#in case this isn’t clear enough Christine does return his affections they just havent said it to each other yet

[shernoel]

May I request a romantic moment between Erik and Christine ?? uwu please and thank you

I’m not sure if you wanted art or writing, so I just chose whatever. Hopefully this counts as romantic enough! I do have a drawing in the works that will also cover this prompt, which will he posted soon. Also I’m on mobile so hopefully the cut works, if not I sincerely apologize!

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Erik was not an anxious man. He liked to do things at his own pace, and do them well at that. His music took hold of his body and he worked frantically for days at a time, but he was not anxious over its flaws. He knew he could mold and polish it until it shone with beauty. He had all the time in the world for his Don Juan, for example. Quite literally.

But when it came to Christine, things were different. He was sure if the Daroga could see him now, hurriedly preparing Earl Grey tea and biscuits for a tiny blonde soprano, he would die of shock and amusement combined. A scowl crossed Erik’s devil’s mouth at the thought. Meddlesome booby. He had no right to even think of his life, let alone Christine! But it was of no matter, the Daroga was not here.

He smoothed his long hands over his clothing, trying to fix imaginary wrinkles and flaws. If he were to have this damned horror of a face, he must make up for it in all other aspects! His fingers found his mask, and he quickly ran them over it to calm his racing heart. The horror is hidden and safely tucked away where no soul would witness its terror. Erik’s yellow eyes flickered to the clock on the mantle—installed there at Christine’s insistence that “I cannot tell the time here without light, Erik, and I think I’m going mad!”, and he certainly didn’t want that, so he quickly created a beautifully crafted gold clock for her—and he saw that he still had roughly half an hour before she was to come. Unsure of what to do with all of this spare time, Erik decided to do a sweep through of the home—never her room, though, that was hers alone. Heaven knows how much he himself valued privacy. He would not invade hers. The cushions of every couch were fluffled, the fireplace lit comfortably, and the tables shone with cleanliness. When it was still ten minutes until her arrival, he was quite sure he would drive himself insane if his hands were not busy, and so he set himself to the task of fixing the books in the bookshelf until they were all straightened and dusted. Ten minutes became five, and five became none. Still Christine was not there. Anger and concern flared to life in Erik’s heart. Did she not want to visit anymore? Did she value him so little? Was she with that boy—

His thoughts were cut off by a ringing chime throughout the house. His doorbell! She was crossing over now!

Sweeping his scrutinizing gaze over the room one last time, he nodded once and strode to the door to open it for her—he truly wanted to show her he could be gentlemanly and kind, and gentlemen opened doors, did they not?

As he unlocked the door and stepped back to allow his beloved girl in, he was quite literally struck still by shock. Christine stood before him, white flakes stuck all over her hair, her face wet and flushed red over her pretty cheeks. Her eyelashes weren’t even spared from the snow, little droplets collecting on the delicate hairs.

He realized a little too late that one of his long, bony fingers were reaching out to that delicate eyelash, and quickly threw himself backwards.

“Come on in, Christine,” he choked out.

“I’m ever so sorry for being late! The snow outside made it hard for me to catch a brougham—it’s a blizzard out there!” The dear girl seemed blissfully unaware of his turmoil over her unkempt beauty as she chattered on, entering his domain.

“Is it now?” He humored her, inwardly berating himself. Use your wit, you dumb fool! Stop standing there like an idiot. Christine hummed in affirmation, taking her gloves off and huffing when they stuck to her hands.

“Truly! I don’t think I’ve seen a snowstorm like this since…” and here she trailed off, and Erik looked to her rosy face as it turned downcast. He scrambled for something to distract her from the difficult memories of her past.

“Tea! I have made us tea! And biscuits! You enjoy those, don’t you Christine?”

She looked up at him then, and her blue eyes seemed to return with a bit of light. Then the angel smiled at him, and his heart melted into a puddle at his feet.

“I’d love that, Erik. And I do. May I shed my coat? It is much warmer here than out there, thank goodness.”

Erik nodded once, and his mouth dried as she removed her thick cloak and hung it up, a bit of her hair falling loose from its pins and curling down her back. His dear girl was so polite. How he wished he could be the one to remove her coat for her—Tea, Erik.

He hurriedly turned and set to arranging the teacups and biscuits, and before long they were seated in their respective chairs as they drank the warm beverage. Christine was looking much more normal and dry now, and Erik took in all of her presence he could. She sipped delicately at her tea, and seemed to be avoiding his burning gaze—she had confessed in the past that his constant stare unnerved her, and though he tried to fix it, sometimes he was unaware he was even doing it—so he quickly turned his yellow gaze to the fireplace.

“Did you change the bookshelf?” She suddenly asked, a hint of humor in her tone. His dear girl was nothing if not observant. He stiffened a bit awkwardly.

“Yes...is it to your liking?”

Christine laughed, her voice sounding like tinkling bells as she responded,”not everything you do must be to my taste, dear Erik.”

While he normally would have protested that she hadn’t answered his question, the term of endearment floored him. If it wasn’t for the feeling of warmth the teacup gave his fingers, he would’ve sworn he had died and gone to heaven. Erik hadn’t realized he had gone still and silent like the corpse he was until Christine’s worried hand touched his shoulder gently and he jumped.

“Erik? I love the bookshelf—you always have the best taste in books. Even those boring architecture ones...please don’t be upset.”

“Why would I be upset, Christine?” He asked, still dazed that she had called him dear. If he were to perish now, he would die a happy man, her gentle touch on his shoulder causing his heart to spasm.

“I called your name a few times but you didn’t respond...I thought I did something wrong…”

Here he looked up and quickly saw her upset eyes avoiding his gaze, her lip being chewed as she always does when she is worried.

“Christine!” He exclaimed, and she jumped, and he cursed his sudden action. His hand caught hers in desperation.

“I apologize! Your Erik gets caught up in his own head, sometimes he forgets he is even here! Please do not blame yourself for his own shortcomings!”

Her gaze softened, and she briefly squeezed his hand.

“I’m glad I didn’t upset you, but…”

She continued her endearing habit of nibbling on her lip. He couldn’t tear his golden gaze away this time from her pink lips.

“What were you thinking so hard about?”

Erik’s brain fizzed out when he needed it most. He most certainly was not going to tell her he was thinking about her and her words and how much they truly affected him...

“Oh. Um. Thoughts...yes. Many of those, Christine. Finish your tea.”

He waved his hand towards her seat, and to his surprise as he watched her retreating form...was that disappointment in her eyes? Drat. He had upset her.

“It is nothing of importance, my Christine. Please don’t trouble yourself with Erik’s madness,” he pleaded, knowing the poor girl somehow still blames herself for his awkward detachment.

Christine turned her gaze to the fire and sipped her tea, a stray blonde curl falling onto her cheek. An awkward silence followed, only interrupted by the crackle of the hearth, and then;”you aren’t mad, Erik. Not completely, anyway. Madness can be...nice, sometimes. Different. Genius.”

His yellow eyes bore into her very soul as he tried to comprehend her words. Was this a roundabout compliment? A simple way to appease him? Or just his kind Christine? She turned her gaze to his, but then quickly looked away, seeming to flush and smile a bit under his stare.

“But onto different topics...this tea is lovely.”

He smiled his ugly smile under the mask.

“I am very happy you say so, Christine.”

“Very lovely. Where do you get your tea?”

At this he only let the twinkle in his eyes tell her. Her smile grew in understanding. His girl was clever, she would comprehend his hidden meanings. Things went missing in the Opera House all the time.

“Erik, you shouldn’t!” She scolded, but the smile told him she found his mischief fun.

“How else is a ghost supposed to get his tea? Now, my turn for a subject change. Would you like to sing? Of course if you’re too tired, I can play for you.” He stood quickly, placing his drained cup to the side. He seemed to have a renewed vigor at the sight of her smile, and knowing that he was the cause of it.

Christine set her cup down and stood up, and as she crossed the room to him he realized just how small she was compared to him. So soft, so delicate, his darling…

“Shall we go, Erik? I’d like to sing...well...if it isn’t too much to ask…”

Erik retorted perhaps a bit too quickly as he walked ahead of her;”Nothing you ask is too much, my dear.”

Christine stopped for a second, then smiled shyly up at him, continuing the walk to the music room.

“Could we sing a few Christmas songs? Duets, even?”

He stilled as he came to sit on the piano bench, but the pleading look in her eyes made him feel a warmth in his heart no drug could compare to.

“I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in it…” he trailed off, and she gave a squeal of excitement.

“Oh thank you, Erik!” She exclaimed, and to his complete and utter surprise, she bent down and hugged him. Too frozen with shock to comprehend what was happening, his hands remained frozen just shy of her back, trembling a bit with want. She does not see you in that way, you fool, his inner voice reminded him. But why not enjoy the gifts she does give us? Another voice added. And so Erik slowly lowered his cold hands to the warmth of her back, and closed his eyes. The hug was over all too soon, and he straightened himself up on the bench as she shyly ducked back into her spot by the piano, her head almost as red as it was when she arrived.

“What shall we start with?” He asked, and then Christine replied and the music began.

Her voice was just as lovely and pure as he remembered, and all he could feel was the lovely sound emitting from her throat and the piano for hours. Soon he joined her, to her obvious delight, and they sang carols until Christine had to pause.

“I’m quite tired, Erik dear,” she started, and he once again allowed the happy feeling to wash over him at being referred to as dear,”and the weather is awful...may I stay here tonight?”

He stood from the bench, making his way over to her to lightly guide her back into the sitting room.

“Of course Christine! You are always welcome to stay in Erik’s home.”

But something else seemed to be on her mind, her face becoming even redder than before. He likened her to a tomato, or a fine red wine, but much prettier and more dear to him. He shook himself from his lovesick thoughts as she spoke again.

“Could you...read to me? Or just speak? I do so enjoy your voice.” She laughed a bit nervously.

“Perhaps it’s silly…”

“Of course I’ll read to you, my dear Christine.”

His long fingers gestured for her to sit, and to his surprise she chose the couch. That was fine, he would kneel before her and read. Just to be in her presence was a blessing.

After choosing a book from the shelf—fairytales, her favorite—he walked over and knelt before her sitting form. Christine leaned forward and caught his hand with her own, and his eyes were glued to her soft fingers intertwined in his own.

“Please, don’t do that Erik. Sit with me...please…”

How could he deny his angel?

And so that is how Erik found himself sitting next to —not too close of course, but next to!— his beloved on the couch in the sitting room while the fire burnt before them. He opened the book and began to speak in the most soothing tones his voice could produce—quite effective, he knew. His voice was powerful. Soon, Christine was drifting off, and she laid her head on his bony shoulder as she nuzzled in for warmth. Her blonde hair tickled his neck and he gasped for air. He must be dreaming!

But the house by the lake was indeed inhabited by two people that night, and though Erik was not an anxious man, he held Christine carefully and protectively, making sure she could never have an uncomfortable moment throughout her time in dreamland.