Rose21
Christine woke up on the steps beside Erik. Her head was on his shoulder while his chin rested on his chest. His breaths were slow and steady, signaling that he was sound asleep, which caught Christine by surprised—but not nearly as much as the thread of drool stretching from the corner of her mouth to his shoulder.
Before he woke, Christine wiped her mouth and sat up, her eyes longingly drawn to the empty bed.
"Your neck will hurt when you wake," Christine said as she tugged on Erik's arm.
The end of a muffled snore left his lips as his head jerked up. His gaze flitted around the room, settling on Christine with a glazed look of surprise. Christine could almost see his mind unfurling the events of the night when she looked into his green eyes.
"Wake?" he murmured, barely able to keep his eyes open.
Christine nodded and clung to his arm as they stood together. "Come on," she said. "We'll freeze to death on the floor."
"We?"
"Yes, we," she chuckled.
Without protest, Erik flopped into bed and Christine joined him, her exhaustion far outweighing protecting her virtues. Bringing a blanket over their supine forms, Christine draped her arm over Erik's chest and rested her face against his shoulder.
"Christine," Erik whispered into her hair. "I love you."
She snuggled closer and answered in a murmured sigh.
-o-
Hours passed and Erik found himself in bed.
He had never experienced the sensation of a warm, soft body beside him in bed, which caused his breath to catch in his throat. How was this possible?
Christine was beside him, her arm draped over his chest, her soft breaths against his neck, and her sweet, feminine scent filling him. His heart stuttered, his throat going dry as realization set in. She was really there, really sleeping in his bed, in his arms.
Erik set his mind in waking slowly, allowing his senses to unravel the unexpected delight one by one lest he never experience it again. He wanted to remember the exact way her hair fell along her shoulders, the angelic look on her face, and the little glistening string from her mouth to his shoulder. Even that was endearing to him.
As to not disturb her, Erik lay awake and placed his hand over hers. Christine had stayed with him. He had no idea why, but his heart drummed faster as he recalled removing his mask and then his hairpiece, standing naked before her in the rawest way possible.
Yet she had stayed, when he thought for certain that she would leave him. How was this possible? How had the wretched truth garnered her affection more than his elaborate disguise?
Knowing that he risked disturbing her, Erik couldn't resist kissing the side of Christine's head. Just as he feared, it roused her from her sleep. With a soft sigh, she stretched and smiled at him.
"Hello," she smiled.
"Good morning."
"Is it morning?"
Erik furrowed his brow. "Honestly, I'm not certain. I'll find out."
Before he could rise from bed, Christine squeezed him tighter. "Don't move. Just stay with me."
Erik caught one of her curls. The feel of her silky hair between his fingers made his heart pound. Somehow, whenever he thought of Christine, he never imagined how soft her hair would be or how her skin would feel smooth as butter. He'd thought of her as fragile porcelain, but she was no lifeless doll. At least not in this moment.
"Is this a cruel dream?" he whispered.
Christine closed her eyes again. "It feels like the perfect dream," she murmured as she ran her hand up and down his chest. "Do you know what I dreamed of last night?"
"Tell me."
"Of a most spectacular ball."
"One or two?" Erik asked impatiently.
Christine pulled back. "Excuse me?"
He shook his head, suddenly realizing what she was referring to when she said "spectacular ball".
"Everyone was dressed in black and white, and then I was wearing a pale shade of pink and then you arrived and you were wearing blue."
"Blue?"
"Yes," Christine said as she sat up. "The blue of a robin's egg."
Erik appeared mildly disgusted. "Really," he muttered. "What a strange dream."
Christine shook her head. "Not a dream, I'm afraid. No, I know what it was, Erik." Her eyes grew wide as the fanciful thoughts danced through her head. "A premonition."
"A what?" he exclaimed, clearly appalled by the very thought.
"The Bal Masque is in three nights."
"Is it?"
"Surely you'll attend."
"Surely." After all, he'd already set up the trap doors.
"Yes, and it would be the perfect time for you to present your opera. With my assistance, of course."
"Honestly?" Erik asked as he, too, sat up.
Christine nodded. "Everyone will be there. It would be perfect."
"I'll threaten them if they refuse," Erik said under his breath.
"What? Oh, heavens no! You will present it, charm them, sway them in your favor and…well, that's all I've thought of thus far. But we have three days to figure out the rest," Christine cooed.
Presenting his opera was not a problem, however Erik had reservations concerning charming and swaying, unless swaying was from the end of a rope. But, since Christine appeared so pleased, he did little more than nod. "As you wish, Christine."
Christine took his hands in hers. "Let's find the correct material and make this dream a reality."
Oh God, Erik thought. Robin's egg blue, indeed.
"First," Erik said to slow her pace. "Breakfast."
His only hope was to distract her long enough to rid the opera house of every shade of blue. His mind had already settled on an appropriate color. Blood red, the color of death.
Red Death.