A/N: On with a short bit of the story. Mwuahahaha.
Anacari: Thanks for the review! I'm glad you like it.
Christine
I was shaken.
I wanted him to stay away; I wanted him to come nearer. I could not decide which would be more awful; if he did not still love me, or if he did. I couldn't tell; his actions and his words changed from one moment to another, leaving me only certain of two things. He confused me . . . and I still loved him. I had to; if I didn't, my heart wouldn't be hurting so.
It was at least an hour before I dared venture out of my room. I had hoped that he would be in his room, or the music room, or anywhere else, but instead he was sitting lazily in the kitchen, long legs crossed at the ankles and resting on the table, a worn novel in his hands. He was wearing, as always, a white dress shirt and black trousers; Erik's cloak was nowhere to be seen. He looked gentler here, candlelight glowing against his features, and before he glanced up to meet my gaze I could see something—was that possibly regret?—twisting the corner of his mouth. I think he knew I would not speak first; Erik bade me a simple "Good morning," his voice almost cool . . . almost. I could hear a note of tenderness running just beneath the surface, and it was to that note I chose to respond.
"Good morning," I replied quietly. I forced myself to meet his eyes, a gentle smile briefly lifting the corners of my mouth, before I turned to the cupboards in search of breakfast.
He moves so quickly; sometimes I still feel he must be half-immortal, at least, to move with such speed. Erik was behind me, close to me, not touching me at all but overwhelming me with his presence. "What do you want from me, Christine?" he demanded softly. I had the distinct impression he had been prepared for me to be cold or angry with him; I smiled, just a little, at the thought that I had surprised him.
I turned. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"
Erik went still; only his eyes were moving, roaming freely over my face as though looking for something. "Why did you have to come back?"
"Why did you ask me to?"
The faintest curve of a grin touched his lips. "I asked first."
There was only the slightest distance between us; I closed it by slowly reaching up and wrapping my arms around his neck. Guiding him nearer, I kept my eyes steady on his. A dark question that I did not want to answer was lurking in his gaze, but I ignored it and pressed our mouths together. This was not the deep, almost frighteningly passionate kiss of last night, but a slow, gentle tie between lovers who had nothing else in the world to concern them save each other. Or, at least, that is what I thought it was; slowly I realized that he had stopped kissing me and was holding still again with that chilly distance I could never hope to match. He wanted to act like this was nothing? Fine. I pulled away from him. "I came back for your music, of course," I answered his question with all the reserve I had. I turned indifferently from him and reached for an apple.
When I looked back, he was gone.