a/n: Uhm, please, don't ask how this happened, but it did. (Duo thought the white mask was cool and he wanted to wear it, lol ^^) Yeah, so keeping that in mind, just watch out for the 2x1 yaoi-ness, the terrible butchering of Phantom of the Opera, various types of citrus, and a bunch of sappiness. Yeah, and lots of theatre jokes too, while we're at it. (No one really means to make fun of Andrew Lloyd Webber... it just kind of happens..... >.>) Oh, and don't expect this to follow the exact story.... Gaston Leroux's book was merely what propelled this into being (though I dearly wish I had space to incorporate the murders.... &g t;.<).

PS: To avoid any confusion, no, Zechs and Relena are not related for this one, though I don't think it really matters.

Phantom
by Link Worshiper

That night was imprinted on Heero Yuy's memory forever, even though the incident had stopped making its rounds in the daily papers years ago. As a youth, he had been entranced by the magic of the stage, and in graduate school, had been studying all the aspects of the theatre to somehow breed himself a career that threw him into another world. The night Solo Maxwell had died had been the last time Heero had ever been an audience member, having gone to the Parisian Opera House to see his favourite performer dazzle the stage one final time with his legendary voice and magnificent dancing. Every time Heero closed his eyes, he could see the opera house at it had looked that night, glowing in its former glory. He could still see the stage as the large, crystal chandelier that hung over the apron dimmed, and the thick, purple curtain drew back. There had been a sudden hush that had fallen over the audience as fog swirled upon the stage and Solo Maxwell materialized like a spectre at the center. Even the scent of sandalwood and rose still wafted through Heero's nostrils whenever the memory overtook him.

But that had been only the beginning. Heero still remembered the way his playbill had curled in his hands, wrinkled with nervous anticipation as Solo flung his arms out to the side with dramatic gusto and opened his mouth to let free the first note of his performance that night. But no sooner had Solo begun to sing, then did disaster strike; in horrific slow-motion, the huge chandelier, the pride and joy of the Parisian Opera House, suddenly plummeted from above. A collective gasp sounded from the audience as the heavy, brass and crystal chandelier dropped downwards, causing Solo to snap his head up just a moment too late. The chandelier smashed upon the stage, crushing Solo Maxwell, L2's greatest thespian and dancer beneath it, and the orchestra played on.

That had been ten years ago. Heero Yuy no longer went to the theatre, but rather lived there. Losing one of the greatest inspirations in his life had been a violent blow to the half Japanese youth, and in an effort to get away from the reality of such a loss, Heero had completely immersed himself in the theatre, a place where no one had to be themselves, where one could become anyone he wanted to be. It was a place where one was allowed to forget. Throwing away the life of a student, Heero became an actor, a thrilling presence in the Parisian Opera House that kept thinning audiences coming even as the place grew older and emptier. After all, Heero Yuy was almost as much of a mystery as Solo Maxwell had been.

Now, standing center stage, the very place where Solo had fallen victim to Death, Heero took in a deep, calming breath before he began his warm-up. Dressed for rehearsal in a baggy, white sweatshirt that read 'Daae', and a pair of worn, thread-bare jeans, Heero might have seemed casual and relaxed at first glance. But a mere second glance at Heero's steely, blue eyes and his tightly-drawn, plush lips would be enough to detract from that calm first-impression. No, Heero Yuy was a coiled spring, a loaded gun, just waiting to be set off.

In the garish, fully-lighted theatre, Treize Kushrenada, the regal owner of the opera house for the past four years, and Zechs Marquise, a young aristocrat-turned-director, sat side-by-side in the fifth row of the audience, both pairs of eyes riveted on Heero as they waited for him to start. Treize had acquired ownership of the opera house when he had been a high-ranking government minister, though now his position was little more than a title, and the opera house little more than an investment. And Zechs, once a member of the fabulously wealthy Peacecraft family, was a new addition to the opera house, having left his luxurious life to pursue more meaning in his life.

Heero, himself, had only been a member of the Parisian's company for about two years. Before that, he had spent in reclusion, sneering at the world as an empty, useless place, where people lived only to die. He had been slightly surprised to find that re-entering the fantastic universe of theatre had helped him re-enter the real world, though he couldn't say that doing so had dispelled his unending bitterness towards life, nor his abundant cynicism. And yet, despite these gracious character flaws, Heero could charm his deep, somewhat gruff voice into a haunting melody.

"Someone hold me too close.
Somebody hurt me too deep."

The moment Heero's lips parted in song, Treize and Zechs were snuffed out of his mind, like extinguished tongues of flame. He lifted his chin and glared right back to the last seat in the highest balcony. He was grimly reminded of why he had begun his life on stage in the first place, and resolutely reaffirmed to himself that he would not allow the art of good theatre to be forgotten so easily. The night the chandelier had fallen, the draw to the theatre had also died along with Solo. Heero sneered inwardly at the cowardice of people.

"Somebody sit in my chair
And ruin my sleep,
And make me aware
Of being alive!"

As his voice slowly rose in crescendo, Heero's chin tilted slightly to the side, sweeping his gaze from the balcony to the ornamented boxes that lined the walls. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the fluttering of one of the heavy, purple curtains that hung over the arched portals that separated each box from the corridor outside. Seeing it again made his voice waver slightly as his mind spun, trying to figure out who else was in the theatre. (Being slightly paranoid, one of the first things Heero did every day before rehearsal was to account for everyone in the company that was called, and to his knowledge, the whole cast was in Relena's dressing room, gossiping.)

"Heero, what's the problem?" Zechs called impatiently from the audience, dropping his feet from the top of the seat in front of him when Heero stopped singing.

Heero was frozen, staring intently at the focus of his distraction in the box. "Nothing," he said at last in his usual, curt way. "It was probably just a draft."

"You're too on-edge, Heero," said Zechs as he leaned on one armrest, his long, silvery-blond hair spilling over his shoulder and pooling on the flipped-up seat beside him. "This is why you'll never be the lead! It's not for lack of talent, because heaven knows you have that; you're just too by-the-book. Get over it and start living on the stage." With a sigh, he added, "Do you want to be like Solo Maxwell or not?"

"I never said I wanted to be Solo Maxwell!" Heero snapped irritably. It was bad enough that Heero was a humourless person to begin with, but broaching on a touchy subject like Solo was enough to make Heero explode. "I just want people to come back to the theatre the way they used to because of him!" And with that, lips curled into a snarl, Heero turned on his heel and stalked off into the wings.

In his huff of disgruntlement, Heero nearly breezed right by one of his only friends, a young actor by the name of Quatre Winner. He was of a far less high-strung disposition than Heero and was one of the few people who could settle his mood-swings.

"Heero, what was that all about?" Quatre called after his temperamental friend, chasing the dark brown-haired singer further backstage. "You were doing beautifully! Why'd you stop?"

"I got distracted, okay?" Heero growled over his shoulder, at least giving Quatre the benefit of his attention as he moodily stalked down the short flight of steps leading to the white-walled dressing room hallways. The flickering light of the bulbous, overhead light-fixtures made of brass and thick, frosted glass that ran down the length of the halls cast the worn, thin, red carpet underfoot in an ethereal glow.

"Distracted? You? Yeah, right," Quatre snorted, not about to settle for such a simple answer.

"Well, that's what it was!" Heero countered, whirling around and assaulting Quatre with his violent stare. "Take it or leave it, but that's what happened!" He spun back about and continued marching stiffly down the hallway.

"Really," Quatre mused flatly, hurrying with big strides that made his little frame seem less fluid than usual, as he tried to keep up with Heero's quick, calculated paces. "Then would you be so good as to share with me just what was distracting enough to distract you?"

Heero rolled his eyes and came to a stop. Glaring sharply at Quatre from the corners of his eyes, Heero spat, "Why do you care? It was just some silly little breeze in one of the boxes, and then Zechs started giving me grief. That's all."

A sly grin crossed Quatre's face as he made a show of straightening the lopsided collar of his oversized tee-shirt. "Oh, Heero Yuy has gone and become superstitious, has he?"

Heero's expression darkened as he glared straight into Quatre's large, blue eyes, though the sinister look on Heero's face did little to faze the cheerful young blonde anymore. "Are you suggesting that I believe that stupid ghost crap Relena keeps spreading around?" he asked with a frown as he turned to a nearby door with worn, lacquered paneling.

"So you have heard the rumours!" Quatre exclaimed, a wide smile adorning his features. "Did you really see the ghost, then?" he asked excitedly, his surprisingly fast hand shooting out of nowhere to catch Heero's as the Japanese actor tried to escape to the safety of his own dressing room.

"Quatre, I'm practical, not deaf. There is no ghost," Heero said flatly, reaching out to snag the brass handle of the door again.

"You really think so? Which box was it, just for the sake of argument," Quatre persisted. Quatre had always been into stories and reading into things, and he, like so many of the Parisian's company, was a big believer in the resident ghost story of the opera house. Though there were many variations on the details of the tale, one thing that everyone agreed on was that the Parisian Opera House was haunt to some kind of phantom that despite existing barely through rumours, somehow ruled the theatre with his spectral fist.

Shoulders drooping somewhat, Heero turned to face the blonde, clearly not amused by the question, but willing to favour it because Quatre was his friend, and one of few, at that. "If my memory serves me right," he said, thinking aloud and mentally running over his internal map of the theatre's many halls and concourses, "it was box 5, on the grand tier, next to the stage box. Left side." How he could have forgotten this was impossible; that had been where he had watched in horror as Solo Maxwell was crushed to death so long ago.

A deathly shade hue whitened Quatre's skin as his already large eyes grew impossibly big for his face. "That's the ghost's box, Heero! Maybe you did see the ghost! Maybe he's trying to scare you so you'll believe in him too!" Quatre certainly did love his stories.

"It's not like I'm the only one who doesn't believe in the opera ghost, Quatre," said Heero, his tone now more exasperated than angry. "Wufei doesn't believe it either, and he's been the stage manager for almost five years. I don't see an opera ghost appearing out of doors to scare him."

"Ah, used to not believe," said Quatre, suddenly slipping into his more gossipy mode. Peeking around Heero's solid frame, Quatre checked to see if anyone else was in the hall. Satisfied they were alone, Quatre went on in a hushed, conspiring voice, "That is, until Trowa told him about old Lady Une, who was found swinging by a rope from the lamp post outside the theatre because she had the gall to sit in the ghost's box! Said the view from her seat in box three wasn't to her liking and that if no one was to sit in box five, she might as well. With a little snort, Quatre crossed his arms and said, "Humph, it sure serves her right for getting murdered, I say."

By this point, Heero was lounging against his dressing room door, arms also across his chest, his ankles crossed together too. "Right, and because this woman happened to be found in front of the theatre, this so-called opera ghost killed her, is that what you're saying?" Heero clarified, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Because she was in his box," Quatre hissed, now becoming the impatient one. "Do you think it's coincidence that she takes up residence in the ghost's box and then turns up dead by the middle of the night?" With an air of gloating, Quatre tried to prove his statements by saying, "Wufei thought it was stupid too, until he went and researched it on his own. Found quite a bit of evidence that suggests Une was killed in the middle of the performance."

Quatre looked like he was ready to go into even more detail about it if Heero even thought about protesting a little more. Heero sighed and pushed off the wall, going to open the door of his dressing room again, this time hoping to escape to its quiet confines for some solitude this time. "Right, Quatre," he said with a touch of sarcasm as he pulled the door open, "if you and the rest of the company want to go hanging your fantasies from the catwalks and balconies, be my guest." Stepping into the room, Heero firmly drove his point home before closing the door behind him, "I for one, would rather leave the pretending for the stage only." With that, he slammed the door closed behind him, shutting Quatre out of the room with a hasty fastening of the gold deadbolt.

Most all of the dressing rooms were the same French Renaissance-styled affairs, though far drabber than the rest of the opera house. The little cubicle of a room was simply furnished with a bureau and a cushioned bench of dark cedar. A heavy, antique wardrobe occupied one wall, and in the space beside the bureau, a large, floor-to-ceiling mirror framed with brass. A lighting fixture like the ones found in the halls glowed dimly in the center of the paint-peeled ceiling. Many of the other cast members had made up for the plainness of their particular dressing room by decorating with posters and other personal knickknacks, but Heero's remained painfully dull. Having to get by on the miserable wages of an actor, Heero felt there was no room for wasting precious money on needless things for his own, private space.

His mood somewhere between angered and melancholy, Heero collapsed onto the bench, rolling over so he was faced with nothing but the yellowed whiteness of the wall it was pushed up against. Quietly humming a tired, old tune to himself, he felt his eyes grow heavy and suddenly not at all ashamed about missing the rest of rehearsal.

Just as he was surrendering completely to the realm of Sleep, a seemingly far-off voice chuckled darkly. "You know," said the voice, causing Heero's eyes to snap open, "if all you're doing on stage is pretending, then you're not really acting at all, are you?"

Fighting the wave of dizziness that threatened to turn his mind inside out, Heero neatly flipped onto his back and then hurtled himself up into an upright position in almost one, fluid motion. "Whoever is in my room, get the hell out," he growled, staring intently at the blank wall ahead of him. "I'm warning you. You have ten seconds to beat it."

"Cranky, aren't you?" said the voice. "I guess that's what I get for waking you up." Clearly, the speaker had no intention of beating it any time soon.

Heero's head snapped to the side, his dark blue eyes spiraling with a cloudy displeasure, which would have been enough to tell most any person to back the hell off. But when his eyes fell on the rest of the room, the violent expression melted away as he found himself quite alone. The door was even still closed and dead bolted shut.

That darkly amused cackle bounced throughout the room again, causing Heero to look wildly all about in search of the speaker. "When first I appear, I seem mysterious," laughed the voice, "but once explained, I'm nothing serious."

"Who are you?" Heero asked, perhaps the slightest traces of doubt starting to creep into his voice. His eyes were still darting about, trying to see what was out of place, but nothing, not even the mini mouse attached to his laptop, which was charging on the bureau.

It wasn't until he noticed his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that he became alarmed. With the way the bench was positioned against the wall, he shouldn't have been able to see himself as clearly as he currently was. Much to his horror, he realized that the mirror was actually tilted away from the wall it had hung on for so long, turned outwards towards Heero like an opened door.

"They call me the opera house ghost," the speaker announced as a white-gloved hand curled around the brass edge of the mirror, confirming to Heero that there was someone pushing it out and creeping behind it from some hidden passageway. "But as you can clearly tell, I am no such thing."

"Obviously," Heero snorted, doing quite well at masking his unease. "Ghosts do not exist."

The mirror creaked, and now it was no longer a mystery that it was indeed some kind of door that masked a hidden passage. "Of course, you didn't need me to tell you that, right?" the Phantom said from behind the mirror as the floorboards creaked beneath him. Then the Phantom stepped out into the middle of the room, his sudden appearance actually startling Heero. "But you must admit," said the Phantom with a devious grin, "I come pretty close."

For the first time in his life, Heero felt himself being gripped tightly by the hand of Fear. Fixated like a gargoyle to the edge of the bench, Heero stared with wide, midnight blue eyes at the infamous Parisian Opera House ghost. He was tall and wiry, but obviously a strong man, dressed strangely in a black cloak that fell all around his body like a great, hooded sheet. But most peculiar of all (or perhaps not, considering he was the resident haunt of the opera house) was the white mask he wore over the upper half of his face, his eyes glowing like twin purple lanterns behind the empty eye sockets. Other than that, he seemed relatively normal, though his skin was a rather pale, rose shade, and his hair was unnaturally long, woven back in a tight braid that was tied off with a long, black ribbon at his hips.

After a pregnant silence passed between the two of them, Heero felt moved to speak. "Why are you here?" he ground out between clenched teeth.

"Well, I didn't expect you to wake up," said the Phantom with more humour than Heero expected a Phantom to have. Especially one that was reputed to have murdered someone.

"No!" Heero snapped. "I meant, why are you here? In my dressing room?"

"Ooh, that kind of here," the Phantom hummed, sounding amused with the whole conversation. Sweeping over towards the bureau in a flourish of black material, the Phantom leaned against it as if he were having the most casual discussion in the world. "Because of you, I should hope you've realized," he said in a tone that could be described as nothing less than sultry. Even that dancing purple light in his eyes seemed to have dimmed as he spoke. Bending low so that his nose was barely centimeters from Heero's, breath puffing and mingling between them, the Phantom whispered, "It's because of your voice, the way you sing... your lips... that mouth.... I fell in love with that...."

With those words, the Phantom closed the space between them and, catching Heero's chin between two fingers, pressed a chaste kiss that was certainly fighting to restrain far more against Heero's parted lips.

Heero, for his part, was too stunned to even think about moving had he wanted too. While he didn't know what to make of this stranger, not quite able to pinpoint exactly what this Phantom was, he certainly was able to tell for sure what the ghost wasn't. Most obviously, this man was certainly no specter, but even still, Heero could tell that he was no ordinary man. Whether it was the kiss or the whole situation altogether, Heero wasn't completely positive, but in that moment, he realized that this Phantom was a man of talent, a man of secrets, and a man of danger.

"You must keep it a secret that we've met," said the Phantom seriously as he pulled away, his lamp-like eyes never once leaving Heero. "But you will come again tonight, after the performance, after everyone is gone."

As the Phantom was speaking, Heero found himself growing more and more intrigued by him, though, he was certain, for far different reasons than everyone else revered the opera house ghost. No matter what this man was or was not, Heero decided, he was different, so unlike anyone he had ever known. There, Heero decided that no matter the risk, he would see the opera house ghost again. "Where shall I know to find you?" he asked.

"Midnight, in box five. Don't try to find me, for I shall find you," the Phantom said with a grin that was sure to have accompanied a wink. Slowly backing away from Heero, he glided towards the mirror passage like he was floating in some dark cloud. "Remember," he said as he started to disappear behind the mirror again, pulling it closed behind him, "midnight, in box five. Don't be late."

The mirror swung shut, and Heero was left alone in the room, just as it had been when he first entered and locked the door. Unaware that he had been sitting ramrod straight since his encounter with the opera house ghost, Heero let his shoulders relax as he sighed, blinking at the empty room as if he'd never seen it before in his life.

"Do you need a ride home, Heero?" asked Trowa, the orchestra pit director as the blue-eyed Japanese breezed across the darkened stage. Combing a hand through his long, cinnamon red bangs, Trowa went on, "Because I'm taking Quatre home tonight, and I was wondering, if you were planning to just walk home like you usually do, I could easily give you a lift."

Heero halted downstage left and turned around. He had been so distracted by his earlier encounter with the Phantom and the request to meet that night, he hadn't even noticed Trowa until the musician had spoken. "No, thank you, Trowa," Heero said as pleasantly as he could, fighting to stifle the whirlwind of unsettling feelings swishing about inside. Heero wasn't sure if he liked the torrent of excitement or the cascade of fear coursing through his veins; while the excitement was quite the rush, he had to admit, he had never felt fear quite like this before, and the new sensation was almost as exhilarating.

"Well, if you're alright then..." Trowa said with a shrug, leaving the end of his sentence hanging as a last chance for Heero to grab onto his offer. Seeing that Heero was clearly ignoring him though, his intent clear, Trowa gave up and turned around to go find Quatre backstage.

Meanwhile, Heero had already crossed the stage and was making his way down the small flight of steps that led down to the orchestra seats. With almost everyone gone, the theatre was dark, lighted only by the dimly glowing wall scounces and the dotted guiding lights that ran along the red-carpeted aisles. Heero rounded the slowly ascending pathway around the outside of the left-most clump of orchestra seats, making his way to the ornate lobby at the front of the opera house.

Hanging side-by-side, the lobby's two, crystal chandeliers were smaller versions of the grand chandelier that had once hung in the house. In the late hours, they cast hardly any light at all upon the once-grand foyer, supplemented only by the large patches of gold shining in through the large, glass panes set in the wooden front doors. Two marble staircases, each lined with intricate, curling black iron, climbed up from the lobby to the mezzanine balcony. Heero, however, knew just about every twist and turn in the opera house, and hardly even had to think about what he was doing as he absently moved through the lobby, his mind distracted with thoughts of the Phantom as he mounted one of the staircases.

He ignored the elongated shadows painted from the edges of the various pieces of accent furniture littered throughout the corridor as he made his way down towards the infamous ghost's box, all the while wondering what his second meeting with the Phantom would be like. Much as he would have liked to deny it, between Quatre, Relena, and the rest of the company, there was little anyone could do to avoid the mystery and the influence of the opera house ghost. It was amazing that in one day, Heero had gone from the most skeptical of believers to being the one person who knew for a solid fact that the Phantom truly existed.

At long last, he reached the door to box five, and found himself momentarily frozen with his hand on the brass doorknob. Heero resolutely reminded himself that despite the stories and rumours, the Phantom was only a man, and that there was little to really be afraid of. Then he pulled the door open and drew back the heavy, velvet hangings that separated the box's small vestibule from the house. Stepping through the curtains, he felt his heart leap up into his throat as the seconds until his meeting with the Phantom dwindled away to nothing. But just as he opened his mouth to greet the ghost he expected to find sitting in one of the box's delicate, cushioned armchairs, the words and all the climatic buildup dissolved when he found no one there.

Sighing, Heero shook off any notions that he might have actually been a little bit excited to see the opera house ghost again. He walked down to the front of the box and threw himself onto one of the plush, round-backed chairs, his legs splayed out lazily in front of him as he glared at his wristwatch. Both hands were just stroking the 'XII' that adorned the top of its white face. "Stupid. Ghosts don't exist," he berated himself. "That man in the mask was probably just someone who'd found some secret passage into my room and thought it the perfect excuse to try and stir up the non-believer...."

No sooner had Heero thought these words aloud, a sudden, very distinct chill overtook him, and he found his back stiffening as his fingers curled around the chair's arms. He thought he had heard the sound of the door being opened, the swish of the box's hangings, though his swooping eyes suggested that he was merely letting his imagination run wild with that ridiculous opera house ghost nonsense.

Heero was about to stand up and leave, when a gloved hand shot out of seemingly nowhere and clamped down on his shoulder. A shiver ran down Heero's spine as the whisper of cool lips spiraled over his ear. "I told you," the familiar voice of the Phantom murmured, "I would be the one to find you."

Heero wasn't quite sure how to respond to this as it was exactly what the Phantom had instructed, word for word, so he said nothing, as he was wont to do when he wished to avoid sounding silly. Instead, he sat quietly, staring intently forward at the box on the opposite side of the house, trying to regulate his quickening pulse and breathing. He had wanted this, had he not? He had wanted to meet the opera house ghost again, didn't he?

The Phantom swooped around Heero's chair, crouching over the back of the seat next to him and leaning deep into Heero's personal space as he blinked owlishly at him from behind his white mask. For a moment, Heero thought that the Phantom looked much younger than he had initially pegged him to be. Feeling that the Phantom was waiting for him to speak, Heero opened his mouth and let out the first thing that came to mind. "What do you want with me?" he asked.

The curious line the Phantom's lips were twisted into contorted into a mischievous smiled. "I think you just have to play along if you really want to know," he said slyly, pushing off the chair and sweeping about to Heero's other side with a flourish of black cloak. His long braid swung like a pendulum as he glided about, practically beckoning Heero with it. "Follow me, my little pet," he said over his shoulder as he started towards the back of the box.

When Heero found himself getting to his feet and doing just that, never mind the somewhat degrading nickname and the strangeness of the whole matter, even the rational part of his mind had been so enchanted by the ghost as to chalk it up to some kind of magic spell. He hurried after the Phantom as he moved towards the box's door, flinging the red hangings apart with an extravagant flick of both wrists.

"Where are you taking me?" Heero asked as he followed the Phantom down the darkened hall outside the box. If the Phantom hadn't had that certain, sure quality to his step, Heero would have written the ghost off as truly insane by then as the staircases were in the opposite direction. The way they were heading lead only to what Heero knew to be a dead end.

With another one of his strangely comforting laughs, the Phantom whirled about so he was walking backwards. "Somewhere where I can keep you all to myself and not worry about being bothered," he said knowingly, his mouth curled into a mysterious smile.

He spun back around, his cloak flying about as he did so, and continued towards the rounded niche at the end of hall, which housed a life-size marble statue of an angel. Heero had often admired the fine craftsmanship of this particular statue, and considered it one of the more beautiful accents in the grand, old opera house. Its supple curves, its carved clothes and the lyre the angel's fingers were forever frozen upon were cast in rounded shadows and pale, orange light that always lit its little alcove. Standing beside it with the Phantom now, Heero could read the gold plaque adorning the statue's base, which read: 'Angel of Music'.

"Remember," the Phantom suddenly spoke with a finger over his lips, drawing Heero out of his silent examination of the statue, "this is a secret." With that, he grabbed the statue's delicate wrist, the one that lingered over the stone instrument, and gave it a twist. Standing back as if it was the most natural thing in the world, the Phantom leaned against the wall and idly pulled at the fingers of his gloves as the entire niche began to revolve, revealing a black, stone passageway to Heero's bewildered eyes. "Come on," the Phantom said when the alcove finished its rotation and swept into the darkness.

At this point, it seemed that the Phantom was offering Heero a choice. He could either follow the ghost down into his dark world beneath the opera house, or he could turn around and walk away. Reason probably would have told a practical man like Heero that he was getting himself involved in something he probably shouldn't, but then again, Heero's reasoning wasn't exactly working as logically as it usually did. So, with hardly a glance back down the barely-lighted hallway, Heero, too, plunged into the darkness.

He stepped past the round vestibule created by the angel's niche, and immediately, he felt stone beneath his feet. Dimly aware of the alcove twisting back into place, he blindly groped for the wall, his sense of touch the only way he could guide himself in the near pitch blackness. After a few steps forward, Heero was suddenly blinded by the flickering, bright glow of a lighted candelabra, which had materialized from the darkness as quickly as the Phantom who was carrying it. Before Heero knew it, he had been backed against the stone wall by the Phantom, little tongues of flame dancing atop the candles overhead as the Phantom held the candelabra aloft.

"Ah, the point of no return," whispered the Phantom into Heero's ear. Heero was suddenly very aware of how close the opera house ghost had become, his body practically pinned to the wall by his vampiric guide. "Surrender yourself to the music of the night."

As a person who had lived most of his life in perfect control, Heero somehow found this temptation of submitting to the ghost very tempting. Fingers barely visible in the strange, constantly moving light, Heero lifted his hand and touched the Phantom's white mask, watching with a strange kind of fascination as they slid across it, tracing the hollow eye holes and slipping down the side of the ghost's round face. "Why have you brought me here?"

A rather sultry smile played across the Phantom's lips, the mere twist of his lips making Heero's insides quiver. "You have come here for one purpose, and one alone," he whispered, slowly wrapping his free hand around Heero's waist and pulling him even closer. "Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me. To serve me. To sing my music."

With those haunting words, the Phantom leaned down and gently caressed Heero's lips with a tender kiss, which Heero surprised even himself by kissing back. This Phantom was unlike anyone he had ever known, and Heero found himself desiring to know more about him at any cost. "Then shall I call you Master?" he asked when the Phantom pulled his rather sweet mouth away.

Fluttering away, the Phantom started laughing again, the infectious sound reverberating through the stone corridor. Face wreathed in the light of the candles, the Phantom responded simply by saying, "If you must call me something, you may call me Duo." He laughed again and started down the dark corridor.

It took Heero a few moments to regain the brain power to tell himself to follow the merry ghost. During those long seconds, Heero had stayed leaning against the wall, gently pawing at his kissed lips like he wasn't sure that it had been his lips the Phantom had kissed. "Duo..." he murmured softly to himself, rolling the name around in his mouth slowly and deciding that he liked the way it felt to say it. He quickly hurried after Duo down the dark passageway.

After following the streak of candlelight through the blackness, spiraling after it as they descended a steep stairwell to a level that seemed even lower than the basement storage rooms of the opera house, Heero found himself standing in the strangest of places. It was a ghostly-lit chamber (appropriate, considering his host) with stone walls and a high, vaulted ceiling from which hung a many-armed chandelier. A large, unmade bed hung with gauzy, purple hangings and covered with wrinkled black sheets dominated the area, its four, spindly, black-iron posts and curling frame beautiful despite its gothic appearance. One wall was completely hidden behind a row of heavy bookcases, all stuffed with leather-bound tomes and ripped paperbacks. A desk sat in one corner, covered with sheets and sheets of paper, as if someone had spent many a night hunched over it as he worked.

"Welcome to my humble abode," said Duo with a large grin as he gestured to the room with his free hand. He strode over to the desk and set down the lighted candelabra, and then pulled out the chair and sat down. He sat there expectantly, but when Heero remained in place, he sighed, "Well, come over here."

As Heero began to approach Duo, the Japanese man asked, "You mean to say that you brought me here because you like the way I sing?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Duo rejoined, leaning one elbow on the large, wooden desk. "I've watched the opera a couple times, and I've seen the way you are on stage," Duo said, as if to explain. "You do everything well, but you could be so much better."

Heero stopped, standing a few paces away from Duo as he narrowed his eyes at him. "I exercise everything I know about theatre when on stage," he said stiffly, suddenly a little wary, as if his sense of reasoning was starting to creep out from Duo's spell. "I went to the theatre on a regular basis when I was younger, and I've tried to become every great actor I've ever seen."

"Ah, but that's why you're only good, not great. You're missing the whole point," said Duo, that devilish smirk pulling at the corners of his wide mouth. With his eyes and upper face covered by the mask, Duo's mouth seemed even more expressive than it naturally was.

"I fail to see where you're going with this," said Heero bluntly.

Duo laughed yet again, though Heero couldn't exactly say he minded as the sound was pleasant and he liked the way Duo looked when he did so. "You said you try to become other actors," Duo said as his laughed died down to mere, sporadic chuckles. "That's just your problem, you see. You can't try to be someone else on stage; you have to be you!" Duo stood up and slowly began to pace around Heero, like a hungry tiger examining its prey before it attacked. "When you act, you cannot pretend; you have to be," Duo went on. "The stage must be your home, where you breathe and live... where you come alive." By this point, Duo had completely rounded Heero and was now standing in front of him, bending down slightly so their noses were just touching. "Will you breathe on stage for me?" he finished, his voice a low, sultry whisper.

Heero caught a glimpse of flashing violet buried in the shadowy eye sockets of Duo's white mask, and immediately found himself falling under the trance of Duo's ghostly eyes. "Yes," Heero murmured without even realizing what he'd said.

Duo smiled at Heero's answer, and the strange, nighttime sunshine that lighted his face with just that simple expression snapped Heero awake and drew him under yet another spell. Quickly laying a light kiss on Heero's cheek, he put his hands on the Japanese actor's shoulders and guided him over to the desk, maneuvering him into the chair. "I will teach you everything I know about the stage," said Duo, turning away for a moment, leaving Heero to admire the long plait of chestnut brown hair that hung down his back. "All I ask is that you be mine, come to visit me so... so I won't have to be alone anymore."

"Duo..." Heero started to say, but then trailed off, realizing that he had no idea how to console a lonely person, when he was just as lonely and was still seeking the consolation Duo obviously needed. So instead, he asked softly, "Duo... why me?"

Duo slowly turned back around, his long, black cape swishing around him as he did. Even though Heero couldn't see half of Duo's face, he was sure that the Phantom was wearing the saddest expression to ever befall the face of a human being. "Because I love your voice, and I want it to sing my music," he said, falling to his knees beside Heero's chair so he could rest his folded arms on the Japanese's lap. "Because I want your body," he went on, his fingers idly playing across the tops of Heero's thighs. "I want your mind... your heart...."

Heero's eyes were wide as he tried to digest this dose of information. "But there are so many other people in the company who are surely better than me," he protested weakly.

Duo was shaking his head in the negative as Heero spoke. "Perhaps... but none of them are quite like you," he said with a shrug, rising up higher on his knees so they were more eye-to-eye. "The moment I saw you, I somehow knew that you were just like me. More than anything, I have wanted to offer you my voice, my mind and my body."

"What about your heart?" Heero asked, his lips moving once again without his permission.

With a nostalgic smile, Duo answered, "That is something you already have." Rising to his feet once more, he bent down and cupped Heero's face, his touch more loving than any Heero had ever felt before. "Come and visit me, Heero," Duo murmured, "and I will teach you how to sing."

Since that night, Heero made midnight visits to his Phantom professor that became more and more frequent as their relationship grew. Their music sessions encompassed much more than simply singing, and the pair often found themselves simply lounging around Duo's hidden chambers, talking. Heero found that Duo was far more lonely than he ever imagined, though it would never have been obvious judging from the Phantom's cheerful attitude and joking manner whenever Heero was around.

But the more attached Heero became to Duo, and the more impatient he became to see him, the more Heero's friends started to notice his strange behaviour. The first and foremost noticeable change was Heero's presence on stage; since Heero had been begun visiting Duo, the Phantom had kept his promise to develop Heero's talent. Zechs had been nearly floored when he first heard the growing results of Duo's tutelage, demanding to know where and why Heero had kept such an amazing gift hidden. Quatre had gushed over Heero's quickly developing skill and didn't even bat a jealous eyelash when Zechs made the decision to replace him with Heero as the lead.

Despite all the recognition that was suddenly being poured on him, Heero let all of it whiz by him in a blur. Unlike everyone else, who seemed to think that Heero had recently just tapped some hidden valve inside, Heero knew that the real reason for his success was hidden in the shadows of the night. Without Duo, Heero probably would never have matured as much as an actor as he had lately, and certainly not at such a fast rate.

Though Heero often wondered what kept Duo hidden away in his secret passages beneath the opera house, he believed that personal histories were things that did not need to be nosed into, and therefore never really asked. And somehow, Heero felt a strange, inexplicable kind of connection between himself and Duo when he sang; though it was Heero the audience saw, it was Duo they heard, and the idea that they had been melded into one person like that was somewhat erotic to Heero.

It was when Heero started missing rehearsals that people really started to notice anything truly different about Heero's demeanor. It had been off-and-on at first, but slowly, the number of rehearsals Heero was missing began to climb to a noticeable amount. Instead of going to practice with the rest of the company, Heero found himself rushing to be with Duo, morally writing it off that he would be rehearsing his singing anyway. Even when Quatre ended up having to assume his former role as the lead once more due to Heero's frequent absences, the Japanese actor hardly cared. All he needed anymore was to hear Duo laugh and the anticipation that Duo would kiss him again.

Many members of the company thought it strange that Heero 'Never-Miss-A-Rehearsal' Yuy would suddenly disappear for unknown lengths of time and be gone for sometimes days until he was heard from again, which propelled into being a series of rumours concerning Heero and the opera house ghost. Trowa was the only one who didn't agree, his theory blankly stating that he thought Heero had fallen in love with someone. Despite the whispering and the speculation, the stories that some people concocted about Heero and the Phantom were ironically closer to the truth than anyone in the cast would dare to believe.

Heero knew they gossiped about him, but the extent of attention he gave to it was only enough to carry back a good story to Duo, who seemed to find the trivial dealings of the world above highly amusing.

"You know, they say I sold my soul to you," Heero commented to Duo one day, sitting in Duo's chair and glancing over the sheet music strewn across the desk. Duo composed almost all the music he had Heero sing.

Laying sprawled on his back upon the bed as he tossed a baseball to himself, Duo grinned and chuckled. "Maybe you did," he said, eyeing Heero discreetly.

Opening one of the side drawers of the desk, Heero pulled out another packet of sheet music to see if Duo had finished anything new. Beneath it, however, Heero noticed something far more interesting. "'Opera House Legend Dead'," Heero read the headline of the clipped newspaper article he'd just discovered there. A black-and-white photograph of the wide-eyed actor, his hair a chin-length bob around his face, brought many memorable performances back to Heero. Sifting through the bottom of the drawer, he found it full of nearly every article pertaining to Solo Maxwell's death. He looked over at Duo, who had stopped throwing the ball. "Were you also a big fan of Maxwell?"

"Who wasn't?" Duo countered, his voice quiet. He sat up and tossed the ball aside as he watched Heero carefully from behind his deathly, white mask. "Solo Maxwell was... practically a brother to me, though. I was never quite the same after he died." Heero nodded, understanding completely. "I was there when it happened," he said.

"So was I," answered Duo. A heavy, pregnant silence followed as both of them silently brooded over the dark memory. After a few moments, however, Duo suddenly perked up, hopping off the bed and practically dancing over to the chair where Heero sat. It was a wonder the longhaired Phantom didn't trip over his own cape as he moved. "Come on, don't be depressing," he said with a grin, grabbing Heero by the wrists and jerking him to his feet. He laid a hand on Heero's shoulder and wound himself around the Japanese actor's body, his other arm slipping around Heero's waist and pulling their bodies against each other. "Why don't you sing for me?" he murmured into Heero's ear.

"Alright," Heero said, a small grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. He had come to enjoy entertaining Duo with his voice, and just to see that contented expression light Duo's face, Heero was willing to give the longhaired Phantom as many private concerts as he desired.

So with a deep breath, Heero opened his mouth and let the notes melt over his lips, just as Duo had been training him. Duo still held Heero against his body, enjoying the feel of Heero's song as it vibrated through the Japanese actor's slim, muscular frame. "That's it," he said quietly. Gently, he raised the hand he had on Heero's hip and laid it across his abdomen and slipped the other beneath Heero's thick, brown bangs. "Sing from here," he murmured, softly tapping Heero's diaphragm with one hand. He pressed the fingers of his other hand against Heero's forehead; "Resonate here." Then he moved it downwards, laying it across Heero's chest. "But feel it here," he finished, rubbing the area over Heero's thudding heart. It was a speech Heero had heard quite a few times, but he never tired of it. Besides, the truth of what Duo said had been the key to improving his vocal skills.

But then a surprising and rather sudden touch caused Heero's voice to waver, as the hand Duo held over his abdomen slid unnecessarily lower, thumb hooking itself on the waistband of Heero's jeans. At that, Heero stopped singing, barely able to whisper a questioning, "Duo?" This had been the start of so many fantasies that always seemed to find Heero alone as of late.

"Shh," Duo whispered back, his lips still ghosting near Heero's ear as that deviant hand of his flattened itself against the worn denim stretched across Heero's crotch. "We don't have to do anything if it makes you uncomfortable, but...." He trailed off and kissed the side of Heero's face, which, for some reason, felt different than all the other kisses that he'd ever given Heero. It was strange that a kiss to the cheek could feel more erotic than dozens of kisses to the lips, but somehow, this one was.

With a hitched breath, Heero managed to say in a low, almost strained voice, "I'm comfortable." He let one of his hands rest atop Duo's, holding it in place over the sensitive region between his legs. He tilted his chin downward, watching his own hand encourage Duo's with gentle strokes from beneath hooded eyelids and thick, long lashes.

"You're sure?" Duo pressed as his dexterous fingers started to pull at the buttons that kept Heero's jeans fastened together. "You'd tell me if you really weren't, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," Heero murmured, leaning back against Duo with a low moan as the longhaired Phantom slid his fingers underneath the stiff, blue denim, the pleasurable feeling of Duo touching him so intimately intensified by the reduction of barriers between them. He could feel himself reacting, hardening, as Duo's teasing fingers flicked from slow, almost teasing tickles, to fast, rough jerks upon his cotton-wrapped flesh. The friction added by Duo's gloves was enough to almost make Heero mad with pleasure. "Mm, that's good," he whimpered almost desperately as his own fingers started fumbling with the buttons of Duo's white button-up shirt.

However, as soon as the first two buttons popped off Duo's shirt, revealing a narrow sliver of pale flesh, Duo was quick to jerk away with a reaction that could best be described as fear. Met with Heero's inquiring blue eyes, Duo answered as best he could. "I'm... I'm sorry I even started that, Heero," he said. "It's one thing to touch and all, but it's... well, I'm just really touchy about my own body, that's all." It was a weak, somewhat hypocritical argument, but there was not a shred of dishonesty in the fear glinting from behind Duo's white mask. "I don't think you'd find me a very attractive lover anyway."

Heero's face became stern at this explanation as he took a few swift, meaningful steps in Duo's direction. "I don't care how you look, Duo," he said firmly. "I just want to be with you. I don't care if you think you're the ugliest person on the planet. I think you're beautiful, even if I've never seen your face...."

Though still somewhat hesitant, Duo seemed to accept Heero's words and silently opened his arms, his cape hanging over them like great, cloth bat wings. Heero drew close to Duo and allowed himself to be enveloped in the black cape as Duo brought his arms around him and wrapped them both in it. Within the confines of the silken cocoon, two pairs of hands set to work again, pulling at buttons and zippers without fear. Heero was pleased to find that the few minutes of distraction hadn't done anything to make Duo any less excited, his hand almost violently grabbing at Duo's cock as he ripped the fly of his pants open.

The unexpected feeling of Heero's hand wrapped around his hardening member caused Duo to throw his head back and let out a low, primal moan. His arms slipped down to his sides and the cape swished back to the floor, falling naturally, and revealing the results of their hidden foreplay. Heero's shirt now lay in a heap on the floor and his jeans and boxers were sliding low on his hips, pulled beneath Heero's proud, wet cock. Duo's shirt hung open beneath the cape, his pants also undone and revealing a strained and hungry erection.

Moving backwards, Heero neared the bed and sat down on the edge, his legs spread casually apart as he beckoned Duo with a coy twitch of his index finger. Not making any effort to conceal himself, Heero, unabashed, dropped that hand between his thighs and started idly toying with himself, luring Duo closer with needy groans and whispers of the Phantom's name. When Duo was standing hardly a foot away from Heero, a hooded expression weighting his eyelids, Heero's arms suddenly shot out and wound themselves around Duo's waist, yanking him as close as possible and bringing the Phantom's wet cock scent centimeters from his mouth. Then Heero languidly parted his lips and slipped them around its reddened head, slowly inhaling the thick, hard organ.

Duo, for his part, was sure that Heero was retaliating for the little petting session of a few moments ago. The only difference was that he was sure that whatever pleasure Heero had felt when Duo had stroked him, this was at least ten thousand times more intense. He was barely conscious of the string of curse words against, whimpers for and praises of Heero's talented mouth as it slid up and down his cock, tasting, licking and kissing as it explored. Duo was sure he was going to explode right from that point, where Heero's lips were melded to his flesh, if something wasn't done soon. An overwhelming desire to regain control of the situation overtook him, and he found himself guiding Heero's mouth away from his cock with somewhat reluctant fingers.

Any regrets he had felt about prematurely ending the blowjob were squashed as he leaned his knees against the edge of the bed and guided Heero down onto his back. The Japanese's only reaction was to spread his legs a bit more and to reach up and pull Duo down for a wet kiss. Bent over the edge of the bed, Duo allowed Heero to hold him down with his powerful hands as they tugged mercilessly at his clothes. Duo's white shirt was pulled almost ruthlessly from his body, leaving him clothed in only his long cloak and his slipping pants.

"Duo, your back..." Heero murmured between soft gasps as his fingers danced across the bare flesh underneath Duo's cape, wandering up and down his spine as Duo assaulted Heero with many kisses and gentle nips. After a bit of blind fumbling, Heero was able to discard the cloak, revealing that Duo's powerful back was charred with the thick skin of many healed scars and burns.

"Just an old accident," Duo wrote it off quickly, silencing any more of Heero's questions with a blistering kiss. The gesture was certainly effective in distracting Heero from Duo's disfigured flesh, even more so when Duo turned his attention to other regions of Heero's anatomy. With almost desperate motions, Duo helped guide Heero out of his jeans, practically ripping the blue, canvas pants off his soon-to-be lover in desperate excitement.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Heero, now completely naked, sprawled beneath him, Duo held himself above with his hands, simply admiring the gorgeous creature beneath him. After so many years of watching from dark corners, he had never dreamed that his deepest fantasies about the Japanese actor would actually become reality. "Would you allow me to make love to you?" he asked in a ragged whisper as he lifted one knee and placed it on the edge of the bed.

Heero, his eyes wide with pleasure as Duo's hand wandered between his thighs, could barely grunt a hungry, "Yes!" At the same time, Heero found himself ripping at Duo's pants, quickly disrobing him completely as they crawled further onto the bed in tandem. Now the only thing that Duo hid from Heero was his face, which was still concealed by the white mask. As Heero tossed Duo's pants aside, he found that Duo's legs were scarred in a similar fashion to his back, which made Heero wonder what had happened to the Phantom so he incurred such physical damage. Knowing it was probably useless to try and ask Duo about it, Heero concentrated on more important things as he wound his arms around Duo's slender neck as they rolled across the mattress, devouring and touching each other with fiery passion.

Soon, Heero found himself straddling Duo's hips, bent over him in such a way that their noses were just grazing each other. Hands resting gingerly on the sides of Duo's face, Heero gave Duo a lazy kiss, his lips parting as his tongue slipped into the Phantom's mouth. It was a slow conclusion to the frenzied foreplay of before, his fingers stroking Duo's face gently.

Then, something startling happened. As Heero continued to kiss his lover, his hands accidentally loosened the ribbon that held the white mask to Duo's face, a few errant strokes of Heero's fingers loosening the thing entirely. As the mask slipped, Duo suddenly sat bolt right up, practically knocking Heero astray, as he futilely fought to save the mask before it fell completely away. But his desperate fumbling was in vain, and both Heero and Duo watched helplessly as the white mask fell from Duo's face, landing on the mattress beside their tangled bodies. Without the mask, Duo's hands automatically flew to his face, shielding it from view. "Don't look at me, Heero," he cried in a somewhat pitiful-sounding voice.

Still sitting in Duo's lap, Heero wordlessly raised his hands and pulled Duo's away from his face, revealing the eyes he had wanted to see for so long; eyes he had dreamed about, which clouded over in passion whenever he saw them in his sleep. But when Heero finally saw the half of Duo's face that had been covered my the mask, he let out a soft, startled gasp. It had nothing to do with the long scar that ran across Duo's face, but more where he recognized those wide eyes. "Solo Maxwell," he whispered, not believing what his eyes were seeing.

Ashamed, Duo tried to look away. "Yeah," he said softly, staring at the mask lying beside him. "I was so mutilated after that accident, I thought I'd never act again," he explained, going on to tell what had happened that night the chandelier had fallen, allegedly crushing him to death, and how he had gone into hiding. "I guess I did die that night. At least, Solo Maxwell did. I'm Duo now," he said. Turning to meet Heero's eyes, he concluded his story. "But once the theatre has you, you can't escape it, you know." With a timid smile, he added, "Especially when I knew you'd come back. You, the boy who came to every, single performance and sat in box five."

Heero let out a soft gasp. He hadn't even remembered where he used to sit when he came to see the opera, but the parallel between the infamous ghost box and his old seat suddenly dawned upon him. "You... you mean to say...?"

Duo nodded slowly, pulling Heero close and leaning his chin on his shoulder, whispering into his ear. "I've been in love with you longer than you could ever dare to imagine. The moment I saw you...." He trailed off and switched his train of thought. "Perhaps scaring me away from the stage was just some higher power's way of bringing you to me."

Despite the strange irony of the situation, Heero couldn't help but feel that this was the most romantic thing he had ever heard, and he made sure the kiss he gave Duo showed that. Soon Heero was on his back again with Duo holding himself above him as he prepared to make love to him. Bent between Heero's spread legs, Duo began to nudge himself inside the gasping Japanese youth. As he felt Duo press deeper into him, swelling and filling him with his beautiful cock, Heero whispered, "You have my body, my mind... my heart, Duo. All of me...."

"All of you," whispered Duo as he became completely one with Heero; "All of me." Unsure of Heero's comfort, he began to move slowly, tenderly stroking Heero in the most intimate way possible. But Heero's increasing begs and whimpers eventually gripped Duo's mind like an aphrodisiac, and his movements began to grow in pace. Heero's legs fell further apart, his fingers clenching the bed sheets, as Duo slammed into him, thrusting him back and forth every time Duo's cock sunk into him. The bed screeched across the stone floors as it quaked, banging against the wall, a steady beat for the melody of Heero's and Duo's entwined gasps and moans.

Needless to say, it wasn't long before they both came. Messy and out of breath, Duo slowly and reluctantly pulled out of Heero and collapsed beside him, quick to grab his lover around the waist and pull him close. Heero, not paying any mind to their sticky mess, felt his eyes drooping a little with sleepiness. With a yawn, he said sleepily to Duo, "You see? I did come back to you."

That was the night that Heero Yuy disappeared from the world altogether, and the whispers that he had given himself entirely to the opera house ghost were much closer to the truth than they realized. The Parisian Opera House, having lost another brilliant stage presence, was suddenly dubbed as the cursed theatre, which surprisingly helped its business, instead of scaring patrons away. Even long after Heero was barely more than a memory, it is rumoured that if one is at the opera house after hours, you can still hear the haunting sound of two ghosts singing the music of the night.