She waited for his reaction. He stilled. She wasn't certain if perhaps he didn't want her to be going in there - he hadn't shown her the inside of it, after all, and he had been particular about not going in her room... But she was so terribly curious, and he had said this was her house too and that she could go anywhere, and he was practically her husband...

But when she had opened the door and peered through the darkness, she had regretted it right away.

"And?" he asked.

"And it's awful."

Erik wracked his brain for what to say.

"I don't know what to tell you, Christine," he said gently.

She gave a sad little noise, halfway between a sigh and a moan.

"How- how long have you been sleeping like that?"

Erik considered this.

"A very long time now, I should think."

Oh. Her poor, unhappy Erik.

"I don't want you sleeping in there anymore," she sniffed against the tears.

He huffed a small laugh.

"My sweet, silly girl. Where else would I sleep if not in my bedroom?"

She glanced up at him, incredulous. Did he really not understand, or did he simply wish to make her say it out loud?

"You'll sleep in the only actual bed in the house, Erik, not in a coffin."

He grew uneasy.

"But- but that is your bed, Christine."

She nodded.

"And that's where you're going to sleep from now on. In a bed."

"But- that's where you sleep..."

"So?" she frowned.

Erik looked flustered and confused.

"You can't- we- Christine... We can't share a bed, we aren't married yet..."

"I don't care about that. I won't have you sleep in that horrible thing for one more night," her voice sounded close to tears once more.

"It wouldn't be right," he protested weakly, but he was already feeling his resolve slipping, unable to bear the sight of her so sad.

"It's a very large bed, Erik, I don't think it will matter too much. Besides," she sniffled. "I'd rather us be improper than- than for you to be in a coffin."

"Oh, Christine," he sighed. How could he refuse her anything?

"And-and if you don't sleep in that bed, Erik, I'll be forced to take matters into my own hands - I'll burn the coffin, I will! Except, I won't know what I'm doing, and I'll probably send the entire Opera House up in flames! Do you want to be responsible for that, Erik? Burning down the Opera House? Just because you wouldn't sleep in a bed?" she looked up at him, hopeful.

The words seemed to stick in his throat, but he finally managed to say them with only a hint of a blush across his face.

"It's alright, Christine. I'll- I won't sleep in my coffin tonight. I'll share the bed with you."

"You won't sleep in the coffin any night, not anymore! Swear it to me!"

He hesitated.

"I truly mean it, Erik, even if it means I have to spend every night down here to make sure you don't! I can't stand the thought of you- of you... In that."

He couldn't very well continue to disagree, could he? If it was what his Christine wanted, then it was what his Christine was going to get. And it wasn't really his fault, was it? After all, he wasn't the one insisting on such a scandalous course of action, so he couldn't really be blamed for complying with what she wanted... He briefly wondered if she was serious about spending every night there, and his heart raced at the thought. He had figured she would move in eventually, but had never thought to hope that it might be so soon - the wedding was still months away. The suddenness of it all was a little frightening, but the prospect was not an unpleasant one.

He hugged her a little tighter.

"You don't have to think of me in it, my dear. Your Erik promises he will not spend another night in it."

"Good," she pulled away from him and wiped at her face. "Can I help you set the table?"

He frowned.

"Absolutely not. You are my guest, after all."

"I am your fiancée," she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, you are correct, but regardless, I wish for you to not have to worry about a thing tonight. Go sit at the table and I'll bring your food to you, my dear."

She very nearly began to insist that she help him carrying the plates and tureen to the table, but decided against it. She wanted to save the energy that would be spent on any disagreement for later in that evening, just in case he tried to back out of their agreement about the bed at the last minute.

So she sat down at the table and waited for him as he proudly brought the food in, and she tried desperately to forget the feelings that she had as she had looked in his room. It was such a strange feeling, being cocooned in this feeling of 'normal' in the midst of such an unusual place, only to be confronted with something horribly out of place right in the middle of the normal as though to remind her of where she really was - it was a feeling she'd much rather forget altogether.

Still her mind brought it up and up again, opening that deceptively simple and normal door, being greeted by the black walls and the ominous pipe organ, the shelves of candles and stacks of compositions, and finally settling her eyes on the horrible coffin in the middle of the room. The sickly dread that had formed in her stomach at the sight of it, and then the awful realization that the nightstand next to it and the blanket hanging over the edge of the coffin implied that this was where Erik slept.

And to then hear that he had been sleeping there for longer than he could remember! Oh, she wanted to weep over it, thinking of all those years her poor Angel spent talking to her and teaching her, how he'd be so nice to her, so kind - and that every evening he was returning to this! And she never even knew! Never would have even thought of such a thing! He didn't deserve to have to sleep in such a terrible thing, and yet - and yet, someone somewhere along the lines must have made him feel as though he did. Maybe it was his parents, she wondered. Maybe that was part of why he was hesitant to sleep in that bed, even before it had been designated as 'hers'. What kind of life had he known? She was rather afraid to ask, afraid it would only serve to upset him, to bring up memories he'd rather leave behind. Afraid that it would be too much and she'd never stop crying over the thought of her dear Erik being treated so badly.

Finally after four trips (it surely would have only been two trips had he not been so stubborn and let her help him) all of the dishes were brought out and he sat down as well. The tomato soup, the rosemary chicken, and the roasted potatoes were almost certainly the best things she had ever tasted, and she eyed the chocolate pudding with an intense anticipation.

During dinner they carried on a lively conversation about the upcoming opera, Hannibal, and all that that entailed - the costume designs, the stage scenery that would need to be made, casting predictions, ideas for the blocking of the choreography. Each was trying to keep their mind from certain other things - her, from what had just happened before dinner, and him, what was about to happen after dinner.

"You shall be the prima donna, my dear. I'm sure of it," Erik told her.

"What? No!" she laughed. "Do you really think so?"

"I know so," he nodded. "You will be splendid."

"Do you think Carlotta will be in it?"

"Hopefully not!"

"Erik! You are terrible!" she dissolved into giggles. "She'll have to be in it somewhere, or else she'll be terribly upset."

"Hmm, you are right," he conceded and gave a wave of his hand. "We'll put her in the chorus."

Christine merely shook her head. It would be quite an interesting production, that much was certain.

When at last even that divine pudding was finished off, the conversation grew slower and Erik looked at his pocket watch. It was getting late, he realized. Christine was blinking sleepily, absently staring at the empty plates, a smile on her face as her mind replayed the delightful jokes he had been telling her earlier.

He stood and began to stack the dirty dishes to take them to the kitchen. Christine was pulled out of her daydream by the action.

"Oh, please let me help you."

Erik didn't have the presence of mind to argue over it, so he let her take some of the dishes. Once there, he began to wash them, and Christine fell right into drying them, as though the two of them had been doing this for ages. His heart ached with love for her, with amazement at how easily they could work together on the simplest of tasks, how she seemed to know exactly what to do without his needing to tell her, as though she were a part of him. It almost brought a tear to his eye and he had to turn away from her for moment, not wanting her to see him cry over having someone to help clean dishes, of all things!

Once the dishes were clean and dry and put away, there was simply no more putting it off.

"Are you going to get ready for bed now?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes, I think so. You're- you're coming too, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"I will be in after a little while."

Christine made her way to her room, and then to her bathroom which was attached to her room. She washed her face in the basin by the little mirror, finding that Erik had even provided a number of soaps and fine-smelling lotions for her to use. She changed into her nightgown and finished preparing for sleep, and took one last look in the mirror with a deep breath, hoping that she was taking the right course of action. There was nothing left to do now but wait.