This is just a collection of short stories from the prompts I receive on tumblr. If you have a prompt you want to read, send it my way!

A loud piercing cry of alarm filled Erik's humble abode. The siren's call alerted him to an intruder.

"Daroga…" Erik grumbled under his breath. He had been in the midst of reading a book of poetry, of love and longing, as he was convinced he was dying of such emotions, when the screaming sound interrupted him.

He snapped the book shut and strode over to his front door, to peer outside.

"If I told that great booby once, I told him one hundred times, do not bother me, I am dy-"

But what he spied was not the kind Persian, but the subject of his heart's affliction.

"-aae…" he finished in a whisper.

There she was. Christine Daae. Whom he had told her to leave with her beau. He even conducted a sweet little ceremony for them so he could witness her happiness. Her compassion had saved him, made him feel human, and yet here she was, rapping on his front door, as if she were stopping by for a cup of sugar.

"Erik…?" Came her sweet voice, timid and full of… something Erik could not put his finger on.

Two options gripped him; he could not answer, set up the facade he had already perished and have her leave him yet again. That would prove overly complicated. Or, the more reasonable option, he could simply open the door and see what she wanted.

Option one seemed far easier indeed.

He clutched the handle of his door and swallowed his anxiety, his throat feeling tight. He watched as she waited at the door, standing on tiptoes to see if she could spy any movement.

"Erik?" Her question was tinged with a hint of fear as her eyebrows knit together.

Oh, how lovely she was.

Her shoulders heaved in a sigh as she looked sorrowfully at the door. Her fist raised once again to knock when Erik swung open the door with more force than he intended.

The pair stared at each other with wide, surprised eyes, unable to speak with the bubbling emotions that threatened to erupt.

Wordlessly, Erik gave a slight bow with his head and gestured for Christine to step inside with a sweep of his hand. She returned with a small nod and stepped inside, careful to wipe her feet before moving.

Erik ushered her into his sitting room, where he received her on the couch, or rather was she receiving him?

They both sat down simultaneously, avoiding eye contact with the other. Erik's mouth flapped open like a fish struggling to breathe.

"Tea," he finally managed to say, rising to his feet once again. "I shall go make us some tea."

Christine nodded, folding her hands in her lap and gazing quite intently on her fingers.

Erik scurried away from her, eager to stay in her presence, but needing to leave lest he suffocate on his emotions.

He placed his cast iron kettle on the stove and strummed his fingers impatiently against his arm.

"What does she want?" He asked of himself, trying to think. "Why is she here?" His nervous energy leaked out from every limb, and he tapped his foot, anxious to return, dreading conversation.

"She missed you," a quiet voice said from the doorframe of the kitchen.

Erik tensed and whipped around to find Christine shyly clutching the wood frame. His hands clawed reflexively at her interruption. Every bone in his body screamed at him to rush to her, to wrap his arms around her, to make her feel sheltered and secure, but it was not his place to do so.

He was not meant to have a happy ending.

His breathing was heavy, but snapped out of his hopefulness. "Do not be ridiculous, Christine." He turned his back to her to avoid her timid, yet fervent gaze and busied himself with a tin case full of loose leaf black tea. "You should not even be here. Why are you not with your young man, off singing high praises of the North in a blustery white-"

"Raoul left," she said quietly, taking a step closer to Erik. He kept his back to her all the same. "His deployment to the North Pole was unavoidable." Christine fiddled with her fingers as she searched for the words to explain her situation. "He begged me to accompany him, but I- that is to say, I could not-" she sighed, "I do not want to stop singing."

Erik turned toward her and listened intently to her plea as she continued. "He is afforded more freedom with his choices due to his family and his title, but I… I cannot ignore my music. It grounds me and yet, it makes me soar to levels I never thought I could reach." Christine gesticulated with her hands to convey her meaning, "It beckons my very soul, I cannot… I cannot ignore it because it threatens to consume me."

She looked pleadingly at Erik, begging him to understand her, but she could not hold his gaze very long. "I suppose I cannot articulate myself well enough," she mumbled, hugging her arms around herself, "I thought, perhaps, that you-"

"I do."

Christine smiled hopefully, but the hesitancy in Erik's voice froze her to her spot.

"-but…?"

"-but you should not be down here," he told her firmly. "You can sing your haunting melodies in the North, Christine. Show the world your heavenly voice filled with," his voice cracked ever so slightly, "love for your boy. It would be enough to know you are happy and safe from the monsters that once terrorized you."

Her eyes were downcast once more and she hugged her arms closer to her body. "Yes, I love him," she stated, as though convincing herself that were true, "but that love is more of a comfortable love. The love for a playmate; for a friend." She looked up toward the ceiling with a wistful smile, "I suppose he really was my first love… But," she looked back to Erik, "-music is my true love. He cannot give me that."

Erik straightened up to his full, intimidating height, his masked face unreadable. "Why are you here, Christine?"

She took a tentative step closer to him.

"I told you, I missed you. I miss the companion I once had whom I could bare my soul to and who would raise me to new heights I never dreamed possible."

"You miss a lie," he hissed, turning his back to her once again, unable to look at her. "Need I remind you that your Ange d'musique is nothing more than a series of falsehoods I crafted? Deceptions that I lay so that I could-" his long hands balled up in fists, and he could not continue.

The kettle on the stove started to rumble from the internal bubbling.

"I am fully aware of your actions," Christine retorted, a bit more sharply than she had intended, "but that does not mean we cannot begin again." She gently placed her hand on his shoulder. Erik's entire body flinched, but he did not brush it away. "We can try again, Erik."

She stood expectantly for his response.

He remained silent.

"Erik? It doesn't have to be like-"

"You were supposed to kill everyone," he choked out, his voice strangely strangled. "You were supposed to kill me and everyone else. I wanted you to kill me, to end this suffering I feel whenever your very presence is near me. The agony of knowing I could never be yours-"

Christine withdrew her hand as if it were burnt physically, and not just be the shame of his words. Erik gripped the edge of his countertop, tension coiling through his back.

"-it is more than I can bear. Do not try and play more games with me, Christine. It will destroy me or, in the process, you as well."

Their pained silence was deafening. The teapot wavered a little dance on top of its flame, threatening and hot, when it finally began its scream.

Christine finally closed the gap between them and slipped her arms under Erik's in an embrace. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move from the shock. She held him, pressing herself against his back, her arms not squeezing, but a secure hug.

"Did you not hear me? I miss you. We can try again, with no false pretenses. I want my friend and confident back, my Angel who did not judge me."

Tears streamed down Erik's face as his body slackened and relaxed. They pooled and collected inside his mask, trickling down under his chin.

"Christine, you must be suffering from a case of hysteria," he muttered, hurriedly dabbing at his eyes with his lithe fingers. "This is madness."

Her body weight shifted to lean against him more and sink against his form. Her head shook. "That which you mistake for madness is but an over-acuteness of the senses. I want to hear you, Erik. To feel you, to see you."

A strangled cry croaked from Erik's throat as he gasped from her declaration. Christine released her hold on him and he slowly turned to her. She offered him a soft smile.

His eyes searched her face for any deception. When he saw none there, he swallowed the persistent lump in his throat.

"I suppose," he said cautiously, "we could attempt a... proper courtship."

Christine's dainty hands slipped into Erik's long, gentle grip."Let us begin with a friendship first and foremost," she said with a sly smile.

"Yes, of course," Erik nodded hurriedly and the tops of his ears bloomed with red as he stared at their entwined hands.

"...Erik?"

He snapped to attention, not relinquishing her hands quite yet. "Hmmm?"

"If you don't take the kettle off, I will."