He burst out onto the rooftop amongst the snow, his breath coming in great gasps and fogging up the space in front of him. The side of his face covered by his mask was instantly hot, but the uncovered side froze almost too quickly. Numbly, the Phantom
put his hand to his face and pulled it away. His glove came away with a single tear, damp and cold against the material on his fingertips.

He was crying.

Without even stopping or hesitating, the Phantom jumped onto the edge of the roof to hide his footprints; it would do him no good to be caught because he was too distressed to hide where he went. The snow made the stone just that tiniest bit slippery,
but his feet were sure and lead him to where he wanted to go without even a hint that they would falter.

Ducking underneath the statue of a horse galloping, the Phantom used his cloak to hide himself beneath the base by the roof. With one knee to his chest and the other foot dangling off the roof, he felt no more peace outdoors than he did inside. Since
he was seated, he could feel himself trembling a little too violently; he didn't think it was from the cold air at all. He pulled the hood of his cloak up, drawing it more firmly around his shoulders as if it would ward off his shivers.

Down below, he watched without truly seeing as the opera audience filled the streets. They were still screaming, pushing each other out of the way in their haste to get away. Distantly he watched them, feeling disconnected from the entire world.

What were they even panicking about? He wondered as he trembled. They didn't know Light, didn't know anything about him. They didn't care about him at all. What right did they have to be screaming and crying so pathetically? He would bet all the masks
in the world, all the instruments and cloaks, that why would never have stooped themselves so low as to even say hello to Light as they passed him on the street.

A breath tore through his chest when the door burst open again, but he made no effort to move. If Lawliet wanted to talk with him, the ballet teacher would have to come to the Phantom.

He wanted to laugh and sob harder at the same time. Lawliet would not come to him, of this he was certain. The opera would blame the Phantom for Light's death, and whether or not Lawliet believed that was irrelevant. Light had been Lawliet's dearest and
truest friend, the only one the ballet teacher had openly claimed in front of the theater populations. He'd always spoken highly of Light, of his kindness and honesty; the Phantom had always had the feeling that Lawliet's feelings ran deeper than
he claimed, but the man was stubborn and set in his ways. He refused to acknowledge them, or maybe he didn't every fully understand how to, but it made no difference now. With the slip of his fingers, the Phantom had doomed Light to death.

"There is no Phantom of the Opera!" Near's voice broke the silence just seconds later, and the Phantom was glad to not have moved; he didn't think he could face Near now, not crying and with the Vicomte at the danseur's side.

"That is falsehood and you know it!" The Vicomte's voice came immediately after. "There is someone here, I'm sure of it! You spoke of an Angel, the opera speaks of a Ghost. He has sent me a letter, Nathan, telling me to stop coming to see
you after the performances. You can't keep lying to me, Nathan!"

"What do you want me to say?" Near's voice was loud, much louder than he'd ever been before, and the Phantom knew he was angry. There was so much coloring his voice, fury and denial and sorrow, and though he wasn't the focus of that voice, the
Phantom couldn't help but feel it was directed at him.

"The truth is all I ask, Nathan." There was a panting sound; the both of them had been running, it seemed. There was a passing thought, fleeting, than such breathing couldn't be good on Near's throat.

"What would you have me tell you?" Near's voice was no calmer than before, but it was quieter. He seemed to have gotten his breathing under control, though the crunch of snow indicated he was pacing. "Yes, I have been there! To his world
of unending night, to a place where daylight dissolves into darkness."

"His?" The Vicomte questioned.

"Yes," Near said, ignoring the other boy in favor of his rant, "I've seen him! Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape from that face, one so distorted and deformed it was hardly any face in that unending darkness…"

"Oh, Nathan." The Vicomte sighed; there was the sound of him following after the danseur, but Near moved away from him before the Vicomte could get any closer.

"Oh, but his voice…" Near sounded so fond and sad, it nearly broke the Phantom's heart. He pleaded, silently, that the boy would stop talking, but Near didn't seem to hear his silent prayer; he sounded as if he was lost in thought, in memory.
"It filled my spirit with a strange and sweet sound. Those nights, there was music on my mind. And through that music, my soul began to soar- - -" he cut himself off with a gasp, and sounded as though he was withdrawing into himself. "And
I swear, I heard as I never heard before."

"I think," the Vicomte said carefully after a moment of silence, "that what you heard was a dream and nothing more."

"It was not a dream!" Near twisted in the snow, his voice fierce. "It was real, in the best way." His breath shuddered. "And his face, all that sorrows of the world. What kind of life has he lived, I wonder, to warrant such a
face?"

"A question that can be answered with his capture, I'm sure." The Vicomte said decisively. Near didn't say anything, and for what felt like a long moment, there was a tense silence. "You would like to see him caught, Nathan, surely?"

"Caught for what?" Near asked carefully.

"The death he's caused!" The Vicomte exploded. "Your abductions, Nathan, the terror he's put on the opera house!" His footsteps began agitatedly in the snow, as he listed the crimes he thought should be enough to organize a hunt for
the Phantom.

"I think God's Justice is enough." Near's voice stopped him in his tracks, and the boy sounded so sure of himself that it wasn't in either of their place to argue. "I know him, sir, much better than you do. I have known him for years upon
years. This Phantom, this Angel, whichever you prefer, has been my constant companion since my arrival in this theater for seven very long years. I have never known him to be violent. I do not think he purposefully caused the death of Mr. Yagami."

"You were his student, Nathan." The Vicomte snapped impatiently. "He would not raise a hand to you. But you cannot deny that as the Phantom, he has terrorized the opera to drive Whammy into retirement!"

"That was before your time." Near said quietly. "You do not know what the man retired, or under what circumstances."

"And I suppose you do?" The Vicomte sighed heavily. "I have no wish to fight you, Nathan, truly. I only wish you had told me of this man beforehand. We could have done something about him before it got to this."

"What could you have done?" Near's voice was still quiet. "He would have seen you coming for him. He would continue to evade you, even as you look right at his face." He sighed, his mind drifting again. The crunching of the snow started
again as Near paced, going in circles and more circles around the rooftop. "What a lonely life. What sad eyes, those pleading eyes he wears, the ones that both threaten and adore…"

"Nathan." The Vicomte matched his tone to Near's, his voice quiet in a similar matter to the paler boy's. "Nathan…"

"Nathan…" The Phantom tried the name on his tongue again, so quietly he barely heard his own voice. He didn't like it, no more than the first time he'd tried the name and decided it wasn't fit for his protégé.

Near's footsteps stopped instantly, as though he heard the Phantom on the wind. He took a step, the crunch sounding in the snow, before something stopped his movements.

"No more talk of darkness." The Vicomte said quietly. "Forget these wide eyed fears." Near made a soft noise, and the Phantom withdrew even more. The Vicomte sounded so gentle, so sure with Near, a feat he couldn't have managed for
very long with the boy by his side. "I'm here, with you, beside you. To guard you and to guide you."

"Say," Near stopped, unsure, but continued onward, "you'll love me every waking moment. Turn my head with talk of summertime…" He stepped back, just once, and the Phantom turned enough to see what was happening behind him. Near was
standing in front of the Vicomte, staring up at him with wide eyes and dusty pink cheeks. "Say you need me with you, now and always. Promise me that all you say is true…that's all I'll ask of you."

"Let me be your shelter," the Vicomte put his hand on Near's face, and Near leaned into the touch absently. "You're safe, no one will find you."

"All I want is freedom." Near sighed. He leaned forward until his forehead rested against the Vicomte's chest, and the taller man wrapped his arms around Near's shoulder's. The danseur's voice came out muffled, "and you, always beside me,
to hold me and to hide me."

"Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime." He bent slightly, pressing his forehead against Near's gently. "Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you want me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too. That's
all I ask of you."

Near was watching with wide eyes, rapt and attentive. His breath was coming out in fogged gasps, mixing with the Vicomte's as the older man spoke. The Phantom kept his gaze on Near, waiting as the boy deliberated his answer.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…" He said quietly.

"Say the word and I will follow you." The Vicomte smiled almost shyly, but Near didn't smile back. He looked vaguely worried, though the look was going away the longer he spent with the Vicomte. "Share each day with me, each night, each
morning…"

"Say you love me…" Near said gently, his eyes darting once around the rooftop before landing on the Vicomte looking warmly at him. The taller man ran his hand down Near's cheek, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as he did so.

"You know I do." He said, just as gently. Near's body sagged, just a little bit, leaning into the Vicomte as he did so. His head was cushioned on the Vicomte's shoulder, and the taller man wrapped his arms around Near's shoulders again. It muffled
his voice, though the Phantom still heard every word as clearly as if Near was standing by his side.

"Love me," they murmured, "that's all I ask of you."

The Phantom ducked his head, turning around so that he could face the now empty streets around the theater. Coldness seeped through his body, tears were still falling down his face, but the chill and heartbreak that ran through him had nothing to do with
either. For a moment, he contemplated falling, but he instantly decided against it; it would not do for Lawliet to lose both Light and himself in the same night.

"I must go." Near's voice sounded suddenly, breaking the silent spell that had settled on the roof. He sounded almost back to normal, and his footsteps began sounding across the snow back towards the door. "They'll wonder where I am. Come
with me- - -"

"Nathan, I love you." The Vicomte interrupted. Near's footsteps stopped, but it didn't sound like he turned to face the Vicomte again.

"Order your fine horses," he said as a reply, "be with them at the door."

"And soon, you'll be beside me." The Vicomte's footsteps followed Near's, overtook his and opened the door. Near was hesitant for a moment, before following after him. His footsteps were slower than they had been before, his words coming just
a bit slower than they had been.

"You'll guard me and you'll guide me." Near's voice sounded level with the door, and then it was shut qbehind them. The Phantom leaned against the horse, waiting and waiting as if Near would return alone; searching for him, without the Vicomte
at his side.

"I gave you my music." The Phantom breathed slowly, coming to a stand. His legs didn't wobble, his feet didn't slip, though the edge of the rooftop was still covered in snow. His gaze was locked on the ground below, where a carriage was being
slowed to a stop. "Made your song take wing. And look, how you've repaid me. Denied me, and betrayed me."

Near and the Vicomte appeared, both bundled and huddling together as they ran towards the carriage. He felt his anger begin brewing in his heart, contempt breeding hatred for the Vicomte as the man effortlessly lifted Near into the carriage to take him
away.

"He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing, little one." He whispered. The carriage driver waited until the Vicomte had entered and closed the door behind himself; then he urged the horses forward, and the Phantom watched as Near was
taken away from the opera house.

And he was furious, fuming and tipping beyond reason. How dare the Vicomte presume to take what wasn't his, to steal Near away from the Phantom? Why would Near allow himself to be blinded by the boy as he gained attention from the crowds en mass, adoration
coming from all sides as he climbed his way past Misa Amane?

Why would Light let himself fall?

He stormed away from the edge of the rooftop, snarling. The Phantom wanted to see Lawliet, but he was no longer in the mood to comfort or be comforted; he decided against it. He had no desire to alienate Lawliet at this point in time, and so instead he
stalked down to the catacombs that housed him. He would put this anger to use instead, use it to further his own creation.

"You will curse the day you did not do all that I asked of you." He growled.