The early-morning sunlight streaming through the window woke Christine. There was a second of confusion when she found herself splayed across a bed bigger than her own, covered in a pristine white comforter rather than her old quilt, still wearing her clothes from the day before. But it all came back to her in a rush—Raoul, the show, Erik's house… the kiss. She sighed, burying her face in the pillow. She had kissed Erik. It had been so sudden, so rash. She hadn't been thinking. She had just been tired and emotional and the day had been so much and Erik was there comforting her, and she'd half-remembered that night months ago when they had stood so close outside that party and she had first thought about kissing him. And there he was, so close to her again, his hand on her back, and in that second it had felt so right. Everything outside that exact moment, everything beyond the two of them sitting there on the steps together, had suddenly seemed far away. The kiss had been pure impulse, but in the moment it had felt like the only possibility.

The part that stuck in her mind the most was that she didn't regret it, not really. She greatly wished she had not made Erik uncomfortable, that she had not done something that would almost definitely impact their relationship, but the kiss itself… she couldn't shake the thought that the kiss had felt right, like something that had been just a little off finally had clicked into place.

Even so, the thought filled her with guilt. It shouldn't feel right. Nothing should feel right less than a day after she and Raoul had ended things. That wound was far from healing—it hadn't even stopped bleeding—and the last thing she should be thinking about was someone else. What kind of a person did she have to be to want to kiss someone, to enjoy kissing someone, immediately after ending a relationship? True, she could blame it on the breakup. She had been vulnerable and seeking comfort; she hadn't been thinking clearly. If she had, she certainly wouldn't have succumbed to such a reckless action. But it hadn't felt bad or lacking like she would have expected a kiss to feel in that situation. And that made it even worse. Maybe Raoul's words to her hadn't been as far from the truth as she'd argued they'd been. As much as she had tried to deny it, even to herself, she had to admit that Raoul's accusations were not unfounded—just because she hadn't technically cheated didn't mean that she hadn't been unfaithful. She'd grown close to Erik and had done nothing to distance herself even once her feelings became a concern, and now there was no denying the pull she'd felt toward him for so long. That was something that she'd have to face, she knew, but she wasn't ready to deal with it just yet. Right now there was the immediate concern of facing Erik, and that on its own was issue enough.

Knowing that she could only put off the inevitable for so long and that eventually there would be nothing for her to do but go and talk to him, Christine climbed out of bed, attempting to straighten her crumpled clothes and freshening up in the bathroom as well as she could before, assured that she wasn't completely unpresentable, she headed downstairs.

She found Erik in the music room sitting at the piano, running his fingers soundlessly over the keys. He didn't seem to hear her approach and she paused in the doorway, watching for some hint of what might be going through his mind. He looked restless; she wondered how long he had been sitting down here like this. After a few seconds she spoke, her voice soft.

"Hey."

He turned and looked at her. "Good morning." His voice wasn't cold or wary as she had feared it might be, but rather… shy?

She offered him a small smile. "Good morning."

"Did you sleep alright?"

"I did, thank you," she said. "And thank you for cheering me up and letting me spend the night here. I really appreciate it."

"I'm glad I could cheer you up." He paused, shifting a little awkwardly. "Can I get you anything? Do you want something to eat?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

Christine hesitated, wishing more than ever that she could see Erik's expression. She liked to think that she'd gotten pretty good at reading him—his posture, his eyes, the curve of his mouth—but there was still so much that she couldn't guess.

"Listen," she said after a moment. "I'm sorry about last night. Kissing you like that… I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything. I shouldn't have sprung that on you like I did. I wasn't thinking."

"It's alright." Christine was surprised by the timid rush of Erik's words, and she noticed the red tinge creeping up his neck. "You didn't make me uncomfortable."

She smiled a little, the words sending a rush a warmth through her in spite of the guilt that she'd only just forced herself to set aside. "No?"

"No." The blush deepened. "I found it rather… nice."

She could feel her cheeks heating, the thrill of the confession overpowering the part of her arguing that she was not in a good position to do this right now. "So did I."

Erik's surprise was evident. "You did?"

"Yeah, I did." He looked away, and she was struck with the impression that he didn't really believe her. "I really did, Erik," she said, feeling a little surer after his admittance. "I… I've kind of wanted to do that for a while."

To her surprise, this seemed to make Erik draw further into himself, and she worried that she might have said too much.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"No, it's okay," he said quickly, still not meeting her eye. "I'm just not… accustomed to this kind of thing."

Christine's brow furrowed. "This kind of thing?"

Erik gestured vaguely. "Affection. Someone wanting to be around me in any capacity, much less…"

The realization of how unhappy Erik's life had been always hit Christine hard, her heart aching as she thought of just how little love he must have ever felt to say now that he was not used to affection. There had always been people in her life who she knew loved her—her father, the Girys—and even if she wasn't particularly close with a person, there were always little compliments, some kind of positive acknowledgement in their interactions. She couldn't imagine how entirely devoid of all of that life would have to be for a man to believe that no one would ever want to be around him at all. Her face must have plainly shown her thoughts because Erik spoke again, his words careful.

"There have been very few people who have tolerated me, and even fewer who have been kind to me. My own mother would not kiss me as a child. So your… your presence in my life means a lot." He grew thoughtful, turning away from her. "You would not have kissed me, either, if you saw me," he added, almost to himself.

Christine's stomach knotted at this comment. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it didn't matter, that she had seen beneath the mask and had kissed him anyway. But it would be a confession of her dishonesty, of a shameful moment of weakness in which she had knowingly broken her one promise to him. But wouldn't the knowledge ultimately be proof of her affection that even he could believe? Her mind was made up before she was aware of it; she didn't want to carry this secret any longer.

"Erik," she began, wringing her hands. "Erik, I need to tell you something."

Erik watched her carefully, growing visibly wary at her obvious anxiety. "What is it?"

"Um…" she took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. It would be fine, she told herself. She needed to be honest. It would be fine. "So, remember New Year's when you spent the night at my apartment? Well, I woke up during the night and thought I might have heard something, so I went out into the living room to check."

The words were tumbling out faster as she went on, as if getting the confession over with more quickly would make it better.

"And I, um, you were asleep and I noticed that your mask was a little crooked—"

Erik instinctively raised a hand to his mask, and the panic evident in the small action made Christine dread the coming admission even more.

"—And, I, well, I looked a little bit. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done it, and I feel terrible about it." Erik was silent, not meeting her eyes, and after a few seconds she ventured cautiously, "But I'm still here. With you. That should tell you something, right?"

A long moment passed and he remained completely still. She watched him nervously, searching for some kind of reaction.

"Erik, please say something," she said quietly.

When he finally spoke, his words were breathless. "You looked at my face."

"Some of it," she answered warily. "I'm sorry, Erik, but—"

"You looked at my face," he repeated, colder. She met his eyes and quickly lost the desperate hope that he might possible view the situation positively.

"I'm sorry," she said again, feeling the uselessness of the words.

"Why, Christine?" The question was choked with hurt and rage. She opened her mouth to answer, knowing that nothing she could say would come close to being adequate, but he went on before she could speak. "I asked you for one thing. On the day of our first lesson, I agreed to teach you under one condition. Do you remember what that was?"

"That I would never try to see your face," Christine said softly, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes.

"My greatest secret, Christine. My greatest shame. You promised to leave it alone." He seemed torn between pain and anger, his eyes pleading with her and his shoulders heaving.

"I know," was all she could say.

"I trusted you."

"I know."

And then he stood, towering over her, and with one swift, sudden motion, he tore off the mask.

The shocked gasp that escaped her lips was as much from the action itself as the face it exposed. Seeing a fraction of his face in the near-darkness that night had been one thing. The sight before her now was ghastly, made even more so by the wildness of Erik's eyes. His skin was thin and drawn tightly over his skull, except for the gap where his nose should have been. Every contusion was painfully visible in the morning light, and all Christine could do was look while those deep-set golden eyes bored into her.

"What's the matter, Christine?" he said when she looked away. "This is what you wanted to see, isn't it? Is this enough to satisfy your curiosity?"

"Erik—" her voice came out more weakly than she had expected. She tried to meet his eyes and found that she couldn't. Shame bubbled up in her and her tears spilled over at the realization that this had been exactly what Erik had dreaded. She was shrinking from him, unconsciously backing away until her back hit the doorframe, unable to look at his face; she was confirming his fears only moments after trying to assure him, and she couldn't even make herself meet his eyes.

Erik paused at the sound of her voice, the quiet plea drawing him from the fog of panic. His stomach dropped at the sight of her—flinching, her face turned away. He could see the tears slipping down her cheeks.

She wouldn't look at him.

He lifted a hand to his face, desperately wishing to be met with the barrier of his mask but finding instead his own marred flesh, and he was struck with horror. What had he done? He tried to say her name but it died on his lips.

Christine looked up at the sound of his strangled sob to see him jerkily turn away from her, stumbling back, his hands covering his face. She had wanted to rid herself of the weight of her secret, but now a far greater weight crushed her. He was crumbling in on himself as if he was trying to make himself disappear, hurt and broken, and it was her fault.

Erik flinched and looked away when he saw her move. She was afraid. She was fleeing from him. She had every right to run and never look back, never see or speak to him again. The thought tore at his heart despite the persistent hurt of knowing that she had looked, of knowing that she had looked now and couldn't face him. He supposed that he should be surprised that it had taken this long for something to go horribly wrong, for her to realize that she wanted to be away from him.

But then there was a slight movement near him, and he looked up to see his discarded mask held out to him by a small, trembling hand. After a second he accepted it, turning his back to her to put it on. He hesitated before facing her again, quickly glancing away from her tear-streaked face.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. When Christine finally found the courage to look up at him, he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I'll take you home." His words abruptly shattered the silence, but it was quick to settle heavily over them again.

Christine only nodded, dazedly gathering her things from where she had left them in the entry and following Erik out to the car. Neither of them spoke during the ride back to her apartment. Erik looked straight ahead, his gaze unwavering, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, while Christine tortured herself with thoughts of how things could have been different. If only she hadn't been so distressed to begin with; if only she'd had a moment to prepare herself. She should have been calm and cool-headed, ready to prove to him that she wouldn't be yet another in a long line of people to shun him at the sight of his face. But the moment had been so tumultuous, so overwhelming. She'd been flustered and upset, and surely that was why she'd reacted the way she had, wasn't it? And why had she brought it up in the first place? She had known that she wasn't thinking straight, that she wasn't steady enough to talk to him about how she felt and what she'd done, but in the moment it had seemed like the only thing to do. Those minutes blurred in her mind now, the images distorted by the flood of emotions. She hadn't been so taken aback by his face, she told herself. It had been everything; the moment had just been overwhelming.

Even as she repeated the statement to herself, she wasn't sure she believed it. The uncertainty was a dismal weight in her stomach. What if her reaction would have been no different under better circumstances? What if she would have shrank from him just the same?

Several times she opened her mouth meaning to speak, to apologize, to try to make things right, but even if her muddled mind had been able to form any words, she knew that they wouldn't be close to enough. There was nothing she could say to take back the fact that she had broken her one promise to him and then proved unable to even look at his face. She'd wounded him deeply, in the worst possible way, and she wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive her for it. Was it possible that things had been so comfortable and sweet between them only the night before?—that even moments before it went wrong, they had been speaking of enjoying a kiss? What if she had completely ruined that? What if she would never get even a fragment of that back?

The silent minutes in the car stretched out painfully, but they finally pulled up in front of the apartment. Straightening a little, Christine forced herself to look at him.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she told him, the words quiet and hoarse.

Erik made no reply, avoiding her eyes, and after a moment of hesitation she climbed out of the car without another word.

Meg called out when she entered the apartment. "Christine? Is that you?" She poked her head out of her bedroom and frowned when she saw Christine. "What is it? Are you okay?"

Suddenly Christine couldn't breathe. A sob escaped her lips, and then Meg was pulling her into her arms, letting her cry until she couldn't anymore.

Christine hardly had the will to get out of bed the next day. The one thing that gave her any drive at all was the prospect of a lesson. She hadn't heard from Erik that night, not that she had expected to. But he would be waiting in their practice room this morning, just like always. Maybe they would talk; maybe she could apologize and he would see that, as inadequate as the apology was, she felt it deeply. Of course things wouldn't immediately go back to normal, but maybe they could at least take the first step in that direction. It was optimistic, she knew, but she couldn't entirely stop herself from hoping.

Her stomach was in knots as she rode with Meg to the music building, her mind racing with things that she would say to Erik if only he would hear her. She'd thought about calling him; her finger had hovered over the call button several times, but each time she'd only sighed and pushed her phone away. It would be good for them to have a little time, she'd told herself. She would have some time to compose herself and gather her thoughts, and anyway, it was a conversation that would need to happen in person, not over the phone. Their lesson seemed like just the kind of space that could allow that conversation to happen. Even right after they had met, their lessons had allowed them to have those first moments of connection in the midst of all the awkwardness and uncertainty. And surely just his presence there would be a good sign, wouldn't it? At least it would mean that he wasn't entirely closed off to her.

She had hardly slept at all the night before and felt it acutely as she made her way through the halls. What little sleep she had gotten had been restless, filled with confused dreams of Erik and Raoul, flashes of feelings and memories that were hopelessly muddled and that left her exhausted when she woke. She still felt a little unsteady now, with a haziness lingering over her like that restless sleep was still grasping at the edges of her mind.

It took a moment to process, standing in the doorway of the practice room, that the room was dark and empty. Even as she realized Erik wasn't there, her heart didn't immediately sink. She flicked on the light and sat down on the piano bench to wait. But as the minutes ticked by, the heavy realization that he may not come settled over her. It hadn't really occurred to her that he wouldn't be here—maybe she just hadn't let the thought enter her mind. Now, though, she felt cold to her core. Before she knew it, the hour had passed completely, but she made no move to get up. Every ounce of hope had drained out of her, but she couldn't make herself move. After a while someone else knocked on the door and asked if she was getting ready to leave, and she nodded and numbly relinquished the room.

She was already late for work, but rather than heading there, she made the short walk back to the apartment. It was quiet inside. Peaceful. She slipped off her shoes and slid her backpack off her shoulders, and then she put her pajamas back on and climbed into bed. She still couldn't really sleep—only doze a little off and on—but she didn't think she could make it through the day if she forced herself to try and go about her usual routine. Meg seemed unsurprised to find Christine home when she returned between classes.

"I'm not feeling well," Christine told her, and Meg nodded.

"Do you want some company?"

Christine shook her head. "You have class and things to do. I'll be fine."

"If you're sure. Can I bring you anything, at least?" Meg asked gently.

"No, that's okay."

Meg gave her a sympathetic smile and promised that when she was finished with class they could talk or watch a movie or do anything that Christine felt like doing. Christine gave her a weak smile in return, grateful for Meg's understanding. She hadn't told Meg what had happened, and Meg hadn't pressed her; it was easy enough to arrive at the assumption that there had been some kind of falling out with Erik. With that piled on top of the break-up with Raoul, Meg could come up with more than enough reasons why Christine looked so worn and miserable.

Meg left again a short time later, and the quiet of the empty apartment settled comfortably around Christine. At last able to push all thoughts of the last couple of days from her mind, she curled up in the softness of her quilt and closed her eyes, finally sinking into the soothing depths of sleep.