Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash.

Warning(s): homosexuality (that's what slash is people)

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul

A/N: As promised, second chapter of the week.

Story Note: At least this chapter has other characters besides just Erik and Raoul in it. Plot moves forward!

o.o.o.o

Imaginary Friends

Chapter 14 – Fallout

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Last time: We find out that Carlotta has spread a rumour that it was Raoul who decided to leave the opera house. Erik hears of this and searches for him. Erik and Raoul have a huge argument where mean things were said on both sides. They get into a scuffle and Raoul steals Erik's mask. Erik has murderous thoughts about Raoul. How mean!

o.o.o

As Raoul sat in the carriage on his way home, both his heart and his mind raced just thinking about what had happened. He had been so anxious to leave; he left the opera house before the opera even finished. There went his plan to flaunt his presence to the managers, but it was not like he could have stayed. He tentatively touched his cheek and winced. There was blood in his mouth and on his clothes. It even hurt to stay seated. He could feel every bump on the road since the carriage seemed to violently bounce with every single one.

He tried to console himself with the fact that he was no longer angry. He was tired, sore, and surprised but not angry. That had been diffused the moment his fight with the ghost had ended, the moment he had wrapped his fingers around the porcelain mask and unhesitatingly pulled it off.

He was surprised he had made it out alive. He should have known better than to start an argument with the ghost. He should have known better than to provoke him. It had been his fault since he was the first one to make their argument physical, but Raoul had been mad. He had not been thinking too clearly. Anyway, the ghost was the one who was the first to provoke him verbally. Nothing would have happened if the ghost had left him alone.

Raoul was beginning to regret what had happened. He had taken all his anger out on the ghost just because the man had been convenient. He had called the man a monster. How rude was that? He had heard people who called the ghost a monster often met their fate with the lasso. It was odd to think that the threat of death was not much of a concern for him currently. There was so much happening that the ghost and the threat of death would have to wait in line after all his other problems.

Still, Raoul knew that it had been quite lucky that he had grabbed the ghost's mask when he did or else who knows what would have happened. He turned the mask over in his hands. He had the ghost's mask in his hands. He could not quite believe it. He very well could not return it. Yet it felt wrong in his possession. He should have just dropped it before he left, but the cool porcelain in his hand had somehow kept him grounded. It had kept him from becoming angry again or doing something else that was equally as idiotic as attacking the ghost.

That was it though. It was now settled in that one argument. He would not try to stay at the opera house. Hell, if he could manage, he would never step foot in that building again. He had made enemies with the worst person he could have, the opera ghost. He had wanted to discuss it with Philippe, but now that would simply be an explanation. Philippe was scheduled to come home soon, but by the time he arrived, Raoul was certain he would no longer be the patron. He wished his brother would hurry home already.

He still had business to attend to at the opera house though. He would have to bid farewell to Christine and Meg. He would actually have to apologize to Christine while he was there. Then, he would demand reparations from the managers because his disdain for them had not abated like his anger had. He wanted to get even with them, and the best way he knew he could was through monetary means. The managers cared more about money and prestige than their own lives. Raoul knew at the mere mention of monetary compensation the managers mostly Firmin would have a conniption. It was the least he could do to them after all they had done to him even though he wanted to do more. Doing more however, required him to be present in the opera house. That was one thing he would not do: stay in the opera house longer than necessary.

Now that he could finally think clearly, he knew that the moment the managers said they wanted a new patron, there would be one. There was no way that he could possibly stay as the patron of the opera house. They were the managers. It was technically their opera house – not counting the ghost's ownership of course. There were dozens of the elite who would want to claim supporting the opera house now that it was doing so well. What was one Vicomte compared to that?

He was leaving, and with all the trouble he'd had, he knew he should be happier. He had not thought he would be leaving like this though. He definitely had not thought that he would be saying goodbye to the opera ghost in such a manner. Gaze still on the mask in his hands, at least he had not left empty handed. He tried to smile to himself but it hurt to even try.

He went directly to his room upon arriving home telling his butler to wake him in the morning. He was too tired and sore to do anything else but sleep. He also had to mentally prepare himself. Tomorrow would be the last time that Raoul would willingly step foot in the theatre again. All of his further dealings with the managers would be done by proxy and letters.

Raoul crawled onto his bed and placed the mask underneath his pillow. He did not know why, but he could not stand the thought of it not being in arm's reach. This mask was important. He had not only stolen it, but the sound of the ghost screaming in agony, shock, and anger echoed in his head. He did not want to forget that sound because he did not want to forget how out of control he had been. Raoul was not like that and he never wanted to lose control like that ever again.

o.o.o

Erik did not stay on the balcony long after he watched Raoul leave. His scream would have attracted some attention, and he had no mask to hide behind. He slipped through the doors and into the nearest passageway. He was still on edge until he was deep into the tunnels away from everyone.

This was the longest that he had ever been without his mask. Ever since he first made the mask, he had worn it. He needed the mask. He needed the false comfort it provided. It felt odd to feel the air on his face. It was odd, but it felt good in a way. That consideration however was one of the farthest thoughts in his mind at the moment. Erik was only thinking about how he had arrived to this state. He was thinking about how Raoul had stolen his mask and run away with it.

Unlike Raoul, Erik's anger was not abating. It was slowly building. It was a crescendo whose end was not in sight. Erik stormed through the tunnels locking every entrance and dropping all the walls he could. He arrived home having completely separated himself from the opera house itself. The portcullis dropped with a satisfyingly loud clank and splash.

Erik immediately sat in front of his organ and began to pound on it. And, it was pounding mind you. He was not playing. He was trying to destroy those ivory keys. There was no melody, no rhythm, only a cacophony of sound whose echo seemed to build onto the next discordant note that played and it kept building and building very much like the anger within him.

He quickly grew tired of that quickly and stood up. He paced rapidly.

Raoul had… Erik ran his hands through his hair and realized that in his anger he had not gotten his other mask. He scanned the room, but immediately stopped caring when he did not see the spare mask right away. He had locked every possible entrance to his home anyway. There was no way that anyone would see him like this.

Raoul had called him a monster. A monster! He had even built up to that massive insult. Raoul had disrespected him, lied to him, injured him, and stolen his mask. Then, proceeded to call him a monster.

Erik would not stand for it. He would not allow the Vicomte to do such things. The brat probably thought that since he was leaving, he would be able to do all those things without repercussions. Well, there would be repercussions.

He would kill him the first chance he got. Yes, that would show Raoul how the opera ghost meant everything he said. Raoul was not here right now however, and Erik wanted something to destroy right now. He needed to break something. His hands were twitching for anything. An idea dawned on him. He would destroy everything that reminded him of Raoul in the mean time.

He would first destroy the sitting room. Erik practically ran to said room. He now had purpose. He had something to break. The room had long since been cleaned since their last encounter. The fireplace had been cleaned and fresh tinder and logs been placed in it. Erik grabbed a lit candle and proceeded to start the fire.

He would destroy the painting that had caught Raoul's attention. Raoul had been so entranced by it. He had been in awe that Erik could paint. Erik grabbed the canvas, a painting of the Opera Populaire, and threw it in the fireplace. It felt good to watch it burn. Erik grabbed the next nearest object, which happened to be the seat that Raoul had occupied.

He would destroy the settee that reminded him of Raoul as he wore his clothes. Raoul had looked vulnerable. He had appeared so trusting. That had all been more lies, an act. Erik stared at the fireplace knowing that the settee would not fit in it. Instead, Erik flung the settee at the mantle above the fireplace and watched with pleasure as it splintered into smaller pieces. A few wood chips rebounded and cut his face, but he hardly cared.

He would destroy the divan that Raoul had slept on. The one that Raoul had laid passively on when Erik had kissed him. He had actually been worried about Raoul, honestly worried for him. How blind had he been? Erik flipped over the divan and smiled as it plowed through several easels and paintings.

He would destroy everything. Every canvas was thrown or burned. Every piece of furniture overturned and damaged beyond repair.

His breathing was laboured. His arms actually felt heavy. This was more physical energy than he thought it would take to destroy the room. This mindless destruction was only marginally making him feel better. He looked at the already devastated room and knew that this would not be enough. This room and the objects in it would not be able to calm him down. At least, there were other rooms he could destroy.

He proceeded with all his might to tear everything apart. When he was done, it looked as though vicious winds had torn through the room. It looked as though a battle had been waged and the room had lost.

Erik still needed more. His whole body ached from the fight, and it was making itself known to him. Still, he needed to destroy something else. He needed to tear this festering anger out from his body.

He walked out of the sitting room and considered which room to destroy next. He grabbed a candle and decided to start from the innermost room and work his way out. That way, the music room would be the last to feel his wrath. He walked through the tunnels that would lead him to the deepest room. Erik could no longer remember what it had been originally made for, but he knew he had used it for storage.

He lit a few candles on the fixtures attached to the walls and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The air was thick and musty, and there was dust everywhere. The room was full of paintings that were covered by sheets.

Erik was about to begin the destruction process again when he pulled off the sheet of the nearest painting. He grabbed the canvas even as the dust was polluting the air. When it finally settled, Erik froze.

He stared at the painting. It was a portrait of Raoul as a child. He scoffed but it came out as more of a sob that sounded even desperate to his own ears. He shut his eyes and tried to keep in mind what Raoul had done to him.

Raoul had lied to him.

Erik's eyes opened of their own accord.

Raoul had used him.

It was not as though he needed to open them to see the portrait. It was an image that was with him all the time.

Raoul had unmasked him.

Even with these new thoughts and images of Raoul as the Vicomte, he could not forget the young Raoul who smiled at him so openly.

Raoul had called him a monster.

The younger Raoul had cried for him, apologized to him, and cared for him.

He placed the portrait down almost reverently.

Of all the things to destroy, memories included, he wanted to preserve that one.

Erik moved onto the next portrait thinking he might destroy it instead even though his anger had disappeared. The shock of seeing the portrait had calmed him down considerably.

He pulled off the next sheet and Raoul stared back at him. He quickly moved through the next few and once the dust settled he saw the same thing over and over again. It was Raoul. It was Raoul smiling, laughing. It was Raoul singing, sleeping. Frantically he tore through the room, and though the room was large and filled with so many portraits that there actually was no furniture, he did not see anything but Raoul.

He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor a sheet still in his hand.

They were all of Raoul.

Erik knew he had painted a few portraits when he had first gotten the materials to paint. There had been no subject but Raoul that he had wanted to paint. There had been no one on his mind then. He painted one whenever he felt inspired, but he had never realized it had accumulated to this amount. He knew that there were probably several other rooms similarly filled. Christine had not come into his life until much later. He had not bought the organ until much later. He had not had a reason to play more music.

He sang though. He had sung while he painted, almost as though he were still singing to Raoul. He had been singing him a lullaby with every portrait – singing so that he would not be forgotten. Erik frowned. He had been forgotten though.

Erik screamed as loudly as he could. He screamed until his throat began to hurt. He was certain the rafters shook with the force of his voice. The orchestra members above momentarily lost tempo upon hearing a ghostly moan, but if anyone else noticed, no one said a word.

The thoughts of his past had been… Erik could not believe it, but they had been enough to make him forget every bad thought he ever had of Raoul.

Still, he had reason to be angry. Physically, he was tired, so very tired. He could not stand up if he tried. He was also emotionally spent, but mentally, he wanted to destroy more things. He wanted to break things. Kill things because Raoul was leaving him. He wanted to kill Raoul.

No, he could not do that.

He could not kill Raoul, but he could never forgive him. Perhaps he could forgive him if Raoul did not leave him. He could prevent Raoul from ever leaving him again.

Erik would kidnap Raoul.

o.o.o

Christine woke up and could not shake the unease she immediately felt. She could not place why though.

Last night, the opening performance of Il Muto had been a great success. All the rehearsals had paid off and she knew that she had hit every mark and note perfectly. Perhaps not perfectly, but the crowd had loved her. They had loved the performance.

If last night had been a success, then why did nothing feel right? She dressed up and quickly headed out onto the stage. When she felt this nervous, Christine hated to be alone.

Maybe last night had not been perfect. Raoul had never visited her after the performance like he had promised. She never saw him or his fiancé at all, so she had to assume that Raoul missed the opera. If the rumour that Meg had told her as well as the other ones that had been circulating since last night were true, then Christine could very well understand why Raoul had been absent. He had not wanted to sit with the managers.

That was a slight disturbance, but the event that thoroughly unsettled Christine was the fact that her Angel of Music had never congratulated her. She had called and called to him, but there had been absolutely no response. There had not even been a rose like before in Hannibal. Was he not pleased with her? She had almost cried herself to sleep feeling that she had somehow wronged her angel.

As she reached the stage, she could tell the whole opera house was feeling the same as she did. Everyone was strangely silent which was odd for the day after a performance. Everyone would be talking about their performances and who they had seen in the audience. She knew the situation was bad when even Carlotta was quiet.

Christine suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, as though some bad event was hanging on the horizon and they all knew it. They were all waiting for the guillotine to drop.

Meg abandoned her stretching to greet Christine. She whispered so as not to break the eerie silence that had descended upon the whole building, "The orchestra has been saying that during the performance, they first heard organ music coming from the vents but dismissed it as their imagination. However, a while later sometime during the final act, they heard an inhuman scream, a ghostly moan that sent shivers through the entire orchestra."

Christine could not quite believe it. She had been on stage and she had not heard a thing. "Are you sure, Meg?"

Meg nodded, "Even Msr Reyer admitted to hearing it."

Christine gasped. Msr Reyer had never once given the opera ghost a second mention. He had not wanted to encourage 'such nonsense' in them, but if he admitted it now, then it must have happened.

"Everyone's afraid that the opera ghost was displeased with the performance last night," Meg continued glancing at the other performers.

Christine could at least now understand what that bad event on the horizon was. All operas needed the ghost's approval. She had just assumed since nothing had gone badly during the opera that the ghost had liked it.

"People!"

Everyone started at Firmin's voice as he yelled too loudly. All eyes were immediately on him.

"I am not paying you to stand around and gossip," Firmin continued, his voice still a decibel too loud. He was trying to hide his own unease, but by speaking louder, the shake in his voice became more obvious.

He clapped, "I applaud you for your performance."

The performers were all frowning. It seemed to them that Firmin was intentionally trying to draw the ghost's attention.

Firmin nudged Andre to speak.

"Oh," Andre's voice trembled as well, "yes, you all did well. Let us keep up the good work."

Andre grabbed Firmin's arm discretely and dragged him away. They ran to the safety of their office while the people left on stage were left to look around in fear that the opera ghost had been drawn by the sound.

Christine whispered to Meg, "The managers seem especially nervous."

o.o.o

The managers were indeed nervous. Andre was being particularly fidgety. He had felt the most reluctance in this plan to get rid of the Vicomte. He only felt that bad things could happen by doing so. However, both Firmin and Carlotta had been so confident it would work. They had been so confident that they could do this that Andre had begun to believe it as well.

Now, with the tension in the air, Andre was beginning to have his doubts again. "If you're correct in assuming that the Vicomte is masquerading as the Opera Ghost or has someone who is doing so, are we not in more danger now than before since we have obviously angered him? And if we're wrong, do you not think that the ghost will be angered that the patron who has been doing as he willed is being ousted as patron? It's a lose-lose situation!"

Andre sat down but began to rock in his seat. He could not handle this stress.

"Lower your voice," Firmin chided. "If the Vicomte tries something then we need only get proof that he is behind all of these accidents and then blackmail him to leave quietly and without our money. As for your second theory, I'm certain there is no opera ghost. It's merely a rumour, a superstition."

"Well," Andre remarked, "I'm a superstitious man."

"It's a good thing I'm not," Firmin replied.

"Is this going to work?" Andre asked. He needed some peace of mind. He needed to hear their confidence once more.

Firmin scoffed. He was sitting primly with his back ramrod straight. His anxiety was not shown in motion like Andre; it was shown in stillness. "Of course this is going to work. The Comte de Montmartre wants to be the patron of the Opera Populaire."

"Only because of Carlotta," Andre commented.

"Yes," Firmin conceded, "but Carlotta is not going anywhere."

"Until she throws another fit," Andre frowned. He was not being reassured.

"She will not need to throw a fit once the Vicomte and his opera ghost are gone."

"And Christine," Andre added once more.

"Are you trying to ruin our plans?" Firmin had had enough of Andre's negativity.

"It's true is it not? Christine has brought this opera house fame, and a condition of bringing this new Comte on as patron is to demote Christine. It's not good business." Andre tried to reason.

Firmin shut his eyes and took a calming breath, "Carlotta has connections. Christine is still nothing but a ballet rat. Her voice will bring them for now, but after Il Muto she will no longer be needed."

Andre opened his mouth to remark, but Firmin cut him off, "End of discussion."

o.o.o

Erik woke up with a stiff neck. He had fallen asleep on the unforgiving floor and had used a sheet for a makeshift pillow. His body still felt more sore than yesterday, but he forced himself to stand up. His clothes were in disarray and he was covered almost completely in dust. He tried to brush it off but it was in vain.

He did however sneeze several times, and he realized belatedly that he was not wearing a mask. Erik gingerly stroked his deformed cheek. There were wounds from yesterday's path of destruction as well as bruises from the fight with Raoul before it. He did not worry though. He was still reassured by the fact that he had closed off all the entrances to his home. There would be no unwanted visitors and now that Erik was no longer wearing the mask, he wondered why he had not gone without it more often. It did feel liberating. He was no longer hiding without it. There was no reason to hide from himself.

He looked around and frowned remembering that he had fallen asleep in the room – the shrine would probably be a more accurate description. Erik had not slept so deeply in such a long time. Then again, he usually did not sleep surrounded by paintings upon paintings of Raoul.

Then, the thought that had been the root of all his anger yesterday came to mind.

Raoul was leaving.

He almost could comprehend what that meant now. It meant he was going to have to start his life all over again. He would have had to convince himself to forget about Raoul, to place him in the deepest recesses so that he could function in daily life. It would be a repeat of the past fifteen years. Whatever progress he made with Christine would be gone. Erik scoffed. Whatever progress he had made with Christine was already gone.

Erik did not want to think why but he knew he did not want Raoul to leave. He had been angry and had not been thinking. That was the first time in his life that he'd had an actual argument with someone that did not end in a murder. Erik did not argue. He... Punjab'd. And though they did get a little physical, okay a lot physical if the dried blood on his face and the tenderness of his ribs and face indicated, there was also a lot of yelling.

Erik had not expected that. Thinking back on it, Raoul seemed almost irrationally angry considering Erik was the one being left behind.

He was being left behind again. Again.

He had not meant to think it like that. It made him sound bitter.

What was he thinking? He was bitter. He did not want Raoul to leave.

Though he had been enraged and possibly unreasonable the night before, one thing still held true. He would not be thrown back another fifteen years. He would not let Raoul leave him. The first opportunity he had, he would kidnap Raoul.

Erik left the room and headed to the lake to clean himself up. He needed to look presentable since he would be seeing Raoul again. He felt excitement and anticipation, enough to make him smile.

o.o.o

Wake up, Sunshine!

Raoul pulled the blankets tighter around himself.

Wake up!

Raoul mumbled incoherently before covering his head with the pillow. He heard laughing.

Wake up. You don't think that's actually going to do anything do you?

Raoul finally realized that the all too cheery voice was not from one of his servants. Erik?

There was no response. Raoul wondered if he was still sleeping.

No dream.

Raoul dug himself deeper into the bed but now he was fully awake. Could you try answering when I call you?

And miss the fleeting thoughts of insanity from you? Never!

Raoul ignored that statement. He was going mad. He did not need confirmation but right now, he wanted answers. What happened to you?

The better question would be what happened to you?

I had a bad day yesterday. Raoul summarized.

I know! Erik exclaimed. I help you out and leave you thinking that everything will turn out the way it's supposed to and I come back to this? Two weeks. I left you alone for two weeks. What happened? Lover's spat?

Raoul was confused. He shifted in the bed. There are so many questions from that comment that I don't know where to begin.

Whatever do you mean? Erik asked all too innocently.

Raoul paused and tried to think of the proper way to approach this. He decided upon mild annoyance. Your idea of helping me out was not referring to insulting the opera ghost was it?

Of course it was. Erik replied with no apology.

Why'd you do that! Raoul would have sat up if he had not thought he would have looked silly for doing so.

I, Erik paused, how to explain this? I needed a reaction from you.

A reaction?

Yes, Erik sounded smug, and insulting the ghost was apparently the right way to go about doing it.

Raoul tried to pinpoint why he was truly annoyed with Erik. Is that what you really think of the ghost?

The answer was immediate. Of course not.

Then why! Raoul shot back just as quickly. He was so frustrated. The reaction you wanted. Was it my fainting?

Of course not. Erik actually had the gall to sound wounded at the thought. That was not because of me. I believe the head injury was to blame for that, and maybe stress.

Stress. Raoul scoffed. You're not going to explain it more, are you?

No came the simple response.

O-kay. Raoul did not understand what Erik had been trying to accomplish, but knowing Erik, it would become clearer with time. You left. It was not a question. It was an accusation.

That's not a question.

Thank you for bringing that to my attention. Why'd you come back in the first place?

You had an argument. Erik answered.

No, Raoul interjected, you know what I mean.

Really? That argument seemed like a good reason to me.

Not why did you come back now. Raoul knew Erik was doing this to play with his mind, but he could not help but respond. Why'd you come back at all? It'd been practically a decade since I'd had an imaginary friend. There were the lullabies but never anything more.

You hadn't needed me any more. Erik explained as though it was the most obvious explanation in the world. You had other playmates.

Raoul frowned. He never got along with others very well. He could hold his own, but during the time that Erik had disappeared only served to bring Raoul closer to his brother. He felt it was too difficult to truly open up to anyone else. It was the innate distrust of people he had that had made it difficult.

Either way, Raoul could hear the mirth in Erik's voice, an imaginary friend at your age would mean you're insane or something.

Raoul frowned. Thank you for calling me insane.

Technically, Erik replied, I called you 'or something.'

Raoul ignored him. I need your help?

It really seems that way.

You're not very nice. Raoul replied.

I'm also just a leak from your subconscious mind.

What?

Nothing. Any more questions?

Of course. What did you mean by lover's...?"

The door to his room opened and without looking, he knew it to be his butler. He sighed. "Breakfast?" Raoul asked before he could say anything.

"Yes, Monsieur. You told me to remind you that you need to go to the opera house to apologize to Mlle Daae for missing the show."

Raoul winced. "Thank you."

Raoul did not want to go to the opera house.

You were never this cowardly before. Erik laughed.

Wasn't your taunting the reason we went into the tunnels and the beginning of this downward spiral that is my time as patron of the opera populaire? Or was my time as patron...? You know what I mean.

Erik laughed harder. No, you wanted to go into the tunnels all by yourself. I just tagged along.

Raoul ignored him and went rolled out of bed. He changed his clothes and stretched his sore limbs. He sighed again. He needed all the courage he had to face the opera house. At times, his anger with the managers was dwarfed by the fear of impending doom whenever he thought of the ghost, only sometimes though. He hoped with all his heart that he would not run into the ghost. That was one meeting he did not want to have.

So no argument about the tunnels? Erik goaded.

Raoul snapped. It was your desire to go.

He was about to leave the room when as a second thought, he reached under his pillow and pulled out the ghost's mask. He stared at it for a moment feeling a fleeting emotion.

'Your desire to leave this place.'

What did he mean? Raoul wondered. The empty eyehole stared back at him. A mask to cover a deformity.

Souvenir? Erik asked.

Raoul shrugged, I guess. It's odd holding this.

Weren't you going to ask me something before your butler interrupted?

Hmm? Raoul looked up even though he knew there was no one there. He had been staring at the mask though. I don't quite recall.

Okay. Erik said a little worriedly. Are you okay?

I'm not quite sure. Raoul replied. It just felt like I had remembered something important, but I can't quite reach it. Raoul drifted off. He had felt the oddest sensation looking at the mask. He reached up and touched his forehead. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

Erik replied dubiously. That was two weeks ago.

Raoul nodded before placing the mask in his drawer. Erik?

Erik replied even though he knew that Raoul had not been calling out to him. Breakfast? The pleasure in his voice was ill concealed, but Raoul did not notice it.

There was a delay before Raoul responded. Yes. Maybe I'll be able to think clearer once I eat.

o.o.o.o

End Chapter

Word count: 5,521

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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

It's kind of short, but I'm having a hard time writing right now. Next chapter is Raoul's last day at the opera house. Will Erik take this opportunity to finally kidnap Raoul? Or will the managers' plan beat him to it. See next time!

Chapter review: Ahh… Erik wants to kidnap Raoul and Raoul called out his name. Like literally, his name, not imaginary!Erik.

Thanks to you awesome reviewers!
Kytten – your review made me laugh. It's not that un-sweet. There are flashes every now and then.
xdark.flowerx – writing their argument was interesting for me. I'm glad you thought it turned out well.
trueblood – stupid boys indeed. Erik's stopped running away at least!
Sakurafox666 – make out! Yay! At least there's some action… even if it's in the reviews. :o) They're almost there (and by almost I mean, kind of far).
Akaiba – we all know Raoul likes it rough. (I lol'd in public and got strange looks).
PuppetofDreams – umm… I think it's a 'deep sigh, they finally got together'/'screw you author for having taken so long to get them together, but thank God you finally did'
Sora Kohaku – they weren't really listening to each other. Hopefully Raoul will realize. He realized something here.