(closed starter for @xweofmanyfaces)
A soft twittering outside the window started Erik from his sleep. Inhaling deeply, he pressed a hand to his head, flinching at the feeling of the mask still pressed to his face. Had he fallen asleep with it on? He usually had been quite good about that... He groaned softly, turning his face against the pillow. A flash of curls betrayed the identity of the curled up form in bed beside him, causing his blood to run cold as the world around him stopped. He stared a long while, blinking slowly as he took her in. Soft curls framed her angelic face, calm and sweet in the depths of sleep. His hands clenched tightly into fists until his nails smarted the skin there and he released. This was no dream, then. She laid beside him, so calmly, as if this was a common occurance.
The events of their journey so far flooded back to him. After escaping the chateau with only her essentials, they rode off into the night. He had his face pressed against her hair for much of the journey, only stopping to check on her occasionally. They didn't exchange many words during that night, only soft kisses when the horse needed a few moments to rest. The rode all night and much of the next day, making it to just about the border before night began to fall and Erik's mind began to cloud with exhaustion. Everything that had happened suddenly hit him all at once, draining the energy from his muscles. After finding a small inn with barely a soul inside, he instructed her to use a fake name to secure a room, and followed up after her. He had been so tired that he had shed some of his more restrictive clothes and fallen asleep almost immediately.
Guilt hit him hard. He should have checked on her before he fell asleep. He had been so tired... And there they were, sleeping in the same bed, beneath the same blankets, so close... What had he been thinking? Not even offering to take the floor. As desperately as he wanted to sleep with her in his arms, it was improper and forward and he shouldn't have... He sighed, continuing to stare at her. No matter how he felt about himself, he found a certain comfort in her. She looked so relaxed... So happy...
This wasn't a dream. After so long of dreaming of seeing her face as he awoke, there she was. He smiled, reaching out to stroke her cheek with his knuckles, as if to prove to himself again that she was real. Behind her, his cloak, riding jacket, and waistcoat hung in the closet, and his gloves, cravat, shoes, and socks rested neatly on the chair. He couldn't remember a time he wore so little around her, thankful for the unbuttoning of his collar. Perhaps she'd feel the same as he did and beg for a while longer to sleep. Perhaps she'd awaken and regret everything they had done. The day of her wedding was behind them now and he had done his best to distract her, humming softly in her ear and curling an arm around her waist as they rode on. He tried to give her space to think as best he could, but the temptation to press his mouth to her hairline had been too much, several times.
Even though every part of his mind beat against him, sure that he was a gargoyle and deserved nothing of the pure, angelic being beside him, his heart surged as he found her hand laying beside her on the bed. Carefully, as if she made fade like some wild illusion, he placed his hand over hers, grateful even for that much. His Christine...
