Him.

Chapter XI

It was a huge bustle in the opera house, everyone and their brother there to see if the person whom had written such beautiful music would announce themselves. Erik was atop the balcony in the foyer, hoping to see Haya. She'd yet to reveal herself to him, but that didn't mean he let go of hope. They were in intermission in the current moment, so he was desperately trying to find her. He leaned over the railing, his hands grasping the cement with white knuckles, he had his legs braced as he leaned into the rail, and his gaze was almost predatory. Many looked up at him and glanced away seeing his imposing figure leering over them. He had a stemmed wine-glass dangling from one of his hands, not as tightly gripped as the railing however. Erik felt like luck was running out as he scanned over the crowd a few more times, but tonight, luck just happened to be on his side.

Across the room, chatting kindly to two men who looked far too interested in her was Haya, beautifully dressed in a purple ensemble, one that Erik was surprised he hadn't seen earlier. And if by strings, he was pulled towards her beauty, having to speak to her, to see her up close, to touch her however off-limits that may be. His arms pushed from the railing and his legs carried him further closer to her.

So he approached regardless, laying a hand on her shoulder as the men in front of her cowered by his height.

Before she even turned around, Haya breathed deeply, Erik witnessed, and she prepared herself to see him again. The masked-man could feel the brunette's abashment. Why she would be embarrassed by his presence was beyond him, b it he dealt with the emotion accordingly.

"I wonder who this beautiful composer is," Erik suggested with a smile at the sight of her beautifully tanned face.

Shedding a half-smile, Haya bit her lip, "I wouldn't know. He seemed to have dedicated a few works to you, however."

"He did now? I haven't seen," Erik drawled, sipping at the glass in his hands.

It was a wonderfully bright champagne, one that tickled his tongue and made him want to dance. Obviously there would be none of that, but it certainly made him feel good.

"Do you know when intermission starts, Monsieur? I seem to have made bad company," she insinuated to Erik, hoping that she sounded polite to those around her.

"What are you doing, Haya?" Erik asked her as he gestured to the likes around them. "Claim the work as yours! They obviously like it," he whispered heatedly. Though, it wasn't much of a whisper as they stood in the crowded hall.

"They love it," she assured him with her face pointed.

"Then what is the matter?"

Haya seemed to sniff a little, her eyes watering, "I can't, they belong to you... they're dedicated to you. To take them as mine would be a crime in in my heart, one it cannot handle."

Erik breathed deeply, unsure of how he affected the kind, young beauty in front of him. He was sure it wasn't in a good way however.

"Come, let's talk privately," Erik said and guided her to the upper staircases, his hand gently guiding her by the arm to a balcony.

"Erik, I don't know what you want of me any longer! I can't see you because every time I do, I feel pain! This needs to stop!" Haya exclaimed until Erik pulled her into his arms.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Then let go!" She shouted, pushing him away, ignoring the way his hurt facial expressions made her feel. Erik could see everything was being pushed down by the tan beauty. It hurt him to know that she was suppressing what she felt.

"How have you been?"

Haya scoffed.

"I'm above ground, aren't I?" She asked sarcastically.

Erik rolled his eyes.

"You are. But there must be more to your life than being alive if you can compose so perfectly."

Haya shook her head and turned to the balcony's edge, leaning over the railing looking as Erik had earlier on. He admired her from his spot where his feet had refused to move and grew roots there without his permission.

"I don't know anymore."

"A muse, perhaps... I know I've waned off of my composing as of late... at all, really. If I had to pick a muse, however, I would say it would be the newest addition to my family."

Erik watched Haya's grip turn cold as her fingers heavily gripped the only thing keeping her from pitching herself off of the balcony.

"Philippa is pregnant?" Haya asked knowing that it was impossible for her to have had a child just yet.

"Yes she is, I fear for her strength, but she does not."

Haya, when Erik could see her visage, looked as though she wanted to kill the masked-man in front of her. And Erik was scared, mortified by the way her eyes held tears and scorn at the same time. Murder was written into the smooth surface of her face.

"Haya, I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't mean to hurt me?! Erik, you come here and torture me by even seeing you, you tell me I should publish work enshrined to your existence, and lastly you shove an expected child in my face! Who the hell do you think you are?" She hissed as close to Erik as possible, and yet it would never be close enough.

Erik watched as tears streamed down her cheeks and she ripped herself away from his body. He was just feeling her warmth too! Erik could have thrown himself off the edge at the way she looked at him.

"I'm the man whom you dedicate your works to," Erik responded boldly.

"Not anymore. I'm done writing."

"That would have been nice to know," Erik replied hostilely, what was she thinking not ever writing again? Composing was her passion and what had gotten her through not only what he had put her through, but through a divorce as well.

"It was clearly none of your business," Haya snapped and held her arms around her, the chill in the air encompassing her.

The masked-man refrained himself from reaching out to her and sliding his hands along her arms creating a frictional warmth.

"You should go, Erik. Just go," Haya said with a saddened sigh at the end.

"You're right."

Erik walked over to Haya and kissed the top of her head, her bouncy chocolate curls absorbing the touch as she cried at the feel of his lips on her skin.

He left that night not ever knowing when he would see her again.