A/N: I haven't had any time nor inspiration to write lately, so these are all pre-written chapters. ): I hope they're still up to the mark! This is a bit of a long chapter and I feel it's a little abrupt in the middle, the transition doesn't seem to be too smooth. Let me know what you guys think!

Savannah White: Oh, she will connect the pieces, but it won't be so soon, I'm afraid ;)

Spirit of the Opera: Hehehe my favourite combi! Awkwardness and drama!

Pineapple3000: You'll have to keep waiting and see! -evil grin- I like to build up a slow romance!

Masked Man 2: We all need a voice of reason in our lives and I like to think that Madame Giry is Erik's, haha! I don't really like the idea of putting Christine in, since I think this story could well stand alone without her, but in the spirit of fanfiction and the original Poto, I think I'll introduce her! She won't be making an appearance for quite some time though...

TheSanguineMoon: She can probably sing averagely well like any other person, but no, I don't think she's extremely talented as a singer! I update every Monday, so do check back! (:

Thank you to TheSanguineMoon & KSVamp for the favourites/follows!

Chapter 15: An Uneasy Friendship

Paris, 1893

Amélie pulled on her kid gloves and checked her appearance one last time before heading off to the quiet chapel. As usual, the ballet rats were celebrating the end of the week, and were probably somewhere getting themselves drunk and tipsy with the stagehands. Amélie would not be bothered on her way to the chapel. She pushed open the heavy doors and entered the dark room.

A few weeks ago, she had been afraid of the dark chapel, with its looming pews and high ceiling, where the filtering sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows cast strange shadows throughout the place. Now visiting the chapel was merely a routine, and nothing more to be scared about. Now Amélie wondered what she had been so afraid of at first. There was nothing terrifying about the quietness and stillness of the chapel; in fact, there was something rather comforting and soothing about the silence.

She made her way to the secret passageway and rapped on the wall twice. Almost instantly, as though the person on the other side had been waiting for her signal, the secret passageway slid open quickly, and a black-gloved hand reached out. Amélie took it immediately without a second thought.

There had never been hesitation there, not even the first time. Entering the chapel had taken a great deal of courage, but grasping the elegant gloved hand had taken nothing.

Amélie blinked her eyes a few times to adjust them to the darkness. She had been surprised by how much easier it was to navigate her way around the passageways, now that she could see better in the dark. She had attempted to cajole him into allowing her to make the trip down herself, but he had hurriedly rejected her, cautioning her against the numerous traps that she still did not know of yet. He had insisted on waiting for her each time.

He. The Opera Ghost. Or the Phantom of the Opera. Or simply Erik, as Amélie now knew him by. If someone had told Amélie a month ago that one day, she would be having tea with the Opera Ghost on a twice a week basis, she would have laughed her head off and called the person silly for having even entertained such a notion. And yet, here she was, on another trip down to the Opera Ghost's lair to have tea with him.

When they reached the lake and the gondola, he helped her in silently, stoically, as always. That was what Amélie liked in him. He was always focused on his task, doing it with a strong determination that she admired greatly. He was always intent on perfecting every little thing he did. It was not a bad thing, no, in fact she found it commendable, but at times she had had to gently remind him to take a rest from whatever he was doing and to try again later.

The boat gently bumped the shore of the lake, reminding Amélie to get off the boat. He nimbly jumped off after her, tethering the boat tightly to a stake driven into the ground, before striding into his house. Amélie followed after him, slightly bemused as she watched him throw his cloak onto the coat rack before turning to her expectantly.

"I didn't have time to go to the baker's today, you know," she said as he frowned, seeing that her hands were empty. His frown deepened, and Amélie could have laughed.

"Just because you're allowed to come down here now, you've stopped bringing your bribes along." He grumbled, disappearing into the kitchen to fetch a pot of his favourite Russian tea.

"Well, excuse me, monsieur, those weren't bribes, they were friendly gifts!" Amélie said, pretending to be offended. "Besides, if you eat too much of them, you'll grow fat."

"What did you say, mademoiselle?" He asked dryly, emerging from the kitchen with a pot of tea, two cups and a bowl of sugar cubes. He set the tray onto the table and poured out the tea for them. Amélie automatically reached for the sugar bowl and dunked three cubes of sugar into her tea.

He screwed up his face. "You—"

"Yes, yes, I know, I'm ruining the tea, spoiling the taste. I get it. I'll drink my tea the way I want to, you nosy person." She blew on her tea to cool it down, and took a sip. The strong Russian tea had taken a long time to get used to, but she could finally down it now, with the help of a lot of sugar. He snorted, and sipped his tea elegantly. Amélie would never understand how he managed to actually like the bitter taste of the tea.

"So, Erik, what have you been up to recently? I haven't seen Debienne rush around in a huff with his face red for a very long time. Has the Opera Ghost been taking a break?"

"We agreed no questions about the Opera Ghost, Amélie." His eyes flashed dangerously, and Amélie sighed at the fact that the man could look so dangerous and yet sound like an angel at the same time.

"You can't blame me for trying." She said agreeably, and he snorted in response. The rest of their tea was spent in a convivial silence; Amélie sat on the divan with her feet tucked under her, a trashy romance novel, as Erik called it, resting comfortably in her lap, and Erik tinkered away at the dining table with his scraps of metal and wood. It all felt rather homely and normal.

XXXXX

When Amélie was back in her dormitory resting, she contemplated the past few weeks that had gone by relatively quickly. It was a strange notion, the idea of having met the Opera Ghost. She wondered if he considered her a friend, but she knew that he was her friend. They often sat on the divan before a roaring fire, discussing his travels and her dancing. He somehow managed to gloss over his personal details while talking about his travels, but it was enough for Amélie to listen to his stories about the exotic places he had been to, or the strange and unique sights that he had seen. And surprisingly enough, he knew a fair bit about ballet, no doubt gleaned off Madame Giry. Amélie was delighted that she could actually talk about ballet with someone other than a ballet rat. Of course, the stagehands were not often interested in much besides a quick romp in a dark corner.

Amélie was still a little scared of the dark tunnels. The darkness was fear inducing, but his presence quelled the monsters lurking in the shadows, and brought about a soothing, comforting shield against the darkness. He had brought her down many different passageways to enter his house, but the passageway that led to the lake was by far her favourite. She remembered a conversation between the two of them with a fond smile.

It had been the second time he had brought her down to his house, the first trip right after Madame Giry had discovered the two of them in his house. Amélie frowned as he guided the boat through the waters, noticing that there was something quite obviously missing from the trip.

"Where are the candelabras?" She remembered he hated questions, but could not resist. "Did I merely imagine them the previous time I was here?"

His lips thinned into a slight smile. "No, mademoiselle. You're not delusional. I leave the candelabras under the water most of the time, as it is a waste of time to wait for all of them to rise before making my way through the waters."

"What do you even have them for, then?"

"Ah… I built them in the hopes of… impressing visitors when they arrived." He mumbled, his visible cheek turning slightly red. Amélie bit back laughter.

"So, you wanted to make a dramatic entrance to your house? Ah, I never expected the mysterious Opera Ghost to be a bit of a diva as well. Well, I was impressed. Bravo, monsieur!" Her words were a little muffled as she struggled to keep her mirth hidden. He frowned at her.

"I am not a diva. I am merely… theatrical. Now do stop moving about before you send us both headlong into the lake."

Amélie's only response had been to burst out laughing.

Amélie still did the weekly grocery shopping for Madame Giry, who was glad that she could at least be saved from running such a tiresome errand every week. Amélie had learnt that Erik loved chocolate peppermints and butterscotch taffy, and that he was rather partial to roast chicken, but disliked capsicums. She knew that he hated the stagehands, as he had witnessed quite a few of them harassing the ballet rats, and did not hesitate to mete out a punishment that he deemed suitable. Amélie had seen, on quite a few occasions, stagehands rushing out from dark corners, their tanned faces white with shock. Amélie had also found out that he ate and slept very little, preferring to spend his time composing music, or working on strange crafts.

It was strange, but she thought she could even consider the two of them friends by now. She was not sure if he counted her as one, though.

Despite the 'friendship' that they had nurtured for the past few weeks, there were still many unanswered questions in Amélie's head that were clamouring to be answered. Who was Erik, really? Why did he choose to live beneath an opera house, the life of a recluse? Why did he wear that mask? Amélie was not stupid and she knew that the mask probably hid a disfigurement of some sort, but she was a little miffed that he did not trust her enough to tell her about himself or his past. She knew a little about the letters he sent Debienne, knew enough to figure out that Erik was nothing short of a musical genius, and that his improvements were only for the better of the opera house. But it baffled her that he chose to hide his genius beneath the opera house instead of showing it to the world. Yes, Amélie wanted answers. She wanted to find out more about him, and yet at the same time she held back her questions because she wanted to respect his privacy and his need to keep his past hidden.

That did not mean she had to stop being curious, though. After all, it was not a sin to be curious.

XXXXX

"Are you going to tell me why you keep staring at me, or are you just going to keep doing it?" His gaze never leaving the pages of the book that he was reading, Erik spoke dryly, a tinge of annoyance spiking his words. Amélie coughed hastily and looked back down at her book. She had been sneaking glances over the top of her book at him, sitting languidly in a chair and reading a book in a foreign language that she did not understand, his hair smoothed back perfectly as usual, and the pristine white mask placed exactly over the right side of his face.

"I wasn't—"

"Yes you were." He snapped his book shut and looked at her with his piercing green gaze that always made her feel as though he was looking right through her soul. "What is it, Amélie?"

"It's nothing! Stop imagining things! Nobody's staring at you."

He just continued staring at her, and she threw her hands up exasperatedly. "Alright, alright. You caught me! It's just… I know we've known each other for a few months, and I think you could even count me as your friend, but I don't know anything about you other than your name and the food that you like, and I'm dying of curiosity!" She said in one big rush, afraid that she would run out of the courage of continue before she finished.

"At least you know my favourite foods. I'm not sure that even Antoinette knows about those, so you can feel honoured." The tone of his voice implied that the conversation was over, but Amélie was too far gone in the heat of the moment to stop.

"I don't know anything else about you, Erik."

"My past is not a subject to be discussed, as I've mentioned quite a number of times to you already." His voice was cold, and his lips had thinned into a straight line that showed his displeasure. Amélie's brow knitted in frustration.

"Why not?" She dared to jibe. "Are you afraid that I'll see you in a different light once you've told me everything?"

She had meant it as a careless comment, a meaningless one, but it seemed she had hit a rather sore point, because at that, Erik leapt up in anger, red rushing to his face. Amélie shrank back a little, wondering if she had gone too far. In a flash, Erik was next to her and had grabbed her arm, jerking her up. She stumbled to her feet, attempting to wrench her arm from his grip.

"Erik, let me go!" She jerked her arm about, but he ignored her.

"Why would I tell you everything about my past? So that you can sneer at me and laugh at me like I were a caged animal, locked up for everyone's ridicule? So that you can leave poor, lonely Erik, alone again in his dark caverns of despair? Is that why you want to know?" He shook her arm fiercely, and Amélie winced. Using all her strength, she managed to push his hand away, shoving at his chest for good measure. He stumbled backward a little, but started to pace around the room.

"You think you're all prepared for my past, aren't you? You think that my past couldn't be that bad, the protected little miss that you are!" He jeered, stalking around her. "If only you knew! If only you had an idea!"

"Well perhaps if you would just tell me, I would have an idea—"

"No! I will not! Stop intruding on my privacy, damn you!" His hands were clenched into tight fists.

"What are you so afraid of, Erik?" Amélie shouted, a little furious despite the guilt she felt at having pushed him so far. "Are you such a coward?"

"Yes, maybe I'm afraid! I'm terrified that you will never grace my house with your presence again once you hear the sob story of my past. Do you know the feeling of terror, Amélie? I'm terrified." He roared suddenly, striding forward to grab her shoulders and pin her gaze with his own piercing green eyes. "Do you know the feeling of being caged up, to be exhibited before hundreds and thousands like nothing more than a worthless being? Do you know the feeling of being whipped daily, until the scars overlap the old ones and you don't even feel the sting of the whip any longer? You don't, do you? Yes, you would be horrified upon hearing all my stories, and yes, I'm afraid of losing you!"

He broke off, breathing heavily. Amélie was unable to look him in the eye any longer, and a strange bitter feeling had crept up into her mouth. It felt a little like cold, heavy guilt.

"Erik, please, I—"

"I do hope my answer is satisfactory. I think it is time for you to leave now, mademoiselle." As quickly as his temper had risen, his cold facade took over within moments. "You have long overstayed your welcome."

Grabbing her by her shoulders, he pushed her toward one of the passageways in his house, before shutting the opening with a loud thud. Amélie tried to protest, banging on the door, but she heard the click of the lock, and his echoing footsteps as he stormed away from the passageway. Her cries were left unheard.

Slowly, sadly, Amélie made her way back to the dormitories by herself. She was familiar with the route, as she had walked it many times, but it somehow felt a little lonely without his presence. Even in the dark, she had always felt his mysterious, foreboding presence around her. It had been comforting. Now her only companion was her guilt, bitter and cold in her heart, weighing down her every step.

A/N: As usual, please read/review/favourite/follow! It means the world to me (: xx hazel