagined.
He felt her tongue lightly brush his lips. He was so surprised, he gasped, opening his mouth just enough for her tongue to slip into his mouth and explore.
Erik had no idea what to do. He'd read about this, but now that it was happening, his youthful research flew straight out of his mind. He let Christine – wonderful, beautiful, angelic Christine – take the lead. The ball of mistletoe lay discarded somewhere. Christine no longer needed it to make her point.
As they slowly wrapped their arms around each other, holding each other close, Erik knew that no gift wrapping technique on Earth could beat this.
xXx
A/N: This is the first fic I've published in a long, long time, but it's not the first fic I've written since coming back to the fanfiction community. I've been working for a few months now on a handful of long stories, but working like that makes it hard to finish anything. Still, I have become obsessed with a certain story I'm writing, so I think it might actually happen. If you like this story, follow me and watch out for it.
This was written for Not A Ghost3's Christmas one-shot contest. I got the idea a few weeks ago when the local chamber choir did Handel's Messiah for Christmas, and I happened to think it was a perfect opportunity for Erik and Christine to get to know each other in time for the holidays.
Thanks for giving it a read!
- GF