A/N hello! i am so sorry for not updating in forever, i hope everyone is safe. here is some more angst because i'm having trouble writing and so i'm not very happy with this little bit but anyway. fluffiness and smut on the way i swear! thanks for reading!

Erik did not know how long it had been before Christine fell asleep. Words had been abandoned quite some time before, lost between her soft explanations, his pained apologies, her crooning, merciful 'Erik…'. He stroked her hair from the crown of her head, the other hand on her hip to keep her to him as she slowly stretched out her gorgeous, lithe body. Sighing contently, she kept her face in his shoulder as she blinked once, then twice, and then fluttered her eyes close. He simply held her as he felt her muscles go slack, the exposed half of her sleeping face looking so…peaceful. With the lightest of touches, he traced the dark ring under her feathery eyelashes, frowning. He hoped she would get some rest now.

Erik's mind ticked dully like something had dampened its usual fever, filling it with something slow and sweet. It was an odd feeling but rather nice, he decided. It prevented the shrill voices within to break through, to prick his psyche with doubt. Oh, but there was doubt. He had a passing thought of carrying her to the bedroom, so she was more comfortable, but dismissed it with the excuse of not wanting to risk waking her. Truthfully, it was because the bedroom offered two paths he did not want to walk; either he would have to leave, or he would have to stay with her. The former was unthinkable, no, he was not going to let her out of his sight lest she vanished, lest this all was indeed a dream all along. His hold on her tightened at the mere idea, but the liquid warmth in his chest made it hard for the pain to sharpen. The second path, despite its innocence, was still not something he was sure his pious Christine would take kindly to…

No, it was better just to stay here, wrapped up in each other. Erik's back felt a bit sore, but his head had fallen back against a plush cushion and so, after a few quiet hours, despite it all, he had slipped into the oblivion as well. It was a dreamless sleep, so he only realised he had drifted when gentle kisses were waking him, on his face, his neck, his lips, like little sparks. His golden eyes opened slowly to be met with a blushing, grinning Christine, all warm and dewy in his arms.

"Hello." She chirped, giddy and giggly and positively beautiful. Erik couldn't stop the smile spreading lazily across his face as she snuggled into the crook of his neck, humming in drowsy delight.

"Hello, my dear." He purred, voice still gravely with sleep.

"You fell asleep." She observed in amusement, muffled against his skin. His fingers absently toyed with a curl.

"Mhm."

And I did not wake screaming…what did I ever do to allow heaven to bless me with this?

"Oh, I don't want to go…" Christine whined gently, and Erik felt a twitch of panic. His hands fisted into her hair suddenly, making her yelp slightly in surprise as he kept her there, shakily drawing breaths. Christine could feel his pulse pounding under the skin of his throat, under her lips.

"Erik?" She rasped in concern.

"…Go?" He finally croaked, and Christine sighed in understanding. Nuzzling up his neck and peppering his twisted cheekbone with more kisses, she felt him begin to relax.

"I am this opera's prima donna after all, aren't I?" She teased lightly and felt him go stiff.

"Oh, yes, of course, well…" He cleared his throat in embarrassment, drawing his arms back. She, of course, would not accept that for a moment and so simply dived into his chest further, murmuring nonsense happily. Erik tried to clutch those precious few seconds and lock them away in his memory. He wanted to remember the scent of rosewater on her skin, every little jerk of her strong legs, the sweetness in her voice. But then she slipped from his arms, eyes wide and hands flailing as she remembered the location of her clothing, and the moment ended.

….

They stood in the doorway of her mirror, Erik having fetched her clothes from the dampness. He had to repress a violent surge of self-loathing as he realised he had indeed made her swim the lake just to see him, but it was forgotten with the rest of his thoughts when she had thanked him with a cheery kiss on his marred cheek.

"I will be here after rehearsals." She assured him, but it felt tacky on her tongue. For so long she had avoided him, abandoned him, what made her believe that he trusted her now? She felt the steely grip on her hand. His golden eyes burned, piercing her.

"I will be here. Waiting." He promised, and she was certain there was a curl of warning, of incredulousness. It made Christine's chest pang in shame, and he must have seen it on her face because he dropped his hold, frowning in concern.

It does not matter, it really does not matter, I will prove it to him.

She crossed the threshold one more time to encase his face with her hands, press herself carefully against his chest, and lay a reverent kiss on his lips. Still slightly stunned by the whole notion of kissing, Erik froze just long enough for Christine to step back through the mirror, squeeze his hand, and smile gloriously. When the mirror closed, Erik was reminded that she would indeed be the death of him.

Erik's mind was reeling, a tangled mess of rapid hot-fury and electric delight, barely able to comprehend all that had happened over the space of hours. He could still smell her on the collar of his shirt, on his very horrid skin, and he could still feel where her dear body had been pressed into him, where her face had been nuzzled and her fingers clutching. He internally repeated her request from so long ago as he paced frantically below, that he not follow her, watch her and listen to her, but he could not help it, oh God, he could not help just staying here, going half-mad with her lingering shadow and the fear of her vanishing suddenly, as if she had been a spectre after all. Locating his mask and wig which had been abandoned some days before, he guised himself as the Phantom he had almost forgotten he was and slipped into the Opera's hidden delves.

Christine felt as if she had suddenly awakened from a nightmare. The Opera looked real again, the sight of the stage drew happy butterflies of familiarity in her belly and the sound of her voice seemed like it was not underwater any longer. Of course, this came with the realisation that she was embarrassingly out of practice, having neglected her lessons, and she flushed a rather bright crimson at the sound of one particular note she produced at the top of the aria. However, after reassuring Reyer that her practice would be more rigorous than ever after this spell of disruption and ignoring Carlotta's snide remarks, it did feel wonderful to hear her voice again, to remember it existed after so long. Meg cast her a side glance of both happiness and bewilderment, eyes flickering to her bare finger.

This brief joy was promptly shattered by a positively enraged Vicomte de Chagny bursting into the dimly-lit house.

Christine felt her gut tighten and her limbs become heavy with dread as she caught the sight of his glaring blue eyes, his stride dangerous as it stripped down the aisle towards the stage. The company went silent, all stares falling onto Christine.

"I hate to interrupt, but I demand an audience with Mademoiselle Daaé immediately." A snipped venom laced his words, and after a few weak complaints from Reyer, Christine felt the movement of the cast filing out. Her heart began to hammer, flooding her ears, but then she felt a hand grasp hers and squeeze. Meg's reassuring smile softened the ache in Christine's chest, and Madame Giry's unimpressed frown as she watched Raoul ascend the stairs straightened her spine. Although this was something she had to face herself, it was easier to be brave when she was not alone.

The Vicomte scowled as he observed the three women, and for half a second Christine realised that his perfect face could twist up so hatefully that it was indeed far uglier than any distorted one…

"Alone, Christine?" He snarled in annoyance, thinly hiding the hurt, but Christine found herself shaking her head.

"Say what you have come to say Raoul. I am sorry, but I will tell you now that it will change nothing."

Raoul's scowl deepened, almost seething. "I feel you owe me an explanation for whatever lapse occurred in you yesterday."

Christine's temper bristled, and after being asleep for so long, it rushed to her heart powerfully. Pity was beginning to wane as she raised her chin, eyes narrowing. Despite the clarity in her words, there was an unmistakeable bite. "I meant what I said. I am truly sorry."

Raoul's face reddened, flailing his hands up. "Really? Is this all really because I did not want a prima donna for a wife? For God's sake Christine, you so selfish! And what is more-"

"I am in love with someone else."

The air stilled, three stunned gazes snapping to her even as she stared coldly into the Vicomte. A breath of electric silence.

"You, you what?" Raoul choked, his resolve evaporating. Christine's usually bright eyes had turned to steel.

Be strong. This is a fight you must face.

"I am in love with someone else." She repeated evenly with the curt professionalism her occupation demanded, despite how he had condemned it, belittled it. Raoul's shock was beginning to simmer back into anger, but Madame Giry was quick to put an end to it.

"I believe there is no further reason for the Vicomte to stay any longer, unless he has business to attend to. If that is the case, I suggest you seek out André and Firmin." With a stern nod, Madame Giry bid farewell to the Vicomte, flicking her sharp eye to Christine before exiting the stage. Thankfully, Raoul seemed still too paralysed to spurt out anything further as Meg led her out, and Christine let out the breath she didn't even realise she was holding.

Once alone in the Opera's corridors, Meg poured out countless breathless questions even as Madame Giry attempted to hush her, swallowing her own obvious surprise. However, they both melted into the background as Christine felt the time slipping, her head still spinning and her veins thrumming in panic as she thought of her promise, of Erik waiting for her, not knowing if she would return. Promising dizzily to explain everything soon, Christine couldn't help but dash past them towards her dressing room.

Relief flooded her as she found a vaguely bored-looking Erik, fiddling with his pocketwatch. However, in the moment in which he looked up to her, Christine saw in those golden pools that he had heard everything.

"Hello, my dear." His tone was unreadable, blanketing any emotion. With his mask and wig and impeccable suit back in place, it was impossible to discern any flicker of sentiment that he had not carefully crafted.

"Erik…" She began, reaching out to him, but his commanding figure pivoted back towards the mirror.

"You are out of practice, I am afraid. We must commence your lessons immediately." He noted airily, barely glancing back over his shoulder. Christine's distress sharpened, and she finally managed to lock both her hands around his sinewy one in earnest. He was trembling.

"Erik, please." She pleaded, and felt his grip tighten around hers. He still didn't meet her gaze.

"Christine, let us go, please. I do not want to do anything you will not forgive me for." He growled lowly, though she could feel that the anger burning behind his eyes, burning just under his skin, was not directed at her. She nodded silently, sadly, before following him down into the quiet darkness.

A reserved air had seeped in around them by the time they began the lesson, suffocating and tense. Christine could feel him sinking into the Phantom once again, aloof and opaque, distant and cold, as he led her through his now immaculate home, devoid of the broken furniture and shattered glass she had seen when she had come to him. He had insisted on teaching her that afternoon, huffing about her poor breath and lack of chord closure as he pounded on the piano with shaking fists and startling eyes, and ever-patient, Christine let him carry it out, let him gather his thoughts in this way, trying her best to sing through his anger. However, the swell of bubbling blackness was beginning to crash between them, his comments becoming cruel and his music soul-shattering.

"To think you neglected your gift like this, it is truly abhorrent." He snarled, his words landing like arrows that desired to pierce skin. Christine's heart tightened in her ribs in hurt and frustration, staring brokenly at the heaving expanse of his back. She sighed wearily, realising that so much had still been left unspoken.

"You still resent me, don't you?" It was barely above a whisper, but it rang through Erik's head like the toll of a bell. He scrunched his eyes close, his shoulders caving as the rage was washed away into sorrow and guilt.

You are beast, you have already ruined her love.

"No. No, I, Christine…"

"I know… I know this will take time. I know it will take time for you to trust me again, but I want you to know that I fought for this. I-I fought for you Erik, I truly did." He could hear the plea in her voice though she tried to hide it, and he could picture the quiver in her chin, the little scrunch between her brows. He knew that she had fought for him, indeed he had witnessed it, and though it had made him burst with love and pride, something melancholic had tinged it. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the waves of self-hatred just long enough so he could say what had been shrieking through his mind.

"I cannot help but think how much simpler your life would have been if you had married him. You should have married him, Christine. This, your voice, it is truly a gift but…it is secondary to your happiness. It always has been, I have just been too selfish to admit it." His powerful voice was so quiet, so timid. Christine blinked through the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"Do you truly believe I would have been happy?"

"Do you truly believe you will be happy… with me?" Erik stroked the tops of the keys absently, self-consciously, as if dreading her answer.

"You have brought me more happiness than I ever thought possible to feel again."

He had to meet her fierce eyes then. They were firm with honesty, though glassy with pain. So much harshness in the space of a day that she had weathered, and he had not comforted her as lovers were meant to, no, he had torn at her heart further. Shame pricked his skin, though it was soon overpowered by the tenderness of her gentle smile, how she drifted tentatively towards him, sensing he had returned to her.

"I am sorry, Christine."

She took a seat next to him on the piano bench, folding her hands in her lap and staring contemplatively at the keys. Slowly, she lifted her delicate hand to play a few notes of a familiar tune he couldn't place.

"Will you take it off now?"

He simply nodded, removing the wig and then the mask, placing them on the piano's glossy top. Christine grinned fondly, scooting close to place a lingering kiss on his bare brow.

"There you are, my Erik."

Suddenly, something fragile yet deeply forceful flooded Erik, starting in the pit of his stomach, rising to grip his heart and constrict his throat. All that had happened between them, those short years in the eternity which had been his life, had crashed into his soul until it had been breathed back to life, blooming fire-red and emerald green and yearning to be entombed by the violet love of the angel beside him. The remnants of his distrust, his guardedness and doubt fell away in a moment as if some great exorcism had swept his veins clean and clear. Twitching uncontrollably, he stumbled to his feet, shakily pulling down his waistcoat as he was accustom to despite the earthquake within. He could barely see through the grey tears pooling in his eyes before Christine seized him in a crushing embrace.

"Christine…"

"Shhh, älskling. Let us be quiet now."

And he crumpled, his arms encircling around her little body, because really, she was so small, and so strong, and he bent to bury his face into the crook of her neck as he sobbed softly. Some time passed though they took no notice, and as she soothingly traced his spine, he whispered against the shell of her ear despite what she had said.

"I love you, Christine."

But the broken silence was soon forgotten as her eyes fluttered close, brushing her lips delicately to his. He tasted of tears and lime tea, and, as the kiss deepened, a darkness that had been all at once engulfed in warm, bright light.