A/N: How was your Monday been so far, readers? I hope you've had a super one (as great as Mondays can get anyway) and may the rest of your week be good too. (It's already night time and Monday is almost over for me.)

As this story moves toward the timeline of the actual musical, I'm in a bit of a muddle because while I do still want to keep to the original plot as much as possible, there are some parts of the musical that may not fit into my story, so please do keep an open mind toward any plot changes! Boy, things are going to get difficult to write. Mondays seem to come too fast, and there's barely enough time for me to churn out a new chapter! I got inspired last week and wrote two chapters, so I'm able to post a new chapter up today.

This chapter gives some insights to what Erik really feels, something which I don't believe I have touched on too much in the past chapters; after all, Amélie's the main character, so many chapters are from her point of view. Hopefully this will be a much refreshing (albeit angst-filled) chapter for you to read!

Also, I'm particularly curious, but did anybody manage to guess what songs Erik played in the previous chapter, from the way I described them and the way Amélie felt about them? I won't be disappointed if nobody could tell, but it would still be super cool! Let me know! (The truth is all revealed in this chapter anyway.)

Thank you to Perriphery for the follow!

Savannah White: Hand over some of the popcorn, please! I'm glad you're happy that things are heating up (;

Pineapple3000: Sadly, Erik does tend to mess things up, what with his lack of self-esteem. Fingers crossed that things turn out well, then!

Wild Concerto: Bawww, poor Christine! She'll be appearing more and more often in the following chapters, hopefully she doesn't get too much of your hate! Haha. And yes indeed, Amélie does not like that piece for a reason... (;

icanhearthedrums: I agree! I believe there ought to have been at least one person who saw the good in Erik.

Masked Man 2: I do agree with you that it's a bit abrupt! Though I see it as... well kind of that Amélie has always felt something for Erik from the first moment she knew about him... it was something like curiosity and amazement at the start, and then it drifted into something like a comfortable feeling around him, and when she realized that he was her childhood friend that she had loved, something must have clicked. She probably just never realized until recently when Erik started turning up late for all their meetings, and she got a little insecure and started to think about why she was insecure. Gosh, I hope this makes sense to you! Haha. I had a hard time convincing myself that this was the right direction to go with for the story.

Chapter 22: The Music of the Night

Paris, 1895

Amélie swallowed a lump in her throat. "S-seduction?"

The words felt like they were stuck within her throat. "What do you mean?"

He smiled, an almost childish smile, one that lit up his face and made him look more boyish. He seemed to be in a good mood. "Would you like to hear the words?"

Mutely, Amélie nodded slowly. Erik got up almost excitedly – she had never really seen him excited about anything before – and moved back to the organ, where he sat down quickly, as though he was afraid she would change her mind, and placed his hands upon the keys. The opening bars of the first song filtered through the cavern, soft and gentle.

And then Erik began to sing.

In the two years that Amélie had known Erik, the number of times he had sang for her could be counted on her two hands. And every time had been something of a wonder, a magical thing that Amélie cherished greatly. He usually agreed to play a piece on the organ if she pestered him enough, but he rarely agreed to sing. He had declined so many times that Amélie had given up asking altogether. It now came as a pleasant surprise that he had offered to sing to her.

His voice slid over her like butter melting, like the coolest and gentlest of spring breezes, like the soothing calm of a lullaby. Amélie watched him as he sang, immersed in the song, his eyes half closed as his fingers sought out the notes even without the use of his vision, a gentle smile upon his face.

And then he turned his head, and he saw her looking at him. Amélie started to smile, but he suddenly stood from the organ bench, the accompaniment from the instrument cutting off abruptly though his song continued without a break.

He walked slowly over to her, with a grace that reminded her of a great cat, a leopard or jaguar of some sorts, with those piercing green cat eyes. When he reached her, he bent and took her hands in his, guiding her to stand even as he sang.

His hands were warm, and Amélie shivered despite it.

His voice was soft as he sang.

Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world

Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before

And slowly, like before, he lifted one hand, bringing it close to her face.

Let your soul take you where you long to be

His voice was almost inaudible now, the words a fine whisper in the otherwise quiet room, but Amélie heard them clearly. His hand moved closer.

Closer.

Slowly, almost as though he were afraid, he brushed the back of his hand tenderly against her cheek, pausing then for a moment, scarred skin against rosy flesh.

Only then can you belong to me

Even as he sang the last note, he remained frozen in place.

And then, as though he suddenly realized what he was doing, his eyes widened slightly, and he dropped his hand quickly, as though a hot iron had branded him.

They stood there for a moment, staring at each other awkwardly, before Amélie decided to break the silence.

"Well." She said, unable to find any other words. He stepped back and coughed awkwardly. It would have been amusing, since she rarely ever saw him looking awkward, except that Amélie herself was feeling turmoil within. He seemed to be looking anywhere but in her direction, and Amélie felt that it was best for her to change the topic.

"What-what about the other song?" She asked cautiously, before mentally hitting herself in the head. He said both songs were about seduction! What if the second song is similar?

To her great relief – she did not think her confused emotions could take any more surprises – he shook his head.

"The other song will have to wait for another day. It's not ready yet, not even near completion, and I want it to be perfect before I let you hear it."

"Are you composing it for any purpose, Erik? You've never spent so long on a single song before."

"That, my dear," he said, "is a secret. However, it will be a grand masterpiece, my magnum opus."

"I'll look forward to it with bated breath." Amélie promised.

Erik just smiled a mysterious smile that seemed slightly sad despite the upward tilt of his lips. He held out his hand and Amélie took it, and together they walked into the tunnel leading to the chapel.

XXXXX

After Amélie had said goodbye and exited the passageway, Erik had stood alone in the darkness for quite some time, trying to still his thrumming heart. She had smiled sweetly at him as always, and told him that she had loved the song, and reminded him not to be late for their next meeting, before turning to leave.

He missed her already.

He had missed her ever since that day when he had left the Palais Garnier as a young boy in seek of a better future.

Erik had not intended to perform any of his new pieces for her, much less sing for her. The song struck a little too close to his heart, the message behind the song too similar a reflection of his own feelings for him to feel comfortable singing it for her, to her. And yet he had made the hasty decision of singing it. When she had asked him what the songs were about, his heart had jumped, and before he could stop himself, had blurted out the damning words that ensured that he would have to sing for her.

Would you like to hear the words?

He had been holding his breath, almost hoping that she would say no, that she would reject him quickly, so that he would be spared the trial of having to sing it to her without letting too much of his emotions show. But she had nodded, and with that little gesture, Erik's heart had melted away, and he wanted nothing more than to sing for her, to see her brilliant smile of pleasure, to hear her words of praise.

And so he had sung.

He had sung like it would be the last time ever singing for her, had poured every hidden feeling he had ever had for her into the song, even as he tried to stop himself. And at the end, unable to resist, he had lifted a hand to touch that smooth cheek. It had been something he'd never dreamed he would be able to do.

And she had let him.

Beautiful, perfect, lovely, Amélie, had let him do that like he was any normal person.

He had loved her since a long time ago; he could not even remember when he had started loving her. Had it been the first time she had left him those chocolate peppermints as a gift? Had it been the time when he first saw her after returning from Persia, a grown young lady in a room full of small ballet rats, her bronze hair gleaming a straight waterfall, so unlike the bronze curls she had had as a child? Had it been that time, as he observed her through a crack in the wall, telling the ballet rats the story he had told her long ago, her red lips smiling and her dimples showing?

Perhaps it had been even earlier than that. Had it been the first time he had met her while coming out from a passageway, a bored little girl with a head full of tumbling curls? Had it been the way she had introduced herself, then demanded he tell her a story? No. Maybe even earlier—he had probably loved her from the moment she had grasped his finger as a baby and gurgled happily at him, him without his mask. He had probably loved her from that moment.

He loved her now. He loved how she had began a conversation with him through the use of sweets, had used it to bribe him into letting her visit his house. He loved how he had let her do so, knowingly, understanding that by letting her do so, he was throwing his heart into the perilous risk of pain and heartbreak when she left one day. He loved how she had attempted to get into his house a second time, how she had not backed down from his fury at finding her in his lake. The way she had accepted his Russian tea, and now drank it as though it were any normal tea. The way she dumped sugar cubes into her tea to make it bearable for her, despite his disapproval. The way she tucked her feet under her on his divan as she read book after book from his library, as though she owned the place. How she usually fell asleep while reading her book, from fatigue after ballet practice, her head tilted back against the backrest of the divan, her mouth slightly open and her lashes fluttering against her face. How she usually woke with a start when he tapped her gently on the shoulder, then smiled sweetly and sleepily at him. He loved how she never dared to back down from an argument with him, and how she always stared at him imperiously, expecting him to be the one to give in first.

He wanted her in his life forever.

But he could never have her. Why would she even have him? She was a bright young ballerina, and while certainly not the best, would probably have a promising future in the ballet de corps. She would be able to debut in a lead role, perhaps catch the eye of a wealthy patron, and make a good marriage to someone who could provide for a happy family. He clenched his fists at the very thought.

And me? I am but a useless nothing. But self-pity, as Amélie always told him, would get him nowhere. It was a difficult habit to break.

As Erik walked back to the organ, intending to work on his newest songs, he noticed a sheaf of papers on the top of the table next to the organ, hastily arranged in order after filling each manuscript page with notes. He picked up the first page, looking at it silently. The title was scrawled across the top of the page, and his signature, a distinct loopy E, followed the title.

La musique de la nuit.

The music of the night.

The night was a sacred time to him, a time when darkness fell and hid his flaws under a cool cloak of black. It was a time when the world went to sleep, leaving the world empty and quiet, a place he could conquer. It was a time when he reigned supreme. He composed best at night, when the world was quiet.

It was a time when music, and nothing but music, filled his entire soul.

He had composed this song for her, had thought of her as he imagined every note in his head, imagined how each note would link with the next.

She had always been his music. A forbidden, tempting music that he could never have, the scarred and deformed fool that he was. What an idiot he was, to believe that she could ever, ever guess what he felt for her, to hope that she could ever return those feelings.

But she had let him sing the song to her, and she had let him touch her face, and she had not been repulsed.

No! He warned himself. Do not let your hopes up, you fool. You'll only be disappointed in the end.

He growled in frustration, and shoved the papers into a drawer, out of sight. That way, he could forget about his anguish and focus on his magnum opus.

It would be a masterpiece never before seen in the world. He was working on the highlight of the masterpiece, a song like nothing else he had ever composed. It would be passionate, filled with innuendo and longing, a seductive piece that would be sure to draw every emotion out from the audience. He looked at the half-completed piece, the manuscript paper filled with scribbles and cancellations. He had already written the title across the top of the paper, despite not having finished the song. Half the lyrics had already been written below the notes, lyrics composed in moments of sudden inspiration as he scribbled down note after note. The Point of No Return.

He sat down and placed his hands on the organ keys, preparing himself to play it again and continue with the composing of the song. Time was running short, and he had to finish his masterpiece.

For it would be the point of no return.

A/N: Well I hope you guys liked it! As usual, please read/review/follow/fav/let me know what you think! xx hazel