"A-Angel!"
Christine Daae stumbled back several feet, her face a prime example of the phrase 'shock and awe'. Holding out a hand to support herself, the smooth skin of her palm flattened against a wall, narrowly missing the outstretched 'arm' holding an unlit torch. Seeing the fear that mingled in her eyes, Erik quickly dropped his hands to his sides, slipping the lasso back into a pocket of his cloak.
A silence was the only thing that separated them, for physically they were mere inches apart. Her rapid breathing was easily audible, and she obviously didn't know where to rest her eyes. As her entire form began to tremble, he instantly regretted his cursed paranoia. Why didn't I think it was only Christine? He thought, but already his heart knew the answer. You didn't want to get your hopes up…
"Erik. My name is Erik. It is what you may call me, if you so wish." His voice was deceiving, smooth and calm, contradictory to the throbbing pulsation of his heart. He could feel his own body tremble in nerves, and he braced himself for the worst of reactions. Would she scream out, run back into her bedroom and sob herself into sleep? Would she cry out for help, run and alert the managers, the other performers? Would she bellow out that that dreaded, cursed, phantom of the opera was really the masked man, still grounded to his spot in a corridor hidden behind her own bedroom mirror? Would she..
"Erik."
His name seemed to take on a whole new light when she spoke it, through a plump mouth softly tucking up at the corners, almost looking ready to smile. Though her voice was still shaken, unsure, she seemed unprepared to make any moves to flee from his sight.
He nodded slightly, letting out a silent breath. There, he thought calmly, at least she hasn't run from me in fear, perhaps we can make a go of this yet… Clearing his throat, Erik tried speaking calmly, every fiber of his body wishing that his voice not yet betray him to the apprehensions of his mind.
"I am sorry for frightening you; I did not realize it was you walking through the corridor. I thought whomever was crossing through this way was a threat, and I was prepared to take the," he paused briefly then, trying to place the next few words carefully, "necessary actions to accommodate that situation."
She nodded, her eyes now steadying upon his upper chest, as though unsure of whether or not it would upset him by concentrating on his mask. How peculiar she did find it though, that white porcelain half mask, hiding the left side of his face. The right side was so handsome, so perfect, she couldn't imagine what had possessed him to conceal the other half. Despite her curiosity, she knew she would need to ease into that particular subject, and after in taking a deep breath, she realized responding to his apology would most likely be a step in the right direction. Hopefully.
"Don't apologize; it's really I who should be sorry. You see I wasn't trying to trespass, or invade your privacy, I was really just trying to, well, you see I -" Though she had started out strong, her words became mixed together and she began to babble. As she glanced up at his face, those piercing green eyes were focused on her own, and as their pupils connected, she became lost for words. Such an intensity, such passion, behind those green eyes, suddenly her words all seemed too mediocre to speak to such a man. What does one say to someone so mysterious, so genius.. What does one say to an angel?
Looking down, she was startled to see his hand outstretched, the black material of his glove concealing his wide palm and long musicians fingers. Glancing back up at him she placed her hand within his own and knew it was alright. She was forgiven.
Without words he turned and began to lead her down the corridors to his lair, and she felt her heart race with excitement. During her entire journey away; be it only three days, who mind's it, it felt like an eternity to her, she had been reminiscent of her first night spent in his home. Walking through these corridors, she felt as though her soul was out of herself, spinning away somewhere far ahead, and physically she could only grasp onto her strange angel's hand and allow him to lead her to find it, to become connected with it. The first time he had brought her down into these passageways, she had seemingly found her soul at the large, intimidating organ which her Angel, Erik, had played at for her. Tonight, she wondered, whereI will find myself again.
The stairs were long, but narrow, and circled seemingly around and around, too many times for Christine to count, too many times for anyone to count. She tried, several times, to memorize the steps they took, the directions he lead her, but sooner rather than later, everything began to look the same; in front of her, and in her memories. So instead she decided that that would be a battle she would fight later, and succumbed to being led on by this mysterious, enigmatic man, this Erik.
As they approached the lake, Erik distinctly felt Christine's hand tighten it's grasp on his own, and he glanced down at her wondering face. She looked surprised they had made it there so quickly, and he subconsciously wondered if he had, perhaps, gone too fast, pulled her too hard; was she regretting coming? He had never really asked her to come, just assumed she had been on her way to see him…
Clearing his head, Erik also cleared his throat. "If you would still like to visit my home, mon ange, please settle yourself into my boat and we can begin the latter part of our little journey."
Nodding, Christine lingered her hold on his hand for several more seconds, before realizing she would need to let go in order for him to untie the rope. As she eased herself into the little transporter, she watched as his hands quickly undid the loose knots and the rope seemingly disappeared into his cloak. She knew it was troublesome of her, but she couldn't help but think of where the other rope had gone..
Stepping in behind her, Erik pushed them away from their port with a large paddle, causing a familiar ripple of waves to appear around them. Looking down, Christine watched her own expression become mangled in the water, and she watched Erik's figure loom over her, tall and towering in strength and masculinity. Her thoughts began to drift, and she soon imagined herself standing against him, her slender form looking petite against his robust one, her head resting easily on his chest. Blushing, she remembered that kiss he had given her at the end of their last meeting, so quick and soft she barely realized it had begun and it had ended, a gentle swipe of his lips across her forehead before he disappeared into the darkness. Oh, how she beamed after that kiss, falling asleep with a true smile on her face for the first time in a long while. As her mind began to wander further, she wondered if she would receive another kiss at the end of tonight…
"Christine." His voice cut through her thoughts like a knife splitting through melted butter, and her head snapped up quickly, eyes wide. He was, however, not angry with her, and she saw a very small smile upon his lips as he returned her stare. Her eyes gleamed at seeing that smile, how lovely it looked on his face. She only hoped she would grow to see it more and more often..
"We're here," he stated the obvious, for a lack of other things to say. Stepping out of the boat first, he again retied the knots and extended his hands to help her out. Gratefully accepting his help, Christine began to rise in the little boat, but soon stumbled over the hem of her dress and nearly toppled over into his arms. Catching her firmly, Erik felt her body grip his with fear, and he looked down into her startled eyes. "You're fine," he said gently, daring to stroke a few fingers through her tussled curls. "I have you."
As her breathing relaxed, Erik began to lead her through his home. Last time they had stopped at what she believed was his music room, but this time he did not stop at his organ, and led her further on. He crossed through a gauzy barrier into another room, and she paused outside of it, uneasy. Her curiosity was screaming at her to follow him in, but she didn't want to upset him. After all, if he had wanted her to follow, he would have told her so. Nodding a bit to herself, Christine stapled herself firmly to the ground and cast her eyes around her, admiring the arcs and foreign pieces of artwork that were placed around the entryway to his home.
Stepping back through the gauze, Erik placed a hand on her shoulder and said softly, "It is only my kitchen, mon ange, I thought you would appreciate something warm to drink, I realize how much the temperature drops and I have no doubt you were already frigid from that carriage ride after dusk."
Turning to face him, she nodded quickly and regarded the placement of his hand with a smile. Those gorgeous fingers were barely centimeters from her collar bone, from the base of her neck. In her purity, she could only imagine the way they would feel upon her skin, stroking her, seducing her…
His kitchen was impeccably neat and tidy, and she sat down at one of the tall wooden chairs surrounding the center table. She realized that there were four chairs, and despite herself, wondered why. Who else did he invite down to visit him, if anyone? Stroking her fingers along the table, she could tell it looked man made. Not in a negative way, heavens no, his furniture was some of the finest she had ever seen, but if he had made it himself, which she was relatively positive that he had, why would he bother to make more chairs if he didn't think they would be occupied?
"Sugar, correct?"
Her head snapped up and she blinked. "Erm, yes," she said without a second thought. Nodding, he turned his back to her again before momentarily returning to the table with two large cups of hot tea. Smiling, she wrapped her fingers around the mug and breathed in the hot steam. He sat down across from her, stirring his own tea with a small spoon before adding in several drops of honey. She smiled at him affectionately, for some reason, it amused her beyond belief that this masked man drank his tea with honey, not sugar.
He felt her eyes on him even before he returned her look, and cocked an eyebrow at her mischievous little grin. "Do my exquisite culinary skills particularly amuse you, my dear?"
Letting out a small giggle, she shook her head so her loose curls bobbed around her like the hair of a little rag doll. "No no," she said quickly, smiling shyly at him now, "you just.. You use honey in your tea, and I've never seen anyone do that before. The other day, when you asked me what I preferred, I wasn't sure if you were mocking me or not, I assumed everyone used sugar, or cream, in their tea."
He smiled a bit at this, and mused in his own mind before responding. What is this, he thought, rather pleased, I've made her laugh…Taking a small sip of his drink, Erik welcomed the warm liquid, always soothing to his throat. Despite his size, he was not a man of heavy appetite and would often have four or five cups of tea at mealtimes as opposed to cooking a meal. He saw that her eyes were still on him, and as he placed down his cup, he returned her smile with a small one of his own.
"Would you like to try some, mon ange? I assure you, the taste is very sweet, but honey is grown from the far North and although not particularly popular, as of yet, in France it is spreading widely throughout Europe."
Nodding, she responded quickly, "Why yes! That…That would be lovely." She had had honey before, but not added in with a liquid. Usually it was part of a cooking recipe of sorts, meant to just add a sweet flavor but was blended into the dish almost to the point of scarcity.
"A- Erik?" His name still felt foreign to her tongue, but she liked the sound of it just the same. She saw his back tense up a bit, and she couldn't help but admire the smooth line of his broad shoulders, silhouetted against a chocolate brown set of cabinets, which no doubt, he had designed himself.
"Yes?" he pivoted in his spot and she could see only the unmasked side of his face. "You haven't changed your mind already, I hope?"
Nodding furiously, she said "No no, certainly not… I-I just wanted to commend you on your lovely erm, kitchen. I think the design is very attractive… did you do it yourself?" Feeling a hot rouge rush into her cheeks, she knew she may as well have brought up the weather.
As he turned back to face her again, Christine subconsciously gulped in a deep breath and shifted uneasily in her seat. Why am I such a fool? Of course he did it himself! Who else would have done it!
"Yes, I designed everything in my home myself, some of it has been altered slightly over the years, but the majority of it remains very much the same. Although, I can not take all credit for it, for my friend Nadir occasionally offered his expert opinion." His lips turned up in a very small smirk, as though Nadir's opinion was to be considered anything except expert, but that was to be their little secret. Suddenly, Christine felt very much stunned - Nadir? Who was this Nadir? She had never heard the name before, and she was almost certain this Nadir didn't work in the opera house… Did her Angel, Erik, have friends? Her eyes cast to the ground, she dared to drag her gaze over the floor, leading to his neatly polished black shoes. Despite his tidiness, she could hardly imagine he entertained very many guests in his home.
"Christine." His voice was always just enough to get her to look back up, to raise her gaze, dare to shed another layer of her shyness and open up again. First as a child, with her misery. Then as the years past, with his singing. And now, with her heart.
"Y-yes?" her voice displayed all the awkwardness of youth, all the uncertainties found in the years when nothing is concrete, nothing is forever, especially not yourself.
Looking up she saw he held out a large silver spoon, filled to the top with a gooey golden liquid - honey. Smiling tentatively she took the spoon from his outstretched hand, her fingertips barely grazing against his. Fumbling with the unusually large piece of silverware she felt embarrassed for a moment, almost foolish. Sensing his gaze upon her, she did the only thing she could think of to do - shove the entire spoonful of sweet honey into her mouth and hope for the best.
The rich liquid filled her eager mouth and consumed her senses, the sweet sugars sending pleasurable vibrations through her taste buds. Sloshing her tongue around her mouth, Christine nearly gagged when she tried to swallow, and Erik sensing this, arched a brow and took a step closer to her, hesitant on what exactly do if she began to choke. Blinking her eyes she reached out for her tea and sipped that slowly, letting the warm liquid meet the sticky sweetness in her mouth in a pleasurable cascade of delectable flavor. Finally swallowing, Christine put the empty mug back on the tabletop and looked up at Erik shyly, the rouge ever-returning to her cheeks.
"Too sweet for your tastes, mon ange? I suppose many would consider it an acquired taste; though I apologize for not warning you sooner, it is a very stick substance, especially in such a large amount. Forgive me for the criticism my dear, but I thought you were going to blend it in with your tea, or else I would have given you a much smaller quantity." His voice was calm, gentle, laced with an air of knowledge only acquired through the wisdom of age. Tenderly he reached out his hand and Christine breathed out softly as his gloved hand brushed hers, only to then quickly grab hold of her empty mug.
"Oh no, no! It was delicious, actually, it was me who was the foolish one, I shouldn't have tried to swallow the entire spoonful so quickly," as she stated her protests to his minor self accusation, he stood again and brought her mug to the tea kettle, gesturing to it with his free hand. "More, my dear? The water is still very hot."
Nodding, she watched as he again poured out the steaming water, this time stirring in sugar and a small amount of honey. Handing her the mug, he did not take his seat again but instead pushed in his chair and regarded her solidly. "It is very late now, and I'm sure you're tired from your long journey. Your bed is made and ready if you'd like to sleep the rest of the night here, it is dawning on the early morning and I'm afraid the walk back up to your bedroom may only exhaust you further," he paused then, letting out a slow but silent breath. "However, if that is where you feel more comfortable, I would be more than obliged to meet your request."
Taking in a long gulp of the sweet tea, she felt her whole body warm again. Leaving the mug half empty on the table, a hand still curled around the warm ceramic material, she looked up at him with eyes full of curiosity, excitement, and dared he think it, even adoration dared to peek from behind the flecks of gold that danced around her pupils. "I would love nothing more than to spend the night here with you, Angel."
Erik wondered whether to correct her or not, but silently decided against it. He was surprised enough that she wanted to stay the night in his home; tonight wasn't a night he was going to push things and critisize her choice of words. With an awkward jolt of the heart, he easily remembered that there were things much worse than Angel she could be calling him.
The two left his kitchen together, her fallowing barely a footstep behind him, taking the same trail to her bedroom as before. Her bedroom, she mused on the thought. A large bed was where she had last left it, an ornate creation in what she assumed was in the shape of a Phoenix. As she slowly settled herself upon the mattress, the silk sheets rubbed against the small portion of skin revealed from her lightweight travel wear and she smiled, welcoming the comforting sensation.
Still standing, Erik regarded her contentment with a very small smile of his own. It was beyond his wildest dreams to even have her with him without her tremoring in fear and begging to be released from the hands of this-this monster that he was, but to have her willingly spend the night? Her first time here she had been dazed, amazed at all that was his home and even, him. They had sang together, a strange duet filled with mystery, passion, and long lived longing. She had quickly fallen asleep while settled close to him on his organ bench, and he had delivered her gently to this very bed, covering her with the sheets and leaving her respectfully to sleep alone. But tonight, she expressed the exact desire to stay the night in his home, even when offered with the choice of going back to her own bed, she wanted to stay in this bed, in this home, with this man… Yes, a man, dare his head allow him to admit it, but his heart was beginning to gamble with the thought that maybe, just maybe, she regarded him as not a monster, but a man.
"I shall leave you to sleep now mon ange, I hope you rest well and do not worry about returning in the morning, I shall awake you with ample time for you to bereturn to your peers." Leaning over her awkwardly, he tenderly pressed his lips against her forehead in a soft kiss, pulling back before she had a chance to respond. Her mouth had hardly uttered a 'goodnight' before he had disappeared into darkness, the only thing left behind being the flame of a single candle she hadn't even noticed him light.
Slowly settling back into the blankets, Christine felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her, and she let her mind wander back to all of the happenings of the night. Sighing out, she ran her fingers along the smooth silk and gently rubbed it against her cheeks, smiling into the crimson colored fabric. I wonder where Erik sleeps, she thought suddenly, not having seen nor noticed a bedroom of his own. Does he even go to sleep upon leaving me? If not, I wonder where he does go…
As if to answer her thoughts, a sweet melody began to fill the room and she smiled broader, her eyelids beginning to fall shut. The notes of the organ were gentle and loving, causing her heart to fill with a tender longing to curl against this masked man, to sing along to his heartfelt composition. As his voice echoed throughout his underground world, Christine gave herself away to it, fully shutting her eyes and once more allowing herself to be cast away by this mysterious sensation; no longer foreign to her now, but quickly blossoming into something more, something deeper.
Drifting off into a steady slumber, the last thing Christine recalled thinking was back to an earlier thought, one that had brushed through her mind before they had even reached his home. Upon her first visit she had found herself along side him at his organ, and now upon her second she had been reunited with herself with again as she slept in the bed he had undoubtedly created himself. When, her dreaming mind wondered, would she find herself once more with him?