A/N: Thanks very much to MJ-Skywalker and Catalina Fiought and Company. Glad you like it so far, and I appreciate the reviews.

Disclaimer: lyrics from Beauty and the Beast.

Chapter 1

Hopeless

As my dream dies

As the time flies

Love a lost illusion

Helpless

Unforgiven

Cold and driven

To this sad conclusion

"Two years?" Erik silently groaned. How could it have only been two years since she left? Every day felt like two years. "Well, two years and twelve days, actually," said a voice in his head. "Not that I was counting."

For the first several weeks, Erik had barricaded himself in his lair and seldom ate or slept. He occupied himself with such projects as slitting his wrists and emptying the contents of his wine cellar at a dangerously fast rate.

Before he could actually starve or bleed to death, Nadir interfered. With the Persian's assistance, Erik gradually began to reform his life. He still refused to leave the lair for quite some time, but instead of abusing himself, he returned to his books and his music. Eventually he resurfaced for nighttime walks in the city, in which he could breathe fresh air and gaze at the moonlight while clinging to the shadows.

Unfortunately, by no means did these improvements amount to healing. Erik lived in as much of a stupor as when he was consistently drunk. This one was simply calmer, more subdued. He went through the motions of living—as much as was usual for him—but nothing permeated his callous outer shell.

After the few weeks of wallowing, Erik had submitted his brief obituary to L'Epoque. He supposed she should be freed from all thoughts of him. Besides, the statement was not entirely false; he might as well have been dead.

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Erik was reclined on the sofa reading when Nadir burst in.

"There you are, my friend," Erik said dryly. "I wondered when you would return. It's been almost three days now!"

"Very amusing, Erik. I don't believe for a minute that you would take care of yourself if I left you alone any longer." The Persian walked across the room to stand in front of him.

Erik looked pointedly at his empty hands. "No food parcels today?"

"You won't need any," said Nadir. "Tonight we are going out for supper."

Erik simply stared at him. It wasn't necessary to vocalize his response for Nadir to understand.

"Erik, I've been letting you recover at your own pace, but you've come to a standstill. It's high time for you to get out of the cellars."

The stare continued.

"It is not natural or healthy to go this long without even a glimpse of sunlight, or human contact."

At his friend's persistence, Erik finally condescended to partake in the argument. "I've never really enjoyed either of those things," he said calmly.

"But you still occasionally experienced them, which, whether you appreciated it or not, kept you…well…somewhat sane."

Erik was mildly amused. "I could take offense at that."

"But you won't, because you know it's true," Nadir finished, equally amused. Then he grew somber. He sat in an armchair beside the sofa. "Honestly, Erik. You really must move on at some point. It's been two years."

"Two years and twelve days," said the voice in his head. Fortunately it didn't come out of his mouth.

"You know I'll until simply bother you with my lecturing until you agree to come," Nadir warned.

"That is true," Erik muttered.

"And I've already made reservations for us, at a charming African restaurant that just opened. It's called the Marrakesh. The food, the décor, the service, everything is very authentic. I'm sure we'll enjoy it."

"I suppose if you absolutely insist—" Erik started to grumble.

"Excellent. I'll just wait while you get ready. You won't regret this."

Still grumbling, Erik stalked off to his room to change.