Dark, heavy clouds are hanging over the old town. Erik, Gustave, and Christine are sitting at the small solid wood table in the cozy, warm kitchen above the Paganino, having dinner. It's a moment that Erik finds hard to bear. Although he has lived here for some time, he often still feels like a stranger, an intruder. Eating at the table, as they do, still feels wrong to him. He is not used to eating regularly and even less used to eating in peace, without the constant glances over his shoulder. Without the constant comments.
The memories of living on the streets are still fresh in his mind. On the street, you eat quickly, hastily, typically standing or squatting, always making sure that no one takes your food. Even though he is now sitting in a warm, safe room, the restlessness remains.
And the shadow of his former life spreads over Erik like a dark cloak. Too frequently, he had to eat the food he didn't want. Too frequently, he had to praise the food and say it was good. Regardless of whether he could digest it, it has to taste good - or not. Too often, he was warned at the table.

It was simply eating and the happiness of enjoying it too rare. This - coming together, cooking together, celebrating a meal - is still unfamiliar to him.

But he is willing to learn, just as he learned the art of violin making.

“The room is not in use, you can have it,” says Gustave calmly as he pours the potato soup out of the steaming pot. He passes the bowls around and leaves it up to Erik to add the sausages to his soup himself. Since Christine doesn't eat meat, the extra sausage is served separately. Thoughtfully, the punk drops a few chopped sausages into the soup and begins to eat.
“But I can't pay for it,” Erik finally mumbles and continues to spoon up his soup. With his free hand, he repeatedly dabs a napkin over the open spot at the corner of his mouth. It is an unconscious reflex that he has developed over the years. He feels uncomfortable. The worry that she might find him repulsive, the fear of spoiling her appetite, accompanies him with every bite.

Christine watches him out of the corner of her eye. She has gotten used to Erik's face by now. At first, she found it difficult to recognize the person behind the face. But over time, her view of him is no longer characterized by the painful strangeness she felt before. She knows that he is ashamed of something he can't be blamed for. She knows that his nervousness is not just due to external circumstances - she senses that he is completely uncomfortable in his own skin, especially in front of her. It took her a while to understand that Erik avoids being touched, but not because he fundamentally rejects it. It is more a kind of protection, a boundary that he sets for himself. Only with her, with Christine, does this boundary seem particularly thick and impenetrable. She can't explain why it is like that.

“I can't pay for it,” he repeats quietly, just to convince himself. But Christine hears the subtext, the hesitation in his voice. She knows that it's not just about paying. It's about much more - the insecurity he still has, the feeling of not being enough, the constant fear of demanding too much or becoming an unnecessary weight in her life.

He looks up for a second, meets her gaze, then turns back to the plate. “It's okay,” she finally says, trying to break through his thoughts. “You don't have to pay for it, Erik. It's... Okay.” And even if her words are sincere, she is not sure if he believes her. It's hard to give something to someone like Erik without him feeling obligated. And she knows that he still can't really believe that they just accept him for who he is.

At that moment, she notices something - it's not just what he says or does, but the way he keeps retreating into himself. The way he apologizes for everything he needs or is given. As if he wasn't worth it. Almost as if he's still waiting for the moment when everything will be taken away from him again, as if it's too good to be true.

“You work here,” Gustave says simply, as if that were the explanation for everything. Almost like it's a given that Erik doesn't have to pay for his accommodation and food.
“Yes, the three violins... I know...”, Erik grumbles, wanting to put the subject to the side.
“Älskling, he doesn't understand,” grumbles Gustave.
“To be honest, neither do I, Dad,” Christine admits with a soft smile. “Dad speaks in riddles,” she adds quietly, giving Erik a mischievous look.
“Maybe this is another one of his strange tasks,” jokes Erik, sinking a piece of bread into the soup. It's a little joke, a gentle attempt to confront the insecurity that keeps coming over him. “Come on Erik, you have to steam the wood first, then bend it and at the end you have, TADAAAA en violin,” Christine mimics her father with a laugh.
“Kids!” Gustave finally growls, gets up and leaves. The violin maker's heavy footsteps echo through the hallway, and then the stairs creak as he goes downstairs. It is quiet for a moment, only the soft panting of Sasha can be heard. Then Gustave reappears, placing a folder on the table right next to Erik's bowl.

“I wanted to wait until Christmas,” Gustave explains calmly. “But I'm tired of waiting.” He opens the folder and places a bank account in front of Erik. The account is new. Two months old, Erik realizes immediately, leans forward and looks at the figures.
“The insurance paid for violins. So this is your payment,” Gustave continues, ignoring the astonished look on Erik's face.
“W...what?” Erik stares from the bank statement to Gustave. The thought of being paid for his work, of being considered not just a helper but a real worker in this business, is strange to him. It feels like a dream, like a misunderstanding.
“You've been working off the violins for a long time. You have talent, I've told you that many times,” says Gustave, without hesitation. “You have skillful hands, you're reliable and you learn quickly. I'd like to hire you officially.”
“A... but... why?” asks Erik, who still doesn't quite understand what's happening here.

Why me, out of all people? Why someone like me?

Gustave looks helplessly at Christine, “He's asking WHY? Älskling!”. She nods at him and then looks at Erik. “I think what Dad is actually trying to say is: we've grown fond of you, and now he wants to bind you to him with a contract.”

“Älskling!” protests Gustave, but Christine laughs softly and looks at Erik in a challenging way. “He's serious,” she says emphatically.
Erik looks at the folder and then back at the two of them. The words resonate in his mind and after a moment of silence, he finally asks:
“Where do I have to sign?”
It's not just signing a contract. It's about trying to find a place in this world that could not only give him a job, but also a home.
Christine nods and Gustave grins broadly.
“Welcome to Paganino, Pojke,” he says. He wants to reassure Erik that he is more than just a worker in this place. That, no matter how he feels, he really belongs.