Everything was back to the ordinary some weeks later. They lived together as they did before the argument and the Girys' unexpected visit. Christine was now very close to turning back the effects of her lack of singing, once again fully confident and a shining star - she only wished she could share it with the world, though she loved the intimacy of music for them both. Erik, on the other hand, wished for nothing.

Actually, one thing. The very same thing that made him get caught by a downpour as he came home.

"Erik!" Christine cried out, as soon as he entered. He was utterly drenched, droplets of water sliding down his mask and his suit clinging to his skin. "I was worried sick; why did you not take an umbrella with you?"

"A… miscalculation," he settled. "I thought I would be back before it was needed."

She shook her head in exasperation, then she was gone. When she walked back to him, she had a dry towel in her hands, which she handed to him. Erik thanked her briefly, staring at it in thought for a moment. He sighed and took off his mask and wig, drying himself. He was thankful Christine made no comment about it.

It was after a full minute of them both standing by the fireplace in silence that she decided to speak. "You should go change."

"I don't need to. I'd rather -"

"Don't need to?" she repeated, surprised. "But, Erik, you'll catch your death; you're soaked to the bone!"

"I don't…" he trailed off. "I don't ever get sick. It's fine, Christine, I'll simply dry by the fire as I work."

She frowned. "Do you not get sick, or do you just ignore it?"

"I don't get sick," he said again, stubborn.

"Please, Erik. You're no longer in that wretched basement all alone."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That I wish you would not disregard your health so easily. I will not have you wearing those wet clothes for another minute. For goodness' sake, just take them off!"

Silence. Heavy, very awkward silence. Christine immediately reddened, a shade of crimson he never thought anyone's face could ever turn, and she looked away.

"I - I mean," she stuttered. She suddenly felt incredibly small. "What I meant…"

"I know," he said flatly. "I'll change into some fresh clothes like you asked, then. I apologize for worrying you."

She fell into the seat near her as soon as he left, face burrowed in her hands. She hadn't meant for her words to sound so inappropriate, or to raise her voice like that. They weren't married and she – both, really - had to keep a certain level of modesty, which was easy. As memories of certain kisses invaded her mind, however… Christine blushed once more and let out a slight squeak of embarrassment, thankful she didn't have these fleeting thoughts when he was near.


There it was, taunting him. Erik had felt the little box's weight in his vest pocket all the way home, keeping him oblivious to the rainfall around him, and even now that he had carefully put it on top of his bedside table up in his chambers. It had taken nearly a whole month to make, but here it was now - the ring he'd designed for his Christine. It was a pretty, intricate thing, tailored to what he knew of her tastes. He'd made sure to have it made with no expenses spared; made of white gold with a sapphire at its center, it had small diamonds framing the blue, bigger gem, though it was hardly bulky or too dazzling, meant to fit her personality as perfectly as it would her hand.

If she even accepted it, that is. That thought filled him with horrible fear every time he glanced at its small, velvet container. He'd gather his courage and attempt to ask soon enough; he knew they'd be the hardest words he'd ever have to say. The one question - and if he'd proved himself worthy enough for her - could either become or destroy his whole life. For now, he slipped the last part of his suit on and placed the box securely inside his pocket again.


Christine's day was not a very good one. She had been in a bad mood before having to nearly force Erik to do better at taking care of himself, but it had progressively spiraled into something worse even if their day was like any other. He had done nothing wrong (other than being terribly obstinate over something she thought common sense,) neither had she, yet it seemed she was the opposite to how she was on the daily; on-edge, tired, and it all came down to the voice lesson of that afternoon.

One particular weary sigh made Erik hit a sharp, odd chord on the piano. He composed himself quickly, easily responding.

"Ah, Christine," he said. "If you're to be beat down by my critique there is no point in practicing. I intend to make you a world-star diva, not a spoiled-rotten one."

"Of course," she said meekly, rubbing her eyes. "Let's resume this tomorrow – I'd quite like to be alone for some time."

"As you wish. Should you need anything…"

He listened to her steps all the way until he also heard her door shut. He sighed and continued playing idly on his own.

In her room, Christine flopped gracelessly onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. It was beyond her as to why her day had played out so badly for no reason. It was in her best interests to remedy her foul mood, however, and she knew the simplest fix was some hours of quiet time to herself to boost her spirits back up; who was she to deny the comfort of her own sheets, knowing that Erik would be making dinner that night and she had no more obligations? She pulled herself up long enough to shrug out of her many layers of clothing and into her soft nightgown.

Christine was much more content in the evening.

A/N: Poor Christine - everyone has bad days every once in a while, even heroines with hearts of gold. The ring is done! I hope its design is not too inaccurate for the Victorian era, as my research led me nowhere and I decided to leave it as it is. Now to wait for Erik to pop the question. Thank you for reading!