m&mwp.
and this is obviously spawned from reading mew's wonderful "Down the Middle".
Hermione pulls the blanket around her body as she sits up, smiling softly as she watches the younger man scramble on the floor, searching for clothes long discarded. He hasn't gotten very far, only having pulled on his shirt and a single sock.
"Is James waiting for you?" she asks.
Lorcan looks up, grinning at her as he triumphantly waves a sock in his hand. He gives a quick nod, saying, "Yeah. He'll give me hell if I'm late again. The shop's been busier than ever."
Casting a glance sideways, Hermione frowns as she notes the time.
"You should..." she trails off. "Sorry."
His face falls for just a moment and Hermione feels absolutely awful, just as she always does when they get to this point. It happens every single time. She allows herself a few hours of complete bliss and indescribable happiness and then she's suddenly pulled into the real world and a feeling akin to sickness pools in her stomach.
"Ron." It's said simply, but Hermione cringes all the same. But Lorcan just continues to smile at her and he stops his frantic search for clothing in order to perch on the side of the bed. "I'll see you after work, yeah?"
She appreciates the sentiment, but Hermione's a clever woman. She isn't fooled by his dismissive behaviour. She's also a brave woman, so she attacks the problem head on, blurting, "It's difficult."
"Everything is with us. Our age. Our friends. Your marriage."
"I—"
"Oh, don't over think it," Lorcan cuts in, grin reappearing. He leans over, kissing her cheek. "You love him, but sometimes emotions just aren't enough. I get it."
Her grip on the blanket tightens. "Lorcan—"
He laughs outright. "Didn't I just tell you not to over think this? I like this arrangement. I'm not a victim here. Neither of us are victims here. We're just being human—satisfying our needs. Nothing more, nothing less."
She's not used to this. She's not used to having to compartmentalize like this. She's always thought that with love would come sex and that love would always been enough. She never thought that love, one day, just wouldn't do it for her and that she'd need something more. But Lorcan...Lorcan understands. He doesn't even care that she's just using him. He just sits backs and enjoys it. His line between love and sex is defined—long, black and wide. Hermione wishes she were able to think of it like that.
"So, are we meeting up after work?" Lorcan asks, eyebrows raised in question even though he knows exactly how she's going to reply.
She shakes her head and he rolls his eyes, jumping off the bed and reaching down to pick up his trousers. "Tomorrow, then."
Hermione wants to say no. She wants to shout it and scream it in the street. But she doesn't. She needs this. There's no way she's going to decline the only offer she's going to get. She's not going to turn away the only person that understands.
"Ron's going to meet up with Harry at about seven. We could meet up then." She slides out of bed and slips into a robe. "I have to go make breakfast. You can let yourself out the back. Try be quick."
Lorcan watches as Hermione leaves the room. And, feeling confident, calls, "That's today, is it?"
"Oh, shut up!"