#discored suit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

findinghiddenisles · 4 years ago

Note

You know I'm E/C trash. NO.16 PLZ.

Yeah yeah this took 5ever I know but give me a break I have like 2 art WIPs and 3 Writing ones besides UB. And ya girl just got a grand piano!! I’m distracted!! Also P.S I have leroux canon smut in development for this piece but I’d figure I’d add some plot before I finish the smut part lol @arrakisz

Things you said with no space between us

Christine reflected on those weeks with Erik beneath the Opera House. She had to, for if she didn’t, she knew she would go mad.There was something there. It was like an itch she could not scratch or a dread she could not escape.

For as right as leaving Erik felt then, it felt just as wrong to be marrying Raoul now. She saw him as a brother...she had said so to herself so long ago...so why was she marrying him?

She missed the music, the passion, the fulfillment of just being with Erik. Raoul was warm at the surface, but somehow she felt like their relationship was...hollow. Stable, sturdy, but with nothing inside. He worried too much about society and she was experienced enough to know better. She wondered what a life with Erik would have been like.

But, Erik scared her. He made her feel uncertain during his fits of madness. How could she look past that? She understood what happened...why he reacted the way he had. True, he had never harmed her. But, the sadness, the loneliness, the desperation, and then the acceptance she saw in his eyes during their parting kiss made her stall. Erik had, unknowingly, planted a seedling of doubt within her heart. One that pulled her toward him.

Maybe, one that had been there all along.

Erik’s behavior with Raoul and Nadir with the torture chamber were reactions to his losing her. Something in her told her that he just wanted a chance to prove himself and that he never could with Raoul in the way. Would things have gone different between them if Raoul had never returned? Would he have even revealed himself?

That monster is a villain. He deserves to be left by himself in those tombs.

Christine cringed at Raoul’s words. She hesitantly warned him to please not bring him up again. It had been weeks. Wasn’t her presence beside him enough to cease his jealousy?

That was the first seed of doubt that was planted within her when it came to Raoul. Well....the first after deciding to marry him. The first came when he assumed she was a prostitute after seeing her in the carriage with Erik. She had calmly ignored it in order to protect Raoul, but it had angered her ferociously when she thought about it afterwards.

Christine stared out the window. She would be wed this time next week. She had seen the church they would be married in. The house they would live in. The dress they designed for her to wear. At least, she liked the dress Erik had made for her.

She stared at the dresser where the rings her father had given her sat.

They were for decoration now as Raoul had refused to wear them. He said...You are a Vicomtess now. We will have better rings made to suit your beauty, and our place in society.

Would Erik have brushed aside something of such great importance to her if they were to be married?

He cried when you kissed his forehead, he’d probably be beside himself in gratitude if you had given them to him.

Christine paused at the thought that crossed her mind. Her body going rigid and eyes wide as if the furniture in her room had begun to levitate. With that, the answer she had been denying herself metaphorically sat beside her, punched her in the face and then left on the breeze through her open window.

She packed up her father’s violin, hiding a few personal items in the back case and shrugged on her cloak. If any of the housemaids asked, she was going down the paths on the estate to practice the violin. It was the only music she was allowed, anyway. Raoul considered the people of the Opera only a step above harlots. So, to even consider her continuing to sing publicly in any form was beyond imagination.

Hopefully, the letter under his engagement ring was simple enough for him to get the message. She wasn’t stupid enough to mention Erik. She had merely lied and said she had traveled to London for a singing opportunity and that she could not live in the role he needed her to. Christine had wondered, comedically, for a moment if God would strike her down for lying. She shook it off and decided that if God could allow the suffering that Erik had gone through then he would most certainly tolerate a white lie that would keep her safe. Christine did not look back as she walked away from the estate. A strange giddiness filling her.

☾ ☾ ☾

When she found Erik, he was lying in his coffin. Her heart stopped in that moment and the weight of that sight brought her to her knees. She was too late.

The force of everything she was feeling forced her to stumble to its edge and touch him.

He wasn't dead...yet. He was alive, breathing shallowly. He smelled...clean though and his suit was fresh. The little hair he had combed back away from his face.

Had he been waiting to die?

Christine crawled into the coffin on the impulse of her thoughts and raised his torso to her own, cradling him. His black mask, the mouthless one she favored, had been in his hands, crossed over his chest. It had fallen in their movement. His arms limp at his sides and his head bobbing gracelessly onto her shoulder.

Tears began to stream down her face. She hated this. Hated all of it. Why couldn’t they have just learned about each other in time, without pressure? Why couldn’t they have been afforded that? An anger, a hatred, a knot of unfulfilled dreams tore through her like the glaciers she once saw as a child.

A hatred of herself for reacting so negatively to his face. An anger at him for not to talking to her plainly, for Raoul for inteferfering. All of it.

She rocked him slightly in her misery. Her mind was flooded with vines of thoughts that tangled and wound around each other like snakes. It made her feel as though her eyes were being pushed out of her skull from the pressure within her head. What could she do? What had Erik done to be in this state?

Erik’s name was an underlying chant beneath the thoughts, the very fuel for that growing mass of discorancy in her head.

His skin appeared paler than normal, almost translucent, and the normal heat that seemed to be absent everywhere but his face was nonexistent. His skin was dry where it was usually soft. She held his face with her left hand, feeling his quick but shallow breaths on her face. His eyes, as sunken as they were, appeared even more so. His pulse rapid despite his sedateness.

He was dehydrated. A lesson from her father painted a cure across her hands and began to comb away the tangles in her head. She reached for the little canister of water she brought with her. Thankful, for having filled it before she descended into the catacombs. She brought it carefully to his lips letting the droplets slip gently into his mouth. The touch of liquid to his tongue caused him to move slightly, and cradling him closer to her chest, she allowed more water to fall between his dry lips. She rubbed her thumb over his jaw, trying to coax life into him. When more water moved over his lips, his mouth opened ever so slightly more.

This went on for a long time, several hours, with Christine settling him down gently and rushing between the faucets to get back to him. When Erik’s eyes flickered open for the first time, Christine felt as though flowers bloomed from the vines in her head. Uncontrolled tears sprang forth at the calm, awed gaze that shone over his golden eyes. He tried to lift his hand to her but he didn't have the strength. Letting out a broken sob, she pulled his long graceful hands to her face, shaking, as his skin touched her cheek. A weak smile lifted his lips, but his eyes never left her own as she held him to her.

As much as she wanted to remain gazing at his open eyes, she knew he still needed to heal, and proceeded with slow slips of water. When she brought the bottle to his lips again, he drank steadily. Between sips, she listened to his heartbeat and noticed it calm. When he seemed to not want anymore for the moment, she brought her other hand to his face again and watched as his eyes closed slowly before opening again. They had not spoken any words but the wealth of communication in meeting the other’s eyes filled more space and built more hope than a lifetime of speeches ever could.

Erik now had the strength to at least wrap his hand around her own where she held it on his waist. She gently entwined their fingers and noticed his pupils dilate as he took her in. It was a gift to feel his fingers move against hers with uncertainty. Christine smiled softly at him and massaged his neck where she cradled his head. She felt more than heard the soft moan that escaped his lips as he arched delicately into her fingers. A small heat bloomed in her at his agile movements. She continued moving her fingers against his neck softly. Anything, if it would make him better.

With a sad thought, she noticed how dry his lips were; slightly cracked and too close to bleeding. It was such an uncomfortable feeling, she knew, from the winters traveling with her father. She cursed herself for forgetting her balm, for having forgotten the rich salve atop her vanity at the DeChangy estate. It would be thrown away when Erik could so well use it.

A thought bloomed within her heart and she realized that the balm still lay thick across her own lips. He was still watching her with such amazement and love. She had never seen such light in Raoul’s eyes. Erik filled her heart and warmed her soul more so than anything in her life. What would she not do for him?

She gently rubbed her fingers over his before tilting his head slightly and very slowly letting her lips descend onto his. She felt him stiffen at the contact. He relaxed only when she gently rubbed her lips over his, letting the salve slip between the ravines in his wounded flesh. He gently kissed back after a moment, letting their lips glide over the other. His short sucking kisses were appeasing in a way she never considered.

His mouth was wet. She was happy to feel…. happy to feel him grip her fingers as their movements aligned to the same silent rhythm.

She pulled away after a moment more, wanting to continue kissing him, but not wanting to leech the strength she knew he needed to get better. He followed her slightly and she smiled at him, leaning forward to kiss his forehead once more. His expression of adoration only intensified and she knew by the sheen over his beautiful eyes that if it was not for his state he would be crying.

His mouth opened slightly and she untwined their hands to lift the water to his mouth, careful not to disturb the salve on his lips. He drank it, lifting his head for more and gulping audibly. As she leaned around to place it against the coffin’s side, she heard the soft croak of her name. Christine whipped around. She watched carefully as he lifted his arm. He clumsily cradled her hand where it rested on his abdomen; his fingers actively moving over hers to entwine them.

She smiled brightly at the weak sound of her name, pulling him closer to her and nuzzling against his cheek to hide her tears as she murmured his own name into his ear. There was no space between them at that moment and nothing more needed to be said for the time being.

He felt less on the brink of death and more tired as he leaned his head in the crook of her neck. Christine still cradled him, leaning against the cushioned side of the elaborate coffin. He would need to eat something soon. She would have to bathe him, dress him, take care of him as he gained his strength back. Where would they be then? WHAT would they be then?

Erik had taken care of her when she was lost and alone. He had lifted her soul back to life. Could she be what he needed? Could she care for him as intensely as he did her?

Christine considered that thought for a moment before realizing that her doubts stemmed from the character she had been forced to play. The quiet, shy, meak girl. It was not how she felt inside. She wanted to be free to perform, to act on her thoughts, to thrive without the constant pressure of denying her happiness...and if she had to pick anyone in her life to do that with, it had to be Erik. It would only be Erik. They would have to learn to leave behind the tenants of their upbringing in order to trust in themselves and in order for them to truly love each other.

She thought of the question she had once asked herself. Would Erik have ever revealed himself if Raoul had never become involved?

That answer was no...she wholly believed. Erik would never have revealed himself. He would have selflessly devoted his time, too ashamed of his own appearance to ever try to take her away from her life.

She stared down at him, enamored with the view of his slightly parted lips where his face was hidden against her neck. She wasn’t sure if he was asleep or not but the slight warmth emanating from him was like an ember of hope. She pulled him tighter to her, settling in against the plush coffin.

They would be alright.

EDIT: NOW ON A03 https://archiveofourown.org/works/24638389

#phantom of the opera #the phantom of the opera #gaston leroux #leroux erik #leroux phantom #leroux christine #mywriting #my writing

44 notes · View notes