A/N: Sorry I've been bad at updating. It's not like me, but school and family have been kind of difficult lately. So there's that. I promise to get better. Thanks for reading!

Erik noticed Christine was off. She hadn't seemed so enthusiastic tonight during her performance and her eyes, as sad as they almost always appeared, lacked the shine he'd seen within them before. It was gone and her eyes dull. Usually she liked to talk. He was not much a talker himself, so he depended on her to initiate conversation. But tonight she wasn't talking. Just absentmindedly eating nachos and staring off into the distance.

"What's wrong?" Erik asked finally, stern and in need of an answer.

Christine looked to him, her eyes opening the furthest he'd seen them open that night. "Nothing," she replied softly, choking on her single word.

She tried looking away, but Erik didn't allow her. He brought his fingers to her chin, holding her gaze to his. Her brows furrowed deeply as she held her breath.

"Please, Christine," he begged, "Tell me."

He broke her. The tears came without any true warning as if they'd been waiting for their release the entire night. "I can't do it," she cried, her words barely comprehensible.

"What? You can't do what?" he asked, releasing her face as she shuddered.

"I can't go to the funeral. I just can't." Erik watched as she sobbed and worked to calm herself. "I wanted to go to Auntie's funeral for Mamma, but I just can't."

"Why not?"

She drew in a pitiful breath of air. "The last funeral I went to was my father's. It was a while ago, but I have yet to get over it. I don't think I could do this one. Seeing all those people would send me back and I'd just lose myself again and hide away. I can't do it."

Erik eyed her for a moment, thinking. "You should go, Christine."

"But I-"

"Go for Mamma. Try. She needs you. She's been there for you, you should be there for her." He sighed, watching her think over his words. "If it would help, maybe I could pick you up within the timeframe of the funeral and we could get something to eat. It would give you a nice little break from things and I could take you back before it was over."

Christine took her time in thinking over his proposal, twiddling her fingers as she did. Eventually she nodded, meeting his eyes with her own. "I'm down for that. Where would we go?"

Erik shrugged. "Wherever you want to."

She smiled and the shine he adored returned to her eyes. "I should give you my number then. If you are to pick me up."

He nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it off to her. She typed her name and number, inserting a guitar emoji behind her last name before handing his phone back to him.

"Christine… day?" he tried her last name.

She smiled, giggling lightly. "Die-ay," she pronounced each syllable for him.

"Christine Daae," he nodded, correcting himself.

"What about your last name?" she asked, watching as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

Erik rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I don't really associate with it."

"Why not?"

He sighed deeply and looked to her unblinking. "Me and my father, the man whose name is mine, haven't been on the best terms in…" he tried thinking of the last time him and his father had been on good terms, dropping his gaze. "Well, I can't remember."

Christine touched Erik's arm gently and he pulled away. "No pity, Christine," he reminded.

"No," she argued, "I just…" Erik found her eyes sad once more, lost in a sea of thought. "I'm sorry."

Erik was stunned by the amount of cars in the parking lot as he drove towards the front of the funeral home. As small as it was, the lot was full, some people having to park in the grass. Christine sat on a bench waiting for him, phone in hand in case he called.

"Big family?" Erik asked as she opened the passenger side door.

Christine laughed as she shut the door, taking her seat. "You could say so. Family and friends."

"Where to?" he asked, picking up his phone to allow her to type in an address or restaurant name.

She took the phone from his hands and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Do you like comfort food?"

"Don't worry about what I like, worry about what you want," Erik said, shifting into drive.

Christine typed in the restaurant name and Erik turned back onto the road. "It's a drive-thru only restaurant, but we could go to a park and eat."

Erik glanced at her a moment, raising his brow. "It's Saturday. The only decent park in the city will be overflowing with children and families."

Christine sat thinking.

"But we could go back to my place. If you're alright with that, that is," he added.

Christine smiled and nodded. "That's fine."

Erik's condo wasn't much larger than Christine's apartment, but it was nice and much more open, she thought. Nice, clean and modern. Gray furniture, white countertops, sparse lighting. Erik set their bag of food on the glass coffee table and moved to the far side of the room to open the curtains, allowing in the summer light.

Christine heard a small mewl coming from one of the rooms off ahead and watched as a tiny siamese cat emerged from behind one of the cracked doors, trotting towards Erik. He watched the cat approach him with an expression of amusement before it stopped to groom itself.

"I didn't know you had a cat," Christine smiled, walking in his direction.

Erik laughed. "I didn't. Not until last night." He resisted an eye roll at the memory of his argument with Nadir at lunch time, how he was guilted into taking her off his hands. "Her name is Ayesha."

Christine knelt down near the cat and held her hand out as an introduction. Ayesha, in turn, nuzzled her hand with a small purr, asking Christine to pet her. "I think she likes me," Christine smiled up towards Erik, scratching Ayesha's back.

"Not a surprise," he laughed. "As long as you show her affection."

Christine continued petting Ayesha and Erik walked off to the kitchen close by to retrieve some plates and silverware for their food.

"Do you mind if I take off my shoes?" Christine asked. "My feet are killing me."

"Please, make yourself comfortable," Erik replied, fixing them each a glass of water.

Christine sat on the couch and unbuckled her heels, slipping them off with a pleasurable sigh as Erik set their plates and glasses upon the coffee table. He pulled the knot of the plastic bag with their food and set each tupperware box to the side.

"You have a strange idea of how to create a meal," Erik derided, eyes glazing over the waffles and mashed potatoes. Who would've thought to pair those together?

"It's comfort food, it's not necessarily supposed to be considered a masterpiece in the culinary arts."

"I'd say."

Christine elbowed him lightly in the ribs and leaned forward for a plate and fork as he held the spot where she had hit him, peering at her as she poked and pulled a slice of ham onto her plate.

Christine sat back with her plate full. She looked around, observing more details of his condo, particularly admiring the bird paintings on the wall surrounding his television. "How long have you been living here?"

"Several years," he sighed.

"And we've never ran into each other before?" she asked in surprise. "It's a small city. Lots of people, but small."

He laughed and placed the lids back on their rightful containers. "You never quite told me where you work."

Christine chuckled, chewing her bite before swallowing. "I actually work the bar's street corner. A woman's clothing store."

Erik tried recalling the street he walked down practically everyday, every store and detail. He never considered his surroundings. Not in the city. "I don't think I've ever paid it any mind."

She laughed. "You're not just saying that because you're a gentleman, are you?"

He looked to her in confusion, upset he didn't understand what was quite so funny.

"I'm teasing!" she laughed wholeheartedly, mistaking what little of his expression she could make out for offense. "But you are a gentleman," she said, picking at her mashed potatoes. "It's been a while since I've met a man as genuinely kind as you." Her expression darkened. "Even then, I'm not quite sure if it was genuine."

Erik gently placed his hand on her thigh and his eyes fixed on hers as they found his. He wanted to ask her what had happened, but he sensed now was not the moment. "Would you like me to play something for you?"

She watched as he set his plate down, revealing an upright piano pushed against the wall behind him. Her eyes sparkled when he looked back to her, an answer in themselves. He was off the couch in a shot, pulling the bench for him to sit. His hands stumbled over the keys a bit while he decided what to play, settling on Mozart's "Queen of the Night".

Christine joined in from the couch, singing along with his playing. Her voice stunned him. He usually only heard it several times on the stage, digging for it through the pile of guitars and drums. But now he had it raw and it was not the same voice he'd heard on the stage, not even the first night. It was golden, beautiful in every form. Hers. Genuinely hers.

She set her plate down and approached him at the piano to hear better and he was thankful for it, closing his eyes and focusing on her singing as his fingers danced in memory. He loved her voice for what it was even as it seemed she struggled with the upper register. It was beautiful and she herself was in parallel. He turned to her when the song had finished and couldn't help himself but stare in admiration.

Erik stood before her, slipping his hands beneath her hair and onto her cheeks. "Where?" he asked breathlessly, "Where did you learn to sing like that?"

"I've always sung," she blushed. "But I've had some training from my father's colleagues."

Erik shook his head. "How are you not already adored by millions? How are you not singing for larger crowds, operas? How did you get stuck in a band on background vocals? Your voice must be heard, shared with the world!"

He pulled his hands from her hair and looked around as if he were searching frantically for something. "I mean, can't you see it?" His eyes settled back into hers. "You alone, just you, in front of a crowd of thousands, singing. Everyone awestruck by your beauty, just yours. No guitars or drums blaring over the sound of your voice. Just you and your music."

Christine felt warm, so utterly warm. She thought she must've looked like an apple. His kind words were an assault. Her voice? Her, a star on stage? She couldn't imagine it. She had imagined it before, dreamt of it, but she thought it could never be true. She thought she could never be good enough, convinced herself she wasn't good enough. "I-I don't know about that, Erik."

"What do you mean?" he asked, wide-eyed. His hands slipped back into her hair, holding her face tight. "Do you not know how perfect you are? Are you deaf?"

She grew hotter. Erik didn't even realizing what he was saying, deaf himself and overwhelmed by the flood within him. Christine wanted to reply, to argue back, but she struggled to find the words. A slide of glass on glass and a subsequent shatter on his floor came to her rescue, breaking Erik's spell. They both jumped and he pulled his hands from her hair, looking in the direction of the noise. Ayesha sat atop the coffee table, staring below at the mess she'd made.

Erik's lips pursed with a heavy breath of air. "Bad kitty!" he yelled. "Bad!"

Ayesha jumped off the table and ran off to a room while Erik cleaned the mess, careful with the shattered glass. He paid extra attention to every little shard upon the floor, making sure there were none left to the best of his abilities.

"Don't step over here yet," he warned. "I'd hate for you to cut your feet if there was anything left."

He threw the glass away and carried Christine's plate to her along with her shoes, setting them by her feet. They finished lunch and drove back to the funeral home.

"Why do you always ride in a taxi if you have a car?" Christine asked, a question that had been poking her ever since he pulled up.

"I carpool with Nadir to work. It's easier that way."

Christine nodded. She watched the city fly by with reflective glass windows and people hurrying along in business attire until they were out close to the surrounding suburbs.

"Can you come inside with me and play something? They have a piano," she asked, looking toward him.

Erik thought to say no. He wasn't fond of crowds nor funerals, but she was Christine and the request was so small. "Sure," he replied.

Mamma stood with a circle of other women, dabbing a tissue to her eyes when they entered. Erik was thankful for his mask now, feeling himself flush at the sight of everyone in full black. As dark as he was himself with his presence, the floral waistcoat and new pink shirt he'd decided to wear for Christine was obviously not part of the dress code. Mamma smiled brightly, approaching them from out of the circle and everyone who had looked up to see who had entered returned back to what they were doing.

"So this is the man who called my Christine adorable," Mamma laughed, hugging him.

Erik flushed again, glancing at Christine and finding her cheeks rosy, her face painted with guilt in spite of the shy smile upon her lips. Mamma pulled away, noticing both of their expressions. "Ah! I apologize. I'm not quite myself today," she said looking around.

"I'm sorry for your loss, madam," Erik spoke.

Mamma smiled. "Mamma," she corrected lightly.

"Mamma," he nodded, taking note.

The old lady smiled. "I thought he could play something for us, Mamma," Christine said. "The piano?"

"Ah, yes," Mamma turned, pointing. "In there."

Christine grabbed Erik's hand and led him into the small room where a few people sat talking quietly. He took his seat at the bench with a small creak of wood.

Erik looked to Christine. "What should I play?"

She shrugged. "Something sweet and somber?"

Erik nodded and turned to the fall board, lifting it before his fingers found the keys. People began to crowd as he played, maintaining a distance from the source of the music as if not to disturb him. Christine took her seat beside him on the bench, tossing her little purse to the side. Erik smiled at her for a moment before returning his eyes to the piano.

She laid her head lightly on his shoulder and her hand wrapped carefully around his bicep. It restricted some of his movement, but he happily adjusted, looking over for a second to find that her eyes were closed.

Erik stood in front of his childhood house for the first time in years. Never had anxiety flown through him so harshly. He was having a panic attack, he knew. He could barely breathe, felt as if he was going to vomit, but still he managed to press his finger to the doorbell, listening to that familiar classic ding-dong coming from inside.

It took a few moments before the curtain by the door shifted, his eye appearing in the window staring right back at him, first in curiosity then in shock. The door opened, the man he knew so well and barely at all appearing before him. Gray and tall, thin yet softer than him. His eyes were wide and he was pale as if he'd seen a ghost. He might as well have. It had been so long.

"Erik?" he breathed.

"Father."