x

Raoul had watched Christine with a bittersweet feeling welling in his chest. She was absolutely wonderful that night; there was a radiance to her when she sang that was completely endearing and Raoul remembered how fondly he'd loved her as a child. She was not a sister, and he'd never seen her that way. The day he'd kissed her, timid though he was, he'd known. And, sitting in that smoky bar, watching her shine onstage, he knew as strongly and completely as always.

The pleasure, perhaps, was dimmed slightly by the fact that not once did she look at him, but a young man who is falling in love is not much in a position to be picky.

Sorelli approached him and leaned down to say simply into his ear, "Go," and as instructed, he left the bar to go up the stairs in another part of the building. He wasn't stopped, but he did feel eyes on him as he approached the dressing room door he'd been instructed to hide behind. Looking about, he dismissed the feeling as nothing—he couldn't see anyone. As Sorelli had told him to, he brought a bouquet of white carnations which were held together with a light blue ribbon. He sighed as he walked in, leaving the door ajar, and looked into the vanity mirror to adjust his hair. The dressing room was commonplace, and, while not austere, lacked the opulence that he would have expected of a place such as this. A silk robe was thrown over the arm of a green couch and Raoul noticed that there was no sort of arrangement to the way the room was designed—everything was a different colour and shape and there were different sorts of wood used in the table of the vanity and the chair in front of it. He sighed and for the fiftieth time imagined which of the girls employed here he was going to have to offer a weak apology to and then leave. It was nothing personal, of course, he simply did not want any involvement with any girl, with only one exception. Was it going to be some voluptuous brunette with a determined pout and wandering hands? A redhead like Sorelli who had too many teeth in her smile and too much colour on her lips? A clever girl who cracked wise and laughed at his innocence?

It was all very distressing to consider.

x

Christine had been detained by Sorelli who seemed intent upon telling her every detail of the night out she'd had with her Philippe earlier in the week. It was not that Christine didn't care—Sorelli was, of course, a dear friend of hers—but she was very tired and wanted to go to her room, change, and leave. She'd spent a laborious few hours before she came to the establishment cooking so that she'd actually have something to eat upon getting home for once and was looking forward to her—admittedly meagre—meal. Her employer passed her as she went to go upstairs, which was odd, as she normally didn't see him outside his office. She smiled at him and he simply nodded.

"D'you watch tonight?" she asked. His mouth twitched.

"I did. I was impressed."

Her mouth curled into a grin. "Really?"

He gave an uncomfortable grimace, as if what he was about to say was painful even to think of. "You were… the bee's knees."

Her laughter was almost loud enough to disturb the performance nearby.

"Gee, thanks." she punched his shoulder, grinning.

He looked disquieted and almost displeased and continued towards his office without another word to her.

She sighed happily until she saw the door to her dressing room, at which her eyes widened. It was always—always—closed when she wasn't in there, and she realised with horror that someone must be inside; there was the sound of footsteps from within.

She looked about desperately for a weapon and spied, fortuitously, an empty vase sitting on an end table at the end of the hallway. She crept over, retrieved it, and went back to her doorway. She saw the black of a man's formalwear within and steeled herself before throwing the door open and entering with a great cry.

"Christine!"

The wind went out of her like a balloon suddenly let go by a child.

"Raoul?"

They saw one another; she took in a breath, and hopelessly lost for words, let it out just as quickly. Her free hand went to her mouth and she simply looked at him, unable to properly form a sentence. What was there to say?

Raoul blinked a few times, not entirely certain that he was not imagining things. There she stood, as radiant and as beautiful as she'd been on the stage, and that feeling of certainty welled in him again. It did not cross his mind that Sorelli had cunningly arranged this and knew all the time, somehow, that they would recognise each other. Too busy was he, of course, remembering what joy felt like.

The moment lengthened.

Christine shook her head as if to clear it and, as casually as she possibly could, set the vase down on the couch nearby. She tucked a tendril of her hair that had escaped behind her ear and looked up at him, hoping to have collected herself, but she fell apart again when the strength of all those memories that had been brewing in her mind hit her yet again.

Raoul remembered the flowers in his hand.

"Oh!" he expelled, thrusting them at her perhaps a little violently in his fervour. "I… er, well, I…"

She took them, gently, and smiled, her heart pounding. "Thank you." she said softly. Raoul awkwardly laced his hands together in front of him, remembering it was poor form to put one's hands in one's pockets in polite company, as Josephine always said.

She was still smiling.

"Hello." he managed, dumbly, to say.

She laughed, and her eyes were warm. "Hi. Look, about the other week—"

He put his hands out to stop her. "No, honestly, it—"

"—see, you just look so—"

"—and you don't need to worry, I mean—"

"—if it helps, I—"

Both stopped.

They smiled together.

Neither was quite certain how it happened, but the next moment they had their arms wrapped around one another and were laughing with relief.

They pulled away, but did not take their hands off each other.

"I thought you'd forgotten me." Raoul said, chewing his lower lip as he continued to grin at her.

She looked down in embarrassment. "I thought you were a drunk."

"Not yet." he said warmly. His hands were on her back, and she felt their heat on her skin through her showy dress.

"I'm glad that you're here." she said, and at last stepped away from him. "I was thinking you'd left for good after I was so rude to you."

Was that a blush she saw creeping across his face? "I wouldn't dream of it." he said.

She smiled ruefully. "I guess you didn't think if we met up again it'd be in a place like this."

He grinned playfully and touched her arm with ease. "Well, Miss Daaé," And he turned his face into a false, pouting frown. "Where is your father in all this?"

It was as if the air in the room turned to ice.

She blinked and bit her lip hard. She swallowed, and told him simply: "He's dead."

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"… Oh." he said after a moment.

Both looked off in different directions awkwardly.

"I'm sorry." he said, and in his desperation he put his hand on her shoulder.

To his great relief, she did not push him away.

"It isn't your fault." she told him, leaning into his hand. He patted her shoulder as consolingly as he could. She fought back her tears.

"How did—oh, no, I'm sorry, I…"

"He got sick." she said. "When I was about thirteen. He went downhill pretty quickly."

"I'm sorry." he repeated. She was still looking away from him, at the ground, and now she shrugged off his arm, bending to pick up the vase. He felt the joyfulness slipping out of him. The news about Mr Daaé hurt him, and the thought that he was so insensitive added insult to injury.

"Anyway," she said, sniffing. "We'll have to do lunch or something, we have a lot to catch up on. You married yet?"

She wasn't facing him. He took in a breath and said: "No."

He watched her square her slim shoulders. "Engaged then?"

He frowned. "No."

She turned to him with a coquettish smile. "The young millionaire Raoul de Chagny can't even find someone to go steady with?"

His mouth twitched upwards. She sniffed again. "No." he said.

"Good." he thought he heard her say.

"I keep making an idiot of myself in front of you." he said, and she smiled.

"You sure are a professional goof. Nothing's changed."

He felt that sense of daring that had made him keep his arms around her returning to him. "Would you like to have a drink with me?" He put on his most charming smile.

She took a deep breath. "Let me just change into something else first? It's too late at night to be all dolled up."

He nodded, still grinning at her. Slowly, he turned to go out the door.

"Hey—" she said. He turned back to her. "Thanks for the flowers," Here she paused and took in his appearance before meeting his eyes. "Raoul."

His smile widened to the point where she thought his face might split in two. "You're welcome, Christine."

And he left.

x

Erik allowed relationships between his employees and, well, whoever they chose. He made it clear that they were to focus on their jobs when they were in his establishment, but as far as he was concerned, what they did in their own lives was up to them.

But he refused to have some grinning idiot of an interloper taking Christine's attention away from—

From her work.

He watched the boy walk downstairs and wondered whether it would be imprudent to enter Christine's dressing room so soon after the boy had left. Of course, he had precious little time to decide and, being the man he was, he approached and rapped sharply three times on the door.

"I told you, I'll be down in a—oh."

She shrugged on her blouse, which had been hanging off one shoulder. Erik swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat as he tried not to let his eyes wander to the soft white of her flesh as she buttoned it casually. He blinked a few times and tightened his hands into fists.

"I do not want you drinking." he said. She frowned.

"Were you listening to that?" she said as she nodded in the direction of the staircase, and he knew she was horrified. He shook his head hastily.

"I was passing by—at the end of the hall, I was talking to one of my pianists—and I noticed that one of my vases was missing."

He almost sighed with relief as he crossed his arms and she looked down apologetically, turning into the room to fetch it, and handing it to him sheepishly. "I thought I had an intruder." she said, and he raised his eyebrow.

"An intruder who left flowers and asked you to drink with him?"

Her mouth curled into an adorable smile and he found it harder with each passing second to remain cross with her. "He's an old friend. He's come here a few times—Raoul de Chagny?"

So that was the name of the foolish little boy who wanted to seduce Christine away from him.

"Ah, yes, the brother of Sorelli's irritating lover, is it?"

She chuckled. "That's the one."

He grew serious and looked right into her sparkling blue eyes. "May I tell you something?"

"Sure." she said.

"Sorelli is a talented dancer, but she has rather a reputation for being—how to put this kindly?—well, loose. It would be very easy for such an unpleasant title to spread to someone even as morally sound as yourself… should you fall in with the wrong people."

She arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I am simply informing you that if you care for your reputation—and consequently, of course, your current guarantee of employment at this establishment—you will not go and drink with that boy. You will put on your coat, take your umbrella, and go home."

She frowned at him. "Are you threatening me?"

He didn't answer her.

"I—well, I—" She huffed. "Fine."

And she closed the door in Erik's face. He let the breath go out of his lungs and slowly descended the stairs. Since they had met strange feelings stirred in his chest when she was near; even when she wasn't and he thought of her there was a fluttering in his chest that confused and angered him. He returned to his office; acoustically it was perfectly situated such that nobody could hear what went on in there when the door was shut, but he could hear very clearly into Christine's dressing room. It was nothing perverse, of course, he simply enjoyed listening to her sing to herself.

And perhaps wanted to hear if she mentioned him to her friends.

But, of late, she had started talking more and more about petty feminine things—her appearance, her hair, which man had become interested in whom. He expected more of her. And in truth, he was disappointed that she'd succumbed to such vacuous things. But he leaned back in his chair in satisfaction nonetheless, content in the knowledge that she would not go and drink with that irritating little nuisance. For a while longer, at least, he would be able to hold onto her. He certainly did not have the strength or the goodness to let her go.

x

Christine told herself time and again that she wouldn't look into the bar, she wouldn't think of how upset Raoul would be, and she certainly wouldn't go and apologise for having to leave. In the few moments it took her to get herself together to leave for home, she assured herself that she would do what she had to in order to keep her job. That was paramount. Catching up with an old friend could wait until a day off.

That was until she saw him sitting in the bar chatting excitedly with the bartender, blue eyes bright with delight.

She very nearly groaned.

He turned and his mouth formed into the most dazzling smile.

She dug her fingernails into her palms.

And, against her better judgment, walked towards him. She kept her fists clenched until her palms were stinging.

"Hi," she said, already smiling apologetically. "Look, I lost track of time—I've really got to go."

His smile drooped. "Oh. Of course. Well, I…" he pulled out his pocket watch. "I could walk you home."

She took a steadying deep breath. "That's not necessary." And added, cursorily, "Mr de Chagny."

He raised an eyebrow, glanced at the bartender and the door, and pulled a wad of money out of the inside of his jacket, putting it on the bar without finishing his drink. Christine felt a thrill and wasn't entirely sure why.

"Well," he said, slowly, standing and moving to the coat rack by the doorway and picking his up, slipping it on, and moving back to her. "I guess there isn't much point in my staying."

Christine noticed the bartender watching their exchange intently. She swallowed. "Guess not." she replied. "But it sure was swell to see you."

Raoul gave her a quizzical look. "Well, uh… goodnight."

They were facing one another in the doorway. After a pause, she smiled and nodded. "Goodnight."

And she went out the front door.

Raoul glanced at the bartender who was staring at him as he cleaned glasses. He lifted two fingers to his forehead and saluted the bartender—he'd not been in the armed forces—before tugging on his dark coloured scarf and going out the door himself. It was a freezing night. He decided to start walking until he was able to find a cab. Choosing to head left, he shoved his hands in his pockets and hoped Christine was getting home safely.

One may imagine his surprise when he found abruptly that she was walking beside him.

He let out an "Oh!" and she shook her head.

"You sap." she said, rubbing her forehead as if to rid herself of a headache brought on by his idiocy.

Raoul wondered what had gone on in those short minutes that they were separated. "You're not getting a cab?"

"Obviously I'm going to bum yours." she said with a smile.

"Obviously." he replied disbelievingly.

Fortuitously, a taxi came along the road, and Raoul stepped out to flag it down. It pulled to a stop in front of them and he opened the door for Christine. She grinned as she climbed in. "My hero." she said.

He smiled warmly at her as he shut the door behind them. Christine gave her address to the driver, who nodded and remained silent. She placed her hand on the seat between them casually. Raoul looked at it like it was a snake. "I'm sorry about asking about your father earlier." he said. She shook her head vehemently.

"I'm in a good mood tonight, let's talk about it another time."

The implication that there was going to be another time made Raoul smile, and timidly he laid his hand on top of hers. To his great relief, she didn't pull hers away.

"You don't drink?" he said after a pause.

"I don't drink." she said.

"Something about not consuming your own product?"

She looked offended. "I'm no bootlegger!"

The driver cleared his throat.

"Sorry." he said, and she held his hand. "The drink didn't work out, so… are you free for lunch tomorrow?"

Christine frowned and looked away. His thumb rubbed circles on the back of her palm. She imagined that her employer's threat of dismissal wasn't a temporary one. But—she looked at him, and he was still smiling that gentle smile that had always made her weak at the knees—she wasn't going to abandon her chance of being around her dearest friend.

"Not tomorrow." she said, and he deflated a little. "Next week, perhaps."

"Next week." he repeated. His nod was so enthusiastic that some of his hair flopped onto his face and he took his hand away from hers to push it away. She giggled. "I'm going to hold you to that." he said.

Her heart sank.

They spent the rest of the ride in comfortable silence, hands resting closely together on the seat between them. When they arrived, Christine pulled out her coin purse. Raoul placed his hand on hers once again, this time to detain her. She furrowed her eyebrows in an expression that Raoul had to fight very hard not to kiss away.

"I thought you were bumming a ride." he said. She laughed again.

"Just promise you'll never use that word ever again. You're too upper crust for it." she said as he slid out of the taxi, holding the door open for her. She smiled at him and they stood facing each other again, thinking precisely the same thing but being too timid to act.

She bit her lip and looked down in a purposefully endearing expression.

Raoul felt his cheeks flush. Perfect timing, as ever.

Slowly she looked up at him again. She remembered perfectly the way he had looked after the first time they'd kissed. The resemblance between that boy and the man before her was rather striking. She wondered why she hadn't seen it before.

She remembered the way his lips had felt; she remembered the warmth and safety of her hand in his and she wanted very much to kiss him again. Nine years was quite long enough to wait.

"I hope you won't disappear again." she said quietly. He tilted his head, smiling slightly, and placed his hand on her arm.

"I have no plans to." he said, and again both hoped for something else.

"Do I need to leave you two alone?" demanded the driver caustically from inside the car, and the moment passed. Raoul shot the driver an apologetic glance and grinned once more at Christine before climbing back into the cab.

"I'll see you soon." he said, and she clasped his hand before stepping away.

"Soon." she replied. "I'm going to hold you to that."

She stood out in the freezing cold on the street long after the cab was gone.