It was supposed to be a quiet night.

Erik had set aside a book to read after working long hours crafting notes to deliver the next day. No one ever thought to consider the hours put into being an opera ghost, and frankly, he often at times wondered if his monthly payment of twenty-thousand francs was too low an estimate. It was because of him the opera house was here in the first place. It was because of him that it was still so successful, despite Carlotta's best attempts to drive the audience away. But his generosity ensured Christine her position, and any sacrifice was worth keeping her at his side.

So it was duly earned when Erik relaxed into his chair and opened his gift from his precious Christine - a book filled with Swedish folktales that she had given him one day after their lessons.

Erik often read this book when he missed his angel, which was a daily occurrence, truth be told. Her visits were becoming more frequent, true, and she was with him more often than she was not, but in the hours they were parted he missed her terribly. His wretched soul longed for hers, and to hold a book that she held filled with the very same stories that she heard? All because she wanted to share those stories with him? It was a salve to the aching wound her departure left him with.

It was a quiet night, the only sound was the dull roar of the fire and the soft purr of Ayesha curled up by his feet. It was supposed to stay quiet, which is why Erik startled so when a noise came from the front door. The knob turned and pulled, but never quite enough to open completely. It reminded him of the one shameful night when he'd fallen into the lake and slugged back to his home, his hands grasping uselessly at the door as they were covered in whatever slime the lake had gifted him with. But there was no person who'd fallen in the lake, for he'd have surely heard it. No, this was something else entirely.

Erik set his book down and crept towards the entryway, prepared to strike at the belligerent intruder of his home. But before he could slip into the shadows, the door flung open, revealing a triumphant Christine. She brandished her key high in the air with a great grin on her face. "Erik!" she squealed. Christine rushed towards him but quickly tripped on the rug, falling forwards.

Erik caught her in his arms with widened eyes. Never had Christine come to his home of her own volition at this late an hour. And especially not so… lively.

Christine giggled. "I knew you would catch me. My hero." She let out another string of giggles that folded her into his chest.

"Christine, what?" In any normal circumstance, to have Christine in his arms like this, folded so perfectly - for how precious was she - he would have rejoiced and wept at her feet. But all other emotions had vacated his thoughts at his complete and utter confusion. "Is everything alright, my dear?" Clearly his poor angel must have hit her beautiful head to be throwing herself so willingly into his arms. He slowly raised a hand to brush her hair back, checking her wonderfully pristine forehead for any bruised marks.

His love then pulled back from him just enough to see her dopey grin and pink flushed cheeks. "Oh it's wonderful, Erik," her words came out in a rushed slur. "This night's been so wonderful and I want it to keep being wonderful. And you're wonderful and this place is wonderful and-" She gasped suddenly, pulling away completely from him. Her small hands clutched at his shirtsleeves, steadying herself upright. "Did you know this place echoes?" But Christine did not wait for his response before she turned heel and ran.

Erik, startled, chased after her. "Christine, wait! My dear, you just almost fell."

In all the ways his night could have ended, never could he have imagined Christine showing up on his doorstep absolutely, positively drunk and yet, still, he could not deny how unbelievably charming she still was. How carefree and full of light she seemed, even as he chased after her along the underground lake's shoreline, following her giggles all the way. He was still pathetically smitten.

In his lovestruck daze, he almost missed the way Christine stopped running and almost ran smack into her. The soprano spun around her heels to face him.

"Oh, don't worry Erik, because I have a secret." Christine dragged her legs slowly towards him, in what could have been a strut. She struggled against a growing grin on her face as she whispered, "There's breeches under here," and promptly lifted her skirts to reveal her long legs.

He choked.

"But see, it echoes! Hello!" Christine called across the lake. The sound of her voice carried all around them. She turned to him. "Now you try!"

Erik blinked, the image of her glorious legs still dancing in his mind. "What?"

"Echo!" her command faded into the caverns.

He surveyed around them. They were quite far from his house. Christine's stamina seemed to contain no bounds while intoxicated, which was remarkable considering how often she requested them to stop while they journeyed up the stairs to the surface. He would have to tease her about this the next time she chose to complain.

"If I yell as you do, then the siren will come," he told her plainly.

"Siren? What siren," she scoffed. "You've never spoken of a siren before!" she crossed her arms.

"Because she doesn't like to be spoken of, my dear." Maybe if he could frighten his Christine back into his home, since she appeared to be in no mood to leave this apparent wonder. Only a little though, lest he draw her tears. "Even now, we risk drawing her here. But my home is a safe haven from her."

"I don't believe you," she sniffed, but stood closer to him anyway.

"Come, child, let us return." He wrapped his elongated fingers around her dainty wrist. Her skin was so warm, so gentle. It made his heart quicken.

The two walked back towards the yellow glow of his underground home, the soft fall of footsteps crunching underfoot echoed behind them. At some point Christine had snaked her wrist out of his grasp and now held his hand, entwining her perfect fingers with his.

Oh, Christine! His sweet Christine didn't see in her drunkenness what it was that she was holding. For surely, if she knew, she would tear her hand out of his ghastly grasp. A gentleman would not take advantage of his lady as he was, but he was a fool. A terrible, pathetic fool that would fall to his knees before her just for the chance to brush her skirts. He could not bear to remove himself from her heavenly hand.

He was not worthy. The poor girl hummed a light and bouncing tune, oblivious to her predicament. She only paused when the occasional hiccup escaped her. Even in this, she is beautiful, he marveled. His wonderful Christine hiccuped with the most perfect staccato note, the accent hitting his ears, causing him to shiver. It was not the first time Erik was thankful of the chill of the fifth cellar, for his death's hand would surely be sweaty in her nurturing palm.

As he led her into the warmth of his home, Christine began to prattle on about something. It was about her night, but beyond that he knew little else. Shamefully, Erik found he didn't always hear every word his love had spoken, instead favoring the blend of sweet sounds that she made.

"And then they thought they heard the phantom! There was a loud crash - I think Meg might've hit the divider - and Sorelli took out her knife! I, of course, knew it couldn't be you, but they didn't know I knew so I screamed, too." Her eyes went wide with guilt. "Oh! Not very loudly of course! I'm taking good care of my voice. See?" Christine sang out a glorious note with all the breath in her lungs.

"Of course, my dear," he said, fighting against the upward pull of his lips. She was a treasure just like this. Christine was always his most treasured, most beloved, but the way she swayed on her feet and squinted her eyes, even in the low light, made her ever so endearing. "And how did you find yourself here tonight?"

"Well, after we decided it wasn't a ghost, Jammes wanted to go to bed but I didn't. I decided I wanted to continue this wonderful evening with the wonderfulest man that I know! Everyone else is boring and asleep, but not you! So let's drink!"

Christine took both his hands in hers and led him towards the kitchen. Erik felt his heart threaten to burst from his brittle bones. Sweet Christine had no idea of the effect her words had! How freely her touch was given! But vile whispers filled his ears. What monster would allow Christine to debase herself to touch a creature such as him? She was not herself, and painful though it may be, he must put a stop to this now. He could not bear to face her horror in the morning upon realizing she had willingly laid her hands upon his cadaverous skin.

"Christine, my dear, perhaps it's best if you go to bed," he said lightly, pulling away from her burning touch.

"Oh, are you tired?" Christine asked, disappointed.

He shook his head. "I thought perhaps you might rest, angel. You may go lay down and I shall return with water and something to stave off the morning headache."

"But don't you want to drink with me before bed?" she pouted.

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Christine, this is not-"

She interrupted with a gasp, her hands covering her mouth. "Wait. Can you not because of your nose? Erik, I'm so sorry, I didn't think-"

"What? Christine, no, that's not- why would that-"

Christine gripped his waistcoat, tugging herself closer to where her round, watering eyes blinked just beneath his chin. "So does that mean-" she sniffed, her voice wobbling "-that you just won't drink with me?"

He stared on in horror as her tears began to fall.

"You don't like me!" she wailed, folding into his chest. "I came down here, all this way, down so many stairs - and there were so many! - to just drink with you, my most cherished friend! But you won't!"

"Christine!" he cried. "Oh, my angel, no! Dearest Christine, nothing could be further from the truth! Of course your Erik cares, he does, he does!"

"Truly?" she asked, doe-eyed.

"Yes, my angel. Surely you must know the depth of your Erik's affection."

"Then," she sniffed, "does that mean you will drink with me?"

He should have said no. Her hysteria surprised him, and clearly his Christine was well due for rest. But he didn't wish to risk her ire, and her lips puckered and shone in the light and they were oh so lovely. How could he send his angel to bed when she so desperately wished to spend more time with him? It was what she wanted, after all. And he would do anything to make her happy.

The beautiful smile she made just for him was worth it when he said, "Yes, Christine. But only a glass."