When Vincent smiles at him - really smiles, a transformation occurs across his face. He was handsome standing in the early spring chill of the night at the back entrance of the Palais Garnier, certainly, but with his lips framing in his teeth and adding curves to the sharp edges of his features, he's positively divine. Claude stares at him for a long, wordless, intense moment before returning the gesture. Smiling warmly and pushing the door to the stairway open, for the other man to enter first. "I'll get whatever is available," he replies.

He will get him the very best. If Claude casts his sweetest eyes on the ballet master, he might even be able to secure a single ticket front row in the middle. Let the kings and queens wait, Monsieur Fortesque needs his throne. And then he needs to be entertained in the manner of the Sun King himself, centuries ago.

It occurs to Claude, somewhat distantly, that he hasn't truly engaged himself in a life outside the Opera, since he first moved to Paris as a child. Not beyond the scattered, always deficient encounters with his fellow man at Le Ganymède. That place is what it is and a world it is not. Waiting for Vincent to move into the unknown, he runs a hand through his hair, leaving flickers of gold on his fingers. They catch the light as he waves in the direction of the first flight of stairs. The first of many. He knows this route by foot.

"I live in the attic, six floors up." Up with the stars.