Babes! I've missed you! 2021 was even harder than 2020 for me, so writing took a back seat as I dealt with life. But I'm back and hoping to get you a little more frequent updates. I don't want to over-promise, but know that this story is always churning in the background of my brain.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Christine

Suddenly a man bursts through the apartment door, scaring the ever-loving shit out of us both. Erik jumps to his feet in front of me. I peer around his thin frame; the man looks distraught.

"Erik!"

"Nadir, what the fuck!" Erik rounds on the man. Nadir?

"You weren't answering my calls, I thought you had another—"

"Clearly I am fine, Nadir. My phone was on silent from the museum. Jesus Christ! You can't go breaking into people's apartments—"

"You gave me a copy of your key after—" Nadir stops mid-sentence as he seems to notice me for the first time, still sitting on the couch behind Erik. "Oh, hello there."

"Um, hi." I look back and forth between the two men, adrenalin slowly dissipating from my system. They clearly know each other.

Erik pushes his hair back in agitation and steps aside. "Christine, this is my manager Nadir Khan. Nadir, Christine."

Nadir smiles and reaches out to shake my hand, a complete transformation from the distressed demeanor of mere seconds before. "I'd like to say I've heard so much about you, but you know Erik," he laughs knowingly.

I stand to shake his hand and smile, "Likewise."

The three of us just stand there in the tiny living room in silence for a moment. I guess we're not going to discuss why Nadir just burst into Erik's apartment?

Nadir and I try to fill the awkward moment at the same time.

"Well don't let me interrupt—"

"Do you want to stay for a drink?"

Erik gives me a look that I take to mean, What are you doing?!

I'm sure he wants to get rid of Nadir, but I can tell the moment was scared out of us both. We're too awkward to salvage that intimacy tonight; it will be waiting for us. And since Nadir is here, I might as well get to know one of Erik's few friends, and hopefully a little more about Erik in the process. So I bite my lip and shrug.

"Oh I couldn't impose," Nadir replies, but he doesn't move toward the door.

"Moscow Mule or Vodka Tonic?"

"Ohhh," Nadir follows me to the liquor cart, and I hear Erik sigh behind me. Hopefully he can forgive me for letting his manager crash our date. But for some reason I can't help thinking this whole situation is hilarious.

"I'll make yours a double, Erik," I say, grabbing some limes.

Erik eventually loosens up and the three of us talk and drink into the night. Nadir tells me the story of how Erik became his client. Erik pipes in throughout with his side of the events. I reveal the secret of "Keith" and the persona I had created for Erik before we met. That story gets a laugh out of Erik—and even a blush! I have never seen his visible cheek flush before. I love seeing little moments like this that make him feel more accessible.

"Well, it's getting late," Nadir says, getting up from his chair. "I have some early calls tomorrow, so I'll leave you to it." He winks a green eye at Erik. Now it's my turn to blush.

And just like that, we're alone in Erik's apartment again. It's quiet now but the energy from our conversation lingers in the air, thrumming.

"This was fun. This whole night was fun," I say.

"I don't know about the whole night," he quips back, rolling his eyes with a smirk.

I stretch my arm against the back of the couch and settle in. "It was nice to meet Nadir, though. He's funny."

"Can we stop talking about Nadir?" Erik's fingers brush against my arm, sending a thrill down to my stomach. He looks at me with an intensity that gives me tunnel vision. It's excruciating. I can't look away.

"Okay." It's all I can manage to whisper.

His spidery hand gently cradles my face. Erik touches me like I'm made of glass, but when he kisses me I feel like I'm made of fire, reigniting our spark from before. Heat surges through me. Skin to skin. His jaw is sharp but his lips are soft—gentle and insistent.

Finally.

Sunday

"Hey, are you free to grab coffee? I have a lot to tell you."

I'm practically giddy when I wake up early Sunday morning. Not even the sour church choir ladies can dampen my mood for the day. I float through the motions of the day replaying our date. Our kiss. I need to tell someone, so I call Meg on the drive back into the city in the afternoon.

She hesitates on the other end of the line. "Umm…"

"Meg, please don't tell me you're in the office. It's Sunday."

"I might have come in for just a little bit to go over some briefs for tomorrow."

"Workaholic!" I accuse, only partially joking.

"You're one to talk!" she retorts, laughing. "What time are you thinking? There's a new coffee shop around the block from the firm."

We get our iced coffees and I explain everything. Having this cute but detached relationship with my neighbor who I didn't actually know. Reconnecting with Raoul the same night I actually met my neighbor. Becoming friends with Erik. Going on really good dates with both of them, but knowing which one stood out more to me...

Meg's drink is empty by the time I finish the grand story. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly agape. "First of all, I am both jealous and impressed that you went on two amazing dates with two perfect gentlemen. But Erik is the one, right? The way you connected with him is just…" She closes her eyes and shivers dramatically.

"There is one… thing. Not a red flag, not a problem, just a thing."

"Of course." Meg chews on her straw.

"I think he has some sort of medical condition?"

"You think? What kind?"

"I don't know for sure, but… Erik wears a mask over half of his face."

Meg's face goes completely blank as she processes this information. "What."

It feels so weird to say out loud. I thought going on a date in public with Erik would make the mask feel like more of an issue, but he didn't really have any problems. Clearly that director offering him a job already knew about it. No one stared or made a scene. He was able to blend into the background, which I never would have guessed was possible.

"We talked a little about it last night for the first time—"

"He wears a mask and you only just talked about it last night?!"

"It just… He didn't acknowledge it, so I didn't either. After a while I just kind of got used to it, you know?"

Meg looks at me like I'm growing an ear in the middle of my forehead. "No?"

"Listen, he mentioned 'medical-grade' masks he wore when he was younger. So I don't know if he was in an accident or was burned or was born with it… But this mask was custom made for him. It matches the features on the other side of his face. It has an interesting texture, not too smooth but almost like another skin. But not creepy. I don't know, Meg. But it's him, it's Erik. It's a part of who he is and it doesn't bother me. And whatever is under it doesn't bother me either."

I surprise myself with the last part. It is something I've been wondering—thinking of all the possibilities of what could be under the mask. But every time I start to spiral, I remember the way he looks at me or how he talks about music and I just slowly stop worrying.

Meg looks pleasantly bemused. "Well it's kind of weird, but it's not like he's hiding his identity or something, I guess. Besides, it sounds like you have your mind made up." She smiles a little.

Meg catches me up on her latest work gossip and school woes. She has a zero tolerance policy for guys right now, in her words: "I don't have time for that shit!"

A parent calls me to reschedule a last-minute voice lesson to tonight so I head over to the school after our coffee date. Summer is winding down and this week I'll be back in this building for much longer hours.

I switch on the lights in the choir room. I love the smell of this room—excluding the pubescent body odor of course. The old-school risers have a specific scent, the piano, the sheet music, the carpet. It all reminds me of the fresh start of a new school year and how surprisingly eager I feel.

I already have so many ideas and plans for what to do this year. Starting with this poor piano. I sit at the bench and play a quick arpeggio. I cringe; it is so terribly out of tune. It probably got worse over the summer. I decide to organize some student fundraisers for a new piano this year. Bake sales, singing grams, silent auctions, and whatever else I can squeeze out of their parents' and classmates' pockets. Although, multiple fundraisers over the next three years might only cover the cost of tuning alone. Then I have another idea.

I pull out my phone and text Erik: I have a weird favor to ask. Would you be willing to tune the piano at my school? We don't have the budget for basically anything this year and my perfect pitch is dying inside :)

Monday

To the surprise of absolutely no one, I return to the school building Monday morning. I have a few voice lessons today but the rest of my time is spent blocking out the performance schedule for the year, picking themes, song choice ideas, and working backwards on what specific techniques I'll need to teach this semester. It varies year by year, but I always start with the basics for the first few weeks. Some students don't know how to read music, let alone proper vocal technique.

I have lunch with the band and orchestra teachers. We try to do at least one joint event or performance each year. Usually it's a Christmas or pops concert, but I like to throw in new ideas and see what sticks. They're both significantly older than me and love their traditions and familiar schedules, so my new ideas rarely take. But I feel like I gain some sort of wisdom or insight every time we meet.

Talking about music with the other teachers energizes me and gets me thinking about Erik. Again. My stomach flutters. So I text him: You free tonight?

Then it's on to the next lesson, make hundreds of copies before all the other teachers descend on the copier next week, and check my favorite websites and discussion boards for teaching music techniques and concepts.

I get groceries on my way home. I have mastered the art of maximizing my reusable bag space and carrying them up the seven flights of stairs to my apartment. It's truly a workout of its own—cardio and strength training. I do pause at the six floor, though, hoping to catch a strain of music from Erik's apartment. But his floor is relatively quiet, save for the muffled bass from the apartment down the hall. Maybe he's working tonight.

I make myself dinner and sit out on the fire escape to read until the sun sets.

Tuesday

Me: I have a weird favor to ask. Would you be willing to tune the piano at my school? We don't have the budget for basically anything this year and my perfect pitch is dying inside :)

Me: You free tonight?

Me: Did I overstep with the piano tuning request? I'm sorry if that crossed a line.

I stare at the three unanswered texts I sent to Erik. It's been three days since our date and I haven't heard a word from him or noticed his presence in his apartment. We've had each other's phone numbers for a couple weeks before this. I coaxed it out of him early, convincing him it was my neighborly duty—in case my bathtub flooded or if my tap dancing was too loud. Granted, we didn't text a ton before. Mostly just quick check-ins like, "You free?" or "Dinner?" When we already knew the answer was yes.

It's no secret Erik's not big into texting or social media or even technology, unless it has to do with music production. But, I thought…

My phone chirps and I rush to it. My heart leaps: When can I see you again?

But then my heart drops just as quickly when I see the sender: Raoul DeChagny. Then I feel terrible for being disappointed…

Wednesday

By day four, I cave. I can't stand not hearing from Erik! I need to see him again. I wait until the evening, our usual convening time, and head downstairs. I knock on his door but he doesn't answer. So I call his name, knock again, and press my ear to the door to listen for movement inside. Did he leave the country or something? Is he ghosting me?

Oh god, am I being desperate? I gasp lightly at this thought and run back upstairs.

I text Meg. I haven't heard from Erik in 4 days. Bad sign?

Meg replies almost instantly (at least some people do!): Hmm, usually the rule is 3 days.

I don't date often, I don't know what the rules are! Should I have waited longer before reaching out to him? Did I scare him off? I start pacing the length of my living room. But Erik doesn't seem like he dates much either; he wouldn't know the "rules" any better than me.

I grab a wine glass and fill it to the brim with a cheap red blend. Maybe I misread the entire situation. Did I completely fabricate all that heat between us? Was it one-sided? Of course not, we kissed! Oh god, was I a bad kisser? Shame warms my cheeks as I take a drink. I'm not used to feeling so insecure!

Christine: 3 days? What should I do?

Meg: Has Raoul reached out?

Christine: Yes…

I pull up my conversation with Raoul and reply, a day late: Hey, how about this weekend?

Raoul and I meet up for drinks at a luxurious cocktail bar with romantic lighting and low house music. I try to be present with Raoul, but after an entire week of Erik ghosting me, I'm embarrassed, confused, betrayed, and frankly pissed off.

"You're quiet," Raoul nudges my arm gently. We're seated side by side in a little booth.

I take a long pull from my third cocktail and look up at him. "I don't really feel like talking," I reply pointedly, voice husky.

Desire flashes across his eyes and I reach up to kiss him. His lips taste like whiskey. I deepen the kiss, finally feeling wanted, desired. Raoul's hands are broad, hot against my skin. Then they are lost in my hair. I'm kissing and touching him and I just don't want to think about Erik anymore. Not his mask or his music. Not his cold hands or sharp angles and soft lips—

No.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I murmur against Raoul's ear, nipping against his neck.

His breath is ragged and he doesn't respond at first. Then he gently pulls back, eyes searching my face in concern. "Are you okay?" His pupils are dilated and his hair is in disarray. "This doesn't feel… like you…"

Are you fucking kidding me? I extricate myself from his body and sit back, fighting back the shame flushing my cheeks.

"I thought…" I trail off, not really sure what I was thinking.

"I'm sorry, I just… You have no idea how much I want—but…" Raoul quickly glances around to make sure no one saw us full on making out, then pushes his hair back into the coif. "Maybe I'm projecting."

I look up at him, "What do you mean?"

He rubs the back of his neck and takes a deep breath. "I think I'm still in love with my ex."

My stomach drops. This is not how I imagined this evening going. Yet another rejection. Tears burn behind my eyes and I turn away. I should have known better. I knew this would happen.

"We were engaged, but she broke it off a few months ago. I'm sorry," he says breathlessly. "I didn't realize—I thought I was over her. But being with you—I want to… but you don't deserve this. I'm sorry, Christine."

I look down at my hands in my lap. How foolish to think men as handsome as Raoul or as passionate as Erik would want anything to do with me.

"I need to go home."

Erik

Sunday, 6 am

All I can think about is Christine. I haven't slept—I can't sleep. I can't stop replaying every moment from last night. Each glance, each touch, each word. I'm enamored. I'm infatuated. I'm… giddy.

I have been composing since she left my apartment. Since she floated upstairs, out of my reach. I wrote sonatas and symphonies about how it felt to lock eyes with Christine, to touch her, to kiss her. I kissed Christine Daaé. 7A.

Something inside me stirs at the thought of her lips, and another song unfurls in my mind. I can't stop myself. I can't thwart the inspiration she rouses.

I feel manic. I know I'll crash soon. It's been a little too long since I've slept or ate.

Sunday, noon

The sun shining in my eyes is what wakes me. I passed out on the couch with the keyboard on the floor and my headphones still on. I stretch and groan at the tightness of my cramped muscles, then wince at the sound of my own groan. I feel hungover. And starving.

I down a glass of water and inhale a piece of toast. The grogginess lifts just enough to take in the state of my apartment. There are papers everywhere. I start to sift through them and then it all rushes back. Oh. I am hungover. I was positively drunk on Christine last night.

I sit on the living room floor, in the middle of all the papers. Some of the compositions are worth exploring and others are outright garbage. But the sheer number of compositions, notes, random journal entries, and…. drawings? Dear god, I cannot draw. It all concerns me. In the harsh light of the afternoon, it's all unnerving to say the least.

I can't believe I let myself get to this point. It scares me how obsessive I became with Christine so quickly. How positively unhinged I've become in such a short period of time. I take off my mask to rub my face, then I hold it in my hands. And it dawns on me.

I'm on a dangerous trajectory.

I am not a sustainable option for Christine! I can't last. Wrapping her up in my world was a mistake. How could I have been so selfish? When the end comes, it's all so much more painful when you're… in love. I saw how it ripped my family apart for generations. I can't allow this to happen to Christine. Better to stop whatever this is now before she gets too invested.

I can't allow my selfishness to hurt Christine. I can't hurt Christine.

But how? The moment I see her again, I know I will lose all self control. I'll give in immediately, which will just confuse and hurt her more. I have to avoid seeing her again. I don't know any other solution to stop this from progressing. To prevent myself from luring her the inevitable heartache.

Wednesday

I am miserable.

I have completely avoided seeing or talking to Christine for three and a half days and I am miserable. I haven't touched the piano or keyboard. I've barely slept. I don't leave the apartment, sequestered by the fear of what I'll do if I see her.

She tempts me with each text—I read them over and over, but I will myself not to reply. I freeze when she knocks on my door. I fall apart when I hear her say my name, confused and hurt.

Saturday

One week of avoiding Christine hasn't made it any easier. I ache to hear her voice again. To hear her sing, talk, laugh, whisper—anything. I didn't know I could connect with someone so deeply over so much more than music. And now that I don't have it…

I dream of her. When I wake up, I can't remember the details about what happened or how she looked, but I know she was there. Which I suppose is how she might feel about me—there one moment in flesh and blood but disappeared the next. Like a ghost.

But I can't stay invisible forever.

Sorry to leave you on a cliffhanger for so long only to give you this angsty chapter! I promise the next one will make up for it... Please leave a review!