"Christine!" Raoul maneuvered his way through the chorus girls and stage workers who loitered in the dressing room halls. Side stepping around a group of costumed women, he called out, "Christine, wait!"

She spun around, her pale pink skirt swaying as she did so. "Oh! Hello, Raoul," she said pleasantly, offering him a small smile. He grinned in return, taking a moment to straighten the front of his coat.

"I'm glad I caught you!" He let out a breath and a sweet smile, pushing back some of the hair that had fallen across his cheek. "You were wonderful in rehearsals, Christine. You- you dance beautifully," he remarked, his eyes staring shyly into hers.

"That is sweet of you to say. I'm not as good as some of the girls, but I get enough right to keep my career alive." She laughed softly, while he shook his head. "How have you been?"

"Very well! Business as usual, although my parents are in talks to send me on an expedition with the British army."

"My goodness, that sounds… dangerous? Exciting?"

"Oh yes, a little of both, but mostly it sounds cold. I must ask you to pray for much warmer weather at the North Pole, yes?"

She laughed, putting a pretty hand to her mouth. "Absolutely! I shall also pray that you have a very large winter coat, just in case the first prayer isn't heard." Her eyes twinkled at him, and he shook his head again.

"Well, any and all pleadings on my behalf are appreciated," he laughed, but his eyes were locking on her intently. "You know, I didn't need any prayers today though. All my wishes have been granted."

"Oh?" she asked, her smile slowly waning from her lovely mouth.

"Yes, for I got to see you," he smiled, and reached out his hand enough to brush his fingers against hers. Christine cast her eyes to floor, looking flattered, embarrassed, and uncertain all at once.

Swallowing, she gave him a strained smile, finally lifting her eyes back to him. "It was wonderful to see you too, Raoul, but I should go now. I-"

"Couldn't you spare this evening?" he implored, taking a step closer. Her skirt was now brushing against his pant leg. "I was hoping we could have dinner together, perhaps go for a walk. I would love to hear about the years since we were children together." His eyes looked into hers hopefully, and she frowned.

"Oh, well… I mean, it sounds lovely, and of course I'd want to, it's just… I'm under the weather, and I don't think I should be out right now. I need to rest, otherwise I'm sure I'll get worse." She paused, biting fleetingly on her lower lip. "Is that alright?"

The hope in his eyes dimmed while she spoke, but he managed a smile. "Of course, little Lotte. I do hope you feel better soon." He took a small step back, feeling the sting of rejection spreading throughout. "Call on me if you need anything. I have many connections in the medical field."

"Thank you, I'm sure some rest and tea will be fine though. You are a good friend, Raoul." She smiled genuinely at him, and he nodded, turning around to leave. Many of the girls looked up at her as he walked past, one of the ballet girls even motioning to her that she was crazy.

And maybe Christine was crazy for letting him leave. But she was fine with her decision, and she slinked away, cautiously entering one of the empty dressing rooms. She sat at the large white vanity, and began smoothing out her chestnut curls. She ran her hands through through the tight strands before deciding to pin half of it up. Afterwards, she smoothed out the features on her face, and pinched her cheeks for extra color. She added a dab of rouge to her lips and smiled softly.

Yes, she thought to herself. You are definitely crazy.

"You are ill?" the voice boomed from behind the mirror, full of concern. Christine jumped, barely containing a scream.

"Erik!" she cried, putting a hand over her chest. "You almost stopped my heart!"

The mirror slid open to reveal Erik standing sheepishly in the doorway. "I am sorry…" he said softly, shifting his weight. "It was not my intention to startle you." He was dressed flawlessly as ever; not one wrinkle graced his formal suit, and his cape fell captivatingly across his broad shoulders, making his height look all the more impressive.

Christine laughed quietly, shaking her head slowly. "All is forgiven," she smiled, walking towards him.

"What are your symptoms?" he asked, his eyes raking over body. She blushed, stopping immediately.

"Oh, I…" Having been caught in her lie, Christine didn't know what to say. What would he think of her if he knew she had lied to Raoul? Would he think her a liar in general? Question her character? She pursed her lips together lightly, feeling suddenly nervous.

"We cannot have a lesson today if you are feeling ill, Christine."

She took a step towards him, raising her hand from her side as though to reach him. "No! I mean… I'm not that ill, honestly. Surely we can still sing together?" She stared at him earnestly, searching his masked face for approval.

Erik's eyes widened as they bore into hers, taking in her face, her raised hand, and the overwhelming feeling that, for the moment, he was genuinely wanted. "Oh..." He stared dumbly at her for a moment, before taking the smallest step forward.

They were just inches from each other now, and the bottom of her skirt brushed over his shoes. With mouth slightly parted, Christine's eyes began to glaze over.

Softly, as though in a trance, Erik spoke. "No, I don't think a demanding vocal lesson is a good idea today..." Her face fell instantly, mouth closing. Yet Erik continued, "But, if you would permit me, I have a remedy that I think might help to ease your ailment. I have many varieties of tea in my home. Honey, lemon, anything you could wish for. Would that offer suffice, Christine?"

Her rosy lips spread into a beaming smile, and Erik shuddered under the beauty of her mouth. "That would more than suffice!" She took his offered arm, glancing shyly at him before stepping through the mirror. Together, they began the journey through the darkened walkway, his cape draped over the side of her skirt, brushing as they moved. So close, but never close enough.

Erik opened the door, stepping back to allow Christine to enter first. She smiled at the familiarity of his small home beneath the Opera House. It had a masculine, earthy smell, offset by the scent of warm embers in the fireplace. You could hear the gently lapping water of the Rue Scribe as it hit the shoreline near the entrance. Erik was already lighting candles, giving a warm glow to the beautiful furniture and flawless volumes of books. And there, near the sofa, toward the center of the room, was the most stunning grand piano she had ever seen. It was there that she had sung at his side for over a year, had given him everything her voice could give.

She'd never told him, but she thought of it as her home, too.

"I will be back in a moment, my dear. Please, rest yourself while I prepare the tea." He motioned to the sofa, where she sat immediately.

"Thank you, Erik." She sat quietly, leaning the back of her head against the cushion. Absently, she played with the material on her waistline.

When he returned, he handed her the remedy in a white teacup, light steam rising from the drink. She took it graciously, her fingers brushing against his gloved ones. Erik shuddered, pausing only for a second before sitting awkwardly beside her.

He sat too straight, with his hands folded on his lap, his eyes staring at her shoes. "What would ease your pain, Christine?" he asked, suddenly turning his head to look at her."Shall I play for you? Sing for you? I could show you a magic trick! I have many talents that could amuse you, I'm sure of it!"

She smiled tenderly, taking a sip of the hot tea. "I would love to sit and talk with you. I fear I am too weary to do much else." That wasn't exactly true, and Christine inwardly cringed. She had tons of energy, but this was too nice an opportunity to pass up. Erik was always looking for the next thing to do, always pushing her. And that was fine, but sometimes she just wanted quiet moments to enjoy his company. She supposed it was his nervousness that kept him constantly wanting to move. How she wished she could tell him he had nothing to be nervous about.

"And what shall we discuss?" he inquired.

"Tell me of yourself," she asked. "How did you come to be in Paris? Where were you born? I know you have been to Persia! What was that like? I confess I don't have much experience with exotic lands."

Erik frowned. "I… I don't know that I have any stories you would want to hear."

It was Christine's turn to frown. "No? Well, how are we supposed to become better acquainted, then?"

Erik looked uncomfortable, ringing his gloved hands together, and leaning forward slightly. "I suppose… I suppose I can tell you some things." He averted his eyes, opting to stare at the dying embers in the fireplace. "I come from France, so I suppose it is natural that I ended up back here. My childhood is nothing to speak of, and I do not wish to revisit it. My time in Persia lasted roughly ten years, until I was able to escape. I was the master architect there, among… among other things." Erik cringed, lowering his head further. "I do not wish to say more about Persia."

Hearing the finality and somberness in his voice made Christine's heart twist. What had happened to him? Almost without thinking, she took one hand off of her teacup and laid it on his arm.

Erik shrunk against the couch, shocked at her touch. His eyes glowed brighter than the fire, and he was looking at her again. "Christine…" He seemed to shake off whatever darkness had fallen over him, and leaned the barest amount towards her. "Oh, but then I came here! I wrote to the manager at the time, you see. He was constructing this Opera house, and I sent him my own plans. He liked them so much he fired the current architect and hired me instead! I was in charge from then on. Never in person, of course. But I oversaw when I needed to, and sent several letters a day to those in command of the construction. And then… Oh, then… I saw this exquisite girl, so perfect, so beautiful and kind, I thought she couldn't possibly be real. Her voice shot through my soul like a beam of light; I felt that I'd been waiting my entire life to hear that sound. And when she discovered who I was, she didn't run… she's the only one who hasn't run… she is my everything, and without her I would wither away to nothing. I love her so…I feel I could never properly convey the depth of my love and adoration."

Christine felt her tears pool and cascade down her flushed cheeks. Her hand, still on his arm, had begun to shake. "Erik…"

He waited, still as a statue, for her response.

"I'm not sick."

Erik blinked. Confused, he cocked his head slightly. He had just poured out his heart to her. Was this some odd form of rejection? "Pardon?" he asked, his voice strained.

"I'm not sick. I lied to you. I'm so, so sorry. It's just… well, Raoul wanted to take me out to dinner, and…"

Erik stared at the floor now, feeling his own tears well up. The boy. She wanted the boy.

"…I wanted to spend time with you instead. Raoul was a good friend to me when we were children, but things have changed. I've changed. I do not feel for him the way he feels for me."

Erik's head snapped up. He opened his mouth to speak, but Christine continued. "I was so worried about what you'd think of me if you knew I had lied. I was worried you would think less of my character. That's why I kept the lie up. I really am sorry."

"Think less of…" Erik sounded incredulous. "Christine!" he chastened, "You are the most virtuous, perfect woman on this earth. I would never think less of you."

Christine smiled, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes again.

"Never," Erik reiterated.

Pausing to take a breath, Christine just stared at him. At his eager face, so longing for love, for hope. At the only man who had ever felt like home. The man she knew for certain would want her forever.

It felt so natural to tell him what was in her heart. Almost excitedly, she said, "I love you, Erik."

At first, Christine could tell he wasn't breathing. He seemed frozen, no part of him moving. Then, finally, "You… you love… Erik?" Uncomprehending, he continued to stare. "You love me?"

Christine smiled, squeezing her hold on his arm. "With all my heart," she said softly.

She felt his whole body trembling, until he suddenly doubled over, his gloved hands covering his masked face. "I have never been loved before," he sobbed, and turned away from her, unable to control his emotions.

Christine thought her heart might break. "Oh, Erik," she whispered sadly. She wound her arms around him, pulling herself flush against his back. She held him tightly. "I love you," she continued to say, so quietly he could barely hear it above his own sobs. "I love you, I love you…"

He cried harder, and she held him still. Until Christine's arms began to relax and her eyes started to close. How long had they sat like this, emotions pouring from them both? He had quieted, she suddenly realized.

"Erik?" she asked softly.

"My love… I need… I need to take the mask off. Please, do not look."

She nodded against his back, and he reached for his handkerchief. After cleaning himself up, he replaced the porcelain, now warm and uncomfortable against his face.

He gently laid his hands over hers, placed sweetly on his chest. "You are so good to your Erik…" he began, giving a slight shake of his head. "You are too good. Too good…"

"You have always been wonderful," she whispered back, laying her cheek along his shoulder blade.

Erik couldn't help himself, he turned around, facing this extraordinary woman, with her drowsy eyes and shy smile. He dropped their embrace, but kept both her hands in his. "And you love me?" he pressed, rubbing his thumbs along her fingers.

She nodded, a slightly amused smile gracing her mouth. "And I love you."

"Does this mean—Oh, Christine! Does this… Can… Would you permit me to…" Erik trailed off, suddenly seeming very nervous. He straightened, his lips tightening before relaxing into a frown. "Forgive your Erik. I did not mean to overstep."

"It's alright, Erik," she said soothingly. She squeezed his hands for assurance. "What did you want to ask me?"

"It's only that… I've never had a kiss, you see. And I never dreamed… I've only asked for a kiss once, from my mother. But she screamed at me, and threw me my mask." He closed his eyes tightly, as if in pain. "Oh, Erik is sorry! I am not worthy of your kisses. Please, forget I ever said anything. Forget it all." He hung his head, his grasp on her now falling limp.

"Oh my Erik…" Christine's heart constricted at his words. "I would be happy to give you a kiss." She leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his jaw line. She lingered only a moment before pulling back. "The mask isn't making this easy," she admitted.

But Erik was already crying again, and he had lifted her hands, rubbing them against his masked cheek. "A kiss… a real kiss… from a living…" Erik caught himself. He had been about to say 'bride.' His Christine was so good to him, but surely this fantasy had to end. There would be no married life for him. Never for him… Oh, but to have this one kiss to savor! Bliss!

"Take off your mask," Christine asked lightly.

Erik remained still, unable and unwillingly to answer her.

"I have burned your mask before, and I can easily do it again." She had a coy smile on her lips. Was she teasing him?

Keeping her eyes on his, she took her hands back, and moved her fingers to the bottom of the thin porcelain.

"I am sorry to be so ugly," he whispered ashamedly. "I am sorry I cannot be handsome for you."

Christine decided not to respond with words. Instead, she peeled back the mask, slowly and carefully. Without breaking eye contact, she set the mask behind her on the sofa. Christine heard Erik's sharp intake of breath, and his ragged exhale. And still she leaned in closer, closer, until her breath warmed the base of his mouth. He tried to put his hand on her arm, but he was shaking so badly, it went defeatedly back to his side.

And then her lips were brushing his, so faint at first, and her eyes slid shut.

"Erik," she whispered.

And something inside of him snapped.

Erik slid his hand behind her head, pressing their mouths fully together. Christine let out a surprised noise, before responding in kind, throwing her arms around him. He moved his lips along hers, tenderly at first, and then with more passion, more eagerness. Christine parted her mouth, and he took her bottom lip between his, gently savoring the feeling.

Suddenly, she pulled back. Before Erik had time to be alarmed, she had rested her forehead against his, and she was smiling. Through heavy breaths, she said, "Oh my."

"Indeed," he responded, his voice low and unusually sensual, his arms still wrapped around her. Erik felt as though he were flying. The exhilaration and adrenaline rush from her kiss was unlike anything he had ever experienced. "Can we… can we do this often? Do you… still love me?"

"I still love you," she echoed, and shook her head slightly. "And…" she kissed his unmasked cheek, savoring the feeling of being so completely, unconditionally loved. "I believe we can."