He left the old man's apartment in a pleasant enough mood. His mood was so good, in fact, that he was tempted to play a harmless prank on Khan's neighbor, but refrained. It would result in temporary amusement, but would eventually lend itself to the Iranian's, for lack of a better word, bitching.
Instead, he tightened the door of Khan's mailbox, which was starting to look lopsided. The old man would probably not notice the improvement, but Erik took some twisted pleasure from it.
The sun had just gone down, and the air felt damp. It was sure to rain at any second, but that hardly bothered Erik. In fact, it would be the perfect opportunity to patrol the campus. There would still be some students walking about, but only a few, and he was becoming less and less weary of them.
It was also the perfect opportunity to go home and lose himself in his music. But first things first.
Perhaps he would even get a glimpse of Christine...
'Not that that matters,' he reminded himself.
As he walked, his mind conjured up an image of her as she'd looked in the auditorium. Were he a normal man, and not a shade of one, he would smile in triumph at his student's success. At the very least, he allowed himself a hum of approval. This would only be the beginning, and he was intent on seeing her through the road ahead.
Of course, he had no idea how long the FBI would insist on his being at Cartier, but, well...Erik had experience in delaying the inevitable.
After all, it had been years since he'd looked into a mirror.
A world record, surely, he thought wryly.
Getting back to campus took no time at all. Few students were prowling, as he predicted. Likely scared off by the pelting rain and the humidity that accompanied it. Erik raised the hood of his trenchcoat when the first drops fell, thankful that it served multiple purposes.
Rounding a corner to a nearby alcove, he took out his phone and cast a furtive look around for any observers. With practiced ease, he opened and examined the application he had created to monitor the cameras he had stationed around campus.
The music building was busy, but that was no wonder. He could spy it from where he was standing, in fact, and could see that students would enter and exit every so often. He wondered then if anyone had taken note of Christine's comings and goings. He would have to watch the camera after her next lesson to make sure no one suspicious waited for her.
Next, the dance building.
It looked at least twice the size of the music building, but despite appearances, it was roughly the same square footage of the music building. The dance building had long halls unencumbered by walls, but the music building was several floors taller, with a multitude of rooms. But unlike the music building, he only had one camera on the dance building, and felt it was more than enough. Perhaps foolishly, he believed he had the estimate of Giry's character, and believed she would do a far better job of keeping her territory under control than he ever could.
With all calm on that front, he checked out the drama department last. It made up several buildings that crossed the span of campus, which made it difficult to monitor. However, one building held the majority of faculty offices, and so he looked there.
He eyed the building, feeling the nearest thing to trepidation that Erik was capable of. He had the least holding on the drama department, compared to the other two schools at Cartier. His research hadn't immediately raised any red flags, but that didn't mean that nefarious happenings weren't underway. Still, it was a quiet night, and he was satisfied. He closed the application, and walked away.
It was quickly becoming apparent that nothing interesting was going to happen tonight. The most excitement he could hope for was watching some banal hazing activities take place. He could have easily stepped in, but the boys in question were merely taunting each other to see who could slide the furthest along the rain-slick grass. They were all shedding their shirts without compuncture, playful rolling the shirts up and hitting each other with them. The boys' foolishness made Erik uncomfortable, elicited a feeling he couldn't readily name. He impatiently looked away.
He was about to turn back for the dormitory when a familiar, yet jarring sight stopped him short.
Underneath a navy blue umbrella was Christine and a young man he did not recognize. They were huddled close under the umbrella together, which the boy chivalrously held. They were smiling at one another, walking slowly and eating ice cream cones.
Erik stared at them dumbly, a distant thought in his mind that he was standing out in the open, with only his hood to cover him, in the pouring rain. His arms were hanging flat by his side, but his feet felt leaden. He couldn't look away.
He heard her laugh carry on the wind, and at its tinkling sound, quickly found cover under a nearby tree. The raindrops were still pelting, but he had the heavy branches to hide under while he observed them.
They were heading in the direction of Christine's building, their footsteps dragging, as if loathe to part so soon. Even with Erik's superior senses, he struggled to hear their conversation over the sound of rain.
Before they disappeared completely from view, they stopped. The boy had grabbed ahold of Christine's ice cream. Christine looked offended.
"Raoul Chagny, you will give me back my ice cream!"
Chagny. Why did Erik know that name?
The boy licked a stripe up her ice cream cone with relish, looking straight into her face, and Erik felt white hot fury on her behalf. Vile, lewd boy. Oh, but she would surely be enraged by that, surely -
Christine took back the proffered cone, and took a taste herself, right over the very spot the boy ate from.
Erik felt sick.
They walked away and out of his sight. The idea to follow them weakly crossed his mind, but in his witless state, he couldn't build up the conviction to do it. Instead, he returned to his room, his combat boot-covered feet drenched and heavy with rainwater.
He slammed the door to his room harder than necessary, and stood for a moment, silent and detached and dripping water on the carpet.
Chagny.
How did he know that name?!
He threw off his trenchcoat and hung it up in the bathroom to dry. He toed off the boots, and hung up his drenched socks as well. He stripped down entirely and replaced his soaked clothing with a black ribbed tank, black sweatpants, thick socks, and a zip-up hoodie. It was utterly informal, and only something he would wear when he was in research-mode. As an extra measure of both comfort and self-torture, he removed the mask too, setting it aside with only an afterthought of care.
A quick search on his laptop filled in the gap in his memory. The Chagnys were one of the families that regularly rented a box at Diamond Hall. He had already known this, of course, because he had done research on each of those families. Most of them were benefactors of the school, and, inevitably, linked to DC politics. The Chagny family in particular was a political dynasty. The boy came from a long, blue-blooded line.
Practically a Kennedy, he thought absently.
Erik scowled. He did not like that Christine was seeing this boy. His brother was a Washington insider, which could raise a good deal of trouble for Christine in the long run. Being in politics basically equated to celebrity status. Every politician had social media, complete with all of their delightful dirt sprayed across the internet for anyone to see.
Of course, Christine would one day reach the heights of fame, but this was different. This kind of fame invited animosity.
It was easy enough to continue to tell himself this story of why he disapproved, but if he was being truly honest with himself, the brother wasn't the main reason.
Erik just didn't like him.
He was everything Erik was not. Young, handsome, carefree...and absent of a criminal record. Because, of course, Erik had looked that up, too. The boy had perfect grades at his perfect school, and was on his way to a perfect career.
Erik already hated him.
More telling, and concerning, was the feeling of betrayal. He knew he was being absurd, and yet he continued on feeling betrayed anyways. Christine hardly owed Erik fidelity, aside from keeping to their lessons and keeping the existence of Erik as much of a secret as possible.
So why the burning, acidic feeling in his stomach?
It hit him suddenly, and impossibly, increased his nausea.
He was jealous.
He leaned back in his chair, staring off into the distance in disbelief.
Jealous? Surely not, you gremlin.
But he was. Nadir had warned him that this would happen. Multiple times, in fact. He never listened to the old man, but perhaps this time he should have done.
He had no idea what to do with this information. He wasn't in a place to forbid her from doing anything, nor could he possibly compete with him.
But did he even want to? He hardly had the first idea about wooing a lady. A face like his didn't exactly attract droves of women.
And what would he even do? Tell Christine that he knew about the boy, and was unhappy with her seeing him? Forbid her from continuing this foolish flirtation?
The moment the idea crossed his mind, he recoiled. Their relationship was tentative, at best. They were hardly friends. He could no more tell her what to do than she could tell him, as much as he hated it. Were he a bad man (well, worse), he would contact the boy directly and threaten him within an inch of his life if he so much as looked at Christine Daae again.
As it were, he wouldn't resort to villainy just yet.
That didn't mean he couldn't gleefully contemplate it.
There was only one thing to do, really. He would forget this foolish revelation, suppress his ill-begotten feelings, and dive deeper into his job, into finding whoever this lowlife was that wanted to harm college-aged kids.
Maybe if he dove deep enough, he'd forget how heartsick he felt.
By the time Sunday evening rolled around, Christine was buzzing with excitement to begin lessons again.
Landing a role in the opera was a triumph for them both. Despite the short period of time in which she'd been Erik's student, she felt as though he were as deeply invested as she was now becoming. She had been insensate to her voice for so long, happy to let the river of life carry her through to wherever she was going to land, but no more. Now, she cared again. He had woken her up from a dream, and for that alone, she owed him.
There was no real way of paying back that kind of gift, but she hoped to do so by being the best student she could be.
He was sitting at the keyboard when she arrived for their lesson, perfectly on time. She glanced at the back of his head, wondering not for the first time why he was always turned away from her.
Was it because of his mask? She hadn't asked about it, even if she had caught herself wondering about it a few times a day since she first saw him in person.
He looked at her briefly, taking her in slowly from head to foot. "Christine," he said by way of greeting. He turned back to the keyboard. "Let's warm up."
She nodded in agreement. "Let's."
The lesson went on as usual, but it quickly became apparent that something was off. His playing was fluent, but his frame was tense. He looked ready to jump up from his seat at any moment, and hadn't bothered to correct her when she felt her spine curl towards her middle.
She heard herself go flat, and winced. Erik stopped, finally unable to overlook such a glaring error.
"I assume you heard that," Christine said with a weak laugh.
"You assume correctly." His voice was cold. He let the moment drag on, his hands now in his lap, rather than over the keys.
She shook her head, finally fed up with the negative energy in the room. "You're angry with me."
He inclined his head. "Why would I be angry with you?"
She sighed. "I don't want to play games, Erik."
"Then let's not play games." He turned to face her fully, straightening his spine. He looked her dead in the eyes. "You were out with Raoul Chagny last night."
She frowned at him, uncomprehending. "I was," she slowly admitted. "How did you-"
"I will not tolerate this, Christine."
She felt cornered. Berated, like she was a young child. She found she did not like it. "Why does it matter to you that I was hanging out with Raoul?" she asked, her tone defensive. "And what does that have to do with my singing? It's only been a day since we got the news. I would have thought you'd be happy with me." She was speaking with bravado, but inside she was insecure.
"I am happy," he deadpanned.
"I can tell," she said, her intention being sarcasm but settling on disappointed instead.
He pressed on. "I am happy about your triumph. But I will not pretend to be happy that you feel you must hide things from me. There is still much work left to do. I cannot continue to help you if you insist on carrying on so."
Her throat started to burn, but she spoke around it. "What do you mean?"
Erik's jaw worked furiously. He stood suddenly, and faced the wall, his hands clasped behind his back.
"I wonder," he started, his tone taking a strange, upwards turn, "Since you do not seem interested in practicing tonight, that you might be able to tell me some things about the school, instead."
She felt the wind go out of her sails at the change in topic. Delicately, she tried to sniff as inaudibly as possible. "You want to ask me about Cartier?" she croaked. "Why? Is it for your job?"
He nodded, still facing the wall.
She sat down, feeling both relieved and disappointed that they were changing the topic. "...Sure. What do you want to know?"
Erik straightened his gloves, looking entirely nonchalant. He turned back to face her. If he noted the unhappy look on her face, he didn't bother to comment on it.
"It would be helpful if you could tell me what you know of the supposed 'Diamond Girls' tradition here."
She made a face. "That's what you want to talk about?" He nodded. She shrugged. "OK. Well, I mean, there's not much to say that you probably haven't already heard through the grapevine. It's the surest way to gain notoriety here at school, but it's pretty damning, too."
Erik nodded, listening. "Go on."
Christine fidgeted, playing with a button on the cuff of her blouse. "I don't have a lot of friends." She looked to Erik to see if that made any impression, but he didn't react. She shrugged, continuing on. "Meg, on the other hand, is really social. So she knows all of the gossip. You're probably better off talking to her." She could hear her voice take on a note of sadness.
"Every week or so, it comes out that another student is…," she frowned, then raised her hands to use air quotes, "'Dating' someone new. Someone with a lot of money." She looked away. "The earrings are always an indication of the new relationship status, if you want to call it that. But they're usually not the only gift they get."
Erik wasn't taking any notes, but she was hardly surprised by that. His eyes, always so hauntingly bright, were sharp. He absorbed everything instantaneously, she could tell. "Just the girls?"
Christine shook her head. "No, it's not just the girls. The boys don't always pierce their ears, but they like to flash their diamonds in other ways. Jack Starkov has a really nice ring now. He's painted his nails to accentuate the fact so none of us forget, too." She frowned, suddenly remembering something.
Erik noticed. "What is it?"
She shook her head. "I don't know if this bears mentioning, but Jack also has a security detail, now. I've seen them a couple of times when he's walking around campus. Meg told me about it, too. They sit in on his lectures with him. Meg said it really caused a stir in the dance school."
Erik nodded slowly. "That is something I had not noticed, myself. Thank you...for telling me that."
Christine returned the nod, still unsure.
Erik straightened. "You will never have to do that, Christine. You know that, don't you?"
She looked at him, askance. "Do what?"
He visibly swallowed. "Wear anyone else's diamonds. Not unless…" He cleared his throat. "Not unless you want to."
Christine had a hard time following his thoughts. "Thank you. I think?"
"I am hard on you for a reason." His voice grew stronger, more confident as they returned to familiar territory. "You have a bright future ahead. You have a singular talent, something that occurs once in a generation. You cannot forsake your responsibility."
"Like Peter Parker?" she asked, her mood lightening with his sincerity.
The mask did not show emotion, but Christine could guess he was unimpressed. "I am assuming you are making a pop culture reference that I know nothing about."
"You assume correctly." She mimicked his voice slightly, and it made his lips twitch. She smiled innocently back at him.
"Yes, well, enough of that." Christine laughed outright then, and he managed a small smile for her. "We'll pick it up again tomorrow. Sleep well, Christine."
She stood up, assuming that was as close to a truce as she would get. "Goodnight, Erik."
A/N: As usual, this is posted way later than I meant it to be.
I don't enjoy writing E/C fights, but they're inevitable with Erik's mountain of baggage. And things might seem dandy for now, but trouble is around the corner...
Please leave a little review or come say hi over on tumblr at alittleillumination. Thanks y'all!