A/N: Hello, all! Thank you for being patient!

I just have to share: I have never seen POTO live, but I'll be seeing it for the first time October 9th! I'm so excited!

: D

This isn't beta-read, so please excuse any typos.

Chapter Twelve: Motivation

Dear Christine,

It is not your fault. Meg is an inconsiderate twit. You shouldn't have to broadcast things that should be easy to remember. Once should be enough for anyone.

Of course you're justified! You can't always be happy. You're only human. It's understandable that that song would get to you.

Thank you for choosing to come to me. You can tell me anything. I'll always be here to listen. I'd call you, but you mentioned that you're going to bed. Sweet dreams. You deserve them after what you went through. Of course, you always deserve sweet dreams.

I'll see you tomorrow. Hopefully, getting sleep will help you recover. I'm looking forward to seeing your smile again as soon as you're ready to give it.

- Erik

He was terribly forthcoming—downright forward—in this e-mail, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He loved her, and he just wanted to let her know at least a little of how he felt.

Since she went to Meg's show on Friday night, Christine wasn't busy on Saturday. She spent some time going through boxes in the garage, smiling at the memories. Though her heart ached, she didn't cry. Her lips hurt as she smiled, but she did smile. She found her mother's jewelry box. It had three tiers, which opened up, with a small mirror on the underside of the tiny lid. Encased in black leather, the clasp was golden, as was the crank for the music box, which was at the back, near the bottom. She couldn't bring herself to look at the contents of it, but she listened to the music as she sat on the cement, staring off into space. The melody was pretty, but she couldn't remember what it was called. She couldn't remember where she had heard it before, so she assumed that she just recognized it from her childhood. The most she could remember was that it had been a gift from her father to her mother.

The aching in her heart became too much: she closed up the jewelry box and folded the flaps of the cardboard in which it was stowed. She left everything behind in the dark as she stepped back into the bright kitchen.

In the living room, she sat on the floor to see better as she surfed through channels. Erik was due over soon for a piano lesson, but she figured that she'd kill time by watching TV. She shivered in her thin shirt and jeans, her sock-clad feet tucked under her crossed legs. She wished that she could do what she used to do at home—in the house in Denver, as well as in her apartment with her father. She used to take a quilt and wrap it around herself as she sat and watched TV. Mama Valerius didn't like this for some reason, and she didn't like the way that Christine sat so close to the TV. It made Christine sigh: the woman didn't understand her vision problems.

A grin formed as she discovered that Somewhere in Time was on one of the movie channels. Made in the eighties, the movie had been one of her mother's favorites. Therefore, it became one of her father's favorites. Sadly, they didn't own it. She wished that they had, because then it'd be somewhere in the garage with all of her other old movies that didn't make it into the entertainment center.

Given that it was on now, she decided to watch it. She gasped when the piece from her mother's music box started up with it being played on a record. This was why the music box that her father gave played this tune.

Her heart sank when, an instant later, she heard the familiar knock on the door. This meant that she couldn't finish the movie. Heaving a sigh, she turned off the TV, stood, and moved to the foyer to greet Erik.

When they hugged, she sighed. Her smile lacked its usual radiance, and her eyes were dim. It broke Erik's heart, but it wasn't unexpected.

"Shall we?" he prodded. She tried to smile more as she nodded.

Part of her wanted a violin lesson, but she was too scared. She was still shaky playing by herself, in the privacy of her own room, even. She'd break if she tried to have a lesson with Erik. However, he insisted on starting up piano lessons with her.

The first thing he told her was that, in spite of how she liked to bite her nails, they were too long for both the piano and the violin (which she already knew). He warned, "You'll want to keep them short, and you'll want to stop biting them. It's bad for you in general. You'll also want to stop biting your lips."

She meekly agreed.

Mama Valerius had a great deal of fun with this lesson, pointing out that she had already said much of this to Christine—such as her left hand was always too loud; she needed to ease up on it and strengthen her right hand to match the power of the hand that she used all the time. The only thing that the woman didn't like was how close Erik stood to Christine, who sat on the piano bench. Thankfully, any time that Erik aimed to demonstrate something, Christine had the presence of mind to hurry off the bench and let him sit to show her—instead of him leaning in.

To the great dismay of both pianists, Erik sent her back to the basics, citing, "You can't expect to play complex pieces with your technique. To put it bluntly, your technique is atrocious." Christine laughed with disbelief, her eyebrows up. Her instructor turned his eyes on Mrs. Valerius to say, "Madame, I'm quite surprised that you're not stricter with her." The woman gaped, surprised to feel ashamed. Erik returned his focus to his pupil, to whom he stated, "Your fingers are like cliff-divers when they should be more like mountain-climbers! I realize that you have very tiny hands that can only stretch so far, but we will find a way to modify songs if you can't play chords as they are written. Now, you want your fingers right up near the black keys—and don't let your wrist hang like that! –But keep it loose!"

It only got worse.

"You don't even know your scales! Until you do, you won't learn anything too advanced. However, I don't want you to learn them by rote; I want you to understand them. Therefore, we will be working more on your music theory. You will learn about how notes work together, the relationships between them—such as intervals—triads, in regard to your scales.

"You need to work more on your Hanon exercises; your finger action should be sharper—like a snake ready to strike. Your fingers need to go up high so that you build up your muscles, so that you have power to play your notes. Your thumb-unders need to be quicker—in and out very quickly. It will enable you to play faster when the time comes. If you practice this way, it will build into your muscle memory faster as well.

"Right now, you rely on your wrist muscles for power. That is absolutely the wrong way to play; your wrist must be relaxed, and your fingers must do the work. I want you to practice lifting your fingers without even playing—while you're sitting at the computer, while you're watching TV, at school, whenever possible. Rest your hand on your thigh, letting everything relax, and practice lifting each finger up and down, very controlled. It will build up your muscles."

Christine smiled and nodded but whimpered on the inside. She didn't like the piano to begin with, and now Erik was going to drill her on it. It'd be a miracle if she didn't hate the instrument by the time that her new teacher was done with her. She knew that she'd practice, because she already feared Erik's wrath. He wouldn't be cruel, but she feared disappointing him. If she didn't practice, he'd grow frustrated, which would mount into anger or disappointment. She'd feel unworthy of his instruction and would hate herself for losing any of his respect.

She felt like learning piano was akin to taking a bitter vitamin or medicine that would improve her health. She knew that she should take it…but she didn't want to. It was like how she was horrible at swallowing pills due to her sensitive gag reflex: she'd just have to hold her breath and choke it down.

Sensing this, Erik put his hand on her shoulder, soothing, "It won't be all that you learn. You'll learn songs, of course, because we need to work on your musicality, but these will be the building blocks that you need to reach your potential. It's like all the vocal exercises that you do: you wouldn't be able to sing the songs if you didn't have the technique gained through practicing the exercises. Once you get the technique down, you'll be so much freer to play. You'll have fun. I promise. We will find a way to make it entertaining."

Again, she smiled and nodded, but she still feared that she would never have fun on the piano. Insult to injury, she felt rather embarrassed that Erik had to treat her like a little kid who knew nothing about the piano. It occurred to her that it was like her singing: she thought that she knew a lot, but she knew nothing. Erik easily gave her a reality check that felt like he splashed cold water in her face.

"It will be good for you to learn the piano," her teacher reiterated. "It will help you learn more about music, and you'll be able to play your own accompaniment."

Laughing, she cried, "That's why you'll always be around: so I don't have to play my own accompaniment."

He shook his head, admonishing her with a combination of his eyes, his smile, and his words. "No, no. I will be more than happy to accompany you, but I refuse to be your crutch. I would like very much to see the day that you can sit at any random piano and impress people by playing and singing at the same time."

She groaned in childish complaint, and he rebuked, "Don't be like that. It's not attractive. You're acting like a little girl. You're seventeen; it's time that you start showing a little more maturity and dedication. You have so much more talent in you, but your laziness gets in the way. Trust me, Christine: I know that you're upset now, but you will come to love the piano. I know you will."

Christine wondered why this felt like the first time that Erik spoke her name. It was oddly breathtaking this time around and seemed to explode in her mind. She abruptly liked her name even more now.

Smiling at her new fondness for her own name, she conceded, "I do love this piano. The keys are like silk." She caressed them without tapping or pressing down on them.

"It's a beautiful instrument. You should take full advantage of it. There are plenty of pianists who would kill for the opportunity to play on such a lovely instrument."

She sighed but agreed, "I'll work on it."

"That's all I ask."

Trying to be teasing instead of irritable, his pupil inquired, "Are you going to make me learn every instrument known to man?"

He chuckled. "No, just the ones that you show interest in pursuing, ones that you reveal talent in. I really mean it: you will come to love the piano once you develop the necessary technique to excel in it."

"I sure hope so." She sighed again. "I do feel a fondness for it sometimes."

"That fondness will blossom into a great love if you let it. I know that you detest hard work, but life can't be all fun and silliness. That's mostly why I want to teach you piano: I want to teach you discipline. I think that this discipline will transfer into your other forms of music. You'll be a better musician in general and a well-rounded person. It will be good for you."

He breathed an internal sigh of relief when Christine's shoulders relaxed, she smiled sweetly at him, and she said, "I know." He was quite terrified that pushing her this way would earn her wrath. He was afraid that she'd come to dislike him. There was still a chance of that, but he felt better upon seeing her smile. It gave him hope that their hard work would pay off.

"Are we done?" Christine questioned.

"Yes, we're done."

She flew from the piano to the TV, turning it back on. On her knees, she waited impatiently, bouncing a little as she sat on her feet, for the image to appear on the screen. She groaned when she found that the credits were just finishing up. "Damn! Ah, and I missed seeing which song that was! Damn!" She laughed at herself and heaved a sigh. "Oh well."

Erik inquired, "Is something wrong?"

Christine smiled ruefully at him and murmured, "No, not really. There was just this movie on TV that—Oh! I can see when the next showings are!" She hurried to grab the remote from its place on the nightstand next to the couch. She needed to find the showings before the time changed and got rid of the movie title on the guide. "Oh, no! This was the only showing!" She laughed even though she was disappointed. "Oh well."

Curious and worried, Erik questioned, "What was this?"

She stared at the screen dismally as a promotion for the channel came up. "Just a movie that I wanted to watch."

"If you had told me, I could have postponed your lesson."

She shrugged. "It's okay." She felt like crying, though. It occurred to her that she could ask Erik about the melody, for her would surely know it, but now she didn't want to. She figured that this was meant to stay private—to belong only in her heart. Sighing, she murmured, "I don't even remember it all that well."

In an instant, he realized that this film must have sentimental value with her, which must mean that she watched it with her parents at some point—or it tied into them somehow. Thus, Erik was angry that Christine hadn't watched it, hadn't asked him to watch it. He was angry that she had turned off the TV and let him spend the time that she could have been watching it on something that she didn't even enjoy at this point.

An idea hit him, and he asked, "What was the movie called?"

Christine grinned at him without knowing why. "Umm…Somewhere in Time. It was made in the eighties. It's basically about this guy who falls in love with this girl through seeing her picture, so he hypnotizes himself so that he can go back in time and meet her. It's kind-of far-fetched, obviously, but my mom really liked it. She had this thing for time-traveling and past lives. She loved the Back to the Future series."

He laughed. "I think that I actually know that series. It's the one with the scientist who builds a time machine out of a car, right?"

She guffawed at his summation. "Right! Christopher Lloyd and Michael J. Fox. …I love Michael J. Fox! Hehe!"

Erik nodded, smirking at his plan to buy her impromptu gift. Without warning, an odd urge filled him, bidding him to request, "Why don't you go get your flute?" He was only vaguely afraid that the instrument would remind her of her father and therefore cause her pain. It occurred to him that he might use it as a way of easing her into the violin again. There was sentimental value to the thing without the direct link of her father's teachings. It would have been Christine's own instrument; it was more a piece of herself instead of her father, though the instrument had the potential to remind her of her father.

Christine questioned, "Huh?" She was quite sure that she misheard him.

"Would you mind getting your flute? I'd like to see it."

Mama Valerius lit up, pressing her palms together as she cried, "I'd love to hear you play the flute, Christine! It's been years!"

Blinking, the young musician supplied, answering Erik, "No… No, I don't mind. I'll…be right back." She left the room with a furrowed brow. She couldn't even remember where her flute was. She vaguely recalled that it was somewhere in her room, so she went upstairs.

Like the rest of the house, the floor was hardwood. On her immediate left was the computer desk; on her right, taking up almost an entire wall was her closet with its large, mirrored panels. Before her, her petite, twin-sized bed sat against the wall, underneath a window with white curtains covered with yellow and blue flowers—to match her bedspread. The gold touch lamp on the nightstand was pretty with frosted panes decorated with flowers.

At the foot of the bed, also pressed against the wall, was her bookshelf, which was short like she was, consisting of four very wide shelves. Knick-knacks lined the top of it: a couple of scented candles that she never used, including a lilac one; a vase with silk flowers in it; a couple of porcelain figurines, as well as a couple of crystal ones lined with gold; and the music box that Erik gave her. For the two porcelain figurines, they were both of little girls in gowns with angel wings edged in gold. One was of a blonde girl in a blue, short-sleeved gown with gold trim; she wore a golden crown and held a magic wand with a gold star on the end of it. A white "9" sat before her. The other was a blonde in an identical gown, only pink; she held a hand mirror, a white "12" adorned with little blue flowers before her. The back of the hand mirror had a little blue flower on it as well. The figurines were birthday presents from Madame Giry; she thought that they looked like her, which was why she bought them. As for the crystal figurines, one was a horse, from a carousel, including its stand; it had a gold saddle. The other was a fairy whose wings, hair, hands, and skirt were fringed with gold. These last two had been gifts from her father. Unfortunately, a portion of the fragile fairy's stand had broken off and gotten lost. Instead of "flying," she lay on her side. It always made Christine want to giggle and jokingly clap her hands.

She was aiming to get another bookshelf to go next to it for Christmas since her current one was already crammed full of books.

She found herself pointlessly regarding her computer desk despite knowing that her flute wouldn't be anywhere near it. Her tower and monitor shared space on the thing; the former was a compact, silver thing while the latter was a flat-screen to match (one with built-in speakers). Her keyboard and optical mouse weren't in sight; they were rolled under into hiding. She randomly noted that she was due for a new mouse pad—something sturdier than the current spongy one with flowers and kittens on it. Her modem sat on the edge opposite of the tower; a black desk lamp sat in the corner behind it. Aside from this, the desk had a few papers on it. Everything else she kept in the drawers beneath the tower.

Gripping her blue swivel chair, she pursed her lips as she tried to remember where she had last placed her flute. Her eyes roved over the final wall. She got distracted when she observed that she really needed to decorate it. It was entirely blank. She was just too lazy and too un-artistic to do so. Her eyes fell upon her two white dressers pushed into the corner near the bathroom door. There was a touch lamp in the corner of the dresser on the left, placed there to be close to the outlet; it matched the one on her nightstand. The rest of the space got taken up by a CD player. A porcelain doll collection occupied the other dresser. There were seven total. A couple appeared to represent certain nationalities. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed Swedish girl stuck out like a sore thumb in spite of there being two other blondes in the collection. Aside from one redhead, the rest of the dolls were brunette, for she found that she liked dolls with darker hair.

Between the computer desk and her dressers was wide open space, giving plenty of room to get to the adjoined bathroom, where the floor was faux marble. There was a burgundy bathmat outside the stall of the shower. A matching towel hung on the metal bar within arm's reach of the stall. There was a smaller room with the toilet beyond the main room; its white door hung halfway closed.

Shaking her head at the fact that she remained standing in the same spot, her hands still gripping her chair as she just stared at her bathroom door, Christine wondered, "Where did I put it? Hmm… The closet?" She regarded the three mirrored panels, thinking about sliding them open. "I don't think so. "Ah! I remember!"

Like she thought, it was under her bed. She had almost stored it in the garage, but her urge to have it within her grasp (even if she never used it) won out. She almost put it on the shelf in the large closet, but she hated how difficult it was for her to get things down from said shelf.

She paused and regarded her reflection on her way out of the room. She sighed and told it, "He really is going to make me play every instrument known to man, isn't he?" She cracked a smile, giggling as she vacated the room, shutting the door behind her. She scoffed when she realized that she'd need her silver, two-piece music stand.

Erik had said that he wanted to see her flute, but she knew that he aimed to give her a lesson on it. Setting her flute case on the bed, she dug around for the stand. It took up too much space to fit in the box with her violin sheet music, so she left it out of the box. She didn't put it in the closet because she feared that she'd never be able to get it down again.

Sighing once more, she gathered the stand pieces in her right hand and gripped the handle of her flute case in her left. She stopped in her tracks and questioned, "Wait. Why bring the stand if I don't know where any of my flute sheet music is? Ugh!" She put the metal pieces on the bed and hurried out of the room, wincing when she accidentally slammed her door. "I really need to be more careful!" She shook her head before jogging downstairs and speed-walking back to the living room.

She was quite nervous as she set her case on the coffee table and opened it. She was tense, fearful of Erik's reproach. And indeed, he sighed at the condition of the interior of her case: the grease-stained royal blue velvet and, most noticeably, her headjoint. She flinched when Erik lifted it from its groove and examined it, pursing his lips and shaking his head. Her heart broke when he murmured, "Poor thing…" It made her heart ache; she felt so guilty and hurt by Erik's disappointment. "I can repair it for you."

Filled with fear, Christine snatched it from him, crying, "Don't you dare!" She laughed before she elaborated, "If you give my flute cosmetic surgery, it won't be my flute anymore! It plays just fine, so, really, it's just aesthetics!"

"If you say so. Then again, the dent is rather small."

"Yes! Yes, it is! It's miniscule! It doesn't affect the sound at all!" She confessed, "I don't want my flute to be dazzlingly pretty. I don't know why; I just…like it like this." She shrugged with a grin.

Examining each piece of the flute, ending with the headjoint, Erik mused, "It's difficult to tell whether it was caused by your mistreatment of the headjoint or not. It's above where the headjoint inserts into the body. It's very small."

Christine flinched when he gasped upon rolling over the headjoint.

"It's scratched!"

"Huh?"

She recoiled a couple of inches when he shoved it in her face, pointing out the discoloration—the thin scratch marks. "What did you do to it?"

"I don't know!" She laughed but turned meek when Erik gave her a very chilling look with his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed.

"Hmph. I suspect that you don't."

She gaped at his condescending tone, quite offended. Her brow furrowed as she pursed her lips. 'Arrogant jerk!'

Erik sighed. "Well, let's see if it really does play 'just fine,' as you say. How can you possibly know that, though, if you haven't played it in years?" Suddenly, he peeked into the open case and noted that there was only the metal rod in there. He turned to his student and demanded, "Where is your cleaning cloth?" The teen grinned sheepishly and shrugged helplessly, and he groaned. "You're hopeless. Do you even remember the last time that you cleaned it?" She offered up the same grin and shrug, and he sighed. "I'll get you some. For now, I just want to test the sound and see if I need to make repairs."

Christine wondered, "Do you mean you test the sound or me?"

"You, of course. It's your flute. I also need to see where you are. You played for four years, correct?"

She grimaced and hedged, "Technically, hmm…sure?" She confessed, "I don't remember any of it."

"In that case, we'll start from the very beginning."

She couldn't resist: she sang, "A very good place to start!" She blushed at the way that Erik just blinked at her. "Uhh… The Sound of Music."

"I'm aware. I've seen it."

"You have?"

"Yes. I have watched many famous musicals, including The Sound of Music and My Fair Lady, which I know are two of your favorites."

Christine grinned. "Cool." She frowned as she demanded with a furrowed brow, "Then why'd you look at me like I was crazy?"

"I didn't. All I did was blink."

"Yeah," she challenged, "but you didn't even smile or anything, so you left me feeling like a crazy idiot."

He smiled and murmured, "You might be crazy, but you're not an idiot. You're just a little eccentric." She laughed, so his smile turned into a full-on grin. "Shall we?"

In an attempt to be cute as she beseeched him, Christine grinned and tucked her arms behind her as she swayed. "Mind putting it together for me? I don't want to injure it any more than I already have."

"Hmm. Good point." She deadpanned, but he just snickered. As he put it together, he mumbled, "I think that I will take it with me when I leave—so that I can give it a proper cleaning."

Christine shrugged. "All right." She nervously accepted her instrument from her teacher.

"The worst I'll do is correct you."

Mama Valerius urged, "Yeah! Go on! Play something."

Erik instructed, "Just blow a bit of warm air through it first and then play a scale—play C major."

Christine nodded and followed his advice. Her left eye closed as she grimaced when her highest note turned out ear-splitting.

Shutting his eyes at the god-awful sound, Erik groaned, "Mmm… Ouch!" then questioned, "What's the deal with your high notes? You have this timidity about them that makes you fail before you even get there." He sighed. "We'll work on it. Do you have any of your old sheet music?"

"Yeah…somewhere." She grinned sheepishly again.

"Look for it. Have it ready by next Saturday. I'll have your flute back by then. We'll start then. But first, play that scale again—this time, with eighth notes. I want to hear how you articulate notes."

He couldn't stop his lip from curling at her lack of proper technique. He had his work cut out for him.

"That's enough." He reached out his hand, gesturing for it, clearly ready to disassemble it.

Withholding it, Christine requested, "Would you play something?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

He glanced at the mouthpiece and questioned, "Do you have a soft cloth with which to wipe it?"

Blushing, Christine offered, "Umm…I don't know. Kleenex?" She flinched when Erik scoffed.

"Kleenex! That won't do." He promised, wary of her disappointment, "I'll play for you next week. I'll bring my flute. We'll play together."

His heart seemed to break a little when she sighed and smiled sadly. Nonetheless, she cried, "Okay! Deal!"

She handed over the flute for Erik to take apart and put away. She paid careful attention to how he did so, particularly since Erik urged, "Pay attention—for future reference." As he placed the final piece in its groove, he murmured (mostly to himself), "You need to work on your articulation. I suspect that you didn't practice double tonguing much."

"Double tonguing? What's that?" She clapped her hands over her giggling mouth at the look that Erik gave her: narrowed eyes, slack jaw, and this air of exasperation like he contemplated turning and walking out of the room (which he would never do).

He tried to speak, but nothing would come. His tongue would barely move.

Christine laughed and lamented, "Oh, no! I made you speechless! That's not a good sign!"

"Double tonguing," he said with great care, his voice slow since his brain couldn't handle the shock, "is… Double tonguing is…" He shook his head and snapped, "I can't believe you don't know what double tonguing is! Mon Dieu ! Incroyable! Je n'y crois pas!"

She didn't know how to react to his disbelief (which was apparently so great that it got him ranting in French). She wanted to whimper and possibly hug him to make him forget her ignorance. It was really embarrassing. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, he said, "We really will have to start from the very beginning." He sighed. "Oh well. It's probably better that you have no habits—bad or good. I can instill the right ones in you."

"Well, I wouldn't say that I have no bad habits. From what I recall, my pinky finger in my right hand was always very weak."

He surmised, "That's probably because you're left-handed, and your left pinky would have to have been strengthened with the violin. Thank you for telling me, though; I'll keep that in mind. You should work on strengthening—not just for the flute but for the piano as well."

She nodded, highly intimidated. She hated that she was pouting. She hated that she didn't like Erik like this. Somehow, he seemed nicer when he was being strict about singing…or maybe she was just more tolerant of this behavior with singing because she loved it so much. She only vaguely cared about the piano and the flute—barely at all! And now Erik was going to be a merciless tyrant as he drilled her on them.

"Oh, no!" she bemoaned.

Unaware of her thought process, Erik chuckled and responded, "Oh, yes! Practice, practice, practice—that's what you need!" His amusement evaporated at the little cry of pain that Christine gave. "What? What is it? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." However, she sobbed then laughed. Erik decided that he better not inquire further into her evidently unbalanced mind. He imagined that he would be happier nor knowing—even as he worried for her and her debatable sanity. It was a sobering yet hopeful thought: maybe he wasn't in love with her. Maybe he was just infatuated. But did infatuation make one's heart ache? He thought not.

He didn't stay for dinner, but Christine stuffed down her disappointment and gave him a nice hug goodbye at his car, once he tucked her flute in the trunk.

Given that it was Saturday, and that they met up earlier in the afternoon, it would be another couple of hours before dinner was ready. While Christine wiled away the time on the computer, Erik couldn't stop cackling as he drove home. Infatuation or not, he had found a way to steal more time with Christine—one more instrument, one more lesson. It didn't occur to him that two or three lessons in one day were bound to be hectic and stressful, because Christine already handled her weekday lessons so well: singing, acting, and languages (which, technically, could be considered three lessons themselves instead of just one). He knew already that she was a hard worker, and he had faith that she could handle it. The girl loved to learn, after all. She was quite voracious for knowledge, eager to devour it and eager to share it.

He loved the way that she would light up when he praised her, though he disliked that she continued to doubt herself. Then again, her modesty was adorable…but it was also frustrating.

'Give it time,' he urged himself. 'She'll gain more confidence and lose her doubts with time. Just give it time.'

Once inside the apartment, he made a beeline for his computer and went online, purchasing the DVD of Somewhere in Time. It would take a few days to be delivered, but he was terribly proud of himself. He could give it to Christine on Wednesday evening, and she'd be so surprised and happy! He'd get a hug; he'd see that excited smile; he'd see those pretty blue eyes glitter at him. Most importantly, Christine would love him for it.

Forsaking dinner since he was hungry yet didn't feel like eating, Erik sat in his music room and opened up Christine's flute case. He left things as they were in order to remove his mask and wig, placing them in their respective spots on his bust. When he returned to the room, he reclaimed his seat and lifted the mouthpiece to what constituted his pathetic nose. There was nothing—no odor. He didn't think that there would be; he just wanted to be sure.

He wasn't even aware of what he was doing when he pressed his lips to her mouthpiece. His tongue even swished and flicked against the edge of that tiny hole, her mouth flashing in his mind's eye. He mostly tasted metal, but there was a hint of something else—something he couldn't place. Whatever it was, it had to belong to Christine's mouth. Was it a hint of something that she ate or drank?

He couldn't stop running his tongue along it. He wasn't aroused; he just liked that he could taste where Christine's lips had been, where her breath had gusted. It made him giddy. He'd miss it terribly once he gave it back.

He hated himself for doing something so strange and disgusting to an instrument. The fact that it Christine's instrument just made it worse. She would have no idea; she would just innocently play it, completely unaware of what he had done.

Soon getting over this moment of weirdness, he began his thorough check-up. He played through scales. The pads were just the tiniest bit sticky—hardly at all, but he wouldn't let it slide; he'd fix that. Aside from the surface damage, the flute was fine; it just needed intense cleaning.

Humming nothing in particular, he smiled as he cleaned it, inside and out, polishing away any fingerprints on the exterior.

By the time he was done, the flute gleamed. He laughed as he tucked it in. He loved teaching Christine in general, but he couldn't wait for the first flute lesson. He couldn't wait to spend more time with her.

A/N: Uh-oh! Lol. Erik's still falling fast and hard…and getting creepier. Hehe.

Personally, I wouldn't want to be in love with someone so creepy…but it's fun/ fascinating to write! Lol. And the best part for me is when I think on how Christine will never know! Every time she goes to play the flute…hehehe.

"Double tonguing? What's that?" was my reaction to a tutorial video that made me realize that I know nothing about an instrument that I played for four years. Damn public education/ lack of private tutor! Grr!

Now, please excuse my rambling. For those interested in reading more about me, read on; for the others, I hope that you'll review!

Creepiness aside, I'm in the mood to play my flute. I need a flute teacher. I could be amazing at it if I had one!

I'm so glad that my dad's not that strict. Though, if he were, I'd probably be better at the piano. Lol.

It's sad: I don't do my father's teaching justice. Why can't I love the piano like I love the violin (or even the flute)? …Or why can't I just have a violin to learn? XD No, no…I should take the time to learn the piano, because it will make me a better musician, and I should take advantage of having a VERY skilled pianist for a father. Free lessons! Lol. …I'm just so lazy!

Oh, how Erik would cringe at my piano playing! My technique is horrible, and I'm too lazy to practice…and yet, I don't want to give up on it, because there's a part of me that likes the piano.

I started learning it when I was thirteen, but I didn't have the attention span for it. Six to seven years later, with more maturity, I took it up again…but I suck, because I don't practice. Lol.

I just need motivation! ((runs off to watch Nodame Cantabile)) Hehe! It's what started me picking back up in the first place!

Fans of anime who happen to be reading this, you will LOVE it! It's so funny, and it's FULL of classical music. It's the fun way to experience classical music. There's also a live drama version of it, but I prefer the anime.

You might also like La Corda d'Oro. In my opinion, it's not as awesome as Nodame, but it's pretty good. I'd kill to be handed a magical violin. Of course, I'd kill just to be able to learn a violin the old-fashioned way.

: )

Ironically, for the time being, I have moved to L.A. I feel so sorry for my characters now. I have condemned them to a crowded, ugly city. Lol. I'm sure there are beautiful areas of L.A., but this place is not my cup of tea. I miss my old place. It figures that I'd get awesome neighbors in the last couple of months in my old neighborhood. Now, I have to make new friends, but I already have, so things are looking up!

Not that you care, but I never told you how my song went for my French class: the sound on my DVD didn't work in the computer, so I was screwed. Lol. I had the choice of singing "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" a cappella, but I just knew that I'd bust out the English/ forget the French, so I went on YouTube and did "Vivre," forgetting that it's not really a good song for me. It was the last day of class before we took our final, and that's how I ended it. I wanted redemption! Oh well.

Also, when I was warming up before class that day in one of the practice rooms, one of the girls in the little music library across the way knocked on my door. I asked, "Oh! Am I not supposed to be singing?"

She said, "No! We were just wondering who was singing!" And then she asked me to join their choir, but I already knew that I wasn't coming back to school there, so I told her that. "Well, maybe if you do come back, you can talk to our director."

"Yeah." I figured that they must have been desperate. One of my friends from high school choir said that their choir sucked. Haha.

Please review!

Kagome-chan