#cookiepianos

Alright, as a very special request to an old friend and in honor of my first proper fandom, here it is. A Phantom of the Opera special. @ you know who you are

30. Heated Kiss 

Christine stirred from a foreign bed. She blinked her eyes open trying to make sense of the dark, dreary surroundings. Distantly she could hear dripping, was she underground? How did she get here? 

“Ah, you’re awake,” someone spoke softly. 

Christine startled, instinctively drawing her legs up to protect her chest. 

“Apologies,” the voice spoke again and the shadows shifted on the wall behind her. Christine turned, trying to make out a figure, a source of the low, melodic voice. “I did not wish to startle you, my dear.” 

Christine gasped, the tenor of the voice finally rattling something loose in her memories. “You... angel?” she asked, trying to peer past the curtain framing her bed, “How did I... you brought me here, didn’t you?” Faintly she remembered her angel pulling her through the mirror, the horse ride, the boat... but she’d never seen his face. She still had no idea who her angel was. 

There was a pause, then a low hum. “I did,” her angel replied, “I hope the journey wasn’t too traumatic for you.” 

Christine frowned, trying to gain more than just the faintest of details, but she must have slept very heavily; all she could remember was moving and a soothing voice carrying her to sleep. “I... I can’t really remember,” she answered, “It was like... an enchantment.” 

Her angel laughed gently. “You flatter me, my dear.” Her eyes widened, thinking she could spot a smile in the darkness. 

“Why won’t you come out of the shadows?” she asked, “I’ve come all this way and... I’ve only ever wanted to meet you.” She bit her lip, hoping that wasn’t too presumptuous. 

Her angel sighed. “I did bring you here, hoping... but Christine,” Christine shivered to hear her name, “My face... you may wish you never saw me once you do. Wouldn’t you rather have a perfect angel, just as you imagine?” 

Christine’s eyebrows wrinkled, frowning. What a strange question. “I suppose... if you did not want to show me, I couldn’t force you,” she admitted, “But... there is something reassuring about a face, a person, more than just a voice.” She wrapped her arms around herself and her admittedly thin dressing gown. “Sometimes... while we may be imperfect, it’s better to have someone than to cling to an idea,” she finished, eyes downcast. 

“Are you sure you believe that?” her angel asked, his voice much closer now. 

Christine startled back and looked up to find a skeletal figure in a mask standing at the edge of her curtains. She gasped. “How did... is that... you?” 

The figure tilted its head towards her. “In the flesh,” he answered, a tad icily. 

Christine’s breath caught. “Oh... I see...” 

“You see? You cannot bear to look-” He turned to leave in a rush, but Christine’s hand snapped out and caught his wrist, so thin, even in her small, soft hand. He froze at her touch. 

“Please, don’t go,” she asked, “Don’t leave me.” 

He held perfectly still, then muttered something that might have been “I should be asking you that...” 

Christine swallowed and kept her courage up, tightening her grip on him. “You’re quite cold, why don’t you come sit with me?”

He turned to her slowly. “You’d have me sit in the light... with you?” 

Christine shifted on the bed, making room for him. “Unless you’d rather I come out there with you?” she offered, not relishing the idea of leaving her small, lighted nest, but willing to be in the dark, as long as it was with him. 

Her angel hesitated and she could see him looking at the candles, the curtain, the small bed. “You won’t... run?” he asked haltingly. 

Christine blinked at him, frowning harder. “Why should I? I’m not frightened.” She was, a little, but he’d been so kind to her all this time. He’d been such a good friend. 

“...you should be,” he murmured, but bent his head, sighing. He stepped in closer and slowly parted the curtain with his free hand. In the light it looked pale, but not as skeletal as she had assumed. He was thin, but not worryingly so. He ducked his head inside, revealing most of his face was covered by a stretched leather mask, unmoving and expressionless. He crowded his shadow onto the bed, fully inside the curtain, before sitting and Christine realized just how much bigger he was than she. She still held his wrist, his hand now limp resting on the bed between them. Nowhere else did they touch. 

“...so you’re not a ghost at all,” Christine mumbled, still looking him over. 

The eyes moved behind the mask, glancing at her. Christine started, but kept her mouth shut. “The Opera Ghost, you mean?” he asked archly. 

“Oh!” Christine blushed, “No, I didn’t mean- I mean, yes- I mean!” She ran a hand through her curls, looking down in embarrassment. “I... thought when they said...” 

Her angel laughed slowly, rising into a warm chuckle. “Oh, I am the ghost.” 

Christine turned white. 

“Does that shock you, my dear?” His hand at last moved in hers, tracing her wrist with a single finger tip. 

Christine gulped. ‘I... I suppose, I...” 

“I said you ought to be frightened,” he hissed, reminding her, “Wouldn’t you like to run away now?” 

Christine snapped her eyes back up to him, hearing the dare, the condescension. “I’d be an awfully ungrateful student if I did,” she managed back. 

He leaned back. “Ah...” 

She smiled a little, seeing he hadn’t been expecting that. “You’re... down here all alone, aren’t you?” she asked, cocking her head. 

He looked away and nodded after a moment. “Always alone... except you.” 

Christine sighed and, making up her mind, pressed a little closer to him, shifting her hold on his until they were holding hands, like lovers did. He looked down. 

“Christine...” he started. 

“Do you have a name?” she interrupted, blushing. 

“Excuse me?” He looked up at her. 

“I could keep calling you angel, but, as you’re... well... I expect you don’t hear your real name very often,” she murmured, both intensely curious and finding sympathy for this lonely creature. 

He stared at her for a long moment, so long she began to fidget and blush, looking away. “...Erik,” he whispered, “My name is... was... Erik.” 

Christine smiled, looking back at him. “Erik, that’s a Scandinavian name, like my father.” 

He nodded gently. “I may have been Swedish myself, once, I... no longer recall,” he mumbled, looking away. 

Christine leaned closer and put a hand to his cold, hard mask. He froze again. Christine just smiled, her fear melting away and leaving boldness in its wake. “Has anyone looked-”

“Don’t, please!” he snapped suddenly, grabbing her hand. She tensed, but didn’t move, listening to his thready breaths. “You... you go too far,” he managed eventually, dropping her hand. 

Christine nodded quickly. She listened to him pant, anxious to find a way to apologize. After a moment, she took his white hand and pressed it to her own cheek. He shivered at that. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I only wanted to... I wanted to know the person who’s been so important to me.” She blushed and kissed the  pad of his thumb before returning his hand to the bed. 

“I meant no-!” She gasped sharply as he grabbed her hand in return and slid her fingers under the lip of the mask to plant soft kisses on her fingertips. She trembled, letting him until he stopped.

“I’m... I became overcome, I apologi-” Erik explained, clearing his throat. 

“You don’t have to,” Christine gulped, interrupting, “You don’t have to... stop.” She offered. Perhaps she did know him, all too well, after all.

(Sorry it isn’t very sexy, yet, but still nice? I hope you still liked.

Love it! Now do toes

Merry Christmas @cookiepianos!

Look what arrived today, @cookiepianos! Some nice stickers with your art! When I saw you have a redbubble I had to buy some (I guess you have it for some time, but it seems I missed it). They’re so lovely!