"It's been weeks, you know."

It wasn't a question. Nadir stood resolutely at the door, his wiry frame leaned neatly to one side, rather like a book left on a shelf without a partner to hold it perfectly upright. Erik didn't look up from his writing. He didn't need to, he knew the man's face without seeing... the very tone of the accusatory statement communicating with absolute clarity the solemness of his expression: the disappointed gaze, the furrowed brow and displeased frown.

"I've... been busy," Erik said distractedly, shoving a pile of papers under a nearby cup. Nadir noticed with unease that it was one of several teacups that joined dirty glasses, stacks of newspapers. The room was in a complete state of disarray.

Nadir folded his arms across his chest, "For someone who spends such a great majority of time pining for normalcy, you do not often give yourself the opportunity to live as a whole person."

This caught Erik's attention, causing him to turn his head ever so slightly.

"We're not meant to live so alone," Nadir continued gently. "It makes it hard to remind us that we're human."

Erik sighed, folding the slender fingers of one hand on top of the other. His lips formed together in a thin line. How strange that Nadir would come now to lecture him on the finer points of being human. On a day he had spent mostly in quiet contemplation, hearing the echoes of words spoken by those long since in their graves.

Feeling, as he did, that his very humanity was slipping away.

The back of his tongue tasted sour, he wondered how long it had been since he last ate, how long he'd been working. Recently the novelty of opera operations had worn surprisingly thin. No sooner than the carpets had been laid had he felt the first tug of restlessness. With the construction completed, the decorating done, and now several productions come and gone, Erik desperately needed a creative outlet. He'd taken to ... interfering with the management of the company, just harmless little suggestive gestures... trifles really. Simple illusions and a few artfully worded letters and he had acquired himself a salary and a hobby. Now even that task, which had kept him busy for months and months, was losing its allure. This had made Nadir nervous, somehow. In the past year, the man had been visiting more frequently, dropping in unexpectedly, having the audacity to suggest other activities. Trying to keep him busy.

The nerve.

Erik had been forced to remove him bodily from his house, with a stern command not to return. A command Nadir had clearly chosen to ignore. The masked man wondered wryly what, exactly, he had done to Nadir to make him continue coming back through those doors, even under admittedly vague threats. Perhaps the man had a masochistic streak, returning to experience this fresh torture over and over again. For wasn't that what this was? Forced into the employ of a man such as he? A thing? He knew the man's thoughts as well as he knew his own. Knew that seeing him here, gaunt and pale and haunted caused Nadir's guts to gnaw and knot within him.

"The mind that hears only the echo of its own thoughts has no inspiration," Nadir said as if reciting a line from a story he struggled to remember, "And a heart that answers no other will wither and shrink away."

A burst of staccato laughter escaped Erik's lips, a harsh and cruel sound. With a dismissive muttering noise, he turned back to his work.

"The chorus auditions are today," Nadir said formally, straightening himself up and brushing the dust from the sleeve of his jacket, "or are you no longer interested in the opera, as well?"

Erik's eyes closed for a moment as if the words stung him. "My friend," he said gently, swiveling in his seat.

And found he was now alone.

With a resigned sigh, he rose from his seat and made his way toward his chambers. If one were going to visit polite society, one should probably dress the part.