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Modern E/C, having fun with Vine

I have written the floofiest of fluff to make myself feel better this evening. Please enjoy and/or feel free to gag. And RIP, Vine.

When the pair spilled out of the Palais Garnier, it was with Christine laughing and clutching Erik’s elbow for dear life, imbalanced as she was by the champagne and a set of strappy, too-high heels.

“Careful, my dear.” Despite the crowd, his baritone was low and dulcet in her ear. “I would hate for our travels to end with a concussion.”

“Even that couldn’t spoil this trip,” she replied dreamily. “Every moment has been amazing. But the Paris Opera! In a private box! How can anything ever top that? I’ll spend the rest of my life pining for it.” She looked over to him, and something in the rigid set of his jaw made her grin falter. “Erik?”

Amber irises caught the light of a streetlamp and glimmered deep within the eye-sockets of his black mask. “And I will spend the rest of my life picturing you, here, on this night, and in that dress.” He gestured to the navy silk faille, cut to a deep V in front, that spilled over her figure. She smiled, and he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Happy belated birthday, Miss Daaé.”

“Best gift ever.” She clutched the lapels of his dark suit jacket and kissed him back. Then she held out her purse in order to extract her phone. “And now, we selfie.”

He exhaled through the nose-holes of the mask. “Must we?”

“This way, you will always have that image of me, here and in this dress.” She pulled him onto the pale steps of the opera house, overlooking the avenue, as she readied the camera.

“Yes, but the image in my head is sweet and timeless. No ducklips.” He was rewarded with an elbow to the ribs.

“I don’t do ducklips, and you know it,” she said. “Now, please at least attempt a smile.”

He did not, but neither did he appear aggravated, and so it would suffice. In fact, she was willing to push her luck, just this once, in order to memorialize what was possibly the best night of her life thus far. “And now a video,” she added.

“No! No video.”

“Just a Vine, then? It would only be six seconds!”

“I do not know what a Vine is, but I can only presume that it is some form of content-sharing social media, in which case I offer an even more emphatic ‘no.’”

“My account is private. It’s just our friends who will see it.”

“Your friends. Mine only by proxy.”

“Nadir is your friend.”

“Mm. Is he?”

“Erik.”

He let out a long, slow exhalation of breath. “Fine. If it means that much to you.”

“It does.” She slipped an arm around his waist and lay her cheek against his shoulder. “I couldn’t possibly be any happier than I am tonight. You make me happy.” She positioned the camera out in front of their faces, and her smile grew as he curled a lanky arm around her shoulders. When she hit the button to record, he surprised her by pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“At least look it over before you broadcast it to the world,” he said as he pulled away.

“Fine, you old grouch,” she replied, but she was still beaming. She wasn’t sure that she would ever stop. She bent over the little screen and replayed the clip, reveling in the sight of his lips on her skin. The arm wrapped around her shoulders moved, too, with hand and wrist snapping in a flash of movement. She played it again.

The hand held a small box. And the box was flicked open.

When she spun to confront him, he was already down on one knee.

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