He'd just put the last torch into place, just a little ways down the hall from the entryway he'd built, when he heard the door open from behind him. He spun around to see Lawliet with Near at his side; the teacher had Near's left hand in his own, his right arm wrapped around the pale boy and drawing him close to his side. As requested, Near had already changed out of the uncomfortable costume dress and into his normal pajamas. His socked feet were silent against the cold stone, contrasting just a bit with the soft sound of Lawliet's bare skin as they walked together. The rancorous sound of the theater celebrating an opening night well done was almost headache inducing, though the noise was muffled drastically as Lawliet shut the door behind them.
"What am I doing here, L?" Near's voice was quiet and subdued; not from uncertainty or fear, but more to try and preserve it as much as he could considering how much he'd used ittonight. From behind the mirror door, the Phantom felt proud once again to see his lessons being taken seriously.
"This is a big night for you." Lawliet replied easily. "I thought perhaps, considering your personality, the attention it would draw would be too much for you. I know the others wanted to celebrate with you, but you're not the type to party the way the rest of the opera population does." He steered Near into a chair and allowed the boy to drop gracefully into it. When he did, Lawliet went around the desk and sat down as well. They made quite a sight to the Phantom, who smiled fondly at the image they presented: both in chairs, with their knees drawn up to their chests and hands resting on the top. The only difference was that Near had only one knee pulled up, while Lawliet balanced precariously on his toes.
"I am proud of my accomplishmentstonight." Near said finally. His fingers, rather than being in his hair, were picking at something in his lap that was hidden from sight by his knee. "And I am pleased that our opening night was perfect. Perhaps- - -"
What he'd been about to say was cut off by a knock at the door. Lawliet tiled his head, dark eyes flickering to the door uncertainly. Near's entire head turned, tilting down just a bit in curiosity. Slowly, the Phantom watched as Lawliet stood and landed softly on the floor; his hands at his sides, the ballet teacher strode to the door and, after only a split second hesitation, pulled it open.
The Vicomte was standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hands and an embarrassed flush on his face. He was dressed more finelytonightthan he had been when he was introduce, and it made him look younger than he had the few weeks beforehand. His hair was shadowed by the light, and at this distance the Phantom could see that it was cut into the same length his own was. His eyes were eager and alight, jumping from Lawliet in front of him to Near seated in the room.
"Ah, Vicomte." Lawliet drawled. "How unsurprising to see you at our opening. Did you enjoy the performance?"
"I did." He said breathlessly. The Phantom watched with slight distaste as his hands tightened around the bouquet. Near didn't move; not only had he learned his lesson with the last time he'd tried to get this man's attention, but the Phantom had had words with him as well. Near was in training, not only with Lawliet as a danseur, but with him as well. He had no time for frivolous romances at the moment, not with Vicomtes or anything of the sort. Near had agreed instantly with no disagreement, and they hadn't spoken of it again.
Now Near sat hunched over in Lawliet's office, watching the man with disinterest as the new patron beamed.
"Did you have a reason for coming here, sir?" Lawliet asked, effectively drawing the man's attention back to him. The Vicomte straightened just a bit, trying to make himself look less like an overeager puppy. In the Phantom's opinion, it worked only slightly.
"I've come to see Nathan, of course." His voice was slightly subdued in the face of what the Phantom could only assume was Lawliet's blank stare. "To congratulate him on a show well done."
"There he sits." Lawliet informed him a bit shortly. "Say your piece and then continue on. I'm sure there are many others the Vicomte would need to see, and many who would want to see him as well. It wouldn't do to have rumors flying around so soon after he'd agreed to be our Opera House's new patron, wouldn't you say?" The Vicomte straightened a bit as well, his smile dimming further.
"I would speak to him in private." He admitted. "Rumors have no real lasting damage. This is important."
"Don't do it." The Phantom murmured, pressing his fingertips against the double sided glass. His voice was quiet, faint, but Near's head snapped to the side instantly. He straightened now, slowly placing his foot on the floor and turning to look at the mirror. The Phantom saw, as he turned, red and green against the white; Lawliet had given Near his roses. The deep red one was nestled firmly in his white curls, the pure white one was the thing he'd been playing with while talking to Lawliet. Warmth flooded his body, seeing Near accept the roses he'd been left from him.
The door slammed shut, breaking the trance they seemed to have found themselves in. Near turned to the door again, the Phantom doing the same, to find Lawliet gone and the Vicomte striding over. His wide grin was back, and he dropped to his knees when he reached Near.
"Hello, little Snow." He said quietly. Near reached out with slightly trembling fingers, his eyes darting every now and then to the mirror. The Vicomte didn't notice, taking the proffered hand with the his own, the one not holding the bouquet. "I had wondered where you'd run off to. Is this where you've been the whole time?"
"You haven't been looking hard." Near responded. The Phantom felt something cold slide down his stomach when Near didn't take his hand back instantly; the Vicomte had begun running his fingers over the knuckles, barely paying the movement any kind of attention. "I'd sent letters, you know. They always came back. Unopened, unread. I figured that once I was out of sight, you grew tired of me."
"I know, and I'm sorry." He sighed heavily, and the Phantom felt the leather of his gloves squeak as he clenched his fists. He didn't dare make a sound as the Vicomte spoke of his parents, didn't dare try to even listen as they began recounting childhood stories together. All he could do was focus on the boy's hand on Near's, the subtle ways Near was softening around him. It would figure, he mused darkly, that just as he decided to finally show himself to his protégée, something would come along to ruin it.
"No, I can't." Near's voice was monotone and firm, unyielding in his conviction. It was his certainty in his denial that brought the Phantom to focus on the happenings unfolding in front of him.
"Come on, Nathan, one night off surely couldn't hurt!" The Vicomte was laughing, drawing Near to his feet and spinning him around as best as he could in Lawliet's office. "It wouldn't even be for very long, I swear to it. Come out with me, celebrate! This is your success as much as the Opera's!"
"I cannot, and I will not go with you." Near stopped the madness, pulling away from the Vicomte easily. His eyes darted to the mirror, watching his own reflection as he put his hand up and began twirling his hair. "My teacher is very strict, and he will not abide foolishness like this. I must keep my concentration if this success is to continue beyondtonight."
"Do not be stubborn, Nathan." The Vicomte said firmly. His smile was still in place; to the Phantom, it looked smarmy and smug, as if the boy was used to getting his way merely because of his title and the amount of money he had. Near's eyes moved slowly from the mirror to meet the Vicomte's as he said, "one night. I'll ready the carriage and we'll be back before you know it." Near's continued protests fell on deaf ears as he strode away, closing the door behind him.
The Phantom watched, trembling with a surprised rage and violence. He'd never felt this fury before, not even earliertonightwhen he realized what an opportunity was lost to him. The situation that had unfolded before him was setting his teeth on edge in an uncomfortable way. Never mind the poor timing the Vicomte had in inviting Near out as he planned to reveal himself. Never mind Near abiding by his rules, set in place so that the boy couldn't get to him. Never mind that he viewed Near as his, his protégée and just his alone.
Near had told him no. Near had refused his advances, had told the boy point blank that he didn't want to go out with him, and the Vicomte had ignored his wishes in favor of his own. Near was staring at the closed door, hair still twirling, as if trying to comprehend what was happening. It took a few precious seconds to register; then he shuffled quietly over to the door, his hand outstretched towards the doorknob.
"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion," the Phantom growled loudly, slamming his hand against the wall. Near jumped, flipping around and staring with wide eyes at the mirror. Fear clouded his eyes, but it didn't seem to be for himself; instead, his gaze shot to the door to Lawliet's office and back again. His dark eyes seemed to read, 'is that wise?', but he was too furious to manage volume control or anything else. His voice was loud and thunderous, surely able to be heard outside the vicinity of the office. "Basking in your glory!"
"You…"
"Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor," he continued onward, throwing his mask off and against the other side of the wall; it clattered loudly but the material held strong and did not break,, "sharing in my triumph!" Near held his hand out placatingly, stepping towards the center of the room. His back straightened of his own volition, and he came to a stop in the center of the room, putting his other hand on the top of the chair. His white rose was threaded through his fingers; he'd not taken the bouquet left by the Vicomte. It lay on the floor, ignored completely by its intended recipient.
"Angel I hear you." He breathed just loud enough to be heard. It calmed him just enough to let him slid to a sitting position, staring dully at the white mask as Near's words registered.. "Speak; I'll listen. Stay by my side, guide me." The Phantom scoffed, not at his words, but at the title he was suddenly given. What was this 'angel' business? In all their time together, Near had only ever referred to him as 'teacher'. As the boy should; he was nothing even close to resembling an angel, and he had never been anything to Near but a teacher first and a close confidant second.
Near seemed to hear his thoughts; a smirk crossed his face, though he bowed his head and bent his left knee in a mockery of a bow when he finished. His hair hid his eyes, but his miniature smirk broadcasted his mischievousness loud and clear. The Phantom had his head pressed against the back of the wall, watching fondly as the young danseur tried to appease his fury. "Angel, my soul was weak; forgive me. Enter at last, Master."
Master. He rolled the title on his tongue, trying it out in the safety of the darkness. Master. Well, it certainly was a lot better than 'Angel'.
He waited a moment before answering; it gave Near time to straighten, begin twirling his hair again, and start looking faintly nervous. As if he thought that his teacher, his unknown friend, would abandon him over a silly thing like the Vicomte being far too persistent in his unwelcomed advances. What a foolish little boy, he thought to himself as he stood silently and retrieved his mask. So intelligent, so gifted, and yet still so young and naïve.
"Flattering child, you shall know me." He cooed softly, fixing the mask to his face and smoothing his hair and his clothes. Near's tense frame relaxed, his dark eyes widening just a bit to show his interest. His own stomach turned into a mess of tangles and knots, but his voice betrayed none of his inner turmoil. He had decided thattonightwould be the night to reveal himself, and so reveal himself he shall. "See why in shadows I hide. Look at your face in the mirror; I am there inside!"
Near's breath seemed to have caught in his chest; his eyes as wide as they've ever been, he stepped forward in careful and measured steps. The Phantom lost himself in those dark eyes, pressing the lever just beside the mirror to lower the two way glass. Their eyes met, for the first time according to the pale boy in motion. Near stopped halfway to the mirror, his breath coming in stutters that were visible even through his oversized pajama shirt. Though his hand was still lost in his hair, it was trembling just the slightest bit.
His mouth was moving, he was saying something, they both were, but it was washed away in static and panic; it was the first time in nearly sixteen years that anyone aside from Lawliet had seen him as completely as this. Shadows and rumors were how he'd been seen by everyone in the Opera House, and it was nerve-wracking to be seen openly. It was with a slight hesitation, only a slight one, that he held his hand out palm up to the boy in white. He felt as though he were trembling as much as Near, but his hand felt steady and sure.
There was a faint knocking in the background of their connection, one that they both ignored as Near stepped ever further towards him. He lifted the trembling hand from his white hair, placing it into the outstretched hand as soon as it was within reach. The Phantom tightened his hand on it; the pressure it put on his was softer than he'd been expecting, and only just a little bit smaller than his own.
He drew Near toward him, letting him step carefully into the tunnel with him. As he pressed the lever again, allowing the mirror to slide back into place, the torches lit up again. Down the hall, as if by magic, they illuminated the path he wanted to take Near. The boy was staring up at him, inky black eyes taking in the sight of the Phantom, his teacher, for the very first time.
He'd only slightly unwillingly adorned his white mask, the porcelain digging into his skin as uncomfortably as he knew it would. Still, it was perfect for making good first impressions, which he'd wanted to do to impress Near. His clothes, while not as expensive or as nice as the Vicomte's, were fitting enough: a dark shirt, soft and cool to the touch, was catered to him and him alone. His pants were the same way, only just the tiniest bit baggy so that he would be able to move freely. He had decided on wearing his heavy cape, and now he was glad for it; Near was shivering just the slightest bit, most likely a combination of nerves and the very real chill that permeated the dark air around them. He swiftly removed his cloak and draped it around Near, wrapping his free arm around the boy's waist for good measure.
As they walked down the hallway, Near didn't take his eyes off of him. His hand was still in the Phantom's, but he seemed to not notice anything around him. He was vaguely aware that he was saying something still, they both were, but the words between them were like ripples in the distance. Lower and lower they went together, down the twisting hallways of the catacombs beneath the opera house. He knew his way around, even mesmerized as he was now; Near would be lost if he tried to navigate his way around, something that pleased him just the slightest bit.
All too soon, they reached the top of the staircase that led to his home. Swiftly, he stepped in front of Near, blocking the boy's view of the living space beneath them. His hands framed the boy's face, tracing soft patterns over the porcelain cheeks that made him flutter his dark eyes closed. He looked almost like a doll that was sleeping, with his ethereal white glow in the low lighting of the torches and his flawless skin.
"I have brought you," he started quietly, "to the seat of sweet music's throne." Near's eyes opened slowly. The dazed look was mostly gone from his eyes, and they focused on him with the boy's normal intelligence. He smiled fondly, one of his gloved hands slipping into the snowy hair. Briefly he lamented his decision to wear gloves; he couldn't feel how soft Near's hair was through the leather. "To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music."
"I…."
"You have come here." He continued, "for one purpose and one alone." His free hand pressed gently against the pale throat; even through his glove, he could feel Near's heart racing. It made his own heart race, and he could barely speak around the lump in his throat. It made his voice deeper and the drop in pitch made Near shiver. "From the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve me, to sing, for my music." He stepped closer, moving just the slightest to the side. Near's eyes followed him for a second, then shot straight to the living space.
He'd moved all the music sheets so that instead of covering all available space, they were littering the piano and its bench. Candles were on the coffee table and the stairs leading down to his space. The door to his bedroom was firmly shut, but the hall leading to the kitchen was also lit up. There was another door that was opened, but a sheer cloth covered the entrance in the illusion of privacy. The candlelight was giving a haunting glow, making his home look much more magical than it normally was. He was quite proud of how he'd managed in so short a time; he'd almost thought he'd miss his chance at having the boy come with him.
"What is this place?" Near breathed into the air. He wasn't cold anymore, but he didn't move to take the Phantom's cloak off. His eyes roamed the exposed space before turning up to the Phantom's face again. Uncharacteristically, a sort of wonder and awe filled his face, and he blinked rapidly.
Instead of answering, the Phantom took Near's face in his hands again.
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation." The Phantom trailed his finger's over Near's face, the boy's eyes trained on him with intensity. His breath nearly caught as his voice dropped just a bit, "helpless to resist the notes I write, for I compose the music of the night." Near's mouth silently repeated his own words, committing them to memory as if they were something he would be tested on later. His heart fluttered again, and he took Near's hand in his own. Placing it on the crook of his elbow, the Phantom began leading Near down the stairs to his house.
"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor." Near's grip was a firm pressure on his elbow, their pace slow as the boy shuffled his way down the cold stairs. His gaze was locked on Near, who'd looked away to examine the room below again. "Hearing is believing, music is deceiving- - -hard as lightening, but soft as candlelight. Dare you trust the music of the night?" His eyes snapped back to his, black fathomless eyes boring right into the Phantom's. There was a silent answer in those eyes, one that the Phantom couldn't understand despite knowing the boy as well as he did. A shiver raced down his back, and he reached out with his free hand once they reached the bottom of the stairs.
"Close your eyes, for your eyes will only tell the truth, and the truth isn't what you want to see." His fingers traced the area around Near's eyes, and the boy closed them obediently. He instantly missed the sight of them. "In the dark it is easy to pretend that the truth is what it ought to be."
"And what truth would you have me believe?" Near asked quietly. The Phantom drew away just the slightest bit, enough so that Near would open his eyes and face him. The dark eyes moved to the mask, his hand reaching out to touch it. His fingertips had just barely brushed the surface when the Phantom trapped his hand against it, keeping it in hands were gentle but firm, and Near's eyes locked again on his own. A tiny furrow marred his brow, and the Phantom reached out to brush it away.
"Softly, deftly music shall caress you." He told him instead, drawing Near to the center of the room. Near's attention was taken from him then, to explore the surroundings of his new location. His fingers of his free hand, still clutching the rose tightly as if afraid to let it go, were trailing now over the sofa in the room, his eyes taking in the decorations of the walls and the instruments lining the stone. "Let your fantasies unwind in this darkness which you know you cannot fight."
"The darkness of the music of the night." He murmured in response, startling the Phantom. Was he accepting him? Excitement rushed through the elder one, who swooped down and lifted Near easily in his arms. He didn't even give Near a chance to cry out in shock, taking a hold of his hand and leading the boy through a vigorous waltz that swept the paler boy off of his feet. They danced around the clutter that still littered his living spaces; even when it was moved around and in a new spot, the Phantom knew well enough how to move in his own home that they never stumbled, not once.
"Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the life you knew before!" He said eagerly, still spinning the boy around. His pace was slowing, though, so that Near was able to keep up with him. He had eyes for nothing but Near, who was gazing back with equal intensity. Slowing, slowing still more until they were just barely spinning, the Phantom leaned down and pressed his forehead against Near's as best as he could; he was careful to not out too much pressure on Near on the chance that the mask's edge would make him uncomfortable. "Close your eyes and let music set you free." His voice dropped to a whisper, longing and hope and adoration filling the space between them. "Only then can you belong to me…"
Near drew away at that, uncertainty in his posture now. His gaze darted to the side of the room, where the stairs were, and the Phantom could see him calculating the distance between where he was now and the safety of Lawliet's office. Cursing himself just a bit at the unintended pressure he'd put on Near, the Phantom strove to make it better. He brought Near to him again, pressing the boy to his front and holding him gently.
"Touch me, trust me." Near softened just a bit as they continued their movements, still spinning through the living area and approaching both the hall to the kitchen and the cloth covered doorway. The Phantom caught sight of something white out of the corner of his eye; thinking it was Near's hair, he buried his nose in the soft strands. "Let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write."
"The power of the music…" Near's voice trailed off at the same time his body stiffened completely. The Phantom pulled away from him, Near not moving. Confused, the Phantom followed his gaze to the wall where he was staring and understood immediately; he cursed himself again and again when he realized they'd gotten too close to the hallway to the kitchen area, which also housed another room easily seen into. There were candles still lit, and the door was wide open, and there were drawings, many many many drawings, of nothing but Near. The boy trembled a bit at seeing so many copies of himself, all staring, all in various poses of his life around the opera house.
Near took an unsteady step back, slipped, and fell. The Phantom caught him on reflex before he hit the ground, but the damage had been done. Between the performance, the Vicomte, and his teacher, the drawings had been too much for him. Lowering them both to the floor, the Phantom held Near close to him and sighed. He was warm in his arms, warm and comforting and very much there with him.
"You alone can make my song take flight." He cooed quietly against Near's white curls. His hands were trembling as he took off one of his gloves; with just the slightest hesitation, he ran his now freed hand through the soft white hair on Near's head. His hair was just as soft as the Phantom had imagined. "Help me make the music of the night…"