Warning for language and mature themes (infidelity & sex, basically).

Written for a prompt in the WWW Facebook group: "This wasn't supposed to happen."/"Don't leave. Don't you dare fucking leave."/"I'm sorry. You deserve so much better."

Word count: 546


you lie on my sheets, then lie to my face

The sex had been particularly mind-blowing that last time.

Pansy looked over at Ron and sighed happily. "That was good, wasn't it?" she asked, circling her thumb over his cheek.

Ron merely continued to stare up at the ceiling, his face an unreadable mask. "Yeah, fine," he eventually replied.

Pansy wasn't sure if it was just her imagination, but he seemed to angle himself ever so slightly away from her.

She propped herself up on her elbow. "'Fine'?" she repeated, frowning. "That's all you have to say?" She leaned over to let her breasts brush tantalizingly against his chest. "You're usually a bit more...flattering, Ron."

"I've got a lot going on at work," Ron said, finally looking over at her. "Sorry."

"It's alright." She leaned down to kiss him. "Wanna talk about it?" Ron rolled out from under her and began to sit up. She pouted. "Guess that's a no, then."

The redhead yanked his boxers on before looking around for his robes. Pansy pointed wordlessly to the spot on the floor where he had thrown them in the throes of passion—passion that was apparently long gone now—and watched as he dressed himself.

"Will I be hearing from you again soon?" She hated how insecure she sounded. Hated how she seemed to need him more than he needed her.

Ron paused—or froze, maybe—in the act of fixing his tousled hair. "Dunno," he said with a shrug. "Maybe."

Pansy bit her lip. That wasn't the resounding "Yes!" that she had been hoping for.

Now dressed, her lover came over and planted a quick kiss on her lips. "I—I just remembered something I have to do for work. I know this—our time together—wasn't supposed to happen this way, but I have to go."

Pansy could tell he was lying by the way that he scratched behind his ear—it was a nervous habit of his. Sudden ire burned inside her like a flame, red-hot and destructive. She shoved the sheets aside and stood, not caring about her state of undress. "Don't leave. Don't you dare fucking leave like this, Ron Weasley."

"I thought you knew the rules we were playing by." Ron shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes. At least he had the decency to look ashamed, Pansy thought. "I've got a life outside of you, Pansy. I know you don't like it, but—"

"I fucking hate it!" she snapped, then, softer, "I hate that you aren't all mine."

"I'm sorry," Ron said quietly, not meeting her gaze. "You deserve so much better."

Pansy blinked back the tears that rushed to her eyes. "Just go, then," she said hotly.

Ron took a step towards her, arms stretched out in a gesture that she supposed was meant to be placating. "Pans—"

"Go!" she snarled. "And don't fucking bother to come back."

He reached the hotel room door in three strides. Turning back towards the bed, he cleared his throat and said, "Goodbye, Pansy."

She didn't bother to dignify that with a response, too afraid of letting her angry façade crack, exposing the vulnerability beneath.

As soon as she heard the door click shut, she sank back onto the bed, buried her face in the covers, and sobbed.

Was she ever going to be anyone's first choice?