A/N: Written for a Tumblr anon who submitted a prompt off a prompt sheet; "The stars look especially lovely tonight."
Erik's right knee has been playing up lately, ever since he slipped on the bank of the lake a month ago and it came down hard on a rock. Thankfully, the knee no longer feels as if it is splitting open inside every time he attempts the stairs, though he still must be careful. He must confess, Christine has been an angel about the whole thing, quietly satisfied that the worst of his Opera Ghost activities have been curtailed, giving him regular massages and taking it upon herself to run the bulk of the errands that he would usually attend to, while taking his increased frustration and irritation in stride. The knee is stiff still, inclined to creak if he is not careful, and if he does not take things reasonably easily then it will only make the lingering discomfort burst into full-blown pain. As it is he can feel it prickling in his toes, ready to strike.
If he were a wiser man, he would not have attended tonight's performance of La Traviata. Then again, if he were a wiser man he would never have permitted himself the early pain of falling in love with Christine anyway, so his relative levels of wisdom do not actually matter much. Besides, the opera has been running for three weeks now and due to his recent incapacity he has not seen a single performance, though Christine is playing Violetta herself. And so it was with this reasoning in mind that he chose to attend at last, taking his time in reaching Box Five so as not to overtax the knee and so Christine cannot berate him afterwards for pushing himself too hard.
It is with this latter set of reasoning in mind, and a distaste for Christine's berating, that he takes his time after the marvellous performance – Christine truly was the outstanding player, as she is in every performance – in travelling from Box Five to his wife's dressing room. She has already exchanged her costume for her simpler blue dress, and cleaned off her stage make-up when he pushes the mirror open.
"Did you enjoy it?" she asks, pulling on her thick gloves without looking up at him. He frowns. The night is cold, certainly, but it is not cold enough to warrant the thick wool-lined gloves.
"Of course, I did. You were marvellous, my darling." He bows his head and kisses her cheek, then settles into her empty chair at the vanity, stretching out his right leg. The knee is smarting again and he rubs it through his trousers. Sometimes, he has found, forcing the circulation in it by rubbing it can help the stiffness. At least, it gives his hands something to do.
"Thank you, darling. And how is your knee?" She wraps herself in her cloak as she speaks, not the light one that she wore coming up tonight, but the heavy one with the double-lining.
"A little stiff, but not as bad as it was." He swallows, and sighs. "Christine, why are you wrapping up as if they were expecting a blizzard outside?"
She smiles at him, and takes his hand, stroking her fingers gently over his. He regrets that both of them are wearing gloves, because his heart burns for her touch when she looks so lovely. "I was planning on going to the roof, if your knee can bear the journey. Sorelli says the stars look especially lovely tonight, and I was thinking that if we take our time going up, it will not be too much strain for you." And her blue eyes are bright with excitement, with love, and though his knee will not forgive him for this transgression for some time, he finds himself unable to disappoint her, not now.
"Of course," he smiles. "As my lady wishes."