Chapter Text
Raoul looked away from the people on the pier and down at the sea, where the waves slapped and broke below. The lights from land shimmered on the black surface of the water. Without quite realizing it, he took a few steps toward the railing. Dizzy, he drew a deep breath; the salt-heavy night air filled his lungs, but the tightness in his chest remained. None of it felt real.
Then he felt someone lightly tapping his back and turned around. Gustave was looking up at him with worry on his face. For a moment, the expression puzzled him. What is he worried about? Does he think I might throw myself into the sea? Gustave took Raoul by the wrist and pulled him away from the railing, toward the other side. His hand was small and soft, so slight that Raoul could have shaken it off if he had wanted to, but he let himself be led.
Madame Giry had gone to fetch help, so people would be gathering there before long. Raoul glanced in Erik’s direction. Erik was not wearing his mask, but he seemed to become aware of Raoul’s gaze at once and put it back on. A moment later, the area around them grew noisy, and a group of people appeared with a stretcher. The sharp crack of flashbulbs began to sound all around them.
*
After Christine’s funeral, Raoul had little choice for the time being but to stay with Gustave at Erik’s house. The Girys had fled, and the reporters were still desperate to get an interview with him. It was unbearable. They would throw every manner of intrusive question at him and demand answers. Staying in Erik’s house was not, in itself, as bad as he had imagined. They did not cross paths very often. Erik spent the whole day shut up alone in his room. Raoul had no idea what he did in there.
On paper, the two of them were acquaintances connected by a contractual arrangement, so staying with him for a day or two until the funeral was over was not especially strange. But there was no reason to remain any longer than that. When several days passed without any real discussion, Raoul decided he would have to speak with Erik. He had lost the wager, after all, and the original condition had been that he leave America.
In the end, Raoul was the first to bring up his departure. Erik, who had been making coffee, snapped his head around to look at him. There was clear irritation in his eyes.
“Have you spoken to Gustave about it?”
Gustave? Raoul stared back at Erik, uncomprehending.
“Gustave needs you, Vicomte.”
His tone was that of a man forcing himself to admit something he would rather deny. Raoul could not answer at once. He had already concluded that Erik would obviously insist on raising the boy alone, even if it meant threatening Raoul and driving him out. That was why he had been preparing to leave.
But Erik was right: Gustave needed Raoul. Erik might be Gustave’s father by blood, but Raoul was the one who had spent the past ten years at the boy’s side. With Christine gone, Raoul was the only family Gustave had left. To lose his mother and then, so soon after, the man he had believed to be his father—Raoul did not want to imagine what that would do to him. He had only been preparing to leave because he had been certain Erik would insist on it. But if Erik was willing to concede this much, then of course Raoul did not want to be separated from Gustave.
“… Of course, Gustave will come to need me more than he needs you.”
Erik added it unnecessarily. He did not sound especially convinced, so Raoul paid little attention to that last remark. Erik’s eyes were a little bloodshot. His face had never had much color to begin with, but over the past few days it seemed to have grown even more hollow.
Hearing his name, Gustave came carefully into the sitting room.
“Were you talking about me?”
Gustave looked terribly tired as well. He had cried too long over the past several days. Raoul quickly considered the situation, then made his decision. He wet his dry lips and looked straight at Gustave.
“Gustave.”
Raoul glanced at Erik for a moment, as if asking permission. When Erik gave a nod, he turned back and met Gustave’s eyes.
“From now on, you, Papa, and this gentleman are going to live together. Would that be all right?”
“… Yes. I’d like that.”
Gustave smiled faintly. It was probably the first smile he had given in days. Raoul’s stomach turned with guilt. Erik’s presence still sat uneasily with him, but he could not ruin Gustave’s life for that reason. He knew well enough that he had already ruined too much of it.
Gustave soon went back to his room. Erik, who had been about to leave with his cup of coffee, heard his name called from behind him and turned around with a frown.
“Is there something else?”
“…”
Raoul held out his hand, as if offering a handshake. He had decided it would be foolish to keep treating someone as an enemy when they would have to live together for the time being. Erik looked for a moment at the hand suspended in the air, as though it were some strange object, then accepted it almost reluctantly. A moment later, as if unwilling to let the contact last any longer, he quickly let go.
“I suppose introductions are unnecessary.”
At the sharp sarcasm in his voice, Raoul could find no suitable reply. Erik picked up his cup of slightly cooled coffee and vanished into his room.
*
Erik came in and shut the door behind him with a snap. He hoped that choosing not to erase the Vicomte de Chagny from Gustave’s life had not been a mistake. In truth, Erik had had no other choice. He had to admit that trying to keep his son all to himself could not possibly end well for anyone. Gustave needed someone familiar he could lean on, at least for now. The Vicomte did not seem to have been a particularly diligent father, but he was still family. Better than nothing.
Of course, Erik could not allow the Vicomte to take Gustave away on his own, either. He could not entrust his son to an alcoholic with neither responsibility nor the means to support him. And if he were to lose Gustave as well, then once again there would be no one left at Erik’s side.
That was why there was no other way. Naturally, Erik still hated the Vicomte de Chagny. If Gustave had not been there, the Vicomte would have died the day Christine did. Erik would likely have killed him in a fit of rage. But unfortunately, he could not, and now they had even been forced to live under the same roof. How had everything become such a tangled mess?
Last night, Erik had stolen into the room where Raoul slept. The bedside lamp, perhaps forgotten, was still on, casting a dim light over the room.
Erik had once gone to Raoul’s bedroom in Paris as well. His night vision was unusually keen, and even in the dark he had been able to see the Vicomte. If he had been even a little slower that day, Erik would probably have been shot dead by the Vicomte’s pistol. He had pulled the trigger far more boldly than Erik had expected.
Just as he had that day, Erik stood for a long time watching the Vicomte sleep. There was little boyishness left in him now, but his flawless skin, fine features, and well-kept blond hair remained the same. Behind those closed lids would be those delicate, soft blue eyes. The Vicomte de Chagny was still far too beautiful, and Erik did not like it.
Unlike ten years ago, Christine was no longer there to throw herself between them and protect the Vicomte, so if Erik had wanted to, he could have killed him on the spot. The only reason he could not kill the Vicomte now was Gustave. Erik could not bring himself to make Gustave any more miserable than he already was. His only son was suffering enough as it was, and he desperately needed stability. If the Vicomte ever treated the boy with the same neglect as before, Erik truly would not let it pass.
Erik left the room only when dawn was breaking.
And now he thought: perhaps things would not get any worse than they already were. It was, he suspected, an excessively optimistic thought. Erik looked down at the hand the Vicomte had touched earlier. He had never imagined the man would offer it so readily.
He had no intention of becoming any closer to the Vicomte than necessary, nor was there any need to. But now that they had already decided to raise Gustave together, they would have to live in each other’s presence for some time. For the time being, it would be wise not to show their hostility toward each other, at least not in front of Gustave.
At that thought, exhaustion came over him all at once. He had spent the past several days shut up in his room, weeping for hours on end, and now his head ached and his eyelids felt heavy. He had already made coffee, but first, for the first time in days, he decided to try to sleep.