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The front door closed softly so as not to disturb the tired former Persian police chief. He had just given his side of a story that still clenched in his heart, though the version he gave was not wholly true.
The Opera Ghost was in fact real. To Farhad al-Bashir Mazandarani, he was everything. Farhad could still remember the poetry he would read and smile at, thinking only of a masked man. He would think of the ways he wish he'd been able to speak to the man, to hold him. He most certainly did not help Erik escape from Persia solely because he told funny jokes, like he told that reporter. It was his passion for everything even when the world tried its damnedest to smother it, the good buried deep in his heart that he acted as if it did not exist.
He never told Erik of his affections, and this he regretted ever so deeply. Not only was it frowned upon by numerous religions, it wasn't remotely socially acceptable, even in the far more relaxed streets of Paris. In Paris, it wasn't uncommon for scorned lovers to turn their former partners in to the police. Not that Farhad had ever found anyone else he had an interest in of course, nor had— to his knowledge— anyone shown interest in him. When Erik first disappeared for years beneath the Garnier, he had assumed Erik wanted to cut ties with him completely. The large number of traps and near-death experiences practically confirmed it. And surely all the instances in which Erik saved him from excruciating slow deaths were out of obligation, what with his constant belittling of Farhad for a lack of intelligence at being able to spot traps. This all had hurt deeply then but he knew he wouldn't be able to let go—someone had to keep an eye on Erik in his spiral downwards. He himself became a legend of the opera just for the sole sake of keeping an eye on his dearest.
When Erik kidnapped the soprano, threatened the whole of Paris, and then let Christine and the boy go, he knew he must forgive Erik and stay even when he suffered from heat exhaustion for days afterwards. He saw, in Erik's tired eyes, a cry for penance, a plea for forgiveness. He once more saw the light of kindness that had been buried deep coming forth like a spring. Farhad was helpless to him always. Though he would never admit it aloud to anyone, his heart and soul belonged to that twisted masked man. He more than willingly helped Erik prepare for his passing even if it crushed him to dust in his heart.
So it was that when Erik passed, he chose to give up the pursuit of a lover. If it was as Allah intended, then he would have no one. He lived for the most part comfortable with this— even now, as he recounted the story and thought of the many years since. Even now he could see Erik's flickering golden gaze from the shadows, haunting him, hoping it was truly him; that he had cheated death as he always said he would.
But he assisted Mademoiselle Daae with the body and was quite sure of his Erik's passing. The combined rituals his friend had asked for entertained Farhad and he told Christine of this. She followed through with some Catholic rituals while Farhad did his end of some Muslim rituals. An odd combination for an equally odd man, they had agreed, but they did it for their friend nonetheless. They both laid Erik to rest in that cellar, both buried him beneath the dirt. The pair had bonded and to that day, Farhad kept correspondence with her. He had promised after all to assist Christine in any way she asked. They both wrote that they had seen the yellow dots, come to find out. Neither of them told another soul of this haunting besides each other.
He was sure the glows were merely a trick of the mind but he didn't care if they were or were not Erik. He spoke to them as if Erik was lurking there— he could hear in his mind exactly how he would expect Erik to respond. He told the glowing dots of his regrets and affections for the dead man, the relief in doing so easing the pain of his passing some more. He didn't care if Darius had overheard his ramblings either—and Darius said nothing of what he heard in return. To him, Mon. Mazandarani was old when his Erik passed; he was surely just caught in an illness of age. It didn't matter that Darius would occasionally hear noises from within the house he was unaccustomed to hearing, or the random assortment of things that were formerly broken miraculously start behaving.
It was a few nights after his interview in which he heard the most beautiful music and murmurs come from the dots that hovered next to his bedside. He looked up from his bed at them, the dots looking more like slits. They swayed from side to side, moving to the music. If Farhad didn't know any better, he'd say the dots were playing the instrument behind the music themselves
The dot-eyes opened fully and seemed to look at him. They tilted to the side before moving up and down, like a nod of reassurance. Farhad returned a smile to them before laying back down, his body suddenly very tired and the bed feeling more comfortable than ever before. He closed his eyes as the music continued, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. One last heavy breath let go as the song and eyes faded away.
Come the morning which he would not see, Darius would find him cold. To his bedside would sit one white lily, fresher than snow. Darius would look upon this ans smile, the gladness that his master was at peace and with loved ones covering up the grief beginning to swell within.
The salted breeze is what woke him. Farhad's eyes cracked open to abundant sunshine and not the wood of his Parisian ceiling. Sand slid between his fingertips as he felt around, warm beneath him. He lifted a small handful of it up and watched the sand softly dribble out. His eyes caught his sleeves, immediately noting they were not his western bedclothes. A deep blue tunic from his home of Mazandaran instead covered him. He sat up and looked further, his conclusion correct.
The sound of temmick stints in the brush behind him, the gulls crying, and the lapping of waves confirmed further yet that he was back home on the coast of the Caspian, near the city of Sari. A foreign sound soon began and he froze. A ney, played with the nimblest fingers he had ever heard grace the flute once more crooned for his attention. The sand went flying as he spun around, looking for the source.
His very own Angel of Death, Erik, resplendent in his usual dark clothing. He stood in the sand with his eyes closed as he played the woodwind instrument, the beautiful song curling around him in the breeze. He still wore a mask, this one with his mouth and chin showing for the sole purpose of eating and playing an instrument. Erik looked far younger and healthier since the last Farhad could remember seeing him, his skin not quite so pale and wrinkled. He looked rather like he did when he was at his highest point while in Mazandaran, designing palaces and hidden doors. He simply looked healthy and this brought immense joy to Farhad.
Farhad allowed himself to slip back into the entrancement of his friend's presence and the music that always came from him. It was as if the magician could even bend the air to flow as it should, to bend the waves and birds to sing in harmony.
Farhad allowed the melody to play out from his place in the sand, a large unabashed smile covering his face. When Erik completed the melody, he got to his feet and clapped for Erik's performance, the man in turn bowing with a flourish as he was wont to do.
"I'm pleased you can still enjoy a performance, Daroga. I thought your hearing had finally gone when you ignored me calling your name."
He rolled his eyes at the man, a small laugh bubbling from him.
"Perhaps you should speak more loudly and clearly, then, magician."
A rare smile grew on Erik's face before Farhad was nearly toppled back into the sand, the long arms of Erik having pulled him into an embrace. He stood stunned on place with his arms bent out.
"Erik, what are you doing?" Farhad asked, his voice wavering from the laughter he held back. The laughter bordered on nervous as Erik was acting quite strange.
"I believe they call this is a hug, Daroga. It's what one gives someone who they missed dearly. Even if that someone is a great booby."
It was quite the surprise to have Erik be the one to initiate such an embrace. Farhad thought that perhaps maybe he was just ill and not in some afterlife after all. He secretly hoped not. Nonetheless, he acquiesced, his arms lowering gently to hug Erik back. Erik seemingly remembered the position he now stood in and stiffened at the contact.
"I missed you too, Erik."
Erik soon let go of the man and although the sun beat down on them, Farhad already felt too cold and missed the embrace. Erik took a few steps back, eyes watching nearly unblinking. Farhad on the other hand looked around once more and realized the lack of people. It was just he and Erik on the cozy beach.
"Am I correct in the assumption that I've finally passed?" Farhad asked, sitting back down in the sand. The dark figure plopped next to him gracefully.
"Correct. Welcome to paradise, or so I've gathered. It's rather bland if you ask me," he said with an elegant twirl of his long fingers.
Laughter sprung forth from the former police chief. Only Erik could find the afterlife, paradise, to be a bore.
"And what makes you say that, my friend?"
The shadow stiffened, head turning to not meet Farhad's gaze.
"That, I cannot deign to answer. I've been more pleased with leaving it and observing the living world."
Farhad lit up at this and startled the other man with a clap.
"So it was you then! The yellow dots!"
His joy quickly turned to embarrassment and fear. Everything he had ever spoken aloud to the floating eyes came rushing to the forefront of his mind. Every comment about his eyes, every time he thought Erik was at his most beautiful, all of it had been spoken of to the pair of yellow lights. Farhad grew instantly jealous that his friend wore a mask to cover a cheek's flush.
"You... You heard everything then," he stated rather than asked, leaning away from Erik. "I apologize profusely, I—"
"Don't. No apologies. I would have liked known everything before I passed. But it's best I didn't," he said, looking down at the sand between them and toying with it in a free hand. "It would have been more heartbreaking I rather think for us both."
The daroga looked out to the sea in response. Silence crept in unsettlingly before being broken like a fist to a mirror. Erik seemed to always have a habit of shattering the glass reflections.
"Farhad, did you mean it? Any of it? That you..."
"That I loved you? Of course, I did, Erik!" He got to his feet abruptly, sand once more thrown everywhere. He began to pace in front of the masked man, letting everything out. His arms gestured more and more the louder he grew in his rambles.
"I shouldn't! I left my home, my work, my family to save your sorry hide. I moved across continents to keep an eye on you, nearly died several times in the process! You tried to kill me and I should hate you for it! I should want to kill you, curse you, hate you with every fibre of my being!" He stopped and came to a halt in front of Erik, his arms up in the air and facing the sea. The arms slowly fell to his sides as his shoulders dropped from weariness.
"And yet, I still love you," he said as softly as the sand beneath them. "Unfortunately for the both of us, I don't think that will ever change."
He tore his gaze away from the shoreline to find Erik looking at him, his mouth agape. The man was speechless and Farhad grew more worried that Erik wasn't making any quips. He rarely rendered him speechless, Erik always managed to have something with which to insult someone or thing.
"What, Erik?" he asked, anger slipping out from his tone.
"No one's… no, never…" he stuttered, seemingly unsure of how to get the words out. He looked askance from Farhad. Farhad knew his brilliant mind was running a thousand miles a minute, plans, worries, self-degradations. If he didn't do something, Erik would run and hide. And he was quite adept at this.
He knealed down into the sand to Erik, tilting his head in consideration. Slowly, he lifted his hand towards Erik's mask. His hand nearly traced the edge of the mask.
"May I? Please? I truly meant what I said before, that I was unafraid of your face and rather missed that too."
In lieu of a response, Erik's gaze flicked to Farhad's outstretched hand. His own hand reached up and took hold of the soft hand, drawing it the rest of the way to his mask. As he let go, Farhad's fingertips hooked around the edge and gently lifted the black thing.
His deformity was no better despite being younger. The gouges and pockmarks still reigned supreme over his features, his gaunt cheeks making him look dead still. The black painted porcelain clinked into the sand, soon to be forgotten, as Farhad's fingertips dropped it and opted for brushing against the hollow cheeks of the man in front of him. They traced gentle soft lines, committing them to memory once more. The hand moved up to cradle Erik's face as errant tears slid between his fingers, velvet soft. With this hand, Farhad held Erik in place as he gently leaned in and met his lips with Erik's own thin ones. Heat surged through his chest like fireworks, sparking every nerve.
Erik stilled in surprise but no sooner had Farhad engaged the kiss, Erik began to reciprocate, the warmth burning hotter in his chest at the movement and realization. Farhad revelled in the ability of feeling Erik's semblance of a smile rather than seeing it for once. To their shared surprise, Erik's hand grasped at Farhad's shirt front and pulled him closer, the fabric bunching in his hands tightly as if scared to let go. He deepened the kiss with a moan and shared years of hunger, want, need. Tongues explored and plundered the others mouth, drinking in each sensation. It was always Farhad guiding Erik in this, he noted.
When the need for air arose, Erik loosened his grip finally and the two gently pulled apart, eyes opening. Erik's gaze sped across Farhad, taking note of every minute detail. His swollen lips and smile, the twinkle in his eyes, the flushed and breathless cheeks of a man who had been the one to kiss him for the first time. Erik's hand raised to touch his own thin but swollen lips.
"That... I had never..." Erik began to sputter out.
"You never expected that? Or-"
"Farhad, I have never kissed before," he forced out.
The arbupt proceeding silence made Farhad let out a laugh once more.
"Then if this is paradise and we've yet to be banished for a kiss, then there shall be many more that follow. If you want of course."
The smile Erik gave Farhad warmed him for more than anything he had ever felt before. Farhad took Erik's hand and placed a soft kiss upon his bony knuckles.
"You must be mad. If I'm the madman, you must be completely, unquivocally insane."
"Then I take that as a yes. I shall have to give you a kiss, at least one a day. For forever and a day, as I believe you once put it."
"You're nearly more dramatic than I, you booby," Erik scoffed but his staying smile betrayed him as Farhad fell back into the sand against him. The pair of lovers continued to lean against one another as the sun began to set, leaving the sky a rosy glow, the waters shining brightly.
They both guessed that the afterlife wasn't so bland after all.