Erik arrived at the practice the following morning utterly unaware of how he'd got there.

He had woken early, hungover and sick, and been helped somewhat by morphine and a mouthful of the cold meal Madame Hervé had left out for him the previous night. He chose again to walk, scarf wrapped tightly about his face, the freezing rain turning the streets to mud. As he set off, he'd thrust his hands deep into his pockets and there found the note he'd been given last night, screwed up into a tight ball. He'd stopped walking, taken inadequate shelter in a side alley and pulled the ball apart. The note was hand-written, unsigned.

It said:

I will destroy you

It needed no name.

He slumped against the alley wall. He was made entirely of sand.

But he did not collapse. He stood still for a while, against the wall, and let the waves of terror wash over him, and then he vomited.

Maybe he would die?

He had until that very moment, almost forgotten about Rafael. In fact, he had not given the events of that evening a second thought, believing, in his naïve and stupid way that once that deed was done, Rafael would want nothing more to do with him. But of course, he had deeply underestimated the damage he could do not only with the revelation of his face, but also the revelation of his and Rafael's predilections. The awful reality was that Rafael clearly had not been dealt with in any way at all, and his impulsivity on that night had made things far, far worse and was clearly going to cause a spectacular backlash in ways he could scarcely imagine. There was no chemical that could ever erase that reality.

When he recovered himself, he raced on through the sludgy streets, his mind turning and turning upon the thought of going to Rafael's apartment this very evening and killing him. He'd lost himself so intensely in his murderous fantasy that he arrived at the practice hardly aware of having walked there at all, having planned out every aspect of the terrible deed in exacting detail. For what else could he do to escape from this man? What other solution could there be?

But when he arrived and took the steps to the entrance of the practice and came to his senses, and he mocked himself for the idiocy of his idea; he was not a murderer, no matter how murderous he felt. Any crime he committed now, under these circumstances, would inevitably be traced back to him – there would be no defence – only horrible public exposure. But surely it was better to confront Rafael and stop him than merely wait passively for him to take his revenge? The thought that any confrontation with Rafael this evening might feasibly end in murder was both horrifying and deeply thrilling. And he could not be sure that it would be Rafael who ended up dead.

Giradin greeted him with surprise and warmth believing, like they all would, that his earliness meant only good things. How wrong they all would be. He could barely speak to Giradin as they set about opening up the room before the rest of them arrived. What use would talking be? What could he possibly say in this state of extreme nervousness? He would never tell Giradin any of this, any more than he would ever show him his face. He wished he had brought the needle with him, for respite from his hammering heart and insane thoughts.

He was due to visit a site later in the morning, to check on the progress of the foundations of a large house to the west of the city. It was not his project – the man who had designed the place had been taken ill recently and with the sudden upturn in Erik's rate of work, Giradin had assigned its completion to him. Erik usually enjoyed work on building sites. He enjoyed their energy and atmosphere of controlled chaos, and he had not yet outgrown his not-so-secret passion for running about on scaffolding. He was acquainted with the foreman, Marcourt, and liked him; he was a man who made rude and funny jokes about people they both knew and yet was reliable and competent.

But he would take no pleasure in the visit today. He was thundering through cycles of violent rage and utter terror. He chose again to walk – run – to the site rather than try to sit still in a ponderous cab, despite what the hapless clerk who had been assigned to go with him had wanted. He did not care who saw him and stared; he would wring the neck of any child who called out, right there in the street. The clerk ran several paces behind him.

The site inspection that he carried out could adequately be described as 'brutal'. Erik had jumped from street level into the excavated basement, shouted at the nearest labourer to find Marcourt, who, it turned out, had been sheltering from the rain in a nearby bar, and when he arrived, Erik had run around the site critiquing – 'berating', the clerk later said to Giradin – Marcourt on every aspect of the work so far completed, from the precise angle of the retaining walls, the type of bricks that had been supplied, to the quality of the labourers that had been hired. He barked his observations at the clerk who struggled to keep up with the barrage of information that was coming at him and demanded instant answers from Marcourt.

Finally, Erik turned to Marcourt, who was looking far less amenable than he had at the start of the visit, "It is going well. You're on time to finish this section by the end of next week. I will be back then."

"You think it's going well? You could have fooled me, the way you've been going on. You need to reign it and calm the fuck down." He stomped away.

The clerk gave him a reproachful look and followed Marcourt up the walkway, leaving Erik alone in the muddy basement. He felt suddenly drained of the energy and bite that had so animated him this morning. He looked around him. A muddy basement seemed an entirely appropriate place for him to be at this moment in time and this thought made him cackle to himself. You're not normal, they all hate you. And you are going to be destroyed by Rafael!

He laughed even louder.

Erik walked back to the practice at a slower pace, despite the increasing rainfall. His mind went again to his plan to confront Rafael this evening and in some way, any way, end things between them forever; over and over he went between the desire to end Rafael himself and the equally strong desire not to be caught. The tension he felt was almost unbearable.

He was relieved to find the place was deserted when he arrived back at the practice. They had all gone out to lunch to celebrate being awarded another large contract. Erik had had a lot of influence over this contract but they had not invited him, knowing that he would refuse to join them. He went to his drawing board on which he found a note.

Another fucking note.

Was his life to be completely dominated by people and their notes? Maybe Rafael planned to destroy him by sending him endless ominous letters? He felt a swell of hysteria in his chest and his hands shook as he picked it up and opened it.

It was from Nadir.

I will be at yours at 8 o'clock this evening.

Erik clapped his hand over his mouth and gave a kind of sobbing laugh. He collapsed down onto his chair. Leaning forwards he held his head in his hands and gave in to the sob that had formed in his throat.

It was as if Nadir knew, somehow, that Erik needed to be saved, rescued from himself and the blackness of his heart, and the relief of knowing that there was now someone who could do this felt nothing short of a miracle. Of course he would not murder Rafael. Of course he would not go there. He would return home. He would be with Nadir. And maybe even forget Rafael again, just for this evening.

He sat up, recovering himself before anyone arrived to see him in this state, and he was able to lose himself in his work at the drawing board and did not notice until the room was full of noise and chatter that they had all returned from lunch.

It was dark as Erik walked home, and the rain had turned to a nasty sleet. He knew he would not, could not, tell Nadir of Rafael and what had happened between them. He was deeply ashamed of his actions that night in the bar, ashamed of his murderous thoughts and he didn't wish to share that shame with anyone. And more than that, he was ashamed of all the – interactions - he had had with Rafael, the way they made him feel pathetic and weak, and he certainly didn't want to share any of that with Nadir. He was sure Nadir had had quite enough of his pathetic weakness to last him a lifetime. No – Nadir would remain ignorant of it all; let him think he had had a lover, let him believe anything but than the truth of it. He would deal with whatever Rafael had planned for him on his own, as always.

Back in his room, he lit all the lamps, and all the candles along the windowsills; he prepared and lit a fire in the stove with some wood he'd bought on the way home, and some coal – an unusual luxury. He emptied the chamber-pot in the latrine at the end of the corridor, pulled the blankets up over his bed, and took the old uneaten plates of food down to Madame Hervé in her kitchen ("Monsieur, monsieur! You are so thin! What will I do with you! You must eat what I give you! What would your mother say!" and he had managed to smile at her and given a little bow and promised - henceforth! - to eat everything she ever brought him.)

He went back to his room and there he boiled some water and stripped naked to wash the grime of site off his hands and face and hair, and then found clean clothes, all the while trying to ignore the nasty mocking voice in his head that was his constant companion; Who do you think you are, you ugly shit? You're going to be destroyed! It was almost as if Rafael had taken up residence in his head. A small-ish dose of morphine slapped the voice down a little and he felt finally able to cease his frantic activity and go to the darkened window by his bed to watch the street below for Nadir.

Nadir arrived at precisely eight o'clock and Erik felt that same knee-melting sense of relief that was now becoming familiar every time Nadir simply did something he said he would do. Erik swung open the door with a grin and invited him in. He wanted to bounce on his toes. "You came – I thought you might not – " Shut up!

Nadir looked at him, askance. "Why did you think I wouldn't come, you silly man? I said I would. You have no trust at all!" He was carrying a large bag.

Embarrassed, Erik laughed, "no, none at all. But I am glad – that you so rudely invited yourself. Like this."

"Ah, my rudeness gets me everywhere, Erik."

"Let me take your coat – and – why have you brought a bag with you? Please don't tell me you're intending to stay here?"

"I bought us some food. I didn't think you would have any and I thought it might be a long night. We will need sustenance." He gave Erik a little smile, putting the bag on the floor. Nadir took off his hat and coat and flung them over the desk chair.

"What, my dear Nadir, do you think we will be doing that will require all this food?" He felt his eyes widen with a mixture of delight and terror. A long night?

"Well, it seems that you have a lot of violining to do. You have given me that great long list of pieces you said you would play to me. I intend to hear you play them. That will require fuel. And then after that – I thought we could – well, I am sure there are lots of things we could think of doing that might make us very – hungry.

Erik huffed a laugh. "You presumptuous little individual. What did you bring? I'm not eating any of it, you know."

"We will see about that. I have seen you eat a nut, like a strange - bird. So I know that I can tempt you." Nadir picked up the bag and went to the small sofa near the fire. He sat down and patted the seat for Erik to sit next to him.

"You are entirely presumptuous, sitting down uninvited." Erik joined him, just close enough for their knees to touch, accidentally. He flushed with a sudden wild excitement.

"And you, Erik, are entirely – what is the word you use? – bourgeois. Waiting to be invited, indeed!" Nadir leant back and took in the room. "You lit a fire for me? And all these candles!"

"The fire is for the damp walls, not you, and I was reading before you came. I needed the light. What makes you so sure you can tempt me?"

Nadir laughed, "you might wear a mask, but I've seen things in your eyes, when you look at me, that are unspeakable, which makes me think that you will be very easy to tempt – " He pressed his leg against Erik's.

"You flatter yourself. I probably just needed a shit." Good god, what are we both doing?

Nadir laughed again. "Perhaps you think of yourself as mysterious?"

"I'm certainly more mysterious than you and your great big bag of food. Why did you invite yourself here this evening?"

"Do you need to ask?"

Erik paused and looked down. I always need to ask. "Tell me, what's in the bag?"

"Ah you see, you want to know, even as you insist you don't want any of it. I have many extraordinary things in here." Nadir reached into the bag, and he did so he moved so that they were sitting very close to each other. "What have I got? Two oranges. From Sevilla! Here, smell them." He put them close to Erik's face, who dutifully sniffed them.

"How lovely, yes. Orangey. You are hoping to tempt me with oranges?"

"Ah - I have a bottle of wine for you. And tea, for me. We can boil some water?" Nadir pressed his thigh firmly against Erik's.

"Yes, yes – do you want it now?" He went to stand up.

"No, stay here. Later." He placed his hand lightly on Erik's knee as if merely to keep him still. "Cheese! The blue one and the soft one."

"Don't make me smell them – "

"And here's a big – loaf! And butter. I love your French butter." Nadir looked at Erik and smiled broadly. He reached back into the bag. "Two apples. And – a cake!"

"You've brought yourself quite the feast Nadir. I think you might have to try harder than buying me tea and oranges. But thank you for the wine." The continued press of Nadir's thigh and his hand upon his knee were an awful, delicious torment; how quickly all this was happening. How soon would come the inevitable request to remove the mask?

"Will I?"

Erik looked at Nadir's hand and tried to remember how this sort of thing went. He had no idea, really, despite having known Rafael. Was this what it was like? For other people? Subtle - not at all subtle! - and gentle and funny and thrilling?

Suddenly he was unable to bear it. He jumped up, terrified of what might happen next. "I'll find the corkscrew. And boil some water for tea." He grabbed the tea tin and the bottle and made for the stove.

"Wait, Erik – before you start on the wine – you made your promise to play those things on your violin."

Erik turned and looked at Nadir who seemed distinctly pleased with himself.

Christ. Would he be able to remember how to play, in this state? "Really? Now?" He looked at the bottle, almost mournfully.

And then Nadir took the neatly folded list from his pocket, with a flourish. He'd come prepared.

"Yes! Now! I know none of these. Some of them are yours, are they not?"

"Ah – not mine – not yet."

Nadir looked at him strangely. "Alright, I will choose one with a name." He made a show of choosing. "Paganini!"

"Oh, Paganini." He put his hand to his chest and gave a little bow. "Thank you from the depths of my soul, Nadir. Why couldn't you have chosen Biber?"

"Paganini. Or I go home."

Erik laughed. He rolled up his sleeves and got his violin from the desk and tuned her, standing away from Nadir, by the windows. "You know, Paganini was said to have sold his soul to the devil to play like this. Women at the concerts he gave would faint with lust when they heard him. I am warning you; don't faint. That would be most inconvenient."

"You have given yourself quite the introduction, Erik. I will do my best not to faint with lust like the ladies."

"Ha. I have more ways than Paganini to make people faint."

He lifted the violin to his chin and put the bow to the strings, all the while looking directly at Nadir who returned his gaze as intensely, never once looking away.

Erik played with great speed, and with enough virtuosity to rival the great man himself. Bow-hairs came loose, his shirt came untucked and the passion of the music, of his playing, seemed a direct expression of the intensity of the desire he felt for Nadir, things that were indeed unspeakable, an outpouring, exquisite note building upon exquisite note, more and more, faster and faster, ever higher, a pulsating release of ecstatic sound, rhythmic and insistent and wild and free.

And when he finished playing, he brought his arms down to his sides, violin in his left hand, bow in his right, open and ready, breathing fast. Nadir held his gaze. And he knew what Nadir wanted, and oh god, it was what he wanted too, and then Nadir was upon him, his arms round his waist, mouth perilously close to his, breath mingled with his, his smell, his warmth. Nadir pressed himself against his hips and Erik could feel him, right there.

"Erik, you are a rare jewel," he breathed. "I should very much like to kiss you now. But first - you must give me permission - to remove your mask."

Erik shut his eyes. What was he doing? He was a stupid, stupid man, so easily caught up in the music and the firelight, and Nadir's beautiful eyes. And yet in his embrace, and with his voice so low, he could feel himself moving in response. This was what Erik had wanted, more than anything, from the first moment he saw him. How terrible it would be to refuse and never to know. How terrible it would be to reject Nadir now, for the sake of his fear.

"Yes. You may."

Still pressed very close, Nadir reached up and deftly untied the mask. He took it gently from Erik's face. Erik did his best not to screw his eyes up, knowing that would make it all so much worse and he bit his lower lip and listened to Nadir's breathing, waiting for the gasp that would surely come with the horror of it.

Nadir's breath remained steady and even.

And then Nadir's arms were holding him again, and Nadir's lips touched to his own, the lightest of kisses, a brief wonder of skin against skin. And then again he returned and put his lips to Erik's, firmer now, soft and warm, and Erik needed to respond, to communicate his want and he pushed back against Nadir.

Erik's hands began to tremble. He dropped the bow, and Nadir pulled away briefly to take the violin from him and carefully placed it on the desk. And then he returned to embrace Erik's waist, pulling him in, hands moving up his back.

"Can you open your eyes?"

Erik did so. He saw that Nadir's eyes were wide and searching. There was no disgust in his face, or fear. Erik brought his arms to gently encircle Nadir's hips, revelling in his warmth and solidity, amazed that he could do this.

Nadir, still looking into Erik's eyes, returned for a third kiss, deeper now, tongue against lips, parting them, against tongue, more insistent and ah god, it was too much – and low rumble started in his throat that transformed all too quickly into a great and terrible sob; this was utterly overwhelming – being seen, being kissed, and so tenderly, three times; this embrace. Erik broke from the kiss and buried his face in Nadir's shoulder and wept, waves of shame and desire and fear and pleasure taking him so that he felt almost unable to stand.

And all the while Nadir pulled him into a tight embrace and stroked the back of his head.

When, finally, his breathing slowed and he felt somewhat calmer, Nadir gently pushed him from his chest, holding his shoulders, Erik could not look up and meet his gaze. An awful crushing disappointment for wanting so much and then failing at it all so terribly.

"Erik – I am sorry for – "

Erik gasped "No, no – it's not you – " he released himself from Nadir and went to his desk chair and picked up an old shirt with which to wipe his face. "Will you pass me the mask?"

Nadir picked it up from the floor and passed it to him. "You don't need to wear it, it is – it is – not necessary – here."

Erik gave a kind of sobbing laugh.

"Why don't we sit down?" Nadir said.

Erik pressed the old shirt hard against his eyes. Stop fucking crying. Would there ever be a time when he wouldn't ruin everything? When he wouldn't humiliate himself with so much excessive emotion. He was no sort of man at all.

Eventually he took a deep breath and looked at the mask in his hand and then glanced back at Nadir who was now sitting on the floor in front of the stove, rekindling it and adding some more coal. He needed to put the mask on, to try to return to a sense of normality, to stop feeling so exposed and raw, but there was another feeling too; what harm would he do by continuing to hide? Nadir had seen his face and then kissed him, not once, but three times, and he had not laughed or run away or said it was a joke. These thoughts almost made him sob again, but he chose not to replace the mask and instead made his way to the stove and sat down, side by side, with Nadir.

Erik drew in a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry. About that. It all took me – rather by surprise." He covered his face with his hands. Again, he dug the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I keep crying in front of you. I hate myself for it. I expect you will think I am leading you on." He hugged his knees up to his chest. From the corner of his eye, he could see Nadir smile, his brown skin golden in the light of the fire.

"It is alright. You took me by surprise with your violin-playing. It was extraordinary."

Erik smiled. "I told you not to faint. It seemed to have had quite the opposite effect on you."

They sat in silence for a while watching the firelight, enjoying its warmth. Erik wondered how bizarre Nadir must be finding this, must be finding him. He wondered when Nadir would make his excuses and go to leave. Had he re-built the fire out of pity?

Eventually Erik broke their silence. "I'm sorry about my face. I am not used to being – ah – kissed – when I show it to people. That was – that was the – first time – I had been – you know – by anyone, Nadir. You kissed me three times – maybe you have lost your mind? Maybe you thought I'd magically change into something handsome if you tried three times." He huffed a little laugh.

"I was very aware of what I was doing. Why would I want you to change? You are unique."

"Unique? You idiot man - what are you talking about? Unique! You realise people usually scream? Don't you want to ask me about it? What went wrong?"

"People scream? At your face?"

Erik instinctively turned away. What could he possibly tell Nadir? Why had he even mentioned the fucking screaming? Did he want Nadir to feel pity for him as well as revulsion? What was this pathetic need for attention?

He put his head on his knees, still looking away from Nadir. "I used to be in a - a situation. Where screaming at me – my face – was encouraged. People. They paid. To see it. Don't look at me." He shut his eyes in shame. He felt suddenly light-headed.

He felt Nadir move closer and put his hand gently on Erik's shoulder. "My God, Erik – when was this?"

"It stopped about ten years ago. Do you remember I told you about that man? Who I said had changed my life? He found me." He hid his face in his arms, his hands in tight fists, he could hardly bear to admit it. "In a – in a – sideshow. Of a travelling fair."

"But why? Who allowed this? You were a child!"

Erik looked up. "Oh, it was my own fault, Nadir. I ran away. I stupid enough to be caught by the man. My mother was going to put me in a lunatic asylum. I had to leave." He dared himself to look directly at Nadir.

"You ran away from your home and were put in a sideshow and people paid money to see your face? I can hardly comprehend it. What a monstrous thing to have done to you – "

"Monstrous? Yes, I suppose it was. Though they said I was the monster." Was he the monster? He was never really sure. Erik paused. "You know, you're the first person I've ever told about this. Apart from Guizot. I try not to think about it. Put it from my mind." There was a strange kind of relief in this confession. But that horrible feeling returned; perhaps he would talk and talk and never stop, that he would scare Nadir away with his disgusting tales to go with his disgusting face. Shut up now!

Nadir was still looking at him with that strange intense look he'd seen earlier. Erik wondered if he was about to cry. Ah, it would even things out a bit.

"Don't look at me like that. It is long since finished."

Nadir shook his head. "Is this why you will not eat in public?"

Erik stared back. Could he tell him? It wasn't even the worst of it. "Yes."

He shut eyes. And he was there again in the cage, that first time he was made to do it. The man had had an idea – he always had little ideas, ways in which to torment Erik, ways to threaten him, sometimes they were laughable, even then, but sometimes they made him urinate with fear and humiliation – and this idea was one of those. There was a late-night crowd, drunk and raucous, who would pay money to see things that the daytime crowd would have been too - the man had said 'uptight' to see. That night the man had woken Erik from his sleep. It was quite soon after he had been caught and he was still desperately sad and still hoping that his mother would somehow find him and take him away. He had been shoved onto the stage unmasked, and in his tired confusion he had to stop himself from crying with the noise of the crowd, even as he was in front of them. The man had hit about the head with a sharp blow and then slid his food onto the floor in front of him. The man, drunk himself, had shouted at the crowd that Erik had been an extremely bad corpse and his punishment was to eat on the stage. And the crowd had roared with laughter, and Erik had been almost unable to comprehend what was expected of him – and so the man had grabbed him and whispered very close, spittle on his cheeks, eat now or I will set you on fucking fire. And Erik had pissed himself and obeyed and the crowd had screamed in disgust and howled as if he, or they, were dogs –

"Erik, Erik – are you alright?"

Erik gasped again as if surfacing from a dive and opened his eyes. Nadir had his hand on his shoulder again and was looking at him, his eyes full of something - what was it? - something like worry, or worse than that – surely he would leave now? Would he ever stop looking at him?

"Yes – I – I am - " He felt odd and numb.

Nadir patted Erik's shoulder and got to his feet. "I will make the tea. Would you like some wine? I think we could both do with something."

Erik didn't really know what he wanted, there was a sense of not really being there. Could a person drink wine when they were only nine years old?

"Yes."

He sat and watched as Nadir went about the place boiling the kettle, finding the corkscrew and glasses, and a plate, bringing his picnic to the floor in front of the stove, pouring the wine, making the tea, all the while talking to Erik, asking where to find things, keeping up a constant flow chatter and gradually Erik was brought him back to himself and he remembered who he was and where he was and how to be.

When he had finished his preparations, Nadir sat down, side by side with Erik, and passed him the wine – Erik noticed with regret that the bottle was kept out of his immediate reach – and began to cut up the oranges. The air was filled with their glorious orange smell and, despite it all, Erik took a piece when it was offered to him, the juice tasting like its colour, like the sun.

And they sat there together, for several hours, in the warmth of the stove. Sometimes they sat in silence, sometimes they talked. And almost without noticing he was doing it, Erik was able to eat the things that Nadir gently offered him, and there was in him the beginnings of the understanding that eating together was not the same as being watched for grim entertainment, and that it at the very least it could be tolerated, with Nadir. Perhaps this was the beginning of trust, perhaps this is what trust feels like?

Eventually they grew tired and Erik found the courage to touch Nadir's fingertips and say that it was late and maybe he would like to stay, there was room, if he wanted. And Nadir had smiled and said he would stay, and they kissed again, deep and long, and this time there was no crying, which was a blessed relief to Erik.

They lay together in his bed in the dark, and at last Erik turned away from Nadir for he could not bear to lie with him so close while unmasked, and Nadir wrapped himself around his body, along his back and around his chest in an embrace that was to Erik an extravagance of feeling, an ecstasy of sensuousness, the likes the of which Erik had never previously imagined, far less experienced. And although he was unable to sleep so entwined and had to move away from Nadir after he was sure he was sleeping, Erik eventually slept and his sleep was free, for once, from nightmares.

But this little dream was not to last long and Erik woke the following morning in the grey winter light, sweating and ill and once again trampled with the anxiety of knowing that no matter what he and Nadir did there was now always the problem of Rafael and his terrible threat. Maybe today would be the day he was to be destroyed?

Erik got up from their bed as quietly as he could so as not to disturb Nadir. He sat on the edge and allowed himself to look upon Nadir's face, peaceful and innocent. He traced Nadir's lips with his fingertips, not quite touching them, feeling his breath. What a wonderful thing it was that Nadir was in his life, in his bed, good god it seemed miraculous, and how awful it was that he was now certain to lose it all in whatever Rafael had planned for him.

His mood plummeted as he gathered together what he needed in the cold half-light, the stove having long since gone out, the creeping tendrils of despair, fear and misery that wrapped themselves once more around his heart, those terrible binds that had plagued him for as long as he could remember. And they twisted ever tighter, fed by the knowledge that despite Nadir's presence, despite his – whatever it was, the word he did not want to admit to himself because surely it was too soon, the word that he knew might very well be – love, despite this, he was still held captive by fear and misery, and he knew that it would all soon be lost.

And so misery, despair and fear combined to once again contract his heart, squeezing the colour from it so that all that was left was a kind of dark rage.

He sat at his desk, his back to the bed where he hoped Nadir still lay sleeping, and tried his arms for a vein. None were forthcoming. He tried his wrists and then his feet, all the while knowing that he was running out of time before Nadir awoke and -

"What are you doing?"

Erik froze. "Nothing," he lied.

"Mmm."

Erik didn't dare turn to look at Nadir.

Nadir spoke again. "Aren't you cold, sitting there? Why don't you get some clothes on?"

"I'm not cold."

He heard Nadir shift in the bed.

"I've been awake for a while. I know what you're doing."

"Why did you ask then?"

"Mmm."

"Go back to sleep."

Nadir chuckled softly, "you will not find a vein when your arms and hands are cold. Come and get back into bed. I will warm you up. Then you can try again."

Erik pulled his hand roughly over his face and sighed. "What do you know about this Doctor Khan?" Was it worse to have been found out doing this or to be the object of Nadir's unending kindness? He gritted his teeth and said nothing more.

"Bring the needle with you."

At this, Erik stood up. The pit of dread and nausea in his stomach was growing. He looked at Nadir who was lying on his back, hands behind his head, eyes shut, entirely at peace. He moved quickly so that Nadir would not see the whole of him, fully and horribly exposed. He placed the needle on the windowsill at the head of the bed, and got in. With resignation, Erik extended the length of his bony body along the generous expanse of Nadir's, arm draped over his chest, left leg over both of Nadir's, enjoying the warmth of Nadir's body, despite his unease.

"Agh, you are freezing! Your feet! Are you sure you are alive?" Nadir laughed, "are you sure you are not a corpse?"

Erik gasped, "don't say that!" He recoiled in horror and all but fell out of bed. He landed in a crouch, a bloom of loathing in his chest. He jumped up, snatched the needle and shouted again as he lurched away, "don't fucking say that Nadir!" He came to halt at the small sofa the other end of the room, sat down, the needle beside him and began furiously re-examining his arms for a suitable vein.

Nadir sat up and sighed. "Sorry, sorry. Sorry. Listen. It is so cold in here. You can't sit there and do – that. Come back to bed. I will try not to say – the stupid things again."

"Maybe you should just go." And then under his breath, with the anger and the shame of it, "va te faire enculer."

"Go - ? What - ? What if I don't want to go?"

"Do what you want."

"All right. I will do what I want." Nadir stood and pulled on his undergarments. He went to Erik and took him by the hand, pulling him to his feet. "Come on you, you terror. I am going to hug you and your awkward veins." He tugged Erik back to the bed, pushed him down into it, and got in beside him, pulling the blankets over them both. Nadir wrapped Erik in his legs and arms and muttered, "you are a very cold man, Erik, you really are."

Erik lay in Nadir's arms, eyes shut, in a misery of conflict. Being enveloped like this – it felt good and warm – of course he had been cold - and it was reassuring, and the fact that Nadir refused to go away was a wonderful and remarkable thing, but he couldn't really enjoy it, this lovely gift, because he felt so bloody awful and wrong. Nadir was moving his hands all over Erik's body in a way that anyone else would have found sensuous and would have induced movement - but not in him, not now and that thought filled made him more miserable than ever. Maybe he was dead. Eventually Nadir's efforts slowed and he took one of Erik's arms and looked at it, matter of factly.

"There, that's better. Open your eyes Erik. What do you think? I will fetch to the – stuff."

Erik looked. It did seem more promising.

What was this man doing to him? Was this some kind perversion of Nadir's? Would it matter if it was? Nadir returned with the stuff, why wouldn't he call it by its name? and Erik sat up, and quickly took advantage of his borrowed warmth.

Some minutes later, Erik looked up at Nadir who was sitting on the bed, his face full of concern, and said, "I don't like you watching."

"Well then, you shouldn't do it in front of me. Do you feel better now?"

Erik gave a little laugh. "For now."

"Do you think you'll stop?"

"Why would I want to? I think I've only just begun."

Nadir raised his eyebrows. "It makes you ill – "

"Yes but, Nadir – it works so marvellously! Apart from the itchiness. And the sickness." He laughed.

"It sounds horrible."

"Mmm. Maybe. Maybe you should try it one day?" Erik smiled. "Come on, let's get you – us! - something to eat."

This is what Erik plays to Nadir Niccolò Paganini: Caprice No. 24 In A Minor played by James Ehnes. It is how I imagine Erik would have sounded (but not looked!)

And this is the same piece played by David Garrett from the film The Devil's Violinist. It's a bit of a hoot because David is being all sexeh with the ladies like Paganini would have been. I think that Erik had the same effect on Nadir. Without an orchestra.