A/N: Welcome to Song of the Future! Sadly, I had to adjust the story to fit the site's guidelines, so if there's any mentions of songs, just look them up and listen to them on your own. But other than that, enjoy the fluff!

"Sing to me!"

I bolted awake, jolted by the powerful command in my dreams. I pressed a hand to my heart, trying to calm down. "It was only a dream," I reminded myself. "Only a dream." I looked at the clock and groaned. Another day in the real world...

As long as I could remember, I'd had dreams of a man: a man with a terribly deformed face and eyes that could pierce your soul, and a voice that could enchant the world. His name was Erik, and he was the Phantom of the Opera. I didn't know why, but all of my dreams were of this man, following him from birth to- well, his death.

I couldn't get his voice out of my head that day, and as I worked my shift at Starbucks, I hummed his song. "He's there, the Phantom of the Opera..."

"Been dreaming again?" my boss, Sam, asked me, with a grin.

I blushed. "Yeah."

"And? How's your imaginary boyfriend doing?"

"Non-existent, traumatized, the usual."

We both laughed, but when he turned away I frowned. I didn't know why I'd dreamed up a man who suffered so much. When I was little, my dreams of his own childhood and his tenure as assassin would scare me, and I remember going to my mom's room and begging to sleep with her. By the time she died, I was able to get over the nightmares by myself.

The shift ended as it usually did, with us divvying up the tips, and I headed home. I didn't want to go home to an empty studio apartment though, so I went downtown instead. I spent a couple hours browsing the antique shops there, and I found a tiny music box. When I cranked it and set it, I was shocked to discover that the tune was Music of the Night, a song from my dreams. I grabbed the box and took it up to the shop owner. "Where did this come from?" I asked urgently.

"It's from Paris, late 19th century. Quite a beautiful song isn't it?"

"I've heard it before," I said absently.

I didn't see the shop owner's face change slightly. "Where'd you hear it?" he asked casually.

"In my mind," I muttered, staring at the delicate engravings on the box.

There was a swift movement from the shop owner, and everything went black.

Erik Destler was at peace on the rooftop. At night, when the moon was dark, he could breathe the fresh air and feel the wind on his face without a soul to be witness. So it was a great surprise for him when, out of nowhere, a light began to shine.

He clapped the mask on and watched in amazement as a light formed in the center of the roof, became solid, and the figure of a young woman dropped to the cold stone, leaving the rooftop shrouded in darkness once again.

He approached her cautiously, and froze when he saw what she was wearing. Could it be? He brushed the hair away from her face, and studied her features. His jaw dropped and his face grew even paler than it was. It was the woman from his dreams! Every night, since he was a child, whenever he slept, he would dream of a girl, with brown eyes and brown hair, who had a fiery spirit and a beautiful voice. He dreamed she was from the future, where men and women alike wore trousers, and rode horseless carriages, and watched their opera from small boxes. Her name was Nicole Hale, and she was American. And Erik thought himself quite insane for dreaming of a strange future with a strange girl.

"But how can you be here?" he asked the silent figure.

There was no reply.

"Of course," Erik said, chagrined. She was unconscious, and probably freezing to death. He picked her up bridal-style and stiffened when she curled closer to him. He relaxed when she didn't wake up, and he went down the passageways to his lair. He laid her in the bed he'd stolen from one of the productions, and sat in a nearby chair to study her. She was definitely real. But how?

I woke up when I felt eyes staring at me fixedly. I stared blearily at the sharp green eyes that hovered above me, and then their presence finally registered. I shrieked and jumped about two feet in the air, panicking. I glanced around. A large, showy bed that I was laying on, elegant furniture sitting on rock...wait. I recognized this place. I turned slowly to the man who was staring at me. Erik. The Phantom. THE Erik, was sitting in a chair, watching me steadily. Was that curiosity in his eyes?

"Okay," I said, clearing my throat. "This is a really weird dream."

He started at the word 'dream'. "If this is a dream, mademoiselle, then surely it is I who am dreaming."

My jaw dropped. His voice was beautiful, deep and rich, just like my usual dreams. "No," I countered, "you're in my dream." I leaned forward and poked him in the arm.

We both jumped backwards in fright. He was real!

"You're real," he murmured.

"Okay, wait," I said, trying to figure out what was going on, "wait, wait, wait."

"I'm waiting," Erik said, after a moment.

"You, hush," I said. "I'm trying to think."

He smirked. "You're the most real apparition I've ever had the pleasure of seeing, mademoiselle."

"I'm not an apparition," I retorted. "If anything you're the apparition, Erik."

His eyes darkened. "How do you know my name, Nicole?"

"How do you know my name?" I asked, surprised.

"Please, mademoiselle, just wait," he said, holding up a hand. He put a hand to his forehead, starting to get a headache. "Let us state the facts, only. No questions. I have dreamed the events of your life since I was child."

"And I have dreamed of your life since I was a child," I replied, eyes widening. "How is that possible?"

"Ah, no questions, mademoiselle," he said, shaking a finger at me sternly. "Now, you appeared on the roof in a flash of light. What happened from your point of view?"

"I thought you said no questions," I sassed.

He scowled at me. "Nicole, please."

"Sorry. I get sarcastic when I'm scared."

His gaze softened. "You have no reason to be afraid."

"No reason?" I echoed. "I might have possibly ended up in 19th century France with no way to get back and you're telling me not to be afraid?"

His eyes softened even more. "Yes, I am. You are not alone here. I will help you."

I took a deep breath. True. I knew Erik. He wouldn't throw me out. "Okay," I said. "From my point of view... I was at work, then I finished, then I went to an antique store."

"What was it called?"

"The Flaming Sword."

He nodded. "Continue."

"I was looking at the music boxes, and I found one... it played Music of the Night."

"My song?" he asked, astonished.

"Yeah, it freaked me out too. I asked about it, and then-" my eyes widened. "I think he hit me with something. I blacked out, and then I was here."

Erik frowned. "That is not very helpful."

"Well it's not my fault."

"I know." He sighed. "There is nothing that can be done."

I gaped. "Then I'm stuck here?"

"Yes." He frowned at me. "I'm sorry. To be stuck with a monster such as myself."

I reached out a hand, and touched his arm tentatively. "Don't be. I'm glad I'm here with you. At least I know who you are. And you're not a monster. Please don't call yourself one."

He stood up abruptly. "You will need clothes. Are you hungry?"

"No, not really. I'm just cold, and I need a shower." My eyes widened. "Oh no. I just realized something."

"What?"

"There are no showers in the 19th century. No showers, and no toilets." I fell backwards onto the bed, horrified. "I'm gonna die."

Erik laughed outright. "You were born to perform on the stage mademoiselle." He held out a hand. "Come with me."

I grabbed his hand and he helped me up. "Where are we going?"

He led me to the bathroom, which was actually really nice. A large sink, with two taps, a claw foot tub, and-

"Is that a flush toilet?" I asked.

He grinned. "I saw it in my dreams and decided that it couldn't be too hard to build."

"You're a genius!" I hugged him enthusiastically.

He froze.

I let go of him hurriedly. "Sorry, sorry."

He gave me a sad little smile. "No one has ever hugged me in my entire life."

I swallowed hard. I knew that. "Well don't worry, then. With me around you're gonna get plenty of hugs."

"You are a very affectionate person."

I blushed. "I guess I am, yes."

He glanced at me, left, and came back with a pair of trousers and a poet's shirt. "I hope these fit," he said doubtfully. He gave me a short bow. "I will be in the main room."

"Thank you," I said.

He gave me a surprised glance and left.

I turned on the shower, discovered that it had hot water, stripped, and enjoyed my shower. I found shampoo and soap, and they smelled like Old Spice. I enjoyed my long, hot shower, and toweled off. The trousers fit me big, so I tied the waistband with my hair tie to keep it up. I put my pink camisole back on and put on the poet's shirt over it. It smelled like Erik: candlewax and ink, and roses. I rolled up the sleeves around my elbows and combed my hair through my fingers. Barefoot, I left the bathroom and went to find Erik.

He was at his piano, playing, trying to order his thoughts. Nicole could not speak French; she couldn't go up above. If she was to stay here she would need clothes, and to learn French, and he would need to ask Nadir for more food, and-

"Erik?"

He turned at the sound of his name. "You need shoes," he said, looking at her bare feet curiously. Her toenails were painted a bright pink.

She smiled wryly. "No kidding." She shivered suddenly, and went to curl up in the couch, huddling into her oversized clothes.

Erik frowned and stood up. With a graceful sweep, he draped his cloak over her and plopped the hood on her head. "Here."

She scrambled to get the hood off her face and scowled at him cheerfully. "Thanks."

He grinned. He hadn't smiled this much in his whole life. "You must be hungry," he said, and went to the kitchen.

He made a simple meal of bread and cheese, and gave his guest a plate.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"Why n- oh." She nodded. "Your mask gets in the way. I forgot." She took a deep breath. "You can take it off, you know."

"Believe me mademoiselle, your appetite would vanish if I did so," he said coolly.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Erik, you forget I've seen your unmasked face every night in my dreams since I was a child. The sight of it hasn't bothered me since I was eight years old."

He could only stare at her. Could it be that she really didn't mind it? "No," he said firmly.

She sighed. "Erik, please. We're going to be seeing a lot of each other, and I don't want you to think that I'm scared of you." She reached out, but didn't touch the mask. "Please Erik."

He swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. He knew her facial expressions, he didn't see any hint of fear or loathing. There was only one thing to do. He slowly reached up and removed the mask, casting his gaze down to his lap so he wouldn't see the fear in her eyes.

I stared at his unmasked face. It was exactly like in my dreams: half the skin was red and irritated, the other half was white and pale. His nose, his lip, and his eye were all pulled out of shape, and there was a sort of dent in his skull, near his temple. At first glance it truly was horrific, but I'd had my entire life to get used to it, and it didn't scare me. I reached out to cup his cheek softly. "It's fine, Erik," I said, tilting his chin up so he'd look at me. "It's fine."

He flinched at her soft touch, and met her gaze reluctantly, and his eyes widened in disbelief when he saw her smiling at him gently.

"There," she said, smiling at him, her hand still on his cheek. "There's the Erik I know."

He closed his eyes, suddenly overcome with emotion. This was the first time anyone had touched his face in kindness, rather than hate, and it made him want to weep with gratitude.

I saw his eyes fill up with tears and mine began to tear up as well. "It's okay," I said softly, pulling him into a hug and letting him hide his face in my shoulder. I felt a few hot tears soak through the shoulder of my shirt and I smoothed his hair gently. I knew this was the first time someone had hugged him, and I was determined not to spoil it.

He drew back after a few moments, his eyes still red, but composed. "Thank you," he said, turning his deformed side away from me on instinct.

I smiled at him reassuringly. "I told you Erik, your face doesn't scare me." I held out the plate. "Would you like to eat now?"

We ate in silence, and afterwards he replaced his mask and put the things away. "I will be back soon," he said. "Don't try and leave the cave, or you might be caught in a trap."

"I know where they all are," I told him.

"Still," he said sternly, and consciously softened his tone. "I don't want you to be hurt."

I nodded. "I'll stay here." I handed him his cloak. "Here, by the way."

"Thank you." He gave me a small bow and swept away. Ten points for aplomb.

I pulled the top blanket off my bed, and wrapped it around myself. I took a short nap, and then decided to explore the cave itself. My explorations were cut short when I came to the piano. It was a beautiful piano, one that Erik used frequently to compose, and placed my hands on the keys reverently.

Erik returned to the lair a few hours later, his arms full of boxes, and heard the faint strains of music coming from his lair. He sped up, eager to see Nicole playing the piano.

She was seated at the piano, playing the intro to The Piano Guys' version of Secrets, by One Republic. Then, she started to sing, the words resounding through the air.

She trailed off in the last verse and looked at the keys thoughtfully. "So what do you think, Erik?" she asked.

He jumped, startled that she'd sensed his presence. "You were wonderful, Nicole," he assured her. "You have a beautiful voice. I've always thought so."

She blushed. "Really?"

"Truly." He waved her over to the table. "Come see." He started opening the boxes. Mindful of Nicole's 21st century nature, he'd bought only a couple day dresses, easy to wear and move around in, and two pairs of men's trousers that would probably fit her better, as well as two shirts. Nobody would see her in these, but he knew if he didn't get them he would be yelled at. A nightgown, various underclothes that a shop lady had packed for him, a pair of boots and a pair of slippers, hair and skin products, and a shawl and cloak. "I hope I got everything," he said, watching her face eagerly for her approval.

She did not disappoint.

"These are great," I said, giving him a quick hug. I looked through all the boxes, and asked suspiciously, "no corsets, right?"

"No. I know you do not wear them in the future."

"Good. I had to wear one for a school play once and I almost passed out."

"They restrict your singing voice, as well," Erik said.

I smirked. "And how do you know that?"

He turned red. "I, uh,"

I burst into laughter at the embarrassed look on his face. "Just teasing."

He gave me a mock scowl and gestured to the bedroom where I'd been sleeping. "That is your room, from this point onwards."

I put my things in there, and organized them in the wardrobe. I traded for a pair of the better fitting shirt and pants, and found that Erik's guess of sizes was spot-on. I braided my hair, put on some stockings and the boots, and wrapped the shawl around my shoulders. There. Now I looked relatively normal. I could kill for some eyeliner or mascara though. And some blush; I looked like a vampire. Maybe Erik would steal me some makeup from the costume department above our heads.

I stared at myself in the mirror. I was really here. Actually under the Opera Populaire, in the Phantom's guest room. I pinched myself fiercely. Ow. Nope. Still not a dream.

I came out of the guest room and saw Erik at the piano. He wasn't playing, he was writing. Composing. He looked up when I stepped out though. "So what'd you think?" I asked, coming closer. "Look better?"

"Indeed," he said, nodding. "And if you are in need of something, tell me and we will procure it somehow."

"Thank you."

He nodded distractedly.

I watched him for a while and asked, "So what now?"

"What do you mean, mademoiselle?"

"I mean I can't just sit here all day."

"Then sing," Erik suggested. "I do not mind."

I gave him a Look. "Erik, you know what I mean."

"I know," he said, frowning. "But I have just gotten you, I do not wish to share you with the world so soon."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a package you got in the mail, mister, you don't own me."

"No," he said, backtracking. "I didn't mean that."

"Uh-huh. Speaking of which, ground rules." I didn't want to have to say it, but I knew what he was like without boundaries, and that was an Erik I never wanted to see in real life.

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"I know you," I said, pointing a finger at him. "I know you are a good man at heart. But you will not lose your temper with me. If you lay a finger on me, or a rope, or do anything to harm me, I will leave, and I will not come back. Understood?"

He nodded, eyes wide. "I would never," he promised.

"Promise me."

He raised his right hand, his eyes solemn. "I swear, on my music, I will not harm you."

"Good. Second rule."

"Yes?"

"Don't call yourself a monster."

He blinked at that one. "What?"

"I mean it. No self-loathing."

"Why?" he demanded.

I sat next to him. "Because you are a genius, and I'm your friend, and I don't want you to hate yourself. I don't want you to hate anybody, really, but we can work on that."

"Now listen," he growled, "you have no right to begin dictating my thoughts or my life."

I frowned at him. "As someone who cares for you, yes, I do."

That stopped him. "You care for me?" he inquired.

"Of course I do. How could I know your whole life story and not care for you?"

He frowned. "I do not want pity."

"And I'm not giving you any," I retorted. "Empathy and compassion, yes. Pity, no. Pity makes me want to throw up."

He saw the sad look in her eyes and deduced correctly she was remembering her mother's funeral. He'd woken up from that dream in tears. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

She cleared her throat and looked away briefly. "Thanks."

"Is that all, mademoiselle?" he asked, returning to the topic of ground rules.

"For you anyways," she said. "Anything for me?"

"Do not go into the tunnels without me," he said. "And I want you to sing."

"Now?" she asked, surprised.

"Whenever you wish. Just, sing. Music is better with two people."

She grinned. "It's gonna be like living in a musical."

"A what?"

"It's like an opera but less... operatic. Oh, I don't know. Like, did you ever dream of me watching High School Musical? I had a phase, a few years ago."

"We're all in this together?" he asked, remembering a slightly distasteful dream filled with sub-par songs and teenage drama.

"Precisely." She giggled. "I can't believe the phantom of the opera knows that song."

He grinned in spite of himself.

"What team?" she asked suddenly.

"Wildcats," he replied promptly.

She burst into laughter, and laughed so hard she had to lean on him or fall off the bench. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Erik couldn't help but smile. "Very fun."