Full.

My favorite love stories always come full circle.

By mid-January, Torch Hour was extended to a two hour set with Christine performing three or four songs, then various other soloists and their accompaniments. Frankly the whole thing was probably going to need to be extended again because every coffee shop and noodle house in town had a regular act, and they were all clamoring for stage time. A quick introduction for each act moved quickly into the music.

Having guests was Christine's idea, of course. It was also her idea to invite them to stay after the show and play as a group. The first time, Erik found himself improvising around a saxophonist while Christine traded lines with a tenor. During these jams they joked and laughed, and a tap dancer popped in once to provide some percussion. By the third session, Erik was giving up his seat at the piano regularly to guests and occasionally to members of the crowd.

The first time he did, Christine gave him a curious glance. He just smiled and kissed her cheek, content to watch the magic, to let it happen. Musicians offered each other tips, traded details, and yielded the floor to each other. You could smell creation in the air.

In February, subscribers had access to these jam sessions, and tickets were an additional ten for non-subscribers. Local public radio broadcast the whole show live. Erik's 'slow night' was now serious business.

And that was when the phone calls started.

…

She'd barely touched him, but her fingertips had a way of getting his attention. That little hollow by his hipbone, just under his belt.

"Christine," he said softly. "I'm writing."

It was true. A new song for her had taken shape just after the holiday run. The theater closed for the week around New Year's, mostly to allow the company time to recover from the cast parties. More practically, it also let the cleaning services do a deep clean on the whole place. The carpets were a wreck and Erik had stopped apologizing for the state of the backstage somewhere in the third week of December.

It just went without saying at that point.

She kissed his cheek. "How's it coming?"

Years of wearing the mask had trained him to give a lopsided grin. He hoped it was charming. "Well, it's breathing hard, so…"

Christine appreciated his humor, acidic and surreal as it was. She liked his music, too, but she also liked interrupting him while he worked. To be fair, he liked it, too, so he left a few notes in the margin, set his pen aside and followed her.

Erik supposed it was inspiration and incentive rolled in the same package. For now, he would paint the music into her skin until her body sang it back.

Precious words. Words she set free.

"Lay back," he said, and splayed his hand over her chest. He'd done the same after her debut, his hand stretching over that sleek gold dress. If they'd made a mess in his office the first time, it was nothing compared to that night. They'd stripped each other to the skin and grasped for heat in the drafty office, repeating words they were finally able to sound out.

The stage manager knocked once and was rewarded with a stream of incoherent heresy before retreating, babbling apologies.

He'd laid her out on his desk that night. Tonight, their bed—their bed—provided a more comfortable setting. She caged him from beneath, her arms wrapping around and pulling him closer. Hot smears on his thigh, the side of his hipbone, Jesus. It was tempting, so tempting to just spread her open.

You might have thought that living together might have cooled him, that regularity would take the edge off. You might think that. You would be wrong. He was sleeping more, eating better, and writing music.

And Christine, who gave him the words, seemed to always want him within reach.

Her little noises, those breathy huffs by his ear, would be a challenge to transcribe into music, but Erik would give it a try. She arched her neck, denting her pillow, and pushed into his hand. For a second, his fingers left stripes in her flushed skin before she flooded with color again. He trailed his hand down, down.

It was a pleasure to make a singer forget how to breathe.

Kisses on her throat returned her air and she clamped her hands on him; one on his shoulder, the other over his occupied hand. He pressed with his tongue to feel the pulse of her, the song that ran through her. He thrust his hand to hear another measure, then trailed his kisses to follow.

Christine flooded his senses. The feel of her slick on his lips, her taste, first from his fingers for her to see and then taken directly, suckled, spreading over him from the scaffolds of his face to his neck. She rubbed against his mouth when she arched, scraping her nails through his hair. The feeling sizzled across his skin. Erik licked into her and sucked; she grew thick, plump against his lips.

Her hands slammed to the headboard and gripped it, knees bent, spread wide open. Curves like hearts, soft and blooming in his mouth. He traced her leg from ankle, knee, and then her hip. He loved her shape, the way she could grip him tight or open like a flower. A butterfly. But butterflies did not sing like Christine. More.

Erik pressed fingers under his chin and worked, thrusting himself into the mattress because he was still hers, imagined pushing into her while his mouth was there, too. He would take the song from her today. He'd heard her love, now he wanted her passion, her release, and he wanted it in his mouth and in his ears.

"Sing, Christine," he murmured to her trembling, clenching sex.

The first measures were clear in his mind by the time he licked his fingers clean, climbing back to her. He knew the ending when he regained his breath later, shaking and spent, humming the melody into their kisses. The lyrics were half written, too. He could say the words now. She'd set them free.

"I love you," he gasped, burying his face in her hair. "I love you, I love you."

She clutched him close even as he slipped free. "I love you, too."

"I love you."

Anyone else might have teased for saying it so often. Made some joke like yeah, I know or obviously look what we just did but Christine never did. And he never tired of hearing it. It was his favorite song.

…

Erik tugged his cuffs and tried to get comfortable. The high rise office building, nearly an hour away from his neighborhood, was a post-modern shock after spending years in his dusty, cozy theater and box of an apartment. A red power-suited intern had cheerfully brewed him an enormous coffee with beans that had a better pedigree than Mr. Pretty. He was registered, though what that meant besides being certifiably ugly escaped Erik.

He had been informed that the meeting was with a potential sponsor, one of a dozen that had come out of the woodwork once the radio show started gaining listeners. Most dealt directly with the public radio station, and a few wanted to meet with him personally. One wanted to discuss providing instruments for the after-show jam, and another asked about concessions. Both had met with him over coffee near the theater.

Not this one.

The intern showed him to a very impressive meeting room with a very impressive view. He imagined he was supposed to be impressed by the chairs as well, but a chair that looked better than it sat was not as useful as a twenty year old intern might think. She was only doing her job, so he nodded so she would leave and take her hundred watt smile with her.

The coffee was good, at least, and the view was nice. From the corner of his eye, he saw the red suit. Funny thing about being a guy in a mask, you tended to be very good at watching without anyone knowing. The intern's grin was gone and she was prepping three people in navy and gray.

She pointed at her face. Huh.

The glass doors opened and Erik turned elaborately and stood.

"Thank you so much for making the trip! I'm Curtis and this is my team, George and Jin."

"Thanks for the invite," Erik said, and exchanged names and small talk over handshakes.

Curtis took a seat. "So Erik, I'll cut to the chase. We've asked you here because we're interested in offering you sponsorship. Your little theater has generated a lot of buzz and our company would love to help you grow and become a destination venue for the kinds of shows you've only imagined."

Why were these places always freezing? Erik held his cup in both hands. "Sounds good so far, Curtis."

"Wonderful. One of your big limitations is your stage. Our first project would be to help you reinforce the stage floors and upgrade to full movable platforms. The lighting and sound would follow, and eventually a full rework of services."

Erik took a sip, forcing Curtis to continue. George and Jin remained still, encouraging smiles fixed in place. Huh.

"Then we'd move on to your technicals. Your stage should be completely outfitted to be a fully enabled studio. Torch Hour is ideally set to launch talent, and you could cut their first recordings. It's an income stream we feel you shouldn't ignore, and you could become the home stage for a lot of up and coming acts."

"I like that," Erik allowed. "I've wanted to do that for a few years, but… you know how it is."

"We sure do, Erik," Curtis said with a grin. "Now, and this is a very important point, my team would work very closely with your team to bring your schedule and ours into agreement."

He sat up. "Sorry, my schedule?"

"Of course!" Curtis folded his hands in front of him. "Our organizations both strive to bring top performers and shows to the stage."

Across the table, their smiles were indulgent. It didn't feel right.

Erik set down his cup. "I've got a pretty full calendar. It's going to be awhile until I can schedule something new. Especially with the restoration work starting soon."

Jin reanimated. "We are confident we can provide contractors that can complete any necessary work fully within any reasonable timetable."

"And," Curtis jumped in, "we can assist you to reconfigure your schedule bring it into line with our promotions, tours, and events. You will never have to worry about downtime or running your book again."

George gave a lazy wave of his hand. "And we can get this ball rolling for you in time for the summer."

Summer. Erik leaned back. That was when he'd planned to start a jam night for high school kids. He'd already started talking with the school music directors on how to set it up. Erik imagined being a summer program that could help keep talented kids playing and give them something worthwhile to do. Christine suggested they could even expand the program to include set and costume design, too.

"I have a summer program for high school students planned." It wasn't a lie, it just wasn't totally true yet. These things sometimes came together rather organically. When your goal was for people to learn, they usually did despite your last second bumbling.

Curtis sucked a breath in through his teeth. "Oh, yeah. Like I said our creative teams will work with you. We like to find common ground for our creative visions. Creative agreement, if you will."

Erik tapped his fingers on the table. "Creative agreement," he repeated, only not as nicely as Curtis had said it.

The glass doors swung wide and Christine flew in, her scarf mounded around her neck, static frizzing her hair into fluff. "Hey, sorry, got held up." Quick introductions followed and Christine settled into the chair at Erik's side.

"So, what did I miss?"

Curtis spoke first, to Erik's annoyance. "We were just discussing enhancing the stage and studio to bring first class shows to your theater."

Christine brightened. "That sounds pretty exciting. Does your team work often with the Historical Society?"

Curtis's smile froze. Jin pursed her lips.

"Miss Daae, may I call you Christine? We have a rapid turnaround plan for our layouts and we are happy to conform to certain needs, but I cannot guarantee restoration grade work." He gave a little laugh. "A restored theater can't host the kinds of events our team can bring to you."

Christine raised an eyebrow. Oh, this was going to be fun.

Erik sat up and forced what he hoped was an earnest expression on his face. "Curtis was also saying that our schedule needs to be brought into, how did you phrase it?" Erik glanced over at Curtis innocently, "Oh yes, we would be brought into creative agreement with his company."

Silence. The meeting room crackled with the kind of energy the stage had as the lights rose, but no one was looking forward to the performance.

Christine smiled. It looked like a knife. "Oh, you're one of those. I know how this goes. You found a quaint little venue that generates income and has one or two adorable features. You muscle in, offer a pile of cash, and negate existing contracts."

She stood up and went to the window. "Your parent company stays at arm's length, and you leave just enough of the schedule and design to look like a real stage, but you fire everyone and dump an empty suit in the head office whose real job is to clean the ice machine." She turned back, her smile tight. "How am I doing so far?"

"Christine, our top priority is to preserve the-"

"Miss Daae. I never gave you permission. Or maybe you might recognize my previous name." Her back was stiff as a rod. "I used to be Mrs. DeChagny, and I left New York."

Curtis's mouth fell open. Jin and George suddenly found their nailbeds fascinating.

Erik, giddy with pride, tipped back the last of his coffee and tossed it into the trash can from his chair. The uncomfortable chair. "Thanks for the trip, Curtis, I had no idea how much downtown had changed." He stood and took Christine's hand. "We done?"

She tightened her scarf. "Done."

As they left, Erik trailing behind Christine, he couldn't resist popping his head back into the meeting room. "Psst, hey!" he said.

Pinched faces looked up. Curtis lifted his head from his hands. "Yeah?"

"I love her."

…

With his hair still damp from an evening shower, Erik crossed his living room, dodging dog bed, desk chair, and piano, and reached for the balcony door handle. The dust had been particularly clingy today as the restoration team delicately chipped out crushed tiles and carefully sealed the cracked ones. Thank god for HEPA filters.

Progress was slow but tangible. There were so many small decisions to be made every day he'd lost track of them all, but it was worth it. The old girl was coming to life before his eyes.

As such, he'd been missing the sunsets lately, even with the sun setting later. When the prep team for Rocky Horror came in, Erik decided he'd done enough, so he hurried out and managed to beat Christine home.

He opened the balcony doors. He'd managed to beat the sunset as well. Still chilly, but there was a promise of warmth there, too. Slashing rooflines cut stark borders into the stripes of candy-hued clouds. Lower, the untidy sprawl of balconies around the square cast slanting shadows, and the trees below bristled with tiny, bright leaves. The strings of lights turned on and sparkled in a loose, lazy chain from the branches.

Peace. He was at peace for the first time in a long while, perhaps ever. He was busy, and his days had never been crammed so full, true, but it was just that. Full. Life was so rich and had never been this way before. He was so full.

Erik took a deep breath and caught a hint of cigarette in the soft night and smiled. Perhaps the night had known he was coming and set the scene for him.

He poured a glass of wine for them both. There was no room by the piano for the little table, so he left the wine on her desk and took a seat at the piano. A nocturne, perhaps? There was too much color in the sky yet. Perhaps he'd just let his mind wander, but first…

He unlocked the door, then drifted into a world of incidentals.

When Erik felt her at his side, he was lost in music. He hadn't even noticed her come in, but he just smiled and leaned into her touch. An anchor.

"I love you."

"You left the door unlocked," Christine said as she sat with him on the bench.

Erik laughed softly. "I always leave it unlocked for you."

She kissed his cheek. "So what is it tonight? Are you working on something or just relaxing?"

"That depends," he said. "Are you warmed up? I was thinking a duet."

…

The end. Thank you!