Darling. (Erik/Phantom x Reader)

Eleven.

Prima Donna Dormitory of the Opera Populaire.

***

Y/N was a week into rehearsals, and by nearly all accounts, she had completely surpassed the rest of the cast and crew in terms of preparedness. Luckily for her, Monsieur Carriere is not a cruel man, and he has been giving her days off when he wished to drill those cast members who are not as prepped as she.

Thus, today's routine was a simple one: she got a small breakfast with Helena at a cafe in town and then returned in time for Helena to get back to sewing. Y/N returned to her dormitory, cozied up with a collection of poems, and read, peacefully, for hours.

Until she heard three soft taps.

Hesitantly, she rose and walked to the mirror, "Erik? Is that you?"

The mirror slid open in response, revealing a similar towering figure, covered by shadow and illuminated only by the sunlight of her bedroom. She no longer viewed his silhouette as menacing, but rather of properness. He always wore clothing fit for a Duke, cleanly cut and ironed, with his hair neatly brushed backwards.

"Hello, Erik. Can I help you?" Y/N asked, standing up straight and smiling.

"If you wouldn't mind the intrusion, Mademoiselle, I have some notes I would like to share with you in terms of your benevolent performance," Erik spoke in a polite, even manner tone. In his hands he held a black leather folder, no doubt full of handwritten notes in his elegant, looping font. 

"I wouldn't mind at all," Y/N welcomed, stepping aside for him to enter her rooms. He walked into her sitting area with her, and took a seat across from her, "Can I offer you a glass of water? Or some biscuits?"

Erik gave her a questioning look, "What is... a biscuit?" He said the unfamiliar word in a thicker French accent than she was accustomed to hearing from him, and it gave her pause.

"It is... oh, I know this... in French it is le petit gateau." 

"I thought in English it was called a 'cookie'?" 

"That's what the Americans call it... who taught you English?"

Erik shifted slightly in his seat, "A private tutor from America, who Monsieur Carriere hired for me when I was an adolescent." 

"I had wondered how you were educated," Y/N confessed, standing and pouring two glasses of water, "Your english is nearly flawless, I am quite impressed."

"Your French is not bad."

"You flatter me, even when I don't deserve it," Y/N smiled, plating some baked booked and bringing it on a tray to the sitting area, "I think we both know that my French is very, very bad."

"It could use improvement," Erik spoke sweetly, accepting a glass of water from Y/N.

"Speaking of improvement, these notes you have for me?" She asked as she sat comfortably. 

Erik reached for his folder and opened it, "They are very minimal, Mademoiselle, as you are perfection on stage -- well, nearly perfection. Your weakness seems to be choreography, and you could work on being more convincing in act III in terms of your scene with Monsieur Piagni."

"Oh, I know... it is rather difficult to earnestly pretend to be attracted to him, you must understand," Y/N laughed, "He is rather old... and... robust." 

She saw Erik smile in light amusement. "I do understand, completely, but you must work on building your conviction for the audience."

"What would you suggest?"

"Look at him more directly on stage, and try to be more convincing during the kiss."

"You give me very difficult goals, Erik." 

His smile persisted, "Yes, yes -- but you need to get more comfortable when acting intimate on stage, be as natural as possible."

"Well, unfortunately that's a bit difficult seeing as all of my intimacy and romance was conducted on stages. I lack a natural interaction to base it off... but nevertheless, I feel like I am making excuses for myself. I will work on it."

Erik took a short, polite sip of water and straightened out his posture. "You are a wonderful performer, Mademoiselle, and I have full confidence that you shall surpass all expectations you have for yourself by the time the public is graced by your performance."

"Please, call me 'Y/N'," She insisted, "Especially if you plan on continuing with the endless flattery."

"I fear I do not know how to cease it."

Y/N found herself blushing at the masked man in front of her. "I sincerely hope the audience thinks of me as highly as you do. I plan on extending invitations to quite a few of my loved ones back home."

"And who may they be?"

"My father and Charles, obviously," Y/N spoke fondly of her family, "And this rather kind bookseller in England. My father also plans on inviting the King, which would be fantastic! Alongside some of his advisors... well, those aren't my loved ones, obviously, but my father is fond of their business."

"From what I hear, you are inviting... two loved ones?" He didn't sound snarky, but instead genuinely gentle and curious.

Y/N smiled, "Well, Helena is my best friend, and she'll be viewing from the sidelines. Plus, I suspect you will be in your usual viewing box, no?"

Erik was quiet for a moment, and she watched his face turn a bit bewildered. "I am... a loved one?"

"Well... you are certainly a friend of mine, Erik. At least, I consider you to be."

"I am flattered, Made-- Y/N. I am flattered, Y/N." 

"My name sounds good coming from you," Y/N spoke softly, flirting in as direct of a way she dared, "You should use it more often."

They continued to speak politely for some time, and Y/N found herself refilling their glasses twice.