Ron supposed that it shouldn't come as such a surprise that Philippe responded to the letter he had sent with such readiness. It had been a labor in and of itself to write it, even with the knowledge that it would put the plans formed over the past few days to action and that it, at it's heart, was meant to be something entirely simple. He had to skirt around the heart of the matter while still making it clear that the message Philippe had clearly meant to send had been received.
The guilt he still felt, however unwillingly, didn't help either, forcing more than a few scraps of parchment to be tossed when the ink blurred or smeared too much for legibility and gave away the true emotions of the writer.
Le Bouillon Chartier wasn't one of the places that Philippe had taken him on a tour of (had it truly been such a short time since then?) but the other workers at the opera house had spoken highly of it, no doubt since it was such a short jaunt from the building. Which, admittedly, was why Ron had selected it, affording himself a certain level of safety.
It was too early for the place to be open, of course, but there were still a few figures scuffling along in the fog that the gray beginnings of dawn seemed to shroud everything in. At the very least there was no one to stop Ron from plucking a chair off on of the outdoor tables, plopping it down on the old brick for his own use.
He didn't have to wait very long.
"Ron!" Philippe half tumbled out of the brougham coach. He reached out as though to take Ron's hand only to let his own hand fall away at the last moment. He cleared his throat, doing his best to chase away the warmth in his tone. "You said you wanted to see me?"
"Yes, it seemed...overdue." Ron did his best not to cast his gaze in the direction of Sebastian as he rose from his chair. For his own part, Sebastian seemed to be doing the same from where he was half leaning against the coach. That, at least, was going according to plan. "What were you thinking sending those flowers, Philippe?"
Philippe's full mouth pressed into a hard line. "The card too, I hope," he said. "I will have to have a word or two with the florist if he forgot that."
"As if your meaning wasn't clear enough without it," Ron said. "I don't know where you got the idea that I'm danger, but even if I was I'm more than sure I could manage to save myself. I don't need a knight or whatever it is you were trying to "
"And yet you throw yourself into the carriage of an unknown man for the world to see." Philippe might not be shouting yet but his voice still cut across Ron's own with all the force of a whip striking into the air. "Then allow that same man to lock you away from the world for however long he may care to do so. Who is to say what is to happen there?"
"That's enough," Ron snapped, teeth grit together. "Insult me all you want, but leave him out of this. He has done nothing to you." And, with any luck, it would stay that way.
"Oh, of course." Philippe's upper lip had begun to curl upwards. "Heavens forbid that an ill word is said of your master."
"My..." Ron shook his head, trying to throw off the strange mixture of feelings that word caused to settle deep in his gut. "No, that isn't how..."
"Ah, so that's not how you see it?" Philippe asked. "It puts you in the minority among your peers, believe me." He sighed, running a hand through his hair before reaching out. His smile was shaky when Ron didn't pull away, allowing his hands to be gathered up and held. "Listen to me, mon cœur, please. I will never try to deny you music. It's your world, I understand that, but does that world truly deserve to have a man such as that for its keeper?"
Ron squeezed the hands that held his, lips twitching upwards in a vain attempt for a smile. "You don't understand him," he murmured. "Yet I think I can make you trust him." He let go of Philippe's hands, taking a step backwards as Sebastian came to lay a hand on his friend's shoulder. He had spent too long holding back, however, to be able to keep from flinching away from Philippe's wide eyed gaze.
"Ron...what have you done?"
"Oh, stop being so melodramatic, mon amie!" Sebastian said. If his smile was a touch forced, none of the present company were in the state to remark on it, and he kept his words swift as to avoid being interrupted. "Your father has made mention of the need to return to the Chagny country château to oversee matters there, has he not? He has not been able to get away with the state of the main business here, so when your mother suggested that would take care of matters in his stead it's understandable that he leapt upon the idea."
"She thought some time away from all this would do you well," Ron said, "and when you return you'll be able to see for yourself that nothing untoward has occurred."
"But you'll be " Philippe scowled as Sebastian's grip on his shoulder held him in place. "For how long am I meant to be gone?"
Ron chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before answering. "Until the winter holidays," he said.
"But it's the middle of autumn now!" Philippe exclaimed. "That means it will be months until I return."
"Months in which I shall be safe and you, by the time you return, will no longer have to be haunted by this." Ron moved forward, clutching Philippe's face in his hands. "I'm asking you to trust me, Philippe. Trust that I know enough to keep myself while guarded and that all I want is for you to be well."
Philippe trembled for just a moment before his shoulders slumped, turning his head to press a kiss to Ron's palm in a move that caused a hitch in the other boy's breath. "For you then." He hesitated for a moment and then, "Can I write to you?"
"At the end of the month," Ron said. "I promise I'll write back." It was more than either of them had had the last time they were separated at the very least.
Philippe nodded, eyes taking in every detail of Ron's face for close to a minute before he was satisfied with being lead away.
Even then, after the coach had been pulled away with Philippe's eyes looking back the whole while, he took a hand on Ron's shoulder to force him into movement.
"I always seem to startle you, although I swear this time it was not purposefully done." Erik wore the hood of his cloak hitched up over his face, a scarf wrapped high around his face to dissuade any other possible viewers. It was strange to see him so on guard and hurt to remember why it had to be, but there was no way Ron could have allowed the meeting to occur without the man close at hand.
It was for the assurance of a protective presence as much as a way for Erik to be secure in the knowledge that everything had gone well with the plan.
Ron allowed his arm to be tucked in around Erik's without question, his head lolling onto the man's shoulder for the majority of the walk. It wasn't until they reached the steps of the opera house where Erik would have depart to enter in his own way that Ron snagged hold of his cloak to bring him to a stop.
"Erik, I..." He swallowed hard, doing his best to remember that Erik wouldn't judge him. "That... What Philippe called me when he was pleading his case... What does it mean?"
"Ah. Mon cœur?" Erik turned as Ron nodded, cradling the boy's hand as it fell loose from its hold on his cloak. "It means 'my heart'."
"Oh." Ron gave into the pricking behind his eyes then, glad that Erik made no comment about the dampness on his cheeks as he lead him away from the main entrance.
It would be a relief to regain his composure away from the watchful eyes of everyone else and, besides, he trusted Madame Giry to know just what excuses to make for them both.
Le Bouillon Chartier is a real place and, if Google Maps is to be trusted, a twelve minute or so walk from the opera house. The Chagny region, on the other hand, is about three our so hours away by our modern travel methods, so Philippe is going to have a bit of a time adjusting.
The next two chapters should be up before long with a bit of a surprise in the second. For a hint: What better way is there to ring in a "bright, new year"?
