Erik could tell that something was off the moment Christine stepped into the practice room. Her normally cheery demeanor, which he'd expected to find annoying but now found that he looked forward to, was dimmer. Forced. The sunny smile that usually greeted him was weak, and he wondered if he should ask her about it. But it was probably not his place as her teacher to be enquiring into her personal life, he reasoned, and she may not appreciate the invasion. But, as her teacher, didn't he need to ensure that there was nothing going on that would get in the way of their lessons or distract her from her practice? She needed to be present and focused, and if he was going to make sure she was, he needed to be aware of the cause of any distraction. And she had said that they were friends, hadn't she? Did she expect him to ask her if she was okay like any other friend would, or had she only said that to be nice?

Before he could decide, though, she was asking questions and launching them into the lesson, focusing both her and Erik's attention on an exercise she'd been practicing.

"You're a little sharp, Christine," he said, stopping his accompaniment to correct her. "Start again from the beginning."

Christine nodded and did as he said, but there was no improvement, and he stopped her again.

"Watch your pitch," he said again.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

Erik hesitated, wondering if the tone of his voice had been harsher than he'd intended. "Don't be sorry," he told her. "Just try it again."

Christine started again, but they had only made it a few notes before her voice broke. Erik stopped and turned around, finding her half turned away, studying the floor.

"Is there something wrong, Christine?" he asked cautiously.

She shook her head, though she still wouldn't look at him. "No. No, I'm fine. Sorry."

"If something is bothering you, perhaps it would be best to cancel today's lesson and try again tomorrow," he offered, hoping that his words came across gently enough. "You won't make any progress if you're distracted, and—" he paused when he heard her stifle a small whimper. "Christine?"

The tenderness of his voice surprised her, and she sniffled, mortified to be breaking down like this in front of Erik but unable to quite pull herself together.

"I'm really sorry," she said, her words shaky as she tried hard to force down the tears pricking her eyes and caught in her throat. "Today's just a hard day. It's, um… it's the day my dad died."

"Oh." Erik faltered, unsure of what to say.

There was a long pause and Christine sniffled again, blinking hard and taking a deep breath, trying to focus on anything else to keep her thoughts from spiraling into memories of that horrible day. She had thought that she would be fine today. It had been three years, and her life had continued, and she was actually happy. But the day had hit her harder than she'd expected. Maybe it had to do with the lessons—maybe her renewed passion for music made her feel the loss more. Maybe it made her feel that grief in a way she hadn't allowed herself to feel it in a long time, pushing it from a constant but dull pain into something vivid and fresh. Somehow, despite the years that had passed, the memory of that day was a clear as if had happened yesterday. But it hadn't happened yesterday. It had been years. Her life had gone on, was going on, and she'd dared to hope that the grief was becoming something she could live with. She had told herself that she'd be fine, that today shouldn't be harder than any other.

She was close to composing herself when she felt a gentle, timid hand on her back, and the small act of sympathy was all it took to crumble that composure. Erik quickly removed his hand as her shoulders began to shake, helplessly watching her dissolve into tears. Panic bloomed in his chest as he tried to think of what to do. There had to be something he could do to comfort her, but he seemed to have only made things worse so far.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "About your father."

Christine swiped at the tears running down her cheeks even as they stubbornly continued to fall. "I feel like it shouldn't be like this anymore," she sighed. "It's been three years. It's stupid for me to be such a mess right now, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Erik told her, although it occurred to him that he had no right to say so—this kind of deep grief was foreign to him, and he'd never understood the reactions that came from it. Still, it seemed like the right thing to say. "You must have been close."

Christine nodded. "He was my best friend. My mom died in a car accident when I was really little. I don't even remember her. It was always just Dad and me. We moved around so much that I didn't really have any close friends. He was all I had for most of my life."

Erik shifted on the piano bench to make room for Christine and motioned for her to sit down. "Tell me about him."

She smiled a little as she sat down beside him, though tears still streaked her face. "I don't even know where to start," she said. "He was amazing. He was so warm and loving. He always told me stories before bed and played me songs on his violin. We never had much, but with him, that didn't matter. He was always positive and hopeful. He could always make it seem like we had everything we wanted."

She glanced up at Erik. "I think you would have gotten along. He was an incredible violinist. We traveled all over the country, wherever he could find work. Me singing professionally was a dream we shared. And…" she took a shaky breath. "And it's been hard doing all of this when he's not here to see it. I mean, of course I love music, and this is what I want to do. But for most of my life, he was music. It was our thing together. But after… after he died, it felt like something that I was doing to honor him rather than something I was doing because I loved it. Part of me wanted to give up singing altogether because of how much it makes me think of him, but not having that connection would be even worse. And I want to make him proud."

Glancing over at Erik again and finding him watching her intently, she suddenly felt self-conscious and let out a little half-laugh.

"I guess it really doesn't make any difference," she said. "I didn't even get to tell him that I got into this program. It's kind of silly to do something for someone who's dead, isn't it?"

"It's not silly," Erik told her. "I'm sure he's proud of you." The conviction with which he spoke surprised him, never having really believed in an afterlife himself—life had been too cruel to make any kind of eternal reward seem likely and cruel enough that eternal damnation seemed unnecessary. But the watery smile that Christine gave him in response convinced him that he would will an afterlife into existence if only to make her feel better.

After a moment, Christine spoke again. "It was cancer," she said quietly. "It happened so quickly—he had only been diagnosed a couple of months before. I thought he had more time left." She took a deep breath, pushing down the memories of those agonizing months she had spent watching him waste away, gradually for a while but then very suddenly. "I didn't have anyone except for my roommate and her mom. They were there for me the whole time. But losing my dad like that… it was like watching my whole world disappear."

"It must have been very hard for you," Erik said. The words felt inadequate, but they were all he could think of.

Christine nodded, wondering if she should say more. As embarrassed as she was to be sitting her like this, crying in front of her teacher—a man she hadn't even known two months—and talking about her father, it was actually kind of comforting. Erik had offered to listen, and it felt surprisingly good to talk to someone.

"People were always telling me that I should be grateful for all the good memories I have with my dad," she said. "But sometimes I wonder if it would be easier if I didn't have all those memories, you know? Like if we hadn't been so close, it wouldn't hurt as much now. But at the same time I can't imagine not having had that closeness."

"I understand." Erik hesitated a moment before adding, "My mother died some time ago."

Christine looked up, catching the way his lips pressed into a thin line, though she couldn't read the emotion in his voice as he spoke. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "We were never close and I cannot say that I miss her. I suppose I'm spared that pain, at least. But I sometimes imagine that it might have been worth the pain to be even a little closer to her." His words had grown quieter as he spoke until he was almost speaking to himself.

"Was it just the two of you?" Christine asked softly.

"When I was young, yes."

She wanted to ask him more, her curiosity sparked by this brief glimpse into his life, but his tone did not suggest that he wanted to talk about it any further.

"I guess it hurts either way, then," she said instead, wiping her eyes now that her tears were finally subsiding. After a minute, she looked back up at Erik, giving him a small smile. "I really do think my dad would have liked you."

His gaze flickered to her, his surprise somehow evident even behind the mask. "What makes you say that?"

"He always had the greatest respect for people who he saw were truly skilled, which you obviously are," she told him. "And, of course, you're helping me. He'd like you for that."

"It's hardly charity," Erik argued. "I am teaching you as much for the benefit of my pride as anything else." It pained him that this sweet girl seemed to view him so kindly, but he also found that he didn't want to prove otherwise to her. Would it really be so bad to conceal that reality from her?

"I don't believe that. And besides, it's more than just your teaching. I'm…" Christine paused, trying to figure out how she could say what she meant without coming across too intensely. "When Dad died, I kept singing because I knew it was what he would want me to do. Even though I couldn't imagine my life without music, it was really hard for a while. And even once some time had passed and it wasn't as hard, it just wasn't the same. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to enjoy music again, at least not like how I used to. Honestly, I was close to changing majors when we started our lessons. But now I'm enjoying it again. I'm more excited about it than ever."

It was even more than that, she knew—it wasn't just her enjoyment of music that the lessons were restoring. She had been realizing lately that she was feeling better than she had in a long time. Sure, she was busy and often tired and stressed, but she was living rather than sleepwalking. She felt like she had purpose, something to work toward. She felt happy and alive. And of course there was more than one factor to that. The simple passing of time always seemed to make things better, and her relationship with Raoul certainly played a large part in her recent happiness. But she was sure that the lessons were helping, maybe even more than anything else, and she had Erik to thank for that.

He sat silently beside her now, his eyes trained on her and his expression—or, at least, what little was visible—inscrutable. Another second ticked by, and Christine began to fear that she may have overstepped some boundary or finally said too much. They had slowly grown more at ease with each other since they had started their lessons, their interactions growing less stilted and formal over time, but she still wouldn't exactly consider what they had a friendship, at least not in the normal sense. Their conversations, when not pertaining directly to the lessons, were still mostly brief and casual. They never talked about very personal things, much less things as personal as Christine had just shared. She knew Erik to be private, reserved. It seemed perfectly possible that her well-meant sentiment would only make him uncomfortable, and she started to wish that she hadn't said anything. But then he spoke, easing her worries.

"I feel similarly," he began a bit awkwardly, glancing at her but quickly looking away again. "I admit that I did not expect to enjoy our lessons—I assumed that I would be proud of any progress you made and frustrated by a lack of it—but this has been… different."

"It's been nice," Christine said, and Erik gave a nod of agreement. She smiled a little. "Sorry for breaking down like this."

"There's no need to be sorry, Christine," he told her.

She hesitated for a moment, considering. "Thanks," she said sincerely. "For everything. For teaching me, for being so kind and making me feel better today. Thank you." She unthinkingly touched his arm as she spoke and removed her hand as soon as her mind caught up, but she noticed that he hadn't seemed as tense as when she'd touched him before.

A small, cautious smile formed on his lips. "Thank you, Christine." He couldn't quite put into words what he was thanking her for, even in his own mind, so he left it at that. The only explanation he could give himself was that his life was better than it had been before, and he knew it was because of her.

They sat quietly—not uncomfortably—for a second before he looked away.

"I believe we have some time left if you feel up to resuming out lesson."

Christine's smile grew. "I'd like that."

Christine smoothed her dress as they walked into the restaurant, feeling immediately out of place among the other polished patrons. It wasn't that she was underdressed; it felt more like there was something fundamental about her that made it clear that she had no business being in such a nice restaurant. She looked at Raoul nervously and he gave her a reassuring smile, leading her to a table in the center of the room where an elegant older woman and a man Christine recognized as Raoul's brother waited for them. Philippe gave them a polite nod when he saw them approaching while the woman—Raoul's aunt—smiled with a warmth that didn't quite reach her eyes. Christine tried to shake the feeling of being scrutinized and returned the smile cheerfully.

"Good morning," Raoul greeted them, going around the table to kiss his aunt on the cheek before pulling out an unoccupied chair for Christine. "You both remember Christine, don't you?"

"Of course," his aunt replied, her gaze returning to Christine. "Though you were just a child the last time we met. I would hardly have recognized you, dear."

"It's good to meet you again, ma'am," Christine said. "And you, Philippe. Raoul tells me you've taken over the law firm now."

"That I have," Philippe grinned proudly before shooting a pointed look at Raoul. "Of course, we do expect Raoul to join me once he's finished with school. We all have very high hopes for him."

"He's quite bright, our Raoul," his aunt added, giving Raoul an affectionate pat on the arm. "He will do great things. And, of course, he will have his choice of law schools to attend after he graduates in the spring."

"I'll be extremely glad if it's half as easy as you make it sound," Raoul laughed. "I'll be happy enough when I make it through the applications."

Christine tried not to be impatient as they waited for the food to arrive, telling herself that there was no reason to feel uncomfortable and trying to convince herself that she was wrong when she thought she caught Raoul's aunt examining her with displeasure. Even when the food was in front of them, she could only guiltily pick at the meal that was easily twice the cost of any meal she'd ever had before, her stomach in knots. Raoul's aunt once asked how she liked the food, commenting that she would expect this to be a welcome change in the diet of a college student, and Christine had quickly agreed, adding lightly that it was nice to eat something she hadn't cooked in the microwave. Raoul's aunt only hummed vaguely in reply and turned the conversation back to Raoul.

The summer that she and Raoul had spent together as children had not involved much contact with Raoul's aunt, who he had been staying with and who had been like a third parent to him. She had met Philippe a little more often that summer, but he had been preoccupied with preparing to leave for college and had been uninterested in his kid brother's new friend. But even with as little as she had interacted with them then, she remembered how both of them had doted on Raoul and tolerated her with the kind of detachment given to someone who is an inconvenient but temporary figure in a person's life. This morning, though, it seemed to Christine that she was all but ignored, and when she wasn't she was met with only cool politeness. The table fell into a discussion of Raoul's plans and Philippe's running of the law firm, and while she did her best to listen attentively, it wasn't exactly a conversation she could participate in.

Despite never having been close with Raoul's family, Christine had readily agreed to meeting them this morning when Raoul had asked. His aunt and brother were in town for a few days to check up on him and had agreed to meet his new girlfriend over lunch, though Raoul had made their agreement sound more enthusiastic than Christine suspected it actually had been. She knew how close to them Raoul was and hoped that, now that they were no longer kids and were in a happy relationship, they might be more open to getting to know her. And while they didn't exactly give outward signs of disliking her and were perfectly polite through the meal, she couldn't shake the impression that they were less than thrilled about her presence. Still, Christine tried to reason with herself, if that was true, it wasn't completely unreasonable. Raoul had a lot of hard work ahead of him and they didn't want him getting distracted or pulled off course. It was understandable enough.

When the conversation did turn to her, Christine wished they'd go back to ignoring her instead.

"So, Christine," Raoul's aunt said, turning to her with another lukewarm smile. "It's been so long since we've seen you. Raoul tells us that your father passed away."

"He did, several years ago."

"What a shame. He was the traveling violinist, wasn't he?" Christine nodded. "Not a terribly lucrative career, was it? Did he manage to provide anything for your education, dear? You hear such terrible stories about the amount of debt you young people get into these days."

"Um," Christine stammered, caught off guard by the remarks. "I'm managing just fine. I work, and I have a partial scholarship, so things could be worse."

"And what are you studying? Raoul tells us you still share your father's love for music."

"I do," she replied. "I'm actually majoring in music. I'm studying vocal performance."

"Ah yes, I remember you had such a sweet little voice when you were a child."

"That's quite a challenging field to be successful in, from what I hear," Philippe commented. "Everyone thinks that they can make it big, but there's only so much work."

"It is challenging, but I think the same could be said for a lot of fields now," Christine said calmly, suppressing a prick of defensiveness. "I think that doing something I love so much will make the challenge worth it."

"Not that Christine will have any trouble being successful," Raoul added. "She's wonderful. She definitely inherited her father's gift." Christine gave him a grateful smile and, much to her relief, the conversation moved on from her finances and career plans. She had no desire to argue with Raoul's family, but she couldn't help but feel a little defensive.

After a minute she excused herself, heading to the restroom to clear her head. They couldn't have meant to be insulting, she told herself, and they certainly hadn't meant any disrespect to her father. She was just nervous and a little on-edge, and she'd probably just interpreted their words more harshly than they had meant them. And just because they weren't particularly outwardly affectionate didn't mean that they didn't like her; it certainly didn't mean that they were against her. She had probably unfairly jumped to the conclusion that they disliked her, and that was coloring her view of things. If she just returned to the table with an open mind, she'd certainly see things differently. Taking a deep breath, she turned to go back to the table but hesitated just out of sight when she heard her name.

"…need to be serious about your future," Raoul's aunt was saying.

"Now, Aunt, be reasonable," Philippe said calmly. "He's young. He's allowed to have a little fun, isn't he?"

"I just don't like it," the woman replied. "You need to be focused, Raoul, and I won't have you risking your future for a little fling with someone so far below you. She's a nice enough girl, but she doesn't share your goals. She doesn't understand your life and your obligations."

Christine turned abruptly, not wanting to hear more. With nowhere to go but back to the bathroom, she idled for a few minutes, pretending to be absorbed in fixing her hair and picking invisible lint off her dress, as if she could convince herself that this was what she had come here to do in the first place and that she was in no way hiding while Raoul's family talked about her. Forcing herself to put the conversation out of her mind—it hadn't been meant for her to hear anyway—she did her best to put on a cheerful face and returned to the table. The conversation had apparently ended, and though Raoul looked slightly agitated, she probably would not have noticed anything odd if she hadn't overheard.

"Sorry," she said as she took her seat. "My roommate called and it took a few minutes. Some problem with the wi-fi, I guess."

Raoul's aunt waved airily. "It was no problem, dear."

Christine glanced at Raoul and he briefly met her eyes, giving her a small smile.

The gathering didn't last much longer, and Christine felt bad to be so relieved when it ended. There were a few minutes of awkwardly standing to the side while Raoul exchanged goodbyes, and then it was just the two of them. Slipping her hand into Raoul's as they leisurely walked down the sunny street to where Raoul's car was parked, she tried to forget the unpleasant meal entirely. What mattered most was that she was here with Raoul.

He didn't seem quite as content to let it be, though. "You're quiet," he commented. "I hope you didn't feel like they were attacking you in there. My aunt was just curious about you, but I know she can come off a little severely sometimes."

Christine sighed, mustering up a small smile. "No, it's fine," she said. "I know she didn't mean to be insulting or anything."

Raoul's brow furrowed. "Insulting? Why would she insult you? She doesn't have anything against you."

Perhaps that wasn't entirely untrue, Christine thought, but she certainly was against the idea of Raoul being with her, and Raoul knew that. She tried not to read anything into how quickly Raoul jumped to his aunt's defense. There had been more to that conversation that she hadn't heard, after all. Maybe Raoul had defended her and his aunt had given in, saying that she only wanted Raoul to be happy. Maybe.

"I didn't mean it like that," she told him placatingly. "I guess I just felt like she thought that I'm being irresponsible by not studying something that will give me better career options, or like my dad didn't provide for me enough, or something."

"She didn't mean that. The whole starving artist thing is just kind of foreign to her."

Christine could believe that much, at least. She let the subject drop, although it still didn't entirely sit right with her. They continued on in silence until they reached the car.

"All that stuff about law school and working at your family's firm," she said suddenly, pausing as she started to open the passenger door. "Is that really what you want to do? I mean, I know that's what you've been working towards, but is it really what you want?"

Raoul looked at her quizzically from across the car. "Of course it is. Why?"

Christine looked down. "I guess I just realized that it means you'll be moving away in the spring while I have another year here."

Raoul was quiet for a moment. "Oh."

"But I still think you should do it," she added quickly. "If it's what you want, then do what you need to do. We'll just cross that bridge when we get to it."

Raoul's face was thoughtful as they climbed into the car, but he said nothing else.