Erik does not like weddings. He has not attended many but based on this one experience he can confidently say it is an unpleasantness he'd prefer to avoid. Although, that might have something to with the fact that it's the love of his life, Christine Daaé, who is getting married, not to him, but her childhood sweetheart, the handsome Raoul de Chagny.

It is a lavish affair. The de Chagnys are a wealthy and well-respected family, with noble heritage (although, as far as Erik knows, Raoul is a self-made man). They must have paid for everything since Christine has no living family of her own.

Erik spends the day feeling uncomfortable and out of place (more so than usual). Not because of the stares (he is accustomed to those) but because he has to watch Christine happily ride off into the sunset with another man, grinding salt into the open wound. He had been in two minds whether to show but couldn't disappoint sweet Christine, his favourite and most talented student (not that there will be any more lessons). He didn't attend the church ceremony, he wasn't sure he could restrain himself from leaping up and proclaiming his love when the priest asked if there were any objections. His first confession had not been well-received and he is not such a glutton for punishment that he would seek a public rejection or restraining order.

Instead he heads to the reception eager to get this over and done with. Christine looks like an angel in her white pristine gown, heavenly light surrounding her. She steals his breath away with each smile but her eyes are only for Raoul. Witnessing their happiness is bitter enough without overhearing the other guests exclaim how in love the newlyweds appear. It stirs something vicious in him, urges him to rampage, tear down the garlands, knock over the cake, and terrorise the guests. But he won't, because it's wrong and it is Christine's day, he won't take it from her, no matter how it breaks his heart.

Despite the strain his feelings caused their friendship, Christine must have been trying to extend some kind of olive branch when she invited him to her wedding; to prove he is still important to her even though they can never be what he desperately wants them to be. She asked him if he would play the piece he wrote for her as the music for the newlyweds' first dance. Erik poured so much of his love into that composition and for him to play it while she sways in the arms of another man is the equivalent of ripping his heart out and trampling it under their heels. But he can't say no to her.

Instead he revised the piece, taking all those undesired feelings and moulding them into music, so while it still speaks of his love for Christine, of her beauty and the tale of their time together, it also ends in his acceptance, the love between Christine and Raoul is far stronger and more powerful than he, one that will last for a lifetime and beyond. It is his swan song to Christine and it reduces many of the guests to tears.

Afterwards he is waylaid with congratulations and gushing praise for his performance. He looks past them all and catches Christine's gaze. Her eyes gleam with unshed tears and she offers him a grateful smile before turning back to her husband. It leaves Erik feeling marginally better but still wrecked and he heads to the open bar to drown his sorrows.

He is on his third drink when he is pounced upon by a teensy blonde with flowers in her hair, a few wisps escaping the fancy up-do, dressed in the same lilac chiffon as the other bridesmaids.

"Dance with me."

Erik lowers his glass and peers at her. She is practically vibrating; Erik thinks he can see the champagne fizzing through her.

"I'm Meg, Maid of Honour and Christine's best friend," she announces as if responding to a question Erik doesn't remember asking. "You're the pianist."

She presents her hand like she's expecting him to kiss it. Erik shakes it despite the awkward angle.

"Erik."

It's a mistake. Meg's other hand clasps his, trapping him in her hold.

"Dance with me, Erik."

Erik is unmoved. "Surely there are enough handsome men for you to dance with."

Willing ones too.

"But none as interesting as you."

Erik is not sure how to take that and doesn't reply. Maybe if she realises what a socially inept freak he is she will leave him alone.

"Come on," she whines, doing nothing to improve her allure. "Would you rather mope here all by your lonesome or dance with a beautiful woman."

Option A, Erik immediately thinks but then reconsiders. Maybe he should try to have some fun; it's not like he gets out very often. He certainly doesn't get asked to dance by beautiful women ever. Perhaps he should indulge her, if only for one dance and then he can go back to wallowing. It is the gentlemanly thing to do.

"You make a convincing argument. I concede."

He rises from his seat and the blonde bounces on her toes.

"Good choice, I've been told I have an indomitable spirit." She says it like it's a compliment though Erik isn't sure the speaker meant it as such.

He realises, with surprise, he is more entertained by her than he is irritated. "Let's hope your dancing lives up to it."

Meg's eyes twinkle and she drags him onto the dancefloor. Thankfully it is not too crowded; there are just enough couples so they don't stand out. Another mercy is Christine and Raoul don't appear to be in sight, mingling with the other guests. He doesn't need an audience.

The band strums a slow song and Meg's arms slip around his neck. Erik jolts at the touch and snatches the hand nearest his mask away from his face, correcting their position into the proper form for a waltz, one hand resting on her waist, the other interlocking with her own. Meg looks amused but doesn't comment.

Erik moves to begin the dance and freezes, trying to remember which steps he takes next. It has been so long since he danced with someone. He is standing in the middle of the dancefloor, looking like a startled deer with no clue how to proceed.

Meg must sense his rising panic but instead of mocking him she takes control, leading them through the dance. Bemused, Erik follows, tension creeping from his shoulders as Meg eases him into the flow of the music. It should be awkward given their height difference but Meg moves with enough grace for both of them. Together they glide across the floor like this is how it's meant to be done.

Suspicion tugs at Erik and he glances down.

"Don't watch your feet," Meg admonishes. "It'll break your concentration."

"But your footwork deserves to be admired," Erik praises, returning his gaze to hers.

Rosy lips form an 'o' and Erik takes the opportunity to spin her. He feels confident enough to take the lead now he's found his rhythm.

Meg faces him, cheeks flushed. "You don't have a foot fetish, do you?

Erik's not sure if he's more surprised by her words or the laugh it startles out of him. Meg smiles like the cat who caught the canary.

"No," Erik says, regaining his voice. "Just an appreciation for talent."

"I know, you were Christine's voice coach. Her singing improved enormously under your instruction."

Erik fumbles a step but Meg catches him before it can become a stumble. Her expression flickers but she doesn't remark on it.

Erik remembers her calling herself Christine's best friend and wonders if she knows of his sorry history with the bride. Suddenly, he regrets agreeing to dance. What if it's a ruse to interrogate him, read him the riot act and make sure he knows to stay far away from Christine and her Happy Ending.

"I would love to have a voice like hers, she sings so beautifully."

That's not what Erik was expecting.

"You want singing lessons?"

Erik doesn't quite remember his reasons for becoming a music tutor, it was mainly to have another form of cash flow but he soon regretted it. Most students are put off either by the mask or his strict teaching methods. Christine is his one success story and even that ends tragically. He still teaches piano to Mrs Otterson - an elderly woman in his apartment building who struggles with anything beyond the basics but always supplies him with a cup of tea and biscuit - but has otherwise sworn-off teaching. He's unsure how he feels about indulging the bubbly blonde before him.

Meg notices his hesitance and laughs lightly. "No. I mean I do sing, occasionally, but dance is my passion. It keeps me busy. I wouldn't have the time."

"You're a dancer then?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I am blessed to have such a talented partner," Erik remarks and doesn't miss how she goes flush with pride. "I doubt you can say the same."

"Pfft, you are perfect. And a better conversationalist than I expected."

He too is surprised by how easily he is conversing with this stranger but there is something so cheerful and warm about Meg that has Erik opening up.

"I think there again, the credit must go to you."

Meg smiles and winds her arms around his neck, pressing flush against his body. He lets her, gently moving both his hands to her waist. The lead singer croons into the microphone and they rock from side to side.

"The piece you played for the first dance, it's an original composition?"

Erik stiffens and nods.

"It's beautiful." Meg sighs wistfully and runs her hands down his arms and back up again, as if to smooth the tension from his shoulders. "Do you write much music?"

Erik nods and finds himself confessing more than he would like. "Yes… I'm currently working on an opera."

Meg does a little skip which should throw them off-balance but she maneuvers them seamlessly, squeezing his shoulder.

"That's amazing! I would love to hear more of your work. When you were playing I felt like I could dance amongst the stars but I managed to keep myself under control. That's how I can tell it's good music, when I'm overtaken with the urge to dance, the music is alive in my veins and I can feel the song in my feet."

Erik lifts his eyebrows. "Do you have a foot fetish?"

Meg snorts and flutters her eyelashes. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Erik laughs, more freely than the first time, and holds Meg close, wanting to keep her a little longer.

It is several songs later when they break apart although Erik feels as if they could have danced all night. Meg certainly doesn't seem short on energy, gesticulating wildly as she speaks. Erik reclines against the bar listening, lips quirked in a rare smile.

The sound of a growing commotion reaches them and Erik notices a crowd forming at the other end of the room. Another lilac clad figure calls out to Meg.

"Christine's going to throw the bouquet, Meg!"

"Ooh!" Meg glances between them and Erik, eager to go, reluctant to leave. "Wait here."

She points her finger at him sternly then dashes away. Erik raises his eyebrows and settles at the bar. As soon as she's gone reality sets back in and Erik remembers he doesn't belong. He thinks about leaving; he hadn't planned to stay this long. Better to end things on a high note than risk causing a spectacle. Meg looks at him now with bright eyes but they would quickly dim if she discovers what lies under the mask. Better she thinks him rude than repulsive.

He goes to settle his tab and finds an alternative route out of the reception room, avoiding the crowd. He almost gets away, halfway down the courtyard steps when Meg catches up to him. She's out of breath, cheeks flushed and looking frazzled.

"You didn't wait," she says, accusingly.

Erik falters, shocked she had noticed his departure and gone to the trouble of chasing him down. "I… I thought it best if I… um… if I left…"

Meg's features soften and she takes another step towards him. "Probably best, it's all disco music and drunken dancing from here on. Still, I was hoping you might save me from fighting off Raoul's handsy cousins."

Erik's stomach squirms uncomfortably, warring with himself on what to do.

"Here."

He's caught off-guard as she shoves something into his hand, a napkin.

"What is this?"

"My number," Meg replies and Erik's heart spasms. "So you can call or message me some time, you know, if you want."

Erik stares at the digits written on the crumpled napkin. He can't remember a woman giving him her personal number before. He's not sure what to do next.

"You do have a phone, right?" Meg asks with an awkward smile.

Erik realises he's been quiet for too long and answers quickly. "Of course."

"Well you have this whole old timey vibe going on, very Steampunk. I suppose I shouldn't ask about social media."

Erik pulls a face and Meg laughs. His heart goes thump, thump.

Silence settles between them and he desperately racks his brain for something to say, anything...

Meg rocks on her feet, looking as awkward as he feels. "I guess… good night, Erik."

She surges forward and kisses him, a brief peck, barely a brush, before she's darting back up the steps. Erik watches her go in a daze.

She is long out of earshot when he finally murmurs, "Good night, Meg."

He stares at the entrance she disappeared through then back down at the napkin in his hand. He can hear the bass of the disco music from here. With a sigh, he turns and starts walking.

-oOo-

The guests have formed a conga around the room and Meg has just made the mistake of making eye-contact with the leader when she feels her phone buzz.

"Hello?"

"Dance with me."

Meg looks and sees Erik smiling at her across the room. Her heart lurches and she grins.