Author's Note: This has to be the latest update I've made, and, if I'm being honest, it won't be the last ― I am truly sorry. I was absolutely swamped with school requirements last month and I've been busy with exams this November. On another note, out of curiosity, who do you guys see in your heads whenever Jovan takes the stage? Let me know in a review!

( nineteen )

CRACKS

Jovan was utterly grateful for Monsieur Lefèvre's next course of action when he finally opened the Opera Ghost's newest letter and began to read it. It was a sound distraction, and it succeeded in driving away the attention from her as the newest members of the staff carried varying reactions as they were welcomed by the Phantom to his opera house.

Several moments passed in which Mateo unflinchingly stood by her side until Jovan was able to compose herself. She proceeded to quickly tie her hair up before she hid it with the help of her beret. Her expression was hard as she fixed her appearance.

"You good? I thought you made quite an impression back there with the Vicomte," Mateo commented with a crooked grin.

Jovan groaned. "No one bothered to tell me that he was Vicomte."

"Yep, he's the Vicomte Collet. Suzanne's father. He's our newest patron, actually."

She felt her heart sink with every revelation that left Mateo's mouth. She could only rely now on the hope that she hadn't blown her cover and that Suzanne was oblivious to her existence before Jovan arrived to the Opéra Populaire under the name she now used. Jovan couldn't believe her luck ― or, rather, her lack thereof. She heaved a sigh as she finally left her corner with Mateo by her side.

"So," Mateo began. "What does it feel being the Opera Ghost's new note carrier?"

Jovan shot him a look. "New note carrier?"

He snickered. "Oh ho, Elea's not gonna be happy with this."

She tried not to wince at his words, recalling Elea's evident unease whenever the Opera Ghost was concerned. She was bound to get an earful from her friend later if word had spread fast that she was apparently the Opera Ghost's new note carrier in Madame Giry's absence. Jovan then silently made a vow to herself that this was to be the first and last time she was to deliver Erik's letter.

Jovan was the second to arrive back in the dormitory after dinner. She realized this when she walked into the room, only to be greeted with Suzanne already occupying the place.

"Joan, isn't it?" the new chorus girl asked her the moment she closed the door behind her.

"It's Jovan," the stagehand snapped, feeling her dislike for the newcomer only grow with each second she was in her presence. It didn't help that Suzanne's bed was across Jovan's, the bed that Maeva used to occupy. She suddenly found herself wishing she had taken up Mateo's offer to spend the evening together instead. Or waited for Elea to finish dinner so they could have returned to the dormitories together. Or escaped to the rooftop with the smallest glimmer of hope that she'd stumble upon a certain ghost.

With little thought, Jovan let her eyes drift to the wall mirror on the far wall of their dormitory. Ever since Erik had taken her down to his lair, she had only been there thrice, not counting the first time, and she found herself longing to visit him down in his home once more. As puzzling as it was to her, there was a strange pull that she felt towards his world, cut off from the clutches of society and the wary eyes that had a habit of judging her. But, perhaps, that was exactly the reason why Erik's solitude and isolation appealed to her.

Comprehending her choices, Jovan slipped out of the room and away from the company of Suzanne, only to be met with Mateo outside in the corridor.

"Hey, Jo. We're going out for drinks tonight," he told her as he approached her. It was not unlike for Mateo to join the stagehands during their sporadic escapades to a nearby pub, the Harpy's Haven, to drink away their exhaustion after rehearsals.

Jovan gave him a smile as she took off her beret. "Buy me a religieuse on the way, won't you?"

He chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."

With that, they said their goodbyes before they parted ways. So now spending the rest of the evening with Mateo was out of the question while Jovan doubted that she wanted Elea's company right now, remembering Mateo's words as to how to ballerina would be displeased that she was the one to deliver the Opera Ghost's note that morning. Sighing, Jovan let her feet take her away from the dormitories and to someplace else.

An hour later, Jovan somehow found herself in the auditorium amidst the darkness. Out of all places, she was pacing around the stage where her every step echoed off the walls of the theater which was devoid of any presence save hers. Many times Jovan had caught sight of one of the chorus girls or perhaps two of the ballerinas as they took their place on the stage, when they thought no one was looking, before proceeding to sing their heart out. It was not an uncommon thing, it seemed, for the girls of the opera house to at least try out how it felt to be the mere magnetizing presence onstage, to try to live out their fantasies where they had landed their dream roles and whatnot. And while Jovan had her own fantasies, they were not dreams of being onstage and being the center of attention. Her dreams were threaded with her longing to be free of her plight and reveries of being anywhere but here. Perhaps on a train that could take her far away, or a ship that was brave enough to sails the seas on a storm―

She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath as she stopped in her pacing. An hour ago, she longed for solitariness away from the prying eyes of the world. Now, she longed to travel the globe without any ties to hold her down, to see the world for what it was and to discover beauty and adventure for herself.

Jovan's stream of thought was violently cut off when she felt the floor collapse beneath her feet, submerging her in a world of darkness.

Erik was unable to stop the smirk from creeping to his lips as Jovan dropped upon a pile of hay, softening her fall as the trapdoor above her closed. The scream that had left her lips was short, but dark pleasure coursed through him the moment he heard it. He stood still in the dark as Jovan gave her surroundings a cursory glance. He could practically see the gears turning in her head as she processed what just happened.

"ERIK!"

He revealed himself to her as she glared daggers at him. But with strands of hay tangled with the locks of her hair and stuck to the clothes she wore, Jovan was hardly an intimidating sight. A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he offered his gloved hand to her.

"Just what the hell made you think that this was a good idea?" she barked at him as she took his hand before she put all her might in trying to pull him down. Erik recognized her attempt to make him join her in the pile of hay in retaliation, but he saw it coming a mile away and stood unwavering on steady feet.

"Watch your tongue, Jovan. You're starting to pick up the stagehands' habit for crude language," he scolded her lightly as he proceeded to pull her up to her feet. She dusted off her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair to get rid of the hay.

"What do you think, Erik? I've been working with them for more than a year now," she lamely replied as she stepped out of the hay with a huff of indignation. "You've got a passageway below the stage?"

"A brilliant deduction. Truly, brava," Erik sneered in a sarcastic tone to which Jovan groaned at in response.

"What am I doing here, you lunatic?"

"Why, I've decided to rescue you from boredom. And perhaps I saw you shoot a longing look or two toward your dormitory mirror after dinner," Erik answered, recalling how he saw the yearning burning in her eyes as she looked at the hidden passageway in her dormitory. He had not missed that, staying true to his words that walls had ears and doors had eyes in his opera house. But it was only an hour later that he found himself taking action to do something about Jovan's apparent dilemma, after he found boredom knocking on his door as well.

He watched as her eyes widened for a second before they narrowed into slits. "You were behind the mirror, weren't you?"

"Yes, I had my wary eye on one of our new additions," he admitted, referring to the new chorus girl, Suzanne Collet. So far, Erik saw nothing about her that gave him cause to be cautious of her, but her father, the Vicomte Collet, was another matter entirely. But that was not something he wished to delve into at the moment.

Jovan caught up at the meaning of his words. "Figures," she scoffed. "You don't plan on trapping her in the chapel to interrogate her as well, do you?"

Erik tried to sense a note of bitterness in her tone but heard nothing but amusement dripping from her words. She was simply teasing him, he realized. He felt his heart lighten with the realization and he gave her a grin, glad that such grievances, especially his own faults, had been put behind them.

"Perhaps. But, unfortunately, she's not half as intriguing as you are."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jovan remarked. "Now, are we simply going to stand here all night?"

Her initial chagrin with Erik was not that hard to blank out of her mind, not when she was well aware that, being the Opera Ghost, it was not out of character of him to play his tricks on her even if she had done absolutely nothing to deserve his mischief. There was also the fact that he allowed her to devote time and attention to the books on his shelves during her visits down to his lair. He didn't mind sharing his collection with her once she'd proven herself capable of handling his books with care.

Nostalgia washed over Jovan for a beat as her mind strayed to her own collection back home. She couldn't help but wonder whether they were now dusted with cobwebs from lack of use, or whether their pages were now worn out from the opposite. She eyed Erik's copy of the Iliad next to a collection of Greek myths, the two books seeming out of place among his collection of non-fictional volumes. She noticed that while he had quite the number of fictional novels and stories, the number of textbooks he had were twice their total.

Making up her mind, Jovan grabbed the anthology of Greek myths.

She didn't realize Erik's eyes were on her until he spoke. "I was hoping you'd take Edgar Allan Poe off the shelf."

Jovan arched a brow at him as she sank into a nearby armchair. "Why?"

"The way you were eyeing it a moment ago, I could not decipher whether it was out of fright or wonder."

"Funny how often those two blur together. And, if you must know, I find Poe's stories deliciously macabre."

"So you have a taste for morbid tales?"

"Perhaps, it depends. I'm more fond of tragedies though."

Erik gave a hum at her reply before he returned his attention to what he was doing. He had long discarded his cloak and jacket and was left in his waistcoat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He sat on his desk not far from Jovan, where he busied himself sketching something on his pad which he refused to show to her. A stick of graphite was positioned between his fingers with which he made long strokes on the white surface before him. It fascinated Jovan to no end as to how one man could be this talented. She watched as he blew the paper before he inspected his work, his eyebrows creased in thought as he fidgeted with his pencil.

An amusing thought strayed into her head as she swept her surroundings with a curious eye. She could imagine Elea losing ten years off her life with terror if she were to learn about Jovan's affiliation with the Phantom. While Elea remained her closest confidante, she still could not bring herself to tell her about Erik. Jovan feared for what Elea would do if she learned that her oldest friend not only conversed with the Opera Ghost but also spent time down in his subterranean home. Suddenly, the prospect was not as amusing as it had first seemed.

Jovan glanced down at the book she had on her lap. How she even came to be this comfortable around Erik's company, she could not quite comprehend. What she knew was that, over time, he just came to grow on her until she couldn't help but give in to the pull she felt towards him. It was undeniable, the spark between them ― she loved the thrill that came with talking and spending time with him and she could only hope that he felt the same. But she already knew that he did ― why else did he allow her to come this far? They both enjoyed the company of someone they could see eye to eye with.

It was indeed an amazing feat how she came to be called his friend. The memory was still fresh in her mind of how he had frightened her when he'd trapped her in that chapel to coax information out of her, but Jovan found that the fear she held towards him now was almost non-existent. Only a flicker of it remained and that was just due to how unpredictable Erik could be. But even that small spark dimmed when she lost herself in one of their battle of wits or stirring conversations. In those moments, the world around her ceased to exist as the man before her became the sole recipient of her attention.

But she could spend all the time in the world figuring out the riddle that was Erik, and Jovan knew that she would only fail in all her efforts. Much like her, Erik was a closed book who seemed as reluctant as her to open his pages for her to decipher. No matter what she did, there was a still a part of him that he sealed off to her, his walls impenetrable with only the faintest traces of a crack.

"Erik?" Her voice broke the silence.

He replied without looking up from his work. "Yes?"

"What happened to you that made you shun the world?"

"They were the first to shun me," he coolly replied but there was a small tremor in his voice that didn't escape her.

"Because of your face?"

"Because of what I hide behind this mask, yes."

Was it truly that horrible, the defect that he hid? Was is that horrible that the world became unkind to him? Jovan was not obtuse ― she had easily read between the lines of what he sang the first time she came down here, and deducing the reasons why he chose to live this way was not at all a hard task. Suddenly, the rumors and stories that the opera staff enjoyed sharing between themselves no longer seemed that entertaining. Hector's monologue about the Opera Ghost's appearance came back to her, the night before he was dismissed from his job.

Skin as yellow as parchment, eyes as red as your guts, and a black hole in the middle of his face where his nose should've been... His skin also has a tendency to fall off his bones at inopportune times... He walks like death, they say, carrying with him a stench so awful...

After that night, gossip began to circulate around the opera house about how Hector became the next victim of the Opera Ghost's wrath. There was no other explanation to how his shirt mysteriously caught fire, and such unexplainable occurrences were always blamed on the Phantom. Jovan had always been skeptical about this certain case, but now she saw the light ― Erik had had every reason to be angry at Hector that night, with how the stagehand was bad-mouthing his appearance of all things. While she did not exactly approve of the 'punishment' he had given Hector, she now finally understood why he had done it.

Erik's voice pulled her away from her rumination and back to the present when he suddenly spoke. "What about you, Jovan?"

Her eyebrows knitted in confusion at his question. "What about me?"

"What happened that made you confine yourself to the safety of the Opéra Populaire?"

She broke into a humorless smile. It seemed that she wasn't the only one who was dying of curiosity in the room. Jovan couldn't blame him.

But the words that escaped her lips surprised her the moment they were let loose. "The same reason as you."

She watched as Erik froze from what he was doing before he stopped altogether. He dropped the pencil on his desk before he turned to angle his body towards Jovan. The air grew heavy between them as she noticed a faint glimmer of something harsh in his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. Did her words somehow manage to set off something within him?

"You mean to say that your face... is the reason why you hide yourself from the world?" His voice grew low with the smallest trace of aggravation creeping into it; Jovan was taken aback by his change of tone. He now seemed bitter, angry even, a moment after she'd answered his question. Her mind raced to understand what the reason was behind his growing ire.

"Yes, no matter how strange it may sound," she replied quietly, not letting her eyes leave him.

"How so, Miss Rousseau?" Jovan's pulse quickened at his use of her faux surname, an indication of his displeasure with her. He stood from his desk as he took heavy steps towards her. "The gendarmes are not after you, I hope? I won't be seeing that face of yours plastered on the walls outside their office, will I?"

"What? No! I―" She found herself getting up to her own feet as well once Erik was a mere five feet away from her.

"Tell me then how a face as beautiful as yours could possibly get you into the same circumstances as mine!"

Every word that left his lips dripped with venom, stabbing her heart with dread as it finally dawned on her why he seemed so bitter at the moment. Erik had called her beautiful ― was that why? Did he feel mocked? Of course he did! Jovan knew that something was off the moment she answered his question, that something about her words sounded wrong. And they were wrong. They sounded wrong to Erik, who had to hide from the world with a face as gruesome as he described his to be, while Jovan had a visage that was opposite his. She wasn't blind nor oblivious to how she looked ― she was actually painfully aware of the appeal she carried, hence another reason why she dressed herself the way she did to try and drive away some of said appeal. He thought that with a face like hers, she'd have no reason to hide. But something about Erik's words ticked her off as well. She knew she should probably be apologizing to him right now but she couldn't help but feel her own temper flare once her mind had finally fully processed his words.

"I do not have to tell you anything, Erik," she rasped, voice lowering dangerously. "But believe it or not, this face sentenced me to be the victim of an unhealthy fixation―"

"Yes, because with that face of yours, shouldn't men be throwing themselves at your feet?" he seethed.

"But I don't want that! I don't want to be an object of desire! I know all of this sounds ridiculous to you―"

"Yes, it does," Erik hissed, closing the distance between them as he grabbed her wrist. "Now you owe me an explanation."

For a second, Jovan's attention was stolen by his hand wrapped around her wrist. She realized that it wasn't as tight as she'd expected it to be, as if he were afraid that if he put too much pressure in his grasp, she'd break like glass. His fingers were still wounded around her in a way that left no space for escape, but his grip wasn't iron ― it was only to keep her in place.

She glowered at him. "No, I don't, Erik."

"You do, Jovan. You've told me this much."

"If only to sate your curiosity for now, but, evidently, it's not enough."

Using all her strength, she snatched her wrist away from his grip before he could give her a reply. She didn't wait one more second to hear his answer as she let her feet lead her away from Erik. She huffed as she pushed down the rising tide of anger from their heated exchange. How dare he! Just because she had a pretty face, he had to assume that he knew her situation, which was apparently supposed to be the opposite of his? Jovan let herself drown in the red of her thoughts as she made her way through his maze until she found herself in the tunnel leading to the dormitories. She did her best to maneuver her way through his traps, knowing that she could rely on her memory. Soon, she arrived before the two-way mirror that led to the dormitory she shared with the others. She saw that everyone was fast asleep, unmoving beneath their blankets in the darkness.

It was only when she began unlocking the secret entrance that she realized that she still held, in one hand, Erik's book.