A/N: Hello, hello, hello! Gosh, I knew I said I wouldn't be posting anything up after My Little Rose was completed, but I was listening to the Fifty Shades of Grey OST and somehow I really wanted to write. That's also where the title of this comes from, by the way, in case any of you guys recognize it. (Give You What You Like by Avril Lavigne- it's on repeat in my playlist now). I don't know where this story's going, or even if I'm going to have the time to continue it, but it seems like it's going to be a rather short story. I'm not sure yet. Haha.
Anyway, I mentioned in my last chapter of MLR that if I ever wrote another story it would feel weird having another OC with Erik, because I wrote the character Amelie for so long that it felt like the two definitely belonged together.
So for this new story... I decided to do an AU-style story. I must admit, though, that I live in Asia (Singapore, to be exact), and while I really did want to write a story based in the States, I didn't have the time to research on street names/locations, and so you will realize that my story will have very little reference to road names/buildings/schools. In fact, the "Academy" is just something I wrote, because I don't know of any music schools in the States. It's all very fictional, and I took a lot of liberty with this.
Because it's set in an AU, Erik's not the Phantom of the Opera LOL. I really did take a lot of liberty with this. It's about as far removed from the original Phantom as I can think of, not because I didn't want to include Phantom plots, but because it wouldn't have worked in a modern AU setting.
Ok, I've rambled on enough. Now, I don't expect this story to be like MLR (which was a success by my own standards, I'm so so happy that you guys loved that story), or even come close to being as awesome as MLR was... but I hope you guys like it.
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Chapter 1
2015
She was going to be terribly late, she thought. The bell had already rung quite some time ago, and she had been all the way at the other end of the Academy; it would be too late for her even if she had started to run the moment the bell sounded. Instead, she still had had to pack up her scores and tidy up the chairs in the room before leaving, which meant that she was undeniably late now. Her heart pounding in her chest, she half-walked, half-ran, up to the heavy doors leading to the room that belonged to the Academy's theatre club.
Christine fumbled with her book bag, searching for her access card. Her fingers rifled through the papers in her bag until they snagged on the lanyard that the card was attached to, and she pulled it out triumphantly.
Stealing a quick glance at her watch, she mentally groaned. She was already fifteen minutes late. She quickly swiped her access card and pushed down the handle of the door as softly as she could.
She was out of luck. Almost in unison, the heads of the people in the room turned from where they were seated to stare curiously at her. Christine spotted Meg grinning mischievously, pointing at the empty seat beside her. Mouthing a 'thank you' to Meg, she hurriedly slipped into the seat, her face red.
"As I was saying," the music director, John Gilford, eyed Christine with a gimlet stare, "This year's production will be the Phantom of the Opera."
"Wow," Meg squealed, elbowing Christine. "The costumes for that production are spectacular!"
"Hmm?" But Christine was not listening to Meg, for her gaze had suddenly caught onto a lone figure leaning against the piano at the side of the room, one ankle crossed over the other and one hand tucked into the pocket of his neatly pressed pants. "Meg, who's that?"
"What?" Meg followed Christine's line of vision. "Oh, Mr. Chanteur. They haven't really introduced him yet, besides telling us his name. Which you would have known," she added dryly, "if you had made it here on time."
"I got too caught up with my work again, Meg, and—"
"Wait." Meg suddenly grabbed Christine's arm. "Would you get a look at that?"
"At what?" Christine whispered, ducking her head to avoid the glare that the music director had just sent their way for being too loud.
"Mr Chanteur! He's wearing a… mask?"
Christine looked up again at the mysterious man to see that Meg was right—he wore a white half mask which curved over his face, making one side of his face cold and emotionless. The other side, however, housed a brilliantly green eye, and a strong jaw covered with stubble.
"Wow, what's he playing at?" Meg breathed wondrously. "Maybe he's obsessed with the Phantom of the Opera, and Mr Gilford got him here to help us with the production."
"Maybe he's hiding something," Christine hissed back, unable to take her eyes off the gleaming white mask. "Maybe he's not wearing it for fun."
Meg snorted. "Yeah, how many people do you know would go around with a mask on their faces?"
Mr Gilford cleared his throat loudly, and Meg took that as a warning to keep quiet, beaming innocently at the music director.
"Yes, well," Mr Gilford said. "This year, we have the greatest honour of having someone help us with our production. Mr Chanteur, who I mentioned previously, will be coaching our singers and mentoring us for our show this year."
He gestured to the mysterious man, who stepped forward languidly. He reminded Christine of a large predatory cat. A leopard, she decided.
"Good day to you all," Mr Chanteur said smoothly, and there were gasps all around. Apparently, most of the production members had not seen the man's face when he had been introduced earlier, for Christine could suddenly hear whispers from all around her about the white mask.
"My name is Erik Chanteur," he said, his voice a little colder now that he had heard the whispers. "You may call me Erik, or Mr Chanteur, whichever you prefer. I graduated from this school a couple of years ago, and it is my pleasure to be back here again, helping with the theatre club's production."
There was a smattering of light applause, and Mr Chanteur paused for a few moments before retreating back to the shadows, leaning against the piano once more.
"Right, now, Mr Chanteur will be presiding over the auditions for the roles in the musical next week. The dates will be released soon, with sign-up sheets, and I trust all of you to work hard for your auditions. Now, before you leave, please collect a copy of the script from the table over there," Mr Gilford gestured to a table piled high with booklets. "Those who do not wish to audition for a performing role may also sign up for other roles. You are all dismissed."
"Come on, let's grab a script and head out of here quickly," Meg said, slinging her satchel over her shoulders. Christine followed her as she pushed through the crowd of people moving around in the small room. As she walked toward the table, someone bumped into her, and Christine gave a little squeak as she dropped her book bag.
Sighing, she bent to pick it up, but before she could reach it, a long-fingered hand had reached out and snagged the handles of the bag. Blinking, she looked up into the face of Mr Chanteur.
Silently, he held the bag out to her, and she took it, her face flushing.
"Thank you, sir."
"Erik," he corrected smoothly, before he turned and strode off. Christine stood rooted to the spot for a few moments, until Meg hit her on the arm with a script.
"Why're you just standing there? Come on, I've gotten scripts for both of us!" Meg grabbed Christine's wrist and pulled her from the room.
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"Do you want to come over to my house for dinner tonight?" Meg asked Christine as they walked down the front steps leading to the wide expanse of grass outside their school.
"You're cooking?" Christine wrinkled her nose. She was not a stranger to Meg's numerous experiments with attempting to cook dinner, most of which, unfortunately, often ended in strange, congealed lumps that did not quite resemble dinner of any sort.
"Christine Sangare!" Meg said, trying her best to sound hurt. "Whatever do you mean by that statement? Here I thought you liked my cooking!"
The petite blonde girl caught Christine's eye, and together, they burst into laughter. Meg hooked an arm around Christine's shoulders as she steered her down the pavement. "My mother's home tonight. Her employer gave her the day off!"
"In that case, I'll most definitely be coming over for dinner," Christine said. Mrs Gables' cooking was mouth-watering, and Christine could always be sure to leave the Gables house after dinner loaded with frozen casseroles and dishes to last her a week.
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True enough, they entered the Gables house, welcomed with the aroma of freshly baked pie. Mrs Gables stood at the dining table, kneading dough, her apron smudged with flour.
"Hello, girls," she said. "How was school today?"
"Same old," Meg yawned, throwing herself into a chair at the table. "Can we have something to eat?"
"Hello, Mrs Gables," Christine grinned, hanging up her coat on the coat rack.
"Meg, you know what I told you about eating too much," Mrs Gables warned, though she wiped off her hands on her apron and headed to the kitchen, emerging with glasses of milk and slices of pie.
"Dancing daily in school burns everything off me," Meg said airily, attacking the pie. "This is good, mother. Why do you have the day off today, anyway?"
Mrs Gables clucked her tongue at her daughter. "It would do you good to remember the things I say once in a while, Margaret Gables! My employer gave me the day off today because he said he would not be in." She kneaded the dough thoughtfully, before her eyes lit up. "Oh! He mentioned that he would be making an appearance at the theatre club in the Academy today. Did you girls see him?"
"What? Who?" Meg asked, her mouth full of pie. She looked at Christine curiously, and Christine shrugged back. She had no idea who Mrs Gables' mysterious employer was.
Mrs Gables frowned. "That's strange. Erik did say he would be helping out with the theatre club."
"Erik?" Christine asked light-headedly, her fork halfway to her mouth, suddenly remembering her encounter with Mr Chanteur in the theatre club's room. "Erik Chanteur?"
Mrs Gables nodded. "Why, yes! So he did go to the Academy today. And what will he be doing there?"
"What?" Meg's mouth fell open. "No way! Your boss is Erik Chanteur?"
Mrs Gables sighed. "Yes, Meg, and I was under the impression that you knew what my employer's name was."
"Yes, but I didn't know they would be the same person! He's there as the new mentor for our next production." Meg said, her eyes bright at this new and sudden discovery. "But mother, why the mask?"
"He wears it for his own personal reasons," Mrs Gables said tightly, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I would not pry if I were you, Meg. It wouldn't be polite. Besides, the man is quite a genius."
"How so?" Meg asked, her eyebrows raised. "He did not exactly tell us much about himself, except his name, really."
"Erik has a PhD in theatrical studies," Mrs Gables said, tucking the finished dough into a pie dish. "He barely graduated more than a couple of years ago from the Academy, and already he is a rather celebrated musician and composer. I'm surprised that you girls haven't heard of him before, actually. You'll be amazed at the sounds he produces with that voice of his!"
Meg shrugged, looking at Christine. "Well, we will see what he's like in the upcoming practices, won't we?"
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After dinner, Christine walked the short distance between the Gables' house and hers, a bag filled with casseroles and pies balanced on her shoulder, as expected. They lived only one street apart, which was also one of the reasons why she and Meg were so close; they had known each other for almost all their lives. Almost fifteen summers ago, Christine had moved in with her father, and that very day, Mrs Gables had knocked on their door with a welcoming casserole, Meg in tow. The two little girls had bonded with each other almost immediately, and had been quite inseparable from then on. When Christine's father had passed away from pneumonia a few years ago, Mrs Gables and Meg had been there for her. She had been very grateful for their comfort, but it did not change the fact that Christine was to be alone from then on.
Her mother had passed away not long after Christine was born, and her father had tried his best to bring his only daughter up. However, at the age of five, he had taken up a new job at the Academy, as a professor teaching music, and together, they had moved to a new house—the house where she stayed now. It was not easy for Grant Sangare to bring up a daughter single-handedly, but they had managed. There were days when Christine had gone to school with crooked braids, or a crumpled shirt, but together, they had been happy. Christine had loved her father dearly.
And then, just two years ago, Grant Sangare had succumbed to pneumonia. Christine had only been eighteen, and losing her father had hit her hard. She remembered two weeks of crying everyday as she wandered through the house, knowing that she would never return home from school to cook dinner for her father again, and knowing that she would never hear him laugh, or hear him teach her music again. Christine had no other family, and she now lived alone in the house. Her father had left behind a large savings account for her, but Christine knew she had to live frugally to make it last. She had a part-time job as a cashier in the supermarket nearby to cover most of her living expenses, and she worked hard in school to make sure that her scholarship would not be taken away from her.
Christine pushed open the low gate to her house, and walked up the driveway, noting the weeds in her garden wryly. She had had no time to maintain the state of her lawn, which was looking rather dismal and dead at the moment. Sighing, she slid the key into the lock of her front door and pushed it open, reaching a hand out to flick the light switch.
The door swung shut behind her as she shrugged off her coat and hung it up.
"Hello, papa," she murmured to the photo frame that was propped up on the chest of drawers next to the door. She tossed her keys onto the wooden surface, and dropped her bag onto the sofa. She stored the casseroles and pies from Mrs Gables in the freezer, ready to be eaten over the next few days, and headed to the bathroom, intending to take a long, hot shower.
Half an hour later, freshly showered and dressed in an old t-shirt and shorts, Christine grabbed the script from her bag and flopped onto her bed. Leaning back against the pillows piled at the head of her bed, she smoothed over the cover of the script and opened it.
The Phantom of the Opera.
She immediately thought of the mysterious Erik Chanteur. The white mask printed on the script's cover looked similar to the one covering his face, and again she wondered why he wore it.
"Erik", he had told her, in a voice so smooth and deep it had felt like a rich molten chocolate. Christine shut her eyes, replaying the word over and over again. Mrs Gables had said that Erik Chanteur had an amazing voice, and Christine believed her; she rather hoped she would be able to hear it soon. She did not know why, but hearing it almost made her want to sing again.
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A/N: Well, there you have it! Do let me know what you think? I might not continue posting this if I don't get much response, because I'm still a bit unsure about this story! Hope to hear from you guys xx hazel