He accompanies her up the stairs that lead from his home. She has been here more than enough times by now to know the way herself, but she had asked him to go with her, and - curse his undying devotion to her - he could not deny her.
"I think the masquerade will be fun."
He does not reply to this.
"There's a distinct advantage I don't think you've realized yet." she looks at him with shining eyes.
"What would that be, my dear?"
"If- if everyone will be wearing a mask, you will blend right in." the words sound weak even as she speaks them, and she feels her nerve faltering.
"I won't need to blend in because I shan't be going."
"Oh, but Erik, you must!" she pouts.
"Why ever should I want to go to this party?" he glances at her.
"Because!" all of her well planned and much rehearsed retorts and wheedling have disintegrated to dust in her mind and she can no longer find them.
He looks at her again, concern written on what's visible of his face.
She swallows hard, knowing he probably thinks her unwell with how little sense she's making.
"You must go to the party, Erik, because otherwise I will have no one to dance with." she finally explains softly.
He is surprised he doesn't stumble when he hears this. He recovers quickly yet his surprise and bafflement towards her intentions make his reply sound harsher than he intends it.
"I'm sure there will be a great many young men at the party that you can dance with."
Great. Now he sounds jealous and offended. Christine chastises herself. It wasn't supposed to go this way.
"But I don't want to dance with any of them, Erik. I want to dance with you."
There's a waver in voice that betrays how close to tears she is, and she hates it. She feels it makes her sound like a petulant child.
But he stops in his tracks and holds the lantern up to get a better look at her face.
There is no mocking there, no cruel joke or tease. There is instead hope and a vulnerable quiver to her lip and an emotion that he dare not name that makes him look away.
He continues marching ever upward, and after several dozen steps he asks quietly-
"Truly, Christine?"
"Yes."
Her hurt and honest reply is quiet but it still rings out in echoes off of the walls, and she's wounded that he would think otherwise.
They speak no more on the rest of their journey, but the next day after her lesson he escorts her upstairs again and asks her what kind of costume she's planning on wearing to the masquerade.
"We must plan ahead so that I can find something that matches yours, you see." he adds.