#alw!phantom

Erik sighed to himself and checked the time on his pocket watch as he made his way up to Box Five, actually using the hallways to get up there considering how empty the theatre was. He knew he was late to meet Nadir for their regular chat that they had started having recently, simply to catch up and enjoy each other’s company, and he knew that he would probably hear about it from the Daroga, but they pestered each other so much that it wouldn’t really make much of an impact. Still, he did hate being tardy, no matter where he was going or who he was meeting.

Quickening his pace to not make himself as late as he could be, Erik walked down the box hall and stopped outside the door to Box Five. He frowned a bit when he didn’t hear anything at all from inside; sometimes he could hear his friend humming or moving around inside, but today, there was nothing at all. Not really thinking anything of it, he opened the door and went to step inside, slipping his hat off as he went.

“I’m sorry I’m—” he began, only to freeze where he stood as he took in the sight in front of him; the Daroga was there, yes, but...so was Madame Giry, and Erik was having difficulty processing the fact that her hands were clutching his shirt and his hands were on her waist as they both stared back at him in shock.

“Wh- I- s-sorry, I’ll just-” Erik stuttered, only to quickly shut the door so he could get out of the room and away from the surprised stares of the apparent lovebirds. He didn’t really want to think about what they had been up to before he walked in...or what their plans had been moving forward, and he rubbed his eyes to try and cleanse his brain of the images that it was producing. Oh, how he wished he could just slip his lasso around his neck and make it stop, or have a trapdoor beneath him that could open and drop him back down to his lair. Anything would be better than dwelling on what he had just seen or inevitably having to talk to his friend about it in a moment.

He heard the box door open a moment later followed by the sound of heeled shoes retreating down the hallway, enough to tell him that Madame Giry had walked away, which he had been hoping for; he didn’t think he could look at her for quite some time after that. Steeling himself, he turned around and walked into the box to find his friend standing by the wall, straightening his jacket.

“Explain. Now,” he said in a low tone.

Nadir looked up at him and shrugged. “You didn’t knock.”

“Wh- it’s my box!” Erik exclaimed. “I came up here for a chat with you, not to walk in on you with your hands all over the ballet mistress!”

“That was not what that was,” Nadir said with a quiet laugh.

“That’s what it looked like!”

“It was a kiss, Erik, relax. And before you ask, no, this hasn’t been going on long, and no, we weren’t intending to go any further in here. Now, sit down and tell me how your lessons with Mademoiselle Daaé have been going.”

Erik stared at the back of his friend’s head, his jaw slack, as Nadir sat down in one of the two chairs in the box, simply waiting for the Phantom to join him. “So I have to tell you about my personal affairs, but that doesn’t go both ways?”

“Have you not heard of ‘don't kiss and tell’?” Nadir inquired.

“Given that I’ve never been kissed, no, I can’t say I’m very familiar with the phrase,” Erik replied, forcing himself to walk over and sit beside his friend. “Can I at least get some kind of explanation so that I can remember not to just walk into any room at all in this opera house now?”

“Yes, yes, alright. Perhaps it’ll help you figure out how romances work,” Nadir said with a teasing laugh.

“Like I would take pointers from you.”

“You could get advice from worse places, to be honest.”

A promise broken yet again. He seemed to be quite the expert in that area. Betraying people that mattered to him, that is. First Christine, his dear Christine, and now Nadir, his only friend in the world as well.

Erik rubbed at his eyes, his fingers coming away damp from the tears that had been pooling, then set his hand against his forehead with a sigh. His grand illusion, his alter ego, the Phantom, had finally been brought to his knees. The Garnier burned, he was forced from his home (if one could even call it that), and now, he lay on a pathetic excuse for a bed in a dark hovel tucked away in a backstreet of Paris.

He had paid a pretty penny to get a room on his own, though he suspected his threatening demeanour would have been enough to convince the owner of the dump he was in to leave him be. Either way, he just needed a place to lay low before he could make a proper escape. Not being able to hide meant getting caught, and getting caught meant his inevitable execution, but he was set on evading death yet again.

He hadn't gotten much sleep, as much as he wished he could just forget everything that had happened that night, but closing his eyes brought it all back; strangling Piangi, dragging Christine down to his lair, practically choking the young Vicomte to death while he forced Christine to make a choice that no one should ever have to make. His shame all came flooding back if he thought about it too hard.

He hadn't even flinched when he'd thrown and tightened his garroting wire around Piangi's neck. Hardly broke a sweat. He had treated it like something so mundane, so routine, as he'd felt the twitching stop and grabbed the tenor's cloak to run onstage and join Christine in their duet. It was like nothing he had ever said about killing people, killing the innocent, mattered anymore.

Buquet, he could justify. That man had snooped around too much for his own good, yes, but he had preyed too much on the young, innocent ballerinas too much for Erik to allow. They may have irritated him with their giggling and gossip, but they didn't deserve to be ogled and harassed the way they were around that man, he had earned his demise. Piangi, on the other hand...he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Nadir had made him promise not to kill again after he left Persia. How could he possibly hope to explain this, what had happened? He couldn't even be sure that he could sneak down to the Rue de Rivoli and be welcomed into his friend's home. Perhaps he wouldn't even be allowed to consider Nadir a friend anymore.

And Christine. His darling Christine. He had betrayed her in the most spectacular way; he would never be worthy of her love, her affections, her concern. He had ruined that, but he hadn't even hesitated. He had gripped that wire around those men's necks just as tightly as he ever would, no matter what was at stake. Even the love of the only woman he had ever loved in his entire life.