The holiday of Christmas was not one often celebrated by Raoul.
As a child, of course, he had enjoyed the joy and presents that it brought. But as he grew older, he found himself discarding the notions of Santa Claus. And after the incident with Christine, he'd simply stopped celebrating at all.
Now it was the Christmas after he and Christine had gone their separate ways, and Raoul slouched in Box Five with a half-drained glass of wine, only half-paying attention to the opera below.
"Has the loss of Christine also brought a loss of memory, vicomte? Or are you simply disregarding my claim on this box?" An amused voice asked from behind him. The blond jumped; he knew that voice. It was the one that had haunted his dreams for so long.
"I'm the Comte, now. And as to your question, it would be the latter." Raoul made an effort not to sound like a fool; he'd given up the woman he'd worked so hard for, just for this moment.
There was a moment of choked silence, and then the Opera Ghost moved stealthily, only the swish of his cloak against his clothes signifying his presence as he settled into the seat next to Raoul, an arm drifting around the man's shoulders. At the blond's stiffening, Erik just said, amused even further,
"Christmas puts me in a good mood. Enjoy my present while it lasts, I know you've been wanting it."