Fandom: Phantom of the Opera
Title:
Left to Chance- Chapter 29
Author:
secretsmile19 (livejournal)/moon maiden of time
Theme:
# 19- home body; bubbles; stay
Pairing/Characters:
Erik/Raoul de Chagny
Rating:
PG-13/R
Disclaimer/claimer: "
Phantom of the Opera" belongs to Gaston Leroux; the musical was made by Andrew Lloyd Webber. This is not mine.
Summary:
It was not love. It was…just mere fascination. Really.


Raoul glanced around surreptitiously as possible and then quietly nudged the painting over. There was a moment where (oh no) the painting did not want to move. Then, slowly, it started inching its way sideways. Breathing a sigh of relief, Raoul took another quick glance around, half expecting to Madame Giry to swoop in out of nowhere and beat him with that cane of hers in the hope some sense (or sanity) would settle in, and then edged behind the painting to the hidden stairs.

My, he was lucky today. Christine had not tried to drag him to dinner, opting instead to preen in front of the newest batch of admirers from tonight's opera. Upon seeing him, Madame Giry and her daughter had merely given him a hard look and had refrained from coming over to scold him about his lack of sanity. And after a day of rest, he was feeling better. Which meant that various nobles had simply given him sympathetic looks instead of coming over to remark upon his paleness or look of illness or sudden absence from the other night's opera. And—the best thing yet—the painting that led to the stairs Madame Giry had led him to all those weeks ago, the time after he had thrown dice and had left everything to chance, fate, destiny, the painting that had been mysteriously sealed during the days and days he had searched for Erik, the painting that Madame Giry had dragged him up to just the other night…that particular painting, evidently, was unsealed once more.

Even here he was lucky. The torches that lined the walls were lit. He did not question it, deciding instead to just grab one and go with it. For a moment, his optimism faltered; he peered over the edge of the stairs, eyes searching for any sign of life in the flat blackness. His optimism completely failed when it hit that Erik still might not want to see him…even though that visit from the other night indicated otherwise…

Firmly, he pushed the thought away. It had been a dream…right? There was a flickering light to his eyes as he frowned at the darkness around him. Then, shaking his head, he started down the stairs.


Erik crumpled the sheet of paper and threw it into the amassing pile on the ground. This—yes, this, this composing—this was not working. Which made absolutely no sense.

Due to Raoul gracelessly sliding into his life, feeling had returned—even if that feeling was annoyance—and music was floating around in his head. The boy (Raoul-angel) was doing just fine at his estate. The opera house was, for once, silent. His alarms were not going off. The ink and paper were fresh, the organ was well tuned, the candles were giving off a romantic yet ethereal glow…

So what was wrong?

He stared at the cream paper that gleamed gold—the gray and white feathered nib pen with ink glistening wetly at its tip—the organ keys that were lustrously glossy in the candlelight…

Nothing. Erik gritted his teeth in frustration. WHY, goddamnit, was nothing—

Then the alarms went off. Erik hung his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then, grabbing the obligatory Punjab, he stood and started walking towards the stairs, wondering who the hell would interrupt him. If it were Madame Giry and that damn cane of hers…

But no. It was just Raoul, stumbling down the stairs, a lit torch in one hand. As Erik quickly tossed the Punjab to one side, he took note of how the boy looked rumpled and color had risen in his cheeks. The boy used one free hand to try and straighten his coat, but when he spotted Erik, he stopped the futile action and gave a bright grin.

"Hello, Erik." Simply, easily, said as if this were an everyday thing. As if…well, as if Raoul did not mind coming down to the opera house cellars and visiting the feared opera ghost. Strange, that. Just as strange as kissing said Opera Ghost without a qualm.

"Why are you down here, Vicomte?" Once upon a time, his voice would have been harsh, the words cruel and biting. Now they were not. It was a conscious effort to make his voice neutral instead of sliding into something—ah, what was the word the boy had used?—alluring.

Once upon a time, the boy's smile would have faltered. The boy would have spoken harshly back, words sharp with anger. Now…now his voice was kind, his words gentle.

Raoul's smile actually widened. "I have come to thank you. You have saved my life, after all."

Erik raised one eyebrow. Was the boy simply ignoring what had happened at the Chagny estate? Or had he forgotten? "You have already thanked me."

"I…I have?" Confusion spanning the words, furrowing his brow. His face was white. Slowly, Erik nodded. A flush crawled up the boy's neck and cheeks. The boy eventually stammered out, "I thought…I mean…That wasn't a dream?"

Erik took a few easy steps closer, getting into the boy's space. Softly, "Do you wish it to be a dream?" And that was the question that had the possibility of bringing everything tumbling down. Madame Giry had foreseen this, hadn't she?

Raoul stared blankly at him. His eyes were clear, but the flush on his cheeks was still present. And Erik was suddenly worried. Quickly, he raised a hand and pressed it to Raoul's cheek. The boy startled at the touch; he was even more surprised when Erik cursed and drew back his hand.

Erik snatched the torch from the boy's hand and tossed it into the lake. Then, firmly but gently, he grabbed the boy's arm and started tugging him away.

Raoul was baffled. "Erik?"

Erik stopped by his bed and started tugging the boy's jacket off him. Now, the boy started struggling. "Erik, what are you doing?"

"You're still sick." Raoul was still as Erik tossed his jacket somewhere and started maneuvering him towards the bed.

Raoul smacked the hands away. "I'm fine."

Erik threw him a flat look and gave his chest a small push. Raoul stumbled backwards and fell on the bed. "You're sick," Erik said to the lost look. "And foolish. You should have been resting tonight instead of coming here."

Raoul raised himself up on his elbows. "I'm fine. You're just overprotective." There was a slight pout as he said, "And I had to come here to thank you." The color in his cheeks heightened.

Erik bent down, face startlingly close to Raoul's. "As I've said, you have already thanked me." He could have leaned down those last few inches, kissed that mouth again, seen those blue eyes flutter close…but the red in those cheeks called him back to the fact that the fool boy was still sick. Just a little sick, but still. Sick.

Erik pulled back and dragged a chair close to the bed. "Stay here for the night. Tomorrow you can go." The boy looked ready to protest so he tacked on, "If you need me to send a note to your home, I will. But since you obviously cannot tell when you are ill, you will have to stay here for the night."

The boy actually relented and leaned back against the bed. Erik was surprised when the boy's eyes fluttered closed in only a few seconds. The boy hadn't answered his question…but that could wait until the boy was better.