His hand shook just slightly as he dropped off the letter at the post. De Chagny. He sneered, but he knew the anger was only masking hurt. Could he not even have the simple joy of two weeks with Christine without having to be reminded of the boy? Seeing the name on the envelope as she had handed it to him had certainly burst the starry eyed bubble he had constructed around himself thinking about the next two weeks. But really, he shouldn't have been surprised - life was filled with proverbial de Chagnys always ready and waiting to intrude on every moment of happiness and trample it carelessly until you were left with nothing.
Perhaps that was unfair of him. She was staying with him, not the boy. She had cried for him, not the boy. She had touched him so freely in a way that sent a shiver down his spine at the mere memory of it.
She probably touched the boy, too, and that made him uneasy. He tried to think of something else. There, the letter was in the post, he didn't have to see it anymore - it was almost as if it wasn't even real anymore. He'd done just as she had asked of him, even though it had occurred to him to drop the letter in the Seine instead. Would she be proud of him, that he had refrained from dropping the letter in the river? Or would she still be disappointed that he had even considered it? He sighed and tried to focus on his grocery shopping.
Two weeks was a long time. Two weeks with Christine - she would have a rehearsal now and then, of course, but she'd probably come straight back afterwards. He began to feel giddy once more, a smile coming to his face as he picked out foods at the market for them to eat. He was limited by the amount he could carry - and he couldn't carry anything very heavy, not anymore - but he found some things he thought she'd enjoy.
He was thankful that he managed to complete the trip without incident, although he didn't get enough to last them the entire fortnight so he knew he would have to go out again at some later point. He returned home as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake her.
She was, however, already awake, and she jumped out of bed when she heard the soft noises of his arrival. It was as he was carefully placing the groceries on the counter that she found him in the kitchen, and she immediately went up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug, pressing herself against his side.
He stood there a moment, baffled by such a show of affection, before he placed an arm around her, letting his hand rest on her back. His breath caught in his throat. Beneath the thin layer of her nightgown and chemise, she wasn't wearing anything else. He had placed his hand on her back enough times before to know - he was familiar enough with the feeling of the thick fabrics of her bodices, the stiffness of her stays and corsets under his hands. But this - a mere two layers of cotton separated her and himself, and he could feel the warmth of her skin, every subtle shift of the muscles in her back. He should pull his hand away, he knew that he should, knew that it was entirely inappropriate. There was no excuse to be touching her like that once he had realized - he certainly hadn't expected it when he had placed his hand there, and now that he knew she was practically nude underneath of his hand the only respectable thing to do was to stop touching her.
He rubbed his hand up and down her back before using his fingertips to gently scratch between her shoulder blades. He was a despicable fiend. She gave a little squeak of pleasure and arched her back at the sensation, causing her to press even closer to him. He swallowed hard, very grateful that she was leaning against his side and not the front of him lest she realize the wicked way he reacted to her unthinking touches.
"How was your nap, sweet?" he asked, trying to keep his voice normal.
"Good," she nodded and pulled away from him to help put the rest of the groceries away.
In truth she had only slept a little while, and the rest of the time she had spent thinking. She liked to think that she was a very logical young woman. And faced with such a big decision in front of her, she decided it would be best to look at it logically. What did she want out of a relationship, what did she want in her future? Besides love, of course.
"Erik, do you ever think you'd live in a regular house out in the world like everyone else?"
She loved staying at his house, but she couldn't picture living there the rest of her life. It was charming and quaint for shorter stays, but to live under the ground forever, every single day? No sunlight? No fresh air? And Erik was getting older, too - such a way of living was certainly unhealthy for him.
Erik's brow knit - why was she asking him that?
"I- I'm afraid I-," he faltered. "I don't think that's in my future, Christine. I'll probably live here the rest of my days."
She frowned. That wasn't the answer she had been hoping for.
"You couldn't picture yourself ever living above, then?"
He was silent a long moment.
"If things were different, I suppose," he said very quietly.
She paused.
"You mean your face?" she asked softly.
He nodded, then shrugged.
"Yes. Yes, or- well, if I had reason to live above."
"What kind of reason?" she pressed.
He didn't reply for so long that Christine thought he was simply done talking about it - he did that on occasion, simply ended conversations in the middle of a question by not ever answering - but she wasn't about to let a topic this important go. She was about to ask him again when he finally gave a reply.
"A reason like another person."
"Like a wife?" she ventured innocently.
He dropped the bag of cookies in shock, then fretted over them a moment, making certain they hadn't broken.
"Yes," he said absently, frowning hard. "Like a wife. You see, it's not a situation likely to present itself."
"But you would live up in a regular house, if you had a wife that wanted to do so?"
He laughed darkly.
"Yes, Christine - I'll live up above with my wife, right about the same time that pigs gain the ability to fly and hell freezes over. Until that moment-" he gestured around them at his house.
She bit her lip. She hadn't meant to upset him like that. How could she explain why she had brought it up without giving away her private thoughts?
Erik, for his part, couldn't understand why she was pressing the issue. How could he ever have a wife, or a reason to rejoin humanity? At best he was able to put in an appearance at his job and play pretend with her before she ran off to marry the boy. He knew it was coming, and soon. Hadn't she said before that she was waiting until she was prima donna? Well, she was prima donna now. The boy would probably propose on opening night, and he was certain that she would accept.
Lost in his dark thoughts, he slammed the cupboard shut harder than he meant to, and the sharp noise of it made Christine jump.
She searched for something to say, but realized he was likely too far gone into his mind to even hear her if she did find the right words to sooth him. He slammed another cabinet and she scurried out of the kitchen. She wasn't afraid of his anger - she'd seen him in enough foul moods to know that he was far more likely to take his anger out on himself than on her - but she didn't like being around him when he was like that, all the same. She settled herself in the sitting with a book and a sigh, waiting for him to cool down.
Erik didn't even notice she was gone until he finally had put all the food away. His heart sank. The boy was going to propose in fourteen days, he was certain, and this was likely the last time Christine would ever be staying here. Perhaps that was what had been in her letter - perhaps she had even even proposed to Raoul instead, and she was going to elope with him after her first show. He'd never see her again. And now - now in his last handful of days with her, he was too consumed with his own self-hatred to even notice if she was in the room or not. Had he frightened her? He hadn't meant to, but then again, his life seemed full of negative effects that he hadn't intended.
He went looking for her, but didn't have to go very far. He stood in the doorway of the sitting room, gripping the doorframe and feeling uncertain.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
She put down her book.
"I didn't mean to upset you with my question, Erik. Are you okay?"
He nodded, and tentatively entered the room. Hadn't they just shared something in the kitchen before all that? He wished they would have more moments like that, like when she had hugged him upon his return, but sometimes he just didn't know how to turn off his negative thoughts. She hadn't meant anything by her question, even if it had stung him. She was a good girl, she'd never do something to purposely harm him. He wished he had better control over his emotions.
She patted the cushion next to her.
"Sit with me?"
He sat down, noticing she had put her dressing gown on.
"What book are you reading?" he asked gently.
She smiled as she showed him, and they talked about the story for a little while.
She didn't enjoy his bouts of anger, but he had gotten better with taming them over the years. He'd never aimed his terrible moods at her, either, which was a relief. She wished he was a little less moody, but she knew she it was something she could deal with in her life - it certainly wasn't something she thought would stand in the way of marrying him.
"What were your plans for the rest of the evening?" she asked.
"To spend time with you," he answer quickly.
A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.
"No," she shook her head. "I mean what were your plans before I spoiled them?"
"You improved them, my dear," he insisted, and she laughed.
"Really, Erik, I mean it."
He thought.
"Just reading, I suppose."
"Hm. Well, would you like to go for a walk this evening?"
"A walk?"
She nodded.
"We could take a walk together. There's never too many people out just after sunset, and it'll be dark enough, I think."
He debated himself on the matter. To go for walks with her was something he had always wanted - but he had already been so active that day, walking so much in the market.
"We don't have to, it's alright," Christine offered, sensing his hesitation. "We can stay in, if you prefer."
"No, let's go for a walk," he decided.
The chance might not come again, for any number of reasons.
"Oh, I'll-" she blushed a little. "Ill have to go dress, excuse me."
It was a little over an hour when the two of them finally stepped out into the street, both dressed quite finely. He, in his hat and cape, with a cane that was no longer just for fashion, and she, holding on to his arm, wearing a lovely dark blue dress and lace gloves, her hair pinned up elaborately.
He kept the pace slow and steady - they wouldn't get very far, but it lessened his risk of an attack and she didn't seem to mind too much. Just as she had said, there were not too many people about, and no one seemed to notice the strange couple as they made their way down the avenue.
She paused on a street corner, looking up at the stars. They were so very lovely, it almost brought a tear to her eye.
"Aren't they beautiful?" she whispered, and Erik glanced up at them for a moment.
"Not as beautiful as you, Christine," he replied easily, honestly.
She sucked in a breath, and their eyes met. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and swallowed against the lump in her throat.
She should tell him. Why wait? She could hold off and weigh her options, but she already knew in heart that it was true.
It was a perfect moment, the stars twinkling up above like a curtain in front of a stage, the gentle breeze with just a hint of a chill that made her nose and cheeks pink, the way the sliver of moon reflected off of his white mask and made the beadwork on his cape sparkle - the very atmosphere was filled with magic.
"Erik," she started. "Erik, I-"
All at once there came a loud clatter of a large horse pulling a water pump cart, with a number of firemen both on the cart and running after it. They passed by them with a great racket of shouts and hollers as they rushed towards whatever emergency they were headed to.
Erik's eyes lit up and he turned to watch them go down the street.
"Ha ha ha! Christine, look - there must be something on fire somewhere!"
She sighed deeply and passed a hand her face. The moment was over.
He turned back to her, delight still sparkling in his eyes.
"Now, what was it you were saying?"
She pressed her lips together, pouting.
"I'm cold," she looked down at her feet.
"Oh, sweet-"
He unclasped his cape, and with a flourish he removed it and draped it around her own shoulders. She looked up at him, surprised. He redid the clasp, his fingertips just brushing the bare skin of the base of her throat.
"There," he said tenderly. "Better?"
She could only nod. They resumed their walk, starting on the journey home, and as she glanced up at him now and then, she noticed he was grinning.
"Erik," she said evenly. "Are you still laughing about the fire carriage?"
He quickly settled his face into a neutral expression.
"No," he said carefully. "I am merely thinking about what might have been on fire."
"You are the worst," she shook her head, but she was smiling, and she leaned her head against his arm a moment to let him know she was only teasing.
Erik always seemed cold to the touch, but the silk lining of his cape was warm - not to mention the warmth it brought to her face to be wearing something of his. Should she still tell him that she loved him? Should she wait just a little longer? She wanted to tell him when the timing seemed right, but it didn't seem right, not after the firemen had gone by and Erik's gleeful appreciation of destruction had taken over (she had seen him, once, with a little wooden house he had built, one the size of a loaf of bread - she had asked him what it was for and he had replied for this and proceeded to place it in the lit fireplace, where he had watched, fascinated, as it went up in flames, and she had been a little put off by the whole thing). She sighed a little and pulled the cape around her tighter. Although it only went to just below the bottom of his knees, on her it very nearly touched the ground, and she was careful to make sure it didn't drag.
They made their way back to his house, where in the entryway he paused to help her take the cape off once more.
"Thank you," she said sincerely, and very nearly another three words that she longed to say, but he turned from her too quickly, as though he were suddenly overwhelmed by the intimacy of such an action.
"Think nothing of it," he murmured.
They ate dinner together, and all throughout Christine couldn't help the smile on her face and the flutter in her heart. Would they always have meals like this if they were married? Delicious food and anecdotes that made her laugh? Erik smiling adoringly at her as she told him some little story or observation? She hoped so. She wanted every meal for the rest of her life to be like this.
"I suppose I shall no longer keep you from your plans of reading for the evening," she teased as she helped with clearing the dishes. "But would you mind terribly if I joined you?"
"Not at all - my house is your house, remember," he chuckled, and she ducked her head to hide her grin.
How right he was, though he didn't yet realize it.
They sat in their usual places in the sitting room, he in his chair and she on the couch, each with a book in hand. Christine read hers diligently at first, but began to grow a little restless. It was late, but she didn't feel tired at all. She glanced up at Erik every now and then, but he seemed absorbed in his own book. She shifted around on the couch, biting her lip.
She couldn't say what came over her, not really. She had never been particularly bold with men, not the way Sorelli and some of the other girls were. Perhaps it was the pent up energy from her failed attempt at a proposal earlier, perhaps it was how handsome he had looked in the moonlight. Perhaps it was any number of things, really.
She turned just a little, setting her book down on the cushion next to her. Erik glanced over, his gaze resting on her for less than a second before he was back to his book. She slid each of her little shoes off and pushed them just slightly under the couch, her stockinged feet now resting on the carpet. His next glance lasted a heartbeat longer and seemed to linger on her feet.
She was not doing anything untoward, she told herself. He had said it was her house, had he not? What was the harm in making one comfortable inside of one's own house?
Her hand strayed up to her hair and pulled out a pin.
Erik's eyes focused on that hand with great intensity.
She continued to innocently pull pin after pin from her hair, pretending not to notice that Erik was now openly staring with only the thinnest of pretenses that he was still reading the book which he held in front of him.
He sank a little lower in his chair, strategically crossing his legs. He had tried not to look, but oh- he did so love her flaxen hair. He couldn't decide if she was being a naive innocent child about it or if she knew and was, in fact, playing a vixen on purpose.
The last of the pins removed, she glanced behind herself at him, eyelashes lowered coquettishly. She ran a hand through her hair and shook it out, causing his breath to stick in his throat. Surely-? No, it was absurd to think she could possibly know. But then again-
She turned once more, facing him again, running her fingers idly through her curls and pulling the tangles out. She seemed unfazed by how shamelessly he was staring, by the hungry glint in his eye. Her heart nearly skipped a beat and she wondered just how far she was willing to take this little game of hers. What would Sorelli do? Probably sit on his lap. What would he do if she were to do that? She wasn't certain. Well, actually - she had a fairly good idea of what he might do, based on how he was looking at her.
Perhaps that would be how she could tell him. She would sit down on his lap and tell him how she felt about him, and then she would finally know what it was like to kiss him, and then- she blushed at that thought. Erik had always been a gentleman with her, but would he still continue to be if she were to do that? She half wanted to find out, and half hoped that he wouldn't be a gentleman about it.
"Erik-" she whispered.
"Yes, Christine?"
His voice was practically a purr, and suddenly her nerve failed her. She quickly withdrew her hands from her hair, squeezing them into fists in her skirts. Well, she thought ruefully, better her nerve fail her now than after she had gone through with her wanton course of action - it would have been terribly awkward to explain that she had in fact changed her mind while in the midst of sitting on him.
"This was a lovely evening," she tried to keep the waver from her voice. How nervous she felt compared to just a few moments ago! "Thank you for walking with me."
"Of course," he replied simply. He felt a little foolish for thinking that she might have on the verge of saying something else - what would she possibly have said? It was enough of a stretch to assume that she held some sort of love for him - it seemed downright impossible that she could ever feel that kind of love for him.
"I'll see you in the morning," she kept her eyes lowered as she stood and made her way for the door. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Christine."
She hurried off to bed, where she marveled at her own forwardness that evening. Had she really been about to-? She pulled the sheets up to her nose, embarrassed. Her carefully laid plans of making very certain they were compatible in their goals for the future before telling him how she felt had nearly been for naught. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if, before the fortnight was over, they would end up sharing the bed in her little room.
She fell asleep shortly, content with the knowledge that there was likely very little that could possibly come between them - she wanted a fairly normal life in a regular, aboveground house with a husband who was able to accompany her on walks and shopping trips and dinners out, a husband who held a normal job and was supportive of her own career. Erik seemed to be all of those things, as far as she could tell. She'd surely tell him before the fortnight was over. She wasn't certain how or when or if they'd be officially married, or where they would live after they moved up above, but surely those were details that could be worked out later - she'd live with him in his little underground house until then.
Erik stayed in the sitting room long after she had gone to bed. He flipped through the pages of his book and sighed, his reading long forgotten. What on earth had come over him to ever think that she would feel that way about him? How dare he stare at her so brazenly! He could only hope she was innocent enough to not realize, although he had been rather conspicuous about it. Still- he felt conflicted. She might be innocent, but surely she was not so innocent as to be completely unaware of how- how provocative it was for a woman to let her hair down like that with a man watching? Surely not at her age? She must have known - but it made no sense. Why would she do that, if she knew? She wasn't a cruel girl, she would never mock him like that - but if she wasn't mocking him, and she wasn't simply being careless, then it only stood to reason that she had been actually flirting him - but that was certainly impossible. If she wasn't cruel, and she wasn't flirting, then he was once again faced with the simple fact that she hadn't even been thinking when she had removed her shoes and let her hair down.
He ran a hand over his face. He was a genius, but so often the little interactions of humanity, so commonplace to others, were a mystery to him. He stared at her little shoes half tucked under his couch (there was no need to be ashamed of staring now, she would never know). He had the distinct feeling he would not be going to sleep that night - he had work to occupy to his mind, and besides, how could he not want to extend the day that had so graciously offered him so many precious memories?
He tossed the book aside and rose, intending to go his workroom but hesitating as he looked at the couch. Just there, on the cushion she had been sitting on, was a little pile of hairpins. He frowned, that all-too-familiar feeling of guilt washing over him as he slowly approached the couch. Once in front of the couch, he ran a gentle finger over the little pieces of metal that had not so long ago been holding Christine's hair in place. Before he could scold himself too much, he quickly grabbed a single pin and tucked it into his pocket. Now he felt ashamed. But surely she would not miss just one pin, after all. He clenched his hand around it as though he were afraid that it wasn't safe even there, as though it might slip out of his pocket and disappear. He hurried into his workroom, pretending he hadn't done anything at all after he had put his book down - but all through the night as he worked on his sketches and blueprints his hand would stray every so often to that hairpin in his pocket.
Christine slept late into the next morning. It had been an exceedingly eventful previous day, so she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. She stretched and yawned and took her time dressing, electing to only pull her hair back with ribbon. She blushed as she thought of last night, of how she had behaved and what she had nearly done. She vowed that she would keep better control over herself today, and waited until her blush had faded before venturing out to find her beloved host.
"Erik?" she called out as she left her room. "I'm up, finally."
She passed the sitting room, the last few embers on the hearth dying, the room empty - and her own pair of shoes sitting there on the floor, reminding her of her brazenness and half-failed attempt at seduction. She checked his workroom, which was messier than usual, but was distinctly lacking in Erik. She raised an eyebrow at the empty kitchen, and found the other rooms the same. She stared down the long hallway a moment before she started towards the only room she hadn't checked yet - his bedroom.