Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I don't own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.
Summary: ErikRaoul slash. Post-POTO. A bit of R/C (yeah). General discontent runs through the characters as they are forced to adjust their views of happily ever after. I guess a bit of E/C as well (but that's usually unavoidable)
Warning(s): slash (that's homosexual content for those of you who don't know)
Pairing(s): ErikRaoul
Story note: It's a bit longer than normal. Can I use that as an excuse as to why it's late?
A/N: Raoul's extremely annoying in this one because he loves Christine entirely too much. Erik's kind of annoying too.
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Reluctantly Willing
Chapter 13 - … to accept
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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt
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To find the Vicomte, all Erik really had to do was stop ignoring that trail of sorrow. He already knew where the boy would be though, considering how quickly he'd run from the house. Erik had unsettled him, and whenever the blonde was confronted with a problem of sorts, he went to the same place. So predictable.
Erik had heard him wake up, not that he'd intentionally been outside Christine's room. He'd simply been taking his morning walk, and if that so happened to also lead him down the stairs only to backtrack and go back up the stairs at just the right time to pass the blonde, then he really couldn't be held accountable for disturbing him in the first place.
He could admit that he had been searching the blonde's gaze though. He'd been looking for any sign that the Vicomte was getting better, that he was finally moving on from Christine. What he'd seen in his eyes though had been something else. That sorrow was still there, so plainly written in the defeated slump of his shoulders and the constant sighing. Obviously, the blonde had yet to move on from Christine. That was why he was leaving the house into the bright sunlight that hurt his eyes in the first place to search for him, but there had been something like relief that Erik had seen in the Vicomte's eyes. Relief?
Always with the blonde, Erik never knew what to expect. First kindness and now relief. The only looks of relief Erik had ever received were when people thought he had finally left. He'd even purposely shown his deformity to him, but that look of relief had been replaced by, Erik could almost say, familiarity. He'd seen that reaction for just the barest of moments, but it had been there. That was stupid; of course he was familiar, he had been in the house for more than a week.
The Vicomte hadn't even asked why he was still there even though the question was obvious in his eyes. After all the mourning he'd seen the boy doing, Erik could no longer assume that he hadn't seen Christine leaving. Neither of them expected her to return. While Erik was biding his time, the blonde was mourning. It was the only explanation that made sense. Once again instead of gloating about it, the Vicomte was simply allowing him to stay. Erik didn't know what the blonde was thinking or what he was trying to accomplish.
He slowed as he approached the particular garden that the Vicomte seemed to have an affinity for. He didn't want to alert the boy of his presence prematurely and to be able to do so, he'd have to be extremely silent.
o.o.o
Raoul stared at the rose in his hand before closing his eyes. He couldn't understand what was wrong with him. The ghost hadn't even done anything; he'd simply been looking at him. Something definitely felt different about that particular glare though. It hadn't even been a glare; perhaps that's why it felt different. All the ghost ever really did when he saw him was glare at him. It started when he had been recuperating and it continued to even now. Raoul couldn't really imagine why since the ghost was now healthy. Glaring seemed rather passive – he'd never thought of the ghost as passive. If the man really hated him, then he should leave his home or kill him. Neither had happened and Raoul always attributed that to the fact that the man still probably wanted information on Christine.
Christine. Raoul frowned at the mere thought of her. She was gone. God only knew where she was right now, what she was doing. He tried to stop himself about wondering about those specific details though. Thankfully, it wasn't very difficult. He'd gotten so used to ignoring her presence from his home, from wondering what she was doing every second of the day that maybe it had ultimately been a blessing that Christine had lived with him for so long and had avoided him. It prepared him for this moment.
Raoul squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the scream that was building within him.
It hurt so much. He apparently wasn't as good as he'd initially thought. He didn't like thinking of her being happy with someone else, somewhere else, having forgotten about him completely already. No. He didn't want her to be happy without him, and unfortunately, those thoughts never failed to arise at random moments of the day when he thought that maybe he was moving on.
Christine had been wonderful though. He couldn't help but think of the time they had spent together. She'd been beautiful and talented as both a singer and a dancer. Her eyes lit up the room. Her smile made everything look brighter. Her laughter filled him with joy, and her kiss… her kiss made his heart leap. God, they were all there in his memory so readily available to be pulled to the forefront of his thoughts that he could almost believe he was going insane from trying to suppress them.
He knew moving on was possible though. It had to be possible. He'd been too angry with her, too bitter by their interactions with each other that though the good memories were there, they could be tempered by thinking of their last few weeks together. They could be tempered by the fact that they had lived together for so long before she thought to tell him that she wanted to break their engagement. He could remind himself of how she would avoid his touch, of how she avoided him in general. He could remember how happy she had looked to be leaving him and how her mood always darkened when she saw him. He could remember that she had denied both him and the ghost.
In the end though, it was as difficult for him to hate her as it was to love her. So at turns, he would go from one to the other, never able to remain one. It was confusing and tiring, and all it made him do was want to erase her from his memory completely. He didn't want to think of her, but he didn't even know where to start to move on. How could he let her go? He'd thought of their entire future together. He really had.
Life had moved on without him though. Christine was gone. Maybe if he said it enough, he'd be able to simply accept it as fact. The ghost would probably leave as well.
Raoul sighed.
Even though the ghost confused him, his presence didn't hurt as much as Raoul had thought it would. The man had somehow done the impossible. He no longer reminded Raoul of Christine. When Raoul thought of the ghost, he thought of that steady presence on his back as he carried him through the dark Paris streets. He thought of the warmth under his fingers as he touched the man's deformity, remembering how his fingers tingled and how he'd finally been able to clear his thoughts for even just a moment as he explored the ghost's face. He thought of the care he'd given, the times he'd spoken to his unconscious form, the relief of being able to speak to someone, the comfort of hearing someone else's breathing. He thought of those eyes that followed him.
It was odd how the ghost was the first thing he'd been able to erase the image of Christine from. He didn't want to think how that was even possible when his presence could only still be explained by her.
Now, he'd have to learn how to erase Christine from his very home. This garden was a good start. She had nothing to do with this place, his den, or his bedroom. He scoffed at the thought. Of course she had nothing to do with his bedroom.
For some reason, he couldn't help but realize that the ghost was connected to his bedroom though. He shook his head at the thought.
He'd be alone soon enough and then he would be able to figure it all out. Leaving still sounded like a very good idea, but he didn't want to run from his past. That was a last resort, one that he'd rather not have to reach because he could be strong enough to survive by himself. It wouldn't be so bad; at least, that's what he tried to convince himself of.
Sighing once more, he ignored the pain in his chest and forced himself to hope that Christine was happy wherever she was. He hoped that everything she'd done had been worth it.
o.o.o
When Erik got closer to the garden, he wondered if he'd been incorrect about where he'd be able to find the Vicomte. Maybe he didn't know him as well as he thought he did. However, walking past hedges, he caught sight of a familiar foot. He moved so that he'd have a better sight of the Vicomte. About to call out, he found that he didn't want him to know he was there just yet.
The blonde was lying on the floor and though Erik hadn't realized it earlier in the hallway, he noticed that the boy was still in his sleeping clothes, loose trousers and a button down long sleeved shirt. He wasn't even wearing shoes. Somehow, it didn't seem incongruous with his new image of the Vicomte, the one that was always frowning and sighing. Erik could easily imagine the blonde walking through his estate barefoot and running through the yard. He could imagine him laughing as he stood beneath the sun, the one that was currently catching the golden strands that had fanned around his head. One leg was sprawled out and the other was bent, foot planted firmly in the ground. One hand held a rose outstretched to the side while the other arm was flung across his eyes.
For long moments, Erik couldn't speak. He didn't even notice how much the sun was bothering him. He could only stare at the Vicomte before he realized this was what he looked like unguarded. As much as Erik knew the boy didn't hide things from him, he was always guarded. That unconcern he seemed to exude when Erik stared at him was so obviously an act now. His breathing pattern was completely different and his muscles were relaxed. The Vicomte looked young. He looked like the vibrant patron that had first come to the opera house, the one that had driven his own carriage while standing up. Erik's eyes strayed to the tan skin of his jaw. He watched the boy's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed; he watched the move of smooth skin.
This was a boy. He wasn't as young as he appeared though. Erik knew that well enough. This image belied the age the Vicomte carried around with him now. The age showed in his eyes, in the actual fatigue that clung to him, and especially that misery that refused to release him from its hold. Erik was almost tempted to do something to change that though. It was… disappointing to see him in this way. Disappointing – for some reason, that word didn't seem to be the one that had first come to mind, but he refused to think of the word that really embodied what he felt about the boy's situation.
He remembered his main focus for going outside. He wasn't here to answer that call of help that the Vicomte seemed to exude. No, he was here to help his own cause. He was there to tell the blonde to move on already. He didn't care if the boy were miserable doing so. All that mattered was the fact that he had to stop loving Christine and under no circumstance chase after her.
Erik cleared his throat loudly.
Raoul froze, holding his breath. He'd been so lost in thought that he hadn't heard anyone approach. Either that or the ghost had managed to sneak up on him.
Erik could tell that the blonde had held his breath when his chest no longer rose or fell. He arched an eyebrow but quickly hid his reaction as the Vicomte lowered his arm from his eyes to peer at him from beneath long lashes. Erik looked away, banishing that thought by looking to see if anyone else were around. They were alone.
Startled at the sight of the ghost, Raoul scrambled to his feet. He looked between himself and the ghost and couldn't help but blush. He definitely should have changed before going outside. Then again, he hadn't expected to go outside. He'd just wanted breakfast before the ghost had passed him.
Self-consciously patting some grass off his pants, Raoul inclined his head as greeting, "Monsieur Ghost."
Erik kept his voice even. "Vicomte."
Raoul tried to keep himself from sighing. He had known that this day was going to arrive; today was just as good as any other. It must've been what he thought he'd seen in the ghost's eyes earlier. "So, you're leaving?"
Erik looked at him in confusion. The Vicomte wasn't looking at him though; he was looking down at his feet. Erik followed his gaze and looked at the grass that stuck out from between his toes and couldn't help but think how young he looked again. He looked up and saw a blade of grass in his blonde hair; he was forced to stifle the urge to reach out and take it out, all the while wondering why he was so amused by the sight. He had to stifle a grin. The night that Christine had left, the boy had had a branch caught in his hair, too.
"I'm not leaving," Erik stated certainly, and the second those words left his mouth that feeling of warmth that he'd felt when he'd first woken up in the Vicomte's den settled in his chest again. He meant the words, and when the Vicomte looked up with wide blue eyes, Erik didn't bother to look away. He didn't bother to fight against warmth this time, nor did he question it.
"Oh," Raoul replied, confused as to why the ghost had left the house then. He stopped thinking when their eyes met and suddenly, he couldn't breathe again. In mere seconds, his mind flashed to the bottom of the stairs earlier that day, to the den earlier that week, then directly into the bedroom where he'd found himself unaccountably embarrassed. He felt his cheeks redden before he looked away, briefly wondering if he could outrun the ghost.
What was wrong with him? The man had obviously only meant that he wasn't leaving the house yet. It had felt all too much like a confession of some sort, and Raoul was ashamed to admit that his heart might have actually skipped a beat and he might have been more than willing to accept. The ghost couldn't have meant it the way Raoul had accidentally misconstrued that sentence to be. He swallowed through the lump in his throat and waited for the ghost to continue. The man always made him feel the most confusing emotions that he never responded well to.
Erik watched the blonde's reaction. He could see the faint red that coloured his cheeks and the downturned eyes. Immediately, he knew the boy wanted to run, and Erik mentally recoiled. He wasn't here for any other reason than to go one step forward in his plan to get Christine. He shook his head in disbelief with himself. He only momentarily allowed himself to feel bereft when the warmth left him. All that was left was the heat of the sun and the desire to go back inside the house.
"Forget about Christine," he ordered when he finally found his voice again.
Raoul winced at the command, taking a step backwards. He'd been trying to do just that. It wasn't that easy though. His voice was subdued when he answered, "I will."
Erik narrowed his eyes at the boy. This was exactly the attitude that annoyed him. All the boy did was be depressed. Erik would have said all he did was complain, but the blonde kept his misery to himself, kept it within himself. What happened to the person who had fought him in the cemetery? Had he died when Christine left? "I mean it," Erik said, annoyed. The boy wasn't some sort of martyr; he was just stupid, clinging to memories and to something Christine could never be for him. "You aren't what she wants. Aren't what she needs. You aren't strong enough." He began to approach him. The Vicomte wasn't even looking at him. "She's so much better than what you are. You aren't good enough, aren't man enough to keep her with you." Erik wasn't sure who he was angry with now; the words rang too true as he said them. He grabbed the front of the boy's shirt with both hands and yanked him practically off his feet. His face was mere centimeters away as he ground out, "You will never have her."
Erik held him for a few seconds, but the blonde wasn't even fighting back. He wasn't even resisting. The Vicomte's head was turned to the side and his eyes were closed. Erik pushed him away in disgust.
Raoul fell to the floor and just laid there. He knew he could've fought back. Fighting the ghost would probably have felt good too, to relieve some tension. He probably should have simply on principle, but he hadn't seen the point. The man was right. Raoul wasn't good enough. Christine was so much more than he deserved and he should've realized it before all the time that had passed, before he had ruined all their lives. Now, he had to go through all the effort of forgetting about her.
Staring at the blue sky, Raoul simply laid there, hurting. Christine was gone. He scoffed. She had never been with him to begin with. She might have pretended for a bit, might've believed her own lie, but she had never belonged with him. And the ghost. The ghost so obviously hated him, and Raoul didn't even know why that didn't settle well with him. It probably had to do something with the fact that he'd felt happy when he thought the ghost had confessed to him.
Raoul actually truly hated himself at the moment, for the fact that he wanted to be needed, to be loved. It wasn't even just a matter of want though. He needed it. He needed to take care of someone and protect them. He needed to have someone by his side that he could love. Of all the faults to have, he thought that his desire to have some sort of connection with people would have been some sort of blessing. Now, he felt more isolated than ever.
Maybe the ghost would leave finally or maybe he'd finally do what he'd always wanted, kill him. Closing his eyes, he simply waited. It was too much effort to do anything else.
Erik stared at the boy and wanted to yell every profanity he'd ever heard in his life. By now, it was obvious who he was the most angry with, himself. He didn't know what had possessed him to grab the blonde. He'd been furious just seconds ago and now, looking at the boy lying on the grass again, he couldn't help but think he'd just done something completely idiotic. The image was all wrong. The boy wasn't supposed to look that defeated. He wasn't Christine.
"Get up," Erik ordered, softly.
Raoul didn't move, didn't hear the order. His mind was still racing, lost in his own misery.
"Damnit," Erik grabbed his shirt again and yanked him to his feet, "I said get up."
Raoul's eyes flew open at the sudden change of position. The blood rushed to his head and he stumbled on his feet. The ghost had yet to release him though, so he managed to stay upright. On instinct though, he reached up and held onto the hand that was grabbing his shirt as he closed his eyes and tried to reorient himself.
Erik stared at the warm hands that held his own hand and attributed his racing heart to the strenuous act of having lifted the boy to his feet. He didn't let go of his shirt nor did he shrug off the blonde's hands. No, Erik just refocused his attention, almost hoping that the boy wouldn't let go. He couldn't think as clearly as before and now, he didn't exactly know what he was planning. This was not part of the plan, but he did know he wasn't going to complain. Not able to look the Vicomte in the face, he dragged him back towards the house.
Raoul stumbled at the fast pace and awkward position he was forced to walk in because the ghost refused to let go of his shirt. He held onto the man's hand to make sure his shirt didn't break.
"Where," he tried to catch his breath. The ghost was surprisingly fast, "are we going?"
Erik answered easily, "To the room where you're sleeping."
"What?" Raoul finally struggled against him.
Erik stopped, surprisingly pleased with himself that the boy was no longer acting so compliant. Ever since Christine's departure, he'd been acting worse than a fop, and honestly, Erik couldn't think of anything worse than a fop.
Raoul stared between the ghost's face and the hand that was still holding onto his shirt. Removing his own hold on the man, Raoul looked at him expectantly. When the ghost only looked back, he finally said, "I'm not going to run away. You don't have to hold me."
Erik paused at the wording, but did as was suggested. The boy had already stopped holding his hand; so, there really was no more reason to holding onto him.
Raoul tried to calm himself down before starting, "Please tell me what we are doing."
The Vicomte's civility grated against Erik's nerves. He knew the boy wasn't always polite and that such a reaction only meant that he was trying to distance himself from their situation. Erik had insulted him, pushed him to the ground, manhandled him, and dragged him across his own yard. He expected something more than just polite.
He answered him bluntly, "You need to stop loving Christine."
And once again, the Vicomte looked away. Erik was beginning to get annoyed. He couldn't explain why he wanted him to be able to meet his eyes when they spoke of her. Perhaps it was simply an indication that the blonde still in fact loved her.
"We're going to remove everything in your house that reminds you of her," Erik added.
Raoul bit his bottom lip and replied, "I don't think that's going to help."
"Sleeping in her room is what doesn't help," he retorted.
"How did you…?" Raoul started before shrugging his shoulders. Of course the ghost would know. He was always walking around the house; it was inevitable for him to realize where he'd been staying. He realized that the ghost only saw him as weak. That much was obvious. The mere idea of the ghost helping him was enough to show how far he had fallen. He was stronger than how he'd been acting lately though. Squaring his shoulders and challenging him with his eyes, Raoul asked, "And you? You're going to help?"
Erik scrutinized him for a moment. He knew this boy, knew him better than he probably would ever want to, but he did. He would follow through with his plan. "I'm not going to leave until I make sure you don't love Christine anymore."
Raoul sighed involuntarily. He quickly covered up his response, saying, "Then, it doesn't look like I have much of a choice."
o.o.o.o
End Chapter 13
Word count: 3,995
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A/N: Don't forget to R/R (Read and Review)!
Chapter review: Aw, Raoul needs to get over Christine. He sort of is starting already, but he keeps taking giant leaps backwards. And Erik… well, Erik recognized him by just seeing his foot. :) That's just too good. I can't stay mad at him.