11A/N: This was inspired by an MMMF-worthy gif of Ramin and Sierra rehearsing the post-PONR unmasking for the 25th anniversary. His expression totally said "prove it" and this little fic was born. Originally posted to Tumblr for not-what-leroux-had-in-mind's Inktober 2018 Day 1 prompt - kissing. A few small word changes here and there because I have Issues and am never completely satisfied with anything.
I could feel his gaze upon me as I made my way through the corridors of the Opera. It burned, beckoned, and I knew where he was leading me. I feared it, a gateway to the underworld that would suck me down into the depths forever, yet I soon found myself at the door of my dressing-room. I lit the lamp and snapped the lock into place before sitting at the vanity. Tears pricked my eyes as I saw my father's portrait. Oh, Papa…
The first time I had heard the Angel of Music, I had been in a similar state - missing my father, feeling hopelessly lost. He had appeared when I most needed him. Comforted me, challenged me, coaxed me out of my grief and back into the world of the living. How could I agree to betray him, when even now I longed for the guidance of my Angel? But there was no such thing as the Angel of Music…only Erik.
I looked over to the mirror. If the glass slid aside and he came for me that very moment, would I resist? Or would I surrender, and allow the darkness to swallow me up? I realized I was holding my breath, waiting for that heavenly voice to fill the room as it had so many times during our lessons…but I was met with silence, save the pounding of my heart in my ears.
If pride will let her return to me…
His words took on new meaning. At first, they had felt like a stinging barb, but now I understood the deeper truth they concealed. He would not carry me off or make the choice for me - he wished me to return of my own free will. I trembled at the thought. What would it mean, to accept that offer? It frightened and excited me at the same time.
I thought back to the past six months. They had given me a taste of a life without his presence, and I had found it to be bitter. Had he missed me, as well? Doubt began to creep in as I remembered how cold he had been at the bal masqué. Had I misjudged? Perhaps he only wanted my voice, only desired an instrument for his music. But another memory surfaced, of him dragging himself along the floor towards me, begging me to look beyond my fears, to see him as a man…
I stood to face myself in the mirror, my gaze drifting up to where I imagined his eyes to be. My pulse raced as I considered my next move. Before I could lose my nerve, I called for him. My reflection shuddered as the panel opened, revealing the subject of my thoughts. For a moment I was transported back to that night, when I had first learned that my Angel was flesh and blood. It seemed like a lifetime ago…
"I need to speak with you." I feigned confidence, hoping to prevent him from attempting to ensnare me with his voice.
"Of course, Christine. We have much to discuss." He offered his hand.
"No, not down there. Here." I didn't know where this boldness came from, but I clung to it with both fists.
His gaze flickered between mine and the door. "It's locked," I assured him. "And no one followed me. But I'm certain you know that already."
After a pause he stepped through the wall. He had never entered my dressing-room, to my knowledge, and it felt strange to invite him in like any other guest. I couldn't bring myself to offer him a seat, so we stood and eyed each other warily.
"I meant what I said in my note." Erik came further into the room, placing himself between me and the door. "There is more I could still teach you, if you're willing to learn."
He gestured toward the open frame of the mirror. He would not be deterred, but neither would I.
"Is that all?" I asked, unsure of what I wanted his answer to be. He was stunned silent, not expecting my reaction, and it strengthened my resolve. "Is that what all of this has been about, to claim my voice like some kind of prize?" I was shaking and could feel the telltale flush of emotion creeping up my neck, but I held firm.
Erik studied me with a curious expression. "I don't understand."
"I think you do," I countered, but he pressed for more.
"Tell me, Christine." His voice was silken, calming me slightly in spite of myself.
"What am I to you?" The question I had avoided even in my own thoughts was voiced at last. "Your prodigal student…a vessel for your genius?"
He answered with his own question, eyes searching mine. "Don't you know?"
I shook my head, fighting back tears. "You've never told me. I need…I need you to tell me," I pleaded, echoing his words. "Please, Erik."
He came closer, until I needed to crane my neck to meet his gaze. "My breath. My blood. My very life." He reached for me, fingers stopping just short of my cheek. I hung upon his every word. "I thought I had grown accustomed to solitude, after decades of experience…but I can no longer bear it. I cannot live without you."
I stared up at him, struggling to breathe. I had not been prepared for this, and did not know how to respond to his confession. He snatched his hand back without making contact.
"Are you satisfied?" he asked, his demeanor taking a sudden dark turn. "Does it disgust you, the devotion of a corpse buried deep below the earth?"
"No," I replied honestly, heart in my throat.
"I find that difficult to believe, given your performance on the roof that night."
His accusation stung, but I could not deny the things I had said to Raoul all those months ago. My terror had been very real then. But now…
"It doesn't disgust me," I insisted.
"Empty words, Christine. Prove it."
His jaw was set in a hard line. He seemed so cold, yet the tremor in his fingers and the slight heaving of his shoulders betrayed his emotion. Without thinking, I reached up to strip away his mask. My other hand brushed against his hair, confirming my suspicions that it was false, and I tugged gently until the wig came away. His head tipped back a fraction and his eyes drifted closed as I revealed all that he had kept hidden from me, but he did not resist. The horror of his face extended up onto his skull, framed by sparse hair streaked with gray. But my old fears had faded, softened by the revelation of his true feelings for me.
He observed me through half-lidded eyes, no doubt waiting for me to scream or to flee. I let the mask and wig drop to the carpet. I took his hand and brought it back to my cheek, lowering my lashes as I nuzzled into his palm.
"Erik…"
I hesitated, feeling as if I were perched on the edge of a cliff. When I met his gaze again, his eyes were fully open, searing through me. I allowed myself to fall.
"Even after that night, I…I knew I had to come back. That I couldn't leave you." My other hand perched on his chest as I lifted myself onto my toes, so close that I could feel his breath on my lips.
I closed the tiny space between us and he came alive, leaning forward and knocking me back on my heels. His mouth was warm and rough on mine. He grasped blindly at my shoulders and I clung to his jacket, holding myself steady. Suddenly he drew back, a soft sound escaping his throat. His fingers shook as they brushed against my lips and he studied my face in disbelief. I whispered his name and slid my arms up around his neck. When he fell into me again I caught him and held him tightly.
After a few more frantic moments it was my turn to pull away, stumbling over to the divan in the corner of the room. He followed me down, kneeling beside me as I lay back, feverish and needing air. His hands fluttered over my hair and face, barely touching, as if afraid I would break. His fingertips came to rest in the hollow at the base of my throat, against the thrum of my pulse. I reached for him, smoothing back the wisps of his hair and caressing his misshapen cheek.
"Oh, Christine," he sighed as he watched the rise and fall of my chest beneath his hand. "I…"
He swallowed hard and his jaw worked nervously. I understood what he meant to say next, but there was doubt in his expression.
"Say it, Erik. Please."
I begged him, as I had once pleaded with Raoul on the rooftop. Raoul… He had been so dear to me these past months, so very patient, but I finally admitted to myself why I had kept his ring hidden. I could not wear it so long as I could not give him my whole heart…
"I love you," Erik whispered, so softly I could scarcely believe it. "I love you…" This time the words came with more force, more conviction.
His twisted mouth descended upon mine again, growing surer with each embrace. He leaned over me and pressed me back into the cushions. His words and heavy weight above me were thrilling, and I soon forgot the pressures awaiting me outside my dressing-room door. Forgot the outside world. There was nothing but Erik.