"Is everything alright, Erik?"

Erik's hands clenched the steering wheel, his body tenser than ever. Thinking about it would only make things worse, but reminding himself not to think about it wasn't helping. The idea of crying now seemed incredibly inconvenient considering what he had in mind for his evening with Christine, but he couldn't help himself.

She watched as his eyes clouded and his lips began to tremble into a frown. The sob he was trying to withhold for her sake released on a breathy note, spilling from him with force. He shook his head: his answer.

"What happened? Is your dad okay?"

Erik nodded now, blinking away his tears. "Yes, it's just- it's a long story."

Christine nodded her understanding and fell quiet.

It was the first time he'd been inside her apartment—small, yet homey in a sense. He could smell dinner cooking as soon as he walked through the front door. Making out whatever it was was practically impossible, but for him, as little as he ate, it made his stomach yearn for food.

"I'm home!" Christine announced, locking the door behind them.

She toed her shoes off into a pile of other shoes and started down a hall towards her bedroom. Erik followed after slipping his shoes off, sliding them beside hers.

Her room changed no initial impressions he'd had from the main entrance, except it was more girly—more her. A small full-sized bed was tucked into the corner by her only window, a nightstand with several books stacked atop standing beside it. Next to that was a desk littered with several makeup products and a double-sided mirror. A towel hung on her closet door, several lacey bras on the handle. In another corner stood two guitar cases.

"I'm sorry about the mess," she apologized, rushing to her closet to pull the bras off the handle and toss them into her closet where he could not see them.

Erik smiled at her hurried behavior. "It's fine," he assured her. "Don't apologize for being human."

"A messy one at that."

He chuckled and rolled his eyes as she crossed her room to the guitar cases, pulling the one he'd purchased for her.

"Ah," he remarked, "so we're having a jam session."

Christine laughed as she unzipped her case and plopped herself down on her bed, patting the spot beside her as an invitation for him to sit. He took his seat as she tuned, using each string as assistance in her tuning the next.

"I've written a few new songs," she said shyly, strumming all the strings to ensure her tuning was correct. "If you'd like to hear, of course."

He smiled as her eyes glanced up to his. "Of course."

Christine allowed herself a moment to steel herself, drawing in a deep breath. It was odd how nervous she'd felt all of a sudden. On stage, with her band, it didn't matter. Drunk in front of a crowd, it didn't matter. But here, in front of him, a song she'd written on her own—it mattered. It was her music; it was the guy she liked, and it mattered.

When her voice opened up along with the strum of a chord, everything seemed to fall away. The rush removed all her nerves, and his heart beat in time with her music's tempo.

"Beautiful," he whispered as the song reached its end.

Christine smiled and found his eyes once more. "Thanks. That one took me a while."

"Mmm," he hummed, nodding. "That too."

She felt heat rush to her cheeks, a different variety of nerves flooding her system. She removed her hands from her guitar, balancing the instrument in her lap as they slowly reached towards his face. For the first time since she'd done this, he did not flinch, and she was grateful despite the apparent edge in his shoulders.

When she set the mask to the side, not removing her eyes from his gaze, it no longer mattered. The fear he'd once felt of her understanding his reality—seeing it for what it was—dissipated at the sight of those lovely, loving eyes.

Her hand stroked his most ruined cheek, and she ignored his sharp gasp for air.

"Why didn't you get surgery?" she asked in a low voice, afraid her curiosity might ruin the moment, perhaps even what they had.

"Surgery won't get rid of decades of pain," he replied, mirroring her low tone.

Christine pressed her lips to the space beneath his right eye, drawing a deep groan from him. She pulled back to make sure he was okay with what she was doing, afraid she'd already asked so much.

"But maybe that can," he continued.

She chuckled and took both his cheeks between her hands, pressing her lips to his. He met hers with gentle, probing open-mouth kisses. They paused a short moment as he removed the guitar from her lap, setting it aside so that he could pull her over top of him as he laid against the mattress.

A knock at the door forced them to break apart frantically.

"Dinner's ready," Mamma Valerius' voice announced from behind the door.

Christine glanced in Erik's direction, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment and her hair a bit out of place from where he'd slipped his finger in it.

"I'll come in behind you," he said, reaching for his mask.

Christine nodded with a small smile and stood from her bed, exiting the room before him.