If anyone asked (and of course no one ever did), Erik would say he was a man of simple pleasures. He had no particularly refined taste in food and ate anything Madame Giry brought him, lived in a simple if well decorated system of tunnels beneath the opera house, and if he liked listening to the opera a bit more than a truly simple man, he still found greater pleasure in a well performed solo or duet than in the more complicated choral arrangements.

Today Erik had promised himself one pleasure, and it was as simple as one could imagine. He was going to go down to Box Five (they were leaving it empty for him lately until the day of the performance, when no doubt it would be heavily guarded) and watch Christine perform the seduction scene in the dress he had requested for her. It was a nice dress—he had seen the final product from a distance—and Christine would look very good in it, and it would put her fully in the character of Aminta he had envisioned for her. He had no intention of doing anything more ambitious, like approaching Christine or leaving notes to anyone. No, today was merely a day of observation and not of interference. Only to watch his pupil sing a song he wrote in a dress that made her look good—one's desires could not get much simpler than that.

When she came onstage, she looked as he had pictured: beautiful. Not that she didn't always look beautiful. But now she looked the part of a seductress instead of an ingénue, and it suited her. She should be past pretending to be innocent. That was what the entire play was about.

Only, there was something wrong. As she walked onstage, her steps were faltering. And after only a couple lines sung, her voice failed.

"What's wrong, my dear?" he murmured. Of course, this far away there was no way she could hear him. But she was reacting as if someone had attacked her, to no visible problem.

And only a minute later, she had stormed off stage.

It wasn't typical of her to throw a fit like this, even if lately her nerves had been on edge. Erik frowned. He would have to go check on her. Not to mention she had summoned the Vicomte de Chagny for some reason, as if he would be able to solve anything. She'd been around him even more since the start of rehearsals for Don Juan Triumphant and Erik hated it.

He would have to see what she wanted with the Vicomte.

By the time he got to her room through the secret passages of the opera house, the Vicomte was already there. They were talking about the dress.

"I am the puppet who dances on his strings. I can feel them. They are sewn into this dress. They jerk at my arms, my legs…"

Erik frowned thoughtfully, leaning against the wall behind the full length mirror. He had not intended for Aminta's seductive dress to feel restricting. He had only wanted her to look the way he saw her: radiantly sexual, ready to take on anyone and anything, with just a touch of innocence that only made her more irresistible once she set her mind to it. And he had thought this design succeeded at that. Only now, as she crumpled the lace with her fists, she did not look so radiant. She almost looked haggard.

Yet, he could not feel entirely regretful. A smile grew on his face as she continued to speak. Yes, in that dress she was his, just as she was his as long as she performed this opera, and for that matter, as long as she sang. And hearing her say that to de Chagny, her brave young suitor, was ever so sweet.

And it seemed to piss de Chagny off, which was a huge plus.

What was the young man doing now? Positioning Christine across the room…ah, he was planning on rehearsing the scene with her, to iron out her nerves. Erik shook his head. Well, at least he was being useful.

And then he began to sing.

Erik had planned on leaving as they began to practice, since the Vicomte's mediocre attempts at acting did not interest him. But on hearing the Vicomte's voice, he had to pause. He realized now he had never actually heard him sing before. He had only ever heard him speaking to Christine and bellowing at Erik himself from a distance. And speaking, his voice was clear but unremarkable.

Singing, it was…odd.

He did not sing like a man in the opera, like the singers Erik was used to. His voice, while full and hitting the right notes, had a gentle warmth to it that most professionals lacked. Of course, that was ridiculous. Erik just barely stopped himself from snorting. A song like this was not meant to be gentle.

Still, there was something about the way de Chagny sang that was perhaps pleasing to the ear, and it seemed to please Christine as well. For the first time today, she was smiling. Perhaps for the first time in a long while. And when she stepped towards him, she was no longer hesitant.

Erik shook his head. He couldn't actually be enjoying hearing the Vicomte sing. After all, the boy was entirely butchering the tone of the song, creating a lullaby out of Erik's masterpiece. It was a farce. His lip curling, he turned to leave…

And was frozen by the sound of Christine's voice.

At first, she stumbled over the words, and he was almost relieved—even if it was bad singing, it would mean the Vicomte's plan had failed. But as she sang, she grew confidence.

"I have come here, hardly even knowing why…"

Her voice was melodic, rich. But it was not haunted or hypnotic the way it often was when she sang with Erik. Instead, there was an almost unnoticeable air of fondness in the words. Erik turned back to see what kind of expression she would be wearing, singing with a voice like that. It was different from any way he had heard her sing before.

But when he turned around, he found she did not look as innocently fond as he had expected. Instead, he was distracted by the fact that she was currently cushioned against Raoul's body and was rubbing herself against him like a cat.

As Erik gaped, she continued to sing in a sultrier voice than she had ever used in rehearsals, practically purring (although her enunciation was still good). It was obvious from the smirk on her face that she intended to drive de Chagny insane—and obvious by how red he was at this point that she was succeeding.

Finally the duet was over. Erik let out a sigh of relief as the two singers faced each other, both panting. Over. Hopefully he would never have to see his student rubbing herself on de Chagny again.

And then Christine, with a final gasp, grabbed de Chagny and kissed him on the lips.

And then they were undressing each other.

Erik wanted to leave but his body was frozen. Surely the modest Christine would never let a man take such liberties with her. Although with the way she was ogling de Chagny it seemed more like she was taking liberties with him.

"Don Juan, indeed," he muttered as she pulled de Chagny's shirt off. More like a little Juanita.

Another thing he had never seen: the Vicomte de Chagny without a shirt. It was…not bad. Christine at least had aesthetic taste in lovers. And if her Raoul was no musician or singer, he was a decent instrument. Christine was certainly coaxing some interesting noises out of him now.

They locked the door. Privacy. Right.

Surely Erik should leave now. Whatever liberties the Vicomte was going to take, there was no need for Erik to see anything so coarse.

He turned his back to the mirror but could not bring himself to walk away. De Chagny was still gasping and making those interesting noises, and now Christine was doing the same, although she was a bit more verbose: she managed two full lines of Erik's song at one point (Lord God, that his carefully crafted lyrics were seeing this kind of use) and afterwards said a lot of scattered phrases like "more" and "yes, yes," and "perfect, you're so damn..."

And far too often, "Raoul, Raoul, Raoul…"

He had never heard that wretch's name pronounced so many times in his life. At least in public she had the dignity to call him "Monsieur de Chagny" most of the time.

Raoul himself barely spoke a word, his vocabulary being reduced mostly to grunts. But at one point he did call out Christine's name quite loudly. Erik shook his head. Too loud for someone so worried about privacy. He disapproved.

(He was also painfully hard and should probably leave but instead kept his hands clenched at his sides and continued to listen.)

At last it was over.

There was a silence that lasted a few minutes, and Erik, too curious for his own good, turned back to the mirror to see what had happened.

They had pulled apart. Raoul seemed to be wiping himself off, though his back was to the mirror. Christine must already be done with that because her petticoat was pulled down and she was walking over to her dressing table.

"Raoul, you've made a mess of my hair," she said, scolding. The effect was ruined by the huge smile on her face. She picked up her brush and went to work.

"Really?" Raoul said hazily. He stumbled back and actually leaned against the full length mirror. Inches away from Erik—they could have been touching through the glass. Erik hurriedly stepped away.

"I think it looks fine," Raoul said.

"That's because you're a man. Are you going to help me with my corset?"

At this point Erik finally did force himself to walk away.

/…/…/

He was back in his lair and sitting at his organ before he stopped to consider where he was going. Perhaps he should go back up. Christine had said, after all, that she would return to rehearsal after an hour had passed. Perhaps now that she had worked out her frustration she would give a better performance.

A better performance. His lip curled. As if he hadn't already seen the best performance she would give today.

His fingers rested on the keys of the organ. Music. What he wanted was music. He played the opening notes of "Point of No Return" automatically, and winced as the sound immediately summoned memories of Raoul de Chagny holding a hand out to Christine as he began to sing in his soft and scratchy tenor.

No. He banged out a few dissonant chords to clear the thought of that voice from his head. No, no, no.

Out of his head. Ah, but there was the catch: perhaps he could forget the Vicomte easily enough, but would Christine? If he went up to watch her rehearse, would she sing with the same practiced notes she had used for all the rehearsals before, dance with the same smooth posture? Would her face be folded into the same fake smile?

He thought it would not. He thought she would be different. There would be a secret warmth in all that she did throughout the scene, a mischievous look in her eyes, a new ease in her responses to Don Juan's songs and caresses. It would be Christine on stage, not Aminta. And the words she should be singing to Erik, she would really in her heart be singing to Raoul.

And she would be exquisite.

He banged down on the organ keys again, letting their discord fill the air, trying to shatter his vision of Christine's gleeful face as she moved her body against Raoul's, trying to drown out the sound of her whimpering as Raoul sucked on her neck. Sounds and faces she had never made for Erik, and oh, he could not deny that they were much more vivid and real.

Of course Erik had never tried to make Christine…whimper…or anything of the sort. He had respected her far too much for that, thought she had more dignity…but at the very least he had thought he had the ability to make her sing, and now, after all the singing she had done for him over the course of years, he found that she actually sounded more engaged when singing to some idiot fop.

It wasn't that she was technically any better. There were no very high notes she had hit, nor any notes she had held longer than usual. It was just a sense of boldness and sincerity in her music that in retrospect had never been there when she was singing to Erik. With Erik, she sounded half entranced, barely aware of her own voice. With Raoul, every word vibrated with meaning and delight.

He scowled.

Banging on his organ was not going to help. He had discovered something today, and he would not be able to go back to ignorance, no matter how preferable it might be. He had discovered that the part of Christine that was not his was bigger than he had imagined. He had also discovered that Raoul de Chagny was a more formidable rival than he had thought, and that his sway over Christine was only growing.

"So you think you can woo Christine with your music?" Erik snorted. He picked up a piece of paper and a quill pen, the kind he used not for composing but for writing notes. "Well, if it is truly war between us, monsieur," he muttered as he began to write. "Of course I must accept your challenge."

/…/…/

It took him a long time to draft the notes. As always he was very careful in his phrasing, and then there were a lot of different notes for him to write. One to Andre, one to Firmin, one to Piangi, and of course, one to de Chagny himself. Couldn't forget that one—though he found it surprisingly easy to write. To his dear rival he did not need to be quite as subtle and censored. The man's head was like a cinder block and he doubted anything subtle would really get through.

He waited a while, and when the hour grew late he headed out to drop the notes off. But first, he had one more stop to make.

Christine's dressing room, though this time, luckily, she was alone. Luckily for him and her and the Vicomte as well, as Erik was not sure what he would have done had he found Raoul there.

She had changed out of her costume and into more casual clothing, and was putting on her coat. Preparing herself to leave.

"Christine," he called out quietly.

Even the faintest whisper would have been enough. Christine instantly stiffened. It was cruel indeed that Raoul should have the power to grant her fluidity and Erik only the power to stiffen her and chill her blood where Raoul warmed it, but he supposed he could still take satisfaction in the fact that he affected her at all.

"Opera ghost," she said. "Why are you here?"

"You used to call me Angel."

"Those times are past."

Christine turned to face the mirror now, no doubt remembering the secret passage there even if she didn't know how to open it (aside from Erik nobody did). She was trying to look at him, but while Erik liked to see her face, of course she failed to meet his hidden eyes.

"I saw you rehearsing today," he said. "Tell me, do you like my opera?"

"I am doing my best to perform well." Now she looked at the ground, afraid even to meet eyes she could not see.

"I hope you will enjoy it. You see, all of this is for you."

"It seems to me it is to satisfy your pride," Christine said. Instantly she flushed.

Erik chuckled. "My dear, it is not so. I only wish to bring all your talents to light. I am the only one who can do so, as you are the only one to complete me."

"I thank you for the opportunity," Christine said. But her hands, laced together at her waist, were trembling.

"Remember my words," Erik said. "You sing best when I sing in you. That will not change."

He left with that, pretending he did not already know it was a lie.

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AN: Erik has a lot of feelings, okay?

Reviews would be much appreciated.