A/N- Well, howdy! This is my first real phanfic—I wrote a poem the other day (Masquerade) but it had no storyline. This is just a oneshot (I may make it more, if anyone wants me to) for Erik and Christine, because we all know Raoul is, was and will forever be a gay boy loser. Sorry for any fans out there, but seriously. Open your eyes. He's a pretty big epic failure. (;
So, the story takes place three years after Christine (*cough* idiotically *cough*) runs off with Raoul and leaves the Phantom. Raoul and Christine's wedding was a year after the events, for the record. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! I know I did writing it... and please, remember to review! :D
Disclaimer- Psssh. If I owned POTO, Christine would never, ever, in a million years, chosen Raoul over Erik. Just... no.
A broken melody played from his organ and he harshly grimaced when none of the notes sounded correct. They squeaked and groaned and just didn't fit, so he continued searching for the right ones to complete his composition. But alas, he knew he would never be able to perfect his music. Everything he had tried to write for the last three years had been horrific to hear. Lyrics, music, even his thoughts themselves had made him ache with longing to compose something, anything, worth listening to. They made him ache to just forget.
Forget—ha! He could never forget. No matter how far down he buried those memories, no matter how many times he slapped that godforsaken place she dared to kiss, no matter how long he spent listening to the dusty, aging music box... over and over again, playing that sad, sad song until he wished it would just break already... he knew he could never forget.
Never. "There will never be a day, when I don't think of you..." His broken a cappella filled the lonely catacombs, the once-smooth lullaby catching on raw melancholy and bitter tears, the sadness in his voice challenging any other lost love that dared set foot in the presence of a story so tender, so painful... so heart achingly beautiful.
Dropping to his knees behind the organ, he curled up into a ball and held the ring—the ring he had picked out just for her—the ring she had given back to him for the mere purpose of making him suffer more than he already was—and did something he hadn't done in three lost, excruciatingly long years.
The Phantom of the Opera wept for Christine Daae.
Erik had never thought it would have been easy. He just had never thought it would have been so darn hard.
Sitting on the floor at his organ, tears spilling from his face, Erik let himself weep over the girl he knew was never coming back. He wept, when the tears take over and your whole body shakes with the intensity of the sadness so that you can feel the vulnerability even down in your bones.
"Christine! Oh, Christine..." He hadn't spoken her name since that day. Every morning, afternoon, night, he busied himself with music and just simply pacing around his lair, but today was different. Today he let his guard down. He shattered all the walls around himself, all the walls blocking every bit of emotion out... and wept. Simply wept.
And still, even in the hazy grey glow of the very few candles still burning, he couldn't help but have all the anger, all the anger held back for so long, bubble and burn inside of him when he saw a figure, just a silhouetted human, rowing the same boat Christine had taken out three years ago, except this time, in a different direction.
The person's face was buried by shadows as they silently rowed to the side nearest him, and he didn't even bother to put on his maskwhen he saw that the gloomy figure had reached shore. With their face still buried in darkness, Erik was only able to make out a few minor details as they stepped out of the boat, and into the catacombs. Long dark hair, a dress... surely this was a woman. Could it be...
No. He wouldn't think that way. He'd learned not to think that way.
But as she got nearer to him, walking, there was something in the way that she moved... Something in the way she took each breath as if it were a gift, a God-sent gift, and the way she didn't flinch even when he knew for certain she was close enough to him for his face to be seen.
"Erik."
Her.
Sidestepping so the black was no longer engulfing her, she molded to him into a warm embrace that the Phantom did not return.
After a second she noticed his stiffness, and pulled away slowly, a tear streaking down her cheek. "Erik, let me explain..."
He laughed. A dry, maniacal laugh that made Christine's blood chill and intimidated her in a way he never had in the past. "Explain? There's no need for explanations. You chose Raoul; I don't see why you're back here."
She flinched at his coldness, but noticed that, if for only a second, a sharp pang of hurt was in his voice. A pang he hadn't been able to cover up. "Erik, please! Hear me out on this." She was pleading. Pleading never got anywhere with him.
"Christine, I would! But all I hear is the voice of a woman who could never love a monster like this as much as I love her! I hear the voice of an angel, one who left me years ago, but an angel nonetheless!" His yell dropped down to a whisper, dripping with all of the feeling he held back for so many years. "I hear heaven, Christine, but I am nowhere near reaching God." Christine was spellbound by this. He spoke with passion, with fire, with poetry though it was masked. All of it was for her, but the last was for her alone.
She touched his shoulder lightly, saw him flinch when the soft caress of her palm collided with his calloused skin, even with his shirt in between. "It doesn't have to be like this." Her voice was soft, gentle, and Erik closed his eyes and imagined that, for only a second, three years ago was right now.
He reached up to take her hand from his shoulder in his hand, and held onto it delicately, all the rage drowning when he saw the hurt in her eyes. "You're happy. You should be happy. You have Raoul, and you don't need something like me."
She looked to the ground, not daring to see the truth burning in his soul. But he had no idea. "No... no, I'm not happy. Raoul and I filed a divorce last year. I've been trying to figure out why."
Her hair was falling from the uncombed bun she had in the back, and only then did he notice the mud stains on her dress, and the drastic loss of weight she had experienced since the last time he saw her. Her eyes held hollow irises, the light drained from both her pupils. She was a beautiful disaster, and Erik had never loved her more.
"Christine, I—,"
"No, it was for the best. He said I was always... despondent. Sad. He said he could tell I didn't love him. At least... not in the way he loved me." She needn't say any more. He understood. He understood completely. Since they were only kids, Erik and Christine had played together, been together, and she loved him like a brother. A brother... and that was it.
Slowly, ever so slowly, those walls that he had built back up when he realized the figure rowing his gondola was Christine came crashing down, and he wrapped his arms around her as she tenderly cried onto his chest. She buried herself in the crook of his right arm, wrapping herself in his scent, holding onto his shirt like maybe it would keep him with her.
She knew it wouldn't.
But nevertheless, as Erik tightened his arms around her fragile body, making himself as close to her as physically possible, enveloping her in his strong, warm embrace... Christine couldn't help but feel like it was the two of them against the world... that it had always been the two of them, and nothing had ever changed.
He wrapped his cape around her, enclosed her with himself, and silently, patiently, Erik waited for this dream to end, for her to spark away and never be seen again. But after a few moments of holding her, feeling her again in his arms... he knew. She was real.
"Christine, love, don't cry..." It was all he could say. He wished he had more, but his gift of words had left him as soon as he embraced her. The shivers took over, and his throat went completely dry and numb as she sobbed onto him.
She sniffled, still wrapped in his arms. "I-I'm not crying... f-for him..." Erik could hear her voice grabbing on tears, and he kissed her hairline.
"Then why are you crying, My Angel?" She gasped a couple times, searching for breath as she sobbed out all her emotion on her unmasked Phantom.
"I-I w-wa-was s-s-so wrong, E-Erik... I-'m s-so s-sorry..." He knew exactly what she meant. But he needed to hear it. Turning an unmasked face down to her, he spoke quietly, gently, and, still clutching her closely, he placed a finger to her chin so she would look at him.
"I need for you to tell me what the matter is, Christine." More tears spilled from her eyes, and Erik felt her sharp nails pierce the back of his charcoal cape.
"R-Raoul... and you... a-and... I-I'm sorry, Erik! I know you'll never t-t-take me back, but I just w-wanted you to know." The heartbreak in her voice is unmistakably there; and the very being of her Angel of Music proposed to shatter when he heard those words uttered from her mouth.
He tugged her more tightly into his chest, breathing in whatever Godly scent was wafting off of her. "Oh, Christine... God, Christine, how I've longed for this day..." He could sense the faint sniffles that sent her body shaking slowly fade. "I love you, My Angel. That hasn't changed." She broke away from Erik, and looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. But she wouldn't let it grab her.
Not yet.
But still, she couldn't help but grin as he took her lips with his own, forgetting the past, and kissing her with more passion than the one they had shared on that faithful night, so many years ago. But even that memory was washed away to the dark depths of some blackest abyss as they stood there, the two of them against the world, like nothing had ever changed.
A/N- So... whaddya think? I'm open to anonymous reviews, so feel free to drop me a line (: Thanks for reading, I hope to write some more soon...