Christine paused at the gate, hands fidgeting with the parcel in her hands. It seemed so innocent, looking up at her, the slightly crumpled brown paper tied with a red ribbon. Giving Erik a Christmas present suddenly seemed like a bad idea, stupid and juvenile. She knew that he didn't like Christmas; after all what did a man like him have to celebrate on this day?

But she wanted to give him this present. She didn't know why; perhaps to show her affection. She couldn't bear the thought of her tutor being utterly abandoned on this day.

Well, I've got a lesson anyway; I'll have to go in. She told herself. Christine took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed open the gate.

As she neared the music room, a melancholic yet haunting melody floated out to meet her. Once again she was assaulted by a rush of doubt. And yet again, she pushed those doubts to the recesses of her mind, and lightly tapped her knuckles against the door.

The music stopped abruptly. Christine felt a little guilty at interrupting him. "Come in," his voice, ever melodious and mesmerizing, beckoned her into the room.

She entered self-consciously. Erik was at the piano – not that his earlier composing hadn't already informed her of that – so his back was towards her. "We'll start off with some scales," He began, but Christine cut him off.

"I got you a present," She mumbled.

He stiffened, then turned around slowly. When he met her gaze, his eyes, one purest blue, the other liquid gold, were wide with disbelief.

Panicked, she started rambling. "I know how you feel about this time of year, its just that I wanted you to feel a little care and warmth during the holidays and – and – I…" Her words ran dry, so she thrust out the parcel in a somewhat ungainly fashion. She looked at her tutor shyly from beneath her lashes. "Will you indulge your pupil, just this once?" She asked with an endearingly demure little smile.

With a sort of awkwardness foreign to a man possessing his usual grace, Erik accepted the present. "Ah, my dear… my dear Christine, you needn't…" He took a deep breath, in an attempt to calm his racing pulse, the frantic hammer of his heart. Her eyebrows raised by a fraction, expectedly awaiting his response. "I am… rather at a lost for words." He admitted with a wry half-smile, the kind that Christine had grown used to as a beloved part of her tutor, the kind that made her heart skip a little beat.

"This calls for a thank you; a very, very inadequate thank you." His eyes glistened, uncharacteristically moist. Christine felt a strange desire to wipe at the wetness that gathered in the corner of his eyes.

"Your gratitude is more than suffice," She answered, the corners of her lips effortlessly pulling up in a smile that was dazzling in its modesty.

Christine returned to her dressing room after her performance on Christmas night. Carlotta had mysteriously caught the flu, conveniently losing her voice, and the young Swedish soprano took her place as star of the show.

Her dressing room was once again filled with flowers, cards and other gifts from her fans, but she ignored all of them. Her eyes were searching for one gift - a single dark red rose adorned with a black silk ribbon. She rushed to her vanity table, where he always left it. Only tonight, there was no red rose, nor a note written in his spidery scrawl. Her heart fell and worry clouded her thoughts. Surely she did not sing that badly? Or maybe it was her gift; she had been childish to think that the Opera Ghost would want socks for Christmas, least of all dark purple socks that were had-knitted by his pupil.

Her mirror slid open, and the Phantom emerged from the tunnel. Wide-eyed, she looked at his masked reflection in her vanity mirror. "I sang terribly, didn't I?" She whispered, dispirited.

He shook his head. "That was a good performance," He reassured her. He extended a black-gloved hand, giving her the flower. A joyful grin immediately brightened her features. She received the rose with tender excitement, as though it were a treasure, as precious as it was fragile.

"Thank you," She said shyly, sitting down at the vanity. "And merry Christmas."

"Speaking of which, I should, ahh... thank you once again for the gift." His hand hovered at her shoulder, unsure, before he tentatively resting on the ivory skin.

She let out a sigh of relief - barely audible, but nothing escaped Erik's notice. He cocked an eyebrow. "Socks seem so... dull," She explained. "Yet I really don't know what would be a suitable gift."

"Socks are always welcome; they have a strange and annoying tendency to disappear. And socks that you knitted..." He busied himself with unclasping the elaborate gold necklace. "I will never allow them to disappear."

"Well, that's a relief," She admitted. "Not because they won't disappear," She amended quickly. "I was so worried that you'd be disappointed."

His hands lingered on her neck before he removed the necklace. "Christine, you would never disappoint me."

She flushed at the intense sincerity of his words, at the emotions she could feel underlying every syllable. She spun around to face her Maestro. But he was gone, and the only trace that he had ever been in the dressing room was the scorching trail under the skin of her neck, where his ice-cold hands had stroked her throat.

Author's note:

Merry Christmas! Hopefully this gets posted in time for Christmas… :]

This was inspired by Christine and Erik's messages on Formspring, and this one www. formspring. me/AskLeFantome/q/273996345251994738 in particular. I thought that Erik needed a little loving at Christmas time... 3

This is the first Phanfiction I've written. Wait, actually, I HAVE written other Phanfiction before, but this is the first one I've completed and also the first one I've posted online. My other one is a multi-chapter story. So please don't be too harsh on me ;]

Please review and once again, merry Christmas!