You know how when you're bored, and feel like writing? And you think "Well, hey! I'll do somethin' to knock the socks off people!"? You feel like you and the computer keys are one, and you go and type up something so incredible that you're absolutely astounded with yourself?


This isn't one of those fics.

Sorry if I got anybody worked up into a suitable frenzy. This was something to pass the time. It's not very good, but maybe it'll give someone a chuckle. Hopefully, this will be the first of many Phantom stories to come.

Disclaimer: I'm in love with Erik, and believe me, if I could own him, I would...well. Y'all are phans. Y'all get it.

♥Dedicated to Hannah (Attica Finch) for giving me the idea of "What does Erik do in his spare time?"

Forgive me my faults should I make an error…….


Sometimes, it was all he had to do. Christine did have to rehearse, after all. Ayesha loved Erik dearly, but much preferred lazing about, rather than follow her master as he paced in unimaginable boredom. He could only listen to Carlotta's horrendous shrieks for so lo – actually, he couldn't listen to them at all. Which would explain him bouncing about, palms over his ears, chanting "La la la – I can't hear you!"

This insurmountable boredom had lead him here. He stood in his ingénue's room, comparing. He was deep in concentration, turning things this way and that, trying to find some suitability. So deep was he in his reverie, that he didn't hear Christine enter from the passage-way through the Rue-Scribe.

Christine was quite tired. Mme. Giry had worked the girls mercilessly for their poor performance in the last show. The ballet mistress had finally let them go – an hour and a half earlier than normally – in her disgust at their lack of improvement. Christine's muscles ached, but she thrummed in anticipation at the thought of exercising her vocal chords.

"Erik? Erik, are you here?" She kept herself respectful of Erik's house as she searched for him. She was still a bit frightened at what might be behind forbidden doors.

Having peeked inside the library, kitchen – and after knocking tentatively on his bedroom door with no answer – she came at last to her room, the Louis-Philippe room. The door was ajar, inviting her to open it completely. She had her hand on the knob as she heard Erik's voice. He sounded lost in thought. Christine brightened. Maybe she could help him along. A smile across her face, Christine pushed the door open to find Erik –

Her eyes widened. Her tutor stared at her in absolute horror, eyes as wide as his student's. Christine covered her mouth with her hand, at a loss for words. When she finally did think of something to say, she took her hand away from her lips, and slid it through her messy curls.

"Erik is that – um – are you wearing –?" He looked down at himself, eyeing paleness, mortified. Another question came to Christine's mind, and her brow creased.

"Are you wearing a corset underneath the dress?"