"It's been a long time, Daroga."

"Yes. It has." He had gotten thinner. Age had not been kind to him. Then again, neither had youth.

"Have you been in Paris long?"

"Only five years."

"And you didn't think to find me?'

"Did you want to be found?" Erik laughed in response. His laugh had only gotten more menacing in the fifteen years since we had last seen each other.

I had known what Erik was doing in Paris fairly soon after arriving. With his musical and architectural genius, the Palais Garnier had been the only answer. I had been shocked to learn that Charles Garnier wasn't a pseudonym. But I couldn't face him, coward that I was, that I am.

"What do you think of my opera house?"

"It's beautiful, but how much of it is actually yours?"

"Just enough." He had been avoiding eye contact since I found his lakehouse under the opera, found him. In the 15 years since I had seen him, there was so much I wanted to say to him. Seeing him again, I wanted nothing more than to say them. But my tongue felt dry in my mouth.

"So what led you to look for me, Daroga?"

"There had been talk of a ghost making trouble for the new managers. I was asked to investigate?"

"You're still a policeman?"

"No no, I retired ages ago. But I often come here. I was friends with messieurs Debienne and Poligny."

"What a coincidence. So was I."

"They argued otherwise." Erik gave a nonchalant shrug in reply.

"So, tell me how you came to leave the sultana's employ?"

"What is this, an interrogation?"

"Humor me." The look he gave me was one I hadn't seen in a long time. In the past, it had been reserved for those condemned by the sultana. A horrible grin, like if you knew the Cheshire Cat would kill you in a moment.

"I went back to Mazandaran and told the sultana you died. I retired in '74 and came here just in time to see your opera house be finished."

"A young retirement? The Daroga I know would never waste his life like that."

"Good thing I'm not a Daroga anymore."

"... I beg your pardon?"

"Erik, 'Daroga' is not a name. It's a job title." Erik's face was fairly neutral, save for a slight frown. Experience told me that his mind was not processing the information well.

"I thought I was the secret-keeper. What is your name, then?"

I took a breath before responding. "Nadir. Nadir Khan." Erik held his hand out, a twisted parallel of all those years ago. With a sad smile, I accepted it.

For the first time in 15 years, that warm feeling returned to my chest. It spread to my fingers and toes, to where our hands met. This was starting to get ridiculous. We've known each other for almost 20 years. I can't live in regret anymore. But Erik, that bastard, said what I had been feeling since we parted.

"I missed you greatly. And I don't expect you to forgive me. I - I realized how important you are to me… Too late, it seems."

"Not too late." I blurted. His eyes widened. In that moment, I noticed that his mask was new. White porcelain hid his eyes, but that golden fire never escaped my notice. With a deep breath, I continued.

"I shouldn't have left in Batumi. Even though I felt like I had to leave, I didn't want to."

"Nadir -"

"Erik, shut up. Let me finish. From the moment I met you, you intrigued me. Hell, scared me. I couldn't tell you when exactly, but I knew that you and I were meant to be together. And I wasted time because I was afraid. Forgive you? Of course I forgive you! You stupid man. I'm the one who should be asking forgiveness. For betraying you." I did the only thing that made sense to me in that moment: I embraced him. Erik didn't react at first. But then, I didn't expect him to. He smelled like leather and spice.

After what seemed like eternity, Erik's arms wrapped around me. We silently sobbed together. Eventually, I moved my hands to cup the thin face hidden under the mask.

"May I?" I whispered. When Erik nodded, I gently removed the porcelain. To my surprise, he didn't look that much older. While the 15 years had grayed my hair and added wrinkles, Erik's hair was only showing the slightest signs of gray, and the condition of his skin had stayed the same.

"You look better than I do. I'm sorry I left."

"I'm sorry, too. God, we're such idiots."

"I agree." Realizing the mask was still in my hand, I discarded it on some nearby table. I needed both of my hands for what I was about to do.

I tenderly held Erik's face. He froze. We stood there for several moments. My face gravitated toward his. Despite the initiative I was taking, I felt so small. He was still unreasonably tall.

"Da- Nadir. What are you doing?"

"What I should have done 20 years ago. Is… is that okay?"

"Yes. God, yes," he breathed. And then our lips met.

Despite the thinness of his lips, he was such a satisfying kisser. His hands clutched my waist, practically knocking me over in the process. My hands had a mind of their own. His shoulders, the hardness of his abdomen, the feel of his hair in my fingers. In the euphoria of finally acknowledging my love for him, I had forgotten to breathe. Reluctantly, I broke the kiss, which elicited a whine from Erik. Physically, we were practically glued to one another. Our breath mingling together in the space between our mouths. Erik pressed his forehead to mine, a slight grin on his face, his hands holding my jaw.

"For once, I don't know what to say."

"I guess we've both changed, Toymaker."