Touch was still a precious thing, a gift both marvelous and wonderful. For not the first time, Erik found himself thanking whatever miracle inherent in this City that had given him a face. What would his Christine think if she knew her hand was on what used to be but scarred and ruined skin stretched over too much bone? Would she still cling to her profession of love? Or would she cast him out, as he had been cast out so many times before?
It was a question he hoped would never be answered. He would willingly give himself to darkness should she leave. This little chorus girl was the key to the lives of many. She didn't know it, and he'd never burden her with such a terrible truth; but it was there all the same. He bent closer so she didn't have to reach so far. Then he tugged down the comforter hiding her form and skimmed his palm down her side. He didn't have to look up to know what her face showed. She'd craved him against all reason, since before he took her innocence with his cursed fingers. He didn't have to understand why to know that it was true.
"Christine," he sighed, feeling the sweet and heady rush that touching her always brought. Biting back his response, he pulled away, and went to his side of the bed. When he'd taken his place beside her, when he'd folded her up against him, he set his chin on that wonderful springy mass of curls. "Tell me what you did today."
Something normal. Something innocent. Something that wasn't filled with the darkness that still clung to him now.