Quick explanation about the verse: this is set in a generic, fluffy, admittedly somewhat unrealistic Leroux AU, where Christine stayed, and E/C managed to work out their issues together and create a fairly happy marriage. So to be clear, the masquerade ball mentioned here is NOT the one that takes place during the canon events. It is a different one, still at the opera house, but set roughly two years after the time of the book.
After Christine got home from the masquerade, the first thing she did was go to her room, and strip off her costume, hanging it carefully in the closet. It was so beautiful (Erik had made it, how could it not be?), she very much wanted to preserve it. Having done that, she gave herself a sponge bath, washing off the light sheen of sweat that had accumulated from a night of dancing, as well as the flecks of glitter that had fallen from her mask and now clung to her bare shoulders. While doing this, she smiled, thinking of the handsome pair she and her husband had made that evening. Christine had caught a glimpse of herself on his arm when they walked in, framed by the long mirrors management always set up at the entrance to the main hall for this event. Lady Fortune and Sir Prize had made quite the dashing couple.
Just as she was thinking that, music drifted into her ears, the faint sound of Erik's playing making its way past the closed door of her bedroom. She sighed, noting the jagged, unpredictable edges of the harsh melody he was pouring out through the piano. Really, if a headache or a pounding heartbeat had theme music, it would be that music, sounding for all the world like spiders running up staircases. Christine nodded resignedly to herself. It wasn't like she hadn't expected him to be in this mood, not after an evening of crowds, and mirrors, and bright lighting, and people looking at him. Knowing that she needed to give her husband a little time in these moments, she wrung out her sponge, and went to dump out the bowl of washwater. By the time she had finished changing into her nightgown, the music had stopped, and there was silence through the house. Christine took this as her cue. She brought the taper and match from her bedside table, and left her bedroom.
Less than a minute later, she was tapping softly on the door of the music room. "Erik, darling, may I come in?"
"Yes." The reply came almost immediately, but so quietly that Christine almost missed it.
She moved to open the door then remembered. "I have a candle with me. Is that alright, or should I leave the light out here?"
"One candle is fine."
Christine felt relieved. She had never really gotten the hang of navigating in the dark the way he had, and knew even before she entered that every lamp or candle in the room would have been left unlit tonight.
Stepping over the threshold, she saw Erik. He was sitting, no longer at the piano bench, but on the small couch (one that he had gotten for her, a few months after their marriage, when he found out that she had a habit of sitting on the floor outside the music room and listening to him play or compose). Now, he was hunched over, with his head hidden in his narrow hands. She noted with slight relief that he had at least stripped out of his costume, now clad only in an undershirt and plain black pajama pants. That was a good sign. Then she noticed that he was wearing one of his masks, even though they'd been home alone for almost an hour. That was not a good sign, though maybe it was to expected under the circumstances.
Carefully and slowly, Christine walked over to the couch to sit beside him. She made sure to step on the creaking floorboard in the center of the room, to be certain he knew she was moving. "Erik, may I sit beside you?"
A jerky nod.
She did so. "Is it alright for me to put a hand on your shoulder?"
Another nod.
She placed her hand gently on his shaking frame, and suddenly he broke like a fever, relaxing and falling into her touch.
"Erik d-d-d-" he broke off, taking a few shuddering breaths before continuing in a rush. "Erik did not mean to worry his Christine by disappearing after the evening was over."
"It's alright, I knew you would need some space."
"Erik a-apologizes."
"You don't need to apologize, and it's alright." The two of them spent a quiet ten minutes together in the dim glow of the single candle, Christine rubbing little circles against her husband's shoulder blade. He didn't speak, but after a moment his hands had dropped from sheltering his face, one into his lap, the other resting on Christine's knee. Her eyes were closed, while his stared a bit pensively into the candle's flame.
"Darling," his wife ventured after a moment, "would you mind taking off your mask? It seems like you'd be more comfortable."
"Erik will do whatever you wish." His voice was flatly neutral, but the hand on her knee tensed slightly.
"No, you don't have to, of course! I just thought it might help." She hastened to assure him.
He seemed to consider it for a moment. "Don't know. But it can be off if you want it off." he said cautiously.
"I really just want you to be comfortable. I don't care about the mask right now." It seemed unwise to admit that she did care very much. He was sometimes nervous about taking the thing off, but once it was off, he always felt more relaxed. Still, now wasn't the time to push.
"Alright." He leaned his head into her shoulder, and squeezed her knee in a silent thanks. Christine smiled.
Another minute of silence, before Erik spoke softly.
"Did you enjoy the masquerade tonight?"
"Yes I did. I think we were the best dressed couple there, you know."
"Well, I should hope so. I'm glad you had a good time. And, contrary to my later reaction, so did I in the moment. It was nice."
"I'm happy to hear that. I was a bit worried, since it was my idea to go…" she trailed off.
"You shouldn't worry so much about me." He scolded her gently. "I was happy to go with you, with my wife."
"Good. Are….are you ready to take off the mask now?"
He considered. "Yes, I think I am."
When he didn't move immediately, she reached up and curled her fingers under the edge of his mask. "May I?" At his assent, she unhooked the straps over his ears, and gently lifted it off his face. The wood-and-paper contraption rustled as she set it down on the end table, and Christine noticed with satisfaction that Erik didn't flinch at all at the unexpected noise. He really did seem to be calming down now.
"That is better." He admitted, leaning into the hand that lingered on his cheek.
"I'm glad." She carded her fingers through his thin hair, enjoying the way she could feel his pulse through the delicate skin beneath her hands. He really is a wonderful man, she thought, feeling a sudden rush of affection for him. Despite this, she said only "Do you want to go to bed soon? I think it's probably three in the morning by now."
"Yes, we should rest." He stood still speaking. "Especially you, I know rehearsals don't start for a few weeks still, but we really do need to begin getting you back on a regular sleep schedule after the holidays, and…"
Christine smiled, the last traces of her concern fading. If he was back to worrying after her and her voice, he was fine.
As they reached the door to her room, he halted, frowning again. "I'm sorry, I didn't ask. Do, do you want me to, ah, stay here tonight?"
"Yes just like always." She said patiently. "You know you don't need to ask by now."
He nodded. "Thank you, my dear. I do remember, you know, but I like to be sure."
She pretended not to see the relief in his eyes, and closed the door behind them.
They climbed into bed together, and Erik pulled the covers over them, tucking the blanket in protectively around her shoulders. She curled closer, and he closed his eyes at the feeling of her body heat radiating out towards his bones.
As they lay in dark, just as Christine was crossing the line between waking and sleep, she heard him whisper. "Thank you, angel. I love you."
You are so welcome, she thought, to sleepy to speak. And I love you too.
A/N: Lady Fortune and Sir Prize are not actual costumes/characters, at least to the best of my knowledge. Lady Fortune is just "Lady Luck but fancier", and Sir Prize is a phrase I ripped off from a song because I thought it sounded cool. Also, nothing can convince me that Erik doesn't get really, really excited about making matching costumes for him and his wife. After seeing the ALW Red Death costume, him being super into DIY is a major part of my headcanon for him, in any verse.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Reviews would be super wonderful if you have a free minute, constructive criticism would be even more wonderful (it really helps me improve)! Thanks for reading!