Erik had not left the organ in three days. This was not entirely unusual for the odd couple under the opera house. Erik would find himself in practical transes late at night that could last weeks at a time. At first they had worried Christine but, after she saw his absolutely relieved face when the piece in his mind was done and written, she could not find it in her heart to berate him too badly.

However, this time, she knew it was different. For one, the piece was not new. And secondly, he was not playing to compose, but rather, it was the only piece she had ever seen him practice into utter perfection. And that is what he was doing now. Every year he would do this, starting two weeks before… That day. The day when Erik, who always craved her company and the security of her presence in the house, would ask her to leave before Nadir arrived. She did not know fully what would happen and nor did she ask. She instead would be grateful when she would come the next morning and Erik would wrap her in his arms and the two of them would lay silently in the coffin, clinging to each other until he finally drifted off to sleep for the first time in two weeks. Then when he woke he would not mention it again until the next year.

She did not know much about that day. Only the basics. That it was on October 16th, it involved Nadir, and most importantly it revolved around a requiem Erik had composed years before he even knew who Christine was.

یک درخواست برای رضا Or a requiem for Reza

She knew very little about the boy. Only that he had touched Eriks heart when none had right before his death and that both Erik and Nadir had never truly recovered from this lose. Understanding the pain of losing someone like that was not entirely unfamiliar to her, so she did not interrogate him on it. Still… It bothered her. This could not be healthy for him, sitting there weeks on end and pouring his heart out in the utterly haunting requiem that made her weep the first time he had played it. This was the third year he had done this and she felt compelled to do… something. Anything. Anything to help. After all, despite his rather… nafferious methods, he had still brought her great comfort when her papa had passed. She felt deep in her soul she had to do the same, not only because she felt as if she owed him but more so because she loved him.

So, using the courage from that love she quietly slipped in the room. It was dark, say for a lone candle in the corner. Despite his claim of not ever needing such things, she had insisted he light at least one in whatever room he was except when he slept in order to help preserve his eyesight. Not to mention her father had always insisted she keep some light in the room as there was no use in straining her eyes. She never went without at least one candle burning until the moments before sleep. Nor did her father, though for a very different reason.

Still the candle was enough to show him. A deathly thin figure, back unusually slouched in front of the organ. His clothes were wrinkled and very haphazard compared to his normal impeccable appearance. He wore only his undershirt and trousers. One suspender had even come undone but his hands never stopped to fix it. His head, covered in only sparse hairs instead of his normal wig, was bowed as if in prayed. But his hands are what caught her attention the most. They moving perfectly in time like an unearthly machine. Their skin looking almost ghostly in the glow of the candle. They never missed a moment, never wavered.

All and all, he looked like the dead he played for.

She swallowed, hating the idea of disturbing this figure who looked almost as if he were from another world entirely. One of only pain and sorrow. But still, she loved her ghostly specter. So much that she cleared her throat. "Erik? Can we… Can we talk?"

His hands never paused, nor did he move. At first she thought he had managed to somehow manage to play the masterpiece in his sleep but finally his mouth opened, projecting his voice over the music. "Don't clear your throat Christine, I've told you this. It is a terrible habit for a singer." His voice was not welcoming. But, despite its iron like nature at the moment, she did catch the slightest bit of softness on the words as well. A softness she knew would not be there if anyone else had interrupted him right now.

She nodded, coming closer as it seemed he was at least capable of speech. She clasped her hands together and said slowly "Right… Sorry. But Erik… You, you know not sleeping is also terrible for a performer."

She was close enough now to see his eyes roll, the ever present shadows under his eyes even darker than normal. "The audience this is for does not particularly care if I am a bit sleep deprived. Nor do I care. But what I do care about is this piece being utter perfection and it is hard to make when I can not concentrate."

It was a warning. Normally, he was never this short with her, but considering the current situation she knew this was nothing compared to how he could be if she were anyone else. Seeing how he was giving her special treatment, she decided to use that to her advantage.

Slowly she slid on the bench next to him, very careful to avoid the pedals. She could tell this did not improve his now absolutely dower mood but that did not sway her. It's for his own good.

She let him play for a bit longer, thinking of what to do and letting him calm down and adjust to her presence. This would need to be done slowly, with her usual unwavering love and optimistic disposition.

After a few more measures she asked, deciding to let him talk about the task at hand that he was so devoted to, "How is it not perfect? On this piece especially I have never heard a single mistake as long as I have been with you."

He huffed, but she could tell he was a bit more relaxed as it seemed she would at least let the matter if him stopping drop. He thought about her question and said slowly "Well. For example, in measure 137, I made my triplet slightly uneven, causing the second sharp to be sustained too long. I compensated on the next eighth but it means that the accent was not sustained long enough on that note. An idiotic mistake on my part." Good. He was opening up about music at least.

Testing her luck further and praying her strategy to get him off the organ for a bit would work, she said, "It didn't sound off. Could you show me what you mean? The difference that is."

He huffed and shook his head. "I'm trying to not let my fingers break into that habit. Then I will always miss it. No, I must run it seven times in a row without repeating that mistake. That will ensure I do not have a repeat of the same mistake. You should know this, any mistake you make I encourage you to repeat at least seven times correctly."

She rolled her eyes fondly. He was a good teacher, but he would live and die by his magical rule of seven. It did not matter sleet or snow, time of day or appointments she was late to. She would have to rehearse her correction seven times before she was free, and heaven help if she messed up during that seven.

Still she loved him for it, as he had the patience to listen carefully each time, ensuring utter perfection. And despite her sometimes less than amiable nature in practice like that, she was grateful overall for his sharp ears and never ending patience.

She watched his hands and said curiously, still trying to keep the conversation going, "Tell me next mistake you have. I'm curious now. I don't think I've ever heard you play a mistake unless you were ill. I always assumed it was perfection, that's what it sounds like to me. And anyone who's ever heard your music."

Erik raised an eyebrow at her, making heart melt as he turned more to her, letting her see how tired he was. His voice was both warm and depressed all in the same velvet tone as he said "Music, like life, is never perfect Christine. All we can do is practice to make it as close to perfection as possible. So the more I practice, the closer it is…"

His eyes trailed over her soft cheeks, round nose. Blond curly hair that insisted on being everywhere at once, much to her adorable disgruntlement. But it was her eyes that captivated him. Not just for their beauty- there was no comparison in the world for how gorgeous her eyes were- but for what they held.

They held only love for him as they stared back. And that was something more valuable to him than any music in the world.

He found himself saying without realizing he had started to speak again, blushing as he did so "The only perfection I have ever encountered is you my dear…"

He blinked when his own voice reached him and looked down, blush even redder. He needed to focus. He just missed an accidental 18th grace note. It was not the time to get lost in perfect things. Perfect people's eyes. It was a time for discipline. Practice to perfect the only gift he could give to Reza's memory now.

Still he was ashamed to admit part of him wanted to stop moving his hands and hold her soft ones instead. Knowing now they would not pull away in disgust. That instead they would hold his tightly, warm and soft in his skeletal corpse like hands. And there was a great comfort in that.

But then, the memory of another person who had not pulled away came to mind. A little boy with shaking hands holding Erik's for comfort. The softest touch he had ever received in his life until that point…

His attention was once again back on the organ. Hands moving at lightning speed for which he was glad. It was the part that described the moment of Rezas passing. Where emotions were highest for both himself and the boys perpetually morning father. It spoke of the worst crime and pain anyone could ever experience. It had horror, a snap, utter unbearable misery.

The death of the truly innocent. The death of a child.

Christine remained quiet for this part. Anyone who had ever lost a loved one would recognize the emotion the music brought. An indescribable pain that Erik somehow managed to show perfectly in his music.

But then, like everything both in life and death, the storm managed to somehow pass. The piece slowing to it's close. Utter wish for peace echoing about the room as if Erik's as playing to god himself to make it true.

Then there was a pause after the last perfect note, signaling it's end.

As he moved to start again she felt emboldened by his previous comment and instead took one hand.

He froze, frown clear on his face. His back even stiffening with a slight crack from not moving for so long.

Taking advantage of the silence instead of the almost hypnotic music she said, testing her utter limits, "Erik… please. Listen… I know this means a lot to you. That Reza meant a lot to you. And Nadir. But… a very wise man once told me 'while it is important to remember the dead, honour the dead, the greatest disservice we can give to them is to stop living ourselves. Live on in their memory, for their memory.'"

His eyes narrowed slightly as she used the very words he had told her when she had wanted to stop her music entirely in the wake of her father's passing. Naturally any good deed he ever did usually came to bite him in the ass and here was no exception.

Still he had been right when he said it, he knew that much. He replied slowly, not giving up so easily, "Christine. I am already practically a ghost. I stopped living perhaps even before I was born. It is acceptable I feel, for a ghost to do as he pleases in regards to the dead."

She had to refrain from rolling her eyes. But she did gain confidence in the fact his hands never struggled to resume the work. Using this she said "Erik… when I first returned, perhaps that would have been true… but do you remember what you said that night?"

He looked down, away from her honest eyes. He remembered everything from that night. The night everything changed.

She gave him a minute, letting him focus on that night before answering herself. "You said that the ghost was dead. That all I was talking to was Erik. Nothing more or less. A man. A living man. You are not a ghost Erik. And because of this, you need to take your own advice. Take your advice and live for Reza. After some rest and a moment of air, you can remember him, but do not stop living for him. If he touched your heart this greatly then surely he would love you enough to want you to keep living."

He looked at their hands. Somehow she had managed to get both and now they both lay limp in her own soft ones. She was right of course. She was usually right in these matters. Matters of… living. Something Erik considered himself very new to.

Still he did not know how to deal as a living person in these situations. There had only ever been three people in his life that had loved him and he loved in return. And one of them had been Reza. Having no reference he had no idea how to cope other than music. It was all he could offer and so offer he did. He offered all of his soul and love in his music for Reza. But he knew Reza, always so concerned for him, would want him to live. After all, it had been his dying wish for Erik to stop using drugs. And he had not touched anything besides the occasional drink since that day.

She could tell he was lost and so gently she said in her firm yet nurturing voice, "Erik… go get dressed. Bath and put on clothes for outside. It's Autumn and I rather fancy some cool seasonal breeze with you. I think it would do you some good."

And with that she kissed his cheek and left the room for him to gather his thoughts, heading to the parlour to wait, giving him time.

For the first time in three days, the house was silent say for the occasional open or closing door, drawers closing and bath running. On a happier day she would have been happy to join him. Even if he was perhaps the shyest human being on the face of the Earth when nude. Personally she found it adorable, often kissing his pink cheeks.

But now she knew he needed a different kind of comfort. So instead she worked on a scarf she was knitting for his Christmas. When she heard their bedroom door open again she slipped it into her basket before he made it to the door frame.

He looked down at his shoes, feeling very lost. He was clean and we'll dressed as ever. Fake nose and mustache in place. Wig and hat on. She always felt slightly bad how much effort he had to put into just to have a nightly stroll. Not to mention she knew the nose and wig were especially itchy and awkward. Still, it made him safer and more comfortable emotionally to wear it so she never pushed the matter.

Instead she rose to her feet and took his hand, guiding him to get their coats. He followed quietly, a bit unnerved by the silence she could tell.

She she put her coat on an idea popped in her head. "I know. We can go to that little park past the bridge. I was wanting to fly my kite when it cooled off anyways."

He shifted uncomfortably. He had wanted this to be a very quick stroll. But he only had to take one look at her large pleading eyes to find himself half an hour later walking towards a very ornate bridge. His little swedish blond holding a bright red kite in one hand and his own skeletal hand in the other.

Still he'd be a liar if he said his mood had not improved. He was drill far more quiet than normal. Letting her fill the empty air with chatter about the weather and all her other fall plans now that the terrible summer heat had passed. The fresh air helped his mood some but really it was her presence. Everything about her was absolutely infectious and he would not change a damn thing about her. As he had said, she was utter perfection.

The bridge, while very pretty, was also very narrow. Causing Christine to let go of his hand and walk ahead. Still her head turned to face him as she kept talking, distracting him from the song he should be playing right now and for that he was grateful.

It was a beautiful night if not a bit chilled. And when they crossed the bridge she eagerly hurried to the small park, her childlike heart always a blessing to his bitter old soul. It made him live with every laugh and giggle that escaped her.

Quietly, he watched her. Most people who were as enthused about kites would have been severely let down by the weather. Not even the trees rustled in a breeze. Yet, this did not stop his lovely angel one bit. And it only made him love her even more as she started to run about the place creating her own breeze. He couldn't help the smile that came to him as she giggled, thoroughly enjoying herself. Her breath coming in small puffs of for in the cold night air. Any height the kite gained Erik would swear was really from his angel flapping her wings, unseen and unfelt by all except her.

But all too soon she tired quickly, and soon collapsed on the soft grass. But despite her panting and flushed cheeks, her smile never left. She was so truly alive and he had been so immersed in death these past few days, that he was drawn to her like a moth to flame. Yet the flame was always very kind and not once did it ever kill the ghostly floating friend.

So drawn was he, that he laid next to her. Putting his small top hat on his chest, polightly holding it. Both looked at the sky for a long while in silence. Breath coming up in small puffs if smoke. Little reminders in the cold darkness of the life within it.

It was her life that drew his eyes away from the stars. Yes they were beautiful tiny diamonds woven in the richest fabric but they were not nearly as valuable as the angel next to him. Nowhere near as breathtaking as she…

She looked up still. Deep in thought. He was starting to grow curious to what had her so captivated when she answered his question with one of her own. "Do you ever think stars get cold up there? Or lonely? They all look so distant from each other…"

He raised an eyebrow, turning his attention back to the sky above them. He thought about her odd question for a moment before answering softly "I think sometimes, that much darkness can be… confusing. Easy to get lost in, no matter how beautiful it is… still I think they are just close enough to stay together. Distant but with guidance and hope in the fact they can still see one another… Why do you ask?"

She listened intently, a soft almost… grimly accepting smile was on her lips. Like someone remembering a beloved dog from their childhood. She took her time answering him. Still staring at the stars. "Well… I always-always felt that the stars are our loved ones. That papa was one, looking down at me. Watching over me even if it had to be from a great distance… it just never felt like they left you know? And sometimes I… I wish I could show him I know he's watching. How could he not be? I live with the angel of music after all. Even if it's not quite in the way I expected." She she mentioned him her smile grew slightly happier, which lightened him a bit as well.

He looked above and imagined what she said. Imagined Reza, far above him. Perhaps his mother a very close star, giving him the love he had always missed from not having a mother in the few far to brief years of his time in Earth. He hoped that was true.

The urge to do something more for him came over him. Something more than music, as there was no way stars could hear music.

Then another thought came to him, causing his brow to furrow. A memory of Reza asking Erik to light a candle between coughs, begging him to keep it lit even after he fell asleep. So close to a more permanent type of darkness he still craved light and sunshine. The again, Reza was a person made purely if light so it only made sense for him to fear the dark.

But how could Erik give him that now, with so many things between them.

He swore fate itself answered then, giving the lightest breeze so Christine's kite brushed against his leg. The spark he needed.

Christine watched in slight confusion as he sat up. Taking the kite into spindly hands. She could tell by his eyes that whatever he was doing was of the utmost importance to him. So she didn't question it as he started to work the kite in his lap. But she did sit up in curiosity to watch him.

His expression was growing more cathartic as he worked. A glimmer of care and hope in his eyes she rather loved when he was immersed in something.

Then all too soon, he produced two odd boxes. He handed her one before moving to stand, his own box cradled protectively in his other hand. She followed his lead, looking at his as he lit a small match, explaining in a soft that he used when most vulnerable, "It isn't much but… perhaps on a colder night like this. A bit of extra light and warmth might be appropriated… I know Reza hated the dark… Maybe he could rest if he had a bit of light to sleep next to…"

She was still slightly confused until he lit a small fuse in the box. Then with a deep breath, he released it. Letting it float away from his hand very slowly, as if an angel was carrying it up.

She needed no explanation as she lifted her box up so he could light hers as well. Memories of her father next to a candle late at night came to mind. When he thought she was dreaming and his small ever present candle illuminated the picture of her mother, so he could always look at her before falling asleep.

"Papa… could probably use a bit of light. To see Maman…" she said softly. So, with a soft hand, she let her go too.

Both lanterns flew next to each other. Gentle in their movements as the souls they were meant for. As if they themselves were taking them up. Up and away to their velvety black kingdom, where the pains of the living could no longer hurt them.

And Erik felt a sense of relief he had not felt in years. Watching the peaceful sight of the small lights being guided up, higher and higher. By now far out of any man's touch, just as the stars themselves were.

And Christine rested against his shoulder, watching their gifts float away. A peaceful calm settling over them in the beauty of the lights, already stars in their own ways. The couple stood remembering their angels.

And more importantly, they stood living for them.

O.G.

Thank you all for reading! This is my first one shot, I hope you all enjoyed! It's based completely on a work done by epwhales on Tumblr who is an absolute amazing artist who you should definitely check out.

Please review!