Castiel and the Phantom of the Opera [Destiel]

Chapter 7: Who Is the Phantom of the Opera?

          Castiel did as Monsieur Winchester suggested. He stayed in bed all day, the Angel’s message swirling around in his head. It was empowering – reassuring – that the Angel felt so strongly. Not only did he want to be with Castiel, but he seemed to feel more passionately than Castiel could have ever imagined. He wanted to see his Angel again and tell him how much he cared. He wanted to kiss and feel him again – the thought alone was enough to intoxicate the boy. But he forced himself to slow down and think. His heart was crying out for the Angel, but his brain was still haunted by the Phantom he’d met in his dreams. It was caught up on the venom and rage that had been in the Angel’s voice when Castiel had taken off the mask. It was just a reaction – the Angel had been afraid and in pain. It was a self-defense mechanism. That’s all.

          But he couldn’t push it from his mind.

          That evening, Castiel decided that he had to do something. He went and ate dinner with Balthazar and a few of the other dancers. He listened with one lazy ear to their trivial talk. He sipped on the wine that Anias had stolen from the maestro’s hidden stash. He forced himself to smile as Balthazar made passes some of the ballerinas that had joined them. After several laughable attempts at seduction, one of the ballerinas – the one that had captured Balthazar’s normally fair-weathered heart – chased him off. Castiel recognized her as Rebekah, a nimble, little thing a few years younger than himself. Balthazar had said on multiple occasions that he would find a way to win her heart and that he loved her more than any other female he’d ever laid eyes on. While Balthazar’s declarations of love were a bit extreme and perhaps exaggerated, Castiel had a feeling that they were genuine. That or Balthazar just wanted her for her rather voluptuous backside.

          After comically chasing Balthazar away, Rebekah and her small crew of ballerinas sat down with the boys. They shared the wine, did some flirting, and won several hearts that night. However, there were some male dancers that considered eye-contact an invitation for anything and everything . . . and the wine didn’t exactly help their cause. But the ballerinas cheerfully went along with the boys’ love games. Sometimes they led them along on for a good laugh, other times they were actually interested although the latter was very rare. Most of the girls laughed, drank, and made merry with the gentleman around them except for one. She, much like Castiel, just sat in silence. She smiled or covered her mouth as she giggled at something particularly ridiculous one of her companions did. But other than that, she looked just as out-of-place at this party as Castiel did.

          Castiel knew the girl – or knew her name, at least. He’d heard a lot about her, actually. The quiet girl with long golden locks and piercing blue eyes was none other than Jessica Moore. The sole reason Castiel even knew this was because Monsieur Winchester was rather fond of her. Just like the Angel looked after and mentored Castiel, Monsieur Winchester did that for her. He spent extra time with her – making sure she knew the steps and helping her whenever he could. Castiel never missed the way Monsieur Winchester’s eyes lit up when he noticed Jessica was in the room. It was bizarre to most – seeing the choreographer who was usually so harsh and strict look so . . . happy. On more than one occasion, Castiel had asked the older man if he intended to court her. In all honesty, Castiel thought they would be a good match. But Samuel Winchester always answered in the negative. “I’m too old for her,” he’d say. And Castiel would respond, “You’re only twenty-six.” And then Monsieur Winchester would reply, “She is seventeen.” And then the conversation would end. Castiel always tried – unsuccessfully – to convince his friend to at least say something to her or let her know that he felt for her in this way. That was until Monsieur Winchester had banned that topic from their conversations.

          “Did you hear about what happened this morning?” one of the ballerinas asked, breaking Castiel’s train of thought. He looked up from his glass of wine with mild interest. The ballerina that had spoken wasn’t as delicate as the others, but there was a definite appeal. She had a nice face and a soothing smile. Castiel couldn’t remember her name, but he was sure that it started with an A.