Sing for Me

~{x}~

Erik came downstairs the next morning and immediately noticed the rose he had given Christine still laying on his countertop. He picked it up and gazed at it, touching the withering edges of its petals lightly with his fingertips. Even browning, the flower still seemed beautiful to him. Maybe even more so now that it had it had belonged to her for a short time.

He placed it in a small vase of water on the corner of his desk, just in case she was the sentimental type and decided to come back for it later today on her break. He sincerely hoped she would, because then he would get the chance to show her the tickets he'd purchased for their date on Tuesday. He knew she would be excited, seeing as how the current production going on at the Leroux was none other than Madame Butterfly itself. A classic, in his opinion, and one that would make an excellent first show for her.

He recalled the production's promo images he'd seen online last night as he'd browsed seats for them. None other than Carly Gutechilli herself had been standing front and center in every last one of them. He had been right when he'd assumed that a life spent on the stage suited her perfectly. She'd been aglow in those photographs, standing beneath the spotlight as if it were her own personal, golden ray of sunshine.

He wondered if the soprano had been serious when she'd causally requested that he bring her flowers sometime. Surely as the leading lady for a renowned theatre she already received far more flowers nightly than she knew what to do with? And yet, he realized that he'd never formally thanked her for all she had done for him, and felt as though it were the least he could do to show his appreciation for her actions. Though in all honesty, he still couldn't believe the way she had hiked herself up into the front of a diesel engine just to accompany him to the hospital - seemingly all out of the kindness of her heart. It had been one of the most selfless acts Erik had witnessed in quite some time now.

He put together a bouquet he figured she would fancy, a large array of yellow and red daffodils in a brightly colored vase. To him the display seemed much too gaudy, but he smiled and misted it all the same, figuring that would be just her style. She seemed to be the the kind of woman who loved flashy things. It was clear in the way she spoke and carried herself that in every aspect of her life she strived to be big and dramatic. This of course was vastly different from the tastes Christine had.

Ah, Christine. Just thinking her name he felt a contented sigh leave his lips. Yes, Christine was a woman who didn't need large displays of affection to be wooed. She was a simpler heart, one who had cherished a single lily and a solitary rose as if those mere flowers had been gems, holding each one as precious as a mother holds their babe. In his eyes she was almost too pure a child at heart, sweet in the way she viewed the little things in life as if they were rare and wondrous gifts.

As he finished putting together his thank you for Carly he couldn't help but drift his hand back towards Christine's rose, picturing over and over again the way she had twirled it between her fingertips. Ever since the other night he couldn't seem to shake the memory of the way he'd held her under the moonlight, nor the way she had kissed his hand goodnight with that mischievous little hint of a glimmer in her eyes.

That kiss had taken him by surprise, especially since he had already decided not to expect one that night. Yet kiss him she had, and even though it hadn't been on the lips that kiss had still meant so very much to him. More than she would ever know and more than he could ever dream of putting into words. Because words couldn't describe the way it had made him feel inside. How long had it been now since he'd last been shown affection in that way? Oh, to have felt her lips pressed to his bare skin like that...it had nearly brought him to his knees! It had been a kiss to seal their future date, as well as a kiss that proved her genuine interest in him. Before that he was still so unsure. Still so frightened that maybe she hadn't felt the same way he did. But after that kiss he'd felt an overwhelming sense of hope surging through him. He hadn't felt that sort of an elation in years now.

Erik was placing his gift for Carly into the fridge when the bell rang out in the front of the shop. He heard Christine call out his name and quickly straightened his mask, returning to his desk in a hurry. When he did she was leaning across the countertop, her rose once more dangling lightly from her left hand. She looked as beautiful as ever standing there, the dark red flower matching the blood red lipstick she was wearing today perfectly. With those sensuous lips and her dark eye makeup he couldn't help but notice how dangerously sexy she looked in the dim light of the shop and he, being who he was, for a moment simply found himself staring, unsure of the words he wanted to say to her. Thankfully, she was far more articulate in these kinds of situations.

"Now the question is," Christine smirked, "did I leave this behind on accident or was I simply that antsy to see you again?"

"I would hope the later," Erik replied with a chuckle, easing into a more comfortable state at her casual and teasing words.

"In all honestly though, I'm really glad you saved it for me. I think I'll put it back on my station where you originally left it. It looked really nice there and I think having a little pop of color really helped to brighten things up."

"It's wilting now," he pointed out, "Not exactly as vibrant as it was the other day. Would you like a new one?"

She turned away slightly, holding the rose protectively against her chest. "Nope. This one is perfect. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

He mused over this, smiling to himself as she reached into her pocket and sighed, checking the time on her phone.

"You know, as much I'd love to stay and chat, I've afraid I've got to run. There's only twenty minutes left of my break," she lamented. She reached across the counter and set her hand atop his, giving it a light squeeze. "But I am looking forward to our date Tuesday. I already went out and got my fancy dress for it. It's been Meg approved and everything. I think you'll love it."

Merely a few feet apart, Erik found himself slightly distracted as she spoke, both from her gentle touch and her mere presence alone. For up so close he found himself once more able to freely drink in the essence that was her. Again he could smell that alluring aroma like cinnamon and vanilla that drifted from her hair, a welcome change from the scent of flowers that he'd been breathing in all morning, and again he could gaze into those bright, blue eyes of hers. Eyes that seemed to hold the whole of the sky within them.

"I'm sure I will," he said with a dazed smile as he brought himself back down to Earth.

Her grin was wicked as she seemed to be picturing said dress in question, which made him wonder what it looked like. It was probably black, as most cocktail dresses were, though color would look a wonder on her. Blues especially. He found himself fantasizing such as he reached into his back pocket to produce their tickets. He opened his wallet and pulled them out, setting the bi-fold down as he held out the paper slips before her.

"What's this?" She took them from him, wide eyes lighting up like stars as she read their fine print. "Madame Butterfly?" she read with disbelief. "Private box seats to Madame Butterfly? Erik, this is too amazing! You didn't have to go this far!"

"It's your first show. I wanted you to have a good view," he reasoned.

"Box five..." she mused, "Sounds perfect."

He took the tickets back from her, and in doing so realized Christine's eyes had drifted down to his open wallet. She was staring at his ID with a fixated look, that worn card fully visible from within its thin plastic sleeve. The photo on his license was ancient, taken back while he was still in college, and it didn't resemble him in the least as he was now. Maybe that's why he got so bothered by the soft smile on her face as she gazed fondly at it, why he got so defensive and snatched it up quickly, placing it and the tickets back into his pocket with a fierce determination.

Her face fell as he did this, as if she knew he were hiding something from her. And while that were true, he didn't want that suspicious and disappointed look on her face to be the last thing he saw before they parted today. No, he would rather they part on a good note, as he'd planned to in showing her the tickets.

"You said you had twenty minutes left of your break, didn't you?" he asked.

The question seemed to help turn her focus away from the picture in his wallet. "I do, why?"

Erik thought quickly. "Well, you said you wanted to hear me play sometime, didn't you? Would you like to go upstairs and hear something now?"

Christine gestured around the shop. "You know I'd love to. But aren't you open right now?"

Erik smiled to himself, rounding the corner of his counter and walking towards the door. He flipped over his open sign and gestured triumphantly to it as he reached down to lock the door.

"One of the many perks of owning the place," he said as he took her by the hand and led her up the stairs.

It was a bold move to make, letting her see his home. Nobody saw the inside of his home, save for Farid when he visited. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a guest over that wasn't that pesky little Iranian man. It may very well have been that dreadful night with Sue. Such was apparent by the awkward way he gestured around his living space as they walked in, stating the obvious lack of warmth and welcome. Christine seemed to find it quaint enough though, the very limited tour he gave her as he walked her back towards the piano.

His piano had seen better days, yet the age of it only seemed to add to it's old world charm, and that was why he'd so far been reluctant to have it refurbished. If Christine noticed the slightly splintering wood on the lid though she didn't comment on it. Instead, she smiled eagerly as he pulled out its bench and gestured for her to sit, slyly reaching up to swipe away the open composition notebook on its stand. He placed it on the shelf behind him, not quite ready for her to hear that song just yet. No, not in the least. As he'd played it again the other night he'd realized that it wasn't finished. Not by a long shot. It still needed words before it would be complete. Lyrics that had yet to be born. He'd hoped time with her would help said words to him, just as meeting her had first inspired its gentle tune.

Instead of playing any of his original works for her though, he simply played her Faust, just as he'd offered to do the other night on their first date. He chose the waltz, one of the more widely known numbers in the opera, and watched Christine smile and sway in place as the delicate notes began to drift from the piano, almost as if she was dancing in her imagination.

She seemed entranced, watching the way his fingers moved lightly across the keys, and eventually she closed her eyes and leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder, a feeling that delighted him. It felt comfortable to have her there, as if it came naturally for the two of them to be so close. When he finished playing though she pulled away, far too soon for his liking. He was almost tempted to pull her back down to him, if only for another moment or two. To feel the warmth of another soul, of her pressed against him once more.

"That was beautiful," she said, turning to look up at him, "Where did you learn to play like that?"

Erik tried not to focus on the quickening of his pulse as Christine said the word beautiful in a sentence that pertained to him. "I took a few lessons as a child."

"Only a few?" she asked with a laugh, giving him a skeptical look.

"Only a few," he insisted, "Eight, to be exact. After that my music teacher refused to continue tutoring me."

"Are you serious? Why? What did you do?"

Erik leaned back, playing a soft, improvised melody as he spoke. "It's really more of what I didn't do. I never really stuck to his lesson plans, nor did I ever practice the assignments he'd give me. Instead, I would skip ahead in our books and try to play things that were more complex. Then there were other times in which I'd blatantly ignore his teachings all together and attempt to create practice exercises of my own."

"That doesn't sound like a bad thing. It just sounds like you were an eager learner."

"Yes, well it annoyed that particular man greatly. He was very prideful. He dropped me as quickly as he could and soon after picked up another child, one who was far more obedient."

"Did you ever get another tutor?" she asked.

"No. In fact, I'd told my mother not to even bother looking for one. I simply took my lesson books home and continued to teach myself, at my own pace. And then after I'd finished with those I simply went my own way with music. I let it speak to me and followed where it lead."

"So you're self-taught then? That's impressive," she acknowledged.

He smiled at her compliment, moving on to play a different tune, one he figured she would know anywhere. He'd learned it following their date, wanting to surprise her with it. The Jewel Song sprang to life from his piano, and with it her smile widened to a proud and excited grin.

"This is my song from the showcase I told you about!" she exclaimed.

"Do you still remember the words to it?" he asked, hoping desperately that she did.

"Of course I do! I remember everything about that night," she said wistfully, "I got to throw chocolate coins in the crowd during that number. It was one of the happiest moments of my life."

"Then sing for me," he requested, watching the way her eyes lit up as he reached the chorus. He wanted to hear the passion he could so plainly see on her face.

"Oh no, I couldn't," she laughed nervously, "I haven't sung in years."

Erik continued playing. "That shouldn't stop you. I know you can do it. Sing."

And sing she did, her voice barely above a whisper at first. Even in a whisper though it was still something truly wondrous to behold, and as he looked away from her to focus on his playing he could see the confidence in herself growing from the corner of his eye. As the song played on she began to sing more and more passionately, losing herself in Marguerite's words, closing her eyes and leaning forward into the music that he played, letting it carry her.

He could see it then, the transformation of the woman beside him. Music had taken its hold of her, just the same as it did with him sometimes, all consuming and overpowering like a storm. She was one with it, becoming it, and it was a miraculous thing to behold. Although it was true that her voice was out of practice, there was still such potential in it. She could've been a star, all right. Her childhood dream had not just been the dream of a silly child. If she'd been given the chance he knew she could have made it all the way to the top.

He regretfully finished playing the song, listening to her voice grow softer and softer as it faded back out like a whisper in the wind. He found himself staring at her then, looking into her large eyes with such pride and adoration swelling inside of him. For hers was the voice he had always searched for, the voice of his music. He had simply discovered her too late is all. No...not too late. She was here now, wasn't she?

"Now that was beautiful," he breathed, "You sing like an angel."

"I wouldn't go that far." She smiled awkwardly, looking down at her lap as she played with her fingers. "I certainly felt like one just now though. I mean...wow. I hadn't realized how much I'd missed singing until now. That felt amazing."

There were tears in her eyes then, happy ones, but tears nonetheless. Erik shut the lid of his piano and pulled her in close, holding her as she tried her best to reign them in. He couldn't understand what was going through her mind in that moment but knew that it probably had something to do with her father and the musical dreams they'd once shared. Dreams she'd once more gotten to taste today.

"Christine, are you going to be alright to return to work?" he asked after a moment, leaning back to wipe one of her eyes.

"Work?" She seemed confused for a moment, then pulled back and shot up off the bench in a sudden panic, pulling out her cell phone to check the time. "Oh my God - work! Shoot, I'm going to be late getting back!"

She all but sprinted towards the door, half winded as she wiped the last of her tears away. Before going downstairs though she turned around with a look on her face that Erik could only describe as gratitude. She paused there, that tender expression on her face, and stared at him with kind eyes.

"Thank you, Erik," she said softly, breathlessly, "This was...amazing. I'd love to do it again some time. I'll see you Tuesday?"

"Tuesday," Erik nodded, watching her disappear.

He listened as she quickly thundered down the stairs and fled his shop, that small bell ringing out as she slammed the door behind her. He could almost picture her sprinting down the street then, her blue-streaked hair windblown behind her and her black jacket flopping about in the breeze. It was a delightfully humorous image really, and he couldn't help but chuckle as he pictured it.

He then looked back down at his piano longingly as the silence of his home once more washed over him, wishing Christine could have stayed just a few moments longer. He brought back out his composition notebook and opened it up to his new instrumental, playing the opening notes once more as he tried to find the words for it.

Waiting for Tuesday just might kill him.

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This scene was too long to include in the opera chapter, so I separated it. Don't worry though. Up next we'll be going to the show!