This is the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written. But hey, Christine's a soprano and Erik appreciates the performing arts so why not? This is a mish-mash of different versions of the story (mainly Leroux and ALW with a dash of Kay), but it's a modern au so it's not like that's too important. This is also my first POTO fic so reviews are very much appreciated! And the premise is kind of unorthodox when it comes to the rules of stagedoor etiquette and the like but let me dream.

The minute Erik walked into the crowded Gershwin theatre on Saturday evening he immediately regretted it. He knew it would be crowded tonight, and was he really so desperate to see the understudy Glinda? He was so used to going on weekdays, when it was still far too full for his taste but manageable enough if he kept his head down and sat towards the back. But only now, surrounded by dozens of tourist families with obnoxious children as he found his seat near the orchestra, did he realize the ridiculousness of a tall, overdressed masked man in his late thirties watching Wicked alone on a Saturday night. And it wasn't his first time either, which made it worse in his mind, though he doubted anyone else would know that he'd been in this exact theater twenty-six times before.

Wicked was his biggest guilty pleasure. It wasn't the best musical out there, and he wasn't going to pretend it was, but for some reason the show had this magnetic charm that never grew old. Maybe it was the extravagant visuals, or the way each new cast brought fresh energy onto the stage, or even the almost childish kinship he felt with the character of Elphaba. Whatever it was, it worked, and far too well. Especially since his first reaction to a negative experience with the principal cast was to jump on the first opportunity to see an understudy.

He'd seen the new cast about a month ago, and Carla Giudicelli was the most horrendous Glinda he'd ever watched. It was such a waste, too, because her singing voice was technically impeccable. She had experience in opera and it showed, but Erik had never in his life seen acting more soulless. Even her "Popular" bored him to tears. The whole cast had felt rather low-energy that night, and for the first time ever he left the Gershwin completely disappointed.

He was very aware of how illogical it was to sit through a two and a half hour show with a mediocre cast a second time in hopes of a single character's portrayal being semi-decent, but he couldn't resist. Seeing someone's debut was always exciting, and if the understudy was good her performance could finally wash out the bad taste Giudicelli's interpretation had left.

Finally settling in his seat, Erik started flipping through his playbill, briefly glancing at the understudy slip. At tonight's performance, the role of GLINDA will be played by CHRISTINE DAAÉ. He found her name in the Who's Who in the Cast page and read through her previous credits. This was her Broadway debut, and pretty much all of her other credits were for regional theatre. She hadn't really done much before this, he realized. Tonight was probably going to be the highlight of her career.

The lights darkened, and Erik put his playbill aside, waiting for Glinda's bubble to float onstage. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, considering how low Giudicelli had set the bar. He supposed she'd be decent, but it was only her first night. He sure as hell wasn't prepared for what he got.

She was glorious.

From the minute she started singing, Erik was entranced. Her voice was so pure, so crystalline, yet so full of emotion. Her high notes soared effortlessly, never once straining. And her acting! Every movement had so much thought infused into it. Her face was never once expressionless, and never in his previous twenty-six viewings had Erik been so immersed in Glinda's character. He could hear slight traces of an accent—was it Swedish?—in the way she said certain words, but it made her portrayal all the more charming. She was somewhat lacking in technique, he realized as the show went on, but the sheer amount of talent and nuance she displayed on that stage made up for it almost completely.

He passionately joined in on the standing ovation she received at the curtain call. She looked ecstatic as she ran out, beaming and clutching her heart as tears filled her eyes, and he felt a smile tug at his lips at the sight. She obviously had an immense passion for performing.

He wasn't sure what possessed him to visit the stagedoor that night. It'd never even crossed his mind to visit one, not when he looked like he did and the environment was so chaotic and his social skills were severely stunted. But his dignity be damned, he was doing it tonight. That Glinda—Christine—deserved to be told how brilliant she'd been, even if it was at the cost of his self-respect. It took a painstakingly long time for everyone to come out, and he was hyper-aware of the snickers and dirty looks he was receiving as his masked face stood a head taller than a majority of the crowd, but finally, after his playbill was covered in signatures from ensemble members and two of the less memorable leads, Christine walked out.

She was as radiant as she had been on stage, her heart-shaped lips curved into a smile. Her light brown curls were cut a few inches above her shoulders, framing her delicate features. She started signing the playbills being shoved at her, her face lighting up every time she reached a new fan. She was stunning.

Erik's throat tightened as she got closer. She had previously been announced as the last person stagedooring, and he could see the crowd emptying more and more until…

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

She was right in front of him, and he had no idea what he was supposed to say, and he was all of a sudden extremely aware that a guy in a mask was the last person you'd want to see at a mostly empty stagedoor on a Saturday night.

"Hi!" Christine said cheerily, cutting through his thoughts. She smiled that absolutely radiant smile of hers and took his playbill from his clammy hands, scribbling her signature onto it. She was so much tinier than him, having to crane her neck up almost completely just to look him in the face. She handed back his playbill, her hand softly grazing his as she did, and suddenly his throat was closed up again.

"I-I, uh, y-you were wonderful tonight," he managed after a moment. "I-I've seen a lot of G-Glindas, and, uh. Y-you're the best I've seen. By far." Good lord, he sounded ridiculous.

"Oh my god, really?" Christine's smile widened, a tiny squeal escaping her throat. "I—wow." She covered her mouth with her hand. "I'm sorry, I just...I always daydreamed about that, you know? I can't believe I'm someone's favorite Glinda!" She let out another little squeak, jumping a little bit this time. "Oh, god, I must look ridiculous right now. I'm so freaking unprofessional."

"No, i-it's fine," he managed. God, she was adorable. And most definitely Swedish, he concluded after hearing her speak.

"Thank you so much, by the way," she said.

"Thank you for giving such a wonderful performance."

He walked away from the theater blushing furiously.

Erik walked into his apartment with his ears still bright red. He went straight into his office, took a seat at his computer, opened Google, and typed in Christine's name.

She was on as Glinda for the next two shows, according to her Twitter. Without properly thinking it through, Erik opened the Wicked website and bought tickets for Sunday and Tuesday. God, that was stupid of him. And he knew it was stupid, but damn it, he had to see her again. A performance like the one she'd given was far too good to only witness once.

And her. She hadn't done any sort of double take when she saw him, hadn't reacted with fear or even the slightest hint of shock. She'd smiled at him and talked to him like he was just any other man and—Jesus Christ, was he really so affection-starved that he treated a polite interaction with a total stranger the same way a middle schooler treated a conversation with their crush?

You're such a fucking creep, he thought to himself. And yet he was scrolling through her Instagram account at one in the morning, trying to gather as much information about her as he could.

Most of her photos were of her alone, a good number of them showing off the different ensemble costumes she wore. Usually, if she was with someone else, it was with a freckle-faced girl with long blonde hair. For a minute he wondered if they were dating, but upon reading dozens of captions about friendship he figured they weren't. Once he'd scrolled back far enough he found that many of her pictures from the previous year contained a young, fairly handsome boy with messy blonde hair and a pathetic little excuse for a mustache. To his relief, that boy had disappeared from her pictures about five months ago.

Why do you care about her relationship status so much?!

He leaned back in his chair and realized that his cat, Elektra, had crept in and curled up at his feet. He lifted her onto his lap.

"Your dad's a real weirdo, isn't he?" he said to the cat, softly stroking her white coat. "What the hell am I doing?"

He gently placed Elektra on the floor, closing all the tabs on his computer that showed evidence of his cyberstalking. She's an actress and you're just a fucking fan, he reminded himself. Besides, even without that huge barrier between them, he was still him. A disfigured, unstable near-recluse who could never, would never, have a chance with someone as young and vibrant and beautiful as Christine.

Still, he could not stop thinking about how her eyes shone so undimmably bright as she'd taken her bows.

Christine was somehow even better on her second day. She lit up the stage completely, her crystalline soprano soaring above the orchestra with ease. Even with his shitty seat this time around Erik could tell she was completely pouring herself into Glinda. Once again, he gladly joined in on the standing ovation she received.

She'd probably be creeped out if he stagedoored again. One can only pretend to tolerate strange masked admirers for so long, right? And how was he supposed to explain the fact that he was here for the second night in a row?

Still, despite every logical part of him telling him to just leave, he found himself in the same crowd of judgmental tourists and rowdy kids as he had yesterday evening. It was slightly less full, and less cast members came out tonight, so for better or for worse Christine was out much, much sooner. She went down the line fairly quickly, and her eyes lit up when she saw him.

"Hi!" she chirped, taking his playbill from his hands. She wrote her name and handed it back. "You were here yesterday, right?"

Erik gulped. "Y-yes, I was," he said, trying his hardest to regain his composure.

"I remember you!" she said, as if she saw dozens of masked men at the stagedoor every day and his appearance wasn't already a dead giveaway. "You were so nice. I'm glad you're back."

His face felt hot under the mask, but he did his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. "Y-you were spectacular tonight. Even better than yesterday, somehow."

Christine bit her lip, clearly flustered. "Th-thank you!" she said, fidgeting with one of her short curls. "It was nice seeing you again. What's your name, by the way?"

"E-Erik," he choked out. Any illusion of calm he'd created was totally gone.

"Well, Erik,"—she smiled as she said this, and his name on her lips was one of the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard—"I hope you come back soon."

Erik brought a camera for the third show. He had a pretty decent amount of experience with bootlegging, and his video masters had a reputation for being of unusually high quality. This was probably a good opportunity to film anyway, since Christine's Glinda debut had been so recent. A full video of her coming out so soon after she first went on would be extremely valuable in the bootleg trading world, and he could probably make some extra money selling it for a few months before trading it out.

He was giving himself excuses, and he knew it. God, he hadn't stopped thinking about Christine for three days straight. He was very aware of how creepy that was. But there he was at the Gershwin for the third time in a row, seeing Wicked for the twenty-ninth time.

So this is what your life has come to.

He had picked up on all of her little nuances and quirks now. She hit the optional high note at the end of "No One Mourns The Wicked." She made an effort to touch the actress playing Elphaba as much as possible. She tossed her hair a lot around Fiyero. Her accent slipped out the most during the catfight scene. Her tears in the sad scenes were very, very real, and by the end of the show her mascara was slightly smudged and she had patches of missing foundation.

She couldn't have been more perfect if she tried.

It would be extra stupid for him to go back to the stagedoor today. Speaking technically, he'd just committed a crime, and it was very possible that someone had seen him (not the clueless ushers, of course, but someone). And there was the matter of bothering Christine for the third time this week and risking looking like either a stalker or a desperate fanboy. It was stupid, he was stupid, and yet…

There he was, in the same crowd, surrounded by just as many squealing teens and uncomfortable adults as he had been yesterday, hearing the exact same snickers and judgemental whispers. He stayed closer to the back this time, not wanting to deal with the cast members giving him dirty looks. Christine came out last as always, her curls sticking out of her messy ponytail. The stagedoor cleared out quickly as she moved through the line, and Erik swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed himself to the front.

"Erik!" Christine said, smiling. "You're back!"

"Third time's the charm," he quipped.

She giggled in response, cheeks turning pink. They both stood there for a moment, drowning in awkward silence, until—

"You wanna take a selfie?"

Erik felt his chest constrict. He hadn't been in a photograph in years, much less taken one of himself. He didn't want to say no, but he didn't even know how to take a damn selfie, and he really didn't want to look at himself, even with the mask. But would saying no give the wrong impression? What impression was he even trying to make?

"I just realized you've probably been wanting one," she continued. "Sorry, I've just talked your ear off the last two times and—"

"Yes," he blurted without thinking. "Yes, I'd love a picture."

Hands shaking, he took out his phone and turned it on, opening the camera app for the first time since he'd bought it. He pressed the icon for selfie mode and lifted the phone so it was in front of his face, trying not to look as he crouched down and leaned closer to Christine. Without warning, she wrapped her arm around his neck, and he froze completely.

"I can take it if you want," she said, seeming to sense his discomfort. He simply nodded. Keeping her arm around him, Christine used her free hand to take the phone from his. She positioned it at an angle and smiled, and Erik barely managed a smirk when she took the photo. By the time she was finished he was close to fainting.

"It was nice seeing you again," she said as she handed him back the phone. "Oh"—she gestured to the playbill he was holding under his arm—"do you want me to sign that?"

"S-sure," he replied. Hands still trembling, he handed the playbill to her and she scribbled on it with her usual speed. His head was still too foggy to process anything, his heart only beating faster when her fingers touched his as she handed back the playbill. "Thank you, Christine."

"No problem! Come back soon!" She winked at him, and he swore he was dangerously close to experiencing cardiac arrest in that moment.

He fumbled away from the theatre, his mind and heart racing. He didn't realize what was written on his playbill until he got to his apartment.

Written in her usual handwriting was her distinctively feminine signature, reading XOXO Christine Daaé. But underneath was a heart, followed by a hastily written ten-digit phone number.

NOTES: Erik's cat is named after the title character from the opera Elektra by Richard Strauss, not that fucking superhero person that shows up when you google Elektra. Also, Christine and Erik's interactions are kind of based on my own experiences at stagedoors (very loosely though, obviously) and Christine's general attitude is based on Christy Altomare's (she's the absolute sweetest and I adore her). This whole fic could very well be a testament to my love for Gina Beck (cuz you know...she played both Christine and Glinda).

ANYWAY, please leave a review if you're inclined to! Those really make my day. Thanks for reading!