#phantine

The rustling sounds coming from the organ room abruptly ceased, the house plunged into quiet. She frowned, rising from her vanity and padding barefoot from her room into the hall.

“Erik?”

She stood in the frame of the music room and watched him there, ramrod straight at the piano bench.

She took a step forward before his velvety whisper stopped her.

“Do you mean it?”

She sighed, taking another step toward him.

“No, darling, of course not — I’m not really cross, I was only kidding. Though, I do need to leave soon if I’m to meet Meg on time —“

“That’s not….” His head turned to the right a fraction so she could see the smear of pink along the white porcelain. She wondered if it mirrored a similar blush beneath.

She waited for him to continue while crossing the final steps to reach him. She laid her hands atop his shoulders, squeezing with gentle encouragement.

“Why did you call me that?”

She let out a soft “oh”, hands squeezing slightly tighter.

“When my father was cross with me he’d call me by my full name. I’d hide away somewhere in the house and he’d bellow: ‘Christine Elizabeth Daaé, you come in here and practice your violin at once!’” She giggled at the memory, eyes quietly watering.

“Since you don’t have a middle or surname I thought I’d give you mine. I only meant to tease you, angel, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

He was silent for a long moment, hands clasped tightly in his lap. He took a deep breath, his torso rising beneath her fingers.

“I’ve never lamented the lack of a given name. I chose Erik long ago, as a way to cling to the last vestiges of my humanity. But the sentimentality is lost to me. Or was — until very recently.”

He slowly spun on the bench until he was facing her, keeping his gaze resolutely on the boning of her corset. Her hands slid upwards to caress his jaw, buoying him.

“Does it not torment you, as it does me, that we can never be truly married? No grand cathedral overflowing with flowers, no exchanging of rings, no final kiss to seal our bond…and no name for me to offer you.”

“Oh, my love —“ she knelt down before him, angling his face upwards to meet her watery gaze.

“I don’t need all that. I don’t need the recognition of the rest of the world. I don’t mourn a life I never wanted.”

His eyes were wet, too, and she brought a hand up to swipe underneath the left one. His eyelashes fluttered against her skin like moth’s wings in the dark.

“You bring me flowers. I wear your ring, I am gifted your sweet kisses. I don’t need a name to bind me to you. I am already bound — willingly, giddily, eternally. Additionally, as I have a name to give, I give it to you freely. Maestro Daaé — I quite like that, don’t you?”

His eyes squeezed shut, frame trembling. He reached out to her and she enfolded herself around him. He tucked his face beneath her chin, lips wet with tears whispering against her skin.

𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖎𝖈

Chapters: 3/4 Fandom: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera Characters: Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé Additional Tags: science Christine, Joint Fic, Leroux-based, high intelligence doesn't mean they're smart Summary:

Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you. You are not alone!