a/n: the truly second part of the chapter, but I made it a new chapter. Thanks to:

wolfegurl006 - glad to please with a cliffy

LilHikki - you're welcome. and I'm sorry to say it, but you must be patient. I'm pretty sure you'll think it's worth the wait!

Samyo - Thank you!

inkie pinkie - yep, a year. And i see what you mean about the old guy thing... lol. I'm so glad you like my writing! Thanks so much!

Two-Bit Wannabe - Christine died of illness, I regret to say. Though it did leave room for other couples I'm so honored to hear this is the first slash you've read. I have written others if you are interested! Thank you so much!

and now, to chapter 3!


I take the fastest path to Box Five and just as I burst through the door a hesitant knock can be heard.

I move to sit in my chair, the one closest to the passageway, "It's unlocked."

Raoul steps through the door and quickly closes it, "Sorry."

As he sits I turn to him, "Why?"

"I feel guilty," he looks down at his feet, his hair taking the place of his eyes, "for leaving you alone down there again."

A smile, the softest expression that has crossed my face in far too long a time, "I'm alright. It's okay. I knew you were going to be back, and I'm used to the emptiness down there."

He continues looking down, so I place my hand firmly under his chin, my thumb wrapping around the front, and I lift his face, but his eyes remain on his shoes.

"Raoul, look at me," I gently prod.

He does and his shining beauty is surrounding sad eyes.

My thumb moves to his cheek, gently moving against his jaw line, "There are some things that people can not help, and you having to meet your brother for a meeting is one of them. I will never get in the way of your family business, I promise you that."

"It still wasn't fair to you," his voice is still stern, but his face has brightened once more.

"Life has never been fair to me, but I take the punches as their thrown," I lean in a place a light kiss on his forehead.

Just then there is commotion down below. Raoul and I turn from each other to pear over the edge of the box.

I see Carlotta storming out onto the stage, her face red with furry.

"It was him again, I know it! That stupid Opera Ghost!" she screams in her already high pitched voice.

"Now Carlotta," Monsieur Andre runs in, followed by Monsieur Firmin, "We have no proof that it was him!"

"Do not try to tell me that it was not the Opera Ghost!" she turns on them, "It is always him, always him playing these tricks on me."

I move to jump up in my seat, but I feel Raoul's hand rest on top of mine, squeezing mine gently, bringing me back to reality.

"Please, Signora," Madame Giry now has joined them, "do not speak that way in the Ghost's presence. Especially without enough proof that is was he who has done this."

"Proof? What proof does a ghost leave? Invisible footprints?" I lose my control and jump up to yell after her, but Raoul jumps up as well, covering my mouth and pulling me back down into his chair, keeping me firmly in his lap.

I turn to him, "Why are you stopping me?"

I struggle but he keeps a firm grip, "Because, I don't want you to get caught."

I stop my struggle, "Why do you care?"

"Why wouldn't I care?" a question answered with a question.

"No one else would care," I stand up, back straight, against the wall so no one except Raoul can see me.

"I'm not like them," he insists.

"What makes you so special?" I growl.

His answer is so simple it tears at my heart, "I love you, Erik."

His words have no response, and even if I could think of a response my throat and mouth are too dry to speak. I feel a terrible twinge in my heart, a pang of guilt. How could I be so cruel?

"I love you," he whispers again.

I search my mind for an answer, but my heart speaks instead, "I love you too."

Without time to think Raoul pulls me back into his lap, and catches my lips.

I move my lips over his, feeling the soft texture of his perfection. My tongue slips between my teeth and onto his lips, begging him for entry. To my delight his mouth opens, anxious for my tongue again. A deep moan forms in his throat, and I move my hand to choke it, making it softer to keep others from hearing it. He hesitates a moment when I do this, then realizes why I have done it and he leans further in to the kiss. My tongue is in heaven, the sweet taste of my love surrounding it. Finally my lips move, slowly at first down his jaw line, until they are impatient and hungrily move to his neck.

Here I start to kiss harder, a bruising kiss, a love bite. Letting my teeth scrape across his skin I do not even think of the consequences of his moan, for I too let out one. His skin tastes as good as his mouth did, and I can not help but let primal instinct take over.

But I am stopped short by a hand on my chest, pushing me lightly away from him.

I lift my head, a hurt look on my face. He leans to my ear and whispers; "Someone is coming."

I hold still and sure enough there are footsteps closing in from outside the door, headed right for us.

"Come with me," I take his hand and open the passage, my lust for him still burning hot.

We slip through into the cool passageway just as the footsteps stop outside the door. I close the passage just as the door opens.

"Monsieur, it is me," Madame Giry, "and I know you can hear me."

I motion for Raoul to stay behind, but he shakes his head. I sigh, but I open the door any ways.

Madame Giry is standing right by the entrance, annoyance and curiosity written across her face.

"Well, Madame, here I am, what do you want?" I stay in the doorway so she can't see Raoul.

"Erik, was it you who stole Carlotta's hand mirror? Not like I need to ask, but I need to hear it from you," she adds quickly.

"Like I would want another mirror, I don't want the ones down there already!" I keep my voice semi low.

"Just as I thought. You don't need to be quiet, the others are gone," I nod.

"If that is all-" I start.

"That isn't all, Erik. I heard someone else up here with you," she looks at me like a mother looks at a guilty child.

Raoul finally pushes by me, "That was me, Madame."

She looks up at him in surprise, "Monsieur Vicomte!"

"Yes, Madame," he nods, "How are you?"

"Just fine, and you?" her shock has still not left her voice.

"Never better," he smiles.

"May I ask why you have stayed when the Comte has left? And also why you were hiding?" she still hasn't caught on.

"They can both be answered at the same time: Erik," he puts simply.

She does not seem able to absorb what he is telling her, but she lets it sink in and catches on, "My congratulations to you both. Now, I must get back and find that mirror before our diva looses her voice screaming."

"Thank you for your blessings, Madame," Raoul bows slightly to her.

She nods to him and leaves.

"Raoul, why tell her? She could tell your brother so easily!" I take his shoulders, "Have you gone mad?"

"Mad?" he laughs, "If madness is love then I have become deeply mad, but other than that I know what I am doing. I know I can trust her. She is the one who told me about when you were… oops."

I scowl, "Told you what about me?"

"She told me about, well, the gypsies," he frowns, a sad glint in his eyes.

I growl, "That woman! It was not her place!" Then I look back at Raoul, and he is cowering. I gain control of my voice, softening my expression, "Oh, Raoul."

I place a hand behind his neck, and pull him to me. He wraps his arms around me in a tight embrace, "It's okay now, Raoul, I'm okay now."

He shakes his head; "No one should ever be treated that way."

"You have seen my face, but apparently you were not thinking straight, for no man could say that after seeing my face," my voice remains soft, but I choke on the words.

"I can," he whispers into my shoulder.

A tear slides down my cheek, under my mask. I feel it move back and forth over my deformed features. A hand, Raoul's hand, slides up between us, resting on my quivering chest.

"Don't cry, please," my shirt starts to soak slightly where his head rests, it's soaking with his tears, "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"Raoul, these are not tears of sadness," I comfort him. "The words that you have spoken to me today alone have been the kindest things mankind has ever bothered telling me."

"You poor thing," the words are barely audible, as if he did not mean to utter them at all.

"Come, we must go," I gently take his hands in mine and I lead him back to the entrance to my home.

There is silence the entire trip, but not uncomfortable silence, just silence. I enjoy this sort of silence; it's the type of silence that you can only find in the dead of night. No sounds of our footfall, our breath not audible, just the constant presence of another and complete silence. It's times like these that I do not mind my disfigured face, for I would never know the peace in these moments without it.

And then silence is broken, and my Hellish life resumes. We have come back to the lake, and there is now the sound of the water lapping against the shore. I turn back to see Raoul, his face not smiling nor frowning. The shine never leaves his face, the innocent shine that made me fall head over heals for this man. My love, my Raoul.

He sees me looking at him and smiles another grand smile in my direction. How I long to take him in my arms and take him back to the bed, to feel the great sensation of me in him and of waking up next to him again and again, in a never ending cycle. I have come to accept that this is not possible, but I still long for it.

I wonder if he feels the same way. I am the Opera Ghost, and why should this well-known viscount stay here with me? If he wished he could have any and every girl he desired. And yet he stays here, by my side, loving me.

We have crossed the ledge and Raoul has taken a seat on the organ bench.

My stomach grumbles in hunger and he tries to hide a smile.

I glare at him and he holds his hands up, showing he means no harm, "I'm hungry too."

I nod, and move to my make shift kitchen. I pull out some fruit from an icebox that is cooled by a small pool of water that seems always to be chilled.

Along with this I take out some bread and jam, placing it all on a platter.

"What would you like to drink? I have water, wine, and a little bit of fruit juice," I call out.

"Water is fine," he answers.

I grab water for him, and wine for myself. Though I do not drink to get drunk I do drink a lot.

I bring out the small tray and place it at the dining table, "I apologize, I know this is not a meal it for the Vicomte de Chagny."

He shakes his head; "It looks great."

He picks up and apple from the two that I brought out and examines it closely before taking a bite. After swallowing he smiles, "This is much better than what I'm used to now. I'm usually eating dinner for breakfast, between the meetings and my brothers love for fine dining I haven't eaten a real breakfast since I was a boy."

I let a small smile cross my lips, not sure if that is something really to smile at; "I'll take that as a compliment."

He laughs, "You should."

I sit down, pouring myself a small glass of wine.

"You don't strike me as a heavy drinker," he comments, over another bite of apple.

I shake my head, "Not heavy, I've only gotten drunk once, but this," I motion to the wine, "is the only thing I drink down here."

He nods, as if understanding me, but I know he doesn't, so I try to clarify, "After so many years away from any real food or drink this is like that little bit of class in life that I missed out on. Also, if I can't live up there, and I certainly can't just walk on up there. And I can't cool things properly down here. So why not just take this, the only thing that can literally last for years?"

He nods, now in real understanding.

Finishing his apple and sipping at his water he gestures, "Where do you throw your trash?"

I stand and take the apple rind from him, "I'll get it."

"Well, so I know," I nod and lead him back into the makeshift kitchen. There are two large bins and I throw the rind carelessly into the smaller one.

"I usually don't need the other one, but if I start to compose and cause a large back up of trash then I'll just take them both up with me one night and pitch it all," I shrug.

He lowers his head; "I wouldn't know what that's like. My brother and I don't have to worry about it."

I walk past him, back to the table, pouring myself more wine, "Are you sure you don't want any?"

He shakes his head, "Thanks any ways."

I nod and down the glass in a single gulp. I pour myself some more and sit on the organ bench.

Forgetting everything else I quickly pick up where I left off. My fingers don't need a reminder where I last left off; the notes are still buzzing through my head. But more have joined them, and that means that it's time to compose, busy or not. I start playing furiously, my hair instantly becoming a mess as I pound down on the keys, but the melody is not angry, it's a melody that sends the should flying as high and far, no, further, then the notes themselves.

I don't even realize that Raoul has sat down next to me before he leans his head down on my shoulder, his arms wrapping around my waist. He is not in my way, so I keep playing, as if he had never showed up. This could go on for hours, it all seems to fall away, the pain, the light, the sorrow of the real life, when I can sit here and play. Once I play it I memorize it, so I don't worry about writing it down, I'll remember later, no question.

I can tell Raoul is relaxing, more and more of his weight is leaning into my shoulder, becoming more a hinder to my music. I stop, and he snaps back to attention.

He quickly jumps up, but his hands do not move, "My apologies, I should have known I was stopping you," his arms now move as well.

"Here," I take his hands and place them back around my waist, and I move his head to rest in the crook of my neck, so that it won't stop my music.

He nuzzles into my neck and then settles in, and I start to play once more. This time there is no hinder, even as he falls asleep. I did not mean for my music to be a lullaby, but as the music mellows into a sad love tune he drifts into a light sleep. I don't think he even realizes that he is the inspiration of this peace. Between the happiness of my heart at the beginning, the greatness of that night we spent together, and finally the smoothness of his features. The music starts to lull me as well and I wonder how truly long it has been since I started. It was morning. I look to the clock and it reads twelve. I look to the other side of the lake and see that it is dark. It might not have been the music that has sent my poor Vicomte into his deep sleep. I move one hand from the smooth keys to lightly run through Raoul's honey brown hair. I keep the hand there, even as he starts to stir. It takes him a long while to come to.

"I swear I was awake," he mumbles as he lifts his head.

"Shh," I whisper, lightly stroking his forehead, his eyes closing again.

I stay like this, his head not moving from my shoulder.

I barely make out his next words, "What time is it?"

"A little after midnight now," I answer softly.

He yawns, "You really can go a long time without stopping. If I weren't here I'm sure you'd still be composing."

I laugh lightly, "Probably."

"I'm sorry," he lifts his head completely.

"No, it's alright," I whisper, moving my other hand to cradle his cheek.

He finally looses his battle with sleep again, and passes out, nearly falling off the bench, but I grab him and hold onto his shivering frame. I never realize how cold it is down here until someone else comes down here. I lift his body, holding it close to me in a futile attempt to keep him warm. I lay him on the swan bed and loosen his tie, removing his shoes. I wrap an extra cloak around him before finally tucking him into the bed. I then wrap my cloak tighter around me and lie down next to him, going under the covers myself. Wrapping my arm around him, he curls into my body like a cat, searching for warmth. His breath spreads over my hand, which is on his chest. The warmth of his breath is pleasant, and the steady rhythm of his beating heart slowly puts me to sleep.

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a/n: please take a moment and review! Very appreciated!