One long awaited chapter, I'm sure. Thank you for reading, here's a last weekend update! Because I love you!

*-* Erik X - Trust

After a few minutes, just breathing, settling back into her own body, she remembered what the afternoon would entail, and excitement overwhelmed her.

"So, how was I?"

"Exquisite. I do not have the words to tell you what you did this morning. Now, all you need is a bit more work on your physical strength, your endurance."

She nodded slowly. Yes. Her current stamina would not suffice to last a full show, never mind an entire run of dozens of dates. But with him, she would make it work. The hardest part was nearly over.

And it had been almost frighteningly too easy. He was the perfect teacher, building her strengths and correcting her flaws.

In the fall, perhaps, her future auditions would give her the reward of such hard work.

"Thank you. I could not have done this without your advice and your help."

"You needed only a nudge in the right direction. You did all the rest on your own, letting go of your anxieties."

Perhaps it was so.

"Have you ever wanted to go onstage yourself? Even with a mask, it might have worked…"

"Indeed, I have sometimes wished I could go and perform, either as a singer, or a musician, but… It is not only the mask. While performing, it would barely matter, that is true. But people are always curious about what is hidden underneath. Eventually, it always falls apart."

Her heart reached out for him. Never feeling the ecstasy of the crowd chanting your name, applauding and whistling, with the talent he had, and how wonderful he would have been, how loved he would have been, if only the mask weren't there.

"Have you tried… surgery?"

She felt silly almost mentioning it, because he surely had considered it, but she had to ask. Anything to get him on stage and where he belonged.

"Yes. It didn't work. Nothing could help. My condition… It is very challenging, even for the strongest of hearts."

He didn't think wise to mention that ever since he'd retired here, he had not tried again. Perhaps modern technology might have helped him, but by now, he'd been filled with too much despair and resignation to even try and ask.

He had no wish to become the caged monster again, paraded for the world to see. And a case like his would make modern researchers very, very happy to dissect him. He wouldn't give them that pleasure.

"I am sorry it has to be so."

An old fear and anger rose inside him, for he would not be pitied upon like a small child. He'd been such a child, but that had been long, long ago.

Still, it wasn't pity in her eyes. It was a gentle acceptance, recognition of his difference, and the genuine wish to make him feel better.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. At times, it did, when I was careless. But most of the time, it is only ugly."

Only ugly. That was a euphemism he was not overly fond of.

"I am glad it doesn't ache."

She was relieved. That pain did not plague him was a lucky thing, in the unlucky event of his deformity.

"I wish I could see you, though. To see the face of the man I owe so much to. You have been the kindest man I've ever met, and there is no way I could ever repay you for it. To truly see you would soothe my heart over this greatest of debt."

"There is no debt, no need to frighten you over this."

"If you feel so, I shall not ask again. But if you ever feel comfortable enough, know that I would never leave you now. I could never fear you."

She did not understand the implication of such words… But he didn't have the heart to rid her of her silly notions, not when she was looking at him with such a warmth, when there was really no fear in her eyes, in her smile. She trusted him.

And that perhaps was what made him feel bold. Too bold.

"Do you truly mean that?"

"I do. You can trust me."

He stilled, and took the mask off. And watched her as her face whitened.

She opened her mouth, barely stifling a scream.

God… God… He hadn't been lying when he'd described it to her. He was horrible, making such a primal, childlike part of her wishing to scream and close her eyes and run away. It would have been the face haunting so many nightmares and horror movies.

But she was stronger than her fear. He was her friend, now. And she had promised she could endure it. Now the panic had receded, slowly, and she could truly look at him.

His skin was barely hiding the bones underneath, stretched too thin and yellowed. He had no nose, almost like a skull. A living corpse. With barely-there lips to hide his teeth. He had a wig, too, hiding the rest of his head.

She understood, now, why he had been so terribly alone. Why he'd hidden away. Why no stage had ever supported his dreams, why no manager had ever accepted him.

Talent could not hide such a face.

But for her, did it matter?

His eyes were still his own, gentle and golden.

His mouth was trembling, from hope and pain and fear.

He had given her the greatest gift of his trust. He had trusted that she would not go and leave him, now that she had what she wanted from him. That she would not turn and fear him.

She approached his face, slowly, an inch at a time, so as not to frighten him with her proximity, like the last time she'd done that.

She took his face, his cold cheeks between her hands, caressed the strange but lovely texture under her fingers, like the smoothest, most delicate stationary paper. Unfamiliar, but she wanted to learn it.

The strange tension had shifted, turned into something deeper, stronger, more meaningful.

Could she have fallen in love so fast? In the course of a few days, a few hours spent together, he'd found his way to her heart.

She wanted to love him, that strange man with his ugly face and his angelic voice.

He still stirred a great deal of unknown feelings within her and her body, and his face wouldn't deter her.

It was an essential part of him. In many ways, it had made him who he was.

But it was not all there was to him.

He was so much more.

She remained there, her hands on his cheeks, and he brought his up to cover her fingers.

"Thank you for trusting me," she whispered.

"You are still here. You are touching it."

"I am touching you."

He made a small noise in the back of his throat, disbelief and hope altogether.

"I want to kiss you. Would you allow me?"

"… Please."

So she did.

It was very different from their first kiss. This time, they took their time, just linking their lips. Just appreciating the moment. It didn't need to go further, it was warm and delicate, and just sharing a human connection they'd both been so desperately looking for.

For once, he wasn't a vampire unwillingly charming a mortal. Just a man, kissing the woman he fancied.

His thirst had been terrible, an ache flaming and pulsing, but the feel of her made it easy to ignore. He would lose himself in her touch, her smell, her tenderness. How she caressed his lips with her own, so sweetly. How she had accepted without a flinch his arms around her, his coldness.

For once, he was glad to be a vampire, immune to tears. Long ago, he would have been a mess at her feet, blubbering and sobbing uncontrollably, tears staining her lovely, warm and kissing lips.

Time stopped, it seemed.

It was like making music, hearing it and singing and playing all together, stronger, a physical pain, a joy that he wanted to repeat all over again, and again. He could not get enough of her, and so didn't she, for she did not draw back, did not let go of his face.

She was still holding him, one hand on his cheek, the other cupping the back of his head, her fingers softly petting his hair.

When she let go, he was still trembling. Could hardly believe what had happened.

He pinched himself.

No.

Not a dream.

She was smiling.

She had seen under his mask!

"It's okay," she whispered, as she gently stroked his cheeks. "I'm here."

And then, she stepped back, and hugged him. He was overcome by her warmth, her scent, how her head perfectly fit under his, his chin nuzzling her hair. He closed his eyes, wanting to savor this moment. Somehow, expecting her to pull back and scream at the monster she was with.

But she didn't.

She stayed there, her arms caressing his back, in long, lingering movements.

There he noticed he hadn't done anything with his own arms, just staying there, on his sides, unmoving. She had initiated it, so surely she would not be against him touching her.

Slowly, he drew his arms around her small frame, feeling enveloped in her softness.

"There," she whispered again. "Relax, Erik. Everything's okay."

He was a puddle in her arms, his body failing him. No more thoughts, no more brain, he was only feelings. Surrendering to those emotions, those sensations.

They remained embraced for a long time.