In the violent-tinged hues of early dusk, Christine appeared out of the mist, a vision in shimmering green swathed once again in his cloak. It seemed such a familiar, intimate gesture, to wear the article of clothing he'd loaned her. Her breath came in puffs, turned vapor by the chill. She floated on the breeze, a fragile bell arrested in the air. He felt his breath similarly freeze in his chest and wondered idly if that first glimpse of her would always so affect him.
"Good evening," she breathed, hint of shiver in her thin shoulders. Her upturned eyes glistened from the cold, expectant and attentive. He felt like a third-rate nickel-plated angel in comparison to her luminance. He offered his arm, ignoring the electric shiver that passed through him when she accepted it.
Taking her with him, wide-eyed and completely willing, was such a strange abstraction. He felt as if his prior wanderings through these passages had been like being lost in the dark. With her beside him, he was walking out of the dark wood he had long dwelt in, seeing the light of the world anew.
The thick stones of the lowest level seemed to glow with unseen light as they made their way back to his home. It was surprising he had never before noticed how perfectly smooth the edges of each brick had been worn, or how the footsteps of the commune soldiers and prisoners had etched a patch in the concrete. He had lost touch with his surroundings, or so it seemed. Everything fading into a grey background until Christine Daae had come in with her blazing brilliance, illuminating everything.
A deft movement of his hand unlocked the complicated mechanics of the main door, the foyer spilling forth a far warmer light than the prior evening. He'd made every careful attempt to make his surroundings seem more hospitable. The living area already had a fire blazing, and her room also had a flickering fire and a newly-placed gas lamp. Her luggage was placed in a corner near the wardrobe; he had felt it better for modesty's sake to allow her to unpack her own things. The packages from Jules were placed according to category in the various drawers, still wrapped in their delicate paper. The dresses hung in the wardrobe, also covered in the tissue paper to keep their form. He deposited Christine neatly in front of her bedroom door, leaving her alone to make herself acquainted with her new accommodations.
"I assume you're hungry," he said distractedly, removing his own cloak and heading back down the hall. "Settle yourself, I'll find something for you to eat."
There wasn't any need to go into the kitchen for exploration. He had already set out the bread and wine that Jules had acquired along with enough fruit, cheese, and sweetbreads to feed a small army. Instead he headed directly into his private quarters, in the rear of the house, closing the door behind him with shaky fingers and making for the bathroom basin. The cold water slipped through his fingers. He cupped his hands and raised them, feeling his cheeks still burning as he rubbed distractedly at his face. The mask back in place, he straightened the lines of his sleeves, checking each collar carefully, and attempted to resume his unaffected poise.
Her dinner was laid at the dining table, plates and utensils all conforming to unseen geometric lines. Perfect.
The door to her bedroom was still ajar, which startled him momentarily. He'd expected her to shut herself away in privacy, and this unspoken message rang louder than any statement ever could. I trust you. The words thrummed within his chest, warmer and more poignant than anything ever spoken before.
Beyond the threshold, Christine Daae stood with her back to him. The doors of the wardrobe were flung open wide, and her delicate fingers hovered over the paper-wrapped dresses hanging inside. She turned then to the drawers, examining each satin-lined interior with the same care. Her own luggage was shoved under the four-poster bed, and he regretted instantly not thinking to simply discard her items entirely. He'd been too afraid to, afraid of tossing out some heirloom item that held priceless emotional value he could never have fathomed.
Her explorations of the room continued, hands passing over the furnishings, the bed. His eyes once again fell on his mother's keepsake box, which she appeared not to have disturbed. Just as well, there would be time for such things, after all.
Then she noticed him, her exuberant dance around the room halted as her gaze met his.
"Thank you… for everything. This is far more…" she paused, her voice grown thick with emotion. It nearly surprised Erik how much this affected him, for even as she stirred the same earthly feeling in him no matter what she said, the words she spoke now stirred even deeper emotion. "Far more than I expected. It's wonderful, everything is so… perfect."
He nodded brusquely, not trusting himself to speak.
They'd barely exchanged a word on the way here, all the long winding corridors held nothing but the memory of the breathless silence as they passed. He'd been at turmoil inside, tossed to and fro on a sea of doubt, questioning his intentions, questioning her motivations. Now, seeing her ruddy-cheeked and exuding grateful happiness, he no longer regretted the decision to bring her here, to allow her into his most private of sanctuaries. He no longer regretted revealing himself to be nothing more than a mortal, for such a vulnerable unveiling was worth the repercussion, if it resulted in moments like these - in moments where he could know the feeling of having her stare at him in such a way. Every pore radiated gratitude, appreciation, contentment.
No woman had ever looked at him thusly before.
I have loved you from the first moment I saw you, Christine Daae. The words, so trite and so hopelessly contrived, were nonetheless true. But they remained unspoken, instead his lips produced a reserved, "Your dinner is growing cold. After you eat, I had hoped you'd join me in the parlor."
Erik waited impatiently in the parlor, sitting in his high-backed chair and repeatedly pouring himself - then thinking better of it and pouring back - a glass of brandy. On one hand he wished something would steady his nerves, and on the other he didn't want any chemical means loosening his tongue, or lowering his inhibition. Finally, after a great deal of inner argument, he decided on one glass and gulped it down eagerly, thankful for the warm relaxation that spread throughout him after.
She hovered in the doorway just then, enticing and fragile in her simple dress. Erik straightened immediately, turning slightly from her. "The agreement is thus," he said, tracing the line at the top of his brandy glass with a single finger. "You come, you dine. On evenings when you have not had show rehearsal, we practice. On evenings you have had show rehearsal, or performance, we rest your voice. You are allowed a single appertif, and a cup of warm tea with lemon and honey, to protect your cords. We are allowed a few hours of leisure before bed, for your sleep is very important too. So during this time, you may choose how to spend those hours. You may read, you may tell me things as you wish, or you may ask of me questions." Erik looked fixedly at her. "Three questions an evening. If they are not conducive to much conversation, I shall end with a story, if you'd like. Does this meet with your satisfaction?"
He turned his attention to the sofa, "Make yourself comfortable, I'll prepare something for you to drink, and take care of the remains of dinner." With that, he left her alone with her thoughts and the decidedly noticeable absence of the cat.