Originally written for a Christmas fic exchange, possibly in 2008? My first slashy fic, and also my first (and probably only) fic based on the 2004 movie.
Christmas was only a few days away, but the Opera Populaire looked strikingly cheerless to Christine. The new manager, Monsieur Lefèvre, was a frugal man; although the lobby was decorated as ornately as ever, the backstage areas only boasted some sagging evergreen boughs and a few sprigs of mistletoe tacked above doorways. Apparently he didn't believe in spending a great deal of money on holiday decorations, especially since the building was closed until the night of the masquerade ball.
Christine was looking forward to the ball, even though she was only thirteen and too young to attend, because it meant that the Opera would reopen soon. All of the girls in the ballet corps had been sent home to spend the holidays with their families, but Christine had no family. She was staying with Madame Giry and Meg, like she had every year since her father had died. Even though Meg reassured her that she was like a sister to her and that they were glad to have her, Christine always managed to feel like she was intruding. The only time she truly felt like she belonged somewhere was when she was in the Opera's chapel, where she had spent so many hours praying for her father's soul and had first heard her Angel of Music whisper her name.
When she'd learned that Madame Giry was going to the Opera Populaire to attend to business, Christine had begged to come with her. The ballet instructor hadn't seemed surprised by her request; she had only smiled and told her to dress warmly. Meg, never one to be left behind, had tagged along, even when Christine had gone to the chapel. She didn't want her friend there – Christine's angel would not speak with another person present – and she felt horrible for thinking such a thing. The Girys had opened their flat to her, an orphan, and she was wishing that Meg hadn't come with her! She prayed for forgiveness for such ungrateful thoughts.
Even though she did not hear her angel speak, she felt his presence when she lit a candle at the altar, and that was enough. When Christine and Meg left the chapel, she impulsively clung to her friend's hand.
More out of habit than anything else, they walked towards the dormitories where they spent most of their free time. The hallways were eerily silent without the gaggle of ballet girls that normally ran through them, and Christine shivered a little. Glancing up at the doorway that led to the dancers' living quarters, she noticed that someone had fastened a stray sprig of mistletoe over the entrance.
Meg, following Christine's gaze, wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I bet you that Joseph Buquet did that," she sniffed as she glided into the room. Unlike Christine, Meg had all of the grace expected in a dancer, and she practically pirouetted through life.
"Don't say that, Meg." Christine felt more than a little queasy as she imagined being trapped under the mistletoe with the sceneshifter. The man was always spying on the ballet girls, making lewd comments and gestures to those who dared meet his gaze. "If I think about kissing him, I know I'll be sick."
Meg laughed at the declaration, her eyes twinkling with undisguised mirth. "That is vile, Christine! If you want to think about being caught under the mistletoe with a stagehand, the least you could do is pick a handsome one."
"Like Jérôme?" Christine teased as she shut the door behind them. Meg had spoken about the dark-haired stagehand more than once in the past month.
Meg rolled her eyes at the mention of his name; apparently her crush on Jérôme had already faded. "Jérôme? I'd rather be under the mistletoe with one of the horses he tends!" Meg paused for a moment and smiled rather mischievously. "I'm talking about Santiago."
"Santiago?" Christine frowned as she tried to recall who he was exactly. "Isn't he the one who barely speaks any French at all?"
"Silly Christine, you aren't under the mistletoe to talk." Meg batted her eyes coyly, and Christine felt her mouth drop open as she watched the telltale blush spreading across her friend's cheeks.
"Don't tell me that you've kissed him!" Christine managed to gasp in surprise, giving Meg's shoulder a hard nudge when the blonde girl nodded. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Meg tossed her hair and settled onto the nearest bed, gesturing for Christine to join her. "Oh Christine," she murmured, taking her friend's hands and squeezing them, "I wanted to tell you so much! But you know that Mama would never let me out of the apartment again if she knew, so I couldn't tell you until I was sure that we were alone. Promise that you won't say anything to her!"
It was Christine's turn to roll her eyes. "You know that I won't – as long as you tell me everything."
"Of course!" And Meg launched into a meticulous description of how Santiago had managed to coax her to spend a few moments under the mistletoe with him. "Then he kissed me," she finished, her blush deepening even though she didn't explain any further.
"Well, was it romantic?" Christine asked after it became apparent that Meg wasn't going to offer anything more. She and Meg had spent countless hours discussing how gloriously romantic their first kisses were going to be; it was the idle talk of normal girls, although Christine knew that she was not normal. Her Angel had already given her a stern lecture about how she was to devote herself solely to her music lessons; there was no time for boys, and Christine didn't know if she'd even be allowed to experience what her best friend already had.
Meg shrugged. "I don't know. I was too worried about us being caught for it really to be that romantic, I suppose."
"But what was it like?" Christine pestered, crossing her legs as she leaned closer to her friend. "How did it feel?"
Meg released Christine's hands and tapped her chin with one finger, as if she were thinking hard about how she could explain it. "We just leaned close to one another until our lips touched. I did what felt natural." She smiled at the memory. "He seemed to like it."
"That doesn't really help." Christine pouted a little, although she wasn't sure why it was so important to her to understand how kissing worked. It wasn't as if she'd be allowed to have her own first kiss any time soon.
"Here, I'll show you." Meg grabbed Christine's arm and pulled her from the bed, dragging her over to stand beneath the mistletoe. Placing her hands on her hips, Meg studied her friend for a moment before reaching out to put her arms around Christine's thin shoulders. "Like this."
They both giggled at the awkward embrace. "Are you sure we should be doing this?" Christine asked as she tried to mimic Meg's example. "What would your mother say?"
Meg laughed and tilted Christine's chin upwards. "We're like sisters, right? Sisters kiss all of the time."
Christine stared into Meg's blue eyes and swallowed hard. "Like sisters," she parroted as she licked her lips, although a small shiver worked its way down her spine as she continued to look at her friend. They were so close now that Christine could feel Meg's breath against her neck, and the embrace didn't feel nearly as playful to her as it had just a few seconds ago.
The pair silently gazed at each other for a few moments, neither of them moving to close the gap between them. Christine could feel her skin growing warmer than normal, and she was certain that sisters didn't feel like this when they kissed. Her Angel of Music had always lectured her about the danger of kissing boys, but not this…
As Christine's eyelids fluttered closed, a half-forgotten sermon buzzed in her ear. She was a little girl attending church with her father, and the pastor's nasally voice warned against the dangers of unnatural affections. The man had spoken about Sodom and Gomorrah, and how God had destroyed the cities because men wanted to be with other men instead of women. That was a mortal sin in God's eyes, and anyone – man or woman – who had desires for their own sex would never be admitted to Heaven. Her father had been angrier than Christine had ever seen him; he'd believed that the subject matter was too depraved for his daughter's ears, and they had never gone to that church again.
She had a sudden vision of her Angel of Music watching them right now from Heaven, repulsed by what he was seeing. What if she kissed Meg and her Angel of Music refused to visit her again? What if he abandoned her? Christine's heart raced, but not because of Meg's closeness. How could she possibly sing for an angel with lips that had committed such a horrible sin?
Christine turned away, but not quickly enough to avoid Meg's lips grazing her jaw. She swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat, wanting to explain why she had shied away from the kiss, and yet not knowing what to say.
Meg laughed, but it didn't sound like the lighthearted giggle from before. "Well, anyway, that's how you do it," she said, dropping her arms to her sides and taking a few steps backwards. "Let's go find Mama so we can leave."
Christine nodded and silently followed Meg through the hallways, her shoulders sagging with some emotion that felt suspiciously more like regret than relief.