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OMG!!! IS IT REALLY ME???? UPDATING ON TIME????

anyways, good morning, afternoon, or whatever it is for you! i hope you have a fantastic day. it's really sunny and warm today, so i'm hoping all of you lovely readers have good weather today as well :).

please enjoy!
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The day went by agonizingly slow, and by the time they were released, Meg had never fled from a building as quickly as she did when she saw the familiar white mask. Glancing behind her to make sure no one saw her exit, she bids goodbye to Fleck before running to the other side, stalking into the shadowy alley.

"Erik, there was another -"

"Murder, I know," he finishes, holding up a hand. "Our dear neighbors, the doctors, were the ones that had found the body."

"That's horrible," Meg murmurs, face dropping and wrapping her arms around herself. "Did she have a husband? Children?"

"Yes," he replies, and the blonde sighs, glancing toward the ground. "She's suspected to have been having an affair, and for quite some time now."

Meg quirks an eyebrow, looking up now. "Where'd you find out about that?"

"All you women do is gossip. It simply wasn't all that hard to eavesdrop."

"Ah, yes, one of your many talents," she jokes, shoving his shoulder mockingly. "And rude. You men aren't much better."

He chuckles lowly, his baritone spiraling deep in her stomach as he nudges her to continue down the alley. Despite Meg trying to lighten the mood, the absolute horror of everything happening so fast was beginning to weigh heavily upon her. But she found it was easier to shove it down and let it bother her than to confront it.

"Why are we going this way?" She questions, turning to glance down the alley. His hand sprawls across her lower back, and she warms, remembering the promise she'd made to herself earlier.

"Just a quick thing. We'll be in and out in a snap," he promises, and reluctantly and disappointedly, she agrees.

Ah, well. As long as Maman didn't mind them a few minutes late.

They approach a theater, shaped vastly different from the one in Paris, square and cubical. Erik opens the door for them both, Meg slipping in before him and trailing close behind.

The inside was entirely unique, carpeted steps, velvety curtains, and a rounded common room. The walls and ceiling were gilded, and a large chandelier hung from the center, sloping and arching elegantly. There were also lights, Meg saw, around the room, and she realized quickly that it was electricity.

A man greets them immediately, casting only a brief glance at Erik's mask before holding his hand out. He seemed to be around the same age as Erik, though blonde hair, darker than Meg's, swept over his scalp. His dressing was impeccable, very alike to Erik, down to the italian shoes. The man was handsome, emeralds in his eyes and roses in his cheeks.

"Good evening, Sir," he greets, holding out a hand, and Erik shakes his it, seeming surprised.

"And you must be mademoiselle?" The man turns to her, lifting her palm and kissing the back of it, though it was filthy. Meg giggles and grins, her eyes following his greeting, and she feels Erik stiffen beside her. Quite frankly, she had no idea what he was saying, but the English was simple enough to follow along.

"My wife, Marguerite," Erik introduces her, mildly unimpressed. "She doesn't speak much English, though I wouldn't underestimate her ability to learn."

"Well please tell her that it's lovely to make her acquaintance," he smirks, and Meg blushes, releasing her hand and settling it down by her stomach. How forward and charming these American men were!

"I'd like to have a discussion with you privately and review some of your compositions and ideas. You are here for the ghost-writing position, yes?" He inquires.

"I would be honored. And yes, Mr. Hammerstein," Erik replies, his tone kind and sultry.

"Nonsense! Call me Oscar," he waves off, gesturing down the hallway. Erik offers his arm and Meg rushes up to his side, twining her arm with his. The two men, one whom she heard 'Mr. Hammerstein' and 'Oscar' talked rather quickly and excitedly, and Erik spoke with him with the same fervor in a way that made Meg melt. So rarely was he anything but broody, and she adored this side of him. She found herself reaching up her other arm to affectionately squeeze the space just above his elbow.

Mr. Hammerstein - or Oscar, she'd have to ask Erik later - stops then, and gives something instructional to the masked man and points toward a room.

"What did he say?" Meg asks, and the masked man leads her toward the room, which she found was another lobby, almost a replica, though smaller and comfier.

"We'll be back in a moment. You're welcome to anything in here, except the sour bites, I guess. Set aside some of those chocolate cherries, would you?"

"Erik, they'll melt," she chuckles, letting go of his elbow to stand before him. "Maman is rather spectacular at making them - maybe if you ask nicely, she'll splurge for your birthday," she teases.

"Your mother's are simply divine," he emphasizes, and that statement was a sudden reminder of how much was still unknown when he'd first come to the opera house. His gaze became serious, then. "If anyone tries anything, Meg, or if you even think it's the hooded man, scream as loud as you can."

"Alright," she promises, and as he's leaving, she calls out to him, one last time.

"You're auditioning, right? You're playing the pianoforte for him?" She asks, and he nods, crossing his hands behind him.

"What? Are you going to wish me luck?" He jokes, grinning, and Meg's gaze nearly slips to those curved lips.

"Knock his socks off, Opera Boy," she smiles, and it was intoxication, how the simple encouragement made his shoulders lift, his eyes sparkle, and the grin grew larger. Though she disliked pride, it was a sinful look on his features.

"As if my confidence needs stoking." And though she certainly knew that, it felt good to encourage him, even if he was a musical genius. She winked at him, and was delighted to see the blush on his cheek as he turned, and Oscar laughed aloud at the redness of his skin as they moved along down the hall.

After eating several of the delicious cherries, generously tossed in chocolate, she observes the room, finding a small room tucked in the back. Glancing nervously behind her to check for intruders, she hurries over, wiping her fingers on her dress.

Inside was a pianoforte, folders and sheets of music scattered across the top and piled on the seat. Reaching and grabbing some of the sheets, she recognized several adagios, and she was suddenly reminded of the horrible, horrible adage combinations her and Christine had done growing up. It was a nostalgic pain, but it made her smile sadly at the memories.

Though she certainly didn't have perfect pitch, she sat at the piano, and began humming through the notes, plucking out the vocal melodies before slowly sight-reading through the underlying piano harmonies. It was a beautiful piece, almost like a fairytale, and the blonde fell into the music, loving it immensely. She couldn't read the English, and it was a difficult language to sound out, so she simply opened her vowels and followed along.

So wrapped up in the work, she didn't notice the two men entering, and she certainly didn't notice the heated look from the masked man, trailing over her figure as if transfixed. When she'd finished, the two men clapped and she turned, startled, hands clasping nervously in her lap. A blush spread across her neck, and Erik looked at her the same as he had that morning.

"It truly wasn't anything special. My sight-reading is horrid," she begins, but Erik cuts her off.

"I never knew you could read music," he says hoarsely, and she shrugs, glancing back toward the piece and smiling softly.

"Could you tell him this piece is beautiful? It reminded me of my childhood in Paris. It's almost like a fairytale," she sighs, and after a brief muttering, Hammerstein steps forward.

"He wants you to sing it," Erik says, a strange look gracing his face, something akin to jealousy and pride. "He wants you to perform here, in his theater."

"O-Oh," Meg stutters, looking back. Something wickedly wonderful blooms in her chest, fingers shaking from adrenaline as she gazes at the two men. Oh, how she wanted to say yes! She'd wanted to be Prima Donna more than anything, even though she'd had little to no vocal training, but it had simply not been meant to be. Was this why? Was this what she was meant to do instead?

But Erik had promised her the same thing, to make her the star of his own show. And though Oscar was certainly farther along that he was, she couldn't imagine performing anyone else's works than his.

"I-I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have a commitment elsewhere. I'm flattered though, truly," she replies, spinning around the piano bench.

"He says that a position will always be open for you, and you'd, well, you'd be closer to me, here," Erik says, and though the idea makes her heart soar, especially performing again, dancing again, never working at the factory again, it was nothing compared to thought of opening for Erik.

The man in question comes forward, offering her a hand, and Meg takes it gratefully, and he wraps it around her arm.

"Thank you, Oscar, for the position," he says with a tight grin, though Meg could tell there was something joyful in him in having a creative outlet once more.

They bid each other goodbye, and once they're ushered out the door, the blonde bends over with giggles, wrapping her arms around her abdomen.

"What on earth are you laughing for?" Erik questions, and Meg can barely catch her breath to reply.

"We aren't even married, Erik. There's no reason to be jealous, and he's not the type of man I'd go for anyway," she gets out, wiping the tears that had escaped from her eyes.

Her emotions suddenly shift when he doesn't laugh, doesn't reply, and his face becomes stony. Though his emotions were difficult to sometimes understand, Meg found herself taken aback.

"I honestly thought it was all a show, Erik. I . . I don't know what that was back there, but I'm not actually your wife, Erik. Though, though I would like to talk about this morning, because -"

"It was a mistake," he cuts her off, and it stuns her into silence, all fantasies of kissing him in the moonlight flashing away. "It won't happen again, I assure you."

His words were a burning knife, cutting deeply into her chest. It was then that she knew that if those words could affect her so deeply, there was a forbidden attraction to him. But it mattered not, did it? He was either still stuck on Christine, or there was no such feelings for her.

Meg keeps a distance between them as they wander home, silence separating them even further. It felt like hundreds of years, the way back, and any fear of death was simply erased, a solemn and heavy feeling settling into her. She honestly hadn't a clue how she kept tears at bay, but there was her own anger and own jealousy, and she supposed it had something to do with that.

She cuts in front of him, sprinting up the stairs, and before she can open the plain, white door, his arm comes around, closing it shut, blocking her with his body.

"Leave me be," she demands, wrenching the door handle, but he was stronger and heavier than her. With an angry sigh, she slides her hand away from the knob, crossing her arms and refusing to look at him.

"I feel as if you are mad at me," he announces, and she nearly rolls her eyes. She hated herself for his next words, knowing how much she preached of communication, but she felt hurt, so hurt, and there were no other words to be said. She considered, for a moment, kissing him to stun him into silence. Fleck wanted her to kiss him, then fine. But as she turned toward him, murder and something lustful in her eyes. He was hunched over her, confusion in his eyes - which frustrated her even more - but then narrowed to a glare at her own. No, she wouldn't kiss him. She'd be angry if he did so to her right now.

"Congratulations on the job. You should be very proud of yourself. It is an excellent and esteemed position." Her tone was bare and forced, and with that, he removed his arm, and she quickly hurried inside.

That night, there was only silence between them, and Madame Giry knew better than to ask. Her daughter seemed devastated and angry, and Erik seemed the same, though perhaps more confused. Her heart hammered at the thought of Meg romantically involving herself with Erik, though she told herself it wasn't the case.

When Meg lays down, she feels the tears she'd pushed away earlier rise, and she pulls the blankets over her head. Tears stream down her face as she covers her mouth with her hand, though she remained silent.

Early in the morning, when Erik wakes, he is nearly disappointed to find that Meg wasn't curled beside him, warmth pressing against his leg. When he cautiously looks up to find her sleeping figure, his heart skips a beat when he saw her chest shutter, and her breathing quicken and slow at an uneven pace.

He crawls over to her, turning her onto her back, and finds her face to be bright red and feverish, sweating and writhing in pain in the morning light.

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moment of silence for erik's last two working brain cells. he's a dummy, but he's our dummy and we love him anyway.

if you enjoyed, don't hesitate to comment/review or leave kudos! they always help motivate me to write more chapters :).
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