Hello, my loves! I've had a pretty severe case of writer's block lately, so I'm just posting this little thing out of shock that I actually wrote something. Hope you guys enjoy some pure E/C fluff.

Please review!

~Secrets~

The underground air was as cool and dank as always as she made her trek to her teacher's home for their lesson. She huddled closer into her dressing gown, paying close attention to not fall into any trapdoors or other traps he had previously pointed out to her, a small smile on her lips as she thought about seeing him. Erik. She had learned his name just a few weeks ago, though she had known his voice for what seemed like forever. Still, a simple name was enough to turn the mysterious being into a flesh and blood man, and she was not lost to that fact.

Her stomach fluttered as she approached the candle lit space. So many candles…

"Erik," she called, still testing out his name on her lips. It felt…nice, there. "Where are you?" He was not at his place at the organ, where he had usually waited for her for each lesson, nor was he sitting at his desk. "Erik?"

He eventually stumbled out of his bedroom, and the sight of him caused her jaw to drop. She knew how unladylike it was to gape, but she could not control it. Erik looked so different! He was always impeccably dressed and postured, though this evening he was hunched, coatless, his clothing rumpled and shirt half un-tucked, the two top buttons undone, revealing his pale neck and hard chest. His hair, usually slicked back and smooth, was disheveled and…askew? How could one's hair be askew? His piercing eyes were wide with shock and horror as they focused on her, and he immediately brought a hand up to make sure his mask was properly in place.

"Wha…Christine? What are you doing here?" His usually pleasant voice was rough, and his words sounded strange, blurred together lazily. It was so unlike him. She was confused and concerned.

"Our lesson…?"

He shook his head slowly, and for some reason it looked like it required much effort on his part. "It is Sunday."

"No, Erik, it is Monday. Are you alright?"

He looked like he would fall over, and then he surprisingly began to laugh. "No," he giggled. "I thought it was Sunday. Oh, no…" He rubbed the unmasked side of his face sheepishly, and Christine still could not figure out what his problem was, or why he was giggling. She surely had never heard him giggle before, and she thought it strange…yet endearing.

Erik stumbled where he stood, and Christine raced to his side in concern. "What is wrong with you?" She put her hands on each of his sides as if to steady him, blushing at their closeness and the feel of his taut waist beneath her touch. Only when he sighed and she caught a whiff of his breath did she understand, and she gasped. "Erik! Are you drunk?"

"No! Go away." Yet as he unconvincingly said this, he leaned onto her for support, inhaling. "Mmm, you smell very nice. Christine, how do you always smell so nice? Tell me your secret."

His slurred words made her laugh nervously and flush with pleasure, and she used her shoulder to prop him up, walking him back to his bedroom with much effort under his sturdy weight. "I wish I could say the same about you right now, Erik. Come on, you need to rest."

"B-but, your lesson! What kind-a teacher would I be?"

"You will still be the best teacher of all," she said reassuringly, grunting in exertion as she tried to get him into his bed. "I promise. But for now, you must sleep." She spotted the half-empty bottle of amber liquid on his bedside table, and when he was safely seated on the dark, silky sheets she snatched the bottle and set it away from his reach.

Erik scoffed. "The fact that you think I could possibly sleep in your presence is humorous." Even as he said this, he reclined lazily back onto his plush pillows, his glassy, ocean eyes never straying from her face.

Her brows came together, though the smile could not leave her lips at seeing Erik so carefree. "And just what do you mean by that?"

"Shh." He put a finger to his lips, whispering, "It is a secret."

"Come on," she pleaded sweetly. "You can tell me, Erik."

"No, no, my dear. Your charms will not sway me so easily," he said warmly, some of the usual silkiness coming back to his voice. And then he added, "Even in this state." Though he did not say more, he looked on her with unmistakable admiration and hesitantly brushed one long finger on the hand that was resting on the bed at his side, and she figured it out.

Her heart gave a gentle squeeze.

She supposed she should have known all along. Why else would a man pretend to be a disembodied voice for so long if only to bring her comfort? And then when the façade was over, proceed to insist on teaching her thrice weekly so she would succeed in her career as a performer while asking nothing in return? She then felt very stupid for having never factored in the suddenly very obvious fact that Erik had feelings for her.

"Oh, Erik," she breathed, taking his cool hand into an embrace with hers as she sat at the edge of the bed. Erik stared at their entwined hands with wide eyes, switching from her face to them and back. She could not stop smiling at him, feeling as if she would burst with her sudden joyous realization. "I am sure we can still manage to get you to sleep some way…" Her thumb brushed his hand, and he visibly gulped.

But then, as she began to sing softly, he seemed to relax immediately, his lips turning up slightly at the corners and his eyes closing to concentrate on her song. It was a lullaby her father used to sing for her every night, and sharing it with Erik simply felt right in the moment. By the end of it, his breathing was even, his previous grip on her hand relaxed.

She watched him with fondness, and then she chewed on her lip at the sight of his mask. Did he usually sleep in it? She gently touched his shoulder with her free hand. "Erik," she asked softly, "Don't you want to remove your mask? It cannot be comfortable to sleep in…"

He grunted incoherently, his visible brow scrunching in annoyance.

She had only seen his face once before, and his reaction was…less than ideal. But what could he do now? She gently pried it from his face, revealing the angry red swells and stretches of thin skin. Swallowing, she forced herself to look, her stomach churning. It was not near as bad as she remembered with Erik's face relaxed in sleep, rather than twisted with rage and pain, though it still was not pleasant to look on, of course. Still, she looked hard, memorizing every unnatural twist of flesh. This was Erik's face, and…she cared about him. Very much so, she was just realizing.

Erik's eyes flickered open without warning.

She gasped quietly, watching him more cautiously now, though she needn't have. That small smile adorned his lips again. "What a pretty dream you are," he mumbled, slowly bringing a hand up to take her curls between his fingers. "So, so pretty…"

Christine found herself leaning into his touch, blushing. He thought she was pretty? "Not a dream, Erik. I am real. I am here." As if to prove it, she touched his face, finding the textured skin surprisingly warm underneath her soft fingers.

Erik's bloodshot eyes sparkled before shutting tiredly. "You are...an angel, Chris…tine…" His hand in her hair fell, and his breathing evened once again, and she suspected he would not wake again for quite some time.

Still, she continued to sit by his side and caress his face, watching him sleep with the newly discovered adoration she had in her heart for him.