So...This is what happens when a Fanfiction author meets tumblr gifs.

Please note this is only a ONE-SHOT my lovelies, or at least that is all I plan for now. :)

Fans of Fight For Me, I'm working on it, I promise. But sometimes I need to get out some feels and the only way to do that is one-shots and drabbles. Now I could keep these to myself, but I hope someone out there may enjoy them.

If you truly enjoy this, submit me another feelsy gif to either of my tumblr pages. (Links on my profiles). You're like to see some more pop-up in between FFM chapters.

Erik's POV

Sometimes, I have this...queer dream. Not queer in its details. For the goings-on within that strange world are not necessarily what one would consider awe-some or fantastic.

And yet...those same facets of the dream that others would find commonplace and mundane are absolutely extraordinary to me.

You see, the odd feeling of that dream stems from its absolute improbability to me as well as this sense of absolute premonition and foreboding. It is as though my mind is certain that this event will take place. But again, I am sure, no, certain, that it shall not. It is only my hopeful mind deluding me into fantasy.

What is the dream you ask? Well, I suppose I can tell you.

In my dream, Christine and I are alone, together in some small room. Perhaps her dressing room, perhaps a secret hideaway somewhere. I am only certain of one detail as to the place. It is not underground.

As I said, queer.

For why should I be above in the world, away from the sanctuary of my lair in the catacombs? The dream has not given me the answer to this question, yet it does not have to. Only for her would I venture forth from the safety of shadows, so surely that was the impetus behind my presence in her realm.

Continuing with the dream.

We are in this room, with sunlight streaming through the windows casting an ethereal glow about us, especially her. For seemingly no reason, I am not frightened. Usually light and the possibility of being discovered are sources of great anxiety and fear for one such as I. Despite my nonchalant demeanor, society itself sets me on edge. Yet, by some miracle, I am not afraid.

And this...bravery, this assurance comes from the small gentle smile that Christine has as I walk towards her. She does not cower, does not hide, she is as calm as I am, as though our contentment is mutual. Never have I seen her so happy to see me, for lack of a better term. She appears honestly overjoyed that I am with her.

I halt my approach a few steps away, always keeping that small distance between us lest I ruin the sweetness that permeates the air. I have a tendency to spoil such moments. But the instant I cease to walk, she closes the gap with tiny, graceful movements.

I cannot recall a moment in my memory when she has ever been so close. Our bodies are almost touching and her sapphire-like eyes tilt up to gaze into my own mismatched ones with determined intensity.

Then comes the part that astounds me so.

Beloved, innocent Christine. She reaches up her dainty porcelain hand to grasp the edge of my mask. Usually instinct would have me pry her hand free and curse her for attempting such a foolish action. But I say nothing. I do nothing to impede her intent.

She asks no permission, says no apology. And still,I am not afraid.

And neither is she. With that small gentle smile still shining, she carefully lifts my mask free.

My scars are on blatant display, mere inches from her own perfect face and she does not gasp, nor shudder, nor flinch, nor close her eyes to escape such horrors. No.

My Christine calmly looks at my distorted features. The only change being a quick sobering of her expression. She does not take this moment lightly.

Neither do I.

I gaze back at her with a matching serious expression, waiting for her to react.

Even still, I am not afraid.

With a compassionate sigh, Christine lets her hand caress my scars. She traces them as though they are a wonder to behold and I marvel over such an occurrence. Even in my dream, I am astonished. Her hand fits to my cheek and holds it, as though...as though she can protect me from further damage. Her touch, even in my imaginings, is blissful. I could try to describe the euphoria, but I am well aware that words will never suffice.

She parts her rosy lips as though to say something...

And then I awaken, unable to ever hear what she might have uttered in such a moment. Would she leave after showing such mercy to me? Would she break my heart again, shatter it like a mirror's glass?

Or would she remain with me? Would she say the impossible phrase I so long to hear?

When I awaken. I am afraid.

So, if you enjoyed this, please please please review. I know it is terribly short, but I'm hoping someone out there will get at least half as many feels as I did when writing it.

To see the post (seriously, ONE GIF, what is wrong with me?) that inspired this 750 word one-shot visit my tumblrs. It is on both of them.

Much love,

~bo-leigh bella