Raikune: Thank you all kind reviewers. You all get a pink muffin! ^_^ As this is a humorous fic the characters are supposed to be a tad OOC…because I assure you this is all complete randomness and I'm making it up as I go along. Enough from moi…on with the fic!

Philippe de Chagny adjusted his new jacket as he went down the stairs, admiring the fine material and superb fit. I must, he thought, ask this Phantom fellow where he bought this, that ghost's got the most excellent taste in- and his thought stopped dead as he reached the bottom of the staircase and peered into the adjoining room.

Although Philippe had steeled his nerves for whatever mess Raoul had undoubtedly created in the kitchen, nothing could have prepared him for the scene that met his eyes. Because not only had Raoul attempted to make breakfast, he had also taken it upon himself to re-decorate the kitchen. From top to bottom.

It was a few seconds before the stunned Comte found his voice.

"Raoul!" he bellowed, swinging towards the carpeted stairs, "Raoul, come down here at once!"

The Vicomte came in his own time, tucking a frilly hankerchief into his pocket. He found his brother pacing agitatedly, running fingers through his hair. Frowning, Raoul came down to join him.

"What's ever the matter? I thought you'd like it- " Further opinion was cut off as Philippe grabbed his collar. Not to be put off, Raoul beamed proudly into other's face. "Yes, I was quite taken with it myself. I never fancied myself as a decorator before, what do you think of the floral motif? And the teddy bears? Aren't they cute? I think- "

"What," Philippe said in a hoarse whisper, "have you done to our fine house?" He waved his arm wildly in direction of the kitchen. Raoul peered in: all pink and flowery, and fluffy. How cute and light and happy it was!

"Yes," he proclaimed delightedly, delicately detaching himself from the other's grip, "I came down here yesterday, and my God, Philippe, I can't believe you let such a beautiful setting go to waste like that! All these drab colors, so rigid and uninspiring…no wonder you're so serious and moody -"

"Uninspiring?" his brother yelped, trying to control his temper, "Rigid? Moody? Who do you think you're talking about? I –" He shut his eyes and started again. "Raoul," he said in patient tones, "I know you thought it would be a nice surprise, but whenever you think about re-decorating something, such as the house, I think you should talk to me first."

"- And you've been so uptight lately," the Vicomte prattled on, oblivious, "I thought a change of scenery was just what you needed. Seeing your face, I think it worked quite well. Come, brother, wait till you've tasted what I've cooked for us…" So saying, Raoul dragged his resigned elder brother away from the kitchen and into the dining room.

Philippe took his usual seat at the head of the table, slumped in his chair and put his head in his hands. Raoul perkily adjusted his lacy napkin, took his spoon and tapped his glass. Philippe winced behind his fingers: the last time Raoul did that, he had not only broken the expensive glass but the sugar-bowl as well.

"Breakfast is now to be served," the young Vicomte announced, "Jacques, go and fetch the eggs, will you?" The butler glided away.

"I do think you'll find them a bit crispier then usual," Raoul added to Philippe, leaning over to the side, "but I think texture's irrelevant, it's the thought that counts."

The Comte didn't bother to ask how his brother had thought of this piece of somewhat warped logic. Also, he didn't want to know.

"Crispy" was a bit of an understatement. "Overcooked charcoal bricks," was slightly more accurate. Raoul poked at his, a curious frown on his face. "Funny, they didn't look like that when I started."

"Really?" Philippe mumbled from behind his fingers. He saw the Vicomte looking dejected, and he sighed, got up and gave him a small hug. "Raoul, I couldn't care less on how well you cook. You're my brother, a de Chagny, and you're all that matters to me at the moment."

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course. Now…anything special you've planned for today?" He regretted saying the words the instant they left his mouth.

"Christine," his brother sighed, a moony look coming over his face, "I'd like to see her today. She said she had something special for me."

Naturally, Philippe thought dismally, they can't tear themselves away from each other. A chorus girl, why of all things in heaven did Raoul have to fall for a chorus girl? Though she had proved herself admirably in Faust, a splendid and charming Margarita, so all the papers claimed. Philippe sighed. "You love-sick pup, of course you can see her. As for me, I'm going to –"

"- Come with me!" his brother chirped, leaping up from his seat. "I'm not letting you out of my sight for an instant. Birthdays are family occasions! And perhaps you will see Sorelli." Ignoring Philippe's protests, he led him out of the dining room

* * *

The back rooms of the Paris Opera house were, as ever, in semi-chaos. Philippe and his brother had to be light on their feet to dodge the singers, ballerinas, stage-hands and practically the whole corps de ballet (For some reason, little Meg Giry had stuck her tongue out at Raoul as she passed him). Philippe raised a quizzical eyebrow and the Viscount shrugged. "Oh, you know how these dancers are: besides I told her I'd buy her a new pair of tights later."

The Comte stopped walking and Raoul nearly plowed into him. "And why, Raoul," he demanded, "would you want to put on a pair of girl's tights?"

"Who said anything about putting them on?" Raoul answered, a slight flush covering his delicate cheeks, "Christine wanted a new pair and I just wanted to compare sizes -they're almost the same height…" He trailed off lamely.

"I'm beginning to worry about you now, dear younger brother. More then usual, I mean –"

The faint sound of singing cut them off. It was beautiful, and full of potential, the voice undoubtedly a young woman's. And then another voice, cultured and mellifluous, but masculine. The next instant Raoul was pelting down the corridor past the other dressing-rooms, ignoring his brother's shout. Philippe muttered a curse under his breath and gave pursuit.

Raoul burst through Christine's dressing room, surprising the two people inside, and in doing so tripped over the doorway and collided with a masked man: both ended up lying on top of each other on the floor. As you can see, subtlety is not Raoul's strong point.

"Raoul!" admonished Christine, her scales forgotten, "How many times do I have to say it: don't visit me when I'm having my lessons! And get off Erik at once!"

The Vicomte didn't hear her. He was staring, horrified, at two yellow eyes in a porcelain-white mask. The eyes burned, and the man said, "Do as she says, young suitor, or I'll remove you by other means…" The eyes narrowed.

It was Philippe, as ever, who saved his brother's life by hauling him up and apologising courteously to both Christine and the Phantom. Raoul grabbed Philippe by the sleeve. "It's him!" he said passionately, pointing a well-manicured finger in Erik's direction, "The Phantom of the Opera! The Ghost I told you about! He wants to take Christine away from me!" He stuck his lip out.

"As if you're a better choice?" the Phantom sneered delicately, eyeing Raoul's teddy bear cufflinks. Philippe, for all his good-heartedness, could not suppress a snigger.

"Don't laugh," Raoul whined, "they're classics." Christine laughed, came and put her arms around his neck. Philippe could almost hear Erik seething.

"Raoul, why don't you go and open your birthday present? I left it in the only place where no one could touch it –Box 5. Hardly anyone goes in there."

"What?!" Erik yelped, whirling around in a swirl of cape, "That's my Box! I don't lend it out to over-dressed fops like him –"

"It was just for today…" But Raoul, puppy-like in his excitement, had dashed off. Christine sighed, and turned to Philippe. "I do love your brother, Comte de Chagny, but how can you live with him sometimes?" She pursed her lips.

"I wonder the same thing myself," the Comte replied resignedly. "I suppose I'll go drag him out of that sodding Box now…you know what Raoul's like, he can mess up a funeral. Always says or does exactly the wrong thing… "

Erik had gone as white as his mask at Philippe's words. "My Box!" he groaned, "Oh god, that fool will leave those blasted scented frilly hankerchiefs all around, I know it –" With surprising litheness he side-stepped them both. Pausing in the doorway, he remarked to Philippe, "By the way, love your suit." A swirl of cape, and he was gone.

Philippe and Christine looked at each other. "I do wish," Philippe remarked drily, "I'd brought those chocolates with me." Leaving Christine he disappeared to prevent any destruction of the Paris Opera House by his over-excited brother.

***

A/N: I know! I know! It's too short! But I have to stop as it is right now 3:00 in the morning and I have a Classics essay due tomorrow…again, sorry for the somewhat lameness of this chapter, but bits of it were good, right? Soon I'll learn to write better phanfics. Next: we witness the amusing side-effects of the chocolates filled with "sedatives." *snicker* Hopefully Raoul has not trashed up Erik's Box too much…we hope.