A/N: Written for madamefaust, as the second part of her prize for winning the PotORarerPairs Fic Contest

Not seeing Erik's face has never once hindered Amir's ability to love him. It is not his face he is in love with, after all, but the man himself. The way he smiles beneath the mask, the way his laugh sometimes become a giggle when he has had too much absinthe. The soft touch of his fingertips, how he moves, the particular tilt of his head when he is examining something. The way his fingers dance across piano keys. The elegance of the figure of him as he stands wrapped in a robe, playing the violin with his eyes closed. How he can switch through five different languages in one sentence when he is fathoming something out and still make complete sense at the end of it.

The way gold brocade makes his eyes shine.

How he favours deep reds, but appreciates greens.

They sleep in separate beds, so Erik does not risk his face being seen, but even that seems a small price to pay to ensure his comfort.

Still, however well he has adapted to loving Erik without seeing his face, he always knew that someday he would have to see it. Something would happen – illness, or injury, maybe. Or he would simply find it unbearable, to continue loving him without knowing what this part of him looks like, the contour of his cheekbones, the arch of his brow. It does not have anything to do with trust.

He trusts Erik almost as much as he loves him. And where other people would consider it unwise, he knows Erik would never do anything to harm him. And would be at his side in an instant, if someone else tried to harm him.

He always imagined he might have to ask Erik to remove his mask, and that would be how he would see his face.

He did not imagine Erik would offer to remove his mask for him.

They have been drinking wine, a very fine chardonnay that is delicate on the back of his tongue. The chess board is before them, but neither of them have moved a single piece in the last seven minutes, content simply to watch the firelight flickering softly over the checkered squares, lost in their own thoughts. It is, very nearly, a year since the night Erik confessed his love to him.

And since he confessed it back, breathed it into that mouth, with its thin lips and soft tongue.

He is just thinking of it, and how Erik's hand wrapped around his wrist, when Erik says the words, and jolts him from his thoughts.

"I think you should probably see my face."

Amir pulls his head up so fast something snaps in his neck.

"What?" Surely Erik said something else. Surely it wasn't that.

Even with the mask, he can see Erik's jaw working hard, and when his voice comes again it is hoarse. "My face. I should—you should...see it."

The wave of love that washes through him makes his heart ache. "I don't have to, Erik. Things are fine as they are, yes?" Erik nods, but there is something lingering about his mouth. "I never have to see your face if you don't want me to."

Erik's voice is so faint he almost doesn't hear it. "I want you to. If you want to."

Amir's breath catches in his throat, and tears shine golden in Erik's eyes. "I want to, if you want me to."

Erik's nod is faint, and he reaches up, fingers fumbling at the back of his head where the string ties the mask in place. Amir closes his eyes, and draws a shaky breath. All he knows of how Erik looks is what Erik has told him, what Erik told him before they were ever together, and he will not pretend that he has not tried to imagine how it might look under the mask. How can someone be born without a nose? And yet Erik was, and has admitted he was. Has admitted that his veins run close to the surface, that he looks more like a skull with skin than a man. But for all he has admitted, he would not show his face, and Amir knew better than to press, but still he tried to imagine how it would all fit together, and tried not to fear that if he saw it then he would cease to love Erik.

(How could he ever cease to love Erik?)

"You can look."

"Are you certain?" No harm to make sure, just one last time.

Erik's fingers are gentle brushing the back of his hand.

"Yes."

Amir nods, and swallows, and opens his eyes.

He will not pretend the vision before him is not shocking. Erik's face is everything he said it would be, a depression in the middle where his nose should have been, hollowed cheeks, thin blue veins webbing beneath his skin, eyes sunk deep into his skull. It is everything and nothing like how Amir imagined it would be, and yet, somehow, imagining it was worse than seeing it could ever be.

It is not so very terrible.

"May I touch you?" He does not want to startle Erik, and he hopes, with all they have been through, Erik would never think he might hurt him.

Erik's nod is very slight.

The thin skin of his cheek is soft beneath Amir's fingers, and tears spring to his eyes, to both of their eyes.

Amir lets out a shaky breath.

"May I kiss you?" He is so used to kissing Erik with the false nose of the mask in the way. How must it be to kiss him like this, as he is?

Erik's voice is hoarse. "You still want to?"

The smile that springs to Amir's lips is sad. "I love you. Of course I still want to kiss you. Especially now, seeing you as you are."

Erik's answering smile is watery as he leans across the table

His lips are just as soft as they ever were beneath Amir's.