I haven't abandoned this story!! In fact, I have almost a notebook full of this story that needs to be typed up. I do not own Phantom of the Opera. Enjoy!

She kissed him. Again.

His face was wet with tears and he smelled like death, but she kissed him, Just like when she embraced him a few minutes before (God, it seemed like a lifetime ago now.) his immediate reaction was shock and his body froze from the sheer surprise of Christine's action. It felt like the last time they'd been like this; it felt almost identical. After his initial astonishment gave away, he kissed her back, moving his arm around her back. Raoul was the only person Christine had ever kissed besides Erik and both of their kisses were vastly different. The ones she shared with Raoul were soft and sweet and actually rather chaste. Erik's kisses were different; they were deeper and urgent, almost forceful. Although it made Christine's insides burn with shame, she admitted to herself that she enjoyed it in a strange, perverse way.

She pulled away, wanting to be in control of the situation, or at least some semblance of command. Right now, she wanted to sort out her twisted, puzzling emotions and make sense of the thoughts that were running through her head. The kiss felt like the first one she shared with Erik, but the situation was changed. She felt sure that Erik also acknowledged that this kiss it changed things. The unasked question of why she kissed him hung in the air and their minds. After all, Christine could have done a number of other things to stop Erik. Why had she kissed him? Manipulation? Experimentation? Impulse? Maybe, just maybe, love? Christine didn't have the answer, but she was the only one who could give it. The kiss had given her many confusing feelings that she needed to sift through.

They looked at each other for a long moment, but didn't really see anything. Both were too absorbed in thoughts and feelings at the moment to see anything.

"You are a mystery, Christine," Erik finally said quietly, mostly to himself.

Christine accepted his statement with a small nod. "You are to Erik," she said with a faint smile.

"I love you Christine." Another nod, the acceptance of a fact.

"I know that Erik. I want to know more about you. I was going to ask you earlier." She impulsively brought up Erik's past, not exactly sure why. It somehow felt right to Christine, as though there was something she needed to know. Besides, the conversation was driving away the intense air from before.

"There is little to tell," Erik replied dully.

A wry smile formed on Christine's lips-the acceptance of a challenge. "It doesn't matter just tell me," she said in a challenging tone.

"Why are you doing this to me? Twice you have taken my mask off then kissed me. Why do you kiss me if you do not love me?" he said, avoiding Christine's inquiries and going back to the subject that she had just tried to avoid. His voice was quiet and composed, but deceptive.

Christine was utterly thrown. There were too many questions of her own buzzing in her head to answer Erik's query. The pitiable girl was overwhelmed completely. There were too many questions without answer buzzing around menacingly in her head. She felt too pressured too pushed, like water all around her was getting higher and higher and her legs were beginning to give out. The death's head before her didn't help either.

"Here." She handed Erik his mask to stall; it didn't escape his notice that her hand was shaking. He placed it back on his face.

"You're not answering me. Is it because you're afraid? I don't want you to be afraid," he said, sounding like a little boy. He hung his head and closed his eyes. "You can leave. I don't want you to live in fear."

Christine knew exactly what she could say that would heal him, but could she say it out loud? Did she actually feel that way? All she had to say were three words, the three most meaningful words. Erik was her friend, protector, and teacher. He now meant more to her than the Angel of Music ever had. He filled her with countless feelings, made her laugh and cry...

He was at his organ, now, playing to let his emotions out into an angry song of self-loathing. To escape, he fled to the music room. As the music wore on, it seemed clearer to Christine what she could do even if she couldn't decide how deep her feelings were. At the very least, she had to tell him she wanted to stay, that he was important to her, how much she cared for him. She had to tell him.

The strength that she needed to do this wasn't there before last time she'd been under the opera. She was a scared little girl then, clinging to Raoul, her white knight. The power came from Raoul's betrayal. She'd depended on him to be her safe harbor, and then he was gone. Christine developed a steel core that made her strong. Only now was it revealing itself to her. Christine would have cried before, but she tearlessly walked over to the music room door. She knocked respectfully, but Erik didn't hear. He was too absorbed in his feelings and the music to hear her. She entered anyway; the door was unlocked. Rather than yell and compete with the cacophony, she stood silently and waited for the song to close. She recognized it, the final scene of Don Juan Triumphant. It was never preformed in public before. Unconsciously, she sang her part quietly to herself. But as the music crescendoed to the opera's conclusion, she sang louder in accordance with the piece. She lost herself in the music for an instant, and she was transported to another time and place. Swiftly, she was jerked back to the present by a sharp, jarring chord as Erik accidentally hit the keyboard as she suddenly spun around to face her.

"Leave Erik," he hissed out, his eyes glowing yellow with an almost feline intensity.

"No. I don't want to go," Christine said, "Erik, I...."