Erik had scarcely known what to do with himself after that first lesson. He'd barely slept the night before, vainly trying to push down the anxiety that filled him at the thought of what the morning would bring. He had been second-guessing himself right up until (and including) the moment Christine had walked into the practice room. For the life of him, he couldn't remember why he'd thought it was a good idea to offer to give this girl lessons. There was no way he had been in his right mind at the time, and now that he'd had a chance to think things over, he could only see the situation as the undoubtedly catastrophic mistake it would be. He had no memory of the drive to the music building; the only possible explanation he could think of for why he was going at all was out of morbid curiosity for how disastrously the whole thing would go. When he'd heard the door to the practice room open, he'd had to fight the urge to bolt.
But then he'd turned and seen the small, timid girl in the doorway. Her eyes had widened for just a second as she took in the mask, but she had been quick to conceal her surprise. He'd felt a very slight twinge of sympathy, the thought of how frightening it must be for her to discover she'd agreed to meet with a strange masked man briefly breaking through his own anxiety. It had been just enough to make him pause. She'd stepped into the room and, though her nerves were still apparent, she'd given him a polite smile and held out her hand.
It was as though he'd been standing near the edge of the cliff, trying to peer over to see what lay below it. He'd moved just a little too close to the edge and lost his footing, and now he could feel himself slipping; the fall hadn't quite begun, but he knew it was coming, and there was nothing he could do about it. Bracing himself, he had reached to shake Christine's hand. He'd gotten himself into this situation and, for better or worse, it was happening—out of his control.
That grim thought was displaced as soon as they began the lesson. He was quickly consumed by her voice, determined to learn every facet, to know it like his own. Her lack of training was apparent, but she hadn't developed any habits that were too bad, and he could fix the few she had developed. She needed more control, more conviction, more passion. He didn't doubt that he could teach these as well. And then she would be great. Perhaps she could even be somewhat of a legacy for him, achieving the success that he might have if not for his face. She could be his voice, his instrument, his greatest composition.
After she had left, it occurred to Erik that he hadn't once caught her staring. She hadn't appeared to shy away from him, as he had expected; Christine had behaved as though this had been a normal lesson with any ordinary teacher. And while he wouldn't exactly say that he had felt comfortable, it had seemed, for a while, that he'd forgotten. It was like he had existed outside of himself for a while. His face didn't matter, nor his past. All he was was her teacher, and during their lesson, nothing existed except the two of them—teacher and student. The realization that he'd felt anything other than crippling self-consciousness stunned him, but equally bewildering was Christine's ready agreement to be his pupil.
He had hesitated as she had gathered her things at the end of the lesson, nervous to ask whether she still wanted lessons. As unsure as he had been about the whole thing only an hour before, it would be quite a disappointment now to have her refuse. Much to his surprise, she spoke up before he did, and, despite the slight wariness that lingered in her eyes, she had quickly agreed to never ask about the mask. Perhaps it was simply because she had no other options, he reasoned—she couldn't afford to pay for lessons but clearly wanted to improve, and he was her opportunity to do just that. Even a small amount of desperation could drive people to make poor decisions.
He hadn't mentioned any of this to Nadir and, frankly, didn't plan to, at least for as long as possible. The logical part of his mind knew that Nadir was well meaning—after all they had gone through, Nadir had more than proven that he meant no ill will. But everything they had been through together also meant that Nadir had seen Erik at his worst. And while Erik couldn't exactly blame him for his watchfulness now, the man's tendency to pry could get quite irritating. At any rate, Erik wasn't sure how he would explain any of this even if he did want to tell Nadir. It had all been one reckless, thoughtless decision after another, driven perhaps by boredom or self-destruction. And, despite one successful lesson, it could still amount to nothing. Just because it hadn't fallen apart immediately didn't mean it wouldn't eventually.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. Maybe he should just end it now. He wouldn't even have to meet with Christine in person again—he could call her and tell her that he was sorry, but something had come up and he wouldn't be able to teach her. The thought of that caused a pang of disappointment, though. Working with her today had been… he wasn't quite sure how to describe it. Exciting? Fulfilling? He was suddenly full of plans for what he would have her practice and what they should work on first; he felt, for the first time in years, like he wasn't just shuffling through the days, killing time until he finally reached the end of his life. This felt like he had something important to do, an actual purpose. It felt like something that could actually matter. Her voice was intoxicating and malleable and he knew that he couldn't truly consider not continuing the lessons—not now, after he'd had a taste of what it would be like to train her. As foolish as he knew it was, he wanted to continue.
And so Erik found himself in the same practice room the following morning, waiting for Christine to arrive, his thoughts already deep in the day's lesson. Christine entered on time, looking a little more assured than she had the day before.
"Good morning," she smiled as she came in and dropped her backpack on the floor.
Erik nodded in reply, and when he didn't say anything, Christine went on.
"I'm excited to see what you have for me to work on. I also brought some music we're working on for choir. I thought that maybe we could look over it if we have time."
"That would be acceptable," Erik replied. "Shall we begin?"
"Oh, um, actually I was wondering if we could just talk for a minute first. You know, introduce ourselves." She blushed, a little unnerved by the scrutinizing golden eyes that watched her so carefully from beneath the blankness of the mask. "I know it sounds kind of silly. It's just that I realized yesterday that I hadn't even caught your last name or anything. Mine's Daae, by the way," she added with an embarrassed laugh.
"Mason," Erik replied, shifting uncomfortably on the piano bench. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to ask, he knew, but he hoped she wouldn't want to delve much further into personal information. Meeting in person like this seemed marginally okay as long as he maintained a certain level of anonymity.
Christine smiled a little. "Okay. So you were saying yesterday that you're an advisor for the department?"
"Informally."
She nodded, not quite sure what that meant but beginning to suspect that her new instructor was a fairly terse man. "Do you have any other students?" she ventured instead.
"No."
Christine waited for him to go on, but when he said nothing more, she spoke up again. "Well, I'm looking forward to working with you. I've never really had private lessons before. My dad taught me a little bit when I was young, but voice wasn't his specialty. He was a violinist."
Erik nodded and searched for something to say, relieved that at least the conversation had shifted away from him. "Was he well known?"
"No," she replied with a sad smile. "Maybe in some circles, but he definitely wasn't famous or anything. He was good enough to have been, though." She glanced down, clearing her throat to get rid of the lump forming there; the question had hit her harder than she would have expected. "We should probably get started."
This end to the conversation was more abrupt than Erik had anticipated, and though he was more than happy to take his place at the piano and delve into the lesson, it left him feeling a little uneasy. Had he said something wrong? He'd hardly spoken, but he still could have said something that upset her. Or perhaps it was the fact that he'd hardly spoken that had offended her. Groaning inwardly, he pushed the thoughts from his head. He hadn't wanted to talk in the first place—he should just be glad that Christine had dropped her attempt at conversation so quickly, whatever the reason.
These thoughts didn't trouble him for long, though. His attention was quickly diverted as he ran her through warm-ups, struck yet again by the extraordinary quality of her voice. Even after working with her yesterday, there was something about her voice that enthralled him. Each time he heard her sing, he only found himself more captivated. Beyond the thrill of training that voice, Erik was beginning to think that the lessons themselves might not be entirely unenjoyable. It seemed that Christine was a fast learner; he watched as she caught herself and paused to make the changes to her posture that he had instructed her to make the day before, and as she worked her way through the first exercises, she meticulously followed every directive he had given last time. She was quick to make any new adjustments he advised and listened attentively when he gave her directions. If she remained as dedicated to making progress as she appeared to be now, perhaps their lessons wouldn't be as frustrating as he had expected them to be.
Christine worked hard to remember everything that Erik had told her the day before. He'd been exacting, making small adjustments to fix issues that she hadn't even noticed, but the improvement was perceptible, and she was determined not to lose any of it. She wanted to prove that she could do this, though she wasn't quite sure if she was trying to prove this to Erik or to herself. Only a week ago she'd been seriously considering giving up singing, but if someone as skilled as Erik thought that teaching her was worth his time, maybe there was hope. Maybe she wouldn't have to give it up. Maybe if she could prove that she was worth his time, she'd actually amount to something. Erik was just as demanding today, and Christine thought that with anyone else, she probably would have grown rather frustrated. But it was hard to be frustrated when each time he stopped her, he actually gave her helpful instruction. He never seemed annoyed by her ineptitude; he never talked down to her or spoke harshly. If Christine had had any lingering doubts about wanting to work with Erik, they quickly dissipated as he guided her now. She could put up with a bit of strangeness if it meant working with such a gifted tutor. Weren't all great artists a little eccentric?
And then he sang. It was only a few notes to correct a mistake she had made, but for a second Christine felt as though the air had been pulled from her lungs. When she didn't immediately respond to his instruction, Erik turned and glanced at her.
"Is everything alright?"
Christine nodded her head, still stunned. The voice that she'd just heard was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. As beautiful as his voice was when he spoke, it paled in comparison to when he sang. If she hadn't just heard it herself, she wouldn't have believed that such an incredible voice could even exist. It was almost otherworldly in its beauty.
She looked away, embarrassed by how taken aback she was. "You have a beautiful voice," she managed to say quietly.
Of course Erik knew this—it was one of his few points of pride—but something kept him from brushing aside the compliment like he might have expected to. There was such sincerity in how Christine had spoken. No attempt at flattery, no falseness. Just genuine appreciation. He felt his face grow warm beneath the mask.
"Thank you," he replied, not quite looking at her.
They resumed the lesson, but when Christine sang again, she felt a prickle of self-consciousness. It had been intimidating enough to know what an extensive knowledge of music Erik appeared to have, but knowing that he possessed such a remarkable voice as well…. If she had wondered before what he saw in her that made him think she was worth his time, she found herself even more confused now. But he continued to instruct her with the same patience that he had before, and after a little while she was too focused on the lesson to be self-conscious. That voice remained in her head, though, like a dream that she couldn't quite shake.
Eventually they turned to her choir music—for the most part she had been able to work through it on her own, but there were a few difficult parts, and she figured some extra instruction couldn't hurt.
"Oh, um," she hesitated when he corrected her on one of the pieces. "Our teacher actually told us to do it that way."
"Your teacher is an idiot," Erik replied with such seriousness and severity that Christine couldn't help but crack a smile. When he just kept looking at her, she let out a small, awkward laugh.
"Sorry," she said. "I'm sure you're right. I just wasn't expecting you to say that with so much conviction."
Erik glanced away. "Forgive me if I was too… intense."
"No, it's fine," Christine insisted. "Your way makes much more sense. It's just that we went over this part in rehearsal the other day and he was really insistent that we do it like he wanted us to."
Erik nodded, still not quite looking at her. "Follow your teacher's instructions, then. But you should know the correct way to do this as well."
They ran through the passage again and Christine was careful to follow Erik's instructions, glancing to him for confirmation that she'd done it correctly and being met with a nod of approval. The lesson ended not long after, and as she was packing away her things, she glanced up to see him beginning to say something. He hesitated when she met his eyes and he quickly looked away, but after a second he spoke.
"I… apologize if I am too severe sometimes. I have a low tolerance for things that I consider incompetence. It is a fault I am well aware of, but I have not been successful in taming it."
Christine bit her lip, not exactly comforted by the declaration from her new teacher. "Oh. That's okay—I didn't think you were too severe earlier. I do hope, though, that I don't frustrate you too much," she said carefully.
"Oh, no, you—" Erik stammered a little, realizing how she must have interpreted his words. "I did not mean to suggest that you are a source of frustration."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Christine replied with a small, nervous laugh.
"Do you… feel that I have been too severe to you?"
"No, not at all," she said quickly. "No, your comments are always very helpful."
"Good." They stood in silence for a moment, and when Christine glanced at him again, his eyes darted from her and moved across the room as if he wasn't sure where to look.
"I should get going," she said after a couple of seconds had passed.
"Of course," Erik replied quickly.
Gathering the rest of her things, Christine paused in the doorway to look back at him, offering a small smile over her shoulder. "See you tomorrow."
She heard him mutter a reply as she left, and she grimaced a little, hoping that she hadn't somehow offended him. Truly talented people were allowed their eccentricities, she supposed, but Erik was certainly a bit… stiffer than anyone she'd worked with before. The fact that she couldn't see his expression did nothing to help her read him, and while the day before he'd seemed imposing and authoritative, if a bit awkward, the discomfort she'd just seen left her a little unsure of that impression. It was like he was caught unprepared if something didn't go exactly the way he expected it to. Maybe it was just because they hardly knew each other—sometimes it took a little while for your interactions with someone new to lose that initial uncertain awkwardness. She could hope that that was the case, at least. But it didn't really matter, she reminded herself. She didn't agree to lessons for the social component. This was her future that was at stake, and that wasn't something to take lightly. As long as they could work together—as long as she could learn from him—that was all she needed.
That afternoon she found herself at choir rehearsal going over the song that she'd taken to her lesson—the song now marked with two sets of notes—when her professor announced that he wanted to amend his instructions from the other day. Christine looked over the passage in question with some surprise, finding that the new instructions matched Erik's exactly. There were a few confused looks exchanged around her at the sudden change of heart after his previous insistence, but he offered no explanation for the change, simply running them through the new instructions. It was just a coincidence, she knew. Of course Erik hadn't contacted her professor after their lesson this morning to convince him to change his directions. Still, though, she couldn't help but smile a little in amusement as she imagined the professor receiving a strangely specific suggestion from the department advisor.