A/N: Here it is...the second part of the climax!

I hear him sobbing through the door. It tears at my heart – the defeated cries of a broken man. He may want me to walk away without looking back, but I can't. I can't forget everything he's done for me, for better and for worse, just like that. Even if I bore no physical reminders of this night, I know I will never be able to forget what happened. He loves me…and I do not need to carry anything with me to remember that. So, I turn around.

Hugh pulled away from Whitley, trembling slightly. The kiss had lasted for only a few seconds, but to him it felt like millennia. She, Whitley Daaé, his angel, his love, had kissed him, Hugh, the monster. Her soft lips had touched his own, and he could do nothing but stand there, staring at her, overwhelmed by gratitude and love. Her beautiful gray eyes were clear and confident as they met his; gone was the fear and confusion that had been clouding them the rest of the night. She had chosen to kiss him, and though he did not understand why, he didn't dare to ask for fear of ruining this heavenly mirage.

Then, Whitley embraced Hugh tightly, laying her cheek against his chest. For a moment, she thought he had stopped breathing – but then, he slowly released a long, shuddering breath and resumed breathing at regular intervals, though it was still ragged like she had noticed before. He hadn't moved to return her embrace, though he did hesitantly take a few loose strands of her hair and let them slide through his fingers.

It was then that Hugh was finally certain that this was no mirage, no illusion, no hallucination – he could feel Whitley's arms around him and touch her smooth brown locks. Which meant that he hadn't just imagined it when Whitley put her hands on his cheeks when they kissed. She really had touched them – both of them! His left cheek, only muscle and bone; his right cheek, marred by scars and bruises. She had placed her hands on his cheeks and they had not been bruised; the skin had not been torn. His breath caught again at the realization.

His mother was wrong.

Whitley pulled away from him when she heard his quiet gasp. She was startled to see the immense sorrow that glittered within his eyes, and she knew at once that something was wrong. She had chosen to stay with him; why would that make him so sad? Was her wordless gesture not clear? "I choose to stay," she said. "I choose to stay with you."

Hugh's mind was spinning. It was hard for him to form a coherent thought, and he couldn't comprehend Whitley's words. All he knew was what he felt, and he felt so full of love for Whitley that he thought he might die from it. He finally understood…this was the "more" he wanted from her. This was the difference between her and Mackenzie. She had so many people that she could choose to care about, and she chose to care about him. That made him happy beyond belief, but…what about her?

His limbs felt numb, but he forced himself to move them anyways – past the frowning Whitley, past the barely moving Viscount, over to the mirror on the wall. His brain was still foggy, but he was still able to fiddle with the rope until it started to slip out from between the mirror and its frame.

Blake started to fall, but Whitley had figured out what Hugh was doing and moved under him to catch him. However, a few seconds later Blake suddenly vanished, and Whitley gasped.

"It's…like I said, a modified Escape Rope," Hugh explained softly, staring at the ground. "It's full of barbs that emerge only when you apply enough pressure to the rope. Since they keep the rope from direct contact with the leg, it only works as normal when the barbs are retracted manually…"

"Oh," Whitley said. She too stared awkwardly at the ground for a few moments. When she looked up again, she realized that Hugh had moved and was now kneeling on the ground behind her. "Um…I, uh…thank you. For letting him go. But I think I'm gonna go to bed now. Goodnight…"

He murmured something that she couldn't understand as Whitley headed back to the room. She noticed when she passed him that he was holding the wrinkled piece of paper that he had been looking at after he told her about his sister. Then she heard paper crumpling. "No," he repeated, louder, but still with little conviction.

Whitley paused at the blue curtain and looked back at him, cocking her head slightly. The paper he had been holding was now sitting in a crumpled ball on the floor, and he was staring at it like it was a Magic 8-Ball that just answered his question the way he didn't want it to be answered. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head repeatedly. Finally, he struggled to his feet, kicking the crumpled paper away from him in the process.

He wanted happiness, but not from her. He knew that for certain now. She could give him happiness, but he would only take away hers. And he…he was wrong when he told White all those months ago that he didn't care if he hurt Whitley in his quest for happiness. He couldn't be happy if Whitley was miserable. There was only one action, then, that he could take now.

The paper stopped at Whitley's feet. She picked it up and started to unfurl it – what was on this paper that made it so important to him before, but now he didn't care about it at all? But Hugh's next words made her freeze and focus her attention on him.

"Go," he rasped, removing a key from his pocket and placing it securely in her palm. "Take the stairs. Forget me…forget all of this."

Whitley gaped at him. He had gone through all that to get her to stay down here with him, and just when she had finally accepted her fate…he was going to let her go? She thought for a moment he was trying to be sarcastic, but his tone and actions didn't match that analysis of the situation. And the sorrow in his eyes…suddenly, the sorrow in his eyes made sense. He was sorrowful because he had to let her go.

"Go," he whispered brokenly. "Go find your boy and leave me."

Whitley nodded slowly and walked towards the red curtain. She pushed it aside and tried the key in the door, finding that it did indeed fit in the lock; this wasn't just a particularly cruel joke that Hugh was playing on her. He really was letting her go.

She glanced back over her shoulder at him. He had slumped back to the ground near the piano, but when he caught her looking back over her shoulder he shouted with sudden ferocity "GO!" which made Whitley jump and hurry through the door.

Once the door had shut behind her, Hugh slumped completely to the ground and allowed himself to sob. It was better this way – he knew it was – but that didn't stop it from hurting so, so much. After some time, though – he couldn't tell if it had been a few minutes or a few hours – he had nothing left to cry.

As he lay there, breathing heavily, the thought crossed his mind that he had no idea where Meloetta had ended up. She had promised to attend the premiere of Don George Triumphant to make sure that he was not harmed during the performance – a fine job she did of that, he thought bitterly – but he had not seen her since. Now, he was just glad that she wasn't there to witness the pathetic creature he had become.

Hugh managed to pull himself to a sitting position, determined to appear to have kept at least some of his dignity if Meloetta suddenly decided to return. He leaned back against the piano bench and heaved a sigh. He couldn't force himself to get up on the bench, let alone play the instrument; this was the best that he could do.

Beside him, he realized, was the Pansage music box that he had stolen from one of White's offices years ago. It had been a prototype for a new piece of merchandise for the Pokémon Musical, but White had had reservations about mass-producing it. Really, he had done her a favor by making the music box mysteriously disappear. He had placed it by Whitley's bed when she spent the night with him all those months ago, but Meloetta must have moved it since…or perhaps he did. He couldn't remember now.

He idly stroked the Pansage's head and it began to play quietly. The song that the music box played was what had interested him enough to steal it. The music box only played an instrumental version of the song, but he liked the words.

"Masquerade," he sang softly. "Paper faces on parade…masquerade." He sounded rather terrible, but his heart just wasn't in it. "Hide your face, so the world will never find you."

As the music box's song slowed to a stop, Hugh's gaze shifted up from the tile in front of him to the lake. Yes, even though he had let her go, his heart was still with that beautiful young soprano. In his mind, he could see her coming across the lake, returning to him. He imagined her running up to him as he stood up and welcomed her back with open arms, just like he had greeted Mack when she returned from her work every day. No – he had to stop thinking like that. Whitley was not Mackenzie – Whitley was so much better than Mackenzie, meaning that he deserved her so much less. It was for her own good that Whitley would not return.

But as he shook his head to clear the stupid illusion from his mind, he realized that someone was approaching him from the side. He turned his head and blinked disbelievingly. Slowly, he got to his feet, certain that she was just a realistic figment of his imagination. But yet, as she reached out a hand to him, and he reached out a hand to touch hers, he felt her – soft, warm, and definitely real. The angel had chosen to return.

However, he knew from the instant that he met her eyes that she was not there to stay. They brimmed with tears; this was painful for her. She didn't want to be in pain forever, and he didn't want that for her either. She could do so much more with her life than stay with him, so much that would bring her happiness. If she could find happiness and be free of this pain, even if it meant spending the rest of her life with the viscount, that would at least bring him peace.

There was only one way that Hugh could think of to express his thoughts to her. Bringing both of his hands, injured and uninjured, to clasp hers, he whispered, "Whitley, I love you."

She gave him a barely perceptible nod, unable to say anything in response. As he slowly released her hands, she pressed something into his left hand and, without a word, she ran back to the staircase.

Hugh sank to the ground again as he watched her go. Then, he slowly opened his hand. There, sitting in the middle of his palm, reflecting the unnatural light, was a plain gold ring.

A/N: ...ow...this one hurts my heart...

...still, stay tuned for more! We may have hit the end of the musical, but we haven't hit the end of this story! There are still plenty more loose ends to wrap up - and a little more adventure and romance to be had.

Up next: Whitley returns, much to the surprise of the rest of the Theater...