"Could you explain your half of the story first?" Christine pleaded. She didn't want to have to admit her reasons for not speaking to him and hoped that by delaying the confession she might be able to forgo having to explain herself at all.
He regarded her stonily for a moment. His eyes scanned her face analytically, and he did not look too pleased with the request but opened his mouth nonetheless.
"After your conference with Andre and Firmin, I waited for you patiently behind the glass mirror. I saw your little run in with Mlle. Langille, but thought that such a trivial little roadblock wouldn't hinder you. Evidently I was wrong. I waited for you in the other entrances to the cellars, and kept vigilant throughout the whole night and the next day, thinking that you would show. I waited in vain. I figured that you would come if you wanted to see me—that you saw this as a way of escaping me," his face contorted with pain as he spoke. "It was an all too familiar feeling."
Tears pricked at her eyes. Had she known that this would have had such an effect on him, she wouldn't have neglected him. She sincerely regretted it now.
"I gave up waiting after a day or two, and continued to live underneath the opera. It was a very mundane existence, I could barely get anything done. I was listless, distracted…One night I was particularly restless and took a walk in the streets. I happened to pass a certain tailor shop, glanced aimlessly into the window, and saw you in the arms of a certain Vicomte."
Christine winced. She remembered that clearly—Raoul , distressed and helpless, rushing into the shop to plead his case and ask for forgiveness which she did not offer, and then giving him one last embrace before he set off.
"I assumed that you rekindled your love. Then I did what I should have years ago—I fled Paris. I was gone until that meddling Persian brought me back," he muttered. "By coincidence I crossed your path, and saw you in trouble. So I intervened, and here I am," he finished bitterly. She could tell that he wanted to end it with another sentence, but he did not voice it.
"I can explain my half of the story, if you wish?"
He nodded.
She then launched into an explanation over what she had done in the past month or two—how she had been too embarrassed after the meeting with Andre and Firmin, how she had searched for a job, how Raoul had surprised her with his apology, and how much she had—she blushed faintly at this part—missed him—and his music, she hastily added.
He had been silent throughout the whole time she had been talking and now as they continued to sit in silence she realized how much she wanted him to not be angry with her, how much she valued his approval and opinion. She sat perched nervously on the edge of her chair, waiting for him to speak and end her apprehension.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, are you and the Vicomte not engaged?"
Christine tried to decipher his countenance—why did he try so hard to hide ever emotion from her? She thought she had seen a glimpse of something, but she could not quite name it.
"No," she confessed slowly. "I couldn't live with him after…after what he had done."
He nodded slowly, processing the information. "I see," he said vaguely. "So you are…completely unattached?"
"Yes," she breathed her voice barely above a whisper.
Some time during their discussion they had drawn very close to one another. Now he was barely an inch away from her, both leaning in towards each other on the edge of their seats. Suddenly it became very hard to do involuntary things—like speaking, and breathing, and controlling her heart beat and body temperature. His eyes seemed to be burning—like golden flames leaping up from a wildfire. He began to lean in towards her and she felt herself closing the distance between them as well, before he suddenly jumped up from this chair, like he had been electrified, and collected himself, raking a slightly shaky hand through his hair, causing one strand to fall onto his forehead. Air flooded back into the room, and she gulped in deep lungfuls of it. Erik turned around, his back to her.
His lean frame sagged, shoulders slumping, and he took on the air of a totally defeated man. She wondered what could have happened in the past few seconds to change him so drastically.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what came over me."
It was almost like—almost like—she couldn't even think it. The thought scared her, and she pushed it out of her mind.
"I should go," he muttered suddenly, sweeping past her to collect his cloak and boots.
"No, please," she insisted loudly, following him. "Stay just a little bit longer."
He paused, eyes focused determinedly on the material of his cape which he rubbed thoughtfully between two fingers.
"Please."
He resignedly hung up his coat and set his boots down. "I suppose," he said.
She bit back a triumphant grin, pushing back the last few minutes out of her mind. She hadn't seen her friend for months, and she was not about to lose him again. ''Why don't we sing a duet? It's been ages since I've been able to sing. Or you could borrow my father's violin, if you'd like…"
He nodded slowly. "Yes, I can imagine how much you would like to sing again. Additionally we need to get you ready for your next debut onstage."
She smiled eagerly thinking of her return to the stage. "I'll go get the music."
She brought back some old Swedish folk songs, a few Latin hymns, and some of her favorite duets that they used to sing together when he had first started teaching her from behind her dressing room mirror—almost six years ago.
She flew back into the little living room—like a little child on Christmas morning, eager to receive the gifts that waited underneath an evergreen tree.
"I found a few of my old scores—you can choose whichever you would like," she gushed.
He slowly extended a hand and took the timeworn music from her, leafing through them pensively. A ghost of a smile touched the corner of the visible side of his mouth as he examined the duets. His eyes weren't focused on the sheets in front of him, but something that he alone could only see. At last he chose one out of the stack, reverently and carefully pulling it out from the bundle.
He looked up from the paper and raised an eyebrow, asking silently for her approval.
She looked down at his hands to see which one he had chosen, and immediately felt a wave of emotions hit her.
She could remember the moment clearly—so very clearly…
"Angel, when-when can we ever sing something together?" Christine asked innocently, brown eyes scanning the surface of the mirror, not quite sure where to focus, as her tutors voice seemed to emanate from all around the room.
"There is no need for us to be practicing duets. Have I not given you enough to work on? Do you need more things to practice?"
She blushed. Yet again she had managed to irritate her Angel. He was so hard to please; she had hoped that he would be delighted with her enthusiasm and readiness to sing a duet with him, but her request had only angered him.
"No, monsieur," she assured him. "I just wanted to sing with you. To hear what our voices sound like together," she admitted softly, talking to her feet.
"I see," he said ambiguously. "Look inside the piano bench. Take out the piece by Bizet."
She rifled through the music and pulled out his opera bound together by a sleek black ribbon.
"We will start at measure twelve. You have the pickup. Note the key change in measure thirty. Keep in mind the articulation; it is what gives the piece life."
Her heart beat rapidly against her ribcage, threatening to burst through her chest. She started the duet unsteadily, her voice warbling a little on the high whole note at the end of the first phrase. Within moments, however, she managed to calm herself. She had just sunk into a music-induced stupor when suddenly another voice intertwined with hers.
His voice was truly that of an angel's. The perfection of his technique and the amount of pure emotion he poured into the song made it sound truly heavenly. When they sang together, blending harmonies together, it created such a beautiful sound she felt her knees grow weak and her eyes sting with tears at the beauty of the sound that they were able to create.
The angels wept that night—the Angel of Music, precisely. He wept over his own angel, who he had sung with so temptingly, but who was still so untouchable. As much as he loved her, she did not know fully who he was—an demon in the guise of an angel, who dared to look upon what he could not have. All he could do is hope that this seraph would stoop down from heaven and take him lovingly under her wing.
This time they sang the same song it was even more breathtaking and magnificent, if that was even possible.
As their voices climbed to reach the height of the crescendo, she realized she had never heard anything so glorious in her life. She tried to push all thoughts out of her mind and just enjoy the bliss that their voices created. It was truly unlike anything she had ever heard.
As the last note died from their throats, she was speechless.
She tried to fathom what had made this time so different from any of the others times they had sang together. At first she supposed that it could have been because they hadn't seen each other in so long, or because of how much she had improved over the years, but yet she knew that was the wrong answer. She looked at him, trying to figure out what about he had changed over time that had made him so different, that had made their duet so different…
She looked up from her music, meeting his gaze which had already been fixated on her. She stared into those golden eyes of his, trying to piece their owner together. Her eyes roamed over his face, his mask, his tall gangly frame. He remained unflinching under her gaze and returning those exploratory gazes.
What was so different about him? What had changed about him to make him have this effect on her—now she could hardly string together a cohesive sentence while standing before him, nor return his gaze without blushing. When had he lost his intolerable temper, when had he started to be so kind to her, when had he stopped being so condescending, when had he started to be so—so—
She took a deep breath and tried to regroup her thoughts.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized that this hadn't been such a recent change. She could remember how helpful and kind he had been to her when he was helping her heal from the injuries she had acquired from Raoul, how he had always been so thoughtful to her while they were working on his opera. She remembered when she had sprung a kiss on him, with—at the time—no idea why she did. And the time that she had sang for him, instead of Raoul, and it had sounded so real, so full of passion.
Everything was coming together, and the more she thought about it the clearer the answer became.
How had she been so blind? How had she not seen who Erik had become? Something must have happened within him over the years that she hadn't seen him—of course, he was still the same moody and irritable Erik, but at the same time he had become so much more thoughtful and caring. His company was something she yearned for. When she had lost contact with him she had missed him dearly, thinking that she only missed her relationship with a good friend.
But now she realized that it was so much more.
She had been unconsciously comparing all men to him—including Raoul when they were engaged, and afterwards any man she met she instantly held him up to Erik to see if they were equal. She would think to herself how Erik was so much more of this than the man in question, or how Erik could do something more better than any of the men that she compared him to. But none of them could ever compete with Erik, who seemed, in her eyes…perfect.
This realization came so fast, she could hardly react. All these thoughts flew through her mind in a matter of moments, and then she knew.
She—dare she say it?—loved him.
AN: I hope this makes up for the long time I've left you hanging….?