He stalked back through the corridor, passing Christine's room with a quick glance inside. He paused again, left foot hovering in mid-air, wondering whether he should reveal himself. Christine was alone, Meg having long left to go tell the other ballet rats about the banshee in Christine's room. Erik had promised her he would be entertaining her in his lair for the weekend. Well, without the ability to even talk, let alone sing, there was no comfortable possibility he could play host to her this time.

Might as well tell her now, and maybe enlist her aid in acquiring some medication. He placed the indecisive foot down, turned, and pressed on the mechanism for her mirror.

She looked up, a wide smile already on her face.

"Angel! Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" She cried, standing and bodily throwing herself at him. He caught her by the arms before she could follow through with the bone-crushing hug she always gave him. Laryngitis was already devastating for him, but if Christine ever caught it; it would be disastrous!

With the new opera's opening coming up shortly, it was paramount that Christine's voice not be affected. Her position as Prima Donna was still tentative, with Carlotta continuously shrieking and causing trouble for the girl and the managers, and if she were to come down with an illness that took away her voice! - well, that would be the perfect catalyst for Carlotta to take her position back.

He released her arms, took one step back from the woman, and graced her with a smile to show he wasn't irate at anything she'd done. She looked confused, but took this as just another quirk of his that she would do her best to understand. Not now, but in the future, she'll figure out all his little eccentricities and motivations that inspired him to do such confusing, yet wondrous, things.

She smiled back at him, clasping her hands together in excitement. "Oh, I am so eager to spend the weekend with you, Angel. I have already decided on what - "

He held a hand up, silencing her immediately with just one graceful wave of his hand. He must keep from speaking too much around her. Each word would send millions of bacteria into the air, which would, in turn, raise the chances that Christine would get sick.

He shook his head 'no'. Her happy expression disappeared so fast, it was almost comical. Even without words, she understood him completely. Not for the first time, Erik felt bewildered, elated, and a bit terrified about this bond they shared.

"But - but why not?" She asked timidly, mouth on the verge of quivering. Her eyes were wide and glassy, quite akin to a kicked puppy's expression following the boot to its furry behind.

He frowned, more to himself than anything. How was he supposed to tell her he was sick, and that that was the reason he couldn't see her? Unfortunately, the woman took his musing and frown for something else entirely.

"Well, Erik Destler, if you do not wish for me to stay the weekend, then you could at least be a man and just tell me! Instead of this," she waved a hand vaguely in his direction, apparently to indicate whatever it was he had done to offend her. "coldness towards me, you could just say, 'Christine, I am sorry, but I do not find you pleasant company anymore. Please kindly leave me alone for the weekend!' I would have at least been given the chance to know what you are thinking. But of course, the great Angel of Music, the Phantom of the Opera is much too superior to do something like that. No one would be worthy enough to be given an explanation into his reasonings and motivations. Just do what he says, and no one gets hurt, right?!"

Erik's eyes were wide, mouth hanging slightly slack-jawed. Where in the blazes did this come from? He was just -

"Well, Erik, go! Go and be by yourself with your music, then! That's all you care about, anyways!" Christine declared, crossing her arms and, with a huff, turned her back on him quite literally.

His mouth snapped closed. How dare the insolent little - !

He closed his eyes, willing his temper down. He cannot...should not...yell at her. One, because that would just further this unwarranted argument. Two, because it would damage his voice even more than it already has. He breathed out angrily, turned on his heel, and swept back out the door. His loyal cape followed behind him, billowing angrily in response to its master's fluster.

First Madame Giry. Then Christine. Halfway back to his lair, he didn't see Raoul making his way to Christine's dressing room. Didn't see, probably didn't even care anymore, that Raoul asked (more like demanded, since Raoul didn't ever take no for an answer) Christine out to lunch. Didn't see Christine shoot a petty glance to the mirror, then state quite loudly for the Phantom's sake, that she would LOVE to go to lunch with Raoul. Because Raoul LOVED her company as well, and she LOVED to spend time with somebody who put her first.

Erik hissed when the same spot in the damned tunnels sent a droplet of water down his back. Though, he had a feeling the cold water droplet sizzled and evaporated the moment it hit his skin, as furious and hot as he was. He burst through the entrance of his lair with one violent shove of the door. He was so upset, he had no idea where to vent it.

How dare they?! How dare Christine say he didn't care about her? And Madame Giry...her impatience was astounding! He swung his cape off with one flick of his wrist. The jacket came off and was thrown onto his organ bench with one stretch of his arm. In his vest and shirt sleeves, he still felt boiling hot with anger and frustration. He didn't need them! Didn't need any of them!

He would overcome this like he has overcome everything else in life...through sheer stubbornness and his music.

His body ached from being tensed up for so long, and his eyes were starting to blur from seeing red.

...Hold just a tick.

These symptoms aren't typically associated with anger. Anger doesn't blacken your vision at the edges. It doesn't make you waver on your feet, dizzy and lightheaded. Oh, it definitely doesn't make you drop to your knees and fall on your side like a swooning damsel.

Anger definitely doesn't suddenly overwhelm you with darkness.