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Chapter Text

Christine Daaé made the most of her metro pass that day. As evening settled and the professional commuter crowd dispensed, she knew she needed a game plan fast. She couldn’t go back to the women’s shelter downtown until the heat died down. She wasn’t sure who stole the shelter's limited resources, but they had done it in her stolen coat, and that’s all the security officers cared to notice.

They’d waved the screenshots saved to their phone in her face and demanded an explanation, or they would call the police.

After everything that had happened, the last thing she needed was a record. At least they hadn’t chased her when she ran out the front door.

The train squeaked and made noises she’d grown accustomed to over the past few months. It would have been soothing, if not for the loud teens on the other side laughing and talking a little too loud for her taste.

She wished she still had her iPod so she could drown it out. She’d pawned it her first week on the streets. Back then, she thought she would land a job fast enough to go buy it back, but that had been a fool’s dream.

One of her last precious items, gone for a week’s worth of train passes and the occasional sandwich.

Christine still had her old wired earbuds, which would have been impossible to sell. The wire tucked into her coat gave the illusion that she was listening to something and hopefully gave the impression she was unapproachable.

But she heard everything around her and was painfully aware of her surroundings.

It was exhausting.

She’d spent the day washing dishes in a restaurant that was willing to pay her under the table. Two crumpled $20s and a couple of $5 bills were folded neatly in her boot. She resisted the urge to pat her socks to confirm nothing had fallen out, but she had a bad feeling about the teens on the other side of the train.

She got off a stop early. She waited until the doors were about to close before she darted out, in case they noticed her.

The walk wasn’t long, but the chill of evening made her teeth clatter.

She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when winter finally hit.

The post office was closed, but she would have access to her PO box until 8:00 p.m. It was quiet inside, and blessedly warm. A woman was taping up a package while her two kids tugged at her and kept trying to get her attention, but she barely spared Christine a glance.

She was grateful for the lack of scrutiny. Before she left the restaurant, she’d used the private employee bathroom to clean up as best she could, but months spent on the streets were taking their toll, and she knew she was a far cry from the girl she had been only last year.

Christine said a quick prayer and held her breath while she fished the key from her pocket. She went to box 7114 and unlocked the familiar box.

The thing was, Christine knew she’d grown up abnormally. Her father and she had never really stayed in one place growing up. She’d been more or less homeschooled while her father performed at random venues, city to city. She’d never had to question her legal status or worry about things as dull as paperwork when she and her father were catching rides to the next performance.

And then she was an orphan and a ward of the state. The thing about that was, apparently, the foster system didn’t really care to look at her legal standing either.

She was certain her father had been a U.S. citizen but had been born in Sweden. The same birthplace as her late mother, and the same as Christine. Though she’d been in the States since infancy, all of the paperwork she’d managed to get a hold of thus far was Swedish.

She’d spent hours at the library trying to research this stuff for herself, but it was difficult to navigate, and Google Translate only took her so far.

She unlocked the box and felt the prickle of tears when she saw nothing but junk mail. She flipped through it on the off chance that some of the paperwork she’d requested might be mixed in, but of course, it was not.

International correspondence was painfully slow, apparently.

She tossed the magazine of home décor with a little more force than necessary, but tucked the supermarket deals into her bag in case there was actually a good deal to be found.

Christine saw the time and knew she needed to come up with a plan on where to sleep tonight.

It was demeaning and gross, but there was a gas station just south of downtown where the clerks didn’t really pay attention to the trucker bathroom. If she could slip in undetected, she could sleep in one of the shower stalls again.

It had been a week since she was there last, and as long as she didn’t make frequent appearances, she could probably get away with it. She’d have to wait until the shifts changed around 10:30, which gave her a few hours to kill.

And she could pay for a short shower in the morning. A definite bonus.

Christine pulled her hood up and put her unplugged earbuds back in. She walked slowly to the train station. Her pass was good until midnight, and hopefully by then, she would be down for the night.

Around her were all sorts of people living their own lives. She’d been one of them once.

Her skin grew clammy, but she didn’t think it was from the cold or another night of restlessness.

It was a danger response. Christine tried to be inconspicuous as she looked around, but she didn’t see anything.

Back on the train, she was making the journey a little too quickly to make it into the gas station at shift change. If she went too early, they may notice her, and she would have to come up with something else.

There was a church on the south side of town that didn’t ask too many questions, but it also had a men’s shelter in proximity that had checkout time the same as the women’s side. Last time, a man had followed her until she lost him at the bus stop.

There were a few people on the train with her, and she tried to assess each of them for danger before she settled into her seat and tried to make herself small.

It would take about 20 minutes to make it to a stop close enough to start her walk to the gas station. That would be another hour, and then she could assess from across the street what it looked like.

Her stomach grumbled, and she thought about using her precious $50 to find a cheap meal along the way.

She closed her eyes and tried to relax as the train moved and stopped. It rocked her back and forth in a way that reminded her of being a child again. Her father and she on another train going across the country. They had all of their worldly possessions in a few bags tucked under their chairs and checked in cargo. Him trying to give her a math lesson and her complaining of motion sickness. A lie. She hadn’t wanted to study, and he didn’t have the heart to call her a liar.

So instead, they listened to the small folk band he would be opening for on his iPod and played a game of ‘I Spy’ as they crossed another state’s borders.

He told her about her mother on a beach, in a white flowing gown and flowers braided into her curls. The wedding was small and near spontaneous. Romantic. And her mother had been beautiful. He always told her about that.

Now the questions remained, cold and not so beautiful. Where had the wedding taken place? USA or Sweden? Were there living witnesses? And most importantly, was it legally binding with a certificate to prove it? These were questions the pro bono immigration attorney had asked Christine, and she hadn’t been able to answer a single one.

All that had mattered before her father passed away was that her mother looked beautiful and her father very happy to be married to her and get to spend the day at the beach.

Christine thought her luck had changed by the time she made it across the road from the station. It was busy enough to blend in, but not so much as to catch anybody’s attention. The workers were occupied by a belligerent customer, and she knew it was her chance.

She’d been here only once before and knew there was a more immediate bathroom closer to the entrance, and then a trucker bathroom further inside. After a long row of bathroom stalls, there was another fairly long row of stalls she could go into. One was occupied, and she hung her jacket and her bag as casually as she could.

Christine shut the door and then took a seat on the floor. It was cleaner than some of the other places she’d slept before.

She tried to relax, but that wasn’t easy either.

Soon enough, after another day of disappointment and heartache, she fell asleep leaned against the linoleum walls.

School had been boring, and she’d been itching to get back onto the road.

Gustave had been slower lately. Less inclined to pick up a gig, and they were staying in a tiny trailer that rented month to month. It was furnished and reeked of cigarettes, but it was fine for the two of them.

She’d even been enrolled in a high school, and her father said it was a good chance to have the normal high school experience.

The novelty had worn off after a few months.

English class was fine. She’d read just about everything they studied in class.

She didn’t care for math or science, but she managed to keep up with that.

But music and choir—oh, she had loved those. The teacher had complimented her voice and hadn’t been surprised at all to learn of her unusual upbringing.

And then she came home one day and looked—really looked—at her father and saw his illness.

She had deluded herself for a while that it was a cold. Maybe the flu at worst, and that he would be back on his feet in no time. He’d always been so strong.

Then came the day he forgot to remove his hospital bracelet, and they cried together for hours.

“You can’t be in here.”

She startled awake, but she was up in an instant.

A tall woman in a smock stood above her with a frown.

“You need to leave before I call the police.”

“I—I’m sorry, I just sat down for a second and must have drifted off—”

“Leave now or I’ll call the police.”

Christine gathered her bag and coat and kept her head down as she all but ran out of the bathroom.

She prayed it was near dawn.

There was no clock to tell her as she bolted out the door, but it was still dark out, and very, very cold.

Once there was some distance between herself and the station, she pulled her jacket tighter and looked for any sign of the time, but she knew it would still be a few hours before morning.

Her chin wobbled, but she thought she might be able to find a diner and get some coffee and a small meal until the city really woke up.

And then…

Then she would…

Indignation and fear mixed together, and she knew she had to keep moving. She was a sitting duck out here.

A small, stupid girl who had nobody left in the world.

Christine kept her hood drawn, her hair tucked away. She walked north towards downtown and tried to remember if there were any diners between her and there.

She tried to focus on her surroundings, but the exhaustion and cold must have dulled her senses. She didn’t hear them until they were within striking distance.

It was just a prickle—a feeling that made her turn around and see the three men standing just an arm’s length behind her.

Her eyes widened, and the gross smiles and ugliness in their eyes told her everything she needed to know. She gasped and didn’t hesitate to take off into as fast a run as she could manage.

This had happened before.

But something about this night felt different.

The exhaustion and hunger must have caught up to her, because her steps were heavy and unbalanced. She’d been able to outrun attacks before, but she feared that whatever luck she’d had was finally running out.

Hands grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her back. Her bag was yanked, and she lost her footing.

She screamed—at the top of her lungs—but not much came out except a startled croak and yelp.

Adrenaline burned through her veins. She escaped her bag as fast as she could and untangled herself. There were hands in her hair, and she screamed again, this time louder, hopefully alerting some good Samaritan.

She bit somebody as hard as she could and received a fist for it. Stars danced behind her eyes, but she didn’t let it stop her thrashing.

She broke away into a run, even as her face burned and it became harder to put one foot in front of the other. She let out another scream and looked around wildly for any car or pedestrian.

There were a few cars, but they were probably too far away.

She scrambled and ran clumsily, but she was gaining some distance. It didn’t matter. They were stronger than her, and before she knew it, she was on her ass, looking up at them.

“Please!” Christine begged. “Please don’t! I’m—I’m not—just let me go, please.”

“Grab her, the car’s around the corner.”

“Let’s get out of here!”

“She bit me. Fuck her. She owes me.”

She made another attempt to get away, but a foot slammed into her thigh. She gasped at the pain and instinctively reached for it.

“Grab her!”

A car pulled up, and she thought this is it. A fourth friend, maybe, driving their getaway car.

But the men seemed just as startled as she was by the arrival.

A man stepped out, and she realized how badly she must have been hit—maybe she had a concussion—because his face looked ghostly white.

“The fuck?!” one of her attackers yelled.

“It’s all good, dude. We know her.”

“Help me. Please help me,” Christine begged.

“It’s not Halloween yet, man! What’s with the mask?”

She didn’t understand, but she scrambled to her feet on unsteady legs and tried to take a step back.

The newcomer didn’t say anything, but now that she saw him, she understood why the others were alarmed.

He wore a mask covering half his face.

His eyes were an ungodly shade of yellow that seemed to match the streetlights as he glared at everyone around him—including her.

Christine wasn’t sure if she’d just run into an even worse situation, but she also knew this was her best chance to escape.

“I—please.”

“Get in the car.”

Under any other circumstances, she would have run in the opposite direction. But tonight, there truly was no one else, and Christine had to get away.

She limped to the passenger side of his car. Her hand shot out to steady herself as she moved, trying not to put her weight on the hood as she limped around.

Her leg burned, and she was certain her face was swelling. She ran her tongue along her teeth and was grateful that none felt loose.

The door was unlocked, and her hand shook as she pulled it open.

Oh this was a bad idea!

She was scared, but she also couldn’t stand to be on the streets any longer with the gang of men.

She settled into her seat but made sure the door was unlocked in case she needed to jump out. Too afraid to look over, but unable to stop herself, she watched as the man in the mask went closer to her assailants.

Christine thought he was going to fight them, and maybe they did too because they all took a step back.

But he didn’t.

He grabbed her bag from the ground and then got into the car. And then it was just the two of them.

He said nothing, but he set her bag between them.

He was driving and the streets outside blurred away without a word between them. He turned onto another road, and then another.

His voice was deep but soft. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet, as she was afraid she would see malicious intent there.

“Can I drop you off somewhere?”

“Anywhere is fine,” she whispered.

“Let me take you home.”

She said nothing. A mixture of embarrassment and shame replaced her earlier indignation. It was so rare she actually had to say the words I have no home.

She couldn’t form the words and all that came out was a small, choked sob.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“No,” she managed to gasp out. Hospitals, like police, might alert the wrong people to her current predicament. The pro bono lawyer had brought that up, too.

He didn’t say anything after that, and Christine thought he might understand what she was.

Homeless.

Alone.

Vulnerable.

“You’re bleeding.”

She felt the warm trickle from her nose and used her sleeve to soak it up. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, afraid that she was staining the upholstery of his car.

It would be harder to blend into crowds while her face was beaten.

But maybe she could get a better bed at the women’s shelter now, too.

Christine closed her eyes for a minute and tried to focus on keeping the seat clean and herself as quiet as possible. Her entire body was shaking and she thought she would be nauseous if she had anything in her stomach to retch.

He kept driving in silence after that and she knew she should be scared as he went into unfamiliar territory, but her exhaustion was winning out. Not enough to fall asleep, but also not enough to plan an escape from his car.

“What’s your name?”

He was quiet for a long time and she thought he wouldn’t answer. She finally chanced a look in his direction and was distracted by his mask and strange eyes.

“Erik.”

No last name? She finally dropped her sleeve when she was sure the bleeding had stopped.

“Thank you for saving me, Erik.”

He was silent and she looked at his dashboard. To her anguish, she saw it was only two in the morning.

They turned into a more residential neighborhood and she started to get scared.

The dash sprinkled with small flecks of rain and she prepared herself for a long night.

“What’s your name?”

She thought of lying and giving a fake name, but it seemed silly to do.

“Christine.”

“Christine, are you a minor?”

Her eyes widened and she tried not to think too much about why he would want to know.

“I’m nineteen,” she bit her lip and then immediately let it go when pain radiated from her where she was hit, “why?”

“It would look especially bad if I had a minor in my car right now.”

“Oh.” She looked away, again embarrassed at the situation. “You can let me out here. Here is good.”

Erik sighed but the car slowed even further. She thought he was going to stop but he didn’t, only slowed down to a crawl.

"Christine, it’s going to be freezing tonight, and you’re injured. I have a guest room in my house. Once you’re settled, you won’t see me at all. You can rest there this evening and leave safely tomorrow. I promise you no harm.”

She sat frozen in her seat and couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere but the houses they slowly passed.

Oh how she wanted to believe him!

As if to accentuate his offer, the rain began to pick up and the trees blew with a new gust of wind.

She agreed before she meant to, with a tiny ‘ok’ slipping out.

The rest of the journey was silent.

She was grateful, but it also added to her anxiety.

How many women in the shelters had stories like this? Men who found them in the wrong place at the wrong time, at their weakest moments, and took whatever else they had left.

I promise you no harm.

And all she could do was cling to that from her odd savior.

He pulled up to a home at the very end of a block, very similar to the ones surrounding it, save for the barren lawn and lack of personal touches. He had a garage, but he didn’t pull into it. When the engine died and the power went off, all that remained was the howl of the wind and the increasing patter of rain.

Smack smack smack.

Christine exited the car cautiously and did her best to take in her surroundings—the numbers on the houses, the distant skyline—to orient herself. She grabbed her bag and tried to watch Erik without being too obvious.

He had groceries in the back seat, and she offered to help bring them in, while also taking a long look at his license plate. He handed her one bag, which was obviously the lightest to carry.

She was several steps behind him as he went to the front door. Her stomach rolled with anxiety and she doubted the decision to follow, but the rain was picking up, and she doubted her chances of finding another dry place to sleep tonight, especially looking as she must.

Up the stairs, into the dark foyer of his home.

He glanced back at her, but what little was visible of his expression gave no indication of what he must be thinking.

“I mean it, Christine. You’ll be safe here.”

She let out a breath and just had to trust he meant it.

The house was cluttered. That was her first impression. Belatedly, she wondered if he was married or had roommates, but it was eerily quiet inside, and she thought that was answer enough.

She took off her boots before she could stop herself. She might need those if she had to run away quickly, but Gustave Daaé’s ghost must have been there, chiding her to have good manners.

She was grateful her fifty dollars were tucked into her socks, and a discreet brush told her it was probably all still there.

The walls were a deep navy blue, and there was artwork hanging throughout the narrow hallway. Christine followed Erik numbly into his living room, which was scattered with papers and, to her surprise, instruments. Against the walls were shelves and shelves of books. The only light he’d left on was a small one in the kitchen, which she followed him to, balancing her backpack and his lighter grocery bag.

Once he set the other bags down, he relieved her of that too, and she stood awkwardly, uncertain what might happen next. He didn’t remove his mask, and she was starting to think it was a permanent fixture for him. At least, perhaps it was when he was not alone.

“Let me show you to the guest room. You can wash, and if you’re hungry, I’ll make something for tonight.”

She gave a tiny nod and stood back so he could lead her to this guest room she prayed was real.

It was.

A small bedroom just off the living room. There was a second story to the home, and she assumed that’s where his room was. Hope bubbled in her chest that this was real.

It was barren compared to the rest of his home: a small bed, a nightstand, and dresser. There was a window that faced out into the street, where the storm was picking up. There was an empty closet and another door she suspected was a bathroom.

“I have a friend who stays here occasionally, though he’s out of the country at present.”

She nodded but could not bring herself to look at him.

“Give me fifteen to get something ready,” he sighed, and with that, he returned to the kitchen.

Christine stepped over the threshold. Her heart pounded and it took extra effort not to slam the door between them. With a soft click, she was tempted when she saw the lock on the handle, but she was too afraid to utilize it.

Godsend—there was indeed a bathroom behind the only other door in the room. She did lock that one and made good use of her time alone. Gripping the counter, something between a laugh and a gasp came out as she stared at the clean room. There was a shower, but for now, she set to work cleaning herself with the sink.

Already, her skin showed discoloration as the bruise formed. Her nose was bloodied, but not broken, and she washed away the blood. After relieving herself, she saw the purple shape of a boot forming on her thigh where she’d been kicked.

She washed again and again until she looked somewhat like herself again—or, like this new version of herself. The Christine who had lived with her father and had regular food and shelter had been so much softer. This new Christine was tired looking, with messy hair pulled back and a sharper face.

But this was it for now.

She took a deep breath and exited the bathroom, and before she could overthink it, she exited the bedroom too.

Erik was pulling something out of the oven that smelled divine. Lasagna, she realized as she got closer.

“Is this—would this be alright?”

Beggars can’t be choosers.

“It smells great.”

And it really did.

They both took seats at the small island counter he’d set for this odd dinner between strangers. There was a table, but it too was overloaded with papers.

She was curious what was written on all of the papers strewn about the home, but she did not want to be nosy as a guest.

They ate in silence, and after a few bites she was near ravenous as the hunger of the last few days seemed to catch up all at once. Belatedly, she realized he might have drugged the food, but she simply could not stop now that she’d started.

The piano made a loud noise and Christine nearly shrieked at the break in silence. She whirled around, half expecting an attack.

“I’m sorry! I thought he was locked up.”

A black cat walked across the piano keys before jumping down and trotting over. Its eyes were bright and orange, almost like Erik’s.

After taking a sip from the cup of water by her plate (which again, she hoped was free of any drugs), she caught her breath.

“What’s his name?”

“Cesar.”

The cat stared up at her, but she was grateful for the distraction that was so—typical. Normal, even.

She had always wanted a cat growing up, but her and her father’s nomadic lifestyle made that impossible.

Some of the singers and musicians they met along the way of their journeys had pets, though. Mostly dogs, which Christine would play with, but cats were always her favorite. Once, they caught a ride in a little RV to go to the next show and she slept on a table that folded down into a bed. There’d been a cat that cuddled up with her nearly the whole trip, purring on her chest and snuggling against her as she watched the landscape change outside.

Her name was Mittens, and Christine had been devastated when they were separated.

“He’s cute.”

“He scratches, so it’s okay if you want to shoo him.”

As if to make Erik a liar, the cat pressed itself against her leg and then went to his master.

“Thank you again for your help tonight. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at Erik, but rather kept her focus on Cesar as he wandered the kitchen.

When he didn’t say anything, Christine couldn’t help but keep talking, her words tumbling out with little resistance. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair in the morning. I’ve got places I can go once things open up tomorrow. Tonight was just some bad luck, but I’ll be okay tomorrow.”

When he still said nothing, she finally chanced a look at him.

His eyes were burning and he was looking at her. Really looking at her.

Being homeless, she had learned that most people saw through her. She was a nobody on the street, vermin to most who had things to do and places to be. It was disconcerting just to be seen again.

“How long have you been living like this?”

“A few months.”

“Do you know what you’re going to do this winter?”

She looked away and began to cut up her food into smaller bites. “No.”

“I was like you, once.”

She looked up in surprise, and something like kinship seemed to spark between them.

“Really?”

“I ran away as a teenager.”

It was all he offered before he seemed distracted by his food and began to eat again.

Something about the revelation made her want to open up, and after a few bites in silence, Christine couldn’t help but say more.

“My father passed away when I was sixteen. Once I aged out of foster care, I went into a group home.”

“No other family?”

“None that I know of. I believe my mother still has family, but they’re in Sweden and I’ve never met them.”

“I’m sorry.”

She wondered if he had a harder time eating with the mask on, and not staining the white material with each bite he took. It was awfully close to his mouth, and she hated that she was a burden to his quiet evening.

“Thank you.”

I’m sorry. We’re sorry. It’s a tragedy.

She’d heard it all from social workers in the days leading up to and just after her father’s death.

“Are you a musician?”

“Composer.”

She nodded, her curiosity burning, but she refrained from asking more. Cesar jumped onto the countertop and Erik shooed him away. She smiled, and wondered if this was how most of his evenings went. She couldn’t help but wonder if he always did his grocery shopping so late at night perhaps to avoid curious stares at his masked face.

They finished the rest of their meal in silence, though it now lacked her earlier anxiety. She wasn’t so naïve as to drop her guard completely, but she thought she might actually sleep in peace tonight—and in a bed!

Her body sagged with exhaustion, but for the first time in a long time, she felt full.

Before she could offer to assist or do more to earn her keep, Erik took her empty plate and asked if she wanted seconds. She shook her head and let out a small yawn, which seemed to answer what she really wanted.

“Thank you again. Just—thank you.”

There was so much more she wanted to say, but Erik did not seem inclined to long, drawn-out thanks.

“Get some rest, Christine.”

She limped back to his guest bedroom and locked the door as she closed it.

She didn’t have anything like pajamas, but she did have thicker leggings and a shirt that was clean enough. She hesitated before turning off the light and crawling under the covers.

They were clean, and the bed was soft. She closed her eyes and thought she might have a hard time falling asleep, but before the sound of the dishes being washed even finished, she fell into the deepest sleep she’d been in for months.

She slept much longer than she intended.

By the time she finally stirred, it was likely late morning. There was no confusion when she opened her eyes, only warmth and the quiet certainty of a new day. She’d slept through the night, untouched and unbothered by her host.

Christine wished she could stay, but it was never that simple. Charity, no matter how kind, always had limits. Still, she allowed herself a shower. The water was scalding, but it washed the grime from her body, circling down the drain in murky swirls. The heat soothed her bruised skin. She gently rubbed her thigh and the side of her face, careful not to wince.

She dressed and gathered her few belongings.

It was Tuesday. The library would be open by now. She’d head there next and check her emails—maybe, just maybe, there’d be an answer waiting. A new optimism stirred in her chest. If she could prove her citizenship, maybe she could get an actual job. Maybe even find a small room somewhere.

She stripped the bedding so it could be washed and double-checked that everything was packed before she unlocked the door and stepped out of her small sanctuary.

Something was cooking. Her stomach twisted.

Erik was in the kitchen. He still wore his mask, but she wasn’t surprised.

She offered a small smile and set her bag down in the hallway before cautiously stepping inside.

Cesar was sprawled across the piano bench, seemingly indifferent to her return.

“Good morning,” she said softly.

Erik wordlessly gestured for her to sit. She obeyed, grateful and just a little eager.

An omelet appeared in front of her and she accepted it without a word.

Erik sat beside her. Once again, they ate together.

“Christine,” he said after a moment, “I know it’s none of my business, but… there are places that can help you get on your feet.”

She slowed her chewing, savoring the bite.

In the morning light, now clean and rested, feeling more human than she had in weeks, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to share a little. He didn’t seem like the type to make trouble. She’d probably never see him again, anyway.

“I was born in Sweden. So were my parents. I think… I think my dad was a U.S. citizen, but I can’t prove it yet. I’m trying to get the paperwork in order, but I haven’t been able to get a social security number. If I’m wrong—and things get worse—there’s a chance I’ll be deported.”

“There are still places that would help you, even if you weren’t a citizen,” Erik replied.

“Yes, but they’re just as bad as the group home.”

He seemed to understand. They finished their meal in silence.

“I should go.”

“If you aren’t ready, you’re welcome to stay.”

Somehow, Christine thought he meant it. To stay with him. But she couldn’t afford to linger on that. She shook her head.

“Can I give you a ride, someplace?”

“No, please. You’ve done more than enough.”

She wasn’t even sure if he’d slept the night before. He gave off the impression of being nocturnal.

He walked her to the door. Her lips pressed into a line to stifle a groan as she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder.

“Thank you, again. I mean it. Thank you, Erik.”

“Your bag is open.”

She reached to take it off and zip it, but Erik stopped her.

“Allow me.”

“Thank you.”

She’d said that phrase so many times since last night, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

She gave him one last smile before making her way down the porch and back into the unknown.

She heard the door shut behind her but didn’t look back.

It took time to make her way into the city proper, and longer still to find a bus stop. She peeled one of her $5 bills from her sock before the bus arrived, paid her fare, and got a transfer that took her back downtown to the library where she’d spend the rest of her day.

She found a computer in the far corner and logged into her email.

There were new messages, more back-and-forth between immigration and the Swedish departments she’d been contacting.

There was a new number to call. A new name to speak with.

Too late to call Sweden now, but she could try tomorrow. She jotted the number down on a scrap of paper and reached to put it in her backpack.

Christine froze.

An unfamiliar envelope lay atop her clothes. Thick, ivory. Far too elegant to have slipped in by accident. Her chest tightened. Had she stolen from Erik without realizing? Had one of his papers fallen into her bag?

She glanced around. No one was watching. With a shaky breath, she pulled the envelope free.

Allow me.

Inside was cash. A lot of it.

She counted nearly three thousand dollars before noticing the small note tucked beneath the bills.

Erik

His phone number and address.

Please call or come over if you ever need anything.

Chapter Text

Christine’s first—and hopefully only—winter on the streets started much better than she expected.

She had been right about the bruises getting her immediate placement in a domestic shelter’s private housing. There had been some guilt that she might be taking a bed from someone truly being pursued, but the first real storm froze the city completely, and she had to push that guilt aside.

Once the shelter began to ask questions and talk about her future (and, in turn, her past), Christine returned to the streets with some meal vouchers and the three grand Erik had slipped her.

A few times, she thought of calling to thank him, but her embarrassment won out. She couldn’t bring herself to dial the number she had memorized. He had been so kind and so gentle with her that night, but she didn’t know what it would mean if they stayed in contact.

She found a few hostels that would rent to her without an ID. As long as she didn’t cause trouble and knew which employees to approach, she spent the coldest nights between shared rooms and shelters.

The people she met gave her great tips on how to make some extra cash under the table. She picked up a few odd jobs where she could. She walked dogs for people who didn’t want to go out into the cold, shoveled the occasional sidewalk, and cleaned the odd house or church. There was a lady at a laundromat who would pay her to cover a shift sometimes. Overall, it was a good arrangement.

Christmas was a depressing time of year. Her father had passed just after the holidays, and her last foster family had indulged her by taking her to his grave. He was buried in a cheap pine box, but the one time he’d discussed his impending death, he mentioned his preference to be buried rather than cremated. Just shy of turning eighteen, Christine had stood at his grave and wondered if this preference was for her benefit—so she would have an anchor to visit.

She didn’t think she could go to him that year. He was too far, and the city was too cold.

Just before his anniversary and Christmas itself, Christine used some of her precious cash to buy a small, cheap card she spotted after returning the dogs she was walking. It had little music notes on it, and she tried not to overthink as she wrote a quick Christmas greeting to Erik.

Erik,  

I’m doing better. Your generosity was too much, but I can’t deny how much it’s helped.  

Thank you for reminding me there’s still so much kindness out there. I hope you and Cesar have a wonderful holiday, or as the Swedish say, God Helg!  

Christine Daaé

She used her P.O. box as the return address, then dropped the card into the outgoing mailbox before she could overthink it.

It was just after New Year’s when her life began to take a downturn again.

First, new management took over her favorite hostel. It had been clean, safe, and cheap. Now it was gaudy, raunchy, and pricier. The stoner who used to rent her a bed without ID had quit after a confrontation with the new manager. The staff now demanded photo identification before renting to her.

Then one of the families she dog-walked for decided their nephew was ready to “learn the value of money,” and her steady $40 a week disappeared.

She was starting to let it get to her—until she saw a small piece of mail in her P.O. box one afternoon. Different from the usual mailers and advertisements. A small card in a familiar ivory envelope.

Christine,

I’m glad to hear you’re doing better. I never considered it too much. I only wanted to offer a little comfort when it was needed. It means a great deal to know it helped.

Your words are more generous than anything I could have given. Thank you for thinking of me.

God Helg to you as well. I hope this season brings you the peace and happiness you deserve.

Erik

Enclosed: three crisp $100 bills.

She quickly hid the money, then reread his card again and again. She hoped he didn’t think she had only reached out for more cash—but his words were kind, and she tucked the note away in her bag. She reread it in bed that night, and the next, and the next.

The worst came on New Year’s.

All of the hostels were booked, and the shelters were overrun. She spent the night trying to blend into the party crowd, and once the city quieted down, she curled up in a dark corner of an alleyway.

The tickle in her throat was concerning. The cough that followed sealed her fate.

The restaurant where she washed dishes had standards, apparently. They wouldn’t let her work when she was clearly sick.

The church she cleaned was flush with volunteers during the holidays, and the houses were empty with vacationers. As the fever set in, Christine even considered slipping into one of those empty homes to sleep. It was tempting—but she was too afraid to draw police attention.

Her forehead burned, but the rest of her body was clammy. She stumbled through the streets, coughing into her sleeve, and watched people step away from her on the bus.

As if to mock her, the letter from the Swedish government contained no documents or anything official-looking—just a letter she couldn’t read.

She tucked it into her bag and stumbled out of the post office.

The cold was biting, and each breath stung her lungs.

Every shelter and hostel she visited was fully booked, even though she arrived hours before check-in. At first, she wasn’t too worried—but when even the largest city shelter turned her away, and the list of possible places dwindled, panic set in.

Hotels were harder to manage. They usually required photo ID and were far less lenient than hostels. On top of that, the holiday season meant even the roach-infested ones had hiked their prices.

She wasn’t sure exactly where it happened—or in what order the events occurred. Somewhere downtown, maybe not far from the city shelter. She was exhausted and lightheaded. Her last clear memory was of the snow picking up and trying to shake it from her hood.

Then the sidewalk rushed toward her, and all the air left her lungs.

There was an ambulance. Someone was shining a light in her eyes. It hurt, and she tried to pull away, but they held her by the forehead. They were talking to her, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t understand them. It might as well have been Swedish.

The next thing she knew, she was in a bustling hospital, an IV in her arm, surrounded by voices.

Christine asked for her bag—and then her eyes rolled back.

She woke slowly. Disoriented, and with the same tightness in her chest that had lingered since New Year’s. Still, she forced her eyes open and tried to take in her surroundings.

“A possible runaway. We looked through her bag but couldn’t find any ID.”

“And she didn’t give her name?”

“Doctor, she’s waking up.”

Christine looked up, only just noticing the woman standing beside her.

A small man in a lab coat entered, followed by a man and woman in police uniforms.

It took her a moment to piece it all together, but once it clicked, panic spiked in her chest. As much as she could muster in her current state, anyway.

“Miss,” the taller officer asked gently, “can you tell us your name?”

Her throat ached—dry, raw—and she couldn’t speak.

The shorter officer looked her over. “How old are you?”

She looked slowly at each person, studying their faces, but found herself completely powerless to say anything.

“We couldn’t find your phone, honey. Do you know anyone’s number by heart? We can help you look one up, too.”

Christine had never felt so weak in her life. Tears pricked her eyes, but she managed to swallow them back.

They stopped talking. Four sets of eyes stared at her—waiting.

Somewhere, a clock clicked. The sound echoed, growing louder and louder, until it filled the room.

The cops. Get rid of the cops.

Christine looked directly at the woman officer who had asked her age and held up nine fingers. There was confusion, but she kept them raised and, in a croaked voice, managed, “I’m nineteen.”

“What’s your name, sweetie?”

Her face burned. A tremor swept through her body. She swallowed hard, and this time, her silence was from fear.

The doctor reached into his coat pocket and handed her a small notepad. “You have pneumonia, and I’d like to admit you. Are you still on your parents’ insurance? If you don’t know the provider, that’s okay—we just need to gather some info. Are you allergic to anything?”

Christine stared at the pad like it was a foreign object.

Overwhelmed by the attention, she scribbled in shaky handwriting:

Where’s my bag?

“Your bag? We looked through it—your ID wasn’t inside.”

She hated that they’d gone through her things. Panic crept up her throat. Was the money gone?

She wrote again:

I want to leave.

The doctor read the note aloud, and everyone seemed to pause, digesting her words.

The smaller cop sighed. “Are you a runaway?”

Christine shook her head.

“We really do need to ID you first.”

Panic swelled in her chest, but she fought to stay calm—or at least to appear calm as they all scrutinized her.

A nurse leaned in gently. “You’re very ill right now. You need rest. Antibiotics. If we let you just walk out, you’re going to collapse again and end up right back in this bed.”

Christine’s mind whirled. She was too foggy to think straight, but she began to write slowly, choosing each word with care.

Kristen Day. My parents are out of the country and I was staying with my boyfriend before we got into a fight. My uncle will pick me up.

The cops seemed satisfied. The doctor didn’t look pleased about releasing her, but he was paged shortly after reading her note.

“Lots of water. Please come back if you get worse.”

“Okay, honey,” the nurse added gently. “Let’s call your uncle.”

There was an older phone next to her bed that the nurse pulled closer. Her fingers trembled. A small part of her half-hoped Erik wouldn’t answer—she didn’t want to burden him again. But she worried the cops were still nearby, or that the hospital might change their mind and keep her longer.

She was grateful she'd memorized the number. She never imagined she’d actually dial it.

It rang a few times. Christine realized she was sweating and shifted slightly, trying to put a little space between herself and the nurse still lingering by her side.

“Hello?”

She had forgotten how kind his voice sounded.

“Hi, uncle. It’s Kristen.”

“You have the wrong number.”

“No—wait!”

A coughing fit overtook her, sharp and painful. The nurse handed her a cup of water, and Christine drank gratefully, her ears straining to make sure Erik hadn’t hung up.

“It’s me,” she rasped.

There was a pause.

Then Erik asked carefully, “Christine?”

Still coughing, she managed a sound that might have been yes.

There was a long silence before he spoke again.

“Do you need me to pick you up, Kristen?”

“Yes.”

When Christine was growing up, her father had been everything to her—father, mother, teacher, friend, and sometimes nurse.

It had been strange, almost surreal, when he got sick and the roles began to reverse.

It’s just the two of us against the world, he would say.

Now, it was Christine against the world.

She got dressed in the same clothes she’d been brought in with. Her bag was returned, and though she wanted to check if her money was still there, the nurse hovered too closely.

“There’s some paperwork to fill out,” the nurse said gently.

Christine stumbled to a counter and tried to focus on the clipboard handed to her. She wished the nurse would leave, but the woman stayed close, eyes sharp.

She wrote her fake name and filled in a variety of other false details—information she hoped no one would ever be able to trace.

“You need lots of fluids and rest,” the nurse advised. “I’d recommend antibiotics, but if you’re against that, then please just stay in bed for a few days.”

Christine nodded, her eyes drifting toward the windows, scanning the street outside. She tried to remember the make and model of his car.

“Dr. Lester was right, though. If you get worse, please come back. We’ll start you on IVs again and move toward a more aggressive treatment.”

Aggressive treatment had never been in the vocabulary of her father’s doctors. It had always been “comfortable.” And then, “hospice.”

A black car pulled up near the entrance. Christine pushed the clipboard of lies across the counter.

The woman behind the desk wrinkled her nose but accepted the form, flipping through it with slow scrutiny.

“Let me just process this and we’ll get you on your way.”

Christine didn’t wait. She moved for the doors, even as a voice called after her. She knew they wouldn’t stop her—not now, not while they still thought they had her information.

It was still bitterly cold outside, the sidewalk slick with ice. She slowed to avoid slipping but beelined to the black car, scanning for a glimpse of his strange mask.

The lock clicked open.

She took it as her sign and opened the door, peeking inside.

He was dressed in black and still wore the mask.

But this time, he wasn’t a complete stranger. She climbed into the passenger seat, her bag slung across her back.

He took the hint and pulled away as soon as the door shut.

“Are you okay?” he asked once they were on the road, some distance now between them and the hospital.

She swallowed the pain in her throat and gave a small nod.

“I’m sick,” she rasped. “And they tried to make me stay.”

She glanced at him again and wanted to say so much more—but it hurt to speak. Still, he’d come so quickly...

As mean as it was to think, she wondered if Erik was lonely. He’d known it was her on the phone right away, and he’d seemed... almost pleased to pick her up. It must be hard to socialize—or have company at all—when you hide half your face.

Shifting in her seat, she tried to steady her racing heart. The heat in the car felt good. Outside, the snow still fell, blanketing everything in silence.

She struggled to keep her eyes open, but she managed to stay awake for most of the drive. She wasn’t even sure what time it was. Her head throbbed, and she felt so incredibly weak.

Maybe she did drift off, just for a bit.

She snapped awake when the engine died and the headlights shut off. They were in a garage this time, and it was dark. Her limbs felt heavy as she tried to sit up.

“Just wait,” Erik said. “I’ll help get you in.”

She exhaled. “Okay.”

He opened the passenger door, and she gratefully took the hand he offered. She held it tightly as he helped her to her feet. She leaned into him, not trusting her legs.

Christine hardly remembered making it inside, or how she got back into the guest bedroom.

“You’re burning up,” he murmured.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered.

“Settle in. I’ll get you water and something for the pain. I’ll knock before I come back in.”

She nodded, and only then did he let go of her hand. She hadn’t realized just how tightly she’d been gripping it until he pulled away.

Left alone, she dug through her bag. She found her leggings—they smelled like the restaurant and had a stain she couldn’t place. Deeper in the bag were Erik’s letters, her money, and the letter she’d received from Sweden.

A knock came at the door.

Christine couldn’t bring herself to stand. Embarrassed by her weakness and by the way she was curled up on the bed, she quickly tucked the contents back into her bag and tried to call out, “Come in.”

He must have heard her.

He entered, carrying a water bottle, a small bottle of pills, and a banana.

Tears sprang to her eyes again. She wanted to hug him.

The urge was so strong that when he stepped close to set the items on her bedside table, she nearly reached for him. But she was weak. So weak that it took all her effort just to remain upright.

“Get some rest, Christine.”

She nodded dumbly.

“I’ve got some work to do, so I’ll be in the living room for a while if you need anything.”

She nodded again. As he turned out the light, his voice stopped her.

“Christine?”

“Yeah?” she croaked.

“I’m glad you called me.”

When Christine was still having her high school experience—before she realized that was a lie, and before her father got sick—she had a crush.

His name was Raoul, and he was a senior.

He was popular and kind, and he’d talked to her a few times. Each time he said her name, her heart fluttered. She told herself it was silly, but it still happened. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and how effortlessly he moved through the halls, left her dazed.

And she had a friend. Not a best friend, but Meg was sweet. She’d even invited Christine over once for a girl’s night. Movies, whispered jokes about teachers, and, most importantly, boys.

Christine had confessed her crush on Raoul. Meg giggled and admitted he was cute, if you were into popular, handsome, and old money. They laughed and tossed popcorn at the screen when the romantic leads made questionable choices. It had felt normal. Easy.

Once, Christine left her scarf in class. Raoul came running after her with it. She’d been so flustered, her words tangled and her cheeks burned. He only smiled, said it was no trouble, and walked away.

The rest of the day, Christine floated through her classes, replaying the moment over and over. When she told Meg later, she clapped her hands and called it love.

Christine thought he noticed her. Sometimes she caught him looking. Maybe—just maybe—he’d even ask her out. The thought made her heart race.

Then everything bad happened. And Christine was alone in the world.

There were foster families. Strangers’ homes. A new school in another district. The halls were unfamiliar, the voices around her didn’t know her name. No one returned forgotten scarves or smiled at her in the courtyard.

Meg had hugged her tightly before she left. They promised to stay in touch. But the calls thinned. Then stopped.

Christine was buried in sorrow, and Meg, too sweet to know what to say, simply faded away.

She forgot all about Raoul for a while.

The days blurred one after another, filled with polite strangers and borrowed clothes. Even the happy memories grew distant, like they’d happened to someone else.

Then she saw him again.

It was during a football game between her old school and her new one. She hadn’t wanted to go, but her foster family insisted. They were trying to keep up appearances, dragging her along like a prop in their version of normal.

So she sat in the bleachers, hands stuffed in her pockets, watching blankly as the teams went back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth. The whistle blew, the crowd cheered, and Christine barely flinched.

She knew why they’d brought her. Not for the game. They were afraid she might steal something. The mother’s perfume, the daughter’s makeup. They never said it aloud, but Christine felt the suspicion lurking beneath their smiles.

They thought a girl with no family must be a girl with no morals.

Then she saw Raoul.

Still handsome. Still with that same easy smile. He was talking to a group of friends, laughing, his golden hair catching the last of the sunlight.

He was right there.

Within shouting distance.

And Christine hid from him. Embarrassed that she was so broken and alone. 

She was sweating.

Her body burned, and she realized she was awake because she’d coughed herself out of a deep sleep. Her eyes rolled, and she wanted to retch.

When the coughing calmed enough, she slumped back down and drifted off again.

“You need to drink your water. Just a sip.”

“Pa?” she moaned.

“No, Christine.”

She might have cried a little. But she drank, and her throat ached for it.

She wanted her father.

But he was in a cheap pine box, and she wasn’t sure where to go from there.

Ed, the nighttime guard at the group home, was a creep.

The other girls called him "Ed the Dread."

Christine never had an issue with him. She focused on her classes and the slow path to independence.

The group home offered all sorts of resources for young adults who aged out of foster care. A lot of the girls who showed up left right away. At first, she didn’t understand why they’d run off—some went with their boyfriends, others with family members who couldn’t get custody of them. But the group home had been good to Christine, and she was training for office work.

The social worker had asked her once if she had a driver’s license or any form of ID. She’d been honest and told them "no," and after that, it wasn’t brought up again.

Her latest roommates were gone. Kelsey had run away, and Marsha had started stripping.

For a few nights, the room was hers alone.

One evening, the house coordinator brought in a karaoke machine. It was meant to be fun, but Christine didn’t expect it to be. She was surprised by how much she enjoyed it. She sang, and it felt good to sing. She’d thought it would be hard, doing it without her usual partner. He used to sing with her almost nightly, and he would have loved karaoke.

But it wasn’t hard at all. She found herself smiling, even earning a few encores.

But Ed the Dread lived up to his name after that.

And Christine finally understood why the others had run away.

Christine woke up but didn’t untangle herself from the blankets right away.

She felt better. Not completely herself, but better.

The water bottle beside her bed had been full, if memory served, but now it was half gone. She didn’t remember drinking anything, but she sat up and took a sip, then another, until it was empty.

She sat there for a long time, nibbling on the banana left on the counter. Her taste buds were shot, but it felt good to get something in her stomach. After using the bathroom and washing her face, she summoned all her strength and returned to bed.

She lay there for a long time, just breathing.

The sun was up, but she suspected she’d been asleep longer than the first night she arrived. Back at Erik’s home—had she called him?

She tried to remember the sequence of events that led her back to his guestroom, but it was all a blur now.

Her body felt heavy, but she knew she needed to get up. Maybe Erik had a washer and dryer she could use, and she could have clean clothes? What she wore now had seen better days, and what was in her bag was probably just as bad.

Dizzy from the effort, she managed to take a few steps and open the door. She wandered toward the kitchen.

Erik was usually around when she left her room, but his home was quiet now. The sun was up, and if she was right about him being nocturnal, then he was probably asleep.

Leaning against one of the few bare walls, she took in the chaos of his home. Scattered papers, instruments, books, and paintings. It wasn’t cohesive at all—just a mix of themes and interests culminating in a chaotic décor. But somehow, it suited him.

She stayed leaned against the wall for a while, just trying to get used to being on her feet again. Christine knew she would need to accept some charity if Erik was willing to help her again.

She was too weak to return to the streets as she was now, and just the thought of returning to the unknown terrified her.

Her body was tired, but worse yet, mentally, she didn’t think she could take much more of this.

A person could only endure so much before they broke, and Christine thought she’d probably reached that breaking point.

So, if Erik was willing to let her stay just a bit longer—and she thought he probably would—Christine knew she would have to accept that help. She’d need to come up with something more sustainable than what she’d been doing before.

There was a folded note on the kitchen counter with her name on it. She took small, careful steps toward it.

Please help yourself to anything in the kitchen. TV in the living room.

Oh, this sweet, sweet man. Truly, there was nobody like Erik.

It still felt intrusive to open his kitchen cabinets, but there was no denying her hunger.

She grabbed a can of soup, then found a bowl and the microwave. She set everything down carefully in the living room and settled onto the couch.

When was the last time she did this? Just sat on a couch with a meal, clicking through channels? She couldn’t recall, and it made her sad to think about. So, she kept watching the trashy reality TV show, the kind that didn’t require much of her.

Her father would have said she was rotting her brain with this kind of nonsense, but then she’d catch him watching it from the kitchen. She knew he wanted to know why everybody was fighting too.

She dozed off after she ate, but when she woke up, she was still alone. She made herself a sandwich and continued her reality-show binge into the evening.

Just as the sun dipped down, she heard movement upstairs. The instinct to retreat to her room flared up, but she fought it down. It would be rude.

She sat up on the couch, placing her feet on the floor, realizing how comfortable she’d gotten in the afternoon. Erik didn’t seem like the type to care if she put her feet on his furniture, but she’d learned her lesson after her first foster family had scolded her for her “rude” behavior.

“Hey,” she greeted when he came down. He wore his mask, dressed in his usual black attire.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” he said, pausing at the last step. “If you still had a fever, I feared you really would have to go back to the hospital.”

Christine shuddered at the thought.

“How long was I out?” she asked.

“Two days,” he replied.

Her eyes widened as she tried to soak that in. “I thought it had only been one.”

“How do you feel now?” Erik asked, studying her with a look of quiet concern.

“So much better,” she sighed, then smiled. “Weak, a little foggy. But I’m better.”

Cesar darted down the stairs and straight to her. She smiled at the little thing and stuck out her arm so he could smell her.

He must have slept in Erik’s room, which was cute when she thought about it.

“Erik—”

“Christine—”

They both tried to speak at once, and she couldn’t help but laugh. Even Erik’s lips quirked upward—just enough for her to catch the edges of a smile. It changed the angles of his face in a way that made her realize there was something different about his smile. A faint trace of a scar, maybe, near the edge of his mask. She thought she saw a slight deformity, like a cleft palate, but it was so well-corrected that he could show most of his mouth.

“You go,” she urged, not wanting to be the first to speak.

He nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen counter. Christine thought about joining him but decided to remain where she was. If he wanted her to sit closer, he would make the move.

Erik rested his hands on the counter, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm. For a moment, it seemed like he might retreat into silence, but instead, he met her gaze.

“I don’t know where you plan to go,” he said carefully, his voice low but steady. “But I know it’s not easy out there.”

Christine shifted in her chair, bracing herself for whatever came next.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” he continued, “but it’s clear you’ve been through more than anyone should. And I...” He paused, his jaw tightening as though the words were difficult to say. “I’d rather not send you back to whatever waits for you out there.”

Cesar, sensing the tension, nosed at Christine’s leg. She stroked his fur, the warmth of his little body grounding her.

“I have the guest room,” Erik said finally, his tone softening. “You can stay. Just until you’re ready to figure out what’s next.” He lifted a hand, as though anticipating an objection. “No expectations. No obligations. I just… want to help you.”

Christine's chest tightened. Part of her had expected him to offer, but hearing it aloud made it feel real. He didn’t sound pitying or insincere. Just… earnest.

“Okay,” she murmured, her fingers curling in Cesar’s fur. “Okay.”

Erik gave a slight nod, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them. And for the first time since she’d stepped into his home, Christine allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to face everything alone.

Chapter Text

Living with Erik was everything, and nothing like she expected.

He was a kind host, to be certain.

And she was correct in her earlier assessments of him being nocturnal. The man acted allergic to the sun.

In the week since Christine had officially ‘moved in’ her health improved and she could get through the day without needing to lie down at least once. She was eating more each day and she thought she actually managed to gain weight.

But Erik was also a recluse. She’d known that going in, but it was one thing to know and another to see in action.

On her third day living under his roof, a car had pulled into his driveway to turn around. As the last house on the street with a dead end, she figured this must happen on occasion, but Erik seemed agitated by the car long after it left.

She also noticed the lack of mirrors or reflective surfaces in his home, and her heart broke a little for him.

Her first week she didn’t do much but sleep, watch tv, eat, and shower daily.

Christine began to feel human again, and one night she cried into her blankets, praising God for sending her Erik. An angel- an absolute angel who was far too good to her.

The first time she left his home when she was finally feeling strong enough, he gave her a key in case he was asleep when she returned.

She threw her arms around him and held him in a tight hug. He was so tense in her embrace, but he relaxed by the time she pulled away.

“I’m sorry! Was that too much?”

“Not at all. I just wasn’t expecting it.” His voice was distant, and a little airy.

She bought herself some clothes and toiletries. When she returned, she was going to put her clothes in her backpack before she realized there was no need. She folded them neatly and put them in the dresser.

After dinner one night- an excellent dinner, as Erik was an exceptional cook- he broke the usual routine of returning to his room to ‘get some work done.’

“I have some new compositions I need to hear on the piano today. I’m sorry the living room Isn’t soundproof but I’ll try to finish up earlier this evening so you can get some sleep.”

She smiled, remembering late nights at festivals with her father. She would be so tired when he put her to bed in a tent, RV, or van they were staying in. The music would go well into the night and they would listen to it together as they drifted off to sleep. The only time she’d been unable to sleep and had complained to her father was when a heavy metal lineup was scheduled when they were trying to sleep.

“Please, don’t neglect your work on my account. If it’s alright, I would love to listen.”

“I would delight your opinion.”

She took a seat on her favorite section of his couch and let him get settled.

When he began, Christine nearly gasped at the intensity of the piece. Beautiful, powerful, and so Erik.

She’d expected a jingle for a commercial, but this was so much better. She couldn’t see his fingers moving across the keys, but she imagined every key he hit and the notes he was following. She closed her eyes and listened.

Cesar joined her, as the cat seemed quite taken with her, and together they listened in rapt silence as Erik played the new piece. The sounds bounced off the walls and consumed her. She didn’t want it to end and when it did, she almost begged him to continue.

As the final notes echoed in the living room, Christine could do nothing but clap her hands.

“Oh Erik, that was wonderful! Truly wonderful!”

She was smiling so much that her cheeks began to hurt, but she couldn’t stop.

“Thank you, Christine. It’s something I’ve been working on for a while.”

He was demure, but she could tell he was pleased by her praise. He even smiled just a bit, which was always a win in her book.

“Do you play any instruments?”

She felt her smile slip away, but she remembered his song and what it made her feel.

“Yes. My father was a musician. A violinist.” She worried she may have ruined the evening by thinking of him and becoming melancholy. Erik noticed the change of mood, and she spoke in a rush before he could say anything. “He taught me the violin, but I didn’t take to it very well. I learned piano and I enjoyed that more. But I sang. I loved to sing whenever I had the chance.”

He was looking at her. His eyes were intense and she thought he wanted her to say more, but he held back. She almost wished he would say something, but was also grateful when the subject dropped.

Her second week living with Erik, Christine knew it was time to get back to her immigration research.

She left mid-morning, around the time Erik usually went to bed. Catching the bus, she went to a library that was a little closer to his house and began to translate the Swedish letter she’d received the day she was admitted to the hospital.

Dear Ms. Daaé,

We have received your request for a copy of Gustave and Margareta Daaé’s marriage license, birth certificates, and any documentation related to your birth and family history. After careful review, we regret to inform you that we are unable to proceed with your request at this time.

In accordance with Swedish law and our privacy protection policies, we require sufficient documentation to verify your identity before releasing any personal or family records. Unfortunately, the information provided in your request does not meet the necessary criteria for identification.

To proceed further, please submit one or more of the following:

• A government-issued photo identification (such as a passport or national ID card)
• Proof of your Swedish citizenship or residency, if applicable
• Additional documentation linking you to the requested record (e.g., parental records, past residence records)

If you are unable to obtain the required documents, we recommend contacting your nearest Swedish embassy or consulate for assistance. They may be able to guide you in obtaining the necessary identification.

Please do not hesitate to reach out if you have any further questions.

Thank you for your understanding.

There was some contact information enclosed, and nothing else.

She sighed. This sort of letter would have devastated her when she had no place to go after, but now that she had a bed, and a roof to sleep under, it mostly just frustrated her.

Christine knew where she was sleeping tonight, and tomorrow, and the next day. It gave her time. She told herself this over and over as she tried to navigate the pro bono immigrations lawyers list. She wrote down their phone numbers and wondered if Erik would let her borrow his phone. She thought he might, but it might be a recluse thing where he didn’t want her intruding on something more personal.

Gathering up her things, Christine went… home?

For the first time in months Christine got her period. It startled her and she actually laughed a little to see it return.

It was evening and she had nothing sanitary, so she grabbed her key and some of her money.

“I need to run to the store. Do you need anything?” Christine asked, glancing up at Erik as he chopped vegetables for dinner.

He froze, the knife suspended mid-air as he stared at her. A long silence stretched between them, his gaze fixed but unreadable.

“Erik?” she prompted, her voice breaking the stillness.

“I—no, I’m fine. Thank you, Christine,” he replied, his tone almost too quick, too stiff.

“Are you sure?” she pressed, sensing something in his reaction.

“Yes,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “I have everything I need here. But... thank you.”

She offered him a soft smile, though her thoughts lingered on the strange quiet that had filled the room. She left without another word, but as soon as she stepped outside, she felt the weight of her own frown.

How long had it been since someone had offered him something as simple as running an errand? She wondered, feeling a sudden ache for him—her reclusive, enigmatic host.

Her thoughts drifted to the card he’d sent her after Christmas. She’d read it over and over, savoring each word. She didn’t see the musical notes card she’d sent him anywhere around the house. If it had been anyone else, she might’ve assumed it was tossed aside, forgotten. But with Erik… she couldn’t help but wonder.

She imagined the card was tucked away somewhere private, perhaps in his bedroom, hidden from sight. She tried to picture him reading it, maybe as many times as she’d read his, though she could never be sure. But somehow, the thought of him even holding it—of him keeping it close—made her heart soften.

Her steps slowed as she continued down the street, feeling an unexpected sense of warmth and affection for a man who seemed to hide away, not only from the world, but from the simplest gestures of kindness. Just like her.

Margareta Daaé had died when Christine was three.

She had no memory of her mother, as much as it pained her to admit. She had feelings that she sometimes associated with memory, but nothing solid. There weren’t any pictures, or documents. If there was anything like that when Gustave was alive, they were lost to her now.

When the doctor told her father to get his affairs in order, there hadn’t been much to do. At the time, Christine was happy that he didn’t have to worry himself on his deathbed with unimportant things like paperwork. How naïve she had been! But then, who could have anticipated the conundrum she was in now. Surely, had he known, Gustave would have assured her she was a citizen and pointed her in the right direction.  

As it was, she had next to nothing to work with and still feared exposure and deportation.

 “Erik?” she finally asked over dinner one night. Or maybe it was breakfast for him.

“Yes?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, do you think I could borrow your phone? I found a few more lawyers I’d like to call.”

“You don’t have a phone?” he asked slowly, his eyes meeting hers in a way that lingered just a little too long, like he hadn’t considered the question before, but was suddenly seeing it with new understanding.

“No, I don’t,” she confirmed, but tonight they were eating a pasta that she could not stop eating and it was just as well as he got lost in his own thoughts.

“Of course you can use my phone. Better yet, I’ll get you your own.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that!”

“You need a phone, Christine. Especially if you’re still take the bus by yourself.”

And that seemed to settle some sort of debate he was having to himself.

He played another song on the piano that night, and she stayed up as late as she could to listen. Beautiful and so perfect. She wanted to stay up all night and hear the entire symphony, but her eyes drooped, and she excused herself to bed, assuring Erik she would sleep fine if he continued to work.

In bed, with the faint sound of the piano in the background, she thought of her late mother.

She pictured a woman who looked similar to how she did now, with flowers in her hair and a soft smile.

Erik presented her with a new phone the next day.

When she first moved in with Erik weeks ago, she knew she needed to be willing to accept help, but this seemed somehow more generous than she could repay. Especially when he mentioned unlimited international calls.

She resolved to pay him back, somehow, someday.

Her chance to offer some form of repayment presented itself only a few days later.

She’d spend most of the day on the phone with different offices setting up appointments to speak with attorneys. Most of the appointments were weeks out, but she insisted on being called if there were any cancellations.

In the evening, she sipped tea while Erik composed and Cesar ran around the room. She enjoyed the music and let the sound wash over her.

Christine knew ultimately she would have to leave someday and get her own place. But on a night like this she let herself imagine that this was her permanent life. Listening to Erik play his masterful music and simply living at peace in his home.

When the music stopped, she thought he might be calling it an early night.

She opened her eyes and looked over at him, but his eyes were downcast. She traced the edge of her mug, but did not break the silence in case he was thinking of the next part of his song. He looked up and they made eye contact, but neither looked away. Simply stared at each other from across the room.

There was a heat that felt foreign and even a little wrong, but she still did not look away.

"Christine…" He paused for a moment, his fingers still resting lightly on the piano keys. “Would you… sing for me?”

Christine stiffened at the request, her fingers tightening around her mug. She hadn’t expected him to ask something like that. "Sing?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, her thoughts racing.

Erik watched her closely, his gaze thoughtful but gentle, trying to gauge her reaction. “Yes. Will you sing? Anything at all, but I’m curious.”

She hadn’t sung in front of anyone since karaoke night in the group home.

“I’m not sure…” Christine had trailed off, her hands nervously fumbling with the handle of the teacup. "I don’t think… I’m out of practice. It wouldn’t be good.”

Erik remained still, his tone soft but persistent, “it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Christine glanced at him, his sincerity evident. She had known he wasn’t asking this out of any sense of expectation—he just wanted to hear her. She swallowed hard, feeling the vulnerability of the moment, but she couldn’t deny the desire to connect with him in some way.

Did she not hum quietly when he played? Was it not something she thought of before? Of course it was- but then vile memories would resurface, of Ed the Dread and what her voice had invited last time.

But Erik was different. She had to believe that after weeks in his home.

“I’ll try,” she whispered, setting her mug down.

She stood up from the couch and walked over to the piano, her steps tentative and dragging against the floor. She stood beside him and focused on the painting behind the piano.  Erik was watching her, his hands resting calmly on the keys, waiting, not rushing her.

The room had felt too quiet, too full of expectations.

“I’m… not sure what to sing,” she admitted, feeling like she was fumbling for the right words.

“Anything that comes to mind.”

She was thinking too fast, and it subsequently made her unable to remember a single song. Something simple. Something she’d sung before. What had she sung in the shower only this morning?

Christine began to hum and then finally looked back at Erik, “do you know that one?”

He tested out the tune on the piano and she nodded along.

“Yes, that one. Just don’t expect a cadenza at the end,” she half joked, feeling her nerves starting to take over.

He didn’t say anything, and she was grateful when he looked away to focus on the keys. She wasn’t sure when to start and she thought she might be off with his playing. She really should have warmed up, as the first lines were a bit croaked. But once she started, it felt incredible and like a high

Think of me, think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye
Remember me, once in a while
Please promise me you'll try
When you find that once again you long
To take your heart back and be free
If you ever find a moment
Spare a thought for me

She looked down on him and smiled shyly, but she kept going.

Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade
They have their season so do we
But please promise me that sometimes
You will think of me

When she finished, and the piano rang to its conclusion. There was a long, breathless silence. Christine had closed her eyes at some point, but she forced herself to open them. Suddenly aware of how vulnerable she felt, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“That was…” Erik begun, his voice thick with emotion. He paused, as if choosing the right words. “It was beautiful. You’ve got an incredible gift, Christine.”

Christine was unsure how to respond. She hadn’t sung in front of anyone in so long. It had been both thrilling and terrifying. “I—I haven’t sung like that in years. I’m sorry if it wasn’t-”

“No,” Erik had interrupted, his tone firm. “It was incredible. Your voice, it’s…”

Christine felt a weight lift off her chest, a feeling of relief mixed with a pang of sadness. “Thank you for suggesting this. I enjoyed it.”

Erik’s gaze softened, and he had given her a small smile. “I’m glad you did. It means more than you know.”

“You should sing more often,” he had added, almost as an afterthought, his voice holding a quiet intensity.

“I would like that.”

She meant it, too.

Ed the Dread noticed her after karaoke night. She felt him staring at her in the kitchen, or in evenings when she returned from her late night class.

He never said anything to her, but she noticed the looks.

She thought she was being paranoid or buying into the rumors others had started about him.

Dan in the mornings or Kimberly in the afternoons were fine as far as guards went. Dan smoked a lot of weed and some of the others in the group home would buy it off of him. Kimberly was on her phone most of her shift. But Ed seemed like the only one who paid attention to the comings and goings of the residents, and Christine thought that meant he was actually doing his job.

Stupid, she’d been so stupid, and of course he knew her roommates were gone and she was alone in her small little dorm room.

Christine hummed a lot  more after her concert with Erik. She thought it would be hard to revisit some of the songs she used to sing with her father, but she found it cathartic.

“I don’t know where to put these,” Erik sighed, after taking down a few paintings with the arrival of new pieces.

“Maybe they can go up in th- in my room?”

Just like that, Christine had art in her room that she could stare at while listening to hold music most days.

“Would you like to sing tonight, Christine?”

“Yes,” she answered shyly. It was still nerve wracking, but it was also fun, and she wanted to have fun again.

Erik played little tunes in the evening and Christine sang.

Instruction became part of the nightly routine.

“Lift your chin a little.”

“When you hit the high notes your shoulders slouch a bit. Try leaning forward instead.”

“Try this song again, but this time hold the end of the chorus a little longer and then take a breath.”

She thought Erik enjoyed these songs as much as she did. It felt like a singing lesson, and they could go for hours some nights.

Christine grew comfortable.

When she was homeless, comfort had been a dangerous thing — a fleeting luxury that often led to disappointment or hurt. But with Erik, it felt different. Safe.

And then the dreams started.

They were heated, lingering in her mind long after she woke. In them, his golden eyes gazed down at her, filled with something unspoken. He leaned forward, his lips brushing feather-light kisses along her cheek, her neck, and finally, her lips.

She tried to push the thoughts away, convincing herself they were only the result of their closeness — the warmth of shared meals, late-night songs, and the simple comfort of a roof over her head. Surely, it was just the safety she wasn’t used to, twisting itself into desire.

But still, the dreams persisted. And in the quiet moments, she couldn’t help but read his Christmas card again, tracing the fine lines of his handwriting with her fingertips. The words were simple, yet they stirred something deep inside her.

The dreams left her aching, longing for something she wasn’t ready to name.

Some nights, she stole glances at him during their songs, her heart racing when she caught his gaze. His eyes burned with a passion that set her skin aflame, and she silently dared to hope — hope that it wasn’t just the music that stirred such intensity in him.

January slipped by, and in February she finally got a call of a cancellation with a pro bon lawyer.

It was early in the morning and Erik was wrapping up his work when she gathered her things and mapped out the routes she would need to take to her office.

She smiled softly at him and felt a wave of affection that she tried to hamper down.

“Good night?”

“I detest the need to sleep, but yes, I’m quite finished for the night.”

“Sweet dreams! I’ll be navigating the American immigration system today.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, there was a cancellation so I’m going to see if this lawyer can tell me anything new.”

“Be safe, and call me if you need anything.”

Her heart beat heavily in her chest and she felt a wave of shyness, but she nodded and locked the door behind her.

Christine had a small mirror in her bathroom. Perhaps the only one in the entire house. She used it when she got ready in the mornings, or before dinner to make sure she was presentable. It was a small thing, and she only really saw her face in it.

But in public she began to see the changes in her body.

In the reflection of the cars she walked by, she could see the way she walked with a little more assurance. In the bus when she caught her reflection in the interior mirror and saw a fullness in her face that was missing for years now.

The lawyers office was downtown in a small, nondescript building that was grey and mostly windows. The interior was drab and smelled like cleaning supplies, but Christine found the office and after checking in, she took a seat and waited patiently.

The room was cluttered, but nothing compared to Erik’s home.

When it was finally her time, she gingerly took a seat on the other side of the lawyers desk. A short, stout woman with grey streaks in her hair and a little bit of food at the edge of her mouth.

“Miss. Daaé?”

“Yes, please, Christine is fine.”

“Nice to meet you, Christine. I’m Talia Dower. My secretary gave me the basics of your case, but I’d like to hear what you’ve found so far.”

So Christine told the same story. Her parents were both born in Sweeden, as was she. Her father immigrated to the United States- no, she didn’t have any paperwork on this or details around it. Her parents were married but she didn’t know when or where. After her mother’s death, her father and her traveled the US  working odd jobs.

“Did your father ever hold a permanent job? Something he might have paid taxes on?”

“Not that I know of.”

The lawyer nodded and seemed to consider a few things.

“After your father’s passing, when you went into foster care, did anyone ever give you paperwork? Anything at all?”

She shook her head.

“The group home you were in, did they have any paperwork?”

Christine shook her head again, slowly and feeling the oddity of her situation.

“And you’ve been in contact with the Swedish government? What about the embassy?”

Christine shared the letter she received and gave a rough translation of it, “but you see, I don’t have an ID or any way to prove myself to them.”

“I see. Well Miss. Daaé, what I’m thinking is we file a Freedom of Information Request, to get our hands on any records immigration may have. I can do this through my office, but I warn you, it can take months and we don’t know what it will produce.”

She nodded. She’d seen this as an option during her library research, but she hadn’t been sure where to start, and didn’t want to be the one to make the request.

“Now the initial start is free, but after a certain point there may be fees. I just want to prepare you.”

“I understand, thank you.”

After filling out some paperwork, Christine gathered her things and returned to the bus stop.

She was still excited about her progress, but her stay with Erik was probably going to be longer than either of them had probably anticipated. He was such a loner; she worried that eventually she would wear out her welcome—even if he didn’t say it.

She wished there was more she could offer. Christine thought she could return to her odd jobs and be able to pay some sort of rent to him. It was a shame that Erik was such an excellent cook. A symptom of hardly leaving his home, she suspected. She would have happily cooked him meals if she could make things half as good as his.

The only time she’d really committed to the kitchen was when her father was sick, and she tried to make meals his doctor recommended as healthy for him. He hadn’t had much of an appetite, but what she managed seemed good enough.

A bus came and went that was destined for the opposite direction. The bench free, Christine happily took a seat and waited for her own bus to come. She needed to do something nice for Erik. He seemed to enjoy her singing, but she wasn’t sure if that would be enough.

So distracted by her thoughts, she hardly noticed the approach of another passenger. Just out of the corner of her eyes.

She watched the city around her and felt a new sense of appreciation for it, now that she had a place to stay tonight. Her heart ached when she saw those bound for the streets this week, and she swore to herself if she ever had the same stability that Erik had achieved, she would find a way to pay it forward.

A man took a seat beside her, but she didn’t look in his direction — not at first. Then the scent hit her. Stale cigarettes, sweat, and something bitter that made her stomach churn.

Her skin crawled. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Danger.

She tried to ignore it, focusing on the bus stop’s cracked pavement, but the feeling only grew. Slowly, like the inevitable pull of a nightmare, she turned her head.

Ed the Dread.

Her breath caught. The grin on his face was the same. Crooked. Mean. A reminder of every whispered threat and the sick laughter that echoed in her memory.

“Well, look at you, still wandering around,” he drawled, his voice low but dripping with satisfaction. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. Are you, ugh, working.” He looked her up and down in a meaningful way.

She couldn’t speak. Her voice had abandoned her. Panic flared through her, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of the bench.

“Relax,” he sneered, leaning closer. “We’re just having a chat.”

Christine jerked away, but there was nowhere to go. The bus stop was empty aside from a man scrolling through his phone a few yards away, oblivious. She tried to steady her breathing, but the rush of fear made her dizzy.

“I didn’t think you’d stay in town,” Ed went on, his voice lowering like a threat. “But here you are. Guess you didn’t get too far after all.”

She couldn’t stand it. The pressure. The sick twist of fear and memory.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled. “Oh, come on. Don’t be dramatic.”

Her mind flashed back. The darkened hallway. The way he’d cornered her. How she’d barely escaped.

Not again.

Christine shot to her feet. “Leave me alone.”

Ed stood too, too quickly. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging in just enough to remind her how strong he was. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“I said let go!” She wrenched her arm, stumbling backward. He reached again, but this time she didn’t freeze. She spun, her heart slamming against her chest, and ran.

The street blurred around her as she fled, her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn’t stop until she reached a small shop, breathless and trembling. For a moment, she listened — no footsteps, no sign of Ed. She was alone.

But the fear remained.

Her hands shook as she fumbled through her bag for her phone.

He’d said she could call if she needed anything, but she didn’t want to wake him up. Her hands shuddered and she went to a corner of the shop and peaked out the window for any sign of Ed.

It didn’t seem like he followed her, but she was too afraid to leave the store. It was a health food place with rows of good smelling produce that was helping calm her down. The guy at the counter offered to help her if she was looking for anything specific, but Christine gave a tight smile and shook her head.

She gripped her phone tightly and went to her contacts. It was an array of pro bono lawyers, Swedish officials, and of course, Erik. She thought of calling a cab, but she wasn’t sure if she had enough money and she was too afraid to return to the bus,

The line rang. Once. Twice.

“Christine?” Erik’s voice, low and heavy with sleep, answered.

Her grip was too tight on the phone and she had to force herself to loosen her grip. “Erik,” she gasped, suddenly feeling the crushing weight of seeing Ed again, “I— I need you. Can you please pick me up?”

He didn’t hesitate, suddenly very much awake. “Where are you?”

Christine blinked through the tears welling in her eyes, giving him the nearest street sign.

“I’m on my way.” His voice was calm but firm.

She stayed in the bathroom for a long time, and then cautiously walked the stores aisles like she was a serious buyer. Smelling the candles helped, but when she set it down she realized her hands were still shaking.

Her phone pinged and she saw a text from Erik

Here.

She cautiously stepped outside and made sure she wasn’t followed when she got in Erik’s car.

She was holding her bag and couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

“Christine, are you okay?”

“Just drive,” she croaked, her voice barely holding together. “Please. I want to get out of here.”

Her heart pounded, her hands clasped in her lap. She bit her lip, trying to stop the tears burning behind her eyes.

Erik’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw tense. “Bad news from the lawyer?”

“No,” she whispered. “After.”

He didn’t respond right away, but she could feel his gaze flick toward her.

“Did somebody hurt you?”

The question hung heavy in the air. Christine didn’t answer. The only sound was the shaky breath she couldn’t quite steady. Then, a small, broken gasp escaped her. The kind that made it impossible to pretend she was fine.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” she choked out, desperate to fill the silence, to shift the focus away from herself.

“I don’t care about sleep right now, Christine!”

His voice, sharp and urgent, filled the car. Christine flinched. He’d never raised his voice at her before. The weight of it broke something loose inside her.

The tears came fast. Hot, bitter, and unstoppable. She turned her face away, covering her mouth with her hand as the sobs wracked her shoulders. No more holding back. No more pretending.

And Erik, realizing his outburst had only made it worse, softened. His hands loosened on the wheel and she felt him looking between the road and her.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

As soon as Erik pulled into the garage, Christine unbuckled her seatbelt and slipped out of the car. She didn’t wait. She made a beeline to her room, her footsteps quick and uneven.

The door shut behind her with a quiet click — not a slam, but firm enough to keep the world out. Only then did she crumble.

The sobs came hard, the weight of everything crashing down as she sank to the edge of the bed. She pressed her hands to her face, muffling the sounds that escaped, but there was no stopping the tears.

She must have fallen asleep.

It was dusk when she pulled herself up, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. Her clothes were wrinkled, her shoes still on, and her face felt tight with the remnants of dried tears.

Christine dragged herself to the bathroom, the light buzzing to life as she caught her reflection. Puffy eyes and blotchy cheeks. A hollow expression that reminded her far too much of the girl she thought she’d left behind.

The shower was scalding, and she welcomed the sting. It washed away the dried salt on her skin, but not the ache in her chest. Still, the water helped. By the time she stepped out, her limbs felt heavier, but the weight in her chest had shifted, just enough to breathe a little easier.

She dressed in something comfortable, brushing her damp hair back from her face.

She didn’t want to see Erik like this — raw and fragile, with the memory of Ed still clinging to her like smoke. Yet the idea of staying alone in the oppressive quiet was worse. The silence reminded her of the streets. Of empty nights and the constant hum of fear.

No, she didn’t want that.

She left the bedroom, her bare feet padding softly down the hall. The house was dim, save for the low glow from the kitchen. The sound of soft piano music filtered through the walls — not the dramatic pieces he sometimes played, but something gentler. Comforting.

Christine lingered in the doorway, her heart beating a little faster. Even from across the room, she could see the tension in his shoulders.

She took a slow breath, clutching the hem of her sweater as if it could steady her.

“Erik?” Her voice was soft, but it was enough.

He stopped playing, his hands resting on the keys. When he turned to face her, there was nothing but concern in his golden eyes.

Christine swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure how to begin. Only that she didn’t want to carry this alone any longer.

She froze.

Nothing came out and she stood there long enough that the silence became awkward.

“Christine, can I make you some tea?”

She nodded, “thank you.”

She fell into the couch and all too soon he was handing her a mug and taking a seat in the small armchair opposite of her.

“I really am sorry I woke you up.”

“There’s no need to be sorry, Christine.”

She sipped her drink and then set it down.

“I want to tell you why I left the group home, but I’ve never told anyone and I’m not sure where to start.”

She focused on his mask. It somehow made it easier, but she felt the intensity behind it as he seemed to consider her words.

“You’re under no obligation to tell me anything. Only what you want.”

“But I do want to tell you. I want to-”

She took a deep breath.

“There was a nighttime guard at the group home. His name was Ed, but the other girls called him ‘Ed the Dread’ but I never knew why. I had no issue with him the first few months I was there. Then, one night, I sang karaoke. After that… well, he was always watching me. I thought I was just being paranoid.”

Christine felt her voice crack and she looked down at her clenched hands. Cesar jumped onto the couch and she smiled at him, even as she felt herself shake. She distracted herself by reaching out to pet him for a minute, but could not look back at Erik.

"He would corner me in the halls sometimes, saying things that didn’t make sense to me then. I told the house director, but they didn’t seem to know what to do. Looking back, I think he was trying to pressure me… to pull me into something like prostitution."

Her face burned, but it felt good to get it out.

“My roommates were gone and I had a room to myself for a while. I woke up one night and he was in my room-”

She couldn’t say anything else for a minute.

“Did he…?”

“No.”

She took a shaky breath and realized she was crying again.

“He tried. He was on top of me and he was covering my mouth. I kept trying to scream. I fought, but I just felt so weak and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get away. He… he kept-”

She finally looked at Erik.

“One of the night clerks came in. I thought they would help, or call the police, but he just said ‘there’s a fight downstairs. I need your help to break it up.’ He must have known…”

After a sip of tea and trying to steady herself, Christine remembered the terror.

"I stayed up all night. He didn’t come back, but I was so afraid he would. The next morning, I told the office what happened, but they didn’t want to hear it. They said I must have misunderstood. He’d worked there for nearly a decade, and I was just causing trouble. When I said I wanted to call the police, they warned me not to. They said people like me always found themselves in worse situations — that it wouldn’t be hard to find something in my room. It was best to just let it go…"

“I thought it was a threat, and after that I just couldn’t stay there anymore. I was a legal adult. I knew it would be hard for a while, but I could get a job and things would get better… then my immigration status came up, and, well, you know how that went.”

Erik’s jaw was tense. His whole body was, but his eyes were soft.

“Did you see him today?”

“Yeah, at the bus stop.”

She took her time dabbing at her eyes, and to let her past finally be shared with somebody who was so kind.

“I think you saved my life, Erik.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected from Erik, but it was something like discomfort the way he stayed tense and could no longer meet her gaze. Embarrassment? He was too hard to read, sometimes. The mask! She never thought too much about what could be under there, but surely it was nothing so severe that he would hide from her in his own home.

“Christine, there’s so much I wish I could do for you. This world is terribly cruel and you’re too young to have been through so much.

His voice was strained- the only indication of how he might be feeling. Christine wished she could say something, anything, to make things better. For herself or for him, she wasn’t sure.

“Can you play something? What you were playing earlier?”

“Would that make you feel better?”

“Very much.”

Erik stood slowly and returned to his piano. Christine settled onto the couch, cradling her tea. Sensing her need for comfort, Cesar hopped onto her lap, curling up as she stroked his soft fur with one hand, the mug balanced in the other.

The music began, sweeping through the room like a balm. Each note softened the ache inside her, and as Erik played, she let the sound carry her away. A small hum escaped her, barely audible, but it brought her a sense of release.

In a quiet pause between songs, Christine found herself strangely unburdened. Sharing one of her darkest memories had been terrifying, but now, with Erik's music lingering in the air, she felt lighter.

“At the bus stop,” she murmured, her voice low but steady, “I kept wondering what I could ever do to repay you for all you’ve done for me. I’m still not sure what the answer is.”

Erik's hands rested on the piano keys, but he didn’t play. His gaze remained forward at the sheets, though his words were soft and certain.

“I would do anything for you.”

Chapter Text

In February there was a massive storm that shut down the city.

Christine watched the snow fall as she fell asleep, and when she woke in the morning it was still coming down.

Her bed was warm and there was food in the kitchen. Her bed was especially warm, she noted, as Cesar was still curled into the blankets. There was no need to go outside today. She reveled in that as she got up for the day.

The winds howled and even with the heat blasting, the cold penetrated through.

Erik was a bad influence on her sleep schedule. With most lawyers’ offices closed due to the weather, and slow progress on her Freedom of Information Request, she’d stayed up far too late singing.

Her throat ached from some of the notes she had managed to hit, but it had felt good and she’d gone to sleep with the songs still echoing.

There was a fire crackling, as it had the night before.

“This home was built in the early 20^th century,” Erik had explained, “and I’m afraid it feels it sometimes.”

He was at his piano and she briefly worried he didn’t go to bed last night, except that he had changed clothes.

“I must admit,” he said, stopping a song she hadn’t heard before, “it was odd not to have Cesar with me last night.”

She laughed as she grabbed a cup of coffee. After she excused herself the night before, they had both been surprised (and Christine delighted) when Cesar had rushed to her room ahead of her. “It was nice. I can see why you would miss him.”

“I said it was ‘odd’ not that I missed him. Damnable animal, I was not woken this morning with his begging.”

Christine snickered, “well, he was a perfect gentleman. What are you playing, is it something new?”

“Oh yes,” he confirmed and then in a way that made her gulp her first drink, “I’ve been inspired lately.”

She bit back a smile and peeked out the curtain to admire the snowfall, “it sounded wonderful. Please, don’t stop on my account.”

She took her usual seat and listened to the new piece with eager ears. Note after note, Christine could not imagine a more perfect addition to Erik’s music.

It was a lazy afternoon between the music and the snowfall. Christine eventually joined in as Erik took a break from his original work and played a few songs she could sing to.

And then the power went off.

The music echoed as Erik stopped playing, and Christine’s voice choked off. They both waited a moment as if it would kick back on, but only the sound of wind greeted them.

“I’ll feed the fire,” Erik said after a particularly hard gust hit the brick walls outside, “and I have candles we can use if the power is still out when it gets dark.”

Christine nodded and retrieved her phone, “it looks like a line is down nearby. A lot of lines, actually. No eta.” She scrolled out and saw the outage warnings.

Sitting in front of the blazing fire, Christine and Erik let the heat of the flames warm them. She liked moments like this, when they could just talk. She liked them almost as much as she liked to sing.  

“How long have you lived here?” Christine asked suddenly, once she was settled under the couch throw and could study the unmasked profile of his face. She’d never thought about it, but the house was well lived in and he seemed prepared for an outage.

“Several years. I traveled quite a bit before I settled here. I was ready to stay in one place for a while.”

Christine hummed, as she knew something about travel and wondered if they had ever crossed over someplace.

“Where did you travel?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Erik hesitated for a moment, his pale fingers tapping idly on the arm of his chair. “All over Europe. Paris, Venice, Iran. I spent time in Italy. I’ve been to Sweden.” He added and gave her a look that made her smile.

“That all sounds so beautiful. I’ve never been anywhere like that. My father used to talk about traveling internationally one day. He said we’d visit all the places my mother loved.”

A shadow passed over her face, but she quickly shook it off. “Did you have a favorite place?”

Erik's golden eyes softened, and a rare hint of a smile touched his lips. “Paris. There’s music in the air… always music.”

Christine imagined it. The echoes of violins drifting through narrow streets felt so real for  a moment. “It sounds magical.”

“It was.” He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “And you? If you could go anywhere, where would it be?”

She considered it. “Maybe Sweden. My father used to talk about it. He said it was so green in the summer, like the whole world was waking up. I’d like to see that one day. Assuming I’ll be allowed back into this country. Paris, too. I want to see Paris.”

Erik nodded, the logs shifting in the hearth. “You should. The world is too vast not to see at least a little of it.”

“Do you ever miss it?” Christine asked. “Traveling?”

“Sometimes,” Erik admitted. “But I chose to stop for a reason.”

Christine watched him carefully, sensing something unspoken beneath his words. He didn't often speak of his past, and when he did, it was vague. She thought of the way he avoided crowded places, how his gaze sometimes flicked to the windows as if expecting something.

“Was it a good reason?” she ventured.

He was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. “It was necessary.”

Christine shifted, unsure if she should press further. But the storm outside, the fire crackling, and the absence of any other sound made it feel like they were cocooned from the world. She wanted to understand him.

“Did something happen?” she asked softly.

Erik's eyes met hers, and though the warmth of the fire danced across his face, the shadows in his expression grew. “Are you referring to this?” he gestured to his mask.

“No! I just- you don’t really…”

“I was born to wear this mask. It’s for the best.”

She sensed they were moving into a bad place he didn’t want to go, but she wasn’t sure how to bring it back.

They were watching each other and there was so much hanging between them that felt smothering.

“You don’t have to wear it, if you don’t want to. Not around me.”

His expression softened but he shook his head, “Christine, you’re too kind. But I wouldn’t subject you to seeing me like that.”

She frowned but didn’t want to push him. Not when he’d been so kind and was clearly uncomfortable. Besides? What if she was frightened? What if it was worse than she could imagine, and he saw her fear? She never wanted to hurt him.  

Still, she didn’t think that would be the case.

She resolved that if Erik was ever brave enough to be bare to her, she would be strong enough to accept whatever was beneath his mask.

She pulled her blanket tighter around herself and offered him a small smile, “I just want you to be comfortable in your own home.”

“I’m used to wearing it now.”

“Okay.”

They were still facing each other on the couch, and it felt rather intimate. She felt heat in her face that was of her own making and she wished she could pull back. Or lean forward. She wasn’t really sure and so she settled for stretching her legs out and sinking into the cushions.

“When my father and I stayed at festivals for his music, we camped a lot. There were always campfires, and he and his friends would designate me as the ‘skipper,’” she laughed, breaking the tension. The memories bubbled up, and she caught a flicker of a smile from Erik. “They’d give me money or send me to the edge of the woods for more firewood. At the time, I thought it was so they could talk, but later I realized it was so they could get high.”

She shook her head and smiled a little more sadly, “I realized he liked the stuff when he got sick. He said it was one good thing about his condition. Getting medical grade.”

“I’m sorry you lost him.”

“I- I miss him a lot.”

She took a small breath, “the night he died I held off on calling anyone. I left him in his room but I knew he was gone. I was grateful he died at home and not in a hospital, at least. He didn’t want to go into hospice. I went to the living room and put a movie on. I can’t even remember what it was. And then I went to his stash. It was the first and only time I’ve tried to smoke weed before. I kept coughing and it was awful! Truly. But once I figured out how to inhale... well, it wasn’t so bad after that.”

Erik chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling. “Well, no wonder you can’t remember what movie you were watching.”

She threw her head back and laughed. She thought he joined in with her.

“You should avoid smoking anything in the future,” he chastised lightly once they settled down, “it’s not good for your voice.”

“I suppose. But I think my choir days are over.”

“Oh, but Christine, you have one of the most exquisite voices I’ve ever heard. What a shame it would be to deny it to the world.”

Now her face did burn and she couldn’t quite meet his eye.

She wanted to be bashful and dismiss his praise, but his compliment was so genuine that she couldn’t do it.

“Thank you,” was all she managed to get out.

Cesar chose this time to reappear, and he seemed quite pleased with the fire. He laid out in front of it, completely unbothered by the occasional crackle and she smiled at his stretched out form.

“When did you get Cesar?”

“He’s been around for a few years now.”

“He just showed up one day?” she guessed.

“Quite right. I was up late one night,”

To this she cracked a smile but made no comment

“When I heard something crying outside. I tried to ignore it, but the sound would not stop. It kept interrupting my work, so eventually, I gave in and got up to investigate. The second I opened the door, he walked right in. Scrawny, scrappy little thing he was. He hid for days inside, and I didn’t know the first thing about cats or how to care for them—or how to get rid of them, as it turned out. I ordered a litter box just to prevent him from destroying my place, then food to stop him from attacking me. A few times, I left the door open, hoping he’d leave on his own. But he never did. For whatever reason, he decided to stay.”

“He felt safe,” and Christine could relate, feeling a new kinship with a cat.

“It would seem so.”

They both seemed to understand the subtext of the conversation and it made her ache once more.

It was an ache that persisted even after she excused herself in an attempt to sleep, though she was not tired at all.

Under the blankets she thought of his Christmas card again and tried to imagine hers somewhere in this house. His room, perhaps.

She pressed her thighs together, and let out a shaky groan as the wind continued to howl.

The power was back on and things got back to normal.

There was no update on her Freedom of Information Request, and probably wouldn’t be for months even as February turned into March.

Another appointment came with another lawyer. She hoped they might have an alternative strategy, but apparently Ms. Dower had the best solution so far.

She arrived and departed this office in an Uber tied to Erik’s credit card at his insistence.

Cesar continued to sleep in her room or Erik’s, and she took to leaving her door open a crack so that he could come and go as he pleased.

The new normal was good. It was pleasant and she found herself happier than she had been in a long time.

And one night, in between songs, Christine had a hunch that she could not let go of and so she had to ask.

“Do you ever sing, Erik?”

“Yes.”

“Well, would you like to sing together?"

They did. A song of his own original work. 

It was so beautiful she thought she might actually cry.

The ache grew.

They sang together one evening, and then Christine took a turn on the piano. She wasn’t nearly as good as Erik, but she wasn’t too rusty either.

Afterwards, well into the early hours of morning because her sleep schedule was wrecked, Christine laid in bed with her phone. She liked listening to the faint sound of the piano, clearer now that she left her door ajar for Cesar.

She scrolled through local news absentmindedly in one tab, and immigration laws in another.

Both were doing a good job making her drowsy. The door opened a little more and she reached out to pet Cesar when he joined her a minute later.

One article caught her eye, and she clicked on it with a morbid curiosity.

LONGTIME PUBLIC SERVANT DIES IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT

Ed the Dread stared back at her.

She was stuck on his face long enough that her phone dimmed due to inactivity.

Scrolling down the article and hooked on every word, she read all about his life and subsequent death. A former police officer who retired early. He took up a job at the cities group home where had an outstanding track record mentoring societies most vulnerable. He fell down a long flight of stairs and broke his neck. It was just before the last snowstorm, and he’d fallen behind a dumpster. They found him two days after his death.

Christine was wide awake. There weren’t a ton of other articles, but she looked through everything she could find about his death.

He died not far from the very group home he worked at.

She had a creeping feeling but she didn’t want to acknowledge it at first.

But he died the same week she told Erik about her past.

Christine plugged her phone into its charger and pulled her blanket over her head.

Perhaps it was naïve to think Erik was insulated.

He’d mentioned a friend making use of the guestroom – her room- once. The knock on the door startled Christine, and she didn’t get up from the couch right away.

Erik was still asleep, but she was up before noon that day watching tv.

Her first thought was that it was the police here to ask her about Ed the Dread, and when she peeked around the corner and saw a clean cut man in a suit, she was near certain that’s what it must be.

She didn’t want him to hear her return to her room to call Erik upstairs, which was her first instinct when she realized she’d left her phone there.

So she did something she had never done before. She tiptoed upstairs into uncharted territory.

It felt forbidden, but when there was another more insistent knock on the door she pushed forward.

The hallway was short and there were only two doors. One was larger than the other, and if she had to guess, she would say that the smaller was probably a closet. There was a window that was covered with thick black curtains, and a small end table stacked with papers. On point for Erik, but she didn’t linger. She knocked quietly, but quickly on the larger door.

“Erik? Erik wake up.”

She was glad to hear noises so she thought she got the right door.

“Christine?” he asked. Muffled only by the door. She heard fumbling and wondered if he was putting on his mask.

He opened the door and her longtime curiosity over his bedroom was overshadowed by the man downstairs. She pointed and whispered, “there’s somebody at the door. I think police.”

He looked down at her. He seemed awake at least, and a little curious. Not afraid. That was a good sign, at least.

“Why would the police be here?”

She kept her lips together but with the door open he could hear the knocking at the main entrance.

“Erik! Erik wake up! It’s cold out here.”

“He is police, but you have nothing to worry about.” Erik said, seeming to recognize the voice. His phone began to ring in his room but she couldn’t see inside.

“I- he is?”

“Just wait up here for a moment.”

Christine took a step back and Erik went around her. She held her breath and watched him descend the stairs. She listened intently as the main door opened and there was a foreign voice disrupting the usual sounds of the house.

“Finally! Help me with my bags, would you? It’s my own fault for checking so many this time, but last time the airport lost one and I spent my entire trip with only three suits.”

“You didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry, old friend. I was going to, but it’s been chaotic today and then my driver and I got to chatting, and before I knew it I was here. My connection was grounded and the next flight out is tomorrow morning.”

“Nadir, now’s not a good time.”

“I know. The suns up.”

Christine smiled before she could stop herself. The man had a thick accent she couldn’t place. At least he wasn’t here to arrest Erik.

“No. What I mean is, your room is occupied.”

“Occupied?”

Christine felt her feet move on their own accord, and she cautiously peeked out from the stairwell.

Nadir must be police. He noticed her right away.

“Hi.” She greeted shyly.

The man froze when he saw her, and they observed each other with equal trepidation.

“Hello.”

Neither seemed to know what to stay, and it was Erik who cut the tension.

“Christine Daaé, meet Nadir Khan.”

Nadir settled for sleeping on the couch that night.  

“You could get a hotel room,” Erik bit out as he grabbed some extra blankets.

“Nonsense! Why waste money when you have a perfectly fine couch. Unless of course, the young lady is uncomfortable?”

Christine shook her head, “not at all.”

“Then it’s settled.”

But the way he was looking at her, she thought he wanted to talk to her alone. No doubt, about the reasons she was here. She was trying to get a read on him, but it was tough. She thought he was being overtly friendly for her sake, but there was something genuine about him.

“Erik, I’m terribly tired from all my trials this morning. Would you mind making me some coffee?”

Erik’s golden eyes looked between Nadir and Christine and he mumbled something muffled by his mask as he went to the kitchen. Still within earshot, but far enough that Nadir could turn his attention to her.

Cesar joined Christine on the couch and she scooped him into her arms. Nadir watched this with great interest.

“I’ve known that cat for years now, but he does nothing but glare at me.”

She smiled and rubbed under his soft chin, “we’ve become buddies.”

“So it would seem.”

He gave her a pointed look. His entire demeanor had changed and she knew she was with cop Nadir now.

She smiled and gave him an equally meaningful look, “he’s a very sweet cat.

Erik started the coffee and returned, taking a seat at his piano bench and looking between the two of them.

“Have you two become acquainted?”

“Not quite.

Nadir leaned back, studying Christine. “It’s fascinating, really. Erik has never been one for company. And yet here you are.”

Christine met his gaze steadily. “He was nice enough to let me use the guest bedroom when I needed a place to stay.”

The truth, without going into her entire past.

“That’s good to hear.” Nadir’s tone was polite, but there was an undercurrent of something else. Concern, perhaps. “It’s not often that Erik chooses to be so… generous.”

“Then I’m very lucky,” she replied, giving Cesar a gentle scratch behind his ears. The cat purred and she was grateful once more for the distraction.

The sound of the coffee pot finishing echoed through the room. Erik remained still at the piano.

Nadir didn’t miss a beat. “I hope you know, Miss Daaé, that I’ve known Erik for several years now.”

Erik cut in, “Daroga,” and Christine wondered what that title meant, “I’ve thought about calling you but I wanted to check with Christine first.”

They both looked at him, but Erik's gaze was fixed solely on her. Without words, Christine sensed the silent question he was asking. After a moment, she gave a small, hesitant nod. It was okay for him to share her past. She only hoped he would choose his words carefully, but she trusted him. She had already entrusted him with some of her most painful memories, and she believed he would guard them with care.

Nadir saw this too, but he didn’t comment.

“Christine was born in Sweden and her current citizenship status is unknown. She’s been working with attorneys but they’ve been unhelpful. Do you think you could pull some strings without alerting anybody?”

Christine looked away.

Erik rose without a word, making his way to the kitchen to pour the coffee. The tension lingered in his absence, though Christine refused to let it unsettle her.

“Well I’m sorry you haven’t had much help. I’m afraid immigration is a beast to navigate.”

“It’s been difficult.”

“I would be happy to help. Are your parents citizens?”

“They were both born in Sweden and they’re deceased now.”

Nadir was about to give her his condolences, but she cut in before she heard another sorry.

“My father, I believe became a citizen at some point. But I haven’t been able to confirm that. I’ve been here since I was a baby.”

“Well let me get some information from you before I leave and I’ll look into it. It may take some time but I’ll be faster than your current contacts, I’m sure.”

“Thank you,” and she meant it.

“It would be my pleasure.” Nadir’s voice softened. “Understand, I’ve known Erik for a long time now. I can be protective.”

“I understand.”

He studied her once more, then offered a small, knowing nod. “Good.”

Erik returned with the coffee, handing Christine a cup before settling once more at the piano. His fingers brushed the keys lightly, the beginnings of a melody lingering in the air. Nadir watched, his expression unreadable, but Christine simply sipped her coffee and let the warmth settle her nerves.

Christine had a general idea of what information Nadir would want from her. It was the same thing she’d been giving to lawyers and Google for months now.

She wrote everything out on the cleared kitchen table that might help Nadir ‘pull some strings.’ Erik was cooking something wonderful for the three of them and her stomach grumbled whenever he opened the oven or stirred a pot.  

“So how exactly did you two meet?” Nadir asked after he washed up and collapsed back onto the couch.

“Funny,” Christine continued to write down some of her and her father’s past residences, “I wanted to ask you the same thing.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She smiled, trying to maintain a steady expression as she recalled the night she met Erik. “I was in a bad place. Some men attacked me, and I thought it was the end. Then, Erik showed up. He helped me that night, and when I found myself in trouble again a few months later, and he gave me a place to stay.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Erik, but she thought she said enough without saying too much. For either of them. Somehow, it seemed private even if Erik trusted Nadir.

“How admirable, my friend.” And then as an after thought he said more to himself, “a very good thing.”

Nadir's expression shifted, the weight of memory settling in his gaze. “Erik and I crossed paths a long time ago, in a very different place. He was… remarkable, even then. His talents were unlike anything I had ever seen. But talent like that often comes with its own burdens. I tried to offer what help I could, though Erik has never been one to accept it easily. In the end, I suppose we became something like friends — or as close as Erik allows anyone to be.”

Erik made a noise, but Christine didn’t know what it was. And somehow, she didn’t think Nadir was talking about Erik’s skills in music. She filed it away to the little list of things about Erik’s past she wanted to know more about, if he ever wanted to share it with her.

“How about you, Nadir? Are you really a cop?”

“Erik has a way of simplifying things,” Nadir replied with a faint smile. “I’m a security intelligence officer. I once worked for the Iranian government, but like you, I’ve navigated the complexities of immigration. Now, I use my skills for this government.”

Christine nodded, impressed and a little intimidated by a resume that was obviously downplayed.

“Here.” She finished up her list and handed it to Nadir. “Did I miss anything?”

He scanned it over, his expression shifting to something far more serious. She suspected she was seeing his “work face” now.

“Well, you’ve lived in a lot of places. Are you sure you weren’t on the lam?”

She laughed. “Yes, I’m sure. My father was a violinist, and we traveled for his work.”

“A violinist?” Nadir pulled away from the paper, giving her a look she could only describe as incredulous.

“Is something the matter?”

Nadir quickly composed himself, though something lingered. She didn’t miss the brief glance he cast toward the kitchen.

“Not at all,” he said, his tone lighter. “It just seems like an unusual upbringing.”

He tapped the paper thoughtfully. “I’ll start with the schools. Most require proof of age, and for most students, that means a birth certificate. You’ve been unable to find yours?”

Her heart leapt. She had never thought of contacting her past schools, but of course, her father would have needed paperwork to enroll her. It seemed so obvious now. Then again, she likely couldn’t walk in and request it herself.

“I would need an ID to request a copy of my birth certificate,” she admitted. “Which I don’t have.”

“No worries, dear. I have my ways.” He folded her notes and tucked them away.

“Dinner’s ready,” Erik’s voice echoed from the kitchen, but there was an odd tension in the air.

Christine glanced between Nadir and Erik, both men seemingly staring each other down, the silence thick with unspoken words. She could feel the weight of their silent exchange, though neither moved. After a beat, Nadir gave a small nod, breaking the standoff.

“Shall we?” Christine asked, trying to lighten the mood, though her voice felt a little uncertain.

Nadir straightened, tucking her notes away with a final glance at Erik before he followed her into the kitchen, leaving the uneasy quiet to hang between the two men.

The evening went on and Nadir talked about his life. Christine couldn’t help but notice he didn’t delve too deeply into his past, or what exactly he did now for the government. But he was a perfectly fine man who Erik actually seemed to like.

At some point in the late hour, she had to excuse herself as exhaustion set in and she couldn’t stop yawning.

Both men stood when she did, and it seemed excessively formal but it made her smile and bid them a goodnight.

Cesar darted across the room from whatever corner he’d been blending into. He’d made his decision on where to sleep tonight, it seemed.

There were some quiet laughs but Christine truly was tired and Cesar made it to her room before she did.

Just as she was closing her door, she couldn’t help but notice the way Nadir leaned in and seemed more serious when he spoke to Erik.

She wished she were a fly on the wall, but she tried not to think about it too much.

There was an insistent knocking on her door, but somehow Christine knew she should have expected it.

A habit of homelessness she would probably have for the rest of her life, she felt perfectly awake in seconds and was on her feet pulling a sweater around herself.

“Good morning, Nadir.” She greeted, trying to play it casual even if she felt the anxiety growing.

“Good morning dear. I apologize for interrupting your rest, but I do think we should have a frank conversation before I leave for the airport.”

“I…- okay.”

She leaned against the doorway and cast a look out for Erik, but the living room was absent of him.

“He’s gone to bed. He’s never been able to hold his liquor, but he probably suspected I would want to talk to you before I left.”

“What do you want to talk about?"

Nadir’s expression shifted, becoming more serious, and for a moment, he was lost in thought. “Christine, I apologize for my bluntness, but I’ve already ordered my car, and I need to say this before I go. It’s important, and I believe it would be remiss of me not to bring it up.”

She could feel the weight of his words before he even spoke them, the calmness in his voice belying the gravity of the situation. She straightened up slightly, a flash of nervousness creeping through her.

He met her gaze steadily, his eyes probing, trying to gauge her reaction. “It’s about Erik, and... well, about you, too.”

Christine’s stomach tightened, her instinct telling her this conversation wouldn’t be an easy one.

“Erik is…” Nadir began, his words measured, “…a complicated man. And you, Christine, are… well, a young woman who’s been through much more than your fair share of hardship.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Nadir raised a hand, stopping her. “Please, let me finish. I know you’ve suffered losses. I understand that. What I’m concerned about, though, is that your relationship with Erik may be… clouded by something deeper. Something you might not even realize yourself.”

Christine frowned, trying to piece together what he was getting at. “What are you saying?”

Nadir’s gaze softened, but there was still a sharpness to his words. “Christine, I’ve been watching you both. And it’s become clear to me that you might be transferring your feelings for your father onto Erik. I don’t say this to be cruel, but because I care about you, and I don’t want you to get lost in something that could end up hurting you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected him to say that. She opened her mouth, but no words came out, her mind racing as his words echoed in her mind.

“I’ve seen it before,” Nadir continued gently, his voice quiet but firm. “The way you look at him, the way he looks at you—it’s not just about the man in front of you, it’s about the man who’s been missing from your life. The man who protected you, loved you, kept you safe. And now, you’re looking for that in Erik.” He paused, watching her closely. “It’s a dangerous thing, Christine. It can lead you down a path where you confuse your feelings of gratitude and need with something far more complicated.”

Christine’s breath caught, and her stomach churned. She had never once consciously thought of it that way, but suddenly it all seemed so clear. Was she really seeing Erik through the lens of the man she had lost so long ago? The one she had so desperately clung to for years?

Nadir seemed to read the turmoil in her face. “I’m not suggesting your connection with him is without meaning, but I do think you need to step back and consider things more carefully, with a clearer perspective.”

He was gentle, yet firm, and spoke more slowly than necessary. “Your father was a musician? Erik is a musician too? The unconventional lives they've led?”

Christine was silent for a moment, her thoughts spinning. She had never wanted to acknowledge the complexity of her emotions toward Erik. It was easier to think of him as just the man who had helped her, who had cared for her, who had given her a place when she had nowhere to turn. But was it more than that? Had she been unconsciously projecting everything she had lost onto him?

“I just don’t want you to end up hurt, Christine,” Nadir said softly, his voice tinged with something like concern. “Erik has his own burdens, and while he may care for you, I’m not sure he’s capable of giving you what you truly need. Not in the way you deserve.”

Christine swallowed hard, feeling a knot form in her throat. “And what do you suggest I do?”

Nadir leaned in slightly, his voice low. “I suggest you take some time for yourself. Think carefully about what you want, and what you need. Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment. For your sake and his.”

Christine took a deep breath, her heart still racing. She couldn’t deny that his words stung, but in a way, they also felt like a necessary truth.

“I’ll think about what you’ve said,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.

Nadir nodded, offering her a small, understanding smile. “I know you will. I’ll leave you to it then.” He turned to leave, but then paused. “Take care, Christine. I’ll be in contact soon when I have more information on your citizenship.”

With that, he walked away, leaving Christine standing in the doorway, her mind racing with questions she hadn’t thought to ask before. By the time she climbed back into bed, she realized she hadn’t given him her phone number. It didn’t matter, she decided. Nadir would find a way to figure it out.

Chapter Text

After Nadir’s visit, Christine became more aware of her interactions with Erik and how close they had grown.

When she imagined her life after- when she was in her own in a small rented room someplace and paid taxes and… all of that-

But whenever she imagined that future, Erik was always there in some form. Maybe she’d visit him from time to time, stop by for dinner. Or perhaps, she’d live somewhere else, but return to her old room whenever her flights were delayed.

Leaving never seemed like an option. She couldn’t imagine abandoning her father’s grave. So, if Erik remained in town and she found herself living elsewhere, how often would they really see each other?

She liked to think they would. Often.

In fact, any alternative scared her.

But Nadir had managed to taint that and she worried he was right when he said she may be transferring some of her grief for her father to Erik.

It was…. Confusing.

Once she was done with pro bono lawyers, she should probably look into sliding scale therapists.

Erik was unusually quiet as he read over a stack of papers in the living room.

He'd been working so hard lately that Christine barely saw him, and he'd been unable to keep up their usual singing in the evenings. Much to both of their sadness, but he'd let her know, "deadlines, I'm afraid."

She tried to stay out of his way, but it seemed he took out his frustrations in the kitchen and it was too good to pass up. She ate in silence and kept the television on low volume while he grumbled to himself.

She'd barely seen him eat that week, and his already wretched sleep schedule was in shambles.

He paced late into the evening and even poor Cesar began to avoid him.

It could not continue and she hoped whatever deadline he was up against would pass soon.

"This food is otherworldly, Erik. You've truly outdone yourself this time."

"I'm glad you like it, Christine." he spoke absentmindedly while crossing something off and correcting it. Red ink slashed across the pages.

"I am, it's so good. I wish you made yourself a plate."

"I'll eat a little later this evening."

She frowned. He'd said something similar about breakfast (at the traditional hour) but she had not seen him break once for food.

She chewed slowly and wondered if he would be upset with her if she pushed the matter. She'd never seen him so high-strung and the new territory made her adjust her thinking.
He was already so skinny, and the way he sat hunched scared her.

She set her plate down on the coffee table and made him a small plate of his own food. She moved to the kitchen and back without him ever once looking up.

“Please, eat something,” she urged, setting the plate down within reach but away from his papers.

Erik paused his work to look at her.

Really look at her.

His gaze was sharp, assessing, as if he were trying to decipher some hidden meaning in her actions. For a moment, Christine thought he might actually listen, that he might pick up the fork and take a bite just to appease her. But then his expression darkened, his shoulders stiffening.

"You don't have to do that," he said quietly, his voice oddly detached.

Christine hesitated. "I know I don't have to, Erik. I just... I worry about you."

His jaw tightened, and he let out a slow breath through. "I'm not some helpless child in need of tending, Christine."

The sharpness in his tone made her flinch. "I never said you were."

"But that's what this is, isn't it?" He gestured vaguely toward the plate, the careful way she'd set it down, the concern in her eyes. "Pity dressed as kindness. A hand that offers care where none is needed."

Her chest ached at the bitterness in his voice. "That's not what I—"

He finally looked away from her and to the food, something in him deflating as the words died on her lips.

The tension was awkward and neither of them seemed to know what to say.

Christine shifted her weight, resisting the urge to reach for the plate and take it back. As if that might undo whatever she’d just stepped into. She hadn't meant to tread on something fragile, but she could feel it now, raw and unspoken between them.

Erik exhaled slowly, rubbing his visible temple with his thumb. He didn't look at her again, but after a moment, he picked up the fork and turned it idly between his fingers. Not eating, not quite rejecting it either.

Christine swallowed, choosing her next words carefully. "It’s just a meal, Erik. One I didn't even cook. Nothing more than that."

His fingers tightened on the fork, and for a brief second, she thought he might argue. But instead, he gave a small, barely-there nod and took a bite without another word.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and picked up her own plate again, pretending not to notice the way his posture remained tense, as if the simple act of being cared for was something he didn't quite know how to accept.

Christine went to bed at a respectable hour after her awkward dinner with Erik.

The next morning there was no sign of Erik and she hoped he went to bed. She wanted to chalk his odd behavior up to exhaustion and stress, but it was hard to say.

After checking her emails and finding no immigration updates, Christine felt aimless with nothing planned for the day. She considered going to the library or checking her PO box, but the thought felt pointless. Especially with the gloomy weather pressing against the windows.

Flipping through bad reality TV, she quickly lost interest and abandoned the remote.

The piano, however, called to her.

Taking a seat, she let her fingers glide over the keys, playing without real intent. Just soft, wandering notes that filled the quiet space around her. It felt good, grounding in a way, and after a few songs, she found herself enjoying it.

Still, a lingering restlessness remained.

She wasn’t sure if she was playing for herself or waiting for Erik.

She felt him.

His presence.

He didn’t announce himself, didn’t make a sound, but she knew he was there, watching.

Christine continued to play, keeping her posture relaxed, as if she hadn’t noticed him at all. If she looked up, if she acknowledged him too quickly, he might leave. So instead, she let the moment stretch, allowed the music to be the only thing between them.

A minute passed. Then another.

Finally, she heard the faintest shift of fabric as he moved closer.

Her hands stilled on the keys, the last note hanging in the air between them.

She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder, and there he was standing just beyond the reach of the lamplight, his expression unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back as if restraining himself from something.

"Was I disturbing you?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "No."

The music reverberated and they said nothing for a long moment.

Christine turned fully toward him, resting her arms on the edge of the piano. "Then what is it?"

Erik's gaze flickered away for the briefest moment before returning to her.

"You play differently when you're thinking," he said, as if that explained everything.

Christine tilted her head. "And what do you think I’m thinking about?"

He exhaled, something close to a quiet laugh, more air than sound. But he didn’t answer her question. Instead, he stepped forward, closing the space between them.

Christine felt her pulse quicken.

He reached out, almost hesitantly, his fingertips barely grazing the edge of the piano beside her hand before he pulled away again. His restraint was palpable, as if he wanted to touch her but wouldn’t allow himself the indulgence.

She wished he would.

"You should be more careful with your kindness, Christine," he murmured.

Christine's breath caught and her mind buzzed, but she kept herself steady.

"I think the world is unkind enough as it is. When you care about someone, you should show them favor."

Softer now, almost to herself, she added, "you showed me that."

He actually laughed and she felt it cut her, almost a tangible sting.

“I gave you a place to sleep and eat. You should not mistake that for genuine goodness, Christine. You deserve so much more.”

“But it was! Erik, I’ve told you before but you saved my life. I meant it.”

She felt her calmness slipping away and raw emotion bubbling up. As scary as it was, it also felt good. Like they were finally speaking genuine, but she tried to restrain herself lest she say more than she wanted to.

“I’m a selfish man, Christine. And you are so young. I- I wanted to be selfless for your sake, but I’ve been greedy. You don’t understand.”

She noticed his hand, once so close to hers, squeezed into a fist that he brought to his side.

“I want to understand, please just tell me.”

He looked so pained even with half of his face masked. She didn’t want to cause him any hurt, but she also felt this conversation slipping into uncharted territory that she found both terrifying and exciting. Her body trembled and she wondered if he could see.

“Even if you were selfish,” she felt herself saying, wanting to appease him and urge him on, “it doesn’t change what you did. You saved me. You’ve helped me so much and you’ve never asked me for anything in exchange. How could I not- how could I not love you for that?”

Her face burned and she’d done exactly what she hadn’t wanted to, but the word slipped out so easily.

There were lots of types of love, and she’d never been able to define what kind of love she had for Erik.

Maybe Nadir was right and it was for that of surrogate father?

But that didn’t feel right.

For a moment, Erik didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. The word love hung between them like something fragile and dangerous.

Christine watched him, her heart pounding so violently she thought it might shake the room. She had said it. Maybe not in the way she’d meant to, maybe not in the way he wanted to hear it, but it was out there now, raw and exposed.

His fingers curled into his palms, tension rippling through his frame. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Christine swallowed hard. “I do.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something she couldn’t name. “No. You don’t. Because if you did, why-.. you wouldn’t say it so freely.”

Her breath shuddered. “Erik.”

He turned away, as if unable to face her, his hand coming up to grip the mask along his cheek like he was checking to make sure it was still there. “You think I saved you,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You think it was kindness.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It wasn’t.”

Her stomach twisted. “Then what was it?”

His shoulders stiffened. Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. And then, at last, he whispered,

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

Christine felt something deep inside her crack open at the quiet confession.

He wasn’t rejecting her. Not really. He was afraid, afraid that her kindness was misplaced, that her love, however she meant it, was something he hadn’t earned.

She stepped closer, hesitant but determined. “And you aren’t.”

He let out a bitter breath of laughter, still not looking at her. “Not yet.”

Her chest ached at the weight of those words. But he hadn’t pulled away. He hadn’t shut her out completely.

Carefully, she reached out, her fingers just barely brushing against his sleeve. “You don’t have to be,” she murmured.

This time, he didn’t flinch. But he didn’t move toward her either.

It was like her body moved on its own and her mind shut off. She didn’t think about it, but she struck fast. She was fast when she needed to be and in an instant his mask was in her hand.

He let out a terrible scream and her heart broke at the sound.

And it was worse than she’d ever imagined.

Oh Erik.

His face was terribly deformed. The skin was gnarled and scarred. It was more skull than man, and the skin there was awful shades of grey, purple, and red. She realized his mask included a wig, and what hair he had was thin and straggly. He was quick to cover himself with his arm and speak curses at her, muffled against his attempts to block himself.

It was bad.

But it wasn’t going to scare her off.

Christine set the mask and wig onto the piano and put herself between it and him. Hadn’t she told herself that if she ever saw him unmasked, she would accept whatever was there? It didn’t change her opinion of him and who he’d been to her this entire time.

It didn’t change the love she felt, even if she still couldn’t define it.

Quick as she had been to unmask him, she closed the distance between them. He was hunched over and blindly trying to reach for his mask. She thought he was crying and she wanted to cry too, but she didn’t let herself. She wanted to be strong now.  

She wrapped her arms around him tightly. He still thrashed against her and she thought he was going to throw her away, but she realized it was a combination of trying to grab his mask and sobs.

She shushed him gently and held him until he calmed down. Still shuddering, but calmed enough to speak.

“My mask- Christine, please, my mask.”

She kept her arms wrapped around him and felt regret settling in that she’d hurt him. She reached behind her and then passed him his mask.

He put it on quickly, but to her relief he did not pull away.

His face was wet with tears and he was breathing heavily when he finally had it refastened. He glared at her, his golden eyes a mixture of rage and sorrow. But still, he did not pull away.

Neither did she.

“See? I’m still here.”

He blinked.

His breath still uneven, his whole body taut as if bracing for another blow. Christine could feel the way his fingers twitched against her back, like he wanted to push her away but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

His voice, when it came, was ragged. “You shouldn’t be.”

She shook her head, her grip firm but gentle. “But I am.”

He froze, and for a moment, she thought he might start fighting her again. Instead, he let out a shuddering breath and went still, as if all the fight had drained from him at once.

Christine’s hand moved in slow, soothing strokes against his back. She had no words to fill the silence, no way to mend the wound she had torn open. But she could hold him. She would hold him, if he let her.

After what felt like an eternity, he whispered, “I wish I could hate you for this.”

It should have hurt. It did hurt. But his voice wasn’t cruel. It was something raw and broken, something terrified.

Christine swallowed against the ache in her throat. “But you don’t.”

His fingers clenched the fabric of her shirt tightly and she wanted to take it as affirmation.

Christine exhaled softly, lifting a hand to touch his face hesitantly at first, giving him time to pull away. When he didn’t, she brushed her fingers over the edge of his mask, then lower, tracing the unmasked skin with a featherlight touch.

“This isn’t something you have to hide from me,” she murmured. “Not your face, not you.”

His made a noise of protest, but she pressed on, gentle but unwavering. “You think if I see you—truly see you—I’ll turn away.” She shook her head. “But I won’t.”

His whole body trembled beneath her hands, but he didn’t pull away.

“Don’t do this, Christine,” he said hoarsely. “Not like this.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, at the pain carved into his face, at the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “There’s no other way I want to be with you.”

He was still shaking, but for the first time since she had unmasked him, he leaned into her touch.

“Why would you want to be with this, Christine?” He murmured against her fingers, squeezing his eyes shut.

She wanted to blurt out that it was all because she did love him, but that didn’t seem like enough.

So, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

It was chaste and half blocked by his re-affixed mask, but she still did it and let herself relax into it.

For one glorious moment he reciprocated. With urgency, he kissed her back and she readjusted her hold around him so that they could deepen it. He kissed her with passion she should have expected, as it seemed to mimic his music. It was bruising and she was leaning back into it.

A small moan escaped her and that’s all it took for him to pull away.

“We can’t. God help me- I want to, but we can’t.”

She was reeling and it took her a minute to actually comprehend his words.

Her lips felt swollen, and she revealed in the taste of him.

“Why?” she whispered, her breath still unsteady.

Erik turned away as if he couldn’t bear to look at her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Because you deserve more than this,” he said hoarsely. “More than me.”

Christine stepped forward, unwilling to let him retreat. “You keep saying that as if I don’t get a say,” she countered, her voice trembling but firm. “As if I haven’t already chosen you.”

He let out a bitter, almost desperate laugh. “You don’t understand what you’re choosing.”

She looked down and felt her legs shake beneath her, “Erik? Did you kill Ed the Dre- Ed the guard from the group home?”

There was a pause as they both caught their breath, and then Erik said very simply, “yes.”

Christine’s stomach twisted. Even though she had suspected—already known—it, hearing Erik confirm it sent a shudder through her. The room seemed smaller, the air heavier, pressing in on her.

He had killed Ed.

And yet, she wasn’t afraid.

Erik was watching her carefully, his body tense like a wire pulled too tight, as if bracing for her to recoil. His golden eyes burned, waiting for her condemnation.

“Say something,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

Christine swallowed hard. “Why?”

He exhaled sharply, as if she had asked the most foolish question in the world. “You know why.”

She shook her head, gripping her arms. “Tell me.”

Erik turned away, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Because he deserved it,” he said, voice low and fierce. “Because of what he did to you. Because of what he would have done again, to you or to someone else.”

Her breath caught, and she felt her knees threaten to give out beneath her. He had done this because her.

Christine pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to process the weight of it all. “You… you killed him to protect me?”

His jaw tightened. “Would you have preferred I let him live?”

“No,” she whispered before she could stop herself. The truth spilled out before she had the chance to wrap it in softer words.

Erik’s head snapped toward her, his expression unreadable.

Her hands trembled, and she curled them into fists to hide it. “I just… I don’t know what to do with this.”

Erik let out a breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Then run, Christine.” His voice was hoarse. “Run because he was hardly the first man I’ve killed.”

She stared at him, at the way his mask barely hid the storm raging inside him.

And then, softly, she stepped forward.

“No.”

His breath hitched. “Christine-”

“I’m not running from you,” she said, lifting her chin. “I won’t.”

His fingers twitched, as if fighting the instinct to reach for her. “You should.”

“I won’t,” she repeated, firmer now.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He looked away, his shoulders rigid, his whole body trembling like he was barely holding himself together.

Christine hesitated, then, cautiously, she reached out, fingers brushing over the back of his hand.

He flinched, but he didn’t pull away.

“I don’t know what this means,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I know you did it for me.”

A bitter sound escaped him. “I did it because I’m a monster.”

Christine shook her head. “No. You did it because you cared.”

His fingers curled slightly beneath hers, barely touching.

She could feel it now, how much he was fighting against himself. Against the part of him that wanted her close.

“You did it because you love me.”

“Yes.”

There was so much more to say between them. So much she wanted from him. She wanted him to hold her, and to kiss her again. She wanted him to take his mask off and to be raw and open with her.

But Erik gave her one last look. It was longing and made her burn, but he quickly turned and retreated upstairs.

Christine promised herself she wouldn’t cry. And she didn’t, but dry sobs did wrack through her when she was finally alone.

So what if she was younger than him?

She’d never thought of his age too closely, but she’d guess mid to late thirties. His face made it difficult to pinpoint, exactly.

So what if he was a killer?

Okay, maybe that one should bother her more.

After she calmed down she threw herself to her bed and curled up tightly.

Christine wished terribly then that she had a friend she could consult on the matter. Her first instinct was to ask Erik what he thought of her predicament, before she remembered he was the obstacle.

She had thought of the power imbalance, and them living in such close quarters together for so long likely clouding her judgement. She was sure it had played its role, but when it came down to it, she thought she had a pretty good feel of her own emotions.

Once she felt calm, she pulled out her phone and tried to find the words to search for.

Convincing older man you're mature enough for relationship?

Navigating power imbalances in new relationship? + Romantic

Convincing your emotionally repressed genius to accept love

How to date a man with a tragic backstory

Her fingers could not type and so she found herself putting on sad piano music to brood over.

She laid there for a long time pointedly not thinking. When her mind wandered, she forced it back to the music and imagined if she was skilled enough to play something like this soon.

When her phone started to beep, Christine considered ignoring it. But curiosity won out and she would do anything to pull her mind away from Erik.

“Hello?”

“Christine, it’s Nadir. Is now an okay time for us to speak?”

No.

“Yes, of course. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m well. Work has been good.”

He didn’t sound well. His voice was slower than usual, like he was weighing each word before letting it go.

“Listen, dear, I was able to look into your status and… well, it’s complicated.”

“I—what do you mean?”

She sat upright, her attention snapping into place. Immigration status. A perfect distraction.

“Christine, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to rip the bandage off. You’re not a citizen, but you’re also not here illegally. It looks like your father began the process years ago, but because you moved so frequently, he never finished. You’re in a kind of legal limbo, sometimes called Deferred Action.”

Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket. She’d skimmed articles about that term before, but now the words sounded foreign. Her thoughts were scattered and her lips swollen.

Nadir kept speaking, his voice steady but weighed with something like regret. “You actually meet the requirements for a few humanitarian relief options. And it appears your father started the DACA paperwork when you turned fifteen. Unfortunately, the process wasn’t completed. Renewals are required every two years, and without follow-up…”

He trailed off.

Christine stared at the far wall, her mind trying to keep up. The quiet hum of the room became too loud, too sharp.

“What does this all mean?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted. “Immigration should’ve contacted you. There are notes about mailed letters, but they were sent to old addresses. No confirmation, no follow-up.”

She went still for a long moment, then asked, “could they deport me?”

“Yes.”

The answer landed like a punch to the gut. Her throat tightened, and though she didn’t cry, her eyes stung. Her entire day felt like it had unraveled at once, first Erik, now this.

“As I said,” Nadir continued gently, “there are organizations that might be able to help. I’ve already reached out to a few, quietly. Nothing formal yet. I just wanted to keep you informed.”

They ended the call shortly after. Christine saved his number and sank back into bed.

She opened her browser and stared at the search bar, thumbs hovering.

How long to learn Swedish fluently

Do Swedish people hate American accents

Can I survive in Sweden with no job and no language skills

She hovered, but didn’t type.

She didn’t want answers. She didn’t want sad piano music humming in the background like some indie movie ending.

She wanted Erik.

Night had fallen, and the house was still. No sounds came from the kitchen. No music from Erik’s piano.

She had a feeling he was locked away, same as her.

Christine considered calling Nadir. The silence pressed in, and she longed for a listening ear. But she also didn’t want to talk. Not really.

She turned the water on as hot as she could stand and stepped into the shower, hoping the heat would melt something inside her. That it would untangle the knot in her chest. It didn’t. But when she stepped out, skin pink and breath a little shallow, she felt clearer.

Something had to change.

She was tired of letting everything happen around her. Ed the Dread. Erik. Immigration. All of it crashing in and suffocating her. She had so little control, but maybe now was the time to start choosing.

Back in her room, she opened her nightstand drawer and found Erik’s Christmas card. She held it like something fragile, rereading every word, remembering how she’d done the same on harder nights. She’d had harder nights, she reminded herself. She was stronger than this. Then she folded it carefully and placed it back inside.

That settled it.

She got up, her legs steady as she crossed the room and stepped into the hall. The air was cooler upstairs. The old wooden steps creaked under her feet, but she didn’t stop. Her hand hovered at his door.

She knocked once, softly. Then waited.

She didn’t hear anything, but she doubted he left, even in the later hour.

She knocked again, “Erik?”

There was a shuffling noise inside and finally, the muffled quiet steps coming closer to her.

She was strong. This was another bandage to rip off. She could do this.

“Christine…” the door cracked open and his masked face looked down at her from the shadows.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other.

Some of her bravery slipped away now that they were mask to face, but she ignored it and gave him a small smile.

“Can we talk?”

He didn’t answer, but he reluctantly stepped aside and let her in.

His room was much like the rest of his house, cluttered with papers and dark colors. Sheet music was stacked on the dresser and there were paintings she couldn’t make out hung on the walls. She closed the door behind her gently, making the room even darker. He moved toward the far wall, away from her.

She stood there watching him, her heart pounding. “I know things are different now. We can’t just act like nothing happened.”

“I’m not acting,” he said quietly, his back still turned to her. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I know. You’ve been protecting me a lot. You're good at it.”

“Yet you insist on walking straight into the fire,” he said, voice strained. “You don’t understand what it’s like to live with the things I’ve done.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“I’m not.”

He turned to her then, slowly, as if the effort pained him. His eyes locked onto hers, searching for doubt. When he found none, he looked down at the floor.

“You think this is love,” he said. “But it might just be gratitude. Or loneliness. Or a mistake.”

“It’s not.” Her voice was steady. “And even if it is… Can’t we even try?”

He opened his mouth, as if to protest again, but Christine crossed the room before he could say anything.

Maybe it was the proximity that was breaking him, but he didn’t pull away.

He flinched as she began to reach up, but he didn’t resist as she lifted his mask. She didn’t look at him for too long, aware of how vulnerable he must feel. She hoped the darkness of his room would make him more comfortable, but she doubted that. She gently set his mask onto a small writing desk and then took him in.

It was hard to make him out entirely, but even in the darkness she could see the collapsed side of his face twitching. His eyes were glassy but he was looking at her with vulnerability and she swore to herself she would not hurt him. 

She reached out and slowly took his hands into her own and realized they were both shaking.

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said softly. “You think I’m too young, too naive, too fragile. Maybe there’s some truth to it. But I’ve been alone, Erik. I’ve been scared. But this?” She stepped closer, her hand now moving to rest against his chest. “You are the one thing I don’t fear.”

He was still shaking and she didn’t think he would speak yet. His eyes searched hers like he was trying to find the trick, the misstep, the illusion.

But she didn’t let him look away when he must have seen the sincerity. She stood on her toes and kissed him gently.

It wasn’t a question. It was a claim.

He gasped softly against her lips but didn’t move. When she finally pulled back, his hands were trembling at his sides.

She stepped forward again and then pressed gentle kisses against his lips, his cheeks, his forehead and his temples. He let her, and she didn’t say anything when she felt the salty tears.  

“Christine,” he gasped, “I want-”

He didn’t finish the sentence and his broken voice rang in the air.

“What do you want?” she asked softly.

He closed his eyes and swallowed down whatever he was about to say.

“It doesn't matter.”

“Don’t you... don’t you want me?”

Erik wiped his face and took a deep breath, stepping back from her. When he looked back up at her his eyes were blazing. It made her hesitate under the intensity of his gaze.

“Of course I want you. Oh, what man could resist? I’ve wanted you for so long. But you, Christine! I don’t think you-.” He let out a laugh that seemed to border on hysteric, “it’s wrong.”  

She wrinkled her nose and frowned.

“What do you mean?” She tried to keep herself calm.

“Come now, has it not occurred to you? I’m sure it has. You’re a smart girl. Our close proximity all this time? Your father? I’m old enough to be your father, Christine.”

His words cut but there was no denying that these things had occurred to her before. And ultimately, they hadn’t mattered to her.

“I don’t care about that.”

“You should. You’re so- you’re so young! You can’t even drink yet.”

“That doesn't matter!” She yelled, frustrated and bristling because there was probably some truth to it. 

He was breathing heavily but he looked away and screwed his eyes shut, leaning against his desk.

“I can get you an apartment,” he said with sudden resolve.  

Her eyes widened and she felt a trickle of terror.

“I can get you something safe and paid for. You can live your life without worries. We’ll cut communication and if you need anything you can contact Nadir as an intercessory. It would be for the best.”

The hurt was evident in her voice but she had to ask, “is that what you really want?”

He wouldn’t look at her and Christine took one step forward. And then another and another until she could reach out to touch him.

His shoulder was tense under her hand, but she didn’t remove it.

“Because that’s not what I want.”

He slowly looked up at her but she kept her voice firm and pushed back her tears. “Your generosity is too much, Erik. But the thought of being alone in an apartment- without music! Without you.”

She closed her eyes and ran her hand up his neck and finally to his face.

“I’ve thought about it. I know what we are is… unconventional.” She brought her other hand up so she was cupping his face. He stayed hunched over, and by not pulling away she had hope he wanted her touch. “I know you’re in love with me. I felt it in your music. The night I told you about… about Ed.”

His gaze was so intense but she didn’t dare look away even as she felt her mouth go dry.

He let out a shaky sigh and then brought his hands up to cup her face. He was hesitant and feather light, as if she would pull away. She leaned into his touch and enjoyed the feeling of his hands on her.  

“Of course I love you. How could I not? The first night I saw you, I thought it was pity. You reminded me of myself. Then you wrote to me, and then you called me and I wanted to be respectful. I acted as if your father’s ghost was in the room every time we were together. But the first night you sang… Oh, Christine I was done for.”

She smiled and felt her eyes sting. And then she smiled harder because she felt the distance closing.

“I’ll sing for you every night,” she promised solemnly, “and we can go as slow as we need to, but can’t we at least try?”

It came out as more of a whisper, but it felt appropriate in a dark room so close together.

“My offer will always stand. No matter what. Just say the word and I’ll get you your own place and cut contact.”

“Erik.”

He hesitated, and then for the first time, he leaned forward and kissed her.