𝘖𝘕𝘌𝘚𝘏𝘖𝘛𝘚

hundred kisses (phantom)

I swear I don't know what I'm going to do
But I promise you that I'll be good to you
If you promise that you'll try to love me too

𓆩🥀𓆪

On a rainy september night, amongst the ruins of the once magnificent Opera Populaire, something wailed. They told stories of a chandelier, a soprano like never before and a ghost that terrorized the Opera.

So every year, on the same september night, the wails would start, followed by dreadful organ music, notes that made the hairs on your arm stand up. Nevertheless, the myths have never stopped you.

Stepping carefully among the rubble and burned brickwalls, you made your way inside the construction, following the sound of the organ and horrible crying.

It had become a routine over the years. You came here and returned entirely unscathed. Some people had even started gossiping about it, saying you're a witch or a madwoman, for only one of their likes would dare to approach the notorious lair.

When you found the Phantom, he was bent over his organ, barely awake, humming remnants of a melody. You frowned at the needles scattered around him, his mask long forgotten, laying beside a crumbling shelf.

"Hey Mon ange, what's wrong?"

Erik startled at your voice, entirely falling over the organ and pressing some dissonant keys in the process of looking for his mask.

You lay your hand on his, on the mask, and looking up into his visible eye, all you saw was a burning light, one that illuminated every speck of gold in his iris. In that moment, you had realized that blaze was not meant for you.

Instead, it was reserved for a soprano, one whose memory Erik kept in the deepest crevices of his heart, and rarely let you glimpse them. But opium took its toll on him too, and these feelings and regrets came bubbling up like an old well.

"Amour, I'm so sorry, Ne sois pas en colère, je supplie. Please."

The way he looked up at you, the immense grief in his eyes, the way his bottom lip quivered and his fingers clutched the mask all awakened something inside of you. A want to protect him, to lock him away from the world and never let them hurt him again. To kiss away the memories of the freak show, of Christine and of his beloved opera.

Shake off the rain
And dry off and come inside tonight
You don't have to be alone

You pressed your palm to the hand covering half his face and gently grasped it, prying it away from his face. Erik protested, but all in vain, for when you freed the side of him he'd never willingly show you, instead of the swarm of insults and punches, you pressed a soft, feather-light kiss on his cheek.

"I would steal a hundred kisses before I said goodbye, I'd wish upon thousands of shooting stars in the name of you and I."

Erik's eyes widened comically, his well known confidence fading into dust without the pearly white mask.

"What of nights like this? How could you love me when I can't even bear to look at myself in the mirror, when I can't stand the way my skin feels and my thoughts are nothing but overlapping noises. Je ne vous souhaite pas cela, très cher."

"Mon amour, I know there will be fights and fears, when we both feel like all of it is crumbling, but that's part of it too. Chaque pièce a deux faces."