word count: 546
At first, neither 's the way it always is whenever they come together again. All Daphne cand do is breathe in the scent of Blaise: spice, a hint of sweat, perfection.
"I miss you," she says at last. She frowns. "I missed you."
Except the past tense isn't completely right. Even when they're together, she still misses him because she knows stolen moments are so rare. They have their own lives. He, bound by loyalty to his family, will return home to Pansy. She, heart aching and tears stinging her eyes, will stay here, dreaming of what she wishes could be hers. What should be hers. Blaise loves her, and he always has. If only he had been bold enough to tell his mother as much.
"I think Pansy might be getting suspicious," he tells her, pulling away. There's a stretch of silence, tense and awkward, and all he can seem to do is adjust the cushion on the couch behind him, like keeping busy will somehow make this easier. "Maybe not. She always seemed the curse first, ask questions later type."
Daphne sighs heavily and shakes her head. For far too long, they've been playing this game, carefully creeping around, so afraid of getting caught. But what would happen if someone found out? Would it really be such an awful fate? Sometimes she wonders if Blaise would, but she knows him better than that. As in love as they are, his first priority will always be his family's name. Something like this would tarnish that name. Even without the affair, a divorce would lead to whispers and rumors, and words could be so damaging.
So she settles for this, as much as she may hate it. What else can she do?
"Let's not talk about Pansy tonight," she says, and she wonders if he can hear the desperation in her voice, how the request is more of a plea.
He is never hers, except in these moments. Why should she share him now, even if it is only sharing with the thoughts of another woman. Just for tonight, while she has, she wants to pretend that the world isn't cruel, and fate has not forced them apart. For now, Pansy doesn't exist, and there is only Daphne and Blaise.
"You're right," he says, kissing her lips gently, sweetly, and she can taste how much he's missed her on his lips. "I'm sorry."
And then he kisses her hard, and she wonders if he ever kisses Pansy like this, if his hands ever touch Pansy the way he touches her now. She pulls away, frustrated with herself. Now she's doing it. Pansy has found a way into her head.
"Daph? What's wrong?"
How can she explain? She doesn't think there's a way, really. He would never understand the thoughts in her head, the way she longs for this to be something permanent in her life.
So she just smiles. "We haven't even had dinner yet," she says, hoping he can't see how fake it all is. "I bought a new wine just for the occasion, and I intend to sample it tonight."
Her heart aches, but still she carries on. This is the only way she can have Blaise, and it will have to be enough.
