He froze.

Christine and the boy were coming down the stairs.

They were smiling at each other, talking about something that he wasn't close enough to hear. She stumbled a little, her eyes going wide in surprise as the heel of her shoe caught on the stairs. Erik was afraid she was about to fall, but the boy reached out and steadied her, concern written across his face. She smiled up at him, and the boy relaxed but still held onto her hand. They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Erik hid his face against the wall, desperately hoping they wouldn't look in his direction. He counted to ten slowly in his mind before daring to look again.

They were still hand in hand, their shoulders practically touching as they approached the carriage on the street. The boy opened the door for her and helped her step up into it before he climbed up himself. The door closed and the carriage pulled away.

Erik watched as it went down the street. His hands clutched the corner of the building and his knuckles were even whiter than they normally were. He stared at the street they had departed down, even though he couldn't see them anymore.

He was foolish, so foolish. That would never be him in the boy's place, he would never help her into a carriage or walk hand in hand with her. How could he have ever dared to dream otherwise?

He blinked against the stinging in his eyes. He couldn't just stand there forever, leaning against the opera house in the shadows like a child hides behind its mother's legs. He pushed off the wall, letting his hands fall into fists at his side as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, willing himself not to cry in public. There would be time enough for that when he got back home.

At least the boy had treated her nicely, he thought. He seemed respectful enough, and Christine certainly looked happy enough around him. They had both looked happy, actually, although Erik didn't care one fig about whether or not the boy was happy. Christine was all that mattered.

She could never be happy like that with him. Oh, she might enjoy their lessons, enjoy having her feet by the fire in his home, enjoy how they shared music together - but he was too deficient of a man to ever truly make happy. He couldn't even go to the store to buy tea without it being an ordeal. He squeezed his hands tightly at the thought - had he not kept his nails so short for playing piano, they surely would drawn blood from his palms.

She should be with the boy because the boy could make her happy in ways that he could not. It was only logical - never mind that deep ache in his chest at the thought.

A monstrous thought had occurred to him when he first saw the boy on the stairs - how easily the boy could disappear. People fell into the Seine all the time, did they not? Who could tell the difference between an accident and... not an accident? The boy could easily have an accident.

But then he had seen the look Christine's face - Christine's heavenly smile, glowing up at that Raoul, and he knew in that instant that he could never, never harm a hair on the boy's head because if he did, Christine would never forgive him, ever.

It was a relief, in a way - he hadn't committed such an atrocity in probably thirty years, and never without orders to do so or in self defense. So the wretched boy would live on, he would probably court Christine, and they would likely marry. She would probably have his children, too - a thought that set a wave of panic and grief over him, but he knew it was for the best. Her having Erik's children was an even worse thought - she didn't deserve the burden that any child of his would be. His touch would only curse her.

He kept his head down as he walked to the store, trying to find the right pace that would get him there swiftly but also not draw attention - though he could still feel the stares directed at him regardless.

He entered the little shop and the bell above the door jingled, alerting the shopkeeper. She turned around behind the counter, but in the midst of her practiced greeting she stopped with a small gasp, her face going white.

Erik lowered his eyes as he approached the counter carefully.

"C-can I help you, monsieur?" she stuttered.

He pointed to the size of container he wanted, and then to which jars held the types of tea he wanted.

"Two of each, please," he muttered, not looking at her.

She quickly measured out the tea leaves with shaking hands.

"Anything else, m-monsieur?"

Erik could barely think in the store - it felt like the walls were closing in on him. His eyes frantically scanned behind the counter. Did he need anything else? He certainly didn't want to come out again. He pointed at a loaf of bread and pulled out his wallet.

"How much? For everything?" his own voice sounded strange to him.

She told him the total and placed the amount on the counter and grabbed the paper bag filled with his groceries before practically running out of the store.

He clutched the grocery bag to him and walked back to the opera house, his long legs taking even longer strides, his thoughts buzzing far too loudly.

He would never have anything with Christine beyond what they already had, that much was clear. And from the fiasco of the previous day, it was also clear that the more he tried to prolong their time together, the more he attempted to keep her by his side and restrict her contact with others - the more she would view him as a cruel jailor and strive to flee from him.

It seemed so counterintuitive, went against everything his awful mind was screaming at him, but he could tell that if he wanted her to keep being around him, he needed to be willing to let her go. He would have to let her go one day - eventually she wouldn't need (or want) any more lessons, she'd have no more reason to come to his little house, she'd just be gone from his life entirely. That was out of his hands entirely - she would leave him eventually. But as to what he would do in the meantime, well - he had a choice.

He could scheme and plot and come up with ways to sabotage the boy and any others who might come after him, trying to keep her in his grip for as long as he could, and be just another person who thought they knew what was best for her - or he could be her respectful friend, like he'd promised, and follow her wishes in regards to what she wanted, and perhaps in doing so she'd want to stay around him for just a little longer and he could cherish every moment spent thus.

He sighed as he put the tea away in his cupboards before brewing a cup and tearing off a piece of bread to eat. It was a lot to process. But he'd had three years around her, hadn't he? Three years more than he could have hoped for, three years more than he deserved. And she had agreed to see him next week, so perhaps he wasn't entirely on the verge of losing forever right at that moment. If she came back after her week with the boy, then it could be presumed that she'd stay a little while longer, especially since the boy would be off to who knows where, safely away from Christine.

He drank the tea slowly, dunking the piece of bread it before eating it. He had a week without Christine Daaé, and at some point in the future he'd have the rest of his life without Christine Daaé, so he supposed he'd better learn to cope with that fact without going to pieces over it.

After his odd meal was finished (he should have asked for biscuits, not bread - why had he asked for bread? He could never think properly when shopping), he began work on some home repair projects in the hopes that they could clear his mind.

In the carriage, Christine tried to hide the parcel from Raoul.

"Do you remember that your favorite author had a new book that came out recently?"

Raoul thought for a moment.

"Yes, that's right - I haven't had a chance to pick up a copy yet, since I've been away."

"Well," Christine drew the word out. "You know how sometimes celebrities come to shows at the Populaire?"

"Yes?"

"Guess who came to our show a few months ago."

"Oh, Lottie, did he really? Did you get to meet him?"

"I did! And that's not all, either-"

She handed him the parcel, and he eagerly unwrapped the paper.

Inside was a copy of the book he had been looking forward to reading.

"For me?"

She nodded.

"Look inside," she urged.

He opened the front cover, his eyes going wide as he read the inscription - Christine had gotten the author to write a little note inside for Raoul and he had signed his name as well.

"Christine, this is amazing! Thank you!"

He jumped up and placed a kiss on her cheek.

He spent the majority of the ride to the mansion asking her every question he could think of about what the author had been like, and she did her best to tell him and not leave any detail out.

Christine felt slightly nervous as they approached the de Chagny mansion. She patted her hair, hoping it hadn't fallen down too much. She looked out the window and frowned at what she saw there - there were two other carriages in front of the mansion.

"Is Philippe having anyone else over tonight?"

"I'm not sure," Raoul looked out, puzzled.

They were greeted by a doorman and ushered inside, where they found that two of Raoul's sisters and their husbands were also in attendance for the evening.

"Raoul!" Philippe called out. "Welcome back! And who is- oh."

Philippe's face fell just slightly when he saw Christine. He had been hoping that perhaps Raoul truly had found a "grand lady", as the servant had said in his related message.

"Christine again."

Raoul put his arm around her shoulder and steadily met his brother's gaze.

"Yes, Christine."

Philippe sighed.

"Well, let us take your, er, coat, Christine," Philippe told her. "And you can join us for dinner."

Christine could feel the eyes of Raoul's sisters on her as she removed her coat which had baffled Philippe on account of the fact that it was a cross between a cape and coat - a new style, a little eccentric, perhaps, but she had thought it was fashionable. The servant she handed it to hung it on the wall next to two perfectly normal, ordinary coats, and Christine gave his sisters and their husbands a shy smile as she greeted them. They nodded politely, but not warmly.

At the table, they each asked questions of Raoul and things seemed to settle into a comfortable state, except for the fact that they all seemed to be ignoring Christine (Raoul, who was sitting next to her, glanced her way every now and then, trying to include her in conversation).

The serving maid refilled Christine's water glass, and while doing so Christine caught sight of a colorful bracelet on the maid's wrist, mostly hidden by her long sleeves but revealed when she reached for things.

"Your bracelet is lovely," Christine whispered to her, and the girl's eyes went wide with surprise at being addressed.

"Thank you, mademoiselle," she smiled.

The conversation at the table paused, all eyes turning to Christine, except for Raoul, who steadfastly ate on as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

The maid took her place at the side of the room once more, eyes downcast, but still smiling from the compliment.

Christine glanced from face to face at the table and picked at her food.

"So, er, Christine," one of the husbands asked. "What's it like at the Opera Populaire? I've never been, but I've always wanted to try it."

His wife turned and stared him, her face blank except for a hint of disapproval, and she asked-

"Try what?"

He choked on his drink.

"Th-the Opera, I mean. Try- try going to the opera," he sputtered.

Christine twirled her fork around in the noodles on her plate nervously.

"It's quite interesting, I suppose," Christine said. "There's a lot of work that goes into each production. I think that's something a lot of people overlook, how much effort and toil and skill there is to make something like that."

She stabbed at a piece of meat, glancing across at him.

"It's not just a bunch of pretty girls to stare at on stage," she added.

He fidgeted under her words.

"Of course not!" he laughed nervously. "There's men on stage too!"

The other husband frowned across at him.

"You stare at the men?" he asked.

The first man's face turned red and he hunched over in his chair, putting a hand over his eyes.

"Why do I even try," he muttered, his wife's disapproving gaze still focused on him.

Christine almost - almost - found it in her to feel bad for him.

Philippe cleared his throat, trying to regain control of his dinner party.

"I hardly think the opera house is a fitting topic for dinner discussion," he said. "Raoul, tell us where you'll be off to next."

Raoul scowled at his brother. How dare he consider Christine's profession inappropriate? Especially considering how often Philippe himself went to the Populaire - and not for the opera. There was nothing lewd about singing or acting on stage, regardless of what took place in the wings, and it irked Raoul to no end that she had to be constantly reminded that her job was considered indecent.

"They haven't told us yet," he replied, sullen, but not because of the uncertainty of where he and the rest of his crew were going.

The conversation moved on, and Christine remained silent through most of it. Had she known his entire family was going to be there, she might have refused to come, after all.

Finally it ended, the dessert finished and the plates cleared away, and Raoul escorted her out to the front porch where a carriage was waiting to take her back.

"I'm sorry about dinner, Lottie," he whispered.

She smiled, fondly but a little forlornly.

"Raoul, you're one of my dearest friends, and if anyone thinks they're going to change that, they've got another thing coming."

He hugged her and said goodbye, knowing he would be seeing her again in the morning.

She sighed as she settled herself in the carriage, preparing for the long ride back to the opera house. She had been truthful to him - their continued rudeness and haughty attitudes were not going to change her relationship with Raoul, but that didn't mean that it still didn't sting to have them behave so.

The next day would go much better, she was certain.

She was nearly exhausted when arrived in her room that night. She changed into her nightgown and nestled herself beneath her many blankets, staring up at the roses on her nightstand. They were so lovely, and smelled so sweetly... White roses, symbols of innocence.

She blinked sleepily, thinking to herself how lucky she was to have two men - her Vicomte and her Angel - who didn't think less of her simply because of what her career was. She drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.