Erik is NOT Dead (Phantom of the Opera one-shots)

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Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

Another strange, angsty one-shot. Just something that's been on my mind since I read through some POTO quotes. I really wanted to write some one-shots based on those. Granted, I may never get around to any of the others but this one seemed a good one.

Also, I will be continuing with the Friend Shop. I just...haven't been able to because of writer's block and college. It's amazing how even gen eds will keep you busy!

sarahlet2999

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"All I wanted was to be loved for myself." – Erik (Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux)

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Erik had wanted it since he knew what it was.

He had wanted it during the degradation of his life in the gypsy camp.

He had almost had it with Giovanni in the dust-covered worksite.

He had wanted it in the heat of Persia when everything but that had been handed to him.

He had wanted it as he languished in the bowels of his own Opera House, alone and forgotten.

He had wanted it more than ever when he first laid eyes on her.

Everyone else had it. He had seen young children, tugging and pulling on their mothers' hands and skirts. The mothers didn't lash out or strike the child; rather, they cooed to the toddler, swept them along with them or bought them the toys they clamored for.

Everyone else had it. He had seen young men wooing hapless women with roses, sweets, wealth, and charming faces that looked like cherubim. The women didn't shriek and run. They accepted kisses and less "proper" behavior with passion and heat in their hearts and eyes.

Everyone else had it. Even she had it though she might not notice. Her father had given it to until his untimely death, and even now, she had it from the girls she considered friends. And, she had it from the handsome boy that pursued her without fault in his guileless face. He gave it to her even though she seemed to despise the attention from the fragile youth.

Erik even gave it to her, out of his barren storehouse, he found it to give to her.

He had wanted it returned to him even more when she smiled on his malformed face.

He had wanted it, nay craved it, when she accepted his ring and promised to be his little living wife.

But he had wanted all his life. That lifetime of desire had done nothing, had garnered his nothing. He had a wife who he gave it to without fail, daily! His heart beat for her and her alone. Even if she never gave him what he wanted most, he would give it to her in return for her smiles and her patience.

Such precious gifts. He could be content.

He had wanted it when they consummated their commitment.

Nevertheless, he contented himself with her soft cries of pleasure.

He had wanted to tell her about it when she quietly asked him the deepest desire of his heart as she lay in his arms, freshly sated. Instead, he remained quiet, lightly kissing her forehead, amazed he was allowed that freedom.

She gave it to him on their first anniversary when she lightly lifted the mask from his face and kissed the bit of nose he still had and whispered into his ear, "I love you for who you are."

He wept in her arms as she returned it to him.

Erik was loved for himself.

It was all he had ever wanted.