Erik returned with a blanket in mere moments, his mask firmly in place. In the time he had been in the other room he had also rolled down his sleeves, buttoned his shirt and placed a waistcoat over it. He felt more at ease now that he was dressed better, but he was still a little flustered that Christine had seen him so.

After she had started staying regularly in his house, he had taken measures to soundproof his bedroom - she loved his music, yes, but even the most ardent fan would surely not be pleased to be jolted out of slumber by the crashing notes of a pipe organ. And he had, out of habit, closed his bedroom door now when he sat down to compose - a recipe for disaster when he hadn't been able to hear her knocking on his front door or calling for him, and also keeping her from hearing the fact that he was quite clearly alive inside the little house.

He wrapped the blanket around her as she looked up at him gratefully. Despite his resolve just moments earlier against touching her, his hands lingered on her shoulders just a moment more than was necessary.

"Oh, my poor darling," he sighed. "What can I get you? Some tea perhaps?"

She shook her head at first, then reconsidered.

"Have you had anything to eat or drink today?" she asked him, her voice a little hoarse.

He shrugged sheepishly.

"The past few days have been a bit of blur, I'm afraid."

She sniffled.

"Then can you bring us both some tea?"

"Of course, Christine."

He rose from the couch once more and went to the kitchen, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

It had been a very trying day - but also a very enlightening one, as well. A recurring thought as she had walked the rooms of his house looking for his body was that of deep regret. Regret for all the things they would never get to do together, regret for all the things she'd never get to say to him, regret for the future they would now never spend together. How long had she agonized over the eventual choice she'd have to make between him and Raoul? And here it had seemed some outside force had finally made the choice for her, yet she felt no relief, no sense of a settled question. The wheel of fate had spun and chosen for her, and all she could feel was the desperate realization that it had chosen wrong.

She wanted to spend her life with Erik. She wanted to wake up next to him every morning, wanted to come home to him each night after a long day on stage, wanted to share each moment with him and him alone. She wanted to feel those chilled lips against her own.

The thought that none of that would ever come to pass had been utterly crushing.

Before today she had assumed she had time, that if she waited long enough one day all the pieces would line up and that future would just happen. Although nothing had actually happened to Erik - he was fine! They were both fine! - it had been a startling realization that she didn't have time, that if there was a future she truly wanted, she would have to reach out and take it instead of just waiting for it to happen. If she wanted to be with him - if she loved him as more that just her teacher - she had to tell him.

He walked back into the room, carrying a tray with two teacups and plates of buttered toast with jam. He sat next to her once more - maybe a little father away than he had been - and placed the tray on the table in front of them.

She opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated.

Was she certain? Was she very certain? That was not the kind of thing one could walk back from once it was said. To say she loved him like that and then to realize otherwise in a few months truly would be the death of him. She had just had a shock, after all - she had fully expected to find him lifeless in his home, and then to see him alive and well-

It would not be too much of a stretch to assume that her feelings might be the result of the mental and emotional strain. Of course she might feel that she loved him after such a thing had occurred, of course she'd be overwhelmed and grateful and wouldn't it make sense if her head was just a little bit muddled and confused?

She couldn't tell him yet. She had to be sure.

He handed her a handkerchief and she smiled sadly.

"I'm sure I must look a fright," she said apologetically as she wiped at her face.

"You always look lovely to me, Christine," he said softly, looking down at his tea.

She clutched the handkerchief in her trembling hands, a few more tears leaking out of her eyes and blurring her vision. How hard it was going to be to keep this from him, to hold back from saying those words she knew he longed to hear.

"Did I interrupt your composing terribly?" she asked instead.

He hesitated.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I know how hard it is for you to get the inspiration back once you're interrupted in the middle of it."

"It's alright, sweet," he leaned forward to reach a hand towards her face, cupping it gently and brushing a thumb over her cheekbone, wiping away the tears there. "You're more important to me than any composition, you know."

Her eyelids fluttered closed and she leaned her face into his hand. She suddenly realized that in his haste to get her a blanket, he had gotten one from his own room. It was permeated with the scent of his cologne and she breathed in breathed deeply, clinging to the blanket as she longed to cling to him.

He slowly drew his hand back - he certainly couldn't be blamed for how she had leaned into his touch, but all the same, he knew he needed to stop now.

Her eyes opened wide. An idea had occurred to her.

"Erik," she said with a sudden urgency. "Can I stay down here until opening night? With you?"

Erik hesitated, baffled.

"I thought- isn't opening night still two weeks away?"

She nodded.

"Christine... two weeks?"

She pouted, and whatever thin scrap of objection Erik had been barely holding on to was lost.

"I don't care that it's two weeks, Erik - I've stayed here plenty of times before, it's no different, really. Do you mind having me here that long?"

If it were up to Erik, she would never leave his home - but he wisely chose to keep that but if information from her.

"No, my dear, I don't mind at all. As long as you don't think you'll grow sick of me?"

He framed the fear as a jest, but she took it seriously, perhaps sensing the very real vulnerability underneath his tone, and she shook her head solemnly.

"I won't grow sick of you," she promised.

He nodded, unsure of what to say. Two weeks. He felt nearly giddy with delight. Fourteen days. Fourteen evenings to sit by the fire with her, fourteen mornings to eat breakfast together, fourteen nights of knowing she was asleep mere meters away from him. Two weeks of Christine, here in his home, with him. Oh, it was wondrous indeed.

The reality of it came crashing down on him.

"Oh," he said suddenly, pulled from his daydreams. "I'll have to go to the market and get enough supplies for the both of us."

He had been meaning to go to the market soon anyway, but with Christine here he'd need more food than for just him. Perhaps he'd get something special to make, something unusual that she'd enjoy. He stood, his mind already filling with ideas and compiling a shopping list.

She tried to stand as well, getting a little tangled in the blanket but unwilling to remove it from her person.

"I'll go with you," she quickly supplied.

He frowned.

"Christine," his tone was firm. "No. You've just had a fright, dearest. You need to rest. I want you to take a little nap, please, and by the time you wake up I'll be back again, and I promise we'll spend the entire fortnight together if you wish it."

She sighed, but knew he was probably right. She did feel rather exhausted. She let him escort her to her bedroom, where he made sure she was settled and placed another cup of tea on her nightstand table.

"You can change, if you wish," he looked away, his cheeks slightly coloring at his terribly forward words. "I want you to be comfortable and able to rest."

She nodded again.

"Thank you, Erik."

He gave a curt nod of his own and exited with his assurances that he would return soon.

"Wait!" she sprang up and called out.

He returned quickly, a look of concern on his face.

"Will you- will you deliver a letter for me? Just to the post, if it's not too much trouble?"

"Of course, Christine. It's no trouble at all."

He waited patiently outside her door as she sat at the little desk in her room and scrawled a long explanation to Raoul - who would surely be confused and upset and worried sick if she suddenly disappeared without a trace for two weeks. He wasn't expected back until opening night, but she knew now that plans had ways of changing, and she didn't want a repeat of what had happened last time. She couldn't send it to him in the mountains, but she could send it to his brother, who would make certain he would get it as soon as he came home. She couldn't tell him the details, not exactly, but she did say that she wouldn't be able to see or contact him until after the premier of the opera, and reassured him that she was perfectly fine but needed time to herself to prepare for her big role.

Big role indeed. She glanced over at Erik. If she was correct in her understanding of her own emotions, this might be the biggest role she had ever - or would ever - undertake in her entire life. The role of a wife was not a role that one took on without being absolutely certain.

She sealed the envelope tightly and hurried over to Erik, handing it to him. He took it and gave the barest glance to its destination, and she could see his jaw clench as he realized that it was addressed to de Chagny, but he took it without complaint and promised to deliver it to the postal office.

She closed her door, but didn't lock it, and without waiting for him to even leave the house entirely she began to shuck off layers of her outer clothing until she was only in her chemise and drawers and stockings. She pulled a nightgown on overtop of these and then threw back the covers on her bed. She carefully placed Erik's blanket around her as she settled onto the bed before pulling the rest of the blankets over top of the cocoon of his blanket she had nestled herself in.

She sighed deeply as her eyes closed, drifting off to sleep, enveloped by the scent of him. The last thought that floated through her mind before she gave in to slumber was curiosity about what it might feel like to fall asleep in his arms.