Author's Note: This is piece contains slash, as in a male/male relationship. If this sort of thing is not to your liking, you may gladly turn around and run the other way. Because I think people should try and be creative and not steal everything from Susan Kay, the Persian will not be appearing under the name 'Nadir.' Muah. And although this is stating the obvious, I don't own any of the characters…. But I do own the name of the Persian in this story.

"You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead ...."- "Two of Us," The Beatles.

Perhaps it was because the production of Meyerbeer's 'Dinorah' was particularly terrible tonight, and that he was the only person with the right taste to notice. Perhaps it was because he had stumbled over a pothole he had never noticed before on his way home. Maybe it was because his violin was severely out of tune, or it could have been that he had misplaced his rosin. Whatever the reason, every single thing that surrounded Erik was getting more and more on his nerves that evening.

He had thought that perhaps sitting in his favorite chair with his cherished violin would calm him down ... that sinking into Chopin's Nocturne in C# Minor would be a quick, temporary way to lift him out of this constant state of aggravation he had been feeling for the past month. But while every note that the instrument released into the quiet air would have sounded flawless to anyone else's ear, to Erik it seemed as if he was creating a cacophony that would cause dearly departed Monsieur Chopin's ghost into an insulted frenzy.

Erik hated these dark moods ... at least, his moods that were more acrimonious than they normally were. They were terribly distracting, and would remain with him until he found some way to vent his annoyance. And he hated to think about who or what it would be taken out on. However, he was quite sure of who should be the target of his indignation this time around.

A certain Asad Bayoumi had taken to slithering in and out of Erik's opera house for the past four months. What angered Erik even more about this Monsieur Bayoumi was that he was getting dangerously close to his house beyond the lake. What's more, Erik couldn't figure out just how he managed to find him in the first place. However, what kept this Bayoumi fellow from meeting a magnificent death was the sense of camaraderie Erik felt when he thought of this man

Now, Erik wouldn't admit to feeling this sort of ... kinship, he supposed, with anyone publicly. He even doubted calling this tie he had to the little sneak 'kinship.' But while he nearly had a heart attack the first time he had seen Asad Bayoumi in the Opera Garnier, the event had stirred up a series of emotions that Erik thought he wasn't capable of feeling anymore. And it was these emotions that had stayed Erik's ruthless hand.

However, if his dear old Daroga was to get any closer to his home, any feelings of flattery he might have felt beforehand were going to quickly melt into deadly annoyance. Erik didn't care if it had been more than twenty years since he had spoken to that only person he might have called a friend. One person catching on to his secret was enough to ruin everything he had worked for during the last two decades he had spent in Paris - he was much too old and perceptive to let some ancient companion of his bring him tumbling down.

It wasn't before long, though, that someone had tripped one of Erik's alarms. The man sighed, more than just slightly peeved. He only needed one guess to figure out just who was calling.