Author's Note: Shorter, sweeter, gayer. Cherusha, thanks for the rec : ) Made me feel warm and fuzzy! Thanks everyone for reading, and giving such great feedback!

10

Erik is dead to the world, curled into the swan bed and fettered to a dreamless sleep.

Raoul quietly walks about the lair, picking up empty bottles and trying to clear the floor. The fact that he is neither estranged nor intimidated by the darkness of his surroundings is somewhat disturbing, but at this point he can let it just pass over. He has come to accept his attachment to this place, however fearful it may be. Erik is no more intimidating than a child, sleeping the night away in a warm bed.

And when he comes to, he will know that.

Raoul remembers where Erik keeps his fresh water, and collects two bottles of it, coming slowly into the darkened chamber. Erik has not moved from his indention into the bed, and the twisted side of his face is pressed into the pillow. He is simply another man, with a face like any other, but beautiful. It is unfair, that his face should have such a lovely side. It is something like false hope in the mind of one like Erik - halfway to perfection and halfway from.

He does not play with the thick strands of dark hair as they curl slightly around the smooth white of Erik's temple and forehead, as Erik might have done to him once. Raoul simply does not find that appropriate any longer, if their relationship is to take turn for professional. He still thinks of Erik. Misses him, even, however deranged it may be to miss the touch of such a monster. He sets the bottle down on the little table beside the bed, and thinks about how unprofessional it would be to lay down beside Erik.

He thinks about how ridiculous it would be, just to lower himself into the mattress, wary of the shift in weight stirring Erik back into a frenzied consciousness, and laying his head on the pillow. How improper it would be to even close his eyes, and concentrate on the heat beside him, however weak it resonates from Erik's fallen form. Raoul ponders the utter indecency, even as he does just that.

Erik breathes so shallowly, and Raoul misses the feel of his skin. The way the mattress falls in around Erik's form is unfamiliar to him. So much has changed.

The back of Erik's head is all he can see while lying beside him in the big bed, and slack shoulder as it falls forward, making Erik appear almost smaller than he really is. Raoul pulls himself up to sit, and even after only a few moments beside him he comes to just stand beside the bed, and picks up the bottle. It takes only a gentle shake of the shoulder to wake Erik, and he stirs sleepily, rolling over onto his back and taking his welcome with a hard scowl, squinting even in the candle light.

"Here," Raoul says, and he passes the clear bottle over to Erik. "Drink this." Raoul does not feel like fighting with Erik on this, so when Erik does not accept the water he only thrusts it out again, and the Phantom rolls his eyes, snatching it from him. He downs the entire bottle, in big swallows. "Not too fast," the Vicomte, feeling quite ridiculous, warns him. Erik hands it back to him, empty, and blots the water left on his upper lip with his sleeve.

They regard one another in silence a moment, until Erik's face splits into an ugly smile.

"This is a sight that must have made your day, Vicomte," he mutters, and it is low in his throat, laced with bitterness. "Seeing what I have become." Erik snorts, and looks down to his thin body with distaste. "Vindictive little wretch."

The words bite into Raoul, and anger stirs like vomit in his belly. He reaches out and strikes Erik, hard, across the unmarked side of his face. As he expected - and, Raoul finds to his own disturbed surprised, as he wanted - Erik rises off of the bed in retaliation, on his knees to level with Raoul's face, and catches his by both wrists. There is still strength in him to squeeze, and he gives it his all. He crushes, bruises, so hard that pain shoots through Raoul's forearms and into his curled fingers, but he does not protest.

The pain increases, and Erik leans forward, warning him not to cross his path again, and Raoul does not mind. Some part of him, down inside, past the confessions and torment, wants this from Erik. There is a desire for Erik to keep charge, and to stay strong, and so he turns his head away, and closes his eyes to bear it, until his breath becomes quick and sweat beads on his brow. Raoul finally feels the pressure release, and he opens his eyes. Erik lets him go, and sits back on the bed.

"Never again," the Phantom warns, and his head is turned away from Raoul's sight.

Raoul only straightens, and his face is flushed with color. "Care for yourself," is all he can say. Erik snorts again, and Raoul resists the urge to run his fingers through his hair and pace around the room. It is what he would do back before he was taken when frustration hit him, but he has not done so in a very long time. Raoul runs stiff fingers over the pressed skin of his wrists, and admires the newly forming bruise. It does not hurt.

Erik is still not looking at him. "Why are you still here," he says. It is almost more of a statement than a question. Raoul answers it with a question.

"Have you even considered my offer?"

Erik glances over at him, leveled and sardonic. "I have been unconscious."

"And what about now?" Raoul asks again. "Don't you want to see this world? Be part of it again?"

"I have seen this world," Erik says. He is quiet for a long moment, staring forward at something Raoul cannot see. It is entirely dark, but Erik still manages to find something to focus on. After some time, he turns his head to regard Raoul again, eyes more open now, and color returning slowly to the ashen face. His white lips twitch, as if he wants to say something, or smile, but what reason would Erik ever have to smile?

Erik slowly brings himself off the bed, and he stands beside Raoul, awkward and slouched. The younger man watches, as slowly but surely the straight of his posture returns, and though he wears a ragged white shirt that hangs off his frame, he may as well be wearing a dress coat.

"Come," Erik says, and to Raoul's surprise, if not his utter shock, he holds out a hand, palm upturned with fingers slightly curled. As many boundaries as Raoul has crossed, he has never taken the hand of a man as if he were the woman. He frowns at it, first. Then Raoul touches Erik's hand, and allows himself to be pulled out of the bedroom and down the steps behind the organ. "You will understand."