A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first fanfic, so I hope you like it! :D I know it doesn't seem like a lot now, but I'm really hoping to get into this one, so please bear with me. This is a crossover of Phantom of the Opera and Les Mis, and basically explores the idea of what would have happened if the two of them had met as children. This is, of course, happening under the assumption that they lived during the same time and were living close by. But hey~~don't like it? Don't read it.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or anything. This is a fanfiction, and I'm not making any money off of it, so yeah.

Feedback: I like getting constructive criticism, and, of course, praise ^_^, so feel free to gimme some. It helps me improve and makes me want to write more!

CHAPTER ONE

The storm came faster than expected, the raindrops practically screaming as they flung themselves upon the ground, as if they, too, were desperate to end their lives. Erik's flimsy clothes were drenched, and he shivered as he stared at the dark torrent of water swirling beneath the bridge. The river was angry, currents slamming into one another, water spraying up at him like icy fingers beckoning him to his death.

Erik blinked back water, unsure whether it was rain or tears, but most likely a mixture of both. He sighed, but the sound was lost under the rushing river. He looked up, more rain streaming down his face, under the mask, and for a moment, regretted running away from his mother. But then he remembered why.

Better to die out here in the dark, free, then back in that prison they called a house.

House, maybe, but never home. At least, not for him. Erik had always been an outcast there, his own mother banishing him to the attic so as not to look on him. Erik knew his face was hideous, he had seen it in the mirror, and yet he wore the mask. Why couldn't she tolerate him while he wore the mask?

After all, she had made it for him. Erik couldn't recall what it felt like to be without it. The last time he had taken it off when was he was barely five years old, and his mother had punished him so badly that he supposed he still had scars.

But now, alone in the rain, he wondered what the water would feel like if he took off the mask. Besides, if he was going to die, he would rather end his life the way he began it; maskless.

Trembling from the cold and from fear, Erik reached up and untied the strings of the mask, and it fell away, and he laughed. The raindrops that splattered onto the pitted, malformed skin tickled as they ran down his forehead and cheeks. He turned his head skyward and opened his mouth, lolling out his tongue and laughing as the sweet rainwater trickled down his throat.

A particularly nasty spray of water from the river interrupted his reverie, and Erik was once again reminded of the task at hand. He looked down at the river and sighed again. He wasn't scared to die anymore. He knew he was to die sooner or later, and he would rather die at his own hand than someone else's, which he was certain would have been his fate.

Erik shut his eyes tight and slowly started leaning over the edge. The river roared as if in approval, his wet clothes weighing down as if urging him to get on with it. He took in a deep breath, his last, savoring its coolness in his chest, and was ready.

But then, above the roar of the water and the hiss of the rain, Erik heard something. A scream. He opened his eyes and looked around, wondering where it had come from. His heart pounded in his chest. If someone was out there, they might see him.

The mask! He had to put on the mask!

He snatched up the scrap of leather and his fingers worked desperately as he tied to tie the waterlogged strings. The voice screamed again, and Erik could hear the words this time.

"Help! Someone help me!"

The mask in place, Erik looked and saw a girl, scarcely his age, stumbling around in the rain and the wind, desperately close to the riverbank. It was almost as if she could not see where she was going, but the rain wasn't falling hard enough to bother someone's vision.

Erik ran over to her, shouting at her to stop, but the wind picked up and carried his voice away, drowning it amongst the steady rush of the river. When he was close enough, he grabbed her upper arm.

"What the hell are you doing?!" he yelled at her.

She struggled. "Who are you? What are you doing? Where am I?!"

Erik let go of her arm. "You're by the river. Right by the river, actually. Another couple of feet and you would have fallen in."

The girl shivered at his words. Erik supposed it was a combination of the cold and fear.

"You saved me!" her voice was almost breathless, and Erik only understood by reading her lips.

He took a step back. This girl was very pretty. She was young and thin, extremely thin, almost bony, and her hair, which he supposed was flaxen when dry, framed her delicate face in dripping strands. She was probably a few years younger than even he, and yet there was something in her big, bright eyes that made her look older. If angels were indeed real, Erik knew this girl was descended from them.

"I'm Cosette," said the girl, raising her voice against the river, which sounded angry. It had, after all, just been cheated out of two souls.

"Erik," was all Erik could force himself to say. He took another half-step back, cowering slightly. This girl, he could not let her get a good look at him, anxious to get away. He wouldn't let her close. He would only end up hurting her.

"Well, Erik, thank you. Thank you for saving me." Cosette did a little curtsy, a bit clumsily in her sodden clothes, and then smiled, but only for a moment, and then her face was sad again. "I…I should get home, but…I'm scared to go alone…"

Erik was terrified. Was she really going to ask him what he thought she was?

"Will you walk me home? Please?"

No! a voice in his head screamed. No, I certainly will not! People will see me! They'll either kill me or hurt me and send me home to mother, who will either hurt or kill me as well! I won't help you!

But Cosette's voice and eyes were desperate, and Erik couldn't bring himself to refuse the offer. After all, how often would it be that he would get a chance to be so close to such a pretty girl?

He had promised himself he would be alone forever. But now he was beginning to regret that.