I've FINALLY updated! WHOOO! I have some Erik/Christine fluff as a reward for how patient you've been! This isn't my favorite chapter, but hey, it's a chapter. It's also my shortest one, but its very fluff-tastic towards the end. Lol. this chapter took me about a week to write, cuz I would write some while I was in math class, a lil in skills for living, and a little after school, and after a week of doing that, I FINALLY accomplished something! Lol anyway, read and PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!

Thanks to Inspector, Erik's Secret Admirer, Little Chorus Girl, Twinkle22, and Jamea for your faithful reviewing! Yall make me so happy:tearing up:

ok, on with the story.

Chapter 8: Tenderness of an Angel

Erik stood staring at the door for hours, never once acknowledging the bitter chill of December's frigid night air. His face had hours before become numb, his hot tears becoming frozen as they rolled down his weary face. He wanted to run, get as far away from his only friend's once-welcoming apartment and drown himself in the darkness of his lair, but his feet were glued to the spot.

He had pushed her away. She had hugged him, cried in his arms, even . . . kissed him, and he had pushed her away, even though all those things were what he had been craving for, lusting for with all his being. But no woman, not even his own mother, would ever have reason to kiss him, he was the Devil's Child, a monster. Christine did not have any feelings for him other than lust for her fallen Angel. And he didn't want her lust, he wanted her full, undeniable love, which he could never hope to get. She did not know Erik, she only lusted for the Angel. He sucked in a breath of stale air as he attempted to stand up straighter, trying to make himself look prouder than he was. Not that there was anyone to convince, except himself.

He had been struggling to hear what was going on on the other side of the door, not sure exactly what he wanted to hear. I want to know she's happy, he told himself as he continued to study the old weather-worn door, which wasn't different from any other door in the complex except forthe gold-plated number thirteen over the peephole, but it would always be the most welcoming door in the whole apartment plaza to Erik. It was his threshold to his only friend, the only companion he would ever have.

There were no sounds from within the apartment, and he felt bitter resentment rise within him as he knew Christine and Raoul were probably together in Nadir's wife's bed, cuddled up, laughing about how funny it had been to seeErik suffer so greatly at the happiness of their reunion. He felt the boiling anger rise in his chest as he thought of Christine in Raoul's arms, only hours after she had been in his. Remembering that it was he who had pushed her away in the first place, he pushed the accusation out of his head as he returned his focus to the door.

The only sound he had heard on the other side of the door was the hurried and rather angry voice of Christine, insisting to Raoul that Erik was no monster, before her voice dropped back to a whisper. He had closed his eyes, letting the angelic sound of Christine's voice caress his ears as he knew it would probably be the last time he ever heard it.

Satisfied that there would be nothing but silence the rest of the night, he turned on his heel and began to walk down the stone steps. Despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to run as far away from the apartment as he could, he couldn't help but creep down the steps, his head unconsciously cocked slightly towards the apartment, listening for any sign of activity. Finally, he stopped at the first landing, unable to go another step. He forced himself to keep his head forward, not allowing himself to give into temptation and run back to the apartment, never turning his gaze from the empty, forlorn Parisian street.

He closed his eyes, letting the darkness clutch him and all of his sadness in its icy grip. He felt the tears before he even noticed they were coming, and it was then that he felt a slight wave of annoyance about how much he had cried over the past week. Oh, how Christine tormented him! He was the Phantom of the Opera! He was supposed to have a cold heart, completely void of human emotions. He wiped the wet tears from his left cheek, and looking around, quickly removed his mask and wiped it free of liquid before replacing it once more. He sat down on the landing, knowing he would not be going anywhere that night, and started to finally contemplate the afternoon's events.

Had he not pulled away, he might be laying with Christine at that very moment, whispering loving words into her ear as she lay on his chest, both of them completely happy and content. She had kissed him fiercely, pulled him on top of her in a bed, and then had started to remove his vest! He had never been with Christine in such a. . . provocative way, and he found himself aching to feel that warm sensation flow through him again. Then why had he pulled away? She was the one who had kissed him, and why would she kiss him with such passion if she did not expect something in return? She was, after all, engaged to the Vicomte, and he could not imagine Christine betraying the fop that way with anyone unless she had a very good reason to do so. Maybe she didn't really love Raoul, perhaps she simply pitied the poor excuse for a noble.

But, no matter if she loved Raoul or not, she could never love a demon like him, and he would not fool himself into believing that she would. But, oh, nothing made sense! When she had seen him beside her bed, her eyes had lit up and all the sadness and emptiness that had inhabited those beautiful brown orbs only minutes before was nowhere to be found.

But how could anyone feel such joy for a creature like him? Of course she had relentlessly been overjoyed when she heard Erik come to her as her Angel in childhood, but now was different. She was older, she was no longer the child of the past. She had seen his face, and she had kissed his horrid visage without one flinch or tremble.

She knew who he really was, and had still embraced him, so was it possible that she could see beyond his mask? No, he was a murderer! Oh, God, if only he had Nadir to help him sort through his thoughts. But he was probably with Christine and Raoul, tending to their every need, forgetting completely about his own best friend.

Finally, he could take no more of his own bitter jealousy, and stood once more to begin down the second landing. Just as his foot touched the first step, he heard the door above him swing open as a shaft of light illuminated the dark stone stairway. His chest tightened as his heart once again began to race, and he quickly turned on his heel to look hopefully up towards the door. He felt a wave of emotions that tugged at every muscle and nerve in his body as he saw Christine standing in the doorway, looking more elegant and alluring than he had seen in a long while. Her hair was combed thoroughly and free from any pesky strays, the glossy curls framing her smooth heart-shaped face as perfectly as if she were an angel herself. Erik felt his knees weaken as she gave a small smile, her full lips glowing in the light of the doorway.

Erik braced himself against the railing, afraid he would collapse under her gaze. He trickled his gaze shamefully over every bit of her, slowly dragging his eyes from her delicate features down to the creamy skin of her neck. She strode towards him slowly, never breaking her eyes away from his own emerald gaze. Erik saw something, deep within her eyes, that he had seen all to often in his own, and he found himself searching her eyes intently, as if trying to prove it was really there.

There was a strong desire, a deep lust, which was hidden in the deepest part of Christine's heart, and the only thing veiling it was her lifetime of innocence and purity. She had never known something as strong as love for someone other than her father, and she felt herself tremble slightly as she got closer to Erik, her steps growing slower and slower as she got nearer to his tensed form.

Erik realized he was staring with his mouth slightly agape, noticing the soft silk gown she had changed into and the soft cotton robe which did nothing to hide the sensual contours of her body. Closing his mouth embarrassedly, he forced himself to turn on his heel and focus on a dark carriage parked in front of a small café, pretending to be completely oblivious to Christine's presence.

"Do not turn from me, Erik" he heard her whisper behind him. He had heard her footsteps stop about five feet behind him, and his mind would do nothing but focus on the image of him quickly filling the space between him and Christine, holding her forever and for eternity, never letting her out of his grasp. When he did not respond to her command, he heard her sigh painfully and could faintly distinguish the soft sound of Christine sitting on the stone steps.

The silence wore on. Erik continued to stare at the carriage, silent tears clouding his vision of the black horses waiting patiently for their driver to return. Christine had not uttered one more word, and he had only the soft sound of her own sobbing to convey that she was still behind him. Finally, he could take the silence no longer, but he would not give in so easily to her. Forming a wall of steel around his heart, he turned to face her huddled and trembling form, she was obviously freezing from the cold.

He felt his heart ache for his poor angel, and he craved to wrap himself around her, enclosing them both in the warmth of his cloak. He forced back his shoulders, making himself look more intimidating than he actually felt. She did not look up, but he knew she was aware of his burning gaze. Her sobbing had ceased, and her body was completely still, as if awaiting a death sentence she was sure would come. Finally, he licked his lips, and made his voice as cold as he could possibly manage.

"Has Raoul grown tired of you? Am I, once again, your last resort?" he spat, and noticed that he was no longer feigning his cold heart. He had been torn apart by jealously, and Christine thought she could just come back to him and expect him to welcome her with open arms? He would not allow himself to be the fool she obviously thought him to be. She finally looked up at him, and Erik noticed the pain that seemed to be behind every movement. She glared at him with bitter anger, but Erik could see emotions hidden behind her fury, feelings she would never allow Erik to see.

Erik continued to glare at her with the identical angry rage. He would not speak until she responded. She would not win over him, not this time. Finally, she lowered her eyes in stinging defeat, her eyes softening as she distractedly fingered the delicate material of her gown. No, I came to you because I love you, and I want you to love me. Why can't you see that? She closed her eyes in utter pain, trying to restrain the tears that pricked at the edges of her eyes.

"Raoul is asleep," she muttered quietly, not sure what else there was to say. What could she say? What would make him understand? She had left him, and ended up back in Raoul's arms. And now, she was going back to Erik. Why would anyone forgive her for something so cruel?

"Ah, and why is it that you are not sleeping next to him, offering your warmth to help his pitiful condition?" Erik was becoming more angry by the second, and was doing well in conveying this to Christine. She looked up at him, all anger and sadness gone from her eyes. Now there was nothing but regret and misery, and her lips were trembling as he saw her struggling to stop the tears that were forming in her eyes.

"Angel, what can I say to make you understand? I do not love Raoul. He is nothing but a boy in my eyes, the boy who once saved my scarf from the sea. I feel utterly nauseous when he speaks loving words to me, whispers promises of a lifetime of riches and glory. I do not wish for a life with him, I do not want a life where I will be surrounded by maids and butlers everywhere I turn! I want a lifetime of love!" Her voice had grown louder with each word, and she was practically screaming with pain and hurt by the time she finally finished. She was breathing heavily, her body red with anger and heat, despite the bitter cold of night.

Erik was stunned. He stared at her open mouthed, but quickly closed it as he turned on her once more. He heard her shudder behind him, a sign of her never-ending anguish. She started pleading with him, trying to will herself to fight.

"Why do you think I kissed you, Erik? Why do you think I embraced you with all that I have? Why, Erik!" Her voice was faltering, but still audible despite her constant sobs.

He closed his eyes at the sound of his name coming from those perfect lips, the angelic sound echoing repeatedly in his head before he found the strength to answer. "Christine, why can you not leave me with my misery? You do not long for me, you long for your Angel, which I am not. I am a demon, a horror to this Earth. You would do good to leave me with my suffering."

He heard a light aggravated growl behind him, and he turned in surprise to find her standing with her hands on her hips, looking quite comical in the current situation. She looked like a spoiled child who did not get what she requested for and had resorted to anger. He felt a faint smile tug the corner of his lips, but pushed it away as he waited for her response. Finally, she let out an exasperated sigh and collapsed with her head in her hands, knees pressed to her chest. Erik completely forgot about their current argument, and rushed over to kneel beside Christine. He placed his finger underneath her smooth chin, and silently thanked God that he had removed his gloves in Nadir's kitchen as he felt the familiar tingle rush through his fingers, causing his body to tremble. He lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his emerald eyes.

His eyes softened as he felt her tremble beneath him, knowing she probably feared him now because of his harshness. He subconsciously stroked her chin, savoring the feel of the porcelain skin. "Why, Christine?" he whispered tenderly, fingering a lock of hair resting on the delicate material of her nightgown.

She shivered under the warmth of his touch, every stroke of his finger sending five thousand hot waves coursing through her body. At first she did not hear his question, but when she did, she looked at him in confusion, until a light dawned in her eyes and a look of realization struck her elegant features. She closed her eyes, leaning her chin into Erik's palm as he slowly moved his hand over her lips, then drifting it onto her cheek.. She heard Erik sigh as she nudged his hand lightly, massaging her cheek with his strong hand.

He cupped her cheek, and she drew up herhand and lightly placed it over his own, gently pressing his hand against her face. Every where he touched her burned painfully, but she only wanted more. She could still feel his touch even on the places where his hands no longer rested. She forced these thoughts from her mind as she struggled for an answer to his question, not sure what to say. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked into his, and slid closer to him on the stone steps. Leaningcloser tohimuntil her lips tickled the stray hair around his ear, she whispered the only thing she could think of that would convince him of her motives.

"I love you, Angel."

SO! Too much fluff? Not enough? Too short of a chapter? TELL ME IN A REVIEW! REVIEW OR I SHALL. . . :pause: hold on one second. . . . :runs to a closet and returns with a tied-up Raoul:... REVIEW OR I SHALL SEND RAOUL TO YOUR HOUSE ASKING FOR SHAMPOO! MWAHAHA(I haven't let him wash his hair in a week,hes completely heartbroken, how evil of me, ha)