Hello dear readers! It's been forever. Thank you so much for your continued interest in my stories, you helped me a lot to post this one after such a long pause. It feels like I'm posting for the very first time. Please let me know what you think!

Christine closed the door of her room with a deep sigh.

The day so far had been a complete blur: people rushed, shouting commands to each other, planned, and nothing was as it had been as usual: rehearsals started at sometime around noon then lasted until three in the afternoon when all the rushing and talking started again.

But there was something that was never present before, that started not long after she'd come back from the cemetery in the morning; it wasn't that comfortable kind of feeling she knew from long ago, caused by her watchful Angel, it was rather like being chased to be hunted down in the end… No. He would never do such a thing. There was no physical evidence of it, of course, nothing that indicated he was following her – only that disturbing feeling of not being alone. But not here. Her room was hers alone.

She turned from the door with that thought – and there was a shadow towering right in front of her. Immediate tremors hindered her breathing.

"What are you doing here?" She choked.

"You expected me to leave you as soon as you've found another?" the Phantom asked, taking a step to the side. The light form the gas lamp illuminated only half of his face and cast a dark shade of brown on the other. His eyes glittered behind the mask.

She tried to swallow the heart that hammered in her throat. "So you decided to steal me – from a cemetery?"

"I could have spared all the efforts of that: I drove you to the cemetery," he continued in a low tone, taking another step to the side, never going farther from her. His cape gave a soft swish as he moved while his eyes were fixed on her hands beside her; she tensed them to prevent any twitches.

"And you thought I would follow you after you killed him in front of me? He's my fiancé!" Has been at that time, at least. She ventured a quick glance at the door: two strides and she could be out of the room.

"Who didn't even bother to greet you until you sang on a stage!"

"He certainly didn't kill anyone!"

A cold tingle ran down on her back when he stopped right in front of the door. No one came after her towards her room, even the corridor was empty when she entered…

"Enough of this. You're coming with me now." One hand reached out for her as he approached and her eyes closed in a fake attempt to defend herself against whatever he wanted to do to her, her arms wounding around her now positively shivering frame.

Please don't hurt me.

The heat from his body hit her face in uneven waves until with a sudden rustle of clothes all disappeared. She forced another shallow intake of breath in her empty lungs.

Another.

He was gone.

Please don't hurt me. It was just a thought, wasn't it?

Bit by bit she opened her eyes: he marched to the other end of the room, blending with the shadows as soon as he stepped out of the light of the lamps. "Leave. Now. Don't perform tonight. Just go." Some strangled sound came from his direction and the hand that was hanging by his side fisted and stretched repeatedly. "Go now and leave me. Tell him to take you away. Forget me."

Her knees felt too weak to take even a step so she stayed where she was – and he did, too. No more words, no movement, not even a sound came from him. Have you forgotten your Angel?

Have you?

He didn't touch her, she realized, not even once. Even as the Phantom he kept some of his former manners. Sort of.

Hopefully.

His dark form hadn't moved since he reached his current spot; it seemed he wasn't breathing, either, but it was really hard to tell from that hand reached for the handle and pushed down on it hesitantly when she heard a voice, barely more than a whisper.

"Christine, I love you."

The door clicked shut.

"I loved you."

It lacked every of his usual grace how he sunk to the floor and hunched over. Her heart hammered on her throat. One hand reached up and when his hand reappeared again beside his frame it was holding the mask and a moment later – a wig. Something twisted inside of her.

I love you.

She couldn't tell how many times did he repeat it for his words echoed in her mind several times.

I love you.

And they refused to cease.

Leave me.

I love you.

"You've never told me that before." Her own words sounded distant in her ears. He shuddered and his back straightened immediately but he didn't turn.

"I thought you've already left," he rasped.

There was something unutterably sad about the way how he said that; she eyed his disguises beside him for a very long time before she took a step towards him, then another and another, finally lowering herself beside him on the floor. He took a feeble attempt to turn his bared cheek from her sight but he gave up soon: she had sat on the wrong side where every sharp angle and every malformed piece of skin was clearly visible.

"Why haven't you told me that before?" She asked.

He gave her a side-look from the corner of his eyes. "When?"

"I guess it wouldn't have mattered," she muttered.

"No, it wouldn't."

This time when she ventured a quick glance at him she could make out the few tracks on his ragged cheek. Not even once. The weight on her stomach became worse and worse with every moment and she was beginning to feel sick.

"I've never meant to hurt you," he breathed after a long pause.

"I think I should fell better because of it," she stuttered, sweeping a hand across her cheek hurriedly. Of course he noticed it, too, his eyes following the drop all along her cheek.

"You know I hate to be seen when I'm crying," she growled and he turned his attention back to the carpet. For a while she tried not to breathe but as always, it only made things worse. For minutes only her pathetic whimpers could be heard while he didn't once move beside her. It was highly embarrassing.

The drying paths of tears began to itch on her cheeks and she wiped at them with her fingertips.

"Raoul has set a trap for you," she gasped out at last. He didn't seem surprised, though. "Tonight the opera house will be full of gendarmes, ordered to shoot as soon as you show up." Her voice wavered at the thought but she managed to raise her eyes to look at him. "Please don't attend."

"And telling this to me is part of the plan as well?"

"I thought you knew me better than to think that. I won't be helping him."

"How glad you've been to leave with him in the morning, though."

"You think I should have let you to kill him? Or him you." She shuddered. No words were exchanged between her and Raoul during the route back to the opera house but the moment they entered the building he began to plan for the evening. Things escalated quite fast after that…

"I won't be marrying him."

He continued to stare adamantly on the carpet.

"He disregards almost everything I say. He's not… like you have been."

His back shuddered and he asked: "A tyrant?"

"Oh, he is one, believe me." She let out a deep sigh. "I don't think he knows it, though. He listens politely, never interrupting, but then does nothing as I have asked him. Nothing."

"On the roof it didn't seem that that bothered you too much."

"No. Then I thought he was right." Briefly she looked up at him. "I guess he thinks me to be too young or too… inexperienced to decide in anything. He wants the best for me – and he's driving me insane with it."

"I don't see why are you telling this to me."

"I've missed you." His head snapped up to look at her with a look she didn't wish to name. "I had no one to talk to in the last months."

"You had your friends. You didn't need me." His words were sharp, scornful; and she would have believed them if she hadn't seen his eyes. There was nothing accusing in them.

"I was courted by one of the most cherished young man in all Paris; how in the world could I have told to anyone he annoys me? They would have thought me lunatic."

"Because talking to ghosts on a daily basis is much more acceptable," he remarked.

"There is a reason why I haven't told it anyone. And… I always hoped a little that you won't remain unseen for good."

"I don't think you expected what you got."

"Nor did you, I'm afraid."

He had no lashes, she realized.

I love you.

Probably she would have kept it unknown as well.

"You've killed a man," she said bluntly, reasoning mostly against herself.

"It wasn't the first time," he added a moment later – she ventured a quick glance at him again but he wasn't looking at her.

"I supposed so. You've been my closest friend! I hate how this makes me feel!" She gave a short, bitter laugh and continued somehow calmer. "You knew sooner that I'm bleeding than Meg."

"The only time I wished you'd have gone to her first," he muttered.

"You've been disgusted?"

"Never. But I couldn't speak for a very long time."

"I didn't notice that."

"I've never had to deal with anything like that."

"The next morning there were some presents on my bed," she offered and received a short look from him.

"To make you feel better."

"I did feel better," she agreed musingly and heard him drew in a slow breath.

"You should leave as long as you can," he told to the carpet. His shoulders were set stiffly above his bent frame and she glimpsed the top of his collar under the tie that slipped from its place. It would take only a small gesture to straighten it.

"I guess it's too late, then," she answered.

Green eyes sought out her sight with an unspoken question, waiting.

"I love you."

He flinched. "You have no reason to," he said abruptly.

"Being my companion for years is not enough?"

"Prove it," he said as if he hoped that she wouldn't.

She did prove it, though; he almost jerked his head back at the first touch of her lips on his. He was trembling but didn't make a move on his own; when she took her first touch on his deformity his fingers closed around her wrist and – held her closer. There was no response for her kiss just that silent approval, and only after several strained thoughts did come the first soft brush from him, accompanied by a prying hand at her waist. The warmth of his palm seeped through the fabric of her dress, at last melting away the tension that had built inside her since morning.

Those misshapen lips created so much pleasure…

Someone knocked behind them and she whirled around.

"Have you closed the door?" He asked her.

"Why would I have? Just a moment," she called aloud as she rose from the floor swiftly and reached behind her, pulling on the lace around her dress. He rose from the floor with a quick sprung.

"Help me," she said, turning her back on him. The ribbon on her waist that was so far tied in a bow was now running down in two tails along her skirts.

"What?"

"Unbutton it. Just the first few buttons on the top, to let it loose on my shoulders."

"What are you doing?"

"Whoever it is, they would want to come in unless I have a good enough reason why not to allow them. Hurry."

Fingers brushed her skin as he fumbled with the first button, then there was a rush of their touches on her back – it would have taken her less than half of the time to undo them alone.

"It's fine now," she announced and hurried to the door, letting the sleeves of her dress drop from her shoulders down to her elbows. His sight burnt on her back even as she heard him move away from the door's way. After swallowing her fears Christine opened the door.

"What is it, Meg?" She asked, displaying only her face and bare shoulders to the visitor. Blood pounded in her ears. Meg wouldn't be stopped by some incomplete attire.

"Mother is looking for you," Meg declared simply, running her eyes over Christine's scant clothing. She clutched at it a little more firmly.

"A few minutes and I'll go," Christine answered, giving her best performance of faked nonchalance. Meg's eyes searched the room constantly, though, and Christine managed to resist turning and taking a look for herself as well.

"Should I help you?"

"No. No, thank you. I'll manage."

"She's in her room," Meg said and gave a final suspicious look to the room, then with a smile and a shrug she turned and left. Relieved, Christine closed the door behind her and turned around, still holding onto the front of her dress. His eyes were riveted on her bare shoulders again, if he ever turned away from the sight, of course.

All the while debating with herself whether to keep the two halves of her dress closed or let them slip just a little she returned to his side, turning her back on him while he finished with her buttons.

"I don't think she'll be oblivious for too long," she said casually.

"Will you tell her?"

"Later. When the authorities will be gone."

After the buttons he took the wide lace and tied it back in an elegant bow on her waist.

"Thank you," she said when it was finally done.

He answered her with a silent nod.

"Do you believe me now?" She asked when he was still avoiding reaching for her.

He gave another nod. "Even you are not that good of an actress to ignore all of this." He gestured feebly to his face.

"You've chosen a rather unusual way to compliment my skills," she smiled and it seemed that he did a little, too. He sobered again a moment later, though, while reaching into his pocket; when he stretched his palm in front of her there were two rings lying on it. She sought out his sight but he didn't speak immediately, instead focused on the rings in his palm. Probably a good minute passed until he asked,

"Will you marry me?"

She didn't even think before replying, "Yes."

The smaller golden band was drown on her finger, then he held out the other one to her; it took her a moment to comprehend that it meant that she was to pull it on his finger. It looked rather appealing on his hand, she concluded.

The same hand slowly lifted to her face for a light caress and when she covered it with hers he leaned forward and kissed her, not at all like the first time: deep and confident. He pulled back as if he intended to promptly apologize for it, that she prevented with another kiss.

"I love you."

"My beautiful bride. I love you, too."

She pulled back with a smile, then lifted her arms to straighten his tie. "Do take care until the end of this evening."

"Nothing will happen," he assured her, reaching for the mask and wig. They made a rather disturbing appearance hanging in his hand. "Don't worry so." Looking down at his disguises he eyed them for a second, then hid them in his coat. "I have more important businesses than a couple of fools in my theater. I am to be married, you know."