A/N: This first ficlet is a short prequel to my WIP Wraiths of Wandering. It stars Raoul babysitting a very young Konstin (for those unfamiliar with Wraiths, Konstin is the son of Christine and Erik, though Erik died before he was born). Subsequent ficlets in this collection will involve other 'verses and AUs of mine, as well as some other ideas. I hope you enjoy!

He thought it was damn unnerving the first time he realised that they were Erik's eyes looking out at him from a little boy's face. Somehow, blue changed to gold without his ever noticing, but they are undoubtedly Erik's eyes.

He supposed, afterwards, that that was the only way it could have been. Of course the child would inherit his father's eyes.

Still, it could have been worse. He might have gotten more than the eyes.

Raoul cannot help it if he is relieved that Konstin has an ordinary face. From the moment Christine told him she was expecting the question was on his mind. How would the baby's face be? Followed, swiftly afterwards, by please God let him have Christine's face.

It is not Christine's face, nor even Christine's father's. But it is far from Erik's face either. Raoul only ever saw it a handful of times at most, but still he doubts if he could ever forget that face. No. Konstin has, what Raoul supposes, may have been something similar to Erik's face, if Erik had had a normal face. High cheekbones, noticeable even though he isn't even five yet, a straight nose, bowed lips. There's a softness about the features that is reminiscent of Christine, and they are Christine's dimples.

It was more than he expected, that he could love Erik's son. He knew he would care for him, if only out of duty and for Christine's sake. But to love the son of his rival as if he were his own? That seemed like it was asking too much, a hundred times too much.

Until the moment Christine smiled at him, with tired eyes after her ordeal, and eased the baby into his arms. And Raoul looked down at the tiny peacefully-sleeping newborn boy, and felt that tug in his heart. And he knew. From that moment he knew.

He looks down, now, at the peacefully-sleeping child in his arms. He'll never understand what it is that leads Konstin to always fall asleep on top of him, but it must be something like that little tug in his own heart, some yearning to be close. Whatever the cause, sleep on top of him he does, every time, and looking at him now it is difficult to believe that this is the boy who, only a handful of hours ago, insisted he was going to build the Palais Garnier out of matchsticks and glue.

(Thankfully they only had one box of matchsticks. Raoul does not fancy the idea of trying to clean glue off a four year old's hands.)

A/N: Thank you for reading, and please review!

Up next: While she is visiting his lair, Erik accidentally gives Christine whiskey.