a request from the lovely benny-lynne on tumblr that has sat in a document on my computer for WAY too long, so here it is - "E/C hurt/comfort that takes place while she's his student"

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It had started happening more and more frequently, he noticed; Christine would come in for their lessons and she'd be noticeably downhearted. He could see it in her eyes, which were usually so bright, but looked far duller in the recent days, and could hear it in her voice - its colour and life had faded a touch, which impacted how much attention she paid to her pitch and pace, or so he assumed. He knew he had trained her far too well for it to be mere forgetfulness, but the true motivator for her sour moods as of late still escaped him.

He had asked her about it; gently, of course, but he had inquired after the first few instances that he noticed just how off she seemed to be, but his inquiries had never been met with more than a shrug and some sort of half-hearted excuse like "I didn't sleep well" or "rehearsal has me rather tired." He knew better than to believe any of that, though, given that he had seen her after a restless sleep and an exhausting rehearsal day and knew that she did not react the way she had been lately. For another thing, he watched the rehearsals himself and he knew that the particular routine they were rehearsing for the upcoming production was less than strenuous.

More than anything, Erik wished that he could help her in person. He had left little gifts for her to find in her dressing room — roses, a new hairbrush, a new day dress (which he had been very pleased to confirm she actually fit into) — and he could tell that she appreciated them if the little 'thank you' notes left for him to find were anything to go by, but it still didn't seem to make much of a difference. Even with the moments of smiling that she had from time to time, she still came into her bedroom every night looking dejected, crestfallen. Erik had even thought he had heard her crying into her pillow once or twice, and the thought broke his heart.

He wanted nothing more than to be able to stand in the room, wrap his arms around her, and hug her while she cried until there were no more tears left for her to cry and she had broken free of whatever pain was holding her captive. To see her in pain almost made it feel like the exact same pain was plaguing him, even if the cause was a complete mystery to him, and he just wanted to take that pain away from her.

The mirror remained a barrier, though. He had yet to work up the courage to reveal himself to her, fearing the repercussions of that decision and being terrified of the thought of her rejecting him and refusing to see him again because of his appearance. He couldn't have that. He couldn't lose yet another person that he loved; that had happened far too many times in his life and he was not eager to relive it.

Eventually, though, there was an occasion that broke those barriers completely.

He had already been waiting behind her mirror to speak to her after the performance of Roméo et Juliette that evening, wanting to congratulate on her performance in the chorus, but when the door to her dressing room flew open, his proud smile quickly faded away when he saw her. She was crying; no, she was sobbing. Her face was buried in her hands, her chest racking with sobs as she slammed the door closed behind her and locked it with noticeably shaking hands before she crumbled to her knees in the middle of the room, hiccuping and gasping for breaths.

He didn't know what came over him — a deep-set need to make sure that Christine was happy and protected, he guessed — but before he knew it, he had opened the mirror, run into the room, and was sitting on the floor next to his protegé.

"It's alright, Christine, shh," he said gently, cradling her head to his chest as soon as she threw her arms around him, seemingly recognizing his voice and seeking out comfort without a second thought about him being...well, actually in the room. "What's happened, dear?"

"Th-they're so cruel, Angel," she choked out through her sobs, her tears dampening Erik's dress shirt, which he could feel soaking through to his chest. "I h-haven't done a th-thing to them but they hate me!"

"What on earth do you mean, they hate you? How could anyone possibly hate you? Who are you talking about?" That idea genuinely confused him; the sweet, kind, gentle young woman in his arms was incapable of being wicked or impolite to anyone, so how could anyone accuse her of such a thing?

"The rest of the ballerinas!" Christine exclaimed exasperatedly, though Erik knew she didn't mean to come across that way. "Apart from Meg, of course, but they're all so wicked to me! Insulting the way I dance, the way I look in the costumes, how I don't stay around to flirt with any of the patrons because I'm not pretty enough. They're relentless and I don't know what I've d-done to them to make them do that, I didn't do anything on purpose, I don't understand!"

"Shh, it's alright," Erik whispered, starting to smooth down her hair and slowly rock back and forth in an attempt to soothe her while smothering any sort of nervous feeling that was starting to build up as he realized that he really was there with her, in the room, holding her in his arms and feeling her holding him just as tightly. It didn't seem real to him.

"I'm sure you haven't done anything at all, dear," he softly added. "You're far too kind to lower yourself to the harmful gossip that those girls pride themselves on excelling in and it would be beneath you to start. They are merely being vicious because you have what they don't; talent. You're the best dancer and singer in that entire group, and you are by far the most beautiful. They don't know what they're talking about, I promise you that."

She sniffled as she shuffled closer and rested her head on Erik's shoulder, making his heart skip a beat. "You're just saying that because you're my teacher and my Angel," she whispered.

"Not at all. I don't feel obligated to say it, and you know that I correct your technique when I feel you need a bit of help; you can't tell me that isn't true," Erik replied, smiling a bit when he heard a quiet laugh from his student and felt her nod her head against his chest. "I really do mean it, Christine. Now, I can't really help you when it comes to ballet because goodness knows I'm not very good at that, but I've seen you dance and I can tell that you're better than all of the other girls. You're a beautiful young lady and your voice is immaculate. You outshine all the rest of them in every way and they're jealous, so they try to make you feel bad because they think the only chance they have at being better than you is when you aren't acting at your prime, but even then, they're wrong."

He felt her nod again and watched as she reached up to wipe away her tears, but he swiftly pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket and tucked it into her hand to use instead.

"No more tears now, alright?" he said softly. "I do hate to see you cry."

"I know, I'm sorry," she replied as she dabbed at her cheeks and lifted her head off of his shoulder. "No more tears."

"Good. And just remember that I will always be here for you, no matter where you are or what you need. I will serve as a shelter and a comforter to you whenever possible, I promise."

Christine nodded and turned to return the handkerchief, but she didn't just extend her hand; she turned her head and looked at him as she did, and for the very first time, they locked eyes in person. So many times, Erik had looked right into her beautiful hazel eyes from behind the mirror and wished she could have known that she was staring right back into him, burying herself deeper and deeper into his heart with every passing moment, but he had never thought it would ever truly happen.

Her eyes seemed to widen as she finally registered his physical presence, having been too caught up in her own emotions to notice earlier. He watched her eyes flit from the bare side of his face to the right side, the one covered by the porcelain mask delicately carved to provide him with the facial features he needed — his right nostril, part of the bridge of his nose, an eyebrow — but she didn't need to know that, nor would she find that out at all if he had anything to say about it.

He didn't know exactly what she was going to say. Just don't scream, he thought to himself. Please, please don't scream and run.

"It...it's you," she said softly. "You're here."

Not what he was expecting, but he would certainly take it.

"I am," he replied, his heart practically pounding out of his chest as she reached out to hesitantly set her hand to the unmasked side of his face. "I'm here and you will always have me, my Angel. That is a promise." 

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word count - 1625

this was just a short, sweet little thing that I knocked out in the past couple of days. I hope you all enjoyed it!