Stories From Santa Carla (Lost Boys Imagines Book 2) - Redone

Past the point of no return - chapter 1 (Phantom of the opera au+polylbs)

A/N - Here it is! This is gonna be quite dark so fair warning but.... this chapter I don't think will need any warnings but if there is anything you see just lemme know!

Poly lost boys! ❤❤❤

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You rushed around the busy stage coming to life. The dancers twirled their ribbons to the screech of the violins and the makeup artists hastily packed up after rushing through the multiple retouched needed for the opera stars. “Y/N!” You heard your name being called. Your best friend broke off from the practising dancers under the strict watch of Madame Laboix.

“Come quick! You'll never guess who showed up tonight.” Star smirked and you quickly grabbed her elbow, side stepping to let the behind the scenes crew past. “Who?”

Sometimes there were guests let in to see the practices, but even then they had to either pay a pretty penny just for that, or be well known enough for the directors to insist. You were wondering which one it was- if maybe there were some famous faces watching right now.

“Oh come on, it's no fun if you don't guess.”

“No come on, if I don't take a break now, I never will.” You complained, your tired feet aching in agreement as did your parched throat.
“Fine... but If I tell you to look up at the private box just to your left~” Star drawled smiling as she watched your eyes widen, “You might regret not thinking of him first.”

She was right, your eyes met the soft blue of your childhood friend, and admittedly crush- not that it could happen- you just didn't know if Michael would ever feel the same. Regardless you waved at him, watching him return your smile beside his infamous father. The Emersons had always took interest in opera, only you hadn't realized that their monthly visit to the production had crept up on you.

“I didn't know they were here so soon.” You whispered, returning to see Star trying to hide a teasing grin. “You better go before the directors gather us together for the third time.” She waved her hand and looked over her shoulder as the dancers she was apart of began finishing their routine- one she would need to get back to.

“Thanks for reminding me, what would I do without you.” You waved back at her as she retreated.

“Keep being oblivious,” Star teased.

Michael watched you spare him another glance before he saw you disappear behind the heavy curtain at the edge of the open floor. “-Why yes, we would be delighted to monsieur-" He caught his fathers delightful agreement with their guest joining them.

----

The whispers of the phantom echoed throughout the now destroyed theatre hall. Guests screams had faded as they feed the now vacant hall. Soft chuckles reverberated across the thick walls.

It had been the phantom again, everyone knew. The directors who had bared the brunt of the phantom’s wrath stood quivering in their quarters. A letter, discoloured and torn at the edges had been stabbed into their desk. They had definitely been thinking what if it had been them that had been skewered. It had been eased out with a lot of elbow grease, enough to have them startled at the amount of strength needed to force the blade so far into the heavy wood.

The letter hadn't been reassuring either. No more pleasantries in the wording as they usually had- then again the others hadn't exactly been polite either- curt and blunt were the demands of the supposed phantom. What were they to believe as they flipped over the dirty paper and read its contents.

They paled as they took in the demands.

Giving the Emersons the box that was to be left empty upon their demands hadn't been looked at lightly. It hadn't been the reason for this destruction to their opera house... no, it seemed the phantom had taken a liking to one of their staff- a student working in a minor role of dancer. Y/N, had been scrawled neatly and clearly compared to the rest, it appeared the phantom had wanted her to be given lead roles- or else.

The directors didn't dare think of the consequences and it simply couldn't be scoffed at once again. The phantom meant business and it seemed if that business also meant ruining theirs. After tonight anyway, they would have their work cut out for them, chasing after press after they decided on what to call this little, “faux pas.”

Regardless, now was better than later.

If that was what would placate the phantom, then that’s what shall be done. They couldn't risk another “accident,” occurring or they would be out of business faster than they could say, “refund.”

-----

You rushed to your room after incident had been dealt with, all of three hours it took the directors to give their guidance. The phantom, you thought. Your hearing had been correct after all, the stares and the whispers had just been another element of confirmation for you. It felt isolating to be pointed out in a personal letter by the Phantom. Your angels of music, your teachers, had outed you to people you knew and your bosses. You closed the door, leaning and falling down the heavy wood as you let it go.

Deep breaths came easier when you didn't have everyone looking at you the way they did. You buried your face in the soft material of your dress. Why did they have to do this? you thought. You never once questioned them, not in the long time you had met them. It didn't feel wrong to question them this time, pride wasn't just it, nor was their supposed looking out for you either.

There was a knock at the door, followed by a muffled call of your name. Michael! You had almost forgotten that he had attended tonight’s showing. Wiping away the small drops threatening to run down your cheeks, you smoothed out your dress and stood, calling back, “Just a minute.” Just a minute was all it took for you to open the door and to be met with the familiar embrace of your childhood friend. You supposed he might not know what the others knew from all the worried questions he had been asking.

“I'm okay Michael, really. I’m okay, what about yourself? Is your Father hurt?” You asked, taking a step back and inviting the curly haired brunette inside your room. It was a small thing, but neat as you kept it tidy.

“Not at all, you need not concern yourself with my father for he is alright y/n. I wished to see if you were alright.”

“And to give you these-" Michael pulled the flowers out from behind his back before you could respond. They were beautiful, a mix of bright red and dark red roses in one delicate bouquet.

“You- you didn't need to do that.” You spoke, hands already accepting the bouquet into your arms. They smelled lovely as you leaned in.

He shook his head, an all too familiar smile on his handsome features. “You're a star now Y/N it would be wrong not to, besides it has been a good while I would say since we have seen each other.” He looked around the small room as you sat the flowers in a vase you kept in your dresser drawer. It came in handy this time as you liked the way it looked against the mirror you usually spent your afternoons and evenings applying your stage makeup.

Michael had brought up the times you both spent as children reading horror tales with a fond smile as you both reminisced. It really had made you realize just how much you missed him but there was no pondering over the what ifs as the reminiscing was soon over by a sharp knock on the door followed by a thick French accent of your instructor calling out, “Monsieur Emerson, your father wishes to speak with you.”

Michael stood from his spot at your side on the bed, looking apologetic as he took your hand in his, “It seems our visit was cut short, I bid you a good night, “y/n,” and perhaps even an invitation to lunch tomorrow if I be so bold?”

Tomorrow. Lunch. With Michael. You could hardly comprehend it. The implied romance had you shuddering, if he truly meant it the way you were thinking he did. It seemed so, but life at the opera house had a horrible way of consuming not just your morning lie ins, but any social life you could hope to have outside of the few dancers you were friends with.

“I'm afraid I can't Michael... my schedule is tight with our next show and I fear if I don't practice then-"

Michael shushed you with a finger to your lips and a gentle smile. “Then we'll go the night after?” He asked but you were unable to respond as he had already crossed the threshold of the door, waving farewell as he disappeared down the corridor.

What were you going to do?