Christine couldn't deny that she was glad to be back, even as guilt stubbornly nagged at her. She'd known quickly after she started thinking about it that she wanted to return to school early rather than go on the trip—speaking with Erik had erased the need for any further time to make up her mind—but it wasn't until the following day that she'd gathered the courage to call Raoul and tell him she wouldn't be coming.

"What? Why not?" he asked. "Is everything okay?"

For half a second she had wondered if it would be easier to fake some kind of more serious excuse, but she rejected the idea almost as soon as it occurred to her. She needed to be honest with Raoul. Even if it was harder now, it would be better in the end, she told herself. Or, at least, she would be as honest as she could be.

"I've been thinking a lot about it, and I think it would be best for me to go back up to school a little early," she said, nervously winding a stray curl around her finger. "I'm so sorry to cancel like this, Raoul. But my audition is right around the corner, and if I don't have this time to practice, I won't be ready for it. I've hardly had a chance to practice since I've been home. You know how important this is to me, and I just really need some time to focus on preparing." It was a flimsy excuse and she knew it, but she couldn't quite bring herself to tell Raoul about her concerns about how his family would treat her or where they would pick things up after their last conversation. It would only upset him to know those things, and she was sure he'd be upset enough with her as it was.

There was a pause. "So you're blowing off our trip to get in a couple of extra singing lessons."

Christine winced. "I'm so sorry, Raoul, I really am. But I know I'll regret it if I don't put all that I can into this audition. I've been putting in so much work already, and it would be so disappointing not to do as well as I could have. Besides, it wasn't really going to be our trip, was it? We'd have some time together, but I'd mostly just be inconveniencing your family."

Raoul started to say something but stopped abruptly, sighing. It was a second before he spoke, his voice a little softer than before but still tense. "I don't want to fight about this."

"Neither do I," Christine told him. "I really, really don't. I'm sorry. I know it's a sucky thing for me to say yes to this and then cancel at the last minute. But…"

"But this is really important to you," Raoul finished. "I know. I just wish I could understand."

"Thank you for trying, at least." Another pause. "I know you're disappointed. I don't blame you for being upset with me. Is there anything I can do to make it up for you? I can pay you back if you had to book an extra hotel room or anything. Of course, you might have to accept it in installments of fifty cents a month," she added, trying to force some lightness into her tone.

"No, don't worry about that. I'd assumed you'd just share my room," Raoul said, and Christine felt another stab of guilt at the disappointment in his voice. When she didn't say anything for a moment, he went on. "I guess I'll talk to you later, then."

"Okay. I'll talk to you later." As she ended the call, she wondered how it was possible to feel terrible but at the same time relieved. She felt awful knowing that she'd upset Raoul, but if she thought about it—thought about how things might have gone if she'd decided to go on the trip instead—she knew that she didn't really regret the choice. She would have been unhappy on the trip, surrounded by people who viewed her unfavorably even as much as Raoul insisted they didn't, and that would have only added to the tension between them right now. It would be fine this way, she told herself. The worst part was over. And maybe it would even be good for them to have this little bit of time apart. By the time classes started and they saw each other again, they would both be refreshed and refocused. There would be some time for things between them to settle. Everything would be fine. Everything was fine.

And so, after repeated assurances from Meg that she didn't need the car and that Mrs. Giry was perfectly happy to drive her back up to school in a week, Christine headed back to their little apartment, her excitement overcoming her guilt as it sank in that she had an entire week to devote to working on music. It seemed like an impossible luxury.

She had a little bit of time to unpack her things at the apartment and pick up a few groceries before leaving for the music building. It was strange to be there when it was so deserted. Her muffled footsteps on the industrial carpet were the only noise as she made her way down the halls, and she found it a little eerie. But Erik was waiting for her in their usual practice room, and finding him there sent an unexpected rush of warmth through her; she had been gone for less than two weeks, but she had missed this.

"Hi."

His answering smile was warm and gentle. "Hi. Have you been enjoying your vacation?"

"I have, thanks." Christine stepped into the room and set down her backpack. "It was really nice to be home and have some time with Meg and her mom. And, of course, it was great to get caught up on sleep. But I'm glad to be back."

"I'm happy to hear that."

Christine smiled as she turned to get her music out; she'd made the right choice. They fell comfortably into their lesson, running through their routine even more thoroughly than usual now that there were no time constraints. It was far too easy to get wrapped up in the music, in Erik's careful instruction. Several hours had passed before Christine knew it and, tired but satisfied, she suggested they stop for the day. Erik agreed, apologizing for not keeping track of time, and she smiled and assured him that she was happy they didn't need to. They packed up and were heading around to the parking lot when Christine caught her first glimpse of the world outside.

Snow had started falling heavily and, judging by how thickly it had already piled on the ground, had been falling heavily for some time. The roads and sidewalks had grown slick with ice and slush and the storm showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. Christine sighed.

"Erik, I hate to ask, but would you mind giving me a ride home? There's no way Meg's car could make it three feet in this."

"Of course," Erik told her. "I don't mind at all."

With that, they pushed the door open and, greeted by a blast of icy air, headed out to Erik's car. Erik seemed steady enough on his feet, but Christine had only made it a few steps before she slid. Erik took her arm and steadied her and, laughing, she held onto him as she continued across the parking lot with careful steps. Both of them were half-soaked by the time they reached Erik's car.

It wasn't that she lacked faith in Erik's driving abilities. But every time she felt the car slide on the ice, every time the windshield wipers couldn't clear the quickly piling snow quite fast enough, every time a pair of taillights became visible in front of them a little too suddenly for comfort, her breath caught in her throat and her hands gripped fruitlessly at the edge of her seat. The normally short drive to the apartment took much longer than usual, and Christine breathed a sigh of relief when Erik finally pulled up in front of her building.

"Why don't you come in and see if you can wait out the storm," she suggested, glancing over at Erik. "You can't possibly drive anywhere else right now. At least wait until the plows have had a chance to clear the roads."

Erik considered for a moment before reaching over to turn off the ignition. "I suppose you're right. I will stay for a little while if you don't mind having me."

"I wouldn't have offered if I minded," Christine smiled before turning to the door, steeling herself to make the run between the car and her apartment. "Ready?"

Erik nodded. "Ready."

They opened the car doors simultaneously, though Erik was quickly by her side, and she took his arm again as they rushed to shelter. The wet snow caked in Christine's hair and had soaked though her jeans and coat by the time they burst inside. Erik didn't seem quite as affected, running a hand through his hair to dislodge the snow that had caught there and removing his long coat, hanging it to dry on an empty hook by the door. Christine was grateful—she had nothing for him to change into, and she would hate to force him to sit around cold and wet all evening. Shedding her drenched coat was not enough for her, though, as the fabric was thin and was hardly equipped to handle the snow.

"I'll be right back," she told Erik, heading to her room. "I just need to change. Make yourself at home."

Erik nodded, turning his attention to the apartment around him as her door clicked shut. It gave him some satisfaction to find that the surroundings felt familiar. It hadn't been all that long ago that he was here last, but it felt like things had changed so much since then. That had been the first night that they'd talked, really talked, like friends; it had been the first time he'd felt that rush of warmth and constriction in his chest when she was near. It had been the first time he'd really wanted to mean something to her. Now there was nothing that he wanted more, though he wasn't quite willing to name what exactly he did want, what exactly he felt. It hardly mattered anyway—he knew it was impossible.

Christine emerged from her room after minute, having toweled her hair dry and changed into leggings and an oversized sweater. She pushed up the sleeves that were falling down over her hands and grinned.

"I think I could go for some tea. Do you want some too? Or anything to eat?"

"Tea would be nice, thank you," Erik replied, content to stand back and watch Christine stretch up onto her tiptoes to reach the mugs. He'd given it some thought while she'd been gone and was resigned to allowing himself to enjoy her presence as much as possible. She would be gone soon enough, off to begin her career and be with her boyfriend, leaving him with only the memory of what it was like to feel happy around someone. Would it really be so bad to indulge in that happiness now? He wouldn't think about it; he would just be happy.

"I wonder when it's supposed to stop," Christine said, glancing out the window to see the snow still pelting down with no sign of letting up. "I knew we were supposed to get some snow, but I didn't realize it would be this much."

"Are you so eager to get rid of me?" Erik teased, making her laugh lightly.

"No, I'm not. But it'd be nice if I didn't have to dig Meg's car out from under three feet of snow tomorrow." There was a pause in her preparations as she waited for the water to heat. "So, what do you want to do?"

"I assumed you might have some ideas since you issued the invitation," he said amusedly.

She hummed thoughtfully. "We could sing."

Erik chuckled. "I would have thought you'd be ready for a break after such a long lesson."

"Yes, but that was a lesson," Christine said. "We could sing anything. We could sing duets! We haven't done a duet in quite a while, and you have such a beautiful voice. I love singing with you."

As if she needed to sell him on the idea of singing with her. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

She beamed. "Great."

The tea ready, she handed him a mug and hurried back to her room, returning after a second with a guitar—the same beat-up, too-big instrument she'd had with her that night at the Nightingale, Erik realized. She tuned it while sipping her tea, and it didn't take them long to find a few songs they both knew. Christine played a few chords, a little embarrassed to be playing an instrument she knew so little of in front of someone who she would be completely unsurprised to find out was far more proficient than she was. As soon as Erik sang the first few notes, though, any other thought vanished from her mind. There was only that rich, fantastically beautiful voice.

The moment when their voices combined, she almost forgot the words she was singing. She didn't think she had ever felt anything more completely right than this. Their voices melded perfectly as if they had been doing this their entire lives, as if they had been made to go together. She met Erik's eyes and found them full of the same warmth and intensity that flooded through her. The song ended far too soon, but they quickly fell into another, and then another. Eventually the guitar ended up in Erik's hands, his skilled fingers coaxing much finer music from it than she could, and after a while longer his voice was the only one filling the small apartment. Christine sat back and closed her eyes, letting his voice seep into every part of her mind until it was all she was aware of. All of the troubles that had been tugging at her were forgotten as she relaxed. His voice was intoxicating; it felt like she was floating. The silence when he stopped felt abrupt, and she opened her eyes to find him watching her.

"Thank you for singing to me," she said quietly. "You have the most incredible voice I've ever heard."

Erik looked away a little embarrassedly. "Yours is an excellent match. I've enjoyed this."

Christine smiled. "Me too. We should do this more often."

"I would like that."

The evening passed easily and Erik didn't think he could remember a more pleasant time. He didn't think he had ever been around anyone who put him more at ease than her. Even Nadir, even with everything they had been through together—the bond they shared was deep, certainly, and as much as Erik hated to admit it, he did appreciate the relationship. But the long history they shared meant that Nadir knew things that unavoidably affected how he saw Erik. With Christine, there was none of that. He hardly felt like himself around her. All the years of pain and anger and loneliness lost some of their sting. It had grown dark outside by the time either of them remembered to check the weather again only to find that it hadn't cleared up much, though Erik hardly needed to be persuaded to stay longer.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Christine asked, standing and making her way to the kitchen. "I'm starving."

"I suppose I could eat if it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all." She opened the freezer, pulling out a frozen pizza. "Pizza okay?"

"Fine."

"I think we might have a bottle of wine, too." Christine shuffled through the cupboards for a moment before triumphantly pulling out a bottle. "Just to warn you, we only paid five dollars for this, so you might not want any."

Erik chuckled. "I'm sure I've had worse."

They quickly lost track of time, chatting over their meal and watching with a combination of interest and distaste the performances televised out of Times Square. Christine told him animatedly about the time when she was little and they had gotten completely snowed in, and her dad had had to pull her to the grocery store on a sled when they couldn't get the car out of the parking lot. She laughed about happy memories with her dad and then happy memories with the Girys, and he listened with amusement, enjoying the glimpses into her life. When their attention shifted back to a performance on TV, he asked her if she'd ever wanted to be on a stage like that, and she'd laughed and replied that she had always preferred the idea of performing on a smaller scale with less flash and considerably less lip-syncing.

His stomach clenched as the countdown started. Somehow, despite the utter impossibility of it, he couldn't completely suppress the thought of kissing her. It would be easy, the insane part of his mind argued persistently. He could just do it, just lean over and kiss her—just a quick peck on the cheek, something that could arguably be platonic. It was, after all, tradition to kiss at midnight, wasn't it? He could do it. If he was anyone else, he could do it.

Christine glanced up at him and smiled, and he wondered how horrified she would be if he kissed her. Sure, she seemed to like him well enough as a teacher and friend, but that didn't mean she wouldn't be disgusted if she saw his face, if she knew that his lips had touched her. Surely, she'd be upset to find out that he even wanted to kiss her. It just wasn't possible. Imagining the softness of her skin as he caressed her cheek, the gentle pressure of her lips against his, would do him no good.

The crowd cheered on the screen as a storm of confetti rained down on them, and Erik met Christine's eyes. There was a pause, a flash of an expression he couldn't read across her face, a slight blush rising to her cheeks. But then she smiled again and glanced away, reaching for her wine glass and clinking it against his.

"Happy New Year, Erik," she said.

He returned her smile. "Happy New Year."

Christine's phone buzzed, then, and she turned to glance at the screen. "Sorry," she said, already standing and heading into her bedroom. "It's Raoul."

Erik nodded, fingers fiddling with his glass as he tried not to pay too much attention to her phone call.

"Hey. Happy New Year. …No, I'm not out, I'm just hanging out at the apartment." There was a long pause, and Erik noticed that she hadn't mentioned that he was with her. He pushed away the little voice that insisted that it was because she was ashamed of him. "That sounds fun. I'm sorry again about canceling, I just—…Yeah, it's going well. …I'll let you get back to your family, then. Have a good night. …Love you too. Bye."

Those last words stuck in Erik's mind, though he tried to ignore them, focusing on the excited crowds of people on the TV until Christine sat down beside him a second later.

"Sorry about that," she said again, taking a sip of her wine.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Erik replied. "I'm sure you wish you could be with your boyfriend on your trip tonight, and instead you're stuck here."

Christine's expression softened and she nudged his knee with hers. "Actually, I'm happy that I'm here."

He met her eyes and gave her a small smile. "I'm glad." She stifled a yawn, then, and it occurred to him that it was really quite late for him to still be here. "I should probably get going."

Christine shook her head. "Don't be silly. The snow only just stopped and I'm sure the roads are still a mess. Besides, I hate being out driving on holidays like this when everyone's been drinking. You can just spend the night here and head out tomorrow when the roads are clearer."

"I'd hate to inconvenience you."

"It's not an inconvenience at all," she told him. "I have plenty of extra blankets. I'll make up the couch for you."

Getting the sense that any further argument would go unheard—and he really didn't want to argue his way out of spending more time near Christine anyway—Erik busied himself cleaning up their dishes while Christine fitted the couch with blankets. After several apologies for not being able to offer him anything more comfortable to sleep in, each met with assurances that he would be perfectly comfortable as he was, Christine said goodnight and returned to her room, leaving Erik to settle in on the couch. It was too short for him to really stretch out on and squeaked at the slightest shift but, lying there wrapped in soft blankets that smelled faintly of Christine and knowing that she would be only feet away from him tonight, Erik had to admit that this was not the worst way to begin the year.

Christine woke to find her room still dark, and her thoughts were sluggish as she wondered what might have woken her. She checked the time on her phone, blinking at the sudden brightness of the screen, only to find that it had barely been an hour since she'd fallen asleep—far too early to be awake again. Maybe there had been a noise that had stirred her, she thought, remembering that Erik was sleeping on the couch. Maybe he was awake and needed something. Rubbing her eyes to clear her vision, Christine reached over to turn on her lamp and then slipped quietly out of bed.

A sliver of light fell across the black mask when she cracked open her door, finding its wearer asleep. The wind outside had subsided and the apartment was completely silent except for the quiet hum of the radiator. Christine paused for a second to look at Erik; it was odd to see him so relaxed, so vulnerable. He looked just like any other sleeping person, she realized, and then she wanted to laugh at herself for the thought. Of course he looked like anyone else. Even for all his eccentricities, he was just a person.

Satisfied that he was sleeping comfortably, Christine began to turn back into her room when she noticed that the beam of light had broadened and now fell across…skin. With his face pressed into the cushions, the mask had become just a little bit askew, leaving a portion of his cheek exposed.

She knew that she should just ignore it, just turn around and go back to bed. She had told him that she would never try to see his face. That had been their agreement. But she couldn't deny that her curiosity had persisted since then, pricking annoyingly at the back of her mind. Perhaps just this little glimpse would sate her curiosity. She wouldn't have to wonder so much anymore, and Erik wouldn't know—no harm done. She wouldn't even see that much of his face, so, really, she wouldn't be breaking her promise. Part of her recognized the flimsiness of this argument, but it was so late and her tired mind was already set in its decision, uncaring of how poorly made this decision was.

Taking care not to make any noise, Christine opened her door just enough so that she could step out into the living room. A few cautious steps brought her just a few feet from Erik, and she leaned forward a bit to study what lay beneath the mask.

His cheek was hollow, covered with a tightly pulled and thin-looking layer of skin. It looked like there were some discolorations, some places where the raised lines of scars were visible. It wasn't pleasant, and part of Christine was a little relieved that she could only see a small portion of a whole that she could only imagine, but it also wasn't as terrible as she had feared. She had no urge to scream; it wasn't a sight that would haunt her nightmares. Now that she thought about it, she wasn't sure what she had been expecting. With nothing but her very limited knowledge of Erik's life to guide her—shunned by his own mother, led to choose a life of almost complete seclusion—her mind hadn't been able to conjure an image of a face that could possible deserve the kind of mistreatment he must have endured.

The thought of that mistreatment struck her with force, and she recoiled away from him as if she had been hit. Guilt and shame flooded her as she hurried back to her room, realizing too late what she had just done. Perhaps his biggest secret, something he kept hidden from the world, something that he had suffered because of, and she had taken it upon herself to look. But maybe the situation wasn't as bad as she was making it out to be, she tried to tell herself. She hadn't seen that much, and she hadn't reacted badly to it. Erik would never know that she had seen anything. He didn't have to know that she'd broken her promise, drawn in by the desire to see what could be so horrible that it needed to be hidden, as if Erik was a spectacle to be gawked at. She couldn't behave any differently around him in the morning, whether from the knowledge of what she had seen or from the guilt of having seen it. Everything would be completely normal, as if nothing had ever happened, and she would forget about this.

It took her a long time to quiet her thoughts enough to fall asleep again.