It wasn't as if Ron hadn't expected for it to be easy to tear free of Erik after all that had transpired. Still, it was difficult not to become ever more frustrated over the appearance of the man in his dressing room at the end of each rehearsal. He wouldn't be surprised if the true reason he had been released to sleep in his own bed now, the night before the first performance, because Erik had become as fed up with their taxing bit of forced cheer as he had.

Even now, it was difficult to chose a place that was safe enough for a private conversation. The high, arching mirrors of Harry and his dressing rooms counted them out immediately while Hermione shook her head over the suggestion of the ballet corps more general rooms.

("Of course, there would be listening holes there. Where better to catch snippets of gossip?")

So, honestly, Erik only had himself to blame for the uncharitable thoughts Ron was currently harboring for him as the three of them huddled up together on the roof with only warming spells to see them through.

"Honestly, I don't know why you didn't come to us sooner." Hermione rolled her eyes when Ron scowled at her. "Alright, so it wasn't easy, but, still, what did you think wearing that ring was going to do?"

Ron reached up towards his neck, frowning when Erik's ring clinked against the necklace. "I didn't think it would mean anything." He sighed when Hermione gaped at him. "Not like anything dramatic, at least!"

"I mean, I see your point." Harry batted away the hands Hermione tried to swat at the two of them. "No, really, don't you think this is a little...well...much? Since when does Erik have the right to dictate Ron's love life? No matter what place he has in Ron's... Oh."

Ron blinked a snowflake out of his eye, turning to see what had caught Harry's attention. Not that anything was made much clearer at the sight of Hermione chewing on her bottom lip. "I've actually had my fill of cryptic nonsense," he said, "so if someone could just—"

"Ron!" Even with the relative safety of the roof, Hermione's head still darted around for a quick once over before pressing on. "Just think it through. What reason does Erik have to get so worked up?"

Ron huffed out an irritated breath, shoving his shoulders up into a shrug. "I don't know? Because he cares about me? Even if he does have an odd way of showing it." His frown didn't last long under Hermione's arched brow or the sheepish twist of Harry's mouth. "Wait, you don't mean..." He swallowed hard. "Fuck. That isn't... It's not possible, alright?"

"It really does sound like it could be, Ron," Hermione said, spreading out her hands. "But you won't know unless you ask."

"Come on." Harry nudged Ron's shoulder with his when the other boy hesitated. "We've stared down stuff harder than this. What's the worse that could happen?"

"I could lose him," Ron muttered.

A cold hand closed over his, Hermione's smile gentle when he turned towards her. "Not for nothing," she said, "but it sounds like there's a worse chance of that with how things are now." She squeezed his hand. "At least give it a chance? Then we can figure out where to go from there."

Erik very nearly allowed his box to remain empty for once come opening night. It would not have been the kindest of things to do, but then, he was in one of his darker moods as of late.

Despite his efforts, there was no telling what Ron's voice might be like that night. To have the boy's voice crumple for the first time would be a tragedy; one as difficult for Ron to recover from as it would be for him. Still, to hear Ron's voice soar would leave him to wonder who could be credited for such inspiration—himself or the far more fetching suitor waiting in the wings.

No matter how he might will himself to stay, however, the memory of Ron's eyes—hard and accusing whenever Erik caught Ron's gaze throughout the week—spurred him into action. He wouldn't let the boy's heart turn against him, let alone willingly provide a chance for another to do so.

All that considered, it seemed particularly brazen for the de Chagny boy to select a box directly across from his own, regardless of whether it was one shared with the owners. There was little to keep Erik from sneering over the flowers clutched in the boy's hands either.

He might not have thought to bring a thing for Ron himself (why would he when events were still so uncertain?) but there was still his ring on the boy's finger. At least so long as Ron hadn't torn it from his finger in a fit of spite as soon as he was free from down below. After all that occurred perhaps Erik shouldn't blame him were it the case.

Erik had dug his fingers near clear through the plush velvet of his chair by the time Ron finally took the stage. There was still an occasional flaw to his voice—an overshot note or unexpected wobble—but it did little to keep the masses from applauding each performance.

A small success when each mistake seemed to come from the drifting of Ron's eyes to the box across from Erik's own. Each small smile exchanged between the two boys—their eyes full of warm secrets—tore at Erik's heart. It was enough to force him from his seat, lurking near the back with a single hand on the door.

But he couldn't take the coward's way out, no matter how tempting it was. He would face this down and be done with it. At least that would be a better way than the last, no?

Still, pressed towards the back as he was, it took him far longer than it should to realize that Ron had found a new place to stare up into. And it wasn't into the face of his "beloved on stage".

Erik took a few cautious steps forward, able to feel Ron's voice reach out to seize him by the heart the closer he got.

"The dream was too beautiful!

Love, celestial flame!

Survives even the tomb!

It raises the stone

And by angels blessed,

Like a flood of light,

Loses itself in infinity."

There were unfeigned tears in Ron's eyes now, remaining locked to Box Five, even as he was lowered down—Harry clutched close—for their "death". It had Erik clutching at the drapes of the box as the applause swelled around him.

Was there a single part of this boy that would ever make sense?

Ron wouldn't have been surprised to find Philippe somewhere outside of his dressing room once he got offstage. To discover him already inside it, though, was another matter entirely. At least the titters of the ballet girls still lingering about made all the more sense now.

"Don't be cross," Philippe said, face already pinched with sheepishness.

"Oh, I'll be whatever I want to be." Although that wasn't enough to keep Ron from sliding the cluster of red roses from Philippe's hands. He did his best not to let on that he had any disappointment in finding them not to be wound together with a trademark black ribbon.

It seemed Erik still hadn't entirely forgiven him, after all.

Not that he had long to focus on that before Philippe was plucking up his hand, tracing the orange stone set upon the band with a furrowed brow.

"What is..." He took in Ron's wary expression with a short, humorless laugh. "Ah."

"You gave me yours without any promise attached," Ron said.

"And I'm supposed to believe his intentions are the same?" Philippe pressed.

"You're supposed to trust me." Ron let the flowers fall where they may so that he could link his hands properly through Philippe's own. "I'm going to put this all to rights at last. But it has to be my way...my choice."

"Fair enough." Philippe wasn't quite able to keep the strain from his voice, but he shook his head when tried to soothe him. "All I ask is that I don't lose you again."

"Bit hard to manage that." Ron wished that his voice wasn't quite so strained. "You're nothing if not persistent."

"That hardly sounds like an insult."

Perhaps it wasn't entirely wise to see Philippe off with a kiss, but, well, if Ron was feeling a bit indulgent in the face of something truly intimidating he wasn't about to take himself to task too much.

Even if it did mean he actually wound up jumping back towards the door when he turned to find Erik already creeping into his room.

"Seeing your paramour off so soon?" There was an odd quality to Erik's voice, enough to cause goosebumps to rise along Ron's arms. "What a cruel lover you are. Perhaps it is for the best that—" It was almost amusing, really, to watch him come up short at having the roses gathered from the floor to be tossed at his chest.

"Could you stop being nasty for one damn minute?" Ron demanded. "I'm... I'm trying to be serious here."

"So it's come to this then," Erik said. "At least I can be grateful you took the time to offer a dismal to my face. Christine found herself unable to bear it as you might of heard."

"Well sorry to disappoint," Ron said, "but that's not what this about."

"Oh?" Erik said. "Then what exactly do you—"

"I want to kiss you."

Erik almost tripped over the chair at Ron's vanity, although he shook off the hands that came up to keep him steady. It was as though Ron's touch burned him now, his eyes wider than Ron had ever seen when he stared at him.

"Now who is being cruel?" he murmured.

"It's not..." Ron sighed, tossing his hands into the air. "I just want to find out the truth."

"And what truth is that?" Erik seemed almost disappointed that Ron didn't shrink back when he loomed up and over him all at once. "That no one can embrace me unless through pity?"

"Merlin, no." Ron shifted from one foot to the other before giving up with a heavy breath. "I want to know what I am to you."

Erik drew back at that, although he only got so far before Ron's fingers caught against his mask. His hands turned like claws over Ron's own, but did little to keep him from tugging the mask away and off. It had been quite some time before Erik's true face could spook him, yet the doleful wariness in the man's eyes twisted at Ron's heart.

"Last chance to stop me," Ron said.

"Oh," Erik replied, "so you understand quite how foolish this is?"

Ron rolled his eyes, laughter already bubbling up against his lips. "You're so damn impossible." He pressed his hands to each side of Erik's face before the other man could bite back with another comment, rocking forward to catch the man's lips with his own.

It was strange, but the first thing he realized was how cold Erik's mouth felt. He pressed in closer without even thinking about as a result, able to feel Erik's heart hammering against his own.

There was no point in comparing it to the gentle, easy quality of Philippe's kisses. Or even the sweet, occasionally passionate ones he had had from girls in the past. This left him with a heat rolling through his stomach up into his chest, making him come close to a whimper at the barest press of Erik's fingers against the back of his head.

It took him a moment or so to realize that Erik's lips were trembling against his own, making him aware of the dampness against his own cheeks as well.

"No, no, Erik, this isn't..." Ron clutched to Erik's arms when the man tried to tear away at that, not even sure what he was trying to lead to. "Please don't be angry."

"Angry?" Erik blinked furiously, although even that wasn't enough to clear his eyes. "Quite the wrong emotion, I'm afraid."

"Oh." Ron let his forehead knock against Erik's shoulder for a moment there with shaky laughter. "Good then. That means you won't leave." He lifted his head when Erik remained silent, unable to keep his fingers from digging slightly into the man's arms. "Right? I didn't do it just for that, I swear. I only wanted to understand and this seemed the best way to... You said you weren't angry!"

"I'm not, I'm..." Erik sighed. "Do you even know what you have done?"

"I... I've got an inkling, yeah." Ron dragged his teeth against his bottom lip. "I'm just not sure what you want to do about it.""Let me think on it?" Erik shook his head when Ron frowned. "I won't waste this, but...I will not throw you towards the ledge with no cause either."

Well...that happened.