Erik had witnessed a number of celebrations for the date of others birth and never quite cared much for or about them, though it was hard to be certain whether this stemmed from his general disinterest in most people or a deep seated jealousy that they both knew and could celebrate their birthdays. It could easily be a mixture of both knowing him. But he had never before felt this sort of outright irritation and frustration seeing others gather for an, admittedly small, celebration.
It had to be for you though that such emotions could be pulled out. Not since Christine had simply watching someone interact with others elicit such jealousy from him but as he saw the other actors and dancers move about, wishing you a happy birthday, handing you small gifts and flowers and cards and smiling at you, he felt himself twitch with impatience, thinking of how he wished he could just rush down from the rafters to grab you, steal you away into the darkness and keep you all to himself. He had to hold back a growl as he saw one man, one of the many extras, no name, no talent, no use but who had the incredible audacity to actually smile at you, actually touch your hand and damnit if you didn't smile back, even if it was the light professional one that you knew to wear on stage. Not your real one, not that one that could light up a room and made his heart shudder just to think of, so warm, so kind, so his. But still you deigned to give a smile to this cretin who didn't know his left foot from his right and couldn't sing for anything; all of your smiles should be Erik's, he reasoned, he could play melodies that you had told him could bring the stars from the sky and make a soul float beyond heaven itself, and you always seemed happy to smile for him whenever you were alone. Even if it wasn't the smile he loved most from you, every smile should be for him, he hated to see you give one to any singular other person; upon the stage when it was directed at none was acceptable because then it could just be his still, but this wasn't.
He didn't blame you of course though, never you. The man handed you something, some small bouquet of flowers and you deigned to thank him, causing Erik to snort. A pitiful gift, certainly not worth one of your smiles, even a lesser one. His would outshine it entirely he was certain and after realizing you were on the move again he quickly followed from his hiding space within the rafters; he knew where you would be going, of course he knew and of course it would be there. He would need to move fast to get there first.
You somehow managed to sneak away from prying eyes and entered the side room, hidden away from all others, the only privacy easy for you to find. Christine had had a dressing room but you did not as you were still just one of the chorus, though not for lack of wish on Erik's part to make you more. Still having heard the stories of before, of what had happened and how it happened, you managed to convince him that trying to push you onto center stage was not a good idea, not to repeat the mistakes of the past but simply let things be; he agreed only as long as he got to hear you sing for him, as long as he still got to teach you even if you would usually gently admonish him when he got too intense about it. Something in that made him strangely happy, to be treated with both care and sternness by you; you were not afraid of him so much as you kept a cautious attitude towards his moods and would usually try gentle redirection before sometimes having to tell him off more sternly.
As you entered and closed the door you quickly felt your wrist be grabbed by the strangely strong grip of Erik. For a skeleton of a man who lived and thrived in shadows he was strong and such a touch always made you shiver even just a bit; to see it always made Erik smile and it was no different this time. You nearly dropped the flowers, a small defeat in his mind but one he was willing to let slide for now, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. "Erik..."
"Come," he said and realized his tone came out equal parts desperate and short; he chewed his ruined lip and seeing this you placed your other hand over his with that smile, that beautiful warm smile, the one that made his heart flutter.
"Lead the way Erik." Oh how much it pleased him when you said that name. He choose it himself, you knew that in the same way you knew so much more about him; in the darkness of the night, when you'd come to his lair and simply sit with him, he'd tell you stories to fascinate and amaze you, and with rapt attention you'd listen. And eventually those stories had turned to his life almost without him noticing and he had nearly broken down into tears once he did. But you, kind soul as you were to him, you had let him tell you in his own time and told him it wouldn't change a thing. He was still the fascinating and wondrous phantom in the walls, the protector of the opera, the man whose voice and music could bring tears to the eyes of the stoniest of hearts, and forever would he be to you that and so much more. And so he'd told you the truth, of what he had done to Christine, of what he had been, of the blood on his hands and the darkness in his past and heart, and you had listened and you listened and you listened some more. He knew he loved you when you had cried for him in the end and told him you were sorry for the things he had suffered, the pain and the anguish, and that you understood at least a little now of what made him the way he was. He knew but it had already been too late by the time he had started the tales.
Down, down, down into the darkness and the depths of the operahouse and before either of you knew it you were within familiar surroundings, that house of his rebuilt from the disaster before. Candlelight lit the sitting room and you took in a deep breath of the scent of roses and paper; sheets of music all around was scattered and you felt the urge to twirl in the room as you did every time he brought you here.
"Close your eyes." He tried to hide all the emotions he was feelings, tamper them down and focus on now. You obeyed, the amount of trust you having in your dear phantom filling him with utter ecstasy every time and he had to resist the urge to giggle. He did not resist the urge to take the flowers from you and discard them none so gently elsewhere, they were unnecessary and unsuitable to someone like you; you deserved a crown of roses, of the most beautiful flowers and still they would not compare to the beauty of your soul he was certain.
Quickly he moved and tried to bring together all he had done. He had never done this before, not for his only friends the Daroga and Madame Giry and her daughter Meg, nor for the Shah he had once served or the sultana he had tried once to impress. Not even for Christine he had realized at some point, though not for lack of care or wanting to; he had simply not been ready to, too scared and uncertain, too weak to pull together to make such a spectacle. But you wouldn't dismiss his efforts surely, you wouldn't turn to another man despite it or make him think it was too much; rather he almost felt it was too little as he completed his preparations and with shaking voice told you to open your eyes again, wringing talented fingers together and once more chewing his lip as he watched you, waiting, hoping.
You opened your eyes and gasped. A hundred of your favorite flowers, arranged perfectly and making you wonder how he found so many to begin with. Beside them was a dress, beautifully tailored in silk and lace and you knew without trying it on that it would fit you without a doubt.
"I choose the color because I was certain it would match your eyes," he said with all the confidence of a child, his eyes wide as he stared at you, "And I thought this sort of design would accentuate your body all the more, t-tastefully of course my dear songbird."
"Oh Erik," you said hands to your mouth.
"I-I also wrote you a song," he said finding his nerve failing him and his fingers tapped air and each other, a nervous twitch that showed at times, "If I may I would like to-"
He found his words cut off by you moving to throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. It always startled him when you did, though it pleased him to no end nevertheless; the first time you'd willingly kissed him he'd nearly collapsed into tears, begging to know how he deserved such a thing. He still teared up every time it happened and now was no exception, allowing you to wipe away a tear from his eye, gently brushing your fingers over the deformed side of his face as you smiled.
"Sweet man, however could I ever thank you for such a beautiful gift?" His heart swelled and thumped in his chest, "You know I would love to hear you play, I always love it when you play for me but I wish I had a way to repay you for such wonderful things."
"You repay me every day with your smile and your love, my songbird," he said and leaned his face into your hand, appreciated and savored the warmth of your touch, of your love, even while wondering how he still deserved it, "You give me so much and this is but a small repayment on my part for all you do for me."
"Still such hard work on your part, it makes my own gift seem so small." Erik felt confused but you pulled away, leaving him then also feeling saddened by the lack of contact between you. He whined, just a little one, but the usual smile you would give when he did so did not come. You were far too focused on reaching into the small bag you usually kept at your side, in which he knew you often kept all sorts of things as necessary throughout the day.
Tonight you pulled out what seemed to be a long crimson knitted scarf. No not knitted, crocheted, and he recognized it as something he had seen you work on some nights as he had composed at his organ or rested his head in your lap in need of being close to you. The image of you working on it with your nimble fingers, the softness of your voice as you had hummed absentedly, it had been so terribly domestic it left him in awe every time. Now you held it out to him and he could see that initials had been knitted in: ED. Erik Destler, the name he had chosen for himself, the name he had claimed as his and that he loved to hear you say in that melodious voice of yours. His name. It had his name.
"A gift for Erik, on his songbird's birthday?" He could not help but slip into third person, his emotions starting to surge within him again.
You smiled and placed it gently around his neck. "You don't know what yours is and I thought, it would be nicer to share with you than simply have you celebrate me when I can't rightfully do the same for you."
You pulled one end around his neck and he convinced himself that he was wrapped in your scent because you had made it. Surely that was true and even if not, this had still been touched by you, made by you, had to have a little bit of your soul embedded in it. And better yet you made it for him, for Erik, and you wanted to celebrate him, you wanted to share your birthday, your special day, with him!
He immediately started to tear up again and his lip quivered in that sad way it did. "You would share your birthday with Erik, you would want to do that for him? You made him a scarf, just for him, because you...you care..."
"Oh Erik, of course I care," you said and leaned up to kiss his cheeks; there were far too many tears to wipe or kiss away, but you couldn't help but think how adorable your phantom was when he was like this.
You knew how to make the dam of emotions break and you knew exactly what to make him completely break down for you. "I know you likely have never heard this but I just wanted to say: I'm glad you were born, I'm glad you lived this long so we could meet but most of all that you came into this world so I could love you. Happy birthday Erik."
And oh how that dam broke but to you there was no better gift than to know you had made the phantom, no, the man you loved so dearly so happy in kind. He was taller and stronger than you but you held him as he cried and thanked you for something so simple as a scarf and some words, nowhere near as grand as what he had made for you for your birthday. But you supposed this would have to be enough; you'd just need to plan better and more for next year.
"Happy birthday songbird, Erik is happy you were born as well, Erik is so very thankful that you were born and able to be here and with him and love him even despite his mistakes and his flaws and his deformities." His words were delivered quickly and frantically but you knew they carried every bit of his truth.
And that, in your mind, was the best gift of all: knowing you were loved and could be here to love such an adorable and emotional man.