Work Text:
January 27th, 2024.
Personally, Christine thought the man who ran Phantom Productions was a massive weirdo. And, oh God, not because he wore a mask. Christine wouldn't judge a person like that (she wasn’t some evil gossip rag). God no. He was weird…in other aspects. Of course, she would never say that part out loud, even if half the building would tip their hats. Because he was her boss.
Okay, so technically , he wasn’t her boss. He was her boss’s boss. If that made sense. (She really shouldn't be shitting on the man when he probably helped sign her paychecks but come on.) She could only listen to Andre complain so much about him before also getting annoyed vicariously. Like the guy never came into the office when they needed him to, but when he did come in? The man hovered. Insanely. And it's not like he had a reason to be hovering over her. Because unlike what she assumed when she got the job, she wasn’t actually doing anything musical. No, poor Christine was a coffee-getter. An email sender. An assistant. No one of consequence. So why was this guy always staring at her with his weird yellow eyes? Okay, maybe she did judge people…sometimes. Erik was C-list famous and ran a not-so-anonymous music criticism blog. In 2024. Some things have to be judged.
“Maybe he is like scouting you or something? Be their next super talent?” Her best friend, Meg Giry, said through her phone as they had their weekly dinner and Facetime gossip sesh.
“That man has never heard me sing. Nor would he even care. He has the nickname ‘Red Death’ for a reason. Erik destroys musical careers just with a shrug.”
“You don’t know,” Meg said as she shoved another roll of sushi into her mouth. “Crazier things have happened to us.” By us, Meg meant her. She used to be an inspiring prima ballerina before discovering her true calling- posting K-pop/J-pop dance covers on social media. She now makes more in one sponsored post than Christine makes in probably a month. “I am just saying! Either he wants a lawsuit or a star. I would just hope it's the latter.”
“Ew, he is way too old and famous for me. And! And he has only spoken to me, like, twice. To ask for tea and not coffee. Also, he doesn’t come in a lot. He probably doesn’t even know my name. I’ve told you that!”
“I thought you were complaining about him? Now it sounds like you are defending the rude weirdo, get your story straight..”
Christine blushed, praying that her phone's shitty front camera didn’t show it. She wasn’t defending him. She just didn’t think Erik would think about her. Cause why would he?
“Can we get back to you doing that anime convention? Cosplaying some video game you never even played, all for a check?”
Meg’s camera was much better, and she could see her friend turn bright red. “Shut up!!!”
February 21st, 2024.
So Erik hadn't come in like a month. Which meant everyone around the office was much more chilled out. Food was at desks, women were in way shorter heels, headphones stayed on and many took an occasional long lunch. (She even saw Joe in accounting put an anime robot figure on his desk, a little weird but a slay!) The newfound peace was a kind of blessing, even if it meant ignoring Erik’s poor assistant (who was required to report back to Erik) like the plague. Less fearful minions scurrying around trying not to get fired meant more work got done. Which meant less of her time was spent having to run around trying to fix others' mistakes.
When he entered the space, the entire vibe just got… ruined. Like that time he screamed at Carlotta cause she was a bit playful in an email to a prospective client. The artist even thought her sarcasm was funny! There wasn’t a lick of a crisis, but Erik practically blew a gasket over a non-existent P.R. situation. What can you do about it, though? Christine certainly wasn’t paid enough to care.
Anyway, the reason Christine was thinking about this was the sudden chill that went up her spine as she was typing out some routine responses. Not to do the MCU poor writing cliche, but her first thought was, He's right behind me, isn't he?
She pulled out her one earbud and turned around in her desk chair. And, yup, there he was. In his entire all-black outfit. Sweater vest and all.
“Hi?” It came out a little squeak.
“...Hello.” Woah. She didn’t even know a man's voice could go that deep.
“Do I need to grab some coffee…?”
“What were you listening to?”
“Uhm…Sorry, I was just working on emails, I'm a good multi-tasker, it wasn’t distracting me at all, and it won't happen again-”
“Don’t care, what were you listening to?”
Looking down at her phone, the black off-screen was a wonderful mirror to her ‘Oh fuck’ face. She looked back up at Erik and said, “Would you believe me if I said a podcast?” He shook his head, the black mask he wore shifting a bit as he moved.
“Umm. Limp Bizkit?”
“...Really?”
“Yeah?”
He took a step back before giving her the weirdest of looks. Like she could tell just by his eyes and the little sliver of his mouth that peeked out of his mask that he was judging her. Hard. Christine purposely blinked her eyes, before looking down forcibly because she just realized she was staring pretty intensely at his mouth.
“I did not expect that.”
“My dad would put it on in the car, and now I associate it with him, okay? Jesus!” She really struggled with keeping her words professional under pressure.
He put his hands up. “I apologize. We all had embarrassing middle school phases. I don’t judge.” Yeah, you better don’t, Christine thought.
“Middle school? No, my dad played it for me when I was like four.”
“Pardon?”
Christine had no idea what this guy’s problem was. She was so glad he wasn’t her direct boss.
“I know it wasn’t the most appropriate thing for him to play, but he was in his own band that also said a lot of no-no words, so I guess he didn’t care. I already had heard most of them by the time I was two.”
Erik still had this really shocked look on his face. Maybe she shouldn’t have rambled on for so long.
“How old are you again?”
“Twenty-three?”
He backed out of her little cubicle space with a deep frown. Just another instance of the weird boss being, well, weird.
February 22nd. 2024.
Then the next day her boss asked her what she did to offend him! Why did they always find a way to blame her? If it wasn’t for her absolute hatred of finding new jobs, she would’ve quit by now. The amount of awful stories Christine had accumulated…she could get so much gold on Reddit.
“Why was he even talking to me?” She asked one of the few other assistants who she could stand.
Raoul looked around before leaning in, “Well I heard, and don’t take this as one hundred percent true, that someone overheard you sing and told Erik you were pretty good. The guy likes to judge talent, I mean you’ve seen his weird ass blog.” She nodded for him to continue. “Then he saw you breaking company rules and wanted to grill. Don’t know why some stupid band got his panties in a twist though.”
“He asked me how old I was? Like just because I'm young doesn’t mean I can’t like older music. Like, come on!”
It was at this moment Christine realized that the man they were gossiping about was staring at them, from like ten feet away. Raoul turned his head to where she was looking and then quickly walked away. Taking that as the cue to get back to work, Christine spun her flimsy little desk chair back to face her computer so she could bury herself in emails. If she ignored him watching, he would eventually fade away. Literally or figuratively. One would eventually happen. Right?
Subject: Upcoming Gala
Chris, you make sure every last one of our artists has been invited to this year's gala. And I mean every last one of them. We need this year's gala to actually mean something. Not like the one last year. Don't want it to be only populated by sad desk workers. Again.
Carlotta
Sent from my iPhone
Christine rolled her eyes. The people around truly did think she was both an idiot and the best multi-tasker on the planet. She was pretty sure half the stuff she did was not part of her job. She quickly sent off another reply that basically said ‘Yes, I know you don't have to tell me something seventeen times’. One would hope it would get the red-headed she-devil off her back, but nope. Tomorrow Christine would have to go back and forth another ten or so times.
When she looked back to where Erik was, he was sadly still there. His eyes… were legit trying to burn a hole into her head. She could only hope she would still have a job at the end of the day. Christine sent a little prayer up for herself and then she remembered Raoul, and then prayed for him as well.
After her prayer, he was gone. Vanished within seconds. Meg was gonna love this story.
And then just an hour later Christine got the worst news possible. Ever.
subject: ???? Promotion kinda
Hey Chris, this is kinda weird but you are being promoted? Erik was apparently looking for an assistant and instead of hiring one for himself, he decided to just…steal you! Lol! Please delete this email after you read it, ha. Good luck, and I will miss your wonderful work.
Andre
What the hell ?
June 13th, 2024.
So, she’s been Erik’s assistant for about four months. And it sucked. With Andre, she did so much more than what she was actually meant to do. Now…she was truly a personal assistant. (It all felt like cosmic karma, why did she ever complain?) No one talks about the awfulness of scheduling your boss's doctor's appointments and having to field questions about his personal exams. She was hired as a personal assistant and now she finally truly was one. Yay.
Don't even get her started on the absurd phone calls at weird hours. Since he did not like coming into the office every day, he worked at home. Completely normal. He also apparently didn't like working at reasonable human hours. So very Not normal.
If Christine got one more stupid call about his cat and her sensitive stomach at three in the morning...she would end up on the news.
“What are you wearing to the gala?” The gala? The one literally months away? His questions were all very frank, and if she hadn't gotten used to it ages ago, Christine would have called him rude to his face.
“Black dress.”
Her desk was no longer with the rest of the beleaguered office employees, it now sat right outside his office. She was now constantly available to him. Twenty-four seven.
“What kind?”
“Are you asking the brand because, cause no offense, you don't even pay me enough to get good shampoo for my hair.” Christine mentally apologized to her curls. Sorry girls.
He snorted at the comment, before saying, “Glittery? Poofy? Accents of color?” Was it going to be a real designer? Or just some Forever 21 knockoff? Real subtle, Erik.
“Nope. Just a plain black dress. Gold accessories.” That she would be borrowing from Meg. “Why?”
“You will be trailing after me the entire night, I can't have you looking awful.” He then promptly entered his office. Seriously. Why was he such a massive dick? Just when she thought she was safe, Erik came back out just to say, “You have to pick up Ayesha from the groomer’s. Make SURE they give her the red bandana. They gave her an orange one last time and it clashed with her fur.” He then left her desk again.
Yay. Again.
Christine got up from her desk and stretched. Others in the building thought she was lucky because she got to travel in Erik’s private car for his errands. Little did they know half the time she was sharing the backseat with an evil cat. An ungodly evil cat. As she gave one final little stretch of her arms, she noticed Erik was once again staring at her through the glass walls of his office. When Erik noticed Christine saw him watching her, he quickly looked down and started to chew on the cap of his pen.
“I am just going to pick up Ayesha.” Christine popped her head into his glass office, and she made a sad little hand motion to indicate she was heading to the elevator.
“Get me some tea while you're out.” He didn’t even bother to look up from the glossy concept album covers on his desk to make eye contact. “Hot this time.”
October 13th. 2024
It was three am in the morning and Christine was not tired. Because she was in Paris. The excitement, the worrying over Erik-related things, the jetlag. It was giving her a high stronger than anything Meg could ever give her. It was also her first lull in what seemed like hours of meetings, luncheons, and influencer (gross) parties... The rational part of her told to go to bed, to try and force the sleepiness but another more paranoid part told her to stay awake in case Erik needed something.
It was crazy. And Christine knew that.
But there she was. Sitting in her hotel room right across from Erik. Just sitting. In the dark. She really hated to admit but something was snapping within her. Before she could google ‘I can only think about my job and nothing else?’ her phone lit up with a message from Erik. Christine hated that the paranoid part of her was proven right.
Erik:
Please cancel that morning meeting with that American singer tomorrow. Also, make sure the next hotel doesn’t have wildflowers in my room. They are weeds. It's tacky.
Christine frowned. She explicitly told them what flowers he liked. He wouldn’t like that excuse of an answer so she just replied with ‘Will do and I apologize, I will tell them’.
Erik must have not realized she was still awake, because his little text bubble kept popping up and disappearing. Eventually, he just sent this:
Erik:
Just come into my room. I don't want to dictate all of this in text.
That was another weird thing about Erik. He hated texting. Well. To be fair, she used constant abbreviations and the crying emoji as the laughing one probably one too many times for him to want to text her.
She padded her way into the hotel’s hallway. Most people would find this situation odd, but Christine was so past the point of what is normal for her within the parameters of this job. To be frank, she was now in the stage of almost liking it?
Not almost.
She genuinely liked helping Erik. As she stared at the white hotel room door, it dawned on her that if anyone else had the opportunity to do these things for Erik, and yes that included anything to do with that awful cat, she would get upset. She put her blood, sweat, and tears into every single little task for this odd, odd man. She was the one who found him that obscure, long but forgotten song he remembered from his childhood. Christine was the one who reconnected him to his friend from Iran. She did all of that. And maybe it was the fact that the tabloids and gossip Twitter accounts marked him as the Evil Devil Phantom of the Music world that she liked being able to make him proud with every little triumph she accomplished. For him.
“Christine, I can hear you loitering outside, just come in already.”
When she opened the door, Erik was sitting on the couch in a black satin robe and…socks covered in cartoon cats. His hair seemed messier than usual and his hands were weirdly holding his mask to his face.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
If she didn’t know any better, Christine would say the man was looking. Rough. She could kinda make out red-rimmed eyes, and the skin that poked out underneath his mask seemed more grey than usual.
“Do you have a good relationship with your parents, Christine?”
She stood there stunned for a second, unsure if this was another trick question like the book manuscript one a couple of months ago.
“My mother died when I was a baby, but my dad. Yeah, we were really close.”
“Were?”
“He passed away when I was in high school.”
He hummed before turning away from her to remove his mask. She could kinda make out him rubbing his face, but not his face itself. Erik then put his mask back on to turn back to her. She kept nervously switching her weight between her feet.
“Do you wonder why I wear this?” This definitely was a trick question. Christine made a couple of pathetic little noises but couldn’t bring herself to actually answer. “Do you read the theories? Bad car accident in my twenties. Too conceited to show my face to poor people. Or am I actually a criminal wanted for those lake murders? Which one do you believe?”
“Is…everything okay, Erik?”
He chuckled, and it made Christine nervous.
“Do I look okay, my dear?”
She also let that one go unanswered.
“My own mother wishes me dead. You’d think with all the money I send her she would stop sending me letters telling me I am gonna die alone, but alas. Here is one.” He pointed to the creased stark white paper next to him on the couch. “Her cursive is getting worse, which is tragic. I suppose. She did always love her penmanship.”
“I am…sorry?”
He laughed again, and it still unnerved her.
“It's true though. The real answer, Christine, is I was born an ugly man. So ugly I need this.” He stroked at the mask. He then tugged on a strand of his black hair. “This is a wig. Did you know that?” Christine shook her head. “Yes, Erik is ugly. Erik wears a wig.”
“You really shouldn't say those things.”
“Why shouldn’t I speak the truth?” He snarled, making her shrink back. “I hate liars, filthy liars. Didn’t you learn that from my dear friend, the Daroga? Or how about Andre? Did you ask him about when he lied to me?”
“I am not lying, Erik.” He harrumphed at her. Like a child. He mumbled something so low she didn’t hear it.“What?” She asked.
“I said look at me!” He tore off his mask, and Christine instinctively stepped back. His face was like a rotting corpse. She didn't know people could not have a nose. What made it worse was the look Erik was making. A mixture of horror, anger, and sadness marred his skeletal-like features.
Christine just met his eyes. The prolonged eye contact seemed to sober him because he put on his mask again and rubbed at his eyes.
“Leave. Go.” She floundered a bit, and he reiterated it. “I said go before I fire you.”
She gave him one final look before exiting his hotel room.
Christine woke up to an email telling her she had the day off to go explore Paris. Erik didn’t answer her knocking when she tried to talk to him.
December 16th, 2024.
It took months of planning, emails, God so many emails, and weeks of hiring and firing florists, but Phantom Productions officially was about to have their Annual Gala in about twenty or so minutes. Christine was a nervous wreck. They kept fucking up her seating charts and Erik absolutely can not sit next to a certain composer and yet somehow his little name card keeps ending up at her boss's table!
“You need to calm down.” Raoul was eyeing her up and down like her hair was on fire. Wait. Was it? She patted her curls and was relieved to find it was not.
“How can I calm down?”
“I don’t know? Realize Erik would never fire you?”
“What?”
Raoul laughed. “Christine, that man has you attached to his hip. You predict his every move. At this point, you are as much of an asset to this company as the entire human resources department. I think you know more about him than Firmin and Andre combined.”
“Oh my god.” He laughed again. “Don't laugh! …Oh my god.” She repeated.
Erik finally entered the ballroom, and his yellow eyes zeroed in on her and Raoul. She didn’t love the face he was making. (Yes, she could decipher the tiniest of looks of his, even from under his mask). Raoul hadn’t noticed it though, and he kept on talking.
“Have you like…seen under it? Wait, that sounds terrible. I didn’t mean it like that-”
“Mean what, Chagny?” Erik’s voice legit made Raoul jump like a cartoon character.
“Nothing!”
“If it is nothing, why are you bothering my busy assistant with it?” He enunciated the word busy like no man had ever done before.
“Sorry, sorry. I’ll get going.”
“Yes, yes you should!”
The two of them watched as Raoul left to the table he was sitting at with fellow assistants and the other lower-tier workers.
“Is anything wrong, Erik?”
Her boss just stared at her for a brief weird second, like he was about to say something but he was holding himself back. Erik just then shook his head.
“No. Just enjoy the night, Christine.” As he walked away, Christine realized that the tie he was wearing was gold. An unusual choice for the man who solely lived in black.
And she did. It was somewhat odd. It felt like a giant weight had been taken off her shoulders. She drank expensive champagne and ate food so tiny but ungodly expensive. She would know, too. Most of this stuff Erik had final approval on and she was the one who got it to him and…Wait. She didn’t have to think about all that! Christine could just enjoy it.
And so she didn't think about it all into the late hours of the night.
By the middle of the gala, she was a little bit tipsy, a little bit still hungry, and a little bit in pain from the pinching heels on her feet. But she was also quite content. The balcony was mainly filled with the various smokers and vapers, a common yet hated by Erik trend in the various artists he helped. Christine was outside for the cold, the goosebumps on her skin a wonderful wake-up from the dreamy party landscape.
“Christine?”
Her boss’s voice made her jump a bit (like always), but she dutifully turned around, ready to let him dictate anything he needed her to do.
“Yes, Erik?”
“Why are you standing out here?” He looked down at her bare arms, his eyes tracing all the raised little bumps.
“Fresh air.”
He makes his ‘Gross’ face, one she is quite familiar with. “This air isn't very fresh, Christine.” His eyes went to all the smokers huddling in one corner then to the twenty-year-old vapers cackling in the other.
“The smell doesn't bother me.”
Erik scoffed. “Inhaling it can damage your voice.”
That made her stop her assistant-mode thoughts in their tracks. “Like I ever use it.” The words slipped out before she realized it. Instinctively, she put her hand over her mouth.
Erik dry swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he looked her up and down.
“I want to speak to you about something.” He paused. “Actually… just about that.” His voice trailed off at the end.
“What?”
“Your career.” The apologetic tone of his voice made her pause.
Christine didn't like where this conversation was going. She liked her job. She liked it. She didn't want to lose it. Why was he bringing this up? On this of all days? “What about it?” Her words didn't sound like they came from her mouth. They seemed far away.
“You…Christine…” He sounded pained. “You are wasting yourself working here. Working for me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think it's time for you to move on.”
Her entire world seemed to flip on its axis.
“No. No, you can’t do this to me.” The words just seemed to slip out, like they had a mind of their own. Christine felt tears well up in her eyes. A stupid reaction, the rational part of her brain supplied. But still. Erik was still staring, and she hated the feeling of his pitiful eyes on her.
Well. Hell to this. If she no longer had a job tomorrow, it didn’t matter if she was still standing next to him as his assistant for the rest of the night. Fuck him. He can remember the names of all the young singers himself. He can deal with all the sitting charts and all of the audio mishaps.
All of these thoughts ran through her mind as she stormed past the rest of party goers, and out of the venue. The cold air of the parking garage was less refreshing than the balcony air. Her eyes were burning from her tears and the cheap, expired mascara that she slapped on hours ago.
Oh my god... Fuck her life.
How would she ever get a good reference after this?
Christine has essentially screwed herself over what was probably a promotion, and more importantly, she had screwed herself over for the rest of her life, because what? She had…Christine just had to admit it to herself…she had a stupid crush on her boss? Her annoying, rude, awful, the guy who screamed at her in Paris Boss. That guy.
She was hyperventilating.
All Christine could think about how stupid all of this was, how only a couple of years ago she was trying to be an inspiring singer and now she was crying in a parking garage. Meg’s dress was gonna be absolutely ruined, she could already see the dirt on it from her sitting on the ground of the parking garage floor.
“Christine.”
His voice echoed in the frigid air, and she hated how it affected her so much.
“Christine.” He repeated. “Look at me.” She looked up and Erik was standing above her, a look on his face she didn’t recognize. That was unusual for her.
“Are you gonna blacklist me now?”
He purposely tapped his patent leather shoe on the concrete parking stop that separated them, before grimacing and sitting down right next to her on the ground.
“Now why would I do that?”
“Because the last time one of your assistants talked back to you he ended up working as a janitor at his local radio station?”
Erik hummed and tapped his long thin fingers on the yellow-painted lines of the no-parking zone they were both sitting in.
“Christine…you aren't just one of my assistants.” He paused, and Christine thought she heard him struggle to take that breath. “You…you’ve seen my face.”
She let out a watery laugh. Of course. Erik would not let her forget that. “Gee thanks, glad to know you think I’d use that against you!”
His yellow eyes widened, and Erik quietly said, “That is not what I mean. You are different…You aren’t them .” He swept his hand out, the gesture towards the elevator that would lead back to the party.
“And because of that, I have to move on? I am…too good at my job?”’
“I- I- That is not what I was saying, Christine!” His voice got that frustrated edge, one she often dealt with when Firmin or Andre routinely weren’t listening to Erik.
“Okay, okay. Fine! I’ll give you the floor.” She pulled up her knees to her chest, the hem of her dress being run and pulled between her fingers. Erik went quiet again, and she motioned for him to continue. She wasn't going to let him back down now.
“Christine…you are special. You aren’t an employee to me.” Shuddery breath. “That’s the problem here.” He made a point to make eye contact, and Christine was taken aback by the depth of emotion she was seeing in his eyes. Or thought she was seeing. It was hard to determine. “The way we…interact is unprofessional. That is what I am trying to say. I want to see you get somewhere. I do not want to be a roadblock for you. Your voice is such a gift, and the world deserves it.”
“It’s not you, it's me? Almost sounds like you're breaking up with me, Erik.” She blurted out, a watery laugh nervously letting out.
His eyes went as wide as the dinner plates upstairs. Christine's eyes soon followed suit.
“Christine. Please don’t make this harder for us than it has to be.”
“... I don’t care if it’s hard, Erik.”
February 13, 2025
Phantom Producer cradle robs…Nepotism? Does She Just Want Money? Click here to learn about the fledgling singer.
The article was clickbait. Erik knew that (Thanks to Christine explaining what that meant). But it was one of many, many, that were starting to compile up. And also greatly annoy him.
“Hey, any press is good press, huh?” Was all Christine could say after he read the title out loud.
His lovely girl was sitting across from him, her feet in his lap. Part of Erik wondered how that would be comfortable because his bony thighs did not lend a comfortable pillow.
“No, Christine. It’s not.” Erik deadpanned.
She laughed, something normally he enjoyed.
Since they have gotten together, Erik has discovered a whole new Christine. One she never had a chance to show him before, due to the fact he was her boss. It was odd. Christine knew all of Erik’s sides, with his worst being her most familiar.
He really could not surprise her with anything, but she could.
“I mean, it kinda is. They are calling me a singer when all I do is record videos in my bedroom.” He scowled even harder. “Oh do not start, I do not want to go into all that again.”
“That neighbor of yours is not safe, Christine. That dog of hers…dangerous!” She just rolled her eyes.
“Erik, they are calling me a gold digger. Come on, that’s funny.” She swung her legs off of him and crawled up to grab the phone out of his hand. “Oh my god, the comments are even funnier. Wait- I need to send some of these to Meg.”
Her curls swung as she got up quickly to take a call from her friend. That was a fun thing he has learned about His Christine.
She loved to pace around while on the phone, her free hand gesturing wildly as she talked about all the stupid comments on the article.
“Did you see the one who was a kid? Calling me an evil witch?” A pause, where Erik can somewhat hear the screechy voice of Meg Giry. “Would it be wrong of me to repost on my Insta story?”
She was grinning. So, even if Erik found all the articles and posts terribly rude, and to be honest, grounds for suing, he would tolerate it.
Because when Christine got tired of pacing around (something she blamed on unmedicated ADHD) she came back to the couch, sat on his lap, and pushed her face into his neck.