The French is a poem and I couldn't get the accents in but they're supposed to be there. I don't own Phantom of the Opera. Actually, this chapter doesn't really have any Phantom of the Opera related stuff in it. I mean, I can use the name Erik in a story and not mean Erik the Angel of Music. And there isn't any descriptive information in this chapter that would distnguish which Erik I am talking about. But I'll put in the disclaimer anyway. Whatever. It's still fanfiction!

The next morning, when Erik didn't come downstairs for breakfast, Lirit went upstairs to check on him. "Erik? Are you still alive?" she asked, opening his bedroom door.

Erik woke up as he heard her voice. His hands flew immediately to his face, it was a habit. "Lirit! Can't you knock before waltzing in on me?" he yelled, using up all of his strength.

"Oops, sorry Erik. Do you want some breakfast?" Lirit asked from the doorway.

Erik rolled over and curled himself into a ball, "No, I just want to sleep."

Lirit said, "Okay, I'll make you some soup."

Erik groaned, "I'm not hungry!"

"Do you think you should get a leave of absence from your work? Since you'll be in bed for a few weeks?"

"I'm a lawyer; can't I just give myself one?"

"I don't know, you're the one that's supposed to know all about laws here. Do you need anything?"

"No, just don't make too much noise."

"But I'll have to use the blender to make soup."

"Use a different recipe then."

"But--"

"Lirit, get out of my room!" Erik covered his head with a pillow.

Lirit rolled her eyes, "Okay, okay, I'm going…" she shut the door behind her. She walked down the stairs and went into the kitchen. She fed Jumoke and did lots of boring housekeeping chores that I don't want to go into detail about.

Then it was around noon. Lirit had just finished making carrot soup. She had used the blender, but Erik was too tired to complain about it and yell at her. She was ladling some into two bowls when the phone rang. Lirit hurried to pick it up, not wanting the raucous sound disturb Erik. It was Cruz. As they conversed briefly, Lirit didn't say anything about his moving away as she wasn't supposed to know.

"Erik! Wake up! It's 12:30! I made you some soup!" Lirit announced five minutes later as she walked into Erik's room carrying a tray with two steaming bowls of a thick, orange soup.

But Erik wasn't in his bed.

"Erik?" Lirit asked.

Erik walked out of his bathroom, yawning.

"Whoa there!" Lirit exclaimed, looking away.

"What?" asked Erik, who was in his boxers.

"Put some clothes on! I don't want to look at you!" Lirit blushed.

"What's wrong with me?" Erik asked, slightly offended. He went to the gym dutifully every few days.

"You're old!" Lirit answered.

"I am not old!" Erik argued. "I'm 32!"

Lirit sniffed, "Besides, chest hair is gross."

"Well I'm certainly not trying to impress you or anything," Erik replied, getting back in bed.

"Anyway, here's some carrot soup." Lirit put the tray on the bed. "Cruz called, he wants his tie back."

"Will you get it out of my closet? It's the dark green one." Erik asked.

Lirit went to Erik's closet and got out said tie. She pulled a black T-shirt off of its hanger and threw it at Erik, "At least put a shirt on."

"Lirit! It almost landed in the soup!" Erik exclaimed, his voice muffled as he pulled the shirt over his head.

Lirit was goofing off and trying to tie the tie around her neck. "This is harder than a Punjab lasso!" she murmured.

"Lirit, stop it! You're going to break it!" Erik scolded between slurps of soup. "This needs more salt. Get me some salt."

"No, too much salt is bad for you," Lirit responded, pulling the tie off. She sat on the bed next to Erik and picked up her bowl of soup. "And I'm not going to break a tie."

Erik grumbled something incoherent.

They ate their soup in silence until Erik finished and told Lirit to leave so he could sleep some more. Lirit gathered up the empty dishes on the tray and left Erik to sleep.

Lirit spent the remainder of the day giving Jumoke a private guitar concert in her bedroom.

"L'etre que je suis n'a pas de maitre

Mais un ami que je choisis,

Sans qui je peux mourrir d'ennui.

Traite moi donc en egal,

Je ne suis pas ta peluche !

Respecte mon independence,

Je te prouverai, librement, en caresses

Et "ron ron" que je t'aime.

Et s'il le faut, des annees,

je t'attendrai, mon ami…."

Lirit sang a poem, making up the melody as she went. She strummed the appropriate chords on her guitar. Jumoke's eyes were half-closed as she sat at the foot of Lirit's bed. Her ears swiveled around, picking up sounds other than Lirit's playing. Jumoke's tail twitched in rhythm to the melody. Lirit smiled, wondering if Jumoke understood what she was singing. She barely understood French herself. As Lirit put her guitar away, she looked up to see Jumoke arch her back in a stretch. Jumoke leapt off the bed and pressed her flank against Lirit's leg. Lirit scratched Jumoke's chin. Perhaps Jumoke's attentions were her way of telling Lirit that she played well.