Inception/The Phantom of the Opera: You Won't Forget My Name
Title: You Won't Forget My Name
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Dom/Mal, slight Arthur/Robert, Nash, Peter Browning, OFC
Rating: PG-13 (At least for now, I'll warn if it goes up.)
Part: 3/?
Word Count: 3,621
Warnings: None, unless the musical this is based on isn't your cup of tea.
Summary: Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask? (Phantom of the Opera AU)
Robert wasn't by nature, but even he felt a little nervous when his godfather insisted that the box keeper take them to Box Five. Browning had come back to the manor in a rage about the antics of the "opera ghost", which had resulted in Carlotta refusing to go on. Robert had to admit, if only to himself, that he was much more excited to hear Mal Cobb than he had been about her replacement.
The lead tenor had been lost as well, over his devotion to Carlotta it would seem. But he had been replaced almost instantly after his dramatic exit and by, if Browning's grudging admission was to be believed, someone who was better than the original.
It was all enough to make Robert anxious for the opera to begin.
The box keeper, however, paused outside of Box Five, shooting a worried glance at the two men with her. "Sirs, I really must-"
This was the final straw for Browning. "What you must do," he cut in, "is let us into our box." He grumbled under his breath as the woman continued to hesitate. "What sort of low class superstition is this? There is no opera ghost!" And with that he seized the red velvet curtain, yanking it back.
But someone was already there.
The box keeper seemed as surprised as the two men she was escorting. "Mr. Eames? I didn't know you were already here!"
Eames shifted lazily in his seat, seeming completely unperturbed by the sudden intrusion. He gave the box keeper a gentle smile. "There's no way you could have known, my dear," he said. "No one ever tends to be up here."
"Because it's the Phantom's box?" Robert could have kicked himself once the words left his mouth. He didn't know why he kept blurting things out without warning around this man.
Fortunately, Eames didn't seem bothered by it. "That would be correct, Mr. Fischer." He drummed his fingers thoughtfully across the arm of the chair. "But I have always managed to stay on good terms with the opera ghost so he has never begrudged me the use of his box."
"You should have told me," the box keeper scolded. "Now I shall have to find some place else for these gentlemen."
"Oh, come now," Eames said, "they can share this box with me, surely."
"Share with you?" Browning echoed.
"Why not?" Eames tossed back. "If you waste time trying to find another place to suit your tastes than you might miss the start of the performance." The lights flickered in warning before going dim as if to prove his point.
The sigh Browning let out was layered with irritation. "Fine," he said. "This will serve." Then he strode into the box to take his seat.
Robert offered a quiet thanks to the poor box keeper before entering the box himself. The only seat left was one that placed hm directly between Browning and Eames. He couldn't help feeling somewhat glad as he took it. If he was stuck solely by his godfather than he would have had to put up with the man's grumblings for the whole performance. At least Eames appeared to adore the opera as much as he did. Perhaps even more.
Robert leaned forward in his seat as the music started up, the curtain drawing back half a minute later.
The chorus took the stage first, their voices raised in joy over Hannibal's victory. It didn't take long, however, for them to move aside to let Mal come forward. She handled the elaborate costume far better than Carlotta had, making it seem almost elegant instead of gaudy.
Her voice reminded Robert of his childhood, those golden years when everything had been so much simpler. His mother had still been alive back then, which meant that it was a time before his father's heart had iced over. She had adored the opera, always longing to attend every performance, something with which her husband was all too glad to indulge her. It wasn't until after her sudden death form tuberculosis that trips to the opera house had been forbidden.
Robert's focus was drawn back into the present as whispers broke out amongst the audience. It wasn't hard to find the cause of them either since the replacement for the lead tenor had just made his first appearance.
Robert found his brow furrowing, however, as he stared down at the young man. There was something about the tenor, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was as though he had seen the other man before, but he had no idea where that could have been.
Any such thoughts were banished, along with the murmurs of the audience, however, when the young man began to sing.
Robert snapped up in his chair, hardly even realizing that his mouth had fallen open.
That voice! It seemed impossible for something of such beauty to actually exist. Yet it was there, ringing throughout the opera house and all those that heard it were unable to look away from its owner.
When the song reached its end there was a brief moment of silence as the audience adjusted to the lose of that unnatural voice. Then everyone was on their feet, filling the air with the roar of applause.
Robert would have joined them if it weren't for the realization that had just struck him. His eyes remained fixed on the young man on the stage who seemed so baffled by the praise he was receiving from the audience.
He knew this person.
"Arthur," he breathed. Then his lips spread into an enormous smile. That adorable boy by the seaside with such a sweet little voice had grown up into a handsome young man, his voice having blossomed with him into something incredible. He leapt to his feet with a cry of, "Bravo!"
He had never imagined that he would ever see the other man again. He would have to find some way to arrange meeting with his old friend, the sooner the better.
He was so caught up in his own excitement that he didn't even realize he was being watched by gray eyes narrowed in suspicion.
---
When the performance was over Ariadne grabbed Arthur by the hand, drawing him away into the back passages. It was a race to outrun the audience members that would soon be swarming into the back stage. By the time they reached his dressing room they were both breathless with laughter on their lips.
Then Ariadne was throwing her arms around him. "Oh, Arthur, you were perfect!" She drew back, shaking her head with an air of astonishment. "You must have an incredible teacher."
There was an obvious question in that sentence, one that made Arthur go tense. Ariadne was his best friend, the only person outside of the Cobbs that he actually trusted in the opera house. But he had no idea how to explain his deepest secret to her without sounding like he was mad.
Ariadne's face was already falling. "You're not going to tell me, are you," she said. She didn't even bother to phrase it as a question.
Arthur's stomach squirmed with something that felt an awful lot like guilt. "I want to tell you, Ari, really I do, but I don't know how."
"Well you should figure out how to!" Ariadne snapped. Then she sighed, her voice growing soft. "It's just… I've known you for three years now, Arthur, and most the time I feel like I know you better than anyone. But then there are these times when you just seem so…distant. You sneak out of the dormitories at the crack of dawn to go sing all by yourself in the chapel of all places then expect me to come down and fetch you when it's time for rehearsals. And sometimes…" She trailed off, chewing on her lower lip in a familiar nervous habit. "You'll lock yourself away in your dressing room after a performance and when I go to get you I can hear you carrying on a conversation like someone is actually there with you. And one time, not too long ago, I actually heard someone talk back to you-a man. But when you opened the door there was no one there!"
Arthur's reaction was immediate, one that he couldn't have repressed even if he had wanted to. He shot straight up, his eyes wide. "You heard him?"
Ariadne looked just as surprised at first, but then her expression shifted into a smug sort of understanding. "So that was your teacher then! But how was he able to disappear so quickly?"
But Arthur was hardly even listening to her. His mind was still trying to grasp that Ariadne had heard a voice that he had thought only he could hear. How could such a thing be possible? Unless…
A furrow had begun to form on Ariadne's brow now, her former haughtiness gone. "Arthur, are you-" The rest of what she might have said was lost with a yelp as Arthur seized her by the wrist, dragging her into his dressing room.
It took her a moment to gather her senses back once inside, but once she did she whirled around to face Arthur. "What was that…" Her words trailed off, the anger in the fading away, when she saw how her friend looked.
Arthur's face had been drained of all its color and his hands kept fidgeting with the edges of his costume. It seemed to take a great effort for him to raise his eyes from the floor to meet hers, but once he did they filled with a strange mixture of fear and determination. "Look, Ariadne, what I'm about to tell you might sound mad, but it's true…all of it. I swear it."
Ariadne swallowed hard before nodding. "I won't judge you, no matter what it is," she said.
Arthur felt relief flood through him at the sincerity in her words. Then he took a deep breath, steadying himself for the story he would have to tell-one that he had never dared to tell anyone.
"My father was always an eccentric man, you know that. He kept telling me all sorts of fairy tales and myths far past what would be considered acceptable. And my favorites were always those about the Angel of Music. The angel was supposed to be responsible for the creation of all musical geniuses and I longed for him to visit me. So, when my father lay dying, he told me he would send an angel down from heaven to protect me-the Angel of Music himself."
Ariadne frowned just a little, unable to help herself. "But what has that got to do with your teacher?" she asked.
"Because the Angel of Music is my teacher," Arthur said. "I have heard him since I came to the opera house. His voice has always been with me, guiding me."
Of all the explanations Ariadne had come up with in her head, none had ever seemed as grand as this. "But that was just a story, Arthur. It can't possibly be real!"
"Don't you think I know that?" Arthur shot back. He turned away, rubbing his hands across his face. "I know how impossible it sounds. Why do you think I didn't want to tell you? But what other explanation can there be?" He shook his head. "You don't know what it's like, Ari. He's just there whenever I need him, but it's only ever his voice."
"And don't you ever wonder why that is?" Ariadne demanded. "Why he's never tried to appear to you in some form?"
"Of course I do," Arthur said. "I'm always picking apart the loopholes in this because there's a part of me that knows that it can't be true, that it's all too fantastical. But there's another part of me…a stronger part…that just wants to believe that I can have something good for once. Is that so wrong?"
Ariadne bit down on her lip. There was a part of her that wanted to speak her mind, warn her friend that he might be the center of a vicious prank, but she was sure that such thoughts had already crossed his behind. Besides, there was something about how he was standing there, seeming so dejected, that made her hold her tongue.
"Just…just be careful, alright?" was all she said.
"Of course," Arthur said, "but you must promise not to tell anyone what I told you."
"I won't," Ariadne said. "Unless it starts to get dangerous."
Arthur nodded, knowing it wasn't fair to press her for more. He couldn't imagine things taking a turn for the worse anyway. The Angel of Music was a force that kept him safe, no matter who or what he truly was.
"Thank you," he said. "Now why don't you head off to the backstage party? You always have fun at those things."
It was clear that he didn't want to be questioned further and he was glad when Ariadne didn't press the matter. "You should come too," she said. "It's being thrown in your honor, after all."
Arthur snorted at that. "Only in name," he said. "It's really just an excuse for everyone to get drunk. Still, I might go after I get out of my costume."
"You better!" Ariadne said. She darted forward to press a kiss to his cheek before darting out the door.
Arthur waited until the door closed to head over to the screens set up for him to change behind. It felt wonderful to trade his costume with its heavy fabrics for his usual, more simple clothes.
He went over to the vanity after that to wipe off what remained of the makeup he had to wear while on the stage.
Still, even when this was all done, he couldn't bring himself to leave. Instead his eyes darted over to the ornate, full-length mirror, biting down on his bottom lip.
Ever since his lessons had begun, Arthur had known that the Angel of Music didn't intend for him to remain within the chorus. The members of the chorus were expected to have fine voices, of course, but they were also expected to be uniform without a single one trying to outshine the other. But when Arthur had tried to point this out his angel had only scoffed.
"You will never be allowed to fall into the constraints of others. Your voice is meant to defy all boundaries. Would you sacrifice that for the sake of slipping into the fold?" The tone had softened after Arthur had ducked his head, tripping over his words. "You are meant for so much more, Arthur. Trust me."
And how could Arthur not?
So tonight surely had to be as much a triumph for his teacher as it was for himself. He had finally reached the heights that the Angel of Music had assured him he could. Even now the applause of the audience still seemed to be ringing in his ears.
Yet, if that were the case, why had the angel not come to offer his praise? Had Arthur disappointed him in some way? It was a thought that chilled him to the bone.
He sighed when the door to his dressing room opened, not even bothering to turn around. "I'm sorry, Ariadne, but I'm really not feeling up to-"
"Little Artie?"
Arthur whirled around in his seat at the sound of that nickname. It was one he had not been called in years and even then it had only been by one person. "Robert?"
All the nerves that Robert had carried with him seemed to slide away at the sound of his name, a wide smile spreading across his lips. "So it really is you. I was so worried that I was only imagining things. It seemed too impossible." He knelt down before Arthur, gathering his hands up in his own. "I thought I'd never have the chance to see you again."
Arthur swallowed hard, trying to calm the desperate fluttering of his heart. "Neither did I." He raised his eyebrows, grinning. "I'm hardly 'Little' Artie anymore," he teased.
Robert could only laugh. "Does that mean you no longer enjoy picnics in the attic?" he asked. "Or that I can't coax you into telling me anymore dark stories?"
Arthur shook his head, chuckling as he did so. "Oh, I haven't changed so much. There is still one thing that I love best of all."
"And what is that?" Robert asked.
"Don't tell me you don't remember." Arthur cleared his throat once, trying to take on the mysterious air that his father had used whenever he had told the boys his stories. "'No, what I love best,' Artie said. 'Is when I'm asleep in my bed and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head.'"
Robert leaned forward to wrap his arms around Arthur and, although he didn't want to admit it, Arthur found himself leaning into the embrace. "You sang like an angel tonight." When he pulled away, his expression was full of warm fondness. "Now I must take you out to supper."
Arthur felt something drop like lead into his stomach, all of his earlier happiness slipping away. "No, Robert, I can't." He twisted guilty in his chair when Robert's face fell. "I'm sorry-truly-but my teacher wouldn't like it."
It was one of the first rules that his angel had set down. There would be no light nights, no admirers-nothing that could distract him from his lessons or the music.
"But that's ridiculous," Robert said. "Surely your teacher can understand that you deserve the chance to enjoy yourself after such a brilliant performance. And what better way to do that then at one of the best restaurants in Paris?" He rose to his feet, lifting Arthur's hand to his lips. "We have a great deal of catching up to do. I have missed you, Little Artie."
Arthur shot up from his chair as Robert turned to go. "Robert, wait!" But the other man had already slipped out the door without another word.
Arthur rubbed a hand across his face with a groan. He knew he couldn't give in to Robert's offer, despite how tempting it was. The Angel of Music would be furious to see his orders so easily flaunted and the last thing Arthur wanted to do was to entice that rage.
He would be lying, however, if he claimed that he wasn't eager to have the chance to be with Robert again and enjoy his company.
He wasn't given a chance to struggle with his decision for very long, however, since the lights in his dressing room began to flicker before abruptly going out. It was followed barely even a second later by a fierce, powerful voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.
"So this is what happens when I turn my back? You share my triumph with some young suitor. A mere boy unworthy of your glory!"
Arthur knew he should refuse to let himself be barreled over or, at the very least, try to defend himself, but it proved to be impossible in the face of his teacher's anger. Instead he found himself trembling under the weight of each word, afraid that his legs might actually give out below him.
His angel had never been truly upset with him, only offering up a light scolding when Arthur arrived late to lessons or botched a note in a song. To be under the full burden of his teacher's fury was frightening for the sheer fact that he didn't know what to expect from it.
He swallowed hard, forcing a strength he didn't completely feel into his words. "Angel, please, I meant no disrespect. Robert is nothing more to me than a friend and I was so caught up in seeing him again that I didn't think." He fought to keep his head up, despite the tears he could feel starting to sting in his eyes. "Please, Angel, abandon me. I will accept any punishment except for that. Please."
There was a moment of horrible silence that seemed to stretch on forever and then the voice came again, gentler now. "Then will you prove yourself to me?"
"Yes." Arthur's voice sounded close to feverish, even to his own years. "Yes, I'll do anything."
"Then come to me," his angel said.
Arthur stood there in confusion, unsure of what such words could mean, only to inhale sharply when the silhouette of a man began to emerge behind the grand mirror.
There was only one person he could think that it could be.
"A-Angel?"
The voice that answered him was more seductive than any he had ever heard, wrapping around his senses and driving away all thought. "I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music."
He was distantly aware of his name being called, but the sound seemed so distant, unable to compete with that of the voice that beckoned to him. He didn't even realize he was holding out his hand and he gasped as it seemed to pass straight through the glass.
The hand that took his was encased in leather, yet he could still feel the warmth radiating through the material. "This…this…can't be real," he murmured.
Something like amusement sparked in the man's eyes. "And why is that?" He guided Arthur forward into a corridor with torches set into the stone to guide the way.
Arthur didn't have a chance to take in much else for he found his head lolling back against the sturdy shoulder behind him as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Pairing/Characters: Arthur/Eames, Dom/Mal, slight Arthur/Robert, Nash, Peter Browning, OFC
Rating: PG-13 (At least for now, I'll warn if it goes up.)
Part: 3/?
Word Count: 3,621
Warnings: None, unless the musical this is based on isn't your cup of tea.
Summary: Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the mask? (Phantom of the Opera AU)
Robert wasn't by nature, but even he felt a little nervous when his godfather insisted that the box keeper take them to Box Five. Browning had come back to the manor in a rage about the antics of the "opera ghost", which had resulted in Carlotta refusing to go on. Robert had to admit, if only to himself, that he was much more excited to hear Mal Cobb than he had been about her replacement.
The lead tenor had been lost as well, over his devotion to Carlotta it would seem. But he had been replaced almost instantly after his dramatic exit and by, if Browning's grudging admission was to be believed, someone who was better than the original.
It was all enough to make Robert anxious for the opera to begin.
The box keeper, however, paused outside of Box Five, shooting a worried glance at the two men with her. "Sirs, I really must-"
This was the final straw for Browning. "What you must do," he cut in, "is let us into our box." He grumbled under his breath as the woman continued to hesitate. "What sort of low class superstition is this? There is no opera ghost!" And with that he seized the red velvet curtain, yanking it back.
But someone was already there.
The box keeper seemed as surprised as the two men she was escorting. "Mr. Eames? I didn't know you were already here!"
Eames shifted lazily in his seat, seeming completely unperturbed by the sudden intrusion. He gave the box keeper a gentle smile. "There's no way you could have known, my dear," he said. "No one ever tends to be up here."
"Because it's the Phantom's box?" Robert could have kicked himself once the words left his mouth. He didn't know why he kept blurting things out without warning around this man.
Fortunately, Eames didn't seem bothered by it. "That would be correct, Mr. Fischer." He drummed his fingers thoughtfully across the arm of the chair. "But I have always managed to stay on good terms with the opera ghost so he has never begrudged me the use of his box."
"You should have told me," the box keeper scolded. "Now I shall have to find some place else for these gentlemen."
"Oh, come now," Eames said, "they can share this box with me, surely."
"Share with you?" Browning echoed.
"Why not?" Eames tossed back. "If you waste time trying to find another place to suit your tastes than you might miss the start of the performance." The lights flickered in warning before going dim as if to prove his point.
The sigh Browning let out was layered with irritation. "Fine," he said. "This will serve." Then he strode into the box to take his seat.
Robert offered a quiet thanks to the poor box keeper before entering the box himself. The only seat left was one that placed hm directly between Browning and Eames. He couldn't help feeling somewhat glad as he took it. If he was stuck solely by his godfather than he would have had to put up with the man's grumblings for the whole performance. At least Eames appeared to adore the opera as much as he did. Perhaps even more.
Robert leaned forward in his seat as the music started up, the curtain drawing back half a minute later.
The chorus took the stage first, their voices raised in joy over Hannibal's victory. It didn't take long, however, for them to move aside to let Mal come forward. She handled the elaborate costume far better than Carlotta had, making it seem almost elegant instead of gaudy.
Her voice reminded Robert of his childhood, those golden years when everything had been so much simpler. His mother had still been alive back then, which meant that it was a time before his father's heart had iced over. She had adored the opera, always longing to attend every performance, something with which her husband was all too glad to indulge her. It wasn't until after her sudden death form tuberculosis that trips to the opera house had been forbidden.
Robert's focus was drawn back into the present as whispers broke out amongst the audience. It wasn't hard to find the cause of them either since the replacement for the lead tenor had just made his first appearance.
Robert found his brow furrowing, however, as he stared down at the young man. There was something about the tenor, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was as though he had seen the other man before, but he had no idea where that could have been.
Any such thoughts were banished, along with the murmurs of the audience, however, when the young man began to sing.
Robert snapped up in his chair, hardly even realizing that his mouth had fallen open.
That voice! It seemed impossible for something of such beauty to actually exist. Yet it was there, ringing throughout the opera house and all those that heard it were unable to look away from its owner.
When the song reached its end there was a brief moment of silence as the audience adjusted to the lose of that unnatural voice. Then everyone was on their feet, filling the air with the roar of applause.
Robert would have joined them if it weren't for the realization that had just struck him. His eyes remained fixed on the young man on the stage who seemed so baffled by the praise he was receiving from the audience.
He knew this person.
"Arthur," he breathed. Then his lips spread into an enormous smile. That adorable boy by the seaside with such a sweet little voice had grown up into a handsome young man, his voice having blossomed with him into something incredible. He leapt to his feet with a cry of, "Bravo!"
He had never imagined that he would ever see the other man again. He would have to find some way to arrange meeting with his old friend, the sooner the better.
He was so caught up in his own excitement that he didn't even realize he was being watched by gray eyes narrowed in suspicion.
---
When the performance was over Ariadne grabbed Arthur by the hand, drawing him away into the back passages. It was a race to outrun the audience members that would soon be swarming into the back stage. By the time they reached his dressing room they were both breathless with laughter on their lips.
Then Ariadne was throwing her arms around him. "Oh, Arthur, you were perfect!" She drew back, shaking her head with an air of astonishment. "You must have an incredible teacher."
There was an obvious question in that sentence, one that made Arthur go tense. Ariadne was his best friend, the only person outside of the Cobbs that he actually trusted in the opera house. But he had no idea how to explain his deepest secret to her without sounding like he was mad.
Ariadne's face was already falling. "You're not going to tell me, are you," she said. She didn't even bother to phrase it as a question.
Arthur's stomach squirmed with something that felt an awful lot like guilt. "I want to tell you, Ari, really I do, but I don't know how."
"Well you should figure out how to!" Ariadne snapped. Then she sighed, her voice growing soft. "It's just… I've known you for three years now, Arthur, and most the time I feel like I know you better than anyone. But then there are these times when you just seem so…distant. You sneak out of the dormitories at the crack of dawn to go sing all by yourself in the chapel of all places then expect me to come down and fetch you when it's time for rehearsals. And sometimes…" She trailed off, chewing on her lower lip in a familiar nervous habit. "You'll lock yourself away in your dressing room after a performance and when I go to get you I can hear you carrying on a conversation like someone is actually there with you. And one time, not too long ago, I actually heard someone talk back to you-a man. But when you opened the door there was no one there!"
Arthur's reaction was immediate, one that he couldn't have repressed even if he had wanted to. He shot straight up, his eyes wide. "You heard him?"
Ariadne looked just as surprised at first, but then her expression shifted into a smug sort of understanding. "So that was your teacher then! But how was he able to disappear so quickly?"
But Arthur was hardly even listening to her. His mind was still trying to grasp that Ariadne had heard a voice that he had thought only he could hear. How could such a thing be possible? Unless…
A furrow had begun to form on Ariadne's brow now, her former haughtiness gone. "Arthur, are you-" The rest of what she might have said was lost with a yelp as Arthur seized her by the wrist, dragging her into his dressing room.
It took her a moment to gather her senses back once inside, but once she did she whirled around to face Arthur. "What was that…" Her words trailed off, the anger in the fading away, when she saw how her friend looked.
Arthur's face had been drained of all its color and his hands kept fidgeting with the edges of his costume. It seemed to take a great effort for him to raise his eyes from the floor to meet hers, but once he did they filled with a strange mixture of fear and determination. "Look, Ariadne, what I'm about to tell you might sound mad, but it's true…all of it. I swear it."
Ariadne swallowed hard before nodding. "I won't judge you, no matter what it is," she said.
Arthur felt relief flood through him at the sincerity in her words. Then he took a deep breath, steadying himself for the story he would have to tell-one that he had never dared to tell anyone.
"My father was always an eccentric man, you know that. He kept telling me all sorts of fairy tales and myths far past what would be considered acceptable. And my favorites were always those about the Angel of Music. The angel was supposed to be responsible for the creation of all musical geniuses and I longed for him to visit me. So, when my father lay dying, he told me he would send an angel down from heaven to protect me-the Angel of Music himself."
Ariadne frowned just a little, unable to help herself. "But what has that got to do with your teacher?" she asked.
"Because the Angel of Music is my teacher," Arthur said. "I have heard him since I came to the opera house. His voice has always been with me, guiding me."
Of all the explanations Ariadne had come up with in her head, none had ever seemed as grand as this. "But that was just a story, Arthur. It can't possibly be real!"
"Don't you think I know that?" Arthur shot back. He turned away, rubbing his hands across his face. "I know how impossible it sounds. Why do you think I didn't want to tell you? But what other explanation can there be?" He shook his head. "You don't know what it's like, Ari. He's just there whenever I need him, but it's only ever his voice."
"And don't you ever wonder why that is?" Ariadne demanded. "Why he's never tried to appear to you in some form?"
"Of course I do," Arthur said. "I'm always picking apart the loopholes in this because there's a part of me that knows that it can't be true, that it's all too fantastical. But there's another part of me…a stronger part…that just wants to believe that I can have something good for once. Is that so wrong?"
Ariadne bit down on her lip. There was a part of her that wanted to speak her mind, warn her friend that he might be the center of a vicious prank, but she was sure that such thoughts had already crossed his behind. Besides, there was something about how he was standing there, seeming so dejected, that made her hold her tongue.
"Just…just be careful, alright?" was all she said.
"Of course," Arthur said, "but you must promise not to tell anyone what I told you."
"I won't," Ariadne said. "Unless it starts to get dangerous."
Arthur nodded, knowing it wasn't fair to press her for more. He couldn't imagine things taking a turn for the worse anyway. The Angel of Music was a force that kept him safe, no matter who or what he truly was.
"Thank you," he said. "Now why don't you head off to the backstage party? You always have fun at those things."
It was clear that he didn't want to be questioned further and he was glad when Ariadne didn't press the matter. "You should come too," she said. "It's being thrown in your honor, after all."
Arthur snorted at that. "Only in name," he said. "It's really just an excuse for everyone to get drunk. Still, I might go after I get out of my costume."
"You better!" Ariadne said. She darted forward to press a kiss to his cheek before darting out the door.
Arthur waited until the door closed to head over to the screens set up for him to change behind. It felt wonderful to trade his costume with its heavy fabrics for his usual, more simple clothes.
He went over to the vanity after that to wipe off what remained of the makeup he had to wear while on the stage.
Still, even when this was all done, he couldn't bring himself to leave. Instead his eyes darted over to the ornate, full-length mirror, biting down on his bottom lip.
Ever since his lessons had begun, Arthur had known that the Angel of Music didn't intend for him to remain within the chorus. The members of the chorus were expected to have fine voices, of course, but they were also expected to be uniform without a single one trying to outshine the other. But when Arthur had tried to point this out his angel had only scoffed.
"You will never be allowed to fall into the constraints of others. Your voice is meant to defy all boundaries. Would you sacrifice that for the sake of slipping into the fold?" The tone had softened after Arthur had ducked his head, tripping over his words. "You are meant for so much more, Arthur. Trust me."
And how could Arthur not?
So tonight surely had to be as much a triumph for his teacher as it was for himself. He had finally reached the heights that the Angel of Music had assured him he could. Even now the applause of the audience still seemed to be ringing in his ears.
Yet, if that were the case, why had the angel not come to offer his praise? Had Arthur disappointed him in some way? It was a thought that chilled him to the bone.
He sighed when the door to his dressing room opened, not even bothering to turn around. "I'm sorry, Ariadne, but I'm really not feeling up to-"
"Little Artie?"
Arthur whirled around in his seat at the sound of that nickname. It was one he had not been called in years and even then it had only been by one person. "Robert?"
All the nerves that Robert had carried with him seemed to slide away at the sound of his name, a wide smile spreading across his lips. "So it really is you. I was so worried that I was only imagining things. It seemed too impossible." He knelt down before Arthur, gathering his hands up in his own. "I thought I'd never have the chance to see you again."
Arthur swallowed hard, trying to calm the desperate fluttering of his heart. "Neither did I." He raised his eyebrows, grinning. "I'm hardly 'Little' Artie anymore," he teased.
Robert could only laugh. "Does that mean you no longer enjoy picnics in the attic?" he asked. "Or that I can't coax you into telling me anymore dark stories?"
Arthur shook his head, chuckling as he did so. "Oh, I haven't changed so much. There is still one thing that I love best of all."
"And what is that?" Robert asked.
"Don't tell me you don't remember." Arthur cleared his throat once, trying to take on the mysterious air that his father had used whenever he had told the boys his stories. "'No, what I love best,' Artie said. 'Is when I'm asleep in my bed and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head.'"
Robert leaned forward to wrap his arms around Arthur and, although he didn't want to admit it, Arthur found himself leaning into the embrace. "You sang like an angel tonight." When he pulled away, his expression was full of warm fondness. "Now I must take you out to supper."
Arthur felt something drop like lead into his stomach, all of his earlier happiness slipping away. "No, Robert, I can't." He twisted guilty in his chair when Robert's face fell. "I'm sorry-truly-but my teacher wouldn't like it."
It was one of the first rules that his angel had set down. There would be no light nights, no admirers-nothing that could distract him from his lessons or the music.
"But that's ridiculous," Robert said. "Surely your teacher can understand that you deserve the chance to enjoy yourself after such a brilliant performance. And what better way to do that then at one of the best restaurants in Paris?" He rose to his feet, lifting Arthur's hand to his lips. "We have a great deal of catching up to do. I have missed you, Little Artie."
Arthur shot up from his chair as Robert turned to go. "Robert, wait!" But the other man had already slipped out the door without another word.
Arthur rubbed a hand across his face with a groan. He knew he couldn't give in to Robert's offer, despite how tempting it was. The Angel of Music would be furious to see his orders so easily flaunted and the last thing Arthur wanted to do was to entice that rage.
He would be lying, however, if he claimed that he wasn't eager to have the chance to be with Robert again and enjoy his company.
He wasn't given a chance to struggle with his decision for very long, however, since the lights in his dressing room began to flicker before abruptly going out. It was followed barely even a second later by a fierce, powerful voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.
"So this is what happens when I turn my back? You share my triumph with some young suitor. A mere boy unworthy of your glory!"
Arthur knew he should refuse to let himself be barreled over or, at the very least, try to defend himself, but it proved to be impossible in the face of his teacher's anger. Instead he found himself trembling under the weight of each word, afraid that his legs might actually give out below him.
His angel had never been truly upset with him, only offering up a light scolding when Arthur arrived late to lessons or botched a note in a song. To be under the full burden of his teacher's fury was frightening for the sheer fact that he didn't know what to expect from it.
He swallowed hard, forcing a strength he didn't completely feel into his words. "Angel, please, I meant no disrespect. Robert is nothing more to me than a friend and I was so caught up in seeing him again that I didn't think." He fought to keep his head up, despite the tears he could feel starting to sting in his eyes. "Please, Angel, abandon me. I will accept any punishment except for that. Please."
There was a moment of horrible silence that seemed to stretch on forever and then the voice came again, gentler now. "Then will you prove yourself to me?"
"Yes." Arthur's voice sounded close to feverish, even to his own years. "Yes, I'll do anything."
"Then come to me," his angel said.
Arthur stood there in confusion, unsure of what such words could mean, only to inhale sharply when the silhouette of a man began to emerge behind the grand mirror.
There was only one person he could think that it could be.
"A-Angel?"
The voice that answered him was more seductive than any he had ever heard, wrapping around his senses and driving away all thought. "I am your Angel of Music. Come to me, Angel of Music."
He was distantly aware of his name being called, but the sound seemed so distant, unable to compete with that of the voice that beckoned to him. He didn't even realize he was holding out his hand and he gasped as it seemed to pass straight through the glass.
The hand that took his was encased in leather, yet he could still feel the warmth radiating through the material. "This…this…can't be real," he murmured.
Something like amusement sparked in the man's eyes. "And why is that?" He guided Arthur forward into a corridor with torches set into the stone to guide the way.
Arthur didn't have a chance to take in much else for he found his head lolling back against the sturdy shoulder behind him as he slipped into unconsciousness.