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Chapter Text

1.

He was all Christine could have ever wanted in a man. Raoul was sweet, charming, caring. She could tell, however, that he was drifting away from her. He loved her, he told her. And sometimes both of them believed it. She wondered if his love was as romantic as she hoped. She didn’t think so. 

He was a beautiful man, she never could have doubted it. A beautiful, kind, wonderful man. The nicest, most loving man anyone could ever meet. Just not towards her. Sure, he was always respectful to her, never less than kind. But Christine could tell, despite how she tried to fool herself, that her lover had been less affectionate recently. No, she realized, he had never truly been so. Had she messed up? Didn’t he love her anymore? 

2.

Raoul liked to think that no one noticed. When he spent time with men, mostly attractive men, he would pretend that no one knew. And if they did— which they did not, not that he told himself— they turned a blind eye to it. No one could see the way he looked at his fellow man. He had a wife. He was not gay, men were simply far too distracting. And beautiful. 

The opera ghost was not beautiful. Raoul knew this. But still, the mystery and rumors intrigued him far too much. It was an obsession with the darkness because surely no creature like that could survive in the light, and surely no man of the sun and day could ever love said creature of darkness. That is how the Vicomte knew that it was only an obsession. One that, hopefully, would pass soon. No, he knew that it would pass. It had to. 

He would catch the monster. Monster? That didn’t seem right. The phantom was not a monster. Sure, he had affected Christine, making her stay with him for weeks. And sure, he had major problems interacting with anyone, but he was not evil. He had never hurt Raoul, nor Christine, and as long as it stayed that way, he was free to admire. Why did Raoul want to catch such a talented man? Maybe he did not want to turn him to the police for any human crime. Rather, love him for him and steal his heart. No! Raoul didn’t yearn for men. 

He knew it was untrue. Yes, he had always found his male friends more attractive. Yes, he would occasionally fantasize about being in a relationship with men. He loved Christine, though. She was perfection. Beauty. All things wonderful, but she was upset. He didn’t know why. He would consider it later. For now, he had to remind himself that liking men was something all men did.

3.

“Christine, darling, what’s wrong?” Raoul asked when he saw her that day. She looked at him, her eyes tired and her mouth in a small frown. “ ‘Darling?’ I had nearly forgotten that you ever call me that.” 

“Something has you upset, Chris, what is it? I know you were happier before. Please, tell me what it is. Can I do anything for you?” 

“Do you love me, Raoul? Truly love me?” 

“Darling, I do. I love you with my whole heart. No exceptions.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” Christine bit her lip. She looked so tired.

Raoul was at a loss for words. He did act like it, didn’t he? He loved her. Couldn’t she see it? He still loved her. He always loved her. He watched as she looked away in seeming embarrassment. Who was she embarrassed for? He knew it deep down that it was for him. She saw through his disguise of a normal lover. Christine knew deep down that he yearned, not for her, but for the very one that was causing her so much trouble in the first place. 

Christine knew (though at the moment Raoul himself did not) that Raoul was in love with the Phantom of the Garnier, and not her. Never her. He had fooled himself, but he did not fool her.

When would Raoul figure that out? Hopefully soon. Christine was getting fed up with him. He kept ignoring his own feelings and she knew it was becoming destructive for the both of them. She needed a way to push him, to show him that it was okay. Even though she knew he couldn’t love her, she was okay with it. She would let go of him. Maybe she already somewhat had. 

She needed him to know she wanted him to be happy. She wanted the best for him. She played the perfect girl. She pretended that she was upset at him but… She loved him, really, but she loved him so much that she couldn’t truly love him. She loved him as a brother, She realized. 

She needed a plan as well. Somehow to make Raoul realize that he wouldn’t hurt her. Leaving wouldn’t hurt her. She may need a few days, if it were to happen, but it would all be okay. She would be okay. He would be okay. Hell, maybe even Erik would be okay. Everything would be alright. She might need time. She decided to speak with Raoul the next day.

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1.

Raoul knew things would worsen. Oh god, Christine knew. She KNEW. He was nearly shaking. His heart was beating far too quickly and he was ice-cold. This would end horribly, he thought. She knew he couldn’t love her. Maybe even before he figured it out for himself. He felt nauseous. He was in his room, in his home. That was good. He laid down on the bed, almost falling to it, waiting for all the fuzziness in his brain and body to subside. 

When it finally did, he continued to lay there. What was he supposed to do now? Just wait for Christine to eventually leave him? See how disgusted she seems when she decides she no longer wants to even see his face? She would… He knew she would. It would happen, and he would cry. He would cry for days and days and- He would surely die. She would leave and he would die. Heh, he thought, he was starting to sound like that Phantom. Well, at least what Christine described he was like.

Oh god… Christine. How would he ever confront her? He could leave. Simply leave. Maybe that would be the easiest thing. If he left, she couldn’t, right? Oh, but that would just hurt her, wouldn’t it? But maybe, just maybe, it would hurt her less. Or at least she would have some respect left for him, let no one know what he was really feeling. His mind felt too fast. Maybe he needed sleep. Yes, sort this all out later. Tomorrow. After a few hours of sleep, he would be thinking more rationally. Yes, that sounded nice…

And it was. When Raoul woke, it was early morning. Not too early; just enough to see the sunrise. It’s beautiful, he thought. He was feeling better. Much, much better than he was before. Maybe he could fix this all. Yes. Yes! He would fix it and everything would end up all right! The phantom would be no longer a thought in his mind. Just Raoul and Christine and… 

He couldn’t hate the man. He should, he knew. He just… couldn’t. He felt as if he was repeating himself: ”I should hate him, I should.” And yet he never could. Never made any effort to stop himself from liking— no— respecting him. Respect. That’s all it was, truly. Tru...ly? Was he— it wasn’t likely, but— was he falling for that strange goblinesque man? No, that wasn’t possible. If that were to actually happen, things would become worse, wouldn’t they? Yes, much, much worse. 

But would they really? What if… What if he could change it all? It would be hard to, yes, but what if he could? It was a fluttery feeling in his stomach, anxiety and anticipation and lovely optimism twisted into one, making him slightly more confident in himself, and he almost yearned for finding the solution to these problems he had created.

2.

Erik felt he was dying. Oh, his Christine, stolen away by this brat; this…. child. That child, how he despised him. Well, maybe that wasn’t true. He was jealous; dreadfully so; so much to the point that it made him feel physically sick. He was angry. That wasn’t new, though. He felt like he was angry a lot, which makes sense because he was angry a lot. It’s not like there was no way to abate his damn-near-bloodlust, just that every idea to cross his mind would make Christine dislike him intensely. Ha! As is she didn’t already!

No matter what, he couldn’t win. Christine was the only one who could give him what he wanted, he knew. Love! Attention! Careful touches and soft smiles! Oh, but that all was impossible. She hated him; he couldn’t doubt it, she hated him.

And the boy? Someone whom he could dispose of if he wanted to. He hated him, yes, and yet… Didn’t want him gone. Not fully, at least. It would feel so good to kill him, he thought. No; he knew. But then, Christine would simply hate him more! So then, why would it matter to him at all, whether or not he should kill him? Maybe he should… Maybe… He would.

Erik decided just then, he would kill that brat. (Did he actually want to, though? He would rather not think about it.) He could kill him in the opera house, but then, he wondered, would everyone assume it was his doing? He could simply kill him in the boy’s own home. Or… What if he was to kidnap him? If the Viscount went missing, how would Christine react? Then, he wouldn’t need to kill him! At least, not yet, right?

With this new idea, he smiled.

3.

Today. Raoul would do it today. He would tell her. Everything would end up fine, she would be happy without him, he hoped. Today… He knew he’d see her soon; rehearsals were close to ending and she would be in her dressing room in only a few minutes. He would simply tell her they were not good for each other, they should stay friends, etcetera. It would all be fine.

Just a few minutes. Oh no… 

He decided to wait near the dressing room. After a short moment, he saw Christine. His throat felt tight, but he knew he had to endure. He cleared his throat and...

4.

“Christine, we need to talk.” Raoul looked at her with a regretful expression. He looked almost sick, no doubt dreading what this conversation would turn out to be.

“Yes, Raoul, I believe we do.”

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1.

He was more than anxious. He cleared his throat; an attempt to choke down the feeling that was most certainly going to make it hard to speak. He had to compose himself; Christine needed to take this seriously, which she may not if Raoul couldn’t even talk correctly. 

“Christine. You know I love you. But I’m afraid-” Christine then cut him off.

“You better be.”

He was so delirious with nervousness and near-pain that such a response struck him as hilarious. Well, if nothing was to go right, at least he would go out with a bang. He started again. “Christine. In all honesty, it may be best if the engagement were called off.”

Christine nodded, and Raoul saw a peculiar expression on her face. A mix of sadness and anticipation, perhaps. He knew that she had been expecting it; she’d probably known for multiple weeks, maybe even before Raoul himself had dared to consider any of this. Raoul’s heart clenched at the thought; had Christine been preparing herself for this? Had she known it was inevitable? The lump in his throat had returned, and he was left finding it hard to speak once more. He simply hoped Christine would have something to say instead of staying silent. 

As it turned out, she did. “I think… That’s been the case for quite a while.” Raoul looked to her for an explanation. “I’ve known for a great part of the past few weeks. You love me, but you do not love me. It would be better for the both of us to separate.”

At that point, Raoul began to feel a bit like a fool. So she had known. And she had agreed the whole time. Ah, it wasn’t the worst outcome, he supposed. Maybe things were looking up? Then Christine continued; she uttered words that even God himself would not have been prepared for.

“I know you love him. The phantom, I mean.”

If Raoul had felt foolish before, this was so much worse. When had he ever shown any inclination to that man? He had never! How would Christine think-

Oh no , he thought. Had he been so ignorant? His words all that time had come off as homosexual. Just misspeaking had caused… all this? He couldn’t have been bothered to express his feelings correctly, and because of that, it had come off as him being interested in his very enemy? 

He couldn’t stay there any longer, at least not that day. 

2.

When he returned home, stricken with grief for a relationship that had probably been doomed from the start and burdened with the fact that he felt relieved by its ending, he had far too much to think about. He had unintentionally fooled the one he cared about most, and it had cost him everything. What to do after? He had no clue. Weep, maybe. In any way, he’d end up crying, he thought.

He would think about the whole situation over the next few days. He thought and thought, feeling slightly worse but like a fog had been lifted from him. He knew it all was for the best; Christine had been strangely fine with their separation, and he would recover quickly, at least he hoped so. But… what about the phantom? It was something he knew he shouldn’t have been thinking about; what would the phantom do, now that Christine was by herself again? 

Would he try to take her back? Raoul hoped not, for Christine’s sake and his own. That was a headache he didn’t want to deal with, not before, but most certainly not now. He… should check, though. He wasn’t too sure the phantom wouldn’t kill him, but if he could stop Christine from having to deal with that man again, it may as well be worth it.

He decided then and there, he’d make sure Christine was safe. The next day, of course.

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1.

He was starting to regret his actions. His brother was almost ecstatic when he’d heard that Raoul’s engagement had been called off. Still, it was a large change and Raoul didn’t know how to deal with it. He would figure that out later, though, after he knew Christine was safe. For now, he’d ignore it. Distract himself. Hope that he (and Christine!) would be okay.

Oh god, he had to make sure Christine was safe. From the phantom. Did he have a death wish? What made Raoul decide he needed to involve himself in all that again? Well, he had to protect Christine, even though they weren’t together anymore, he reasoned. Everything would be all right if Christine was all right. Because, if she was all right, Raoul knew he would be all right too.

What would he do if he encountered the phantom, and Christine was perfectly fine? Die on the spot? He needed a better idea then to just shrivel up and rot and die. Reason with the man? Well, if he was no longer intent on stealing away Christine, there would be nothing to reason with him about! By all means, the ghost no longer had any reason to keep Raoul alive! But still, if Christine was in danger…

He’d go, he decided. He needed to. For his closest friend. For Christine.

2.

When he arrived at the opera house, no one spoke of a missing soprano. Hopefully that meant Christine was safe, but it was quite possible that no one had noticed she was missing, if she was. Without a single thought, and very impulsively, Raoul skipped checking around and went straight to the problem. Beneath the opera. The phantom’s home.

The corridors were dark and cold, and Raoul was glad he hadn’t gotten lost. He went by intuition, and almost magically managed to avoid any traps that there might have been.

When eventually he arrived at the house on the side of the lake, he wasn’t tired. Fueled by adrenaline and worry he yelled to the house, “monster! Are you here?”

3.

 A familiar voice called out, and Erik froze, fingers hovering over the keys of his piano. That brat! He’d managed to find Erik’s home! And with such terrible timing, as well! Why was he there? He hadn’t even taken Christine away again, so what was the viscount looking for?

Well, his piano playing had been interrupted any way, and he knew the boy wouldn’t go away any time soon, so he got up from the bench to see what the yelling was about.

4.

Raoul found himself pushed against a wall. For such a skeletal man, the phantom was ridiculously strong. Raoul had forgotten about that. "Why are you here?" the ghost asked, the threat clear in his tone.

What could he do? Christine was clearly not there, and Raoul was already feeling his life was about to be stolen from him. He was in danger, and had no way to escape. The phantom would kill him. He would die there, left to rot in some ditch somewhere, to never be found.

“Why did you leave Christine?”

Huh? Raoul wondered. The words were almost calm. Raoul, still having expected to be killed, flinched. Why would the ghost ask him that? Was he just curious? Satiating his curiosity only to then kill him? Or maybe the man would let him go, for some bizarre reason, if he answered?

“I couldn’t force myself to love her,” Raoul said, as best as he could, through the fear. He made eye contact with the ghost. He had never noticed anything supernatural about the man before, but with the man’s overall presence in that moment, Raoul wondered if he truly was something beyond human understanding. That was a stupid thought, though.

He noted the ghost’s mask. Plain black covering a good portion of his face, except his lips. In the darkness, he could see the man’s eyes seemed to glow gold. Pretty, very pretty. He then remembered his life was probably in danger and snapped back to the moment. The ghost was still quiet, however, and it was getting even more terrifying.

“You didn’t love her?” The ghost asked, still seeming almost calm. Then he repeated: “you didn’t LOVE HER? You took her from me, ruined my chance of her love but you didn’t LOVE HER?!”

A cold hand moved to Raoul’s neck as he thought: “this is it. Death.” The ghost’s grip nearly felt like it was suffocating him. Suddenly, the man let go all together.

“At least you don’t get her either,” the phantom said with something in his voice that almost sounded sad. “You should leave. Go, because Erik may not be so kind in the future, viscount. Leave very quickly, if you wish to remain alive, that is.”

Chapter Text

1.

Raoul was so very, very tired. Tired of life, tired of fighting; tired of still thinking about Christine. If only he hadn’t said anything. If only the phantom had never pushed himself in between the two of them. A man should not have to fight a tall scary man to earn a girl, he thought. And a girl should not have to break a man, no matter how much the man agreed.

It was funny, “break a man.” Was he referring to himself even now? But such a statement could effortlessly describe the ghost. No matter; Raoul just wanted himself to be all right again. 

Well, at least Christine would improve greatly from both men’s removal from her immediate presence. If any silver lining existed, that was it. Christine would soar, she would be happy and fulfilled. 

Raoul? Not so much.

Not much at all.

2.

It was sickening. Erik was extraordinarily disgusted. Raoul was far too unaware of his own emotions, and was not aware of the adoration that Erik could clearly see in his eyes when they interacted.

That was one of the main reasons why Erik had threatened him; forced the Vicomte to leave.

The look in his eyes was too sweet, too painful that Erik needed him out; needed Raoul away from him.

He would not let himself become attached to anyone ever again. Last time was horrible, and it could never happen again if Erik was to live any sort of life that had any fulfillment. He needed calm, no more chaos.

Maybe he should kill the Vicomte after all.

3.

It had been nearly a week since the ghost had thrown Raoul out of the house by the lake. Things were going oh-so-horribly, and Raoul had a headache that had lasted longer than a day.

He truly missed Christine, that was one thing he could unfortunately acknowledge. She was pure, bright. The opposite of Raoul. He was simply… a mess. Someone who now needed to be put back together.

Someone who needed a partner who was just as broken.

Oh, he realized.

That was certainly a problem.

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1.
Problems, Raoul learned, did not have to control your life. As long as you could ignore it well enough, it would feel like it was gone for a little while. And if the problem was gone for a while, it couldn’t have been that bad, right?

But he knew he was kidding himself.

If he could go back in time, he would’ve stopped himself for falling for such a man. Yes, he’ll admit, he was in love with Erik.
Raoul sighed.

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1.

Raoul was reading some book; nothing interesting, but he was bored enough to read it anyway. His mind wandered, eventually stopping on a song. He didn’t realize he had been humming until he actually started to sing, albeit incredibly soft. 

Gaining confidence, he became louder, a smile gracing his lips. 

If he had been paying attention at all, he would’ve heard a small gasp from his balcony. 

2.

A sense of conflict came over Erik, a sight of the Vicomte causing it, though at first nothing was interesting.

The bed creaked; Raoul bounced his leg, a piece of hair stuck in his mouth, chewing it absentmindedly. He laid on his bed, a book in his hands, skimming his eyes over it. The phonograph’s music had stopped hours ago, and Raoul clearly wasn’t paying attention to it, though the book didn’t seem to keep his focus either. 

From his spot hidden in the darkest of corner of Raoul’s balcony, Erik heard a quiet sound. 

The Vicomte had started humming.

He didn’t sound bad by any means. If anything, his voice was beautiful. Erik tried to ignore it; he didn’t want to think too much about the voice of the one he hated.

Until, of course, Raoul began to sing.

It started very soft, he seemed to mumble through the song. Slowly, though, he got louder and more confident. A song from an opera, one that Erik didn’t even recognize. 

His voice. God, his voice.

He didn’t realize it before, especially given he was trying to ignore it, but the Vicomte’s voice was incredibly pretty. If he had been honest, Erik would have felt himself smile, his heart pounding. He covered his eyes with his hands, his face hot under the mask. 

God.

Despite his burning hatred for the Vicomte, his voice made Erik weak. 

He gasped, before remembering he needed to be quiet lest Raoul notice him. He didn’t want that.

But, nonetheless, he had already found the Vicomte attractive, but now he knew his voice made him flustered. What a horrible realization.

3.

Perhaps Raoul’s attention was nonexistent. There was certainly no way he hadn’t heard the gasp. No, it hadn’t been that loud, but Raoul had been shown to notice the smallest things before. 

If he thought it wasn’t a real sound, or the building creaking or something the like, maybe he ignored it.

Or maybe he didn’t hear it at all.

Erik was complicating it unnecessarily, trying anything to replace the arousal with any possible other thoughts. He wanted to forget. Wanted the information that Raoul’s singing made him hot to burn in hell like Erik himself surely would. 

Erik wasn’t even upset that he was going to hell. He just hoped he wouldn’t see Raoul there.

Chapter Text

1.
There was a period of time, when, after the mess of Erik’s stalking-attempt-almost-gone-wrong, that Erik avoided the de Chagny place in its entirety. He didn’t resolve to watch the boy, as he had been doing, but simply threw himself into his music. He wrote cantatas, operas, everything to try to eliminate that odd feeling in his stomach, which the experience had forced upon him. Week after week went by, and Erik hardly had the need to eat or sleep unless he made himself to do so. He tried the hardest he could to ignore the overarching themes of seemingly everything he made in that time, which were confused and worshiping and lovely.

Every work he’d made then had an air of lightness. And the music was reminiscent of gold, like blonde hair in the midday sunlight. Clearly nothing to do with anything that has happened in the past months, nor anyone involved in the things that didn’t happen. Surely.

In the end, Erik came out of this movement with many different pieces to show for it. The best of all, though, was something experimental. Something the likes of the french opera world had never seen, and most likely would never. The lyrics he penned were your standard affair, but the music itself was new. His whole heart was bared in those notes, on that paper. It’s contents of new love visible for anyone to see. This is why, when he finished the last of it, he left it to sit while he ate, and really ate, ravenously, then took the papers to the burning hearth and threw them unceremoniously inside. The music was a call towards something he yearned for, but hated, and would never have. As he watched the paper disappear into fine ash, he had one thought. “Goodbye, de Chagny.”

But of course, he was incapable of staying away. He should always have known that.

Erik slipped back into his habit of watching the boy soon after the destruction of his work by his own hand. It was a simple thing, quite easily woven back in his schedule. It wasn’t as if he had much to do besides write, anyhow. In the morning, he did what he needed to. Ate, if he remembered. Afternoon, work a bit on a piece, or play an instrument, or read. After dark fell, he went to the de Chagny estate and climbed to the balcony to look upon the boy.

Sometimes Raoul was asleep when he got there. Other times, he watched as he sat at his desk, writing something Erik couldn’t read from that far, or resting his head in his arms, on occasion with a despaired sigh. Erik wondered what he wrote, on the days that he did such. Perhaps it would be worth it to check.

On this particular night, de Chagny was asleep at the desk. Unusual, but Erik understood the plight. He’d fallen asleep at his own desk many a night. But the boy’s face wasn’t in its usual angelic contentment, but rather, there was a scowl on his features that made Erik upset, though he didn’t know why. Such a face didn’t deserve to look troubled in sleep. Such a face didn’t deserve to look troubled at all. Gah! Erik froze. Banish the thought. No, it was a good thing, he had to remind himself, that de Chagny was upset by something. That’s what was aligned with Erik’s wishes, after all. He had only known pain and suffering because of that boy, and that’s what he wanted de Changy to know as well. Probably, he was still grieving the relationship with Christine.

The good lord above sure knew that Erik was. Even as Raoul’s emotional wounds were fresher, Erik knew things were worse for himself than they’d ever be for the brat.
He looked the balcony door up and down, mind torn. He considered leaving, but the boy made a sharp sound that drew his attention, and Erik decided that it couldn’t hurt to show himself inside. Just to see better that expression.

He found the balcony door to be already unlocked, and without a second thought, he went inside.

2.
The boy slept through even the creaking of the door’s opening, even the gasp Erik emitted when he saw Raoul’s face up close for the first time in a long while.

His hair was slightly matted, and the boy’s scowl seemed somehow more distressed as Erik stepped further. Even in his sleep, he appeared to grow increasingly upset by his proximity to Erik, as if he could sense him, and wasn’t reacting well at all. Or perhaps some other external thing that Erik couldn’t see, or even a nightmare that the boy was engulfed in. But any way, Erik watched the boy, then reluctantly brushed a hand across the top of de Chagny’s head, where his hair was flattest against his scalp. The boy trembled. Made some sort of sad sound, a sound that nearly broke Erik’s heart.

He didn’t know whether he wanted the boy to suffer, or felt horrible at the very idea.

It didn’t matter. Erik backed away from the sleeping Vicomte, then hesitated. Some golden hair had fallen onto de Chagny’s face. Erik stepped closer yet again, ignored the hammering feeling in his chest, and slowly and gently swept the hair away. The boy’s expression, still as he was in the land of dreams, softened considerably, no longer screwed into anything bad or upset, but calm. Comfortable. And Lord, his skin was so warm.

The moment ended. The boy stirred.

Erik removed himself from the room as quick as he possibly could without making any noise. His heart pounded in his chest; he’d never been so frightened by a singular man. Not since he’d learned to kill, not since he was a child. He didn’t expect his body to react in such a way, not to the bratty boy who had taken Christine from him, just to lose her as well. Not from this beautiful creature he despised.

Nonetheless, his hand burned with the warmth of the boy’s skin, even as he was out the door, off the balcony, disappearing into the night.

Chapter Text

1.
Raoul de Chagny awoke from some dream he’d forgotten immediately to the dreadful feeling of something watching him. He was too groggy to investigate, and the feeling was gone quick enough. He wanted to, of course, but settled instead for managing to lift his head from the desk. He wiped the crust from his eyes.
What time was it?
He found very soon that it was three in the morning. Ah, well. He actually went to bed, in his bed this time, not at a hard wooden desk, and fell asleep without any fuss.

2.
Life continued on for the both of them, the stalker and the Vicomte.

Erik watched Raoul with a twisting in his stomach which he always ignored.
And Raoul, in turn, avoiding acknowledging the dark feeling that someone was watching him in his bedroom, when he slept, or wrote, or read. The anxiety started to almost feel comforting.

One day, Raoul felt no presence as he sat, alone, in his bedroom. He wondered why, and it almost hurt to think that he was, as he should have been, alone.
It was over, maybe.
That damn ghost was gone. To where? God only knew.
Certainly Raoul did not.

Good riddance, something inside him whispered.
In the early, still darkness-stricken hours of a morning he would’ve loved to share with anyone, Raoul began to cry.