A/N: Written for an anonymous Tumblr prompt which read: "Christine likes to try and make sure Erik is warm, even if his home tends to be cold. She can be a blanket, or make tea, but seeing him shiver is the last thing she wants when she's there."
He is sound asleep on the couch, the newspaper slipped from his fingers to lie scattered on the floor when she looks up from her embroidering. It is the chill creeping along her arms that catches her attention, stiffening her fingers in spite of her best efforts. The fire has burned low, and there is Erik, asleep on the couch.
She is loath to wake him. He needs his rest. He really does run himself too ragged with this opera ghost business, not to mention his composing and his art. But he would be better off in bed, or, well, in his coffin, where he might at least be warm. Yet sleep is such a rarity for him that waking him seems a sin.
He is always so cold, and she hates to see him so.
Setting her embroidery aside, she goes to her room and takes two heavy woollen blankets out of the wardrobe. He really bought far too many blankets for her, obviously afraid that she will get cold on her visits down here. If only he would take a little better care of himself, then all might not be so bad.
Returning to the sitting room, she drapes both blankets over him. He curls into himself slightly beneath their weight, sighing softly. He has acquiesced to her desire for him not to wear the mask while she is staying with him, and in the soft light with the lines smoothed in sleep, his face does not look so very terrible, or maybe she has simply grown used to it.
Lightly, she traces her fingers over his forehead. She has never touched his face before, and is startled that it is not as cold as his hands, the skin surprisingly soft. Her lips tingle to kiss him, to brush along his brow and she-
She stops, lips hovering just above his temple. Her mind is a whirl, a thick morass of thoughts and she swallows. She cannot kiss him. Not like this, when he is asleep and she is not even certain what exactly it is she feels for him. It would be wrong of her to do so. All she wanted was to keep him warm…
She sighs, and raises her head, stepping back. He sleeps on, safe now beneath the blankets, peacefully unaware of how very close she came to granting him that desperate desire.
Retreating to her room, she wipes tears from her eyes, and tells herself that they are just from the cold.