A/N: I'm...sorry. Soooo sorry. I really need to stop promising things- it just makes me feel bad. I'd like to blame the long break on being busy... but part of it was just laziness. Thanks to all the people who reviewed- I'll be sending personal responses to those for the next chapter. I really appreciate those who have stuck with me- I'll try hard to get the chapters out sooner. Flames welcome- I need a good laugh.

Shameless advertisement: For those of you who wanted Raoul to strangle the Christine mannequin in the earlier chapter, I wrote a one shot called 'Noise and Kisses.' It has nothing to do with this story, but I wanted karma to finally catch up with Christine.

Chapter 12: Lessons

Fingers slammed down on the innocent keys, the organ emitting an angry groan as it took the brunt of his frustration. Ignoring the glare directed at him, Erik ripped the music from Raoul's hands- quickly scanning it.

"What in God's name were you singing?"

"Exactly what you told me to monsieur."

"That...noise... was not an F Sharp!"

"Well do excuse me for lacking the ability to reach notes THAT CANNOT POSSIBLY EXIST!"

"Don't be stupid, of course they exist."

Raoul resumed his glaring; muttering profanities Erik was not entirely sure a viscount should know. His only response was a raised eyebrow- daring Raoul to start another argument. For five days they had engaged in the same fight- Raoul being unwilling or unable to reach the high notes of the woman's part, and Erik completely refusing to sing them himself. Raoul would demand the phantom sing at least half the women's parts if he was so insistent on making him help with the duets, and Erik would rather rejoin that hell they called a gypsy circus than back down. One thing always led to another and Raoul would storm off, his pale face flushed with anger. Although the redundant arguments wasted valuable time, Erik secretly enjoyed angering the viscount. Unfortunately, it was not to gloat over his lack of wit. Erik would watch in fascination as the viscount's breath quickened, lips parting as he tried in vain to come up with a suitable comeback. His eyes would sparkle above the blush brought forth from anger; hands repeatedly running through the smooth locks that lay atop his head- completing his disheveled appearance. The first time Erik realized his close attention to each detail of this, his confusion overrode his judgement and he had avoided Raoul the rest of the day. The erotic dream later that night did nothing to help his cause. Despite the overwhelming evidence of his growing attraction, Erik finally resolved to blame it on exhaustion. Of course, the slow return of his emotions never stopped him from being his usual bastardly self, and he was confident Raoul did not suspect.

And so they fought. But Raoul would always return, boredom forcing his hand when he shuffled back; head bowed as he mumbled a grudging apology. It was one of the rare times Erik was glad there were few ways to amuse oneself in the lair. It was quite a while before he noticed Raoul had stopped mumbling and was looking at him strangely. Mentally shaking himself for letting his mind wander, Erik brought his attention back to the present.

"What!" he snapped.

Raoul rolled his eyes and went back to glaring. Well, two could play this game. After a short glaring contest which Erik easily won, Raoul seemed to surrender. Smirking at his victory, Erik gave a small consolation prize.

"Fine. We can work out the lyrics for this song- it's lower"

He pulled out his latest song, 'Point of no Return,' glancing over the single line of lyrics that stood out sharply against the worn parchment- mocking his lack of creativity. He had never had quite this much difficulty coming up with lyrics to match the music, and it annoyed him to no end. Which brought him to his last resort- deChagny. He steadfastly clung to the small hope that the man would have an idea, however in vain it might have been. He was not one to ask for help, but his desperation led him to the next best thing. He watched in silence as Raoul examined the sheet, lips pursed in thought. Erik's concentration wavered as his thoughts strayed to wonders of what those lips would taste like pressed against his own. He was used to taking what he wanted- but all too familiar with rejection. The viscount was not some ornament he could steal from the witless managers; he was a man. A man who's romantic history involved women. Well, one at least. And of course, it just wasn't natural to want other men. His twisted features already highlighted the difference between himself and others, it would only make sense that he was a freak when it came to emotions as well. No one was like him. So, he would wait. Raoul would find enough courage and health to go back into the light, and Erik would once again be left in solitude. That was the way things were; the way they should be. It was for the best. It was what he wanted. Really, it was.