I wonder what my dear readers will think of this? :)

Vivienne

How can I describe what the next few days were like? We resumed my violin lessons, and Erik came to admit that I had improved greatly. During the lessons, he kept things very businesslike, playing the part of strict instructor, and I did my best to be a diligent student. He got rather pedantic at times, but I didn't mind him being so bossy about the music so long as he rewarded me with a poetry reading after the lesson was over.

When he wasn't my teacher, however, he was every inch the best friend I'd ever had. We talked a lot, getting to know each other better and sharing stories of our lives. He still teased me every now and then, and I had grown confident enough to tease him back. He laughed at my impersonations of him in his serious, sulky moods and when he was composing, and I soon decided I loved to make him laugh. I grew, if possible, even cheekier with him, and with his sharp wit we were evenly matched.

He still came into my room at night to play for me, and it was those moments I came to love the most. I would lay in bed and watch him, sometimes feeling his eyes on me and sometimes seeing him lose himself in his own melodies. It was a profoundly moving thing, to be allowed this glimpse of him. His passion bled through the music, every note that rang from the violin so laced in his own emotion I felt as if he'd somehow taken me into his soul. I wondered what was in his mind at those times, and when I asked him one night he said, "I'm not aware of any thought when I play. I just…feel. Have you ever had a moment when your mind surrendered control to whatever moved your spirit and you just followed wherever it led you?"

I nodded. "It happened sometimes when I danced," I replied. "I always had to mind my steps so I didn't fall out of line, but during a performance the steps didn't mean a thing to me. I just let whatever was in me move me how it chose."

"Then you understand what it's like for me with my music," he said. "You can't really describe it, can you? It just is what it is."

"And you can't help but give in to it," I finished. "I know exactly what you mean."

He smiled at me, then got to his feet and came to my bedside. He stroked my hair back from my forehead and traced the line of my jaw before giving me a kiss on the tip of my nose. I smiled when he returned to the sofa and sat down again, and I asked, "What was that for?"

"Nothing in particular," he said. "I was just letting whatever is in me right now move me as it chose."

"And what exactly is in you right now?"

"Admiration, my dear. Intense admiration." He took up the violin again and started to play, and it wasn't long before he played me to sleep.

Our time was filled with moments like that, just casually sharing our thoughts and occasionally exchanging a simple touch. Erik wasn't at all used to any of it, and I'd had no experience in it. We were on an even footing, and I think we both liked it that way.

I sat on the sofa after our lesson one day, watching him in his chair, his eyes riveted on the book he was reading. What I could see of his face was still and focused, those yellow eyes sliding back and forth as he read. One of his hands left its place supporting the book and turned the page. It was an odd thing, but I'd never realized just how beautiful a man's hands could be until I'd begun to study Erik's.

He sensed my scrutiny and looked up from the book. "What is it, Vivienne?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular," I replied. "I just like watching you. It's still strange to me, after knowing of you as the Phantom for so long, to actually know you as a human. Has anyone ever told you that you are a mesmerizing man?"

He laughed. "Never," he said. "And I never thought about it before, but now that you bring it up, I'm curious. Just how exactly am I mesmerizing?"

"The way you move, for one thing," I told him. "You have such grace in your movements, it's hard not to stare at you. I for one fail dismally at it. And your voice, Erik! Your voice was the very first thing that drew me to you, the very first time you ever spoke to me! And you just have this…aura around you, this elegance and mystery that's so magnetic. I couldn't imagine a more captivating man."

His smile was compelling and seductive, but his voice was kind and sweet. "Do you know what drew me to you?" he asked. "It was that fire in your soul. I noticed it that first morning you spent here. What binds you to me are the shadows around me; what binds me to you is your light."

"So in that sense, we complement each other," I said.

"You could say that," he replied. "Or you could say that's why we're always at odds with each other, you dear child."

"Child?" I repeated. "I'll have you know, monsieur, that I am a grown woman of the world and a former member of the ballet, and the Opera Garnier doesn't allow children in the chorus."

"A grown woman, you say?" he asked. "Just how old are you, mademoiselle?"

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen?" he said, laughing again. "My, my, you're quite ancient, aren't you? Why, you must have been there the day God created fire."

"Don't tease!"

"No, it makes sense. You were there when He created fire, and you took some of it into your spirit to keep with you forever. That's what makes you so ageless, my dear."

"Well then, just how old are you? You must have been there when God created night, to be so dark and mysterious all the time. Come on, monsieur, how old are you?"

"I'm old enough that I don't have to answer that question," he replied smugly. "That's my secret, little girl."

I got to my feet and stood before him with my hands on my hips. "Little girl?" I said. "Whatever happened to how ageless I am? I may be smaller than most women, monsieur, but I'm still a woman!"

"I have no doubt of that," he replied. "As I said, that fire within you is ageless."

That voice…was it so necessary for it to be so hypnotic? He leaned back in the chair, the book lying open on his knee, and his gaze held something akin to cockiness as he looked at me. His half-smile intrigued me, probably more than it should have. I paused momentarily in thought. Was he actually flirting with me?

I moved a few steps forward, reached out, and took the book from him. I saw his left eyebrow arch quizzically, but he didn't say a word. I came even closer to him and stopped again. How close was too close, exactly? I still felt a little shy, and he had a history of fleeing from me. I watched him closely, looking for signs of trepidation, but he continued to observe my every movement, more curious than anxious. I was the nervous one of the two of us.

I was so close I could reach out and touch him now, yet I stood frozen. I sensed him about to laugh again and I couldn't blame him. I was acting every inch the child I'd just claimed I wasn't. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to work up the nerve to do something," I replied.

"Well, if anyone on earth has nerve, Vivienne, it's most definitely you," he told me. "Go on, don't be afraid."

Did he have any clue what I was planning on doing? He might have had some idea. I told myself there was no reason to be coy, that I could trust Erik, that…

I handed the book back and sat down on the sofa again. "I'm sorry," I said. "It's just…too soon."

"Too soon for what?" he asked.

I didn't answer.

He set the book aside and said, "It's all right, Vivienne. You wanted to move slowly, so that's what we'll do. Don't do anything you're not ready to do."

I nodded, glad he understood.

Erik

I breathed a sigh of relief. If she'd had the strength to do whatever she'd planned on doing, I wouldn't have stopped her, but that didn't mean I wasn't shaken to my core. She wasn't ready to move ahead, and to be honest, neither was I. I still wasn't sure how to go about forming a bond with someone, and after Christine I was still hesitant to form any bonds at all.

Well, it's a little late for that, isn't it? I asked myself. Weren't you just talking about what binds you together, you great fool?

Even so…

We didn't speak much for the rest of the night, and I kept a close eye on her as I played for her in her bedroom. She seemed subdued and morose. Had she been anyone other than Vivienne, I would have said that it was my presence that disturbed her, but I knew that wasn't the case. She wanted my company, a fact I was still getting used to. No, there was something else on her mind, and I didn't have to wonder what it was. The poor child was still afraid to trust men, and afraid to trust herself around them. I felt I should say something to comfort her, but my mind drew a blank. I just did what already came so naturally—I played my music.

I don't know how long she'd been asleep, but I must have drifted off myself at some point. My own melodies flowed through my dreams in an unbroken medley until I heard the sound of tears. That wasn't part of the music… The sound grew louder, and I felt myself waken.

Vivienne wept softly in her sleep, and I knew from experience it wouldn't be long before she began to scream. I went to her and sat beside her on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair and saying her name. "Vivienne, wake up. Wake up, Vivienne, it's just a dream."

She awoke with a gasp, her eyes wide and fearful. She saw me and snatched at my hands. "Erik?" she asked.

"I'm here, Vivienne. It's all right, you're safe."

"It was him again," she whispered. "I saw him, I could feel—his hands—on me—"

She broke off, sobbing uncontrollably. I gathered her up and held her in my arms, rocking her back and forth as she cried. "It's all right," I murmured in her ear. "It's all right, no one's going to hurt you. I'm right here, chérie. I won't leave you."

I held her until her tears subsided, and even then I didn't let go of her. She clung to me tightly and continued to tremble in lingering fear. "How will I ever let another man touch me again?" she asked quietly.

"You're letting me touch you right now," I replied just as softly, running my forefinger down the bridge of her nose.

"That's not what I mean," she said, shaking her head slightly. "How can I allow a man to—touch me, like that, ever again?"

I held her tighter to me and told her, "Not every man will touch you like that in violence. I never would. You know you can trust me, right?"

She nodded. "It's not just about trust," she said. "I just know that I'll always see him, it will always be him…even when I'm with you."

"You don't know that, Vivienne. I won't let anything like that happen to you again, I'll protect you—"

"You can't protect me from my memories," she told me, "or from my dreams. I'll never be able to forget that day as long as I live."

I pulled away from her just enough to take her face in my hands and look her squarely in the eye. "You might not ever forget entirely," I said, "but you don't have to remember all the time, either. You can make new memories that don't hurt so much, and those in turn can become your dreams."

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"You could say I'm willing to take it on faith," I replied. "Honestly, it's what I've been hoping for my whole life. Most of my years have just been one terrible memory. It's why I find it hard to sleep sometimes. But there have been some good things, too. When I play, when I compose—"

"With Christine Daaé?"

I paused, then held her close to me again. "Yes, sometimes with Christine," I said. "Now, though, even those good things belong in my nightmares. It's strange how our pleasant memories can torment us on occasion."

She sniffed. "I'm sorry I mentioned her," she said.

"No, don't apologize," I told her. "I think I need to remember the good about her, or I'll lose myself in the bad and be afraid to reach out to you."

"Do you think that could happen to me?" she asked. "That I could get so caught up in what happened to me that I won't let myself find something good?"

What was I supposed to do to comfort her? She was in pain, and I was only too familiar with this kind of suffering, this kind of frightened longing. I wrapped my arms even tighter around her and asked, "What can I do to help you, Vivienne?"

She stayed quiet in my arms for several long, sorrowful minutes, then said, "Could you show me what it could be like with someone else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would it be all right if you…if you kissed me?"

My heart stopped beating in my chest. Kiss her? No, impossible…

Literally, impossible. My mask was in the way. I may have been able to touch my lips to the scar on her wrist, but to touch my lips to hers would mean taking off my mask. We might have come to trust each other these past weeks, but I wasn't strong enough for that, and I doubted she of all people was ready for it.

"Please, Erik?" she asked, nearly begging. "Just one kiss? I just…I need to know."

She was still shaking, so I was positive she couldn't tell how I'd begun to quake. How could I give her what she asked for? How could I refuse her?

I prayed she didn't know how afraid I was. I swallowed hard and said, "Close your eyes."

I could sense her confusion, but I saw her obey. I released her and stroked her cheek before raising my hands to my mask. "Keep your eyes shut," I told her. "Whatever you do, don't look. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "Yes, Erik."

My heart remembered to beat again, but now it was racing frantically. It was my lungs that had forgotten how to do their job now; I could scarcely breathe. I forced myself to take in more air, then removed my mask. Her eyes stayed closed and I marveled at how she trusted me then. How was such a thing even possible?

I touched my fingers to her lips and felt her tremble ever so slightly, then I kissed her.

My lips were as mismatched as the rest of my face and I knew she could feel it, but she didn't pull away from me. She moved to touch me but I caught her hands in mine, twining my fingers through hers. I hardly knew what I was doing, but I was doing it for her.

I don't know how long it was before I finally broke away and let go of her hands. I replaced my mask and told her, "You can open your eyes."

If she had opened them, I couldn't tell. I couldn't look at her. "I know it wasn't that much of a kiss," I told her, feeling humbled and self-conscious, "but—"

"It was the most wonderful kiss I've ever had," she said. "Thank you, Erik."

I turned to her. She was looking at me just as she always did, fascinated and enchanted. I nodded uncomfortably, then made to rise. She caught my arm and pulled me back. "Would you—stay here?" she asked. "Next to me, while I sleep?"

"Vivienne, I—"

"Please, Erik?"

I hesitated, then slowly leaned back against the pillows, stretching out beside her. She lay down and wriggled closer, closing her eyes. I put my arms around her again and felt her relax back into a peaceful sleep. As for me, sleep didn't come again that night. I was too wrapped up in my silent tears.

Well...what do you think?