Castiel and the Phantom of the Opera [Destiel]

Chapter 3: The Phantom of the Opera

          Castiel’s dressing room was spacious but cluttered. It had a small vanity and a rack of clothes, and that was really the only necessary items in there. The rest was mostly junk – old paintings were leaned against the wall, various props were scattered about, and other miscellaneous items. However, when Castiel entered his dressing room after his conversation with Balthazar, he was pleasantly surprised to find it full of flowers. Bouquets were placed in almost every open space. They made the room feel a little more cramped than usual, but they also filled it with a pleasant, flowery scent.

          As Castiel approached the vanity, he saw a single, solitary flower on top of it. It wasn’t just an ordinary flower, but a rose. A black ribbon was tied in a bow around the dark green stem. Castiel picked up the rose and studied it. After a few moments, he smiled. This single rose meant more to him than the rest of the extravagant bouquets. Thank you, Angel, he thought, his heart swelling with appreciation.

          The door of the dressing room swung open with a small creak. “Nice singin’ out there, Clarence.”

          Castiel paused. He hadn’t heard anyone call him that since . . . “Meg?” He placed the rose back down on the vanity and turned toward the speaker. A short, curvy woman stood in the doorway. She was leaning against the frame with her arms folded across her chest and a smirk on her face. Her long, curly brown hair was splayed out around her face. She wore a light gray dress and a hat to match. Her eyes lit up when she saw Castiel.

          “The one and only,” she answered. She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “Really though – you weren’t too shabby.”

          Castiel smiled widely and pulled her into his arms. He gave her a gentle squeeze, resting his chin on her shoulder. “It’s so good to see you again, but what on Earth are you doing here?” he asked, pulling away.

          “I was meeting with the new owners,” she explained with a small smile. :I just thought I’d come visit . . . For a while, I wasn’t sure that you’d remember me.”

          He laughed. “How could I ever forget? You were my best friend, after all. Do you remember the attic?”
          “Of course,” Meg replied. “And your father and the violin.”

          “And the stories?” he prompted excitedly. “Do you remember those?”
          “Yes, yes,” she giggled. “Clarence you look like a child on Christmas morning!”
          “How about the games we used to play? Oh, and the one where you always used to try to guess my favorite thing?”

          Meg smiled at the memory. “Yeah, because you changed it every other day!”

          Castiel chuckled. “I couldn’t help it – I liked everything.”

          “Does Clarence prefer shoes, or goblins, or chocolates?” she asked, shifting her weight to one side.

          The man laughed again. His face was practically glowing as all those wonderful memories came flooding back to him. “Meg . . . Do you know what I truly like best?” he murmured quietly.

          She smirked. “What, Clarence?”
          “When the Angel of Music sings songs in my head,” he whispered. He turned away from his friend then, and let out a low sigh. But it was a happy one. He began to sing softly.

“When the Angel of Music

Sings songs in my head.”