Hermione had had to struggle to keep a straight face when, in the middle of makeshift soirée the de Chagny family had decided to hold for the final triumph of the Magic Flute, Sebastian decided to broach the topic of their mutual friends arrangement, of sorts. It became somewhat easier when Harry snorting into his champagne served as enough a distraction for almost all of them, leaving her to clap her friend on the back with a roll of her eyes.

"Sorry, sorry, just..." Harry coughed once more, a hint of a smile peeking out. "You think that Ron is trying to... What? Play the soubrette?"

Sebastian's rejoining smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Would you truly say I'm wrong?" he asked. He swept an arm over to the offending pair before any proper reply could be given and...well.

"No, no, I... Philippe!" There was an undercurrent of laughter in Ron's voice, even as he tried to bat Philippe's hands away from the piano keys. "If I have to do another run through of the score I'll go nuts."

"Well far be it from me to cost the best opera house in Paris one of its stars." Philippe pressed a familiar series of notes out across the keys to test the tune. "Another duet then? Far be it for any child of Christine Daae to fail to keep pace when it comes to music..."

It would have been a simple matter for Ron to remain where he was standing by the piano, but he sunk down to sit at Philippe's side on the bench without even needing to be asked. Not that the space itself was small enough to give a fitting excuse for why the two wound up pressed so near together.

"Ah. Well..." Hermione had to resist the urge to rub at her temples under the careful arch of Sebastian's brow. Even Violet avoided her gaze when it landed on her. "Ron isn't trying to play to some role."

"I don't know." Sebastian's gaze was locked, like all the rest of theirs, to where Philippe was staring at Ron in open fondness as the other boy bowed his head over the keys. "That might actually be worse."

Erik had never exactly had a visitor without a purpose. Even Madame Giry only risked a trip through one of the channels he had revealed to her when she had taken it upon herself to pester him. Yet, more often than not, Ron would rap at the glass on the other side of his dressing room mirror until Erik came to retrieve him.

Perhaps it would be simpler to just show the boy his own way down below, but there was a part of Erik who enjoyed Ron's fascination with such illusions too much to give it up entirely. Besides, he could remember well how disastrous it had gone the last time that affection had lead him to trust someone with far too much.

Would there really be anything Ron could deny his golden boy if it were asked sweetly enough?

"Is something the matter?" Ron asked. "Your music...it just turned a little intense there."

"I'm fine." Erik sighed, drawing back to rub the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Or I will be."

"Are you upset that the managers haven't done your opera yet?" Any sheepishness in Ron's expression was chased away by the warmth in his smile. "They think they're being all secretive about it, but almost everyone has overheard them bickering about it in their offices."

"Only over the finer details if they know what's good for them," Erik said. "I gave very specific commands on how and when it was to be preformed."

"Do I get to know anything about it?" Ron puffed out his cheeks when Erik turned away from him, wiggling out of the armchair he had been sprawled sideways across. "Come on, can I not even know whether I'm in it?"

"Of course you're in it." Erik chased after a refrain across the keys of the organ; one that Ron would soon be learning by heart. "How can I expect it to function without its primary source of inspiration?"

"It's..." Ron plopped down onto the bench, although his back was to the organ. His nose all but brushed against Erik's mask when he turned to face him. "You wrote it for me?"

"Is that really such a surprise?" Erik tapped his fingers against the keys on once more before reaching out to press his knuckles against the arch of Ron's cheek. "You changed my world before you were even entirely in it. How could I not be roused into motion?"

"I..." The tip of Ron's tongue darted out to wet his lips. Erik could only hope that the dip of his eyes wasn't too obvious. "I've never had anything that was just mine before."

Erik could have cursed the distant tolling of the bells then for how Ron drew back, all the warmth that radiated out from him being sucked away within the span of a heartbeat.

"I should head out," Ron said. "I promised that I would..." He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the twist of the pipes against the stone wall. "Well, I promised."

It all left little to the imagination of who he was speaking of.

"Don't." Erik couldn't properly rationalize his words when Ron's gaze skittered towards him again, but perhaps he didn't quite have to. Instead he reached out to press the tips of his fingers to Ron's own, taking heart in how quick the boy was to wind their hands together. "What is above that is not below?"

"I..." Ron sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. "It would hurt him, Erik. Especially when you'll own almost all my hours again so soon."

"Ah." Erik didn't quite miss the gasp that escaped from Ron when he dropped his hand to spin back towards the organ, but he was almost beyond caring. Or, at least, he could pretend well enough that he was. "Of course. How quick I am to forget."

He had been expecting a rapid tap of footsteps fleeing away or even the sharp snap that came with some of Ron's more quick departures when he had to rely on his magic. It took quite an effort on his part, therefore, to remember to breathe when arms closed around him, a warm, solid weight being pressed upon his back.

"It won't be for long!" Ron's voice was a hot rush against his ear, although Erik had to swallow down the guilt that rushed up at hearing the edge of desperation to it. "I'll come back, I promise-always."

"That might not be one you can keep," Erik replied. At least one of them should be honest here.

"Can to." It was Erik's turn to draw in a sharp breath when Ron turned his head, lips pressing to the slight patch of skin his mask left bare. It left half of his mouth caught against the porcelain of the mask itself, but that did nothing to keep out the heat of it. "I'll show you so."

Philippe wasn't exactly pleased to find their regular visit cut short, but he didn't kick up a fuss. Perhaps over the flustered expression Ron had greeted him with having such an easy fix to it. He could content himself with treating Ron to little shots of espresso with little hints of liquor in between; anything that could coax that smile into staying.

Even so, Philippe's hand still curled around his wrist when the bell tolled for their two hour mark. Ron didn't pull away, though, even as his hand was guided forward. At least until the other boy pressed something cold and heavy into his palm.

"Philippe, I-"

"Shhh." Philippe soothed his thumb across Ron's knuckles before lifting his hand up to press a kiss to the back of it. "I didn't even have to spend any money on this, I promise. It was a gift that my mother gave to me."

"That doesn't make it better," Ron shot back. He sucked in a breath when he unfurled his fingers at last, taking in the ruby near the size of his thumb nail enclosed by diamonds. Even the chain it was hung on seemed expensive given how untarnished it was. "Your mother gave you this?"

"It was my father's first attempt at an engagement ring," Philippe said, "back when... Well, you can imagine, I suppose." His eyebrows shot up at Ron's startled expression. "Not that I... Oh, bloody hell." That at least was enough to wring a faint laugh out of Ron. "I just... At some point you'll need to make a decision, Ron, and, even if it's not me, I want to leave you with something to remember me this time. No matter what it is you decide to do with it."

"Philippe, what are you trying to-"

The kiss was almost sweeter than the one from the night of the masquerade; perhaps because there was no true rush to it.

"If you haven't realized by now," Philippe said, "then I must be doing a worse job then I thought." He closed Ron's fingers carefully down around the ring. "I'll see you on the stage soon enough, I suppose. It wouldn't be kind to keep your teacher waiting, after all."

Ron didn't exactly run the entire way back to his dressing room, but it was a close thing. He certainly had very little shame in collapsing before the mirror, pressing a heated cheek against the glass as he knocked.

It took barely any time for the mirror to slide back, however, which made him wonder just how long Erik had been stalking about simply waiting to scoop him up into his arms. He could only hope that, at least for now, his teacher would miss how he kept pressing his fingers to what was pressed beneath his shirt.

I'm going to drag this lot kicking and screaming into plot if I have to pretty much.