He was always watching, always.
He was only a child when he'd come to the opera house, after all, only five years old and already full of misery. The whole of its underground was his playground, its workers and artists his unwitting playmates. Only Lawliet knew of his true identity, though they both knew that Whammy had his suspicions. He was carefully kept out of sight, but was determined to never be out of mind. He caused trouble and mischief for everyone in the opera house, hiding instruments and costumes and, on one noteworthy occasion, even the entirety of the stable horses. The last one had gotten him into so much trouble, Lawliet had set about giving him something to occupy his time; as such, through his intense watchings, he learned much about how the opera house was run. How to manage the money, the care and keeping of the establishment, how to decide who to attract and how to keep them interested in order to keep the opera house running with funds from Vicomtes and heiresses and royalty. He learned how to manage the stage, how to direct the artists and stagehands, learned how to work the ropes and pulleys for the back drops.
He learned how to read notes, play instruments and sing. It was his favorite pastime out of everything the opera house could offer, and he smuggled many instruments to his underground home as best as he could. His voice was deep for his age, the type Lawliet always told him he would grow into properly some day, and it always mixed beautifully with his piano or violin. While he wasn't busy with the harassment of the opera workers or the runnings of the opera house, he was tucked away underground creating music on his own.
Then, when he was fourteen years old and set in his role as a phantom that both helped and hindered and struck a sort of wary fear in the opera populations, a pale little boy affectionately nicknamed Near was brought to the opera house. He'd watched intently as the boy was shuffled into the dormitory for the ballet rats by Lawliet, carrying a small bag and sniffling just a bit with red rimmed eyes. While the boy settled in, he kept a silent and unknown vigil over him, wanting to know more about the boy that was white as snow yet quiet as a mouse. He was careful not to make a sound as Near settled into a bed, staying tucked away in the ceiling where he kept watch over the ballerinas. Lawliet left with a stern glance in his direction, yet he stayed as an unknown companion. There was something about this small child, something that made him want to protect and keep safe instead of torment. Near looked tiny and fragile, curling up on the bed and making himself impossibly smaller under the blankets. His hair blended into the pillow, his face nearly doing the same, and he wanted to run his fingers through the boy's hair and see if it was as soft as it looked.
It wasn't until the boy clasped his hands and started praying that he even moved; and then he slipped away, silent as a shadow, until he was sure he was as far away from Near as he could get. Prayers were private and sacred, and he was always careful to respect that in others. His face and actions damned him already, he didn't need any further transgressions in his lifetime.
He ran all the way to Lawliet's office, skidding to a silent stop when he saw the older man was busy with their prima donna, Misa, and her husband. Scrunching up his nose in distaste, he leaned against the wall to wait her out; he distantly felt annoyed with himself as he realized that there was nothing to do to entertain himself, and Misa only sounded as though her rant had just started. His eyes glazed over, he thought back to Near again.