Erik's voice was cold, and as she pushed open the door she harbored the hope that it was only because he was displeased with how poorly rehearsal had gone.
He was sitting in a seat with a little table next to him, a number of papers scattered upon it. She paused for a moment to take in the odd sight before her - he was wearing glasses. The thin wire frames had been shaped to fit around his mask, but it still looked strange to her. She had never seen him wear them before, but then she supposed she had never seen him try to write anything in the near complete darkness, either.
"Can I help you with something?"
She flinched at his words, spoken just as coolly as the previous ones.
"I'm very sorry about last night," she started, closing the door and moving to sit near him.
He pressed his lips together as he continued writing. She couldn't possibly be sorrier over it than he was.
"I went up, just like you told me, but once I was there - at that very moment, almost! - well, Raoul showed up, and-"
"I know."
She stopped short. He hadn't even looked at her, seemed to refuse to look at her, and that made something in her chest twist.
"The ever-helpful Madame Giry told me all about it," he added, his voice emotionless. "She told me all about how Christine had turned up and ran off with the Vicomte to spend the evening with him."
Christine twisted her hands together. Meg, she thought. Meg must have told her mother.
"I'm sorry," she tried. "I really am."
Erik shrugged and made a valiant attempt at looking like it didn't bother him.
"What difference does it make to me? It's not my place to dictate your whereabouts - if you suddenly found yourself a more attractive offer of companionship, why, don't let me stand in the way."
Something about the way he said attractive made her nervous.
"What do you have to be sorry for?" he muttered under his breath, frowning at the note he was writing.
She swallowed hard.
"I tried to tell him I didn't want to stay for dinner - I didn't even want to get into his carriage! - but he said we could just talk, and then Philippe insisted, and-"
"And I think we both know what you said to me yesterday," he interrupted. "And I think we both know what that meant."
"Erik-" she said miserably.
"I waited for you," his voice wavered for just a moment as he recalled how long he had stood behind her mirror, how the fear that she had been hurt along the way and unable to come back had warred with the haunting disappointment that he really didn't mean that much to her at all until it had made it difficult to even breathe. Could she not have just told him outright? Was his heart just a plaything to her? Was her word so easily broken?
He would not cry in front of her. He was done with tears - tears had been for the previous night, sitting alone in the dining room, his head on his crossed arms on the dinner table, the candles he had lit now just little stumps in pools of wax with weak flames, the food he had prepared sitting on the kitchen counter, cold all the way through and ruined and no longer good for anything, just like him. But that was last night, and this was now, and he had no one to blame but himself. His mistake had been to believe that her words could ever be anything but pretty lies - was it her fault that he had trusted her?
"But it's not important," he said, regaining control of his voice.
She shook her head.
"It is important- Erik, you're important-" she took a tremulous breath. "I wanted to come back, I told them over and over, but-"
He desperately wanted to hear an excuse, any at all, so that he could cling to it and pretend. But he knew the cycle would only repeat if he did - and if he wanted to avoid more nights like the previous one, he had to put a stop to it.
"Do you need anything else? There's no need to discuss yesterday, I'm already aware of it."
She sat silently, unsure of what to say or do.
"Please be sure to close the door on your way out, then."
She was struck by his words - was he dismissing her? She stood up stiffly, embarrassed. In previous times he had always wanted so badly to extend any time spent around her, she wasn't used to being sent away from him.
She walked haltingly to the door, her eyes on him the entire time, but he never looked up from his notes. She turned to face the door.
She stood there with her hand on it for far too long, and Erik finally looked up at her. The soft noise that escaped her lips, coupled with the way her shoulders trembled, told him she was crying.
He took off his glasses and rubbed at his weary eyes, sighing deeply.
"It's alright, Christine," his voice was slightly softer, but he sounded very tired.
Could he truly fault her running off with the young and handsome vicomte? Her heart was fickle and flippant, but curse him - he loved her still.
She shook her head vehemently.
"No, it's not alright. I promised you, and I broke that promise, and I don't how to make that better."
She looked behind her and met his eye, finally seeing the sorrow he was hiding there.
"I don't either," he said quietly.
She wiped at her eyes.
"But you don't have to cry anymore, Christine. I'm not mad at you."
"I'm not crying because I'm worried that you're angry with me. I'm crying because I hurt you and you don't deserve that."
Pretty lies, Erik told himself. Pretty lies and nothing more, but oh, didn't she sound almost sincere?
He cleared his throat.
"We'll still do your lesson the day after tomorrow, if you wish. If you haven't found something better to do, that is."
She winced at the barb, and he found no pleasure in it like he thought he might.
"Okay," she said softly.
It was probably the longest conversation they'd had where he hadn't called her anything other than her name, and it felt jarring, in a way. She was no longer his dear, it seemed.
He turned back to his notes, trying to organize them. They weren't friends, he told himself firmly. They weren't friends, but they didn't need to be friends to be tutor and student. Perhaps trying to be anything more had been the problem in the first place. She was young and careless, was it any wonder she'd forget about her old deformed tutor in a heartbeat when offered the chance to be around someone her own age and very rich, someone with a perfect nose? She was beautiful, so it was only natural that she wished to be around other beautiful things as well. That's just how the world worked.
He felt so ridiculous. He had actually worried for her when she hadn't come back, as though there needed to be a reason besides her simply forgetting or changing her mind. He had asked Madame Giry that morning if Christine had been found yet, and Giry had happily told him that she had, and how she had been just fine, even going to have dinner with the young Vicomte. He had thanked Giry and left, heartbroken by the tale. How foolish he had been, to think she was coming back in the first place. He had immediately returned to his house and packed up all of her items she had left behind there, everything she had brought with her. After it was all stowed away into the carpet bag, he carried every last trace of Christine's presence in his home back up into her dressing room and left it there for her.
Christine took one last look at Erik, hesitating.
"It's not like I wanted to skip out on our dinner, you know. I tried to get back in time, I really did. I didn't- I didn't mean to leave you waiting like that," with those words she pushed the door open and left.
She walked hurriedly down the corridor, sniffling. Her mind played on a loop, finding a constantly shifting blame - if she had just insisted a little harder to Philippe, if Raoul hadn't made her get in the carriage, if Erik hadn't insisted she go up where Raoul was, if Raoul hadn't even come back in the first place, if Philippe had only listened to her, if Erik would just hear her full explanation, if she had been firmer about not getting in Raoul's carriage-
But no matter where the blame lay or what circumstances might have been changed, nothing changed the fact that it had happened as it happened, and he was terribly hurt by it. It was more, also, than just simply not making it back in time for dinner. She had sworn on their very friendship! Her word had been broken, regardless of if it had on purpose or not, and she knew that because of that he likely wouldn't take any apologies or explanations - how could she make it up to him now that he didn't trust her words? And how could she ever show him differently if he was just going to send her away like that?
His trust was such a fragile thing, and she had let it slip through her fingers and shatter on the ground.
She pondered over it with great emotion in the time before her lesson. Meg even asked how he had taken it, and Christine regretfully informed her that he was quite broken over the matter.
"What if I backed you up about what had happened? I could vouch for you that you asked to not go the mansion," Meg offered.
Christine just shook her head sadly.
"I don't think that would work."
She knew the very last thing Erik would want was more people drawn into the whole thing. How could she arrange for Meg to talk to him? It wasn't possible without betraying yet another piece of his trust.
She felt a fresh wave of regret when she went into her dressing room and noticed the bag she had left in his house had been put in the corner next to the mirror, all packed with everything she had left in the guest room.
Erik was in conflict with himself over the whole matter. He brooded down in his home, refusing to eat. He had promised her he'd eat, yes - but what were promises between them now? He tossed and turned that night, not in the mood to do anything at all but also not tired enough to fall asleep.
Was it truly possible that she hadn't wanted to dine with the boy? Or was that simply what he wanted to believe? Surely not all of their good time together had been acting on her part, had they?
She had seemed sorry enough - but no, no! She had sworn to him!
He hated to admit it to himself, but this was probably one of those situations that he needed to talk through, preferably with Christine. But how was he to talk it through with her if he couldn't be certain of her truthfulness? It only confused him all the more.
The following day he watched again from Box Five, peeved that only half of his corrections had been implemented. Try as he might, his eyes kept finding their way to Christine again and again. He missed what they used to have, even if it had only been pretend.
He noted with distaste that the boy was sitting in the audience, one of a handful of people who paid to be able to sit in on a rehearsal, and he was staring raptly up at the stage - at her - as though she were the entire world. Well, Erik mused, he wasn't wrong, but somehow it annoyed him all the same.
It was once rehearsal was over and he pulled out his pen and paper, about to prepare a rather scathing note to the managers, when it happened.
Christine was starting on her way down the steps to leave the stage when Carlotta snuck up behind her and gave her a little push. Christine slipped down the steps with a yelp, falling hard on her bottom and her ankle hitting the ground at a funny angle. Carlotta laughed.
"Little toad has to learn to watch her step," she smiled a saccharine smile as she swept past Christine.
Christine took a moment before getting up carefully and limping fast away from the scene.
Erik's temper flared at Carlotta - the absolute nerve of that awful woman! - but it quickly died out, washed away with concern for Christine. She had only just gotten over a recent injury to that foot, what if it had gotten worse now?
He left his notes and made for her dressing room.
He had a reason to be there, he assured himself as he approached from behind the mirror. Dance was a part of her career, and he was overseeing the success of her career - if she had become injured, he needed to know.
He paused behind the mirror, watching as she tried to take her ankle through its complete range of motion, wincing a little as she did so. He was about to call out to her and let her know he was there when a knock came at her door.
"Lotte? Are you in there?"
Erik's hands tightened into fists. The boy. Of course.
"Come in, Raoul," she said.
Erik knew he should leave then, knew he shouldn't spy on her so, knew that it wasn't respectful - but he stayed where he was. He had gotten there first, after all, and didn't he have a right to make certain his student was okay?
Raoul entered the room.
"Are you alright, Lotte? That was quite a spill," he frowned.
She nodded.
"Just a pulled muscle, I think. But it should be okay in a day or so."
"Speaking of 'in a day or so'," he started sheepishly. "I had wanted to ask you - do you want to go to the zoo with me tomorrow? Around noon?"
Erik's heart sank. Their lesson was supposed to be at noon tomorrow. It was about to happen again, and was he going to have to actually witness it. She'd accept, of course she would. Would she even bother to try and tell him that she was going out with Raoul instead, or would she simply go and leave him to figure out why she hadn't shown up?
Her face lit up at the offer.
"Oh, Raoul, I would love to!"
Erik exhaled the breath he had been holding through clenched teeth. There was his proof, right there.
Her smile turned a little lopsided, as though she had a secret no one else knew and it amused her to have such secret knowledge.
"Except - I have a prior engagement tomorrow at noon. Perhaps another time?"
"Of course," Raoul nodded, and smiled wryly. "I don't wish to keep you from your previous plans. Let's not have a repeat of the other day."
The other day?
Raoul paused, his face turning serious.
"I really am sorry about that, Christine. I hope nothing was spoiled too much by my keeping you so late. I should have listened to you the first time when you said you didn't want to go."
Christine pursed her lips and looked away. Things had been spoiled very much, she was afraid, but she couldn't reveal that to him.
He took in her downcast countenance and frowned a little.
"Was it- was it terribly important, whatever you missed?"
"Oh, yes. Terribly so," she sighed. "I don't think I realized just how important it was until I missed it."
He shifted, uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," he tried again.
"I think we're both sorry," she smiled sadly.
"So what's your plan for tomorrow? Social call, perhaps?" he asked teasingly, wanting to take her mind off their previous time together.
Her smile was a little less sad.
"Yes, you could say that."
"Ah, a friend, then? Do I happen to know this acquaintance as well?"
"I don't believe you've the had the opportunity to meet this friend of mine, no," she laughed lightly.
"Hmm. Well, whoever it is, they get to spend the afternoon with you, so they're the luckiest person on the planet, I should think."
She giggled and shook her head.
"No, I think I'm the lucky one, in this particular case."
"You're both lucky, then," Raoul nodded and sighed. "Enjoy your day tomorrow, Lotte - and I thought the show was coming along nicely."
Christine sighed a little after Raoul had left, completely unaware that she was not alone. She turned her hairbrush over in her hands a few times, lost in thought. Was Erik still upset? Would he still be cold to her tomorrow?
Erik, meanwhile, was rooted to the spot he was standing, scarcely breathing. Could it be true? His mind railed against it, but he had seen and heard with his own eyes and ears! And Christine was surely not lying now, not to the boy - she had no reason to. And he had apologized to her! She really had tried to return to her poor Erik!
He stared unblinking at her in her vanity chair as she played with her hairbrush, and his mind wandered to the conversation they had just after he had forcefully evicted her from his home, the one about what it meant to be a friend - perhaps her missing dinner was merely a mistake, a mistake she was not eager to repeat again. Hadn't she turned the lovely vicomte down so that she could spend time with Erik?
Maybe they were still friends after all - or maybe she simply wanted her voice lesson. In that moment, he wasn't certain it mattered. She hadn't lied to him, and that was all that mattered.
He should have known, really. Had he ever known this sweet girl to lie before? Of course not. She was no little Delilah. Perhaps he had dealt in lies so long that he couldn't fathom someone being so truthful for so long - but it was rather unbelievable, was it not? That she enjoyed his company? But - there was no denying what she had told the boy. She had no idea that he was behind the mirror, she certainly had no reason to think him to be there, so the words had not been for his benefit.
He turned, finally, and went back to his house, the notes he was going to give to the managers suddenly unimportant. Once in his kitchen, he set about preparing some toast with jam and butter, not much of a meal, but food nonetheless, just like he had promised her.
The next day Christine was nervous as she approached the old storage room with the piano where they would do her lesson. Would he even be there? Or would he let her wait and wait and never show up, as she had shamefully done to him?
But he was there, even though she fifteen minutes early - he was there.
"Good afternoon, Christine," he said calmly, his tone betraying nothing of his emotional state.
"Hello, Erik," she replied, and dutifully took her place by the piano.
But Erik didn't move to approach the piano. Instead he paced the room slowly, and she watched him carefully as he did so.
"It has occurred to me," he said suddenly. "That the good Madame Giry might not, in fact, have all of the details of what happened when Christine miraculously reappeared after her disappearance - that perhaps Christine has a version - a more accurate version - of how she came to have dinner with the Vicomte. Perhaps... perhaps Christine would like to recount those events... without, ah, being interrupted or sent away."
She sucked in a surprised breath. He didn't look like he had the other day, he wasn't cold or aloof. He didn't look angry either, just a little nervous, and perhaps embarrassed. He wouldn't look straight at her, but he was watching her from the corner of his eye, his arms crossed behind his back.
She told him what she had wanted to tell him that day in Box Five, and true to his word he didn't interrupt her, only nodded here and there to show he was listening.
"I wouldn't have gotten in the carriage if I had known, Erik," she told him after her story of the night's events was finished. "And I don't think Raoul would have taken us back to the mansion if he knew Philippe was going to keep us - but I was so flustered with everything, and- and no one was listening to me, it felt like, and I didn't know how to make them listen without being rude-" her brow creased with sorrow. "But maybe I should have been rude, because they would have gotten over it in a day or so, but you... I hurt you so very much because of it, and I am sorry."
Everything was quiet. She sniffed and blinked.
"Hmm," he finally said, turning away from the shelf of props he had been staring at and walking over to the piano. "Dry your eyes, my dear - it's time for your lesson."
