His eyes widened as he froze with the spoon in his mouth.
"I-in your guest room, I mean," she stuttered.
"You can stay in my guest room whenever you wish, Christine," he rushed to tell her, not meeting her eye and hoping that somehow she would miss the flush of color across his face. "Of course you can stay for your birthday."
He hesitated.
"Are- are you quite sure, though? That's really what you want to do for your special day?"
She fiddled with her spoon, shrugging a little.
"It's not a very special day, I'm afraid," she sighed. "I'm not really doing anything special to mark the occasion - all the other girls were bragging about their fancy trips, but I'm not able to do anything like that... But they, er, somehow got the idea that I would be going away on a little trip, anyway. I'd feel so silly staying in my dormitory."
It was only after she said it that she suddenly felt silly for even having said that to him - what if he got mad at her? What if it upset him that she was only using his generous offer of the guest room to avoid the other girls?
But he nodded understandingly, and didn't seem upset in the least.
"Well," he said conspiratorially. "They'll never guess the truth of the matter, I believe."
She smiled sadly at him. Anyone else, upon hearing her reasoning, might have been offended at seeming to be her second choice, but not poor Erik - or if he was offended, he didn't show it.
"Besides," she said. "Staying with you will make the day plenty special. I don't need anything else."
Erik was quiet. He was pondering over a different world, one where he looked like everyone else so that he could whisk Christine away on a fantastic journey, one that would put all the other girls' trips to shame, the kind of trip Christine deserved. She had traveled as a child, he knew that, but now he would take her to vineyards in Italy, and snowy town squares in Russia, and balmy jungles in the Far East where they would see elephants and tigers and all the other animals she'd only ever seen in a cage.
But he was no better than that tiger down at the zoological garden - he was trapped, unable to leave. He couldn't give her that wonderful trip any more than that tiger could finally roam free in its native home.
He sighed a little. Christine deserved so much, and he was able to give so little.
She started a bit at his sigh. Was he offended, then? She shifted a little.
"If my throat feels better by then," she offered. "I'll sing for you."
He was pulled back from his gloomy thoughts.
"Of course, sweet. Only if you feel better."
They finished their soup and talked of this and that, although Christine thought he seemed rather distracted throughout the rest of the meal.
Before they parted they made arrangements that he would meet her at secret entrance on the Rue Scribe side in the early morning, and he would escort her downstairs where she would stay until the later part of the evening the following day - plenty of time for the ballet rats to think she'd been swept away by some mystery suitor.
When she left he went immediately down to his home - there was so much to do to prepare her room.
He stripped the bed of the sheets and blankets that had sat there for ages, intending on washing them, but swiftly realized that they were terribly old - he couldn't even remember how old. That would never do. He dumped them to the bottom of the lake and set out to buy new linens.
He hated going outside, he truly did - but this was for Christine, so he found it was quite necessary.
He brought the new sheets back, but dragged the mattress off the frame first to shake the dust off it (what if a spider lived inside of it, and crawled out and frightened poor Christine? He wouldn't have her be frightened of anything in his house!). When he thought it seemed fresh enough he replaced the mattress and stretched the sheets over it, placing the soft blankets on top. Newly purchased pillows were fluffed and settled with the utmost of care, and then his attention was turned to the old rug on the floor. Why was it so old? Why was all of his furniture so old? The thought made him uncomfortable.
He took the rug and strung it up outside his house, and he smacked it with the rug-beater until there were no more clouds of dust coming off of it. He repeated a similar course of action with the draperies on the walls, and when that was finished he dusted every surface he could find in the room, polished all of the wood and swept the floor.
The room was spotless and awaited her arrival, but still Erik fidgeted and fretted over her upcoming visit. She had never seen the guest room before (the room that he was already starting to think of as Christine's room instead of the nebulous term guest room) and he hoped she liked it. What if she thought the furniture too old fashioned? What if he hadn't cleaned it well enough?
But soon enough the day arrived and he found himself immaculately dressed as he stood in the shadows and offered his gloved hand to help her into the tunnel.
She smiled shyly at him, nervous, as she clutched the carpet bag she had packed earlier. She was dressed finely, too - her going-out overcoat and her gloves and a hat, her hair pinned up and her lips painted an appealing shade of pink.
She was still blushing slightly from the curious looks the other girls had all given her as they had watched her walk out of the dormitories with her carpet bag, all dressed up and headed who-knew-where with who-knew-who. A few girls had called out to her, well wishes and hopes for an enjoyable journey, and she had simply ducked her head and blushed all the more.
She didn't like to talk about her personal life like that - the fact that she barely had anything at all to even talk about had nothing to do with it. She assumed even if she was going out with someone, she still wouldn't want to talk about it. So she hadn't said anything at all, and let the girls wonder and come to their own conclusions as they saw her leave the opera house.
She glanced up at him as they walked down the dark tunnels, biting back a funny little smile. What a pair they made, she thought. Both dressed so beautifully as though they were off to somewhere grand, when the only place they were going was a glorified cellar in what could rightly be called a sewer.
"Forgive me," he started off as they began the trek to his house. "It's still rather early, you know. I'm afraid I'm not quite up to conversation at the moment."
She nodded sympathetically.
"It's alright," she assured him.
Much of the trip was spent in silence, but true to her word, she didn't really mind.
Her mind was buzzing with enough thoughts to occupy her attention, anyway.
It was to be the first time she'd stayed overnight in a man's house alone with him. In some ways it felt like a big step in her relationship with him (whatever that relationship actually was), but in some ways it only felt like a natural extension of what had already come before it - she'd stay entire afternoons with him, had meals with him in his home after and tea before lessons, why should she not simply linger there a little longer?
She squeezed her hands around the handle of the carpet bag, the evidence that it would not be quite so simple as that.
She wouldn't just be staying in his house, she'd be undressing in his house, wearing her nightclothes in his house.
She twisted the handle around a little.
If she thought hard enough about it, she could imagine that since he lived in the cellar of the building, didn't that mean that technically all of the opera house was his home? Didn't that make the entire building simply extra rooms in the house he lived? Why, if one looked at it that way, there were dozens of girls who stayed overnight every night, undressing and dressing in his home - herself included. Talk about scandalous.
She huffed a little laugh at the thought, but stifled herself quickly, eyes darting to Erik, afraid he'd ask what was funny, and she certainly couldn't explain that to him!
But he hadn't even seemed to notice her laugh, he barely seemed to register anything as he stared out across the lake and mechanically poled the gondola across.
She spared a moment of concern for him - he didn't look entirely well, and he hadn't blinked in quite a while. His movements were stiff as he tied the boat to the dock, and his key rattled in the doorway as though his hands were unusually clumsy.
"Erik," she ventured as they entered his home. "Are you feeling all right?"
He hesitated before answering.
"I am not a normal man, Christine," he said quietly. "And as such, I do not often stick to the schedules of normal men, either. I am afraid, my dear, that I don't often sleep at normal times. There is no sunlight down here, as you know, so even though it is morning up above, I feel as though it's far past the middle of the night."
She frowned as she thought over what he had said.
"Oh! Oh, poor Erik - it's quite past your bedtime, then, isn't it?"
His mind was not so slow as it reacted to her words, the tips of his ears coloring as she fretted over him as though he were a child to be taken care of. It was not an entirely unappealing scenario playing out before him, though he regretted that any action of his would cause her pretty face to frown like that.
"You must be terribly tired. How long have you been up?"
He couldn't lie to her, so he opted to not answer at all - is his agonizing over making sure his house was presentable for an overnight guest, he had neglected to sleep for at least two nights. Luckily, she was undaunted by his lack of response and continued to talk.
"You simply just go get some rest, Erik."
He shook his head stubbornly.
"No, no - I would be quite remiss to have a guest and then retire to my room. Besides, it is your birthday. I should be doing something for you..."
His eyes scanned the room distantly, as though he was looking through the walls and observing his entire house.
"Would you like me to play for you?"
She pouted.
"I'd like you to sleep, Erik. Please - I don't want you to feel poorly on my account. I'd much rather you rest."
"Let me show you to your room and get you some breakfast first," he sighed.
He led her to the doorway of the guest room and opened the door for her, setting foot inside only to show her how the lock worked and swiftly stepping back outside. She placed her carpet bag at the foot of the bed, looking around with wide eyes.
"It's lovely," she said, and he smiled.
"Come, let's get you something to eat, dear," he ushered her back down the hallway and to the kitchen.
He lit the samovar and began preparing tea for her, and then set about making her some food.
Once it was finished, he took it to the dining room where he set a place for her and sat down in the chair next to it. She sat down, thanking him.
"I believe, if you do not mind too terribly, that I will retire for a while after all."
She looked up from her food, surprised.
"Don't you want anything to eat?"
He shook his head.
"The house and everything in it is at your disposal, sweet. You may go where ever you wish and use whatever you please - there is more food and drink in the kitchen as well, and you may have whatever you like. Only," he paused. "I only ask that you not enter my bedroom, Christine."
He looked down at his feet, his voice suddenly quiet.
"I must remove my mask to sleep, and I do not wish for you to be frightened."
She nodded solemnly, and he looked up again.
"I will see you in a little while, my dear. Enjoy your breakfast," and he stood to leave.
"I hope you sleep well, Angel."
She smiled at him so sweetly, so kindly, that his sleep deprived mind caused his hand to raise - the start of a movement to cup his hand to her cheek, a gesture of the affection he felt for her - but he suddenly caught himself, horrified at what he had been about to do, and let his hand drop to his side where it clenched into a fist. He turned and left the room without another word.
She watched him go, just a little disappointed - a feeling that surprised her a bit. She had thought for certain he was going to touch her face or her hair or perhaps her shoulder, but either she had misread him or he had thought the better of it.
Christine felt a little lonely in the dining room all by herself, but she was glad Erik was going to get some sleep. When she had been pressing him to go rest after they first arrived, she had nearly let slip the comment, you look awful - but she managed to bite it back in time, knowing that it would surely hit a sensitive spot with him, despite the fact that she only meant he looked exhausted. The poor man.
She finished her breakfast and washed the plate in the sink, carefully drying it afterwards. Erik typically made a fuss about her not having to do dishes when she ate with him, but Erik was currently asleep, and she wanted to do whatever she could to ease his burdens, even if it was as simple as washing a dish.
Her dish clean, she was suddenly at a loss of what to do next. She had no idea how long Erik would sleep for - with the way he looked, she wouldn't be surprised if he didn't wake until tomorrow.
She decided to return to her room. She found that the door on the other side of the bed led to an ornate bathroom, and she wondered briefly what it would be like to take a bath in the large tub. She walked back into the bedroom, and pulled her few articles of clothing out of the carpet bag and spread them across the bed. Her dressing gown she hung in the empty wardrobe, along with her dress for the next day.
Into the dresser she placed her folded nightgown, a fresh set of bloomers, and new chemise, her face a little pink as she closed the drawer.
Her task done, she wandered the little house. It was deathly quiet inside, and she walked as softly as she could, afraid to disturb the silence. She glanced at the closed door that she knew led to Erik's bedroom, thought of him sleeping inside, probably tucked under a number of blankets on a soft mattress, his mask off so as to not chafe the sensitive skin there.
She couldn't help the little shudder she gave as she thought of his unmasked face, even as she was lanced with compassion for the difficulties he had dealt with his entire life because of it. She wasn't frightened of that face as he thought she might be - but all the same, it had been a little gruesome to see.
She walked past his door, past the eerie silence that emanated from there too, and made her way to the sitting room where she searched his tall bookshelves till she found a title in a language she could read that looked interesting, and she sat down to read it.
She wasn't certain how long she had read for, but she ended up halfway through the book, which was several hundred pages long in its entirety. She rubbed at her eyes and stretched, stiff from sitting for so long. A little walk was what she needed, so she stood and walked and eventually found herself in his work room.
She approached the so-called architectural model and peered inside the windows of it, hoping to catch sight of the lovely Christine doll that lived there. Her little self was sadly nowhere to be found, nor was the tiny Erik - though she noticed the Carlotta doll was sitting on the front steps of the opera house for some reason. Unable to remember how, exactly, he had opened up the doll house - the model - and afraid to accidentally break it, she was unable to find the whereabouts of her other self. She stared at the Carlotta on the steps, her little arms crossed, her face painted in a permanent scowl, and Christine smiled at her.
Did Erik act out scenes with them? Did he throw his voice like she knew he sometimes did, to make it appear as though they were actually talking? Did he use that awful falsetto of his that made her nearly burst with hysterical giggles every time she heard it?
She smiled wider just thinking of it.
She caught sight of the harp she had given him on one of the worktables, the strings in the process of being replaced, and, as she looked closer, the chipped paint had been repaired as well. It made her terribly happy to know that he was enjoying it enough to give it a place among his own creations and personal projects.
She turned her focus to the many drawings tacked to the walls, and to the ones left in piles that she carefully sorted through - charcoal sketches of people (among the many on the table, she found one of all the ballet rats preparing for a rehearsal on stage - each one was captured perfectly, and she stared for a long time at the rendering of her there in that group, holding to Meg's arms and leaning forward, grinning mirthfully at something just off the edge of the paper. The other girls all held various looks of boredom, except for Meg, who looked like she was in on the secret Christine seemed to have), watercolors of landscapes (some places she had been as a child, places that made her heart twist with nostalgia, and some places she never seen before that made her long to experience them - had Erik really been to all of these places himself? He must have, because she didn't think he could have captured them so perfectly otherwise), and architectural blueprints which she studied very closely, trying to understand the layout of how the house would look in real life once it was built.
There was one in particular she liked - from the outside it looked unassuming, a normal house, but on the inside it held many rooms in a curious layout, unlike any she'd seen before. It would be exciting to live there, she thought. Something about the design drew her in right away. The little boxes and semicircles and hexagons that outlined the walls had little words written in them, some with question marks, as though the label of what each room would be was still up for debate - wife's apartment? library part 2? indoor garden room (skylights + plenty of windows, the scrawled note under the name read)? guest room? parlor for parties? - two rooms in particular had been named only for the name to scratched out, the first was "nursery?", and the second was "shared apartment?", although after the second one had been crossed out, the same name was written below it again, this time with two question marks after it.
She heard a small rustled by the doorway, and looked up to see a slightly less tired Erik standing in the doorway.
"This is such an interesting house," she said, holding the design up.
His heart, still sluggish from having been asleep, suddenly began to pound uncomfortably in his ears.
"Oh?" he came closer, desperately hoping it wasn't the design he was afraid it was.
She nodded.
"It looks so full of possibilities. It would be exciting to live there, I think."
He peered over her shoulder, and the blood drained from his face when he saw which one it was.
