A/N: My entry for Phantom's Valentine One-Shot Contest! I would like to sincerely and humbly thank Not a Ghost3 for letting me post this a bit late. My writing brain was out of sorts this month. I would also like to warn everyone ahead of time that this story is not my usual brand of fluff. I hope you all enjoy regardless as I delve into both a less than happy ending as well as smut (help the poor asexual girl trying to write smut!). Enjoy!

I would like to note that this won Second Runner-Up in the contest! Congrats to everyone who won and participated!

Erik lay in his coffin bed, looking up at the ceiling blankly. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he remembered that this was the 13th of February. Hearing the chime of the clock over his mantel, he corrected himself. The 14th, now. It was Valentine's Day.

Groaning, he shoved the heels of his palms into his sunken eyes, hating the moisture he felt pooling there. The salty drops dared to overflow and run down his temples, catching in the patchy hair that struggled to grow there. He sighed.

Valentine's Day; a day for celebrating the people you loved.

He closed his eyes as a moan escaped his lips. He loved her. The woman who had captured his twisted heart, who had kissed his repulsive face, who had promised to stay to save her boy, the woman he had let go. He loved her, so he let her go.

The world swam before his eyes, though in truth it may have been the tears in his eyes. His room was pitch black, so he could not fully tell where the illusion lay; whether in his eyes, his mind, or the tattered remains of his heart. He loved her so.

Closing his eyes, he leant his head back onto the cushioned bottom of his bed. The red satin swallowed his emaciated frame. A fitting place for one more skeleton than man; more dead than alive. His last thoughts before sleep claimed him were of course of her.

He let his mind envision their life. The life he had wanted for her. The life he had dreamt of for himself so many times he had begun to question which was the dream and which was reality. Perhaps all of the tortures he had endured were nightmares, dotted only by moment of true consciousness with his beloved.

His mind's eye swept him away from the stiff floor of his coffin and into the soft bed of the little cottage he had purchased in the country. Soft light was coming in through the window as he blearily blinked the sleep away from his eyes. He could hear a few birds twittering their happy song from a branch nearby, as deeply in love as he was.

He smiled when he heard Christine's gentle tread approach the bedroom door. He was not surprised to find himself on the right side of the bed, the left rumpled by the glorious woman who now entered the room with her arms carrying a tray laden with breakfast.

'What's this?' he asked, unable to stop his broad grin at her own angelic smile.

'It's Valentine's Day, my love. I brought us breakfast in bed,' she proudly explained, carefully setting down the tray on his lap while she climbed in beside him. She took it back so that he could sit up fully, putting an arm around her shoulder as they leant against the headboard. He kissed her temple, savouring the rosy scent of her thick curls tickling his face. He did not give a care that his mask was not on, for she grinned at him just the same.

Her white nightgown made her look even more like an angel, seeming to glow in the morning light. She pecked his lips with a kiss before quickly popping a strawberry in his mouth. He ate it happily, all the while staring down at his sweet little wife. No food in the world would be nearly as sugary nor as savoury as his Christine.

'Did you sleep well, my dear?' he asked.

'I did indeed,' she replied, working to arrange the tea cups on the tray. 'I hope I made it right,' she said, handing him his.

'I am sure you did, my love.' He kissed her again in reassurance and because he was allowed. He took a sip and smiled. 'You did indeed. I have never had a better cup.'

She kissed his cheek and started in on the food that awaited them. They ate happily, Christine eventually moving to lean against his chest and enjoying the rumble she felt in it every time he would speak or hum in joy.

When they had finished their food, he let her get dressed while he went to put all of the dishes away. He finished long before she did and helped her button a few hard to reach spots. He enjoyed watching her brush her hair as he dressed, himself. She had such gorgeous locks that now spiralled down to her waist. They were so thick and shining, he could not stop himself from coming over and burying his fingers in them.

'Erik,' she laughingly complained, 'you shall make them knot up.'

'Then I will just have to brush them out for you,' he purred, leaning over to kiss her. Her hand came up to his cheek and he sighed into her mouth. Her touch was always so soft and kind. Her eyes held her smile when they parted.

Offering her his arm, they walked out into the living room. He sat himself at the piano, offering her to stand beside him. He warmed her up, listening to the practiced ease with which she sang and captured his heart somehow further. He could feel his heart flutter and his soul pull him more to her as she continued to sing.

At her persistence, he joined her in song, singing the great ballads of the operas they loved so well. She would look at him with such adoring devotion that he thought he would burst with love. He knew this expression must have been plainly written on his face, but so long as she continued to smile, he would not conceal one moment of his bliss.

'Erik,' she said when he had her sit and rest, 'do you ever miss the Opéra?'

He looked at her slightly concerned brow, reaching out a thumb to smooth the tiny crease away as he spoke. 'How could I, when I have the most beautiful singer of all for my wife? No, I do not miss it. I am happy here.'

She smiled, taking the hand that now cupped her cheek and kissing the palm. Her lips' contact sent a shock running up his arm, making him shiver in pleasure. Her smile persisted as he played for her some of her favourite pieces.

When the clock chimed time for lunch, he told her to wait for him. He hurried into the kitchen and packed their lunch, simple sandwiches and a few sweet pastries he had bought in town for her, into a picnic basket. He returned to her side, never having feared that she may have fled or left him there alone. She was seated so beautifully in her lavender dress, surely putting the flower's beauty to shame. He once more offered her his arm as he led them out into the garden at the back of the house.

The sun made the grass even greener and the flowers smiled up at them, their petals still sparkling with their morning dewdrops. A few birds swooped about and squirrels scampered about in the trees.

Christine looked somehow lovelier in the sun. Not for the first time, Erik was thankful he had bought this house. Keeping her underground had done nothing to show her beauty. She had nearly withered and died in the darkness. He kissed her head, shunning the fearful memories. Out here in the country, there was only blissful love and peace.

Sitting down on the grass, surrounded by the roses and daffodils and hanging wisteria, Christine looked like Persephone herself. Erik supposed that made him Hades, but he did not care. He had more than the dark God of the Underworld. He had his beloved all year forever. He would never have to part with her again. He could indulge in her smiles and laughs and crystalline voice all his life without letting her go come the change in season.

Setting out their lunch, she snuggled against him much as she had at breakfast. She looked so perfect in nature. Her eyes glistened like starlight, her hair shimmering and drifting slightly in the gentle breeze. Spring had arrived early and Erik was glad of it. He could enjoy days like this without worrying for his wife being cold. She could bloom just like the flowers around her.

When their sandwiches were finished, he pulled out a surprise for her. His violin, seemingly pulled from nowhere, was tucked under his chin as he played for her. Her eyes had gleamed to see the beloved instrument and he chuckled as she looked around, wondering from where he had produced it so unexpectedly.

Smiling, she settled her head into his lap. He ceased playing long after her breathing had calmed to a slow, steady rhythm. He petted her hair and hummed as yet unwritten compositions about her. She was his muse. He could write whole symphonies about her eyes alone. She smiled in her sleep, slowly coming back to him. She gazed up at him as he hummed to her. He wondered idly if he would ever tire of returning her smile. He highly doubted it.

'That was beautiful,' she praised when he had finished.

'Only because it was you,' he told her, picking up her hand to kiss. He pressed his lips to each of her knuckles, working his way down to her finger tips, then finally one on her palm.

She sat up, leaving his lap feeling empty and cold. She took his lips with her own, sending warmth throughout him to make up for her lacking presence. He wound his fingers through her hair again, tangling his long, bone-like digits in their tantalizing curls. He pulled her into him with one arm round her waist. She obliged happily by swinging a leg over his, straddling his lap. His lips became more feverish in their desire to claim her mouth. Her tongue slipping in to caress his nearly undid him completely.

He laid her back, watching with supreme joy as her hair fanned out around her head on the grass. His lips worked their way down the slender column of her throat. He kissed her right in the dimple of her collarbone, rasping out the words, 'sing for me.' She complied without hesitation, bursting into the final trio from Faust.

Erik felt a quake start deep in his chest, which travelled down his whole spine as he lifted his head back. His hands, worshipfully fluid and gentle, stroked her throat. He brought his lips down to it, feeling the sweetest pleasures from the vibrations of her instrument. The purest of sounds issued forth as she sang of finding her love and fearing nothing so long as he was there beside her.

Erik's hands travelled down her bodice to the ruffling skirts. Pulling the seemingly innumerable layers of satin away, he felt the almost marble-smooth skin beneath, the curve of her knee so perfect and unblemished. He kissed her there, hearing her gasp, but finishing the line, waiting for him to continue it.

He sang, dotting each phrase with kisses farther and farther up her thigh. He felt her arch her back as he dared reach his fingers into the leg hole of her drawers, inching closer and closer to his goal.

Her hands came to his shoulders, pulling him back up to meet her lips again. She only stopped to continue her song. He took this moment to unfasten his trousers and pulling her drawers down her hips with one swift tug. They pooled at her ankles as she continued singing, unbuttoning his shirt to splay her hand across his bony chest. She wound her arms over his shoulders, pulling him in as he lowered himself to her.

He sang, skipping into the song a bit but hearing no argument from her. He felt his breathing hitch as he slipped inside her. Her warmth and being surrounded him. He pulsed within her, feeling her body react to his as she tightened and relaxed around his intrusion. Externally, she was clinging to him while he pulled at the fastenings of her dress. He did so hate buttons sometimes. Finally freeing her, he went to the clips holding her corset, slipping her chemise off of her shoulders. He kissed the soft mound of her breast, plucking and toying at her hardened nipple with his tongue and feeling her hips buck into his. He sped up his motions, bringing his mouth her other breast before trailing his heated path up to her throat as she finally called out to her angel to bear her soul to heaven. She shivered around him as she felt the full extent of his form inside of her.

Moments later, as she held onto him, shaking slightly, he saw the stars explode before his eyes. He clutched onto her tightly, praying that above all she did not leave him. She was his rock and he would be swept out in the sea of the galaxy without her. It was her form that brought him back down to Earth, though he could have easily believed it to be Heaven.

He must have whispered a thousand thanks and a thousand more endearments into her neck as he softly kissed her skin, enjoying the salty taste of her mild perspiration and the scent which enveloped them both.

Christine returned his vocal appreciations as well as his endearments. 'Happy Valentine's Day, my Erik,' she concluded, whispering into his ear.

'Happy Valentine's Day, my Christine.'

They laid in the grass for some time, letting the sun heat their skin. They chatted idly as they gazed into each other's eyes, alternating between smirks and kisses. When it began to grow dark, Erik put their long abandoned lunch things into the basket while she fastened her dress again. He watched her put herself to rights and held his wife's hand as they moved inside.

He diverted her attentions to the music room, claiming he had something to share with her there. She was not disappointed.

Using the piano and occasionally playing a bit on the violin, Erik performed for her his greatest work yet. It was her. He had done all that he could to put her into music. He had managed this within the span of only an hour, but he felt it did justice enough. He would write his symphony of her at another time. He knew she would sit through that happily, too, but the hour grew late and he would need to supply her with supper before long.

His music completed, he turned to receive a hug and passionate kiss to rival the ones he had earned in the garden.

'That was beautiful!' she praised with a smile showing her still childlike wonder. 'Oh, my husband is so talented. Tell me you will write another soon,' she pleaded, always adoring their private concerts at home.

'I shall strive to, my demanding wife,' he replied with a grin.

'And here all I did was give you breakfast in bed,' she pouted.

'Ah, but my beloved, you have given me so much more.'

'I enjoyed this afternoon too, you know.'

He smiled, shaking his head as he buried his face in her curls. 'I do know. I was referring to the unmatched pleasure of your company and time in my life. You have made my pitiful existence worth something, and that is a gift I can never repay but will spend my life trying to.'

She held onto him all through the evening as he prepared their supper, making moving about in the kitchen somewhat challenging. He held her in his lap while they ate rather informally on the sofa in the music room. He read to her there, and when she started to doze against his shoulder, he scooped her up fully in his arms and carried her off to bed.

He set her down on the edge, once again relieving her of her clothing only this time more carefully. He tutted to see how his earlier excitement had led to her losing a few buttons and tearing at some seams in her lovely dress. He heard her mutter through her yawn that she could mend it, but his guilt remained.

'I was not too harsh for you, was I, darling?' he asked, kneeling before her as she sat on the bed, brushing out her hair.

She smiled as she took his face into her hands. She tilted it some to place her lips right on his forehead. 'Never, my love. I know you would never hurt me.'

His arms wrapped round her middle as he put his face in her lap. He withheld the tears that sprung to his amber orbs, thanking God for all He had been given in his Christine.

Sitting up, he walked to his side of the bed and climbed in, looking at her hair almost hungrily. It never ceased to fascinate him with all of its tiny locks curling so perfectly.

'Would you care to plait it for me?' she asked, looking over her porcelain shoulder at him.

He stared at her in shock. He finally managed to nod and she scooted closer to give him better access. He brushed through it carefully, being cautious when he found a tangle. He had noted she liked her braids tight, but he had not the heart with which to even tempt hurting her. He worked through the mane diligently, making sure he got it just right for her. When he reached the bottom, he took the ribbon she offered and tied it elegantly round the corkscrew tip of her long locks.

Laying down in bed, he watched her blow out the candle on the small table beside her. Even as the moon shone in through the window, he watched her every subtlety. The way her lashes curled upwards from her blue eyes, the way her hair had a few smaller curls that always escaped to perfectly frame her gentle face, and most of all the way she smiled when she caught him staring at her.

'My admiring husband,' she chided playfully.

'It is my duty to admire that which is supremely beautiful. You must expect no less of a man who has married an angel.'

She rolled her eyes but kissed him nonetheless. She took him into her arms, pressing his now pitifully curled form into her bosom. She held him as he cried softly. She shushed him soothingly, stroking his quivering spine and head.

'Shhh, it is all right, my love. I am here. I will never leave you, my darling. I love you.'

'And I love you, my muse, my angel, my wife, my Christine,' he murmured as his breath calmed into that of one prepared for sleep.

Curled up in his bed with his beloved, he let his lungs slow and relax. They drew in air less and less often. His head, pillowed on the satin of his coffin, his heart came to a gradual stop, sheltered in the dream of his Christine.

The following day L'Époque proclaimed in a small section: Erik is dead.