A/N: I seem to have a long- term habit of doing more researching and outlining than writing, and more posting than writing. As I struggle through my Twilight project, Kingdom Hearts, and various Harry Potter stories that may never see the light of day, I bring to you three stories from 'The Phantom of the Opera.' This is the first of my three. I have a soft spot for the Phantom of the Opera fandom, because it was the fandom that got me introduced to this website back in high school.

This story was not beta'd. I wanted to get it out quickly, and proofed it myself about five times. If I forgot anything, please tell me in any reviews. I would love it. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: The Phantom I write about is Andrew Lloyd Webber's, and I tend to envision Schumacher's movie as well (I was a sucker for Butler and his suits XD). I own absolutely none of it. Everything is Leroux and Webber (and Schumacher and Butler I suppose).

April 1852

Erik had recently discovered it was spring. He had been wandering the corridors of the Opera House wearing his cloak in the early hours of the morning, and was memorizing the passageways of the vast building (as he would have to wander them more on his own in order to survive very soon), when he stumbled upon a door that led him to the back of the Opera House outside. The weather was warmer than he remembered, but still cool.

However, it wasn't the weather that caught his attention. It was the tree nearby with the buds on its leaves half open and blinking, slowly greeting the world with new-eyed wonder.

It captivated him. It was what he was sketching now as he waited for his friend Antoinette to arrive from the waterways leading to his makeshift home, carrying a new bed and promised money.

Erik's lips thinned as he focused on one of the opening buds, and tried to forget the help that Antoinette had persuaded Erik into letting come down with her to ferret the bed to him underground.

Gaston Giry

Erik sneered to himself at the thought of the older man. He was tall, lean, and blond with blue eyes and a disgustingly kind heart shaped face. He was the lead trumpet player in the Orchestra, and Antoinette's fiancé.

Antoinette's fiancé.

Erik boiled, tossing his sketchpad against the wall of the alcove in a fit of rage. Antoinette was leaving him tomorrow and was to be married to Gaston within the week. Antoinette, his Antoinette, the one who had rescued him from being killed after he murdered his devil of a gypsy master, given him a new home, and helped him set up his new home. His Antoinette had helped him further his education and ferreted hundreds of books, manuscripts, music pieces, and the sizable piano that now resided in his home. She had taught him what she knew from those books, introduced him to the piano, to music, and gave him inspiration to keep his mind busy during the long cold hours he sat in his cavern home. Every single act of kindness that he could remember in the 13 years of his life that he had lived thus far had been at the slim hands and kind face of Antoinette, who was eight years older than him. And now, Antoinette was abandoning him for love.

He had thought for a number of times that perhaps Antoinette loved him and therefore, he could love her. As a boy that had only experienced any true kindness his memory could hold with Antoinette, he figured that what the ballerina gave him was the everlasting love he had been reading in books like Romeo and Juliet and dozens of Opera manuscripts that were now in his possession. But as he watched the quiet trumpet player court Antoinette from his spot high up in the rafters, Erik knew that his thoughts were far off the mark. The gazes his dear friend and the trumpet player (that thief), gave each other held something beyond the kindness and slightly eccentric camaraderie him and Antoinette shared.

Erik fingered the thin white mask attached to his wig, a rich dark brown color with hair that reached just below his ears. It was a Christmas gift from Antoinette derived partially from her own funds, and partially from stolen props in the Opera house. Doubt tore at his insides. Will I ever have what Antoinette has found?

"Erik!"

He rose from his small bed and drew back the curtains that separated his bedroom from the rest of his home, looking out into the small lake. There, waiting behind the gate, was Antoinette and Gaston with a massive swan bed perched on an over sized prop gondola between them.

Erik stared at it in shock. He had picked out that bed himself. It was a leftover prop from a previous opera about a rich courtesan and a very naive romantic composer. He didn't think he'd ever obtain it. His strength from scaling the rafters was growing, but it was nowhere near strong enough to aide a ballerina in smuggling it down. Now, Erik understood why Antoinette had begged that Gaston help her and for Erik to wait for them. He didn't like it, but he understood.

He swiftly strode to the lever that opened the gate and wordlessly pulled it. As the gate opened, Gaston hopped off and waded through the murky waters to stand behind the gondola while Erik moved to the front.

He looked up at Antoinette as she guarded the bed. She was dressed in her practice outfit with a black cloak and brown leather boots. She looked alternatively behind at Gaston, and then at Erik.

Hauling the bed to his room was an absolute chore. Erik had cleared out the accumulating mass of candelabras to make room for carrying the bed, and he had moved his small bed to a corner of the house in haste after he helped dock the gondola. Any words exchanged between him and Gaston were words concerning how to properly maneuver the bed.

After the bed was secure in his room, Erik and Antoinette helped Gaston load his old bed onto the gondola. Antoinette took a moment to talk quietly with Gaston. Erik heard their words.

"I must speak with him alone." Antoinette murmured.

Gaston nodded. "How long will you be?"

"Not too long," came the quiet response. "I will meet you at our spot within the half hour."

With a kiss on the cheek and a hug from Gaston, he was off. Before that, however, Antoinette withdrew two valises from the gondola. Erik let the gate close when Gaston had ferried the boat completely out, and the two of them waited until they were sure that Gaston had ferried the gondola out of earshot to truly talk.

Antoinette climbed up the stone steps to stand in front of Erik. Pointedly ignoring the steady glower that had now blossomed upon his face upon Gaston's departure, she set down the bags and opened up the first one.

Erik quickly blurted out the question that had been hovering on the tip of his tongue ever since she begged him to let Gaston help them. "How do you know he won't tell anyone?"

Antoinette stood up after searching in the first bag for a moment, picking it up and holding it open. "I trust him," she said simply.

Erik looked inside. It was full of tall white candles for his candelabras. Erik remembered saying in passing to her when they had dinner together earlier in the week that he had been running out of them. A sense of hopelessness settled inside of him; only Antoinette was this considerate. Still, Erik firmly pressed on. "I want proof," he said. "What did you tell him?"

"I said you were an orphan that had encountered trouble where you had previously stayed." Antoinette said softly. "You ran away and found shelter and became...crippled," she continued delicately. "The manager doesn't know you are here, nor does he care. It was your choice to stay here, and a choice that I accepted when I met you in the corridors by chance. So I helped you live comfortably. He dislikes that he cannot tell anyone, but he has promised to respect my wishes."

Erik stared at her in mild shock. It was a beautifully crafted white lie. Yet, Erik knew Antoinette had lied to others before for his safety and comfort. She had been doing so for the past three years he had been living at the Opera House. Despite this, he found that something about it bothered him. "You lied to your future husband?" he asked incredulously.

Antoinette gave him a sad, soft smile. "I am a young woman, mon ami. I must keep secrets from time to time. Every woman does."

"Why?" Erik demanded. Even though she lied for him, what she said didn't seem right.

Antoinette shrugged. "It is the fate given to us, I suppose. But never mind that." Antoinette gestured to the second open bag that she had picked up, this time with some difficulty. Erik helped her and looked inside.

A lump settled in his throat at the sight of piles and piles of bundled money inside the valise. "I saved a little for you over the years." Antoinette said quietly. "Gaston comes from a modestly wealthy family who did not entirely approve of him becoming a musician and leaving the army, but they didn't disown him. And I took some old jewels Louisa didn't want without her knowing and sold them."

Erik let himself smirk for a moment. Louisa was the resident Prima Donna from Spain; she was also spoiled, ungrateful, and an absolute diva. However, she could sing well. "How much is in here?" he asked.

"Fifteen thousand francs," came the reply.

Erik's eyes widened slightly. "Louisa's gems went for more than I would think."

"She is from an old line of nobility." Antoinette shrugged. "The name was part of the price."

There was a long pause as the bag was settled at Erik's feet. The longer the silence lasted, the stronger the bubbling pit of anger that had been building inside of him over the past few weeks grew. "Why are you doing this?" His voice cracked like a whip through the air.

Antoinette looked startled. "What do you mean -" she began to say,

"Of course you do." Erik interrupted with a sneer, taking a step forward. Even through he had only just started to grow, he was still shorter than Antoinette by a few inches. Yet, Antoinette flinched at his response. "You're giving me all of these things to abate your own conscience, aren't you? To ease your guilt as you leave with Giry."

Antoinette's eyes widened. "Erik, I would never -"

"You're abandoning me!" Erik snarled. "You're abandoning me to live with that damned bastard of a -"

"Gaston is a good man, and you know it!" Her trembling voice abruptly broke through the boy's incoming tirade and made him stop.

Gaston was a good man - and that's what hurt Erik the most. Erik's jaw worked stiffly as he remembered how Antoinette met her future husband. He had saved her from nearly being assaulted a year and a half ago as she was coming back from spending time with Erik during an afternoon break. The perpetrator was a stagehand that was attempting constantly to get at the chorus girls and the ballerinas, and Erik had been seriously starting to consider killing the stagehand himself. It had been too easy to kill the gypsy master Javert, and Erik knew it would be no different with the lecherous stagehand. Gaston, however, had stepped in where a young boy could not. The stagehand was not killed, but he had been crippled enough to be unable to do his job.

When Antoinette spoke again, her voice was thick with emotion. "Look Erik, I am sorry. We cannot help who we love."

"We?" Erik looked at her like she was insane. Antoinette was unperturbed.

"Yes," she said. "We. I have no doubt that love will find you someday, just like it found me." There was a fire in her eyes as she said it, and for a few precious moments, Erik desperately wanted to believe her.

A few more moments of uncomfortable silence passed before Antoinette spoke again. "The money should suffice long enough for you to compose enough to slip to the manager for a salary in exchange." Antoinette's voice took on a crisper tone. "If you spend the money wisely, you can live quite comfortably for over a year and a half. Hopefully, that will give you enough time to compose something. Your music," she continued, her eyes softening, "is breathtaking. I am confident that you can craft masterpieces for the rest of your life."

Erik thinned his lips and swallowed back his tears. Before he could register what was happening, his body was enveloped in a tight hug from Antoinette. Erik had received hugs from Antoinette before, and they had startled him every single time. This hug was no different. He could do nothing but savor her warmth and her scent. Ever so slowly, his hands reached up to lightly finger the folds of her cloak that rested on her back. Then, he regrettably pulled away.

Antoinette's eyes were watery. "I must go," she said thickly.

"You must meet up with Gaston." Erik's voice was emotionless. She nodded as he took her hand, and Antoinette entwined it with hers as Erik let her to one of the tunnels he had hidden behind a covered mirror. Shifting the object to the side, the both of them glanced down the dark and endless tunnel.

"Gaston and I will be living in Paris." Antoinette said gingerly. "He will still be here. I will be helping in one of their family shops."

Erik's blood went cold. To him, becoming a shop girl was beneath her. Antoinette had the talent to become a prima ballerina. She almost was, but someone else had been chosen. The Ballet Mistress told Antoinette point blank that she lacked the "proper beauty" to become a prima ballerina. Erik gave the instructor a broken leg barely six hours later. It was blamed on faulty curtain machinery.

Erik thought it was possible that Antoinette may have figured out his thoughts, because she gave him a knowing smile and kissed him on the forehead. Erik's pulse jumped at the kiss. "I have promised the friends I have here that I will visit them. That invitation includes you."

"I suppose..." Erik said hesitatingly. "That I can keep my ear open for your arrival."

Antoinette gave Erik a genuine smile, and Erik drank in the bright expression on her face hungrily. "I would like that very much."

With a final farewell, Antoinette disappeared down the tunnel. Erik slowly let the curtain fall and put the mirror back in its original position, fighting to swallow back tears. His hands started to shake as he tried to will himself to not explode completely in some form of emotion that expressed his grief over the situation. He wanted to save those outbursts for later. That's when he became aware of a note in his pocket. Drawing it out and breaking the seal, he read the curly golden script.

You are cordially invited to witness the union of Antoinette Rouchard and Gaston Giry...

Erik scoffed. "She cannot be serious." He skimmed the rest of the invitation and found post script written by Antoinette at the bottom.

-There is an alcove upstairs in the church that is blocked off. RSVP and I will find you and give you details.

-Antoinette

Erik sighed. So she has no intentions on forgetting me, Erik thought to himself as he went to test out his new swan bed. Erik lay there staring at the small candelabrum that was currently producing the only light in his home. He wasn't sure what to think, but he did feel exhausted from hauling the bed in with Antoinette and Gaston, and dealing with his pent up emotions surrounding Antoinette's departure. He needed to release his anger more - that was the last remaining thought in his mind as he kicked off his shoes and curled up on the down red mattress that was part of the pewter bed.

I also need to find matching blankets, Erik thought to himself tiredly. In all of her careful planning, Antoinette had forgotten blankets. The sheets and quilts lying on the old bed would have to do for now, he thought, as he fell asleep clutching the wedding invitation in his hand.

A/N: And yes - Erik does attend the wedding. One of the things that inspired me was wondering how on earth Antoinette managed to get away with sheltering him and getting him so much. Erik probably got the swan bed when he was a grown man and had the physical strength, but I needed a mechanism to bring Erik and Antoinette together for this story. I had a hard time imagining that Antoinette was doing everything on her own, and her beau seemed like a nice candidate to help out (even though he would have never been told the entire truth). Regardless, I think there probably should be a tiny bit of suspension of disbelief in this.

This one-shot also came about in a moment of a very severe depression. I've been struggling with my writing for awhile now (among other things), and thought that if I posted my Phantom stuff, I'd feel a little bit more accomplished XDD. Hence, the reason why this story is not beta'd. I wanted to get it out there quickly.

I did my best to try and balance between an incredibly lonely boy who had a hint of the infamous temper and vindictive behavior that everyone will later come to know Erik for.

Hope you liked it! Reviews and constructive criticism would be lovely. =)