Chapter Text
All of your life's work came down to this moment, a singular event that had you working through sleepless nights and fighting the dysfunctional brain you were born with, culminating at this very building.
The United Kingdom had its fair share of entertainment that you never would've found in your country—partly due to the aforementioned colonisers—be it the candy brands you only saw in western shows or public performers unrestrained from rauchy humour. None of that however, compared to the grandeur of the four storey theatre that was His Majesty's Theatre. You could barely keep your eyes off it, the banners featuring the show you've wanted to see for so long hanging between the metal pillars.Your family members would laugh if they knew your sole reason for pursuing further studies abroad was just to watch The Phantom of the Opera, but you were standing right in front of the theatre and they're back home sleeping off the heat.
"It's real, this is real, I'm actually watching it!" You repeated in your mind over and over during the queue, whilst buying refreshments costing more than your seat, and during seating.
Admittedly, it wasn't the best seat in the Grand Circle but at least you won't have to squint and lean forward for majority of the performance. To your luck, the person in front of you was no more than 150 cm either!
Then a tall, hooded man sits next to you. Could he be any bigger, you question yourself, but perhaps he had more self-awareness than the men you've met here considering you were in the farthest and highest corner. That fact turns out to be true when he turns to you with a raised eyebrow.
"Is there a problem?" He asks in a British accent you had yet to familiarise yourself with, to you who had clearly been staring at him. You truly had that problem of watching interesting things too long to know how much time passed.
Even worse when your eyes flit to the mask he was wearing, complete with a skull print obscuring all but his dark brown eyes. An absence of lashes turned out to simply be light-coloured.
"Oh no, nothing, excuse me," You mumble and turn the other way. Then looked back.
He noticed almost immediately before you decide the stone carvings around the interior of the stage were worth a few more seconds of your gaze. There was something magnetic about this man, how even his small sigh attracted your wandering eyes right back to his considerably agitated features.
"Spit it out already." He narrows his eyes as if he's used to getting looks.
"Um.. do you, like, like the Phantom of the Opera?"
That's one stupid question. But clearly not one that he expects as he pauses, shuffles in his seat then shrugs. "It's alright. I read the book first, so not a clue what the musical is like."
His interest came from the source material? That was rare to you! The Phantom of the Opera was barely known for the musical where you're from.
"That's.. pretty cool." But you're horrible at small talk that it sounded like you're put off by his reply.
You tried to remedy it with a "Like, seriously cool, I never met someone who read the book first!" which gets the same look.
The first encounter with fan of your favourite show and you're ruining it. Amazing work. Biting your cheeks, you offered him some of your snacks as a last resort to which he politely declines. £45 isn't too hard to get back if you were to run off now, would it? You shove your reddened face into your bag in search of an elusive item that may or may not be inside.
"..You seem like a huge fan. You watch it a lot?"
Your head snaps in his direction, eyes wide. Do you nod curtly and get back to your act or the inevitable over-explanation of your standing?
"Yeah–I mean, no. Well I haven't watched it at all, avoided practically every spoiler ever even if it's about other adaptations because I really wanted to watch it live like this—but I'm also sort of a fan since I've been working hard to see it..?" You trail off, unsure whether it was your shame or his oddly intense gaze. You tilted your head slightly. "Does that make any sense?"
He curtly nods. You can't read anything else on his masked face.
"You're kind of like—" You're cut off when the 14-piece orchestra practices, beautiful short notes spilling out of their instruments.
You don't see where his own eyes went, distracted by the music.
"The live orchestra is one of the reasons I wanted to see it, honestly. I can't imagine being able to conduct such tools to create pretty noise," you murmur to no one in particular.
"Same for me then."
Suddenly, the welcome speech rang throughout the theatre as spectators were at the end of filling their respective seats. Naturally your conversation was cut short, but you managed to sneak a few last words to your new acquaintance before the lights dim for the introduction scene.
"I'm Y/N by the way, nice to meet you," you whispered behind your hand, having to crane your neck all the way up to where you assumed his ear was. Promptly focused on the auction scene, angling for the best view possible. Might not be proper theatre etiquette though you did what you had to do to hear the actors talk about the the tragedy that was the Phantom of the Opera.
Once you heard the gist of the story, you sat back down—not expecting him to lean down so close. If asked, you could probably describe so vibrant of how gravelly his voice drove into your ear despite being far from unpleasant.
"Simon."
Before drawing back in tandem with the overture.