This small offering is based on a prompt I found on tumblr. I know Erik's last name is not canon, but I found it fitting.

Enjoy and if you would be so kind as to leave your thoughts, I would love to hear them.

Christine snored

Good God, that woman snored.

Now, the Opera Ghost was no stranger to sleepless nights.

Rather it could be said, in all earnestness, of course, that the better part of his waking moments over the course of his lifetime had been during the darkness. The unusual notion of sleep had only begun to appeal to his otherwise nocturnal nature in recent months and much to his surprise, the transition had not been an overly difficult one.

Then again, he seemed to be transitioning a great deal these days.

At the moment, one in particular appeared to be the one of his greatest joy - and his current consternation.

Christine lay against him, snuggled quite contentedly along the length of his body. Blinking away the haziness from his sudden awakening, Erik glanced down at the mop of chocolate curls spread over his chest and couldn't help the slight smile that pricked at his lips and he smoothed a hand gently down her hair, pausing briefly when his new ring suddenly snagged in the strands.

It was a strange feeling, knowing he was a married man now. But against all of his deepest fears - and perhaps against all odds, as far as that insufferable Daroga persistently insisted- the former Phantom of the Opera now found himself legally bound to the starring diva of the Opera Populaire. While the adjustment to domestic life was proving to be enjoyable in many ways, there was one tiny thing that seemed to be proving impossible to abide.

His new wife- His lovingly sweet, innocent, delicate wife was ... well, in essance, a foghorn.

There was simply no other way to describe it. The woman he loved beyond all reason, whom he had agreed to be bound to for all eternity, to spend each and every day with for the rest of their lives, had a snore that could wake the dead.

The first few times had been endearing. Who would have thought that his petite songbird could produce such inhumane noises? Still, as the weeks passed, the amount of sleep he actually managed to obtain grew less and less.

Every incident began in a similar manner: Christine would kiss him good-night before burrowing deep into the covers and wrapping her arms around his waist. When her breaths evened out into a steady pattern of sleep, he would finally allow his own eyes to slip shut, resting in the knowledge that she was safe and content within his embrace.

It was nearly comical how precise her timing was. His body would just be beginning to relax as the first snort came; when his mind had calmed enough to enter the notion of sleep, but aware enough to not be too terribly disturbed by the noise. Oblivious, she would give small sigh and inch closer to him, sometimes blindly seeking his hand in the darkness. Mollified, sleep would return to both of them for the time being only to be disrupted minutes or sometimes hours later by another snore. This one, louder and longer than the first, would often startle him back into the world of the living.

In this moment, he would attempt to carefully extract himself from her embrace. As much as he despised doing so, the (admittedly very small) rational part of him cried out from exhaustion. Slowly, gently, he would roll Christine to the other side of the bed, careful not to wake her. Blessedly, something about the change of position seemed to act as an antidote to the snores and would grant him a few hours of uninterrupted peaceful rest.

But other times...

Oh, those cursed occasions.

There were times when he was locked deeply within sleep's siren song that he was suddenly jarred back to his senses by a guttural wheeze so loud that it seemed to echo in every corner of the room before crashing to a grand crescendo in his skull. The first time, he shot straight up in bed, nearly knocking his poor wife to the floor in his abruptness. It was only after facing her admonishment for waking her and watching her fall back into the lull of sleep that he realized that it was, in fact, Christine who was responsible for that unholy alarm.

The present moment happened to be one of those unlucky evenings and Erik let his head fall back to the pillow with a sigh even as his arms tightened around his wife. She released another snore in response; a stuttering, staggered breath that left her husband no choice but to instinctively flinch and run a hand over his mangled flesh with an inaudible sigh. "Mon ange, as much as I adore you, you try my patience tonight."

She woke on an exhale. "Erik?" She shifted against him, blinking the sleep out of her brown eyes and angling her head to look up at him. "Good heavens, Erik. What time is it?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," he answered honestly, eyes slipping closed to take advantage of the momentary silence. "I'm sure dawn is still a few hours away."

Rolling away, he heard her gasp upon checking the bedside clock. "3:00 a.m.? Erik, are you mad? Actually...don't answer that." With a sigh, she tried again. "What would posses you to wake me at such an hour?"

Opening one eye, he regarded her with a sidelong glance and a raised brow. "I woke you?"

She answered with an exasperated sigh. "Well, of course you did, did you not? And you know I have to be on stage a 7:00 to prepare for dress rehearsal and how important it is to..." When his expression did not change, she paused, blinking once, twice as clarity lit her eyes. "Oh. Oh, I did it again, didn't I? Oh, Erik..."

With a deep sigh of his own, the Opera Ghost rolled to his side, settling his chin on his palm and tried not to give into the smirk that threatened to appear. "It is quite alright, my love. I don't suppose you can much help it, can you?"

Christine's smile was sheepish as her shoulder lifted into a shrug. "My father lamented about it entirely too often when I was small. Still," she inched closing to him, linking her fingers through his free hand. "I do so hate to be the cause of your insomnia."

Lifting her hand to his lips, he let a yawn escape before placing a kiss to her fingertips."I have gone the better part of my life without sleep, my dear." With a roll of his eyes, he added. "Then again, I suppose that does make the little amount I do manage to obtain all the more precious. Sadly, I find that number to be ever shrinking since our blessed union."

Clearly in no mood to fall prey to his attempt to guilt her, she retorted. "While that may be true, I am hardly to take the full blame. Just last night you managed to keep me up half the night with your...attentions." Quirking a brow in challenge, she added with an indignant tilt of her head. "I didn't hear your complaints in those moments."

"And you repay me by wearing me down and waking me the next night by imitating a saw mill?" he replied lightly, snaking an arm around her waist. "How am I to be certain this is not just one of your elaborate ploys to have your way with me until I collapse from exhaustion?"

Her eyes sparked to life as she met his with a coy smile. "Is that a proposal you wish to explore further tonight?"

Dipping his head, he allowed himself a brief taste of her potent kiss before withdrawing with a groan. "As tempting as that prospect is, and it most certainly is, I find myself wanting nothing more at the moment than to sleep."

With a chuckle, Christine scooted closer, taking his face in her hands. "My poor, exhausted Erik," she murmured, pressing her lips to his mangled flesh. "Then sleep, my love." Moving away from him, she added, "I shall retire to the guest room for the evening and leave you in peace."

She had barely retrieved her pillow before his fingers clamped around her wrist. Surprised, she glanced back at her husband with questioning eyes. He did not answer right away, merely pulled her back down into his side. "Stay," he whispered.

"Erik, are you certain?" she asked, even as her hands found their home around his waist again. "I can't promise-"

"I shall survive," he snapped, eyes already closed as he settled them down into the pillows. "Stay, Christine. Please."

"If you're sure..." she hummed, her own eyes slipping closed. "Erik?"

"Hmmm."

"My snoring...it is truly so horrible?"

Considering her question, he hesitated a moment before answering, "During my years in Persia, the Sultana had a fondness for gutting pigs before a banquet and relishing in their final dissonant death rattle." Opening his eyes, he glanced down at her wide-eyed stare before adding, "Sadly, the disturbingly audible lamentations of your sub-conscious bear a striking resemblance."

Her eyes grew wider if possible, before narrowing to a glare. "Erik Garnier! Of all the-" Whatever scathing words she had for him were suddenly lost in his kiss, effectively ceasing her rant and securing his escape from her acidic tongue. At least for the time being.

"Bonne nuit, ange." he whispered soothingly against her lips, satisfied when he felt her relax against him and heard her soft moan as her eyes slid shut. "May we both sleep peacefully tonight."

Her only response was the tightening of her fingers at his sides and he rested his head atop her crown as the call of sleep beckoned to both of them. Within moments, Christine was asleep and, despite her earlier pledge, Erik felt the small, tentative pulses of her snorts against his chest. With a resigned sigh, he simply pulled her closer.

It was a small price for having her in his arms, in his bed, for the rest of their days and he would paid it willingly a thousand times over to behold his living, breathing, snoring angel.

And years later, when she unwillingly left him to be with those of her own kind, he found he missed that particular trait most of all.