True to his word he continues their lessons, helping her compose new pieces for her opera, and she continues her quest for a priest who won't ask too many questions.

Christine feels a joy that is almost comparable to being on stage, a feeling she thought for certain was lost to her forever. She still wishes she had her voice - less now for the stardom it provided her, and more because she wishes to use it to sing every love song she knows to Erik. She will never tire of seeing that hope and adoration in his eyes, something that's there even when she gives him even the briefest of affections or simplest words of love, so she determines to shower him with lavish affection for the rest of her days.

Erik will never understand his sheer luck at receiving the love of such a perfect woman, so he tries his best - not to be worthy of such a thing, no, he could never be that - he tries instead to be the best that he can so as to not be quite as unworthy as he was before. He dotes on her as much as he possibly can - he cooks elaborate meals for her every day, he leaves dozens of roses in her room at least once a week (where does he manage to procure such flowers? she often wonders to herself, but never asks), often in the evenings he plays some of his compositions or sings or reads poetry for her while she rests on his couch with her feet propped on a pillow. There is very little he would not do for her, practically no request she could make that he would deny her. The only time that he is not quite her gentle little lamb that she may do anything she pleased with, the only time in which he is strict with her, is during their lessons.

He tries to maintain some semblance of professionalism during these hours, a sort of detachment from the rest of their time together - because if he didn't, surely their thoughts (not to mention their hands) would start to wander, and then where would they be? No, he must make certain that their music lessons are single-mindedly focused on music alone.

It is not often easy to do so, as Christine has a wicked sense of humor and occasionally tries to break his focus - resting her head on his shoulder to cause him to falter in the tempo of his playing, a hand placed gently on his knee that makes him forget what he just saying. She knows she ought not delight in teasing him so, but it amuses her to no end to see the confusion on his face as he wars with himself regarding what to do about the interruption - he cannot bring himself to scold her for touching him, but also cannot abide being distracted when he's focused on music. So he'll forge on, frowning hard in concentration, pretending her head is not leaning against him, or he'll pick up her hand and kiss her palm before firmly depositing it back in the lap of its owner and turning once again to whatever point he was trying to make before his little minx of a fiancée decided to have some fun.

She worries sometimes that she is being cruel to carry on such a game, but he has never seemed to have been angry over it, nor has he ever said anything about it. But even so there times her conscience chastises her over it, so every now and then she will swear off teasing him in such a manner and she manages to do so for a while, but she finds herself unable to stop entirely.

Christine sprawls out on the rug in front of the fireplace, chin propped up on her hands, watching her fiancé read over her latest revisions as he sits on the couch in a dignified manner.

He holds a page out to her and gestures at a mark.

"I thought I had told you last week that this note would sound better two octaves lower."

She raises an eyebrow.

"You told me, yes."

"Yet it remains exactly where it was before my advice."

"Well... You may think it sounds better lower, but I like it how I wrote it."

He says nothing, but he continues to hold the offending staves out to her.

She scoffs, amusement quirking her lips.

"Are you saying I am wrong?"

He looks at the page again, considering, before he places it facedown on the couch cushion.

"I am not saying you are wrong." he says in a measured tone, smoothing his hands down his vest collar. "I am merely saying, I think you should reconsider."

"I already considered it when you suggested it." she tries her hardest to hide the mirth in her voice. He can be so particular about certain things, and she loves to tease him over them.

"Then I am merely suggesting that you reconsider your consideration."

She's laughing as she rises from the floor and throws her arms around him.

"But I like this way better, darling. It just doesn't feel quite the same to me, even if you do think it would flow better. I just like how it sounds." she nestles her face in the crook of his neck.

He does not move from his position, ignoring how she's pressed against him and practically sitting in his lap, and gives a weary, over exaggerated sigh which makes Christine roll her eyes.

"If you wish to ignore the expert advice of your poor, old teacher, that is entirely your choice, Christine."

She can't help but snicker at this and wonder how much willpower he's currently using to keep his hands firmly on his knees and not on her - surely quite a lot, as his knuckles are turning white.

It isn't until several weeks into their engagement that something happens that makes her realize she is always the one to initiate physical contact between them.

She's had a short day at work, so she's come downstairs to rest on his couch and read a book.

She can hear Erik milling about in the other rooms and she wonders what he's at, since he normally moves around so silently the deliberate sound of his footfalls are surely for her.

He walks by the open door to the room she's in and glances in no less than four times during his wandering about, and on the fifth time he stops in the doorway for a few seconds before hesitatingly entering the room. She glances up at him from her book and smiles warmly.

His steps are less hesitant now as he crosses the room and sits on the opposite end of the couch she's resting on. He's completely silent, so she continues her reading.

After a few minutes she becomes aware that he's been doing nothing but stare at her since sitting down.

She marks her place in the book and turns to him. He's nervously fidgeting with the onyx ring he wears. Perhaps he's wanting to talk but doesn't wish to interrupt her.

"Erik, did you want something?"

"No!" the words are out quickly, defensively almost.

He twists away from her and she doesn't press the matter even though she isn't convinced.

But it's not two minutes later before he's turned to face her again, and he's graduated to actually wringing his hands.

Her heart twists at the sight of him this way.

"Is something wrong, love?" she puts the book on the table, concern written across her face.

He looks down at his hands now, refusing to meet her eye.

"No, nothing's wrong." his voice is quiet.

But she doesn't believe him, knows that there must be something awfully wrong to cause the fearsome Phantom of the Opera behave so nervously. So she scoots over to sit next to him, puts her arms around him and kisses him. His arms go around her immediately and he's returning the kiss so eagerly that Christine realizes this was probably why he came in the room in the first place.

"Did you come in here because you wanted to kiss me?" she asks gently when she pulls away.

He nods.

"Erik, you know you don't have to wait for me to kiss you first, right?"

"I do not wish to force you, if you do not wish to be kissed."

After finally gaining the one thing in life he has ever wanted, he is terrified that one wrong move, one too many liberties taken will shatter this seemingly fragile thing. He couldn't bear to know that he might cause her pain, and what could be more painful than a monster forcing you to kiss it?

Her heart melts at these words. Her poor, shy fiancé, so unused to having someone who loves him.

"Well, you can always ask me first. I'll almost certainly say yes every time."

He says nothing, and she resolves to pay more attention to his behavior - how many times might she have already missed moments in which he was hoping for something but didn't know how to ask her, moments that she had overlooked yet he had taken to mean that she did not want him to touch her?

"There are very few moments I do not wish to kiss you, you know." she adds.

He thinks about her words for a few moments before replying.

"So there are some moments in which you do not wish to kiss me, then."

He is vindicated. He knew it.

"Well of course, Erik - sometimes I am asleep."

This is not the answer he was expecting, and he cannot help but smile at it.

Surely enough, now that she knows what to look for, she notices his odd little moods of timidity at certain times - twisting the edge of his cape in his hands when they're on the roof looking out at the snow covered lights of Paris, biting his lip as he stands in the corner and watches her knitting a scarf.

She obliges him each time, reminding him afterwards that he need not live in such anguish over his touch, that all he has to do is ask. This goes on this way for so long that she begins to lose hope that he will ever be able to gather the nerve to voice his desires.

It's not until one day that she's helping him cook lunch that it finally happens.

He's devised a soup with various vegetables and spices, and once everything is chopped and measured and into the pot, all that's left to do is wait for it to boil and to clean the dishes. It's as she's putting the cutting board into the sink that she feels his hand on her shoulder.

"Christine." his voice is small and pleading, so unlike how it was just moments ago when they were joking and laughing.

"Please. May I-" he can't say the rest of the words, so certain he is that she will deny him.

She quickly turns around to face him.

"Of course you can, Erik!"

He stoops down slightly to press a small kiss to the corner of her mouth.

She's surprised, not only that he managed to say something, but that all he wanted was something so small. She thinks at first perhaps he's shied away from trying anything more, that he lost his nerve to follow through, but he looks so happy afterwards that she concludes it really was all that he wanted.

He becomes marginally better about the whole issue after that. Each 'yes' emboldens him towards asking again in the future, though he isn't sure he will ever reach a point where the pounding in his chest when he asks is entirely from desire and not tinged with fear. He makes no mention of this to Christine - he doesn't have to, as the anxiety is often clearly visible, but Christine vows to herself that somehow or someway she will help him break down that fear until there's nothing left of it, no matter how long it takes her.