The next morning, Christine was awakened by a movement of Erik's: he shifted in his sleep, tossing one leg over hers and cradling her close to his body. She blushed a little at the impropriety of having slept in the same bed with him, but with him wrapped around her, she was effectively imprisoned. She couldn't move away because there wasn't room in the narrow bed, and she couldn't get up because he would wake if she tried to move him.

At that point, she gave up and rolled over to face him, relaxing against his body. He was warm, the bed was comfortable if a bit narrow, and Christine was still half-asleep. One small hand crept up to clutch the ruffles on his shirt as she sighed deeply in comfort. At some point, the thought struck her that if this is what it would feel like to share his bed every night, she could definitely get used to it.

She shocked herself with the thought, and blinked her eyes open to look at him. She gasped.

At some point in the night, Erik had taken off his mask.

The light was dim, but she could still clearly see the mangled mess that was his countenance. It was mostly black, but with large, swollen, unsightly blotches of lumpy, reddened flesh. She could still see the reddened spots where his mask rubbed against it, and her heart was filled with sympathy; his everyday mask obviously pressed in on the natural contours of his face, rather than following them. How uncomfortable he must be all the time!

Now that she could see him clearly and was prepared for the sight, she felt more sympathy than horror. Especially remembering how much she had hurt him the first time she had seen it—she had the opportunity now to get used to his appearance, and she found it wasn't quite as bad as she had remembered.

The sudden thought struck her: was this a face she could get used to seeing like this every morning? Even through her embarrassment the answer came to her: yes. Even as she gazed at it, bare inches from her own and relaxed in sleep, she was seized with the sudden urge to touch her lips to it.

Erik was starting to awaken; his hand on her back slid up to touch her hair, and she was aware of the very instant when he opened his eyes to find her there.

His whole body stiffened for an instant, and his leg jerked away from hers. Then he slowly brought his hand around to stroke her face… gently! Oh, so gently, so that she could barely even feel the touch.

"I must still be dreaming," he murmured to himself. He hadn't noticed yet that his mask was missing, and Christine smiled at the tender affection that spread easily across his misshapen features. She could tell that, because he was so often masked, he wasn't used to guarding his expressions; his distorted visage freely showed his amazement and delight, without any hint of self-consciousness. "What a lovely dream, though, to wake with Christine in my arms!"

Christine took a chance and lifted a tentative hand to touch him in turn. She ran her hand down his faintly-stubbled jaw line. He closed his eyes and made an inarticulate sound as he closed his eyes and leaned into the caress. Christine smiled.

"Erik?" she asked.

"Hmmmm?" He purred like a cat, exuding contentment.

"Remember what I promised you, the last time I was here?"

His horribly wrinkled forehead creased even more as he frowned. "…Yes."

Christine smiled at the wary expression in his sea-grey eyes, and, leaning up on one elbow, pressed her lips softly to his forehead.

A sharp, panicked gasp was his response, and his hand flew to cover his face as he pulled away. "Christine!" he moaned. "Christine, what did you do?"

"I didn't take your mask off, Erik. You did it yourself, in your sleep." She took his hands in hers, gently pulling them away from his face. "And please don't hide from me, Maestro. I'm learning not to mind your face." To prove it, she reached up and laid her lips against his lumpy, blackened cheek.

He inhaled deeply, but—eyes squeezed shut and trembling a little—he let her kiss his face. He just sighed her name in a whisper that sounded almost pained. "Oh, Christine!"

She stroked his face with gentle fingers. "Erik?" She paused for a few moments, gathering her courage, and then asked, "Will you kiss me?"

His eyes opened wide and he drew back. "What?"

Embarrassed, Christine looked away. "You don't wish to," she concluded.

"You… would wish me to?"

Blushing furiously, she met his gaze and gave him a shy nod.

"I am still dreaming; no question. Or perhaps I have died," he whispered. "That's it: I died, and through some mix-up I got sent to heaven." Tentatively he touched her forehead with his lips, and then rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes as if it had been too much for him.

He did not immediately reach for his mask, though, so Christine took it as a hopeful sign.

There wasn't room on the narrow bed for her to use the pillow, so with a sigh she settled her head down on Erik's shoulder. She felt his arm come up to hold her closer to him, and smiled to herself. She inhaled his scent--beeswax and ink, just a tinge of mustiness from the cellars, and his own personal scent--and found it comforting.

She could hear his heart still pounding, though. She decided to engage him in conversation, to try and calm him down (and herself, too; she felt oddly short of breath when she realized just how close they were lying together on the narrow bed).

"Thank you," she told him, "for staying with me last night."

"Believe me when I say it was my pleasure," he replied in his usual dark, silky voice. There was a long pause while his heart slowed its hammering, and then he asked quietly, "So I'm really not dreaming this?"

Christine's heart broke when she realized how hurt he had been by her fainting at the sight of his face. She shook her head where it rested against his chest. "I was attacked last night. You rescued me and brought me home. I had nightmares and asked you to stay with me. I'm… grateful that you did."

Erik reached up one hand and stroked her hair, and then changed the subject. "So what shall we do now?" he asked. "Feel like breakfast?"

Christine would have been happy to just continue lying there with him, but she got the sense that he was getting restless. She nodded, sitting up. "Breakfast sounds wonderful."

Erik turned his face away and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He reached for his mask where it lay on the floor, and placed it over his face.

"You don't have to, you know," she told him, watching him tie the ribbons with long-practised ease.

He nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do." He turned his head to look at her with unreadable grey eyes, and said, "I wouldn't want to tempt fate, you see."


Author's note: This story is like a bad horror movie; every time you think the villain is dead, he shows up again, gorier and meaner than before. In this case, every time I think I'm all done with this story, I get another plot bunny racing madly through my head, and each one is fluffier than the last.

So I'm finally giving in; I've decided to use this story as a tool to practice writing fluffy romance scenes (since Heaven knows I need the practice!) and justifying its existance that way. I still don't know where it's going, or even if it's going anywhere at all--so far, no actual plot lines have presented themselves to me. Just fluffy scenes, and smoochy ones. I'm open to comments on the fluff, because I want it to be romantic and affecting, but NOT to sound like something out of a romance novel, with all the heaving and stroking and all those other -ing words. So if any of it comes out sounding like a bodice-ripper, please let me know and I'll work on it some more!

Ripper de la Blackstaff, I'm afraid you're not gonna get a sex scene from me. I'm perfectly willing to have them make out like nobody's business, but it's not really not my style to include all the squishy details. (Always makes me feel voyeuristic) Hope you can cope with just the smoochy parts. Angelheart, there are only two or three other Y/K Phantom stories on FFN--one of them is on my "favorite stories" list, near the bottom. It's formatted badly, but quite cute if you don't have any problems reading big blocks of text. Bellamyy, check out eBay for a DVD of this version; I just got mine in the mail (from Korea!) and it inspired me to tack on another chapter or two of cotton candy to this story. Bamfwriter, I really must agree with your "Charles Dance... GROWL!" comment. I just watched it again and I gotta say... Gerard Butler has got nothing on Charles Dance for sheer, romantic sexiness. Wow, but that man is hot! And his voice, mmm. I could listen for hours to him reading a phone book. Kates, thanks for your enthusiastic reviews! I hope you like these additions.