"Paramour"
Disclaimer: Fanfiction...so...yeah.
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Drawn to the flame that was her, he allowed her beauty to enthrall him, as he always did whenever he saw her. She was sitting, drinking a cappuccino in the Talon, as she regularly did. She smiled when she saw him, her eyes shining in rapture as she took in his form.
"Sit by me," she said.
He took a seat across from her. The waitress came to take his order, which was soon brought back to him. He was hardly aware of his latté.
His mind took him back to their erstwhile nights of sitting by the fire in his study, going over the books of the place which they were now sitting in. Those days of yore were gone now, though there was a faint glint of promise that they could be rekindled. He hoped so every time she was near.
Their relationship had been tempestuous lately, though both knew it was only so due to outside influence and interference. When things were pure, as they always were when they were together, their dealings were anything but tempestuous, being the dealings of two wise old souls that had connected a long time ago.
She was with his former best friend now. Anything he could say to her, regarding what he wanted to actually say, would be rocking the already disintegrating relationship he had with said former best friend. Lingering loyalties proved to be binding.
She caught him sighing. She didn't know why he did that. "Is there something wrong?" she asked, concerned, for it seemed as though he was tortured then.
Though he was breathing, he felt as though he were dying. Every second of every day he couldn't tell her what he wanted to tell her was torture for him. He sometimes wished he were a worse person, wished he could tell her; he wished he could disregard his former best friend's feelings the way his former best friend did his on a regular basis.
Nothing could captivate him more than her.
"Nothing is wrong," he replied. When he was with her, she was like novocaine, numbing the worries and ill thoughts which plagued him daily.
He could write a memoir of each encounter he had with her, detailing the experience, etching it on paper with pen. When he was with her, every conversation seemed like a movie, well played out, thought-provoking, and dramatic.
The passion behind his feelings was not lost upon her, though it did not do her good to dwell on his feelings, for he truly felt them with every fiber of his being. Deep down, she was completely aware of that. She knew they ran courses deeper than time or space could convey, deeper than anything imaginable. It touched her profoundly.
His feelings for her were undying. He would go to the ends of the earth to protect her; he could never leave her in want for anything. His showing of affection would not be so material if she were in a position to reciprocate those feelings openly. The material manifestations of her endearment to him were limiting and he longed for the day when it was his time to be her's, when he could express his passion in ways he could never do now.
The spark in her eyes always seemed so alive. It was the first thing he had ever noticed about her. She was alive on the inside and nothing could ever change that. It was part of why she was more dear to him than he could ever express with mere words. Her vibrant spirit shown through even in the dark times, even in times were she felt hope was as bleak as space–deep and black, with an absence of light.
She was his eternal beloved, his dearest one. He longed for the day when he could call her, "mi amore" aloud.
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