Chapter Text
As much as he'd tried, perhaps there were some things that just could never be understood…things that infected the heart, blossomed into vibrant agony, and then faded into nothing but a painful memory, leaving no more understanding than when it all began. He had long since stopped trying to process the horrors he had witnessed when he was young, but even so they continued to haunt him. The fire. The murders. The insanity that had enveloped every one of them for a time. Everyday he felt a gaping absence at his side and the weight of the emptiness in his chest that had taken the place of what he’d lost, but as he sat in his wheelchair at the auction now, held in the building that had been constructed in the wake of the fire that decimated Mount Massive Theater, he felt predominantly not sorrow, but helplessness. Would he still be here if he’d done things differently? Would both of them? He could do nothing but accept the world their misguided deeds had created.
His eyes, once bright with vivacity and mischief, but now dull with age and hard-earned wisdom, focused their attention on the sweeping, majestic curtains that encased the shadow addled stage. They maintained their regal appearance despite gathering years of dust. Miles recalled that they weren’t quite as extraordinary as the originals had been, but there had been no chance of saving them from the flames. The small group of people that had gathered took their places before the stage, dwarfed by its overwhelming presence, as the auctioneer called off the items up for bid, ones that had somehow been saved from the fire. All those in attendance were old enough to recall the incidents that had taken place here, aware of the significance of the items being sold, except, ironically, the auctioneer. The rest of them had their memories, their money, and these mementos, and that was all.
After purchasing the music box with a feeble gesture of his withered hand, his gaze fell upon the woman opposite him. Her dark hair had now faded completely into a beautiful silver. Of all of them, she looked the least like a corpse. She nodded to him respectfully, having lost the music box to Miles’ bid. She understood. They had both lost him, but his burden was greater.
Sensing the morbid atmosphere of the gathered patrons, the auctioneer cleared his voice and presented the next item to them with as much charm and bravado as he could muster (not much really, given the circumstances), but the prospect of the money he could garner from the chandelier alone drove him onward. He gave his mysterious introduction of the priceless crystal ornament and for that instant they were all enraptured as if under a spell, or more accurately a curse. He gestured for his men to unveil the spectacle.
And it was like being brought back in time. They had not even the wherewithal to gasp or to speak and in their minds they heard the powerful pipes of an organ screaming in ecstasy and agony.
Even now somehow the Phantom had worked his tricks once again.
It was the day before the grand premiere of their first show of the season, and god, Waylon had never seen such a flurry of action in the Mount Massive Theater since he’d first arrived nearly a year ago: actors and actresses tripping over each other in a tornado of movement, costumes and props being altered and perfected on every free space of the stage, and a myriad of different melodies floating in from every angle as they fought for his attention. Over the last several seasons their productions had become increasingly popular. Their upward movement from a small time haunt for the locals to a must-see attraction was just drastic enough to cause both awe and suspicion. As it were, Waylon’s own special effects and technological support for the theater was second to none and although it wasn't a role that got a lot of recognition he liked to think the programs he developed to keep things running smoothly had brought a competitive edge to what they were able to offer. He was proud and passionate about his work, but he didn't give himself too much credit. He was only in his twenties after all, and yeah, he’d had a good education thanks to scholarships that pitied orphans, but really he was just a stagehand, a 'techie', and a small cog in the works that made their shows special. He was just thankful to be a part of it.
He hurried around backstage running from one end of the building to the next, panting and already feeling a bit of a stitch developing in his side. ‘Phew…’ he thought, feeling flustered and a bit cranky, ‘I never expected this job to be so…physical!’ His part of the work was mostly done, all the technology set up to work smoothly already, but there were always a few kinks to be worked out here and there. He’d spent much of the day climbing around in the rafters, hanging upside like a monkey tweaking the lights, and crawling into tiny spaces nobody else could reach.
But, right now...he was mostly the errand boy for the actors. He’d just gotten a page on his headset from his boss Trager to get over to Miles’ room immediately. It sounded urgent…it probably wasn’t, since Miles was notoriously a diva beyond compare, but he was the male lead, so nothing to be done about that. Besides, the longer he kept Miles waiting the more obnoxious he was likely to be when he got there.
He stopped outside the diva’s door and knocked hesitantly as he tried to catch his breath.
“M…Miles?” he panted and waited to be invited in.
“Waylon, great, get in here!”
He sighed exaggeratedly, but obeyed, closing the door behind him for privacy in case he was having a costume malfunction or something. “No need to yell, geez..." He was always so dramatic. Guess he was in the right business. "What is it?” He looked at Miles, a little flushed from the jog over.
He turned and looked at Waylon with a playful and dangerously charming grin. “Just the pretty face I wanted to see…” He was lounging on his personal couch lazily, feet up on the arm rest, leaving just enough space for Waylon beside him. He patted the spot expectantly. “Take a seat, I got a question for you.” He was looking over the script thoughtfully. Maybe it was important; had Waylon forgotten something?
He sat down quickly, all business. He’d caught his breath now and was frankly glad for a chance to sit down. He looked at the script over Miles’ shoulder worriedly, leaning in close.
“What is it? Not scene seven, right? I set up the spotlight switch for that this morning, and I know the gel was a little off yesterday, b-…” Miles put his finger on Waylon’s lips to silence him. Waylon blinked slowly and was silent.
“No, no, no.” He chucked the script overboard onto the wood floor haphazardly then turned his attention to Waylon. His devilish charisma dialed up to ten, he put his arm around Waylon smiling, making the unobtrusive boy blush a bit. They’d steadily become friends in the few months since Miles had arrived, but Miles stunning good looks always took Waylon off guard. He’d be lying if he didn’t say he had a little, tiny bit of a crush on him and his effortless charm.
“How’s it going? You look a little frazzled.”
Waylon rolled his eyes but smiled a little. In the few months that he’d known Miles, he had been the reason he was frazzled more than anything or anyone else. “Well duh, I’m runnin’ a show here, princess.”
“Silence, plebe. This is my show.” Waylon laughed.
Miles took the hand resting on Waylon’s shoulder and ran his fingers up over his neck to play with his sandy, blonde hair absentmindedly, giving Waylon shivers all up and down his body. He bit his lip. It just felt too good having his fingertips teasing the fluffy hair at the back of his neck. Damn him. They hadn’t known each other long enough that he should know what buttons to press to get him to do what he wanted, but Miles wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He saw something he wanted, so he took it. Now he wanted Waylon.
His interest in him had begun about a month ago once he started to relax. He had the script memorized down to the comma and he was sick of rehearsing already. He was a professional! There was no need to go through every scene over and over again, in his opinion. It was at that time that his eye began to wander, searching for something to entertain himself with.
---
Miles stepped off the stage and plopped on the couch just out of sight of the curtains. His costume would be the same for the next scene, so he had a chance to relax if only for a few minutes. He watched the other actors and the stagehands running around, chatting quietly here and there, a few actresses waiting just out of sight for their scene, baited breath as they went over their lines in their head. It was dark in this part of the stage, more of road between onstage and the back room than anything, but he didn’t have enough time to really kick back just yet.
Boring.
His eye caught on movement near the ceiling, getting his full attention. What in the world? …oh. One of the crew members up in the rafters, but it was really more like he was a spider or a monkey than anything else. That little guy, Waylon. He was an orphan and a prodigy, general knowledge among the cast and crew by now. He lived in part of the building the theater was located in, part of his deal for being some kind of technological genius or something. Again he tried to remember where he knew him from. Maybe they'd known each other as kids?
He sighed quietly and leaned on the arm of the couch as he watched him work, hanging upside down by his knees from a bar like a kid at a playground, hands busy with some wires and nobs. Shouldn’t he be wearing safety gear, a harness or something?
…he was kind cute…a little on a short and nerdy side, but definitely a cutie. He never really paid him any mind until now since he pretty much just stayed out of the way. Miles wasn’t crazy famous or something, but he got enough attention that he never really needed to look for company when he wanted it. He liked to make it a mind to know everything about everyone though.
As Waylon climbed down, Miles called him over.
“Psst. Waylon.” He stopped and looked at Miles, came over to him, and smiled a little.
“Hey. Need something?” He whispered so they wouldn’t bother anyone on stage.
“Nah…dude, wear a harness or something, we wouldn’t want to lose you, right?”
He looked taken aback, but not offended by the advice. Some people might see it as getting picked on or scolded, but it was nice to think that someone was looking out for him or cared what happened to him. That wasn’t something he was used to, frankly, not to sound pitiful, but it was a little bit.
“Yeah, maybe I should, I’m pretty clumsy I guess…you saw me just now? No one ever notices me in these clothes.” He was wearing all black to blend in better. “Or, well, ever really.”
Miles blinked in surprise. “That might be the most depressing statement I ever heard.”
Even in the dark he could see him blush. “Oh, I, no! I mean…just, it’s my job!”
He wasn’t sure if that’s really what he meant. He didn’t mean to feel sorry for him, he didn’t figure he’d want his pity, and in fact Waylon didn’t, but he was typically a really upbeat guy. Still, being Waylon Park couldn’t be easy when he really thought about it.
He grabbed Waylon’s hand, took a pen out of his pocket and started writing on his wrist.
“Here’s my number, text me, we’ll hang out.”
Waylon flushed brighter…and smiled brightly. “Sure.”
Miles jumped up suddenly, ruffled Waylon’s hair and sauntered back on stage to deliver his lines like it was nothing leaving a bewildered and blushing Waylon behind.
---
“…I was just thinking…we’ve hung out before a little which is cool, but just backstage or in your apartment, which doesn't really count since it's actually part of the theater. Maybe we should hit the town or something. I don’t think either of us get out of this place enough. Seriously.”
“That’s true…” He had a point, but….wait. What? Waylon fidgeted shyly. Did he mean…?
“Uh…yeah, maybe after the show or something. Lisa said something about going to that new cafe for open mic night, we could, like-…”
Miles kissed him firmly on the lips. Man, this kid was cute, but he talked too much. He savored the moment briefly and then, pulling back from his soft lips, he paused to enjoy the dumbstruck look on Waylon’s face, a smirk playing on his own. Cute. So cute.
He stuttered a few times, then his voice dropped lower and he mentally checked that his headset was off. Miles and him hadn’t kissed since they’d known each other as kids. It was true that they'd become reacquainted again recently, but Miles was just a year older than him and he had been Waylon's first kiss. They’d gone to high school together, it was even before Waylon’s parents had…died… so why now? It had been…hell, it’d been almost ten years since then. They’d become strangers, there was no way he still had feelings for him.
“Miles…” His hearted fluttered manically in his chest as the rest of the chaos of the day simply seemed to vanish.
“I like you a lot, Waylon…I always have. Even after I went to boarding school I thought about you a lot.” Miles was usually pretty frank with his feelings, but he also wasn’t one to linger on the mushy side of things. Still, Waylon had a way about him that tugged on his heartstrings…made him want to spill his guts. It was his way not to care about things too much, but when he did care...nothing else in the world mattered. He smiled a little.
“I’m asking you out on a date. Forget Lisa. Let’s go out tomorrow after the show, just relax a little, for old times sake.”
Waylon swallowed anxiously. He liked Miles a lot too, but…
Eddie wouldn’t like it…
“I don’t know, what…what would we do?”
Miles shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
“I…” Eddie… “I, uh…yeah. Yeah, okay, let’s go out.” Oh god. No. It was fine. It wasn’t like Eddie had to know about it, he’d make some excuse. He smiled a little nervously, wondering for an instant if Miles could tell that he was nervous. People probably thought his demeanor was much more mousy than he actually was as a person purely for the fact that Eddie constantly had him on edge. “It’s a date.”
Miles grinned. “It’s a date.” He leaned in closer and kissed him again, softly, coaxing Waylon in, getting him to relax. He didn’t want him to be nervous around him. Waylon remained tense at first, but…his lips were so warm, his hand on the back of his neck, it all felt so nice. Not like Eddie though, it was much different, but it felt…safe. There weren’t any fireworks, nothing cliche like that, but as his tongue began exploring his mouth he could feel his body becoming hotter, an odd sensation in his stomach that made him want more. He relaxed and sighed contentedly into the kiss, parting his lips farther to make room for Miles’ skillful tongue. He put his hands on his chest softly as they experimented on each other, finding the right position, seeing how far they could go. Miles rested a hand on Waylon’s hip as he kissed him more heatedly and buried his fingers into his hair.
After a while they both got to a point where they were…temporarily satisfied, enough to let go of each other and pull apart to catch their breath. They still had a show to do. Waylon panted softly, his slender chest rising and falling as he looked into Miles’ eyes with a touch of shyness, as well as mischief. He smiled, part of him wishing he didn’t have to get back to work so they could continue.
“Uh…okay,” Waylon said and laughed sweetly. He hesitantly got up from the couch, simultaneously disengaging their tangled bodies. “Okay…cool. Date.”
Miles just smirked at him and watched him fondly. “Get out of here, dork.”
Waylon flashed him a playful look as he flattened his clothes and hair then made his way out of the actor’s room. Once back in the hall he fanned himself with one hand and turned his mic back on.
Phew…well that was a nice little break. He felt good, it was an ego boost if anything, but as he made his way back to the stage he couldn’t help but feel uneasy as an ominous sense of foreboding wormed its way into his consciousness. Eddie couldn’t see them there, right? No, that was ridiculous, he wasn’t omnipotent…right?
….
…and yet he couldn’t shake the classic horror movie feeling of being watched as he maneuvered his way through the darkness of the prop room. He hurried backstage, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably as he dodged broken boards, set mechanics, stacks of boxes and the like, and made his way behind the curtain. He grabbed a rope and climbed up into the rafters to check the mechanics over the stage. He had to get at least some work done before the rest of the crew arrived, and he valued the unseen space to cool off and calm down a little before things got even more crazy.
Waylon stood at the back of the theater to help control the lights and be on hand for anything that could go wrong as the crew and cast worked through their final rehearsal. It was, by all accounts, essentially a full-fledged production, only pausing for intermission, as they performed for an empty theater. The director and assistant director, Trager and Frank respectively, sat in the audience taking notes, critiquing silently, making sure that everything was as it should be for tomorrow’s show.
It wasn’t that much of a strain for Waylon, most of his work already done by now, and so this was his chance to sit back and enjoy the show, watch the lights, and make sure the atmosphere was appropriate, the spotlights were spot-on, the effects went off without a hitch. Everything had been one-hundred percent so far and so he sat in the back, in the last row of seats, lounging, bored. He’d seen them go over these acts a million-and-one times in the last few months and it had long since ceased to be entertaining. It was literally the same old song and dance, and he thought by now he could have performed them himself if he’d wanted to. Not that he wanted to, he told himself for the third time that evening. I mean, it could be fun to be on stage for once...but, really, he wasn't cut out for that kind of thing.
His mind wandered and, as always, it wandered to Edward Gluskin, his most…mysterious friend, the best friend that he’d ever had honestly, even given the fact that they hadn’t even met officially, having only spoken through the walls, between curtains, in the darkness of the warehouse attached to the theater in which Eddie resided. It was his sanctuary and his prison, as he himself had worded it, although he’d never exactly explained why…
“It’s just the way things are, Waylon.” Eddie’s deep, woeful voice spoke to him as he sat in the warehouse, perched amongst old dusty boxes and broken furniture the theater no longer needed. It was dark and it was cold, but it was the only place they could be together. In the few months they’d known each other, Eddie had never been known to leave the gloomy building he called his home. Not as far as Waylon knew.
“But…you could…live with me, i-if you wanted….” Waylon was both intrigued and frightened by the person he’d been speaking to. It was the closest thing he had to friendship, but he knew Eddie had a temper…that he wasn’t all there, that sometimes he said strange things that frightened him and didn’t make sense.
And so…he had to be careful.
Eddie smiled to himself in the darkness. His darling was so kind, so pure and selfless, inviting him into his home despite not having much himself. No one had ever been so kind to him. He had nothing to give him in return.
He was a monster. The least he could do was spare Waylon his unsightly company. Whispers in the dark would have to do.
“Darling…you are so good to me. But you know that’s impossible. I would never ask that of you.” Waylon heard a creak from somewhere up above. Eddie’s voice was closer now. “What is it that you desire, Waylon? I would like to help you. You are so good and so kind…please, let me help you, darling.”
Waylon smiled to himself in the darkness, not bothering to look around. Eddie didn’t like it when he tried to see him, he’d learned, so he kept his gaze forward, focused on nothing in particular. Darling…yes, he was Eddie’s darling…
What did he want that Eddie could help him with? He closed his eyes, a pang of sadness in his chest as his smile disappeared. He wanted his parents back, he wanted Eddie to be happy…for himself, what did he want…? Only one thing came to mind and yet really…well, it was the sort of thing anyone else would laugh at him for voicing.
“I wish…I could…” He paused, embarrassed of his childishness. Eddie coaxed him quietly, “Yes, darling?” He sighed and gathered his courage. Eddie's gentle voice was the only thing that could pull such private thoughts out of him.
“I just…I wish I could be on stage for once instead of behind it. Never seen, never…appreciated. I mean, it’s fine, I like it. It’s the only thing I’m good at, but it’s…I just want them to see me, just once.” He thought about it for a moment then laughed quietly at himself. “But I’m too shy to act, I wouldn’t be any good at it. Of course. It’s silly.”
Eddie paused, holding his breath. That was what he wanted? Suddenly all the music, all the scripts that Eddie had slaved over for years that left him frustrated and empty seemed to fill him and come to life with new purpose...with passion. By god...it was perfect. It was so perfect! Why hadn’t he thought of it before? His thoughts raced frantically as he felt an excitement he could not contain bubbling up inside him.
“I’ll make you a star, Waylon…you’re so perfect, I know they would love you.” Eddie suddenly sounded, breathless, excited. He could hear him moving around in the dark at a fervent pace.
Waylon wondered if he could see him blushing. “…no way…you think? I don’t know…”
“We’ll practice together, darling…you have everything you need already. I will teach you, and when everything is ready, when the time is right…you’ll be so beautiful, darling.”
He wasn’t quite convinced, but Eddie had never been wrong before. He always seemed to know everything…know everything that would happen before it did…if he said it was so, then it was so. “I don’t know…how? I’m not an actor, Eddie…”
“You’re not what you’re meant to be, not yet…but there’s a world inside of you the others have yet to see. We’ll show them together. We’ll be so beautiful, darling, you and I together!”
A strong hand reached through the dusty air and for the first time Waylon felt Eddie’s hand pressed with the utmost tenderness against his cheek. It startled him at first and his breath hitched in his throat, to think Eddie was so close but he couldn’t see him, flashlight stowed away in his pocket. No one had ever touched his skin with such loving affection. Why did it feel so good? It wasn't merely pleasurable like the caress of a lover, or comforting like the hand of a dear friend. The warmth of his fingers seeped into him and made him know that they were two sides of the same coin. He sank into the touch with a contented sigh and closed his eyes. “Eddie…”
“Darling…”
A violent commotion brought Waylon crashing back down to earth, dragging him abruptly from his thoughts and tossing him back into the present. There was a crash, screaming, and a flurry of movement on stage. He stood, trying to shake his mind back to working order, to process what had happened. People were gathering on stage, people were yelling and crying. There was another shriek of pain and this time Waylon recognized it.
“…Miles!” He stood and ran frantically to the stage, swiftly flying between the seats as his eyes focused on the problem; Mile was laying on the stage under the wreckage of lights that had fallen from the ceiling. It was a massive light fixture, weighing at least half a ton, wrapped in sparking wires and twisted metal, and it had fallen on him and was now crushing him from the waist down, but Waylon couldn’t yet see the extent of the damage, fuck, why did he have to be so fucking short? Miles’ face was twisted in agony as he gritted his teeth, trying not to scream, but then Waylon lost sight of him in the chaos.