The music roaring to life seemed from his perspective like a confirmation of what he was thinking: well, if this is the finale, there ought to at least be music. As much as he had approached this evening hoping for an alternate ending, he couldn't see a way to one now. They were former classmates. Sophia's sister was a prior colleague of his wife. This was without even including what she'd mentioned at the party, about her family having roots near his own. There were far too many avenues where things overlapped in uncomfortable ways. If there had been only one possible connection between Ozymandias' wife and his mistress they perhaps could have agreed to deftly avoid any situation in which it might be brought up, but even Sophia wasn't a graceful enough dancer to dodge so many tripwires at once without slipping.

"Doesn't it?" he challenged, tilting his head slightly at her. He couldn't work out where she was going with this; continuing on as they had prior to the ballroom and simply hoping for the best was obviously unsustainable. Even if they agreed to pointedly avoid each other at future engagements — which would have been nearly impossible, given that he was publicly a patron of the ballet and anyone who knew that would have thought it only natural to engage both of them in conversation — the risk of discovery was still too dominant. The only other recourse they might have was if they planned ahead to entirely deconflict their social calendars, so that she never accepted an invitation to a party he was planning to attend, but he doubted she would be thrilled by the idea (particularly since he was hardly interested in ceding any interesting events to her, should a conflict be realized).

A quick thought flashed through his mind, and although he didn't think that was where Sophia was headed he felt he ought to head it off immediately, in case it was. "I will never have a publicly recognized mistress," he said quickly. "All of the Isles may think me a terrible husband, but they'll think me a loyal one."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Ah, so this was going to be an uphill climb. Sophia neatly polished off her glass of wine for the fortitude. Setting it down pointedly, “I don’t see how it does,” she countered. The challenge in his voice was clear, and she didn’t much appreciate the doubt he intimated about her ability. Sophia was sure that she could do it. “I disliked being caught off guard at the ballroom, but I would be ready when we run into each other again. Particularly if we agree to the same stories.” What, was he scared? She would have asked as much, if he didn’t cut directly to what he was so frightened of. Hasty, overwhelmed.

Both her eyebrows raised in question, Sophia rather caught off-guard by what he said. This concern had been the furthest thing from her thought.

“Regarding the sort of husband you are, you can orchestrate whatever narrative you’d like,” she finally said, aghast. “For I want no part of it at all. I already told you that I have too much at risk.” That would ruin me entirely. This could take me from my kids, she could have cried. But the woman quashed the tide of anger swelling in her chest, and focused instead on what she wanted, “It is in the interest of both of us to operate with utmost discretion.”

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thank you gin for the set<3

She didn't have to say she was offended in order for it to be obvious. He drew back from the table slightly and cleared his throat — or tried to. There was a lump there he couldn't quite swallow down. "Of course," he said, looking down at the rim of his wine glass instead of at her. "I didn't mean to imply —" What hadn't he meant to imply? He hadn't implied anything; he'd been quite explicit, and quite incorrect.

He shifted his weight in his chair and rubbed a thumb against the edge of his jaw. He had reasons to jump to that conclusion, of course. His best friend was infamous for keeping a mistress, complete with a house and several children. Sina had mentioned it specifically when she'd accepted his proposal. Still, he couldn't help but feel embarrassed by the outburst, and now he didn't know how to steer the conversation back on track.

Did he want the conversation back on track? She was arguing that all they needed was to get their story straight before forging ahead; he wasn't so sure. Stories were fine when they could be kept simple, but there were too many opportunities here for details to arise. Too many players that might end up comparing notes at some point down the line. Though the question looming large was not whether the risk existed, nor whether it could be mitigated. Of course it did, and of course it could. The real question was whether this was worth the risk or not. It was... intriguing that she believed the answer to be yes. The magnetism between the two of them was undeniable, but he wasn't sure it was enough to tip the scales in their favor. Perhaps, for all she coldly talked of the stakes on her end, he had more to lose after all.

"The most discreet thing would be to call this off," he pointed out, looking up to meet her eyes.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Sophia hoped that making herself clear might help assuage his concern but it only seemed to make matters worse, since it cast an unforgiving light on the true root of the issue. His evasiveness at the opera or anxiety at the ball when they met unexpectedly, the reason he avoided her gaze now, the words he used to push her reasoning away. It all finally came together in an undeniable pattern. Realization slackened Sophia’s jaw as he finally answered, once she finally thought she understood.

Despite all his fickle pursuits, Ozymandias feared losing his wife.

The ballerina clipped her jaw shut and unconsciously folded her arms. Felt his gaze on her finally, but now Sophia turned away. She’d blame the wine for the pink flush high on her cheeks, certainly not the mix of every type of emotion— embarrassment, resentment, sorrow — that swelled in her heart instead. This wasn’t what she wanted. But saying so felt childish. Childish, and wrong— no matter that Ozymandias was just as much at fault for their affair as she was. And so, Sophia simmered.

“I won’t fight for your affections,” she ceded quietly. “This affair of ours has never made sense in the first place. I cannot fathom what pulls me to you again and again, like a moth drawn into flame,” she added the last bitterly, and finally brought her face back to look at Ozymandias. She wished she hadn’t, not when one burning question made her heart race this way.

“This has only ever been acceptable on the grounds that we both enjoy it. If that is no longer the case, then I cannot deny your request to end this.”

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thank you gin for the set<3

It was difficult to watch her reaction, but he found himself unable to pull his eyes away. Before he'd thought through his reaction he reached across the table and let his fingertips brush against the skin of her arm.

"It's not that I don't enjoy our time together," he insisted quietly. He didn't know why it was important to him that she heard this; if they were truly parting ways after tonight, it shouldn't have mattered. Sophia had always been different than the other women, though. Unlike her, Oz was no novice to extramarital liaisons, but across all his dalliances throughout the years he had never considered them anything more than that — a dalliance. Even the ones he'd seen on several occasions, even the ones he'd sent little presents to, he'd had no compunction about tossing aside when the time came. He had never been truly interested in them; they had only been set decoration for his outings with Dash. (Was Sophia the first woman he'd sought out since his marriage without any plan to introduce her to his best friend? Possibly — he couldn't think of an exception).

He blinked, somewhat sobered by this realization, and drew his hand back halfway, leaving it near the center of the table while he picked up his glass with the other.

"A moth to a flame," he repeated wryly. "It has certainly been — compelling."

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MJ is the light of my life <3

This is the right thing to do, Sophia steeled herself, needing to briefly close her eyes in concentration to absorb the fact once his fingers grazed her arm. She wanted this a thousand more times - but in the end, I needed to be honest with him, and here we are. The only right choice. Despite herself, his quiet encouragement that he enjoyed their time together earned a scoff. Paltry comfort that was. Trusting that her expression conveyed as much, Sophia reached for her own wine glass and polished it off.

With a flick of the hand to the gramophone that went silent, “Another,” she instructed, the machine merrily slotted in its next roll. Music and dance were, in the end, the only most reliable and dependable sources of joy. They don’t die, and they aren’t afraid.

A testament to her character, Sophia did not cry. Instead the more difficult things seemed to become, the more fluid she became. A duck in water, buoying serenely while her feet tread furiously. It worked in her profession, and it would work in her personal life too.

“Hm, yes. One could say even riveting,” she managed to rejoin the conversation with a bit of bite to spare. And since they were laying it all out openly tonight, being their last with so much intimacy, “I was selfish from the beginning, how I hoped this might help me. You see, there was a time after Jacob died where I wasn’t sure who I was without him. If I even still existed at all– one could have convinced me I was a ghost, for all I could do or feel.” Sophia raised one of her hands before them, as though to inspect its transparency. Then her eyes averted to him. “Selfishly, I enjoyed that you helped me find a piece of myself again.”

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thank you gin for the set<3

He hadn't expected her words to affect him as they did. Maybe it was that he felt an echo of his own sentiments from earlier in the year in what she said. He was not a widower, but there had been nearly a month when he'd believed Thomasina lost to him. He recalled accepting social invitations in Hogsmeade with the unspoken thought of maybe I'll disappear, too; the vague conviction that this outcome would have been preferable to trying to carry on without any sign of her. The ceaseless pressure, at every hour of every day, to prevent himself from feeling any of the emotions roiling through his stomach, because he knew if he expressed them even once he would never have been able to stop them overtaking his life. He had felt impotent, and everything around him out of control — if I even still existed at all was an apt phrase, because although of course he had spent the days she was missing saying and doing anything he could to find her, it sometimes felt as though he had disappeared when she had.

So he knew what she meant, at least to an extent, and he knew what it was worth to reclaim pieces of one's former self. Oz looked intensely at Sophia for a long moment, unsure of what he could say. She said that she'd been selfish, but he was... pleased that he could be that, for her. It did leave their relationship unbalanced, because that wasn't what he'd sought in her arms, but he was still — it was difficult to describe exactly how her admission made him feel. It almost seemed like he was... grateful, he supposed, for the opportunity to have played such an important role in her life. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. He shouldn't have been so invested in her inner life, but he was. Did it change anything? He didn't know. He felt as though it should, but at the same time he still failed to see how it could. The risks —

But he didn't want to think about that for the moment. He wanted to bask in her revelation to him, to let the way it felt saturate his thoughts, and not be distracted by the depressing logistics of the thing or the lack of future for them.

Oz rose from the table and reached to take her hand. "Come and kiss me," he demanded gently.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Oz’s sudden movement tore Sophia from her thoughts, and she wondered if that statement had gone too far. Surely it couldn’t feel very good, the lingering constant comparison to a dead husband. But then, one could argue the both of them had their hearts rooted in different places. Was it so wrong to voice one’s motives and desires? Fully expecting that Ozymandias intended to leave (and bless the man, leave the remaining wine), Sophia inclined her head up to look at him.

Lips parted in a silent ‘o’ when he took her hand then, and issued his instruction. His words stole her breath away. Like she’d just landed the most complex sequence of jumps, and her choreographer asked for her to do it over again, and just the thought of it could cow her into giving up. When that happens, there is really only one way forward. Don’t think, just do.

Sophia rose swiftly from the table, determined to close their distance before he had a moment to change his mind. Though when she got there she slowed, taking her time with idle fingertips threading through the hair at his temple. Gently angled his face that much closer. Her eyes took detail of each of his features, as she tried to not think this may be the last opportunity she’d have such proximity. Breathed in his scent, closed her eyes. She wanted this more than she could bear to admit, especially in the light of all she’s learned… but she couldn’t think of that. Not now. The ballerina raised on her toes to press her lips to his.

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thank you gin for the set<3

From the moment their lips met he felt as though there was a transference of emotion between them, though he couldn't have said whether he was offloading his echoes of loss and grief and desperation onto her or allowing hers to flow into him. Either way, it was cathartic. He raised his hands to cup her face, then as the kiss continued and deepened his hands drifted to the rest of her. He pulled her close, hungry for contact and reveling in the warmth of her skin against his.

There were any number of points where he might have disentangled himself, little decrescendos, but at every instance the twin feelings of reluctance to return to their ongoing conversation and a growing tug towards her caused him to dive in once again. She seemed to be of a similar mind: the words they exchanged were not of partings and consequences and risk, only those that gave structure to the action. Let's — yes — here — more — oh — oh.

When he was next left with his thoughts, they were heavy with the afterglow. His hair was mussed and half his clothes had been discarded, with the rest askew. He took a few moments to catch his breath, then leaned his head up against Sophia's breast and shoulder. "I don't want to break things off," he complained, with a sigh. It was an empty complaint; the sex had changed nothing about their predicament.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Kissing Ozymandias felt easy enough to be dangerous, as most things that are too good to be true tend to be. Sophia knew they shouldn’t. It would only make things harder later, if they did. Oh, they should not do this again. A refrain that kicked up at the back of her mind with each notable progression — when his intoxicating mouth drifted to her jaw and neck, when her fingers fervently worked to undo his buttons while he undid her dress, when they fell into a tumble of limbs on the chaise and gasped each other’s names. But every time it occurred to her that they shouldn’t, this will only make things worse, Merlin help her, she only wanted it more. Clawed back to the sensations she so desperately craved any moment she pulled away for air. Perhaps he enjoyed her desperation too, she wondered. Perhaps it worked as fuel for him. The way she melted into his lips, or groaned with pleasure as his fingertips left trails of fire in its wake; his response to each as intuitive as it was urgent, even caring.

Obsessed, she realized. She was obsessed with him, as much if not more than he confessed to being with her. The understanding rocked her over the edge of climax, with her face buried in the crook of his neck and her arms wrapped around his shoulders. It was in this way they both collapsed, drained of life and covered in a slight sheen of sweat. Stars still dotted Sophia’s vision as her eyes drifted closed and she recovered her breath.

She finally came back to something like life when Oz stirred to rest against her breast. Her arms unthinkingly wrapped around him, fingers drew absentminded patterns on his shoulder blades. The first coherent thought that registered in a distant part of her mind was the understanding that even though this could only ever end badly… disappointment, pain, and loss inevitable…  she still loved where they started. This moment. Their hazy afterglow.

The second coherent thought was that she loathed the idea of giving this up for the sake of his wife. A consideration that made Sophia grimace internally, knowing all that it implied, knowing how nonsensical it all was. As though reading her mind, Oz said as much. Better him say it than her, but the reminder of their earlier conversation felt like a rough drop to reality she didn’t wish to face. 

After a beat, “That makes two of us,” she admitted quietly. “I need you for a bit longer, Ozymandias.” This could not be the last, she could not tolerate this. It felt far too soon. Sophia turned her head to press her lips against his temple, coaxing him to look at her. She never begged— this was as an unusual a first as was their entire affair. “Please. Tell me what I can do or say to convince you.”

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thank you gin for the set<3

There was something about hearing a woman say with sincerity I need you. He took a slow deep breath and pulled her closer. He'd said before he didn't see a way out of this with their relationship intact, and nothing had changed since then. She'd said she wouldn't fight for his affection, but now she wanted to know what it would take to convince him, and he suspected the answer was very little indeed. He hadn't ever wanted to end things in the first place, but there was a damning (and steadily growing) list of reasons it would have been foolish to continue. She knew Thomasina, at least by name, and so did her sister; she had family in society who might conceivably invite her to events as something other than a performer, thus putting her more in the Dempsey's orbit than he had ever expected her to be. And the issue from the summer hadn't ever been truly resolved so much as it had been glossed over when his resistance had collapsed on opening night. She had thrown him out, but he'd been determined to write her off anyway. Her outburst had made her seem too fragile to engage in this sort of relationship. Partially his reticence to reopen their dialogue after that was based in consideration of her feelings — and he had certainly leaned into that narrative in how he portrayed the matter to her, playing the chivalrous gentleman. There was more to it, though: if she was distraught, she could prove volatile. A liability, which an affair requiring discretion could not tolerate.

Actually, maybe the last point had been resolved. If he could believe what she'd said tonight, then their intimacy was actually helping her readjust. His involvement in her life was a mark towards stability, not the opposite. Of course it could have just been something to say, but he wanted to believe her. It felt right. Holding her in his arms just now, it felt true.

"Let me think about it from all the different angles," he murmured, a tacit admission that he was giving this much more serious consideration than he had a moment ago. The thing to be avoided at all costs was exposure, so how many different ways could that occur? Was it possible to head them all off? They could be spotted somewhere, but that was easily avoided so long as they were circumspect about the location for their liaisons. They could establish ground rules about both that and the periodicity with which they saw each other, to avoid raising suspicion. Their interactions at social events were another avenue where eyebrows might be raised, and given the electricity in so many of their previous conversations Oz wasn't sure either of them were good enough actors to pretend they were merely passing acquaintances. They could probably have played at being standoffish; a flirtatious comment taken the wrong way could serve as a suitable explanation for them not to like one another. He wasn't sure it would work in one very specific instance, though: he worried that his having a quarrel with another woman would arouse Thomasina's interest. He was blandly charming with women in society, as a rule. Sophia being an exception to the rule in any direction would have been noteworthy, at least.

But blandly charming wasn't sustainable unless they could both suppress that spark that ran between them. Even then, it might have given rise to questions from her side, if her family didn't dismiss any attentions as just the way he is. The only viable path forward was to minimize any interactions they had outside of his contact with the ballet, which at this point would have been more attention-drawing to dissolve than to continue.

"How often is this likely to be a concern?" he asked, brows drawn down as he thought. "How much of an actual overlap is there in our social circles? I could be... slightly more selective in the invitations I accept," he suggested. "Though I can't dictate my wife's calendar." While this was true, it was also of less concern to him. He expected that Sophia could handle herself in a conversation with his wife if necessary without giving anything away. He wasn't even really worried about he and Sophia interacting in public, because in his experience the public had always been easy to fool (though Sophia and her family might feel otherwise). The only thing that really must be avoided, from his perspective, was a situation in which Thomasina was at leisure to watch Oz and Sophia interact; she knew him too well for Ozymandias to trust she'd miss the signals.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Sophia hummed in soft assent as Oz curled more into her, matching his deep breath with her own. Between the sex and wine her brain still felt foggy, distant enough that it hadn’t caught up to the reality of what she just admitted. Ordinarily, she’d keep something so vulnerable closer to her chest. But Ozymandias had caused her to break almost every rule of intimacy she made up in her head — starting with taking a wealthy man’s flirtations seriously, and ending with her inclination to be honest with him about how she felt, even if it was to her detriment.

The conflicts of interest at play did not escape Sophia either. She had no desire to force Oz’s affections for her, to become his scapegoat “temptress” at fault should things sour. Neither did she wish to be the object of his fabricated interest, simply for the sake of protecting the delicate sensibilities of a poor broken widow. Nor would she attempt to make him sacrifice his relationship with his wife, no matter how loveless their marriage may be. There were certainly exigent questions when it came to that, too… why have an affair at all being the most important one. But she wouldn’t cross this line now, not when her objective was rather simple by contrast: Sophia gained some claim on Ozy’s affection, and she had little desire to relinquish it without due cause. We can be very careful about this, she insisted to herself — a weak effort to pacify the swelling sense of anxiety every time she considered The Wife as more than a faceless, nameless figure. A victim, perhaps. By contrast, Sophia’s love for her late husband had been transparent, passionate, and all-consuming until the end (even if it was due in part to sharing every facet of their lives together - from their home to their professions). She could not even begin to understand the trappings of a marriage that bred so much secrecy and desire beyond its confines.

“This is complicated,” she ceded with a soft sigh, tipping her head to rest on his. Sophia had not wanted something so complicated, she could not imagine that Oz did either. Her fingers resumed their idle patterns over his bare skin while he ruminated. A positive sign, surely, but knowing how quickly he’d already reversed course she would not hold her breath that he would reach a satisfactory conclusion. The best thing she could do was wait and show him the merits of their affection.

When Ozymandias finally spoke again, she had been pondering disentangling herself from his embrace, however reluctantly, to retrieve a cigarette. At his question however she turned to look at him, curiously assessing his expression. Willing herself to not read into it too much, that he would consider adjusting his social calendar for their sake. Sophia leaned down to kiss away the furrow of his brow.

“There is little overlap. I do not frequent society events often, truly. I do not speak with my sister who is most likely to frequent some of the same balls and dinner parties you may.” Sophia frowned slightly, realizing that she had not really divulged to Oz the full… er, range the Ivanova triplets covered in magical British society. “And while there have been wealthy families that have invited our ballet for small performances at parties, like the Aldertons or the Blackwoods, I can easily excuse myself from such commitments should they arise.”

Turning slightly to rest more comfortably beside Oz now, Soph thoughtfully bit her lower lip. “The risk is highest in Hogsmeade. Events with the hospital, or parties catered to the poorer folk,” she added the last a bit teasingly. “That was where we ran into trouble last time. My other sister is quite familiar with your brother in law and wife. It’s often as a favor to her that I’ll come along with.”

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thank you gin for the set<3

The mention of another sibling whom she didn't speak to, far from being cause for further concern, was actually something of a balm. He wasn't going to pry into why the relationship had soured, but the fact of an estrangement would be enough of an excuse to get her away from most of the parties he frequented, without anyone having cause to question why she didn't accept. Not that a ballerina was likely to get many invitations as a guest, rather than in a performance capacity or on the arm of a wealthy patron, but it was still a good ace to have up their sleeve.

He smirked at her tone when she mentioned events targeting poorer folk. He knew she meant the middle class, such as the family Thomasina had come from, but the image of he and his ilk sharing cocktails in a ballroom with the grubby denizens of Hogsmeade's slums struck him as perversely humorous. "Those I can certainly excuse myself from. I do detest the poor," he joked. He also hated Hogsmeade in general, so if he had a choice of invitations between London parties, country homes and Hogsmeade affairs it would be easy to neglect the latter in favor of either of the former without raising any suspicion.

"The hospital is unavoidable," he continued, sobering. If Thomasina was sitting through a hospital benefit she would never let him give it a miss. "Aside from feigning illness, I can't see a way around it. But they don't have so many events — so perhaps we can cross that bridge when it arises." Or hopefully it would never arise. Sophia danced half the week anyway; maybe the hospital benefits would fall only during her performances. Or — they'd think of something, when they needed to.

All of which to say: continuing suddenly felt much more practical than it had ten minutes ago. Oz laid one hand over Sophia's where she had been tracing patterns against his skin, then briefly raised her hand up to his mouth to brush a kiss against her knuckles.

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MJ is the light of my life <3

Sophia scoffed in playful injury when he mentioned he detested the poor, one hand dramatically clutching metaphorical pearls at such a statement. It was a testament to her own privilege in life that she wasn’t truly offended, as living as a poor artist in squalor had been very much Sophia’s choice. For in all the aspects of life that mattered - good education, a place to live, food on the table, even now the opportunities afforded to her children as they lived with her sister – the ballerina always benefited from her proper middle class upbringing. It was the estranged sister who greedily obsessed with having even more. Skipping high society parties altogether would circumvent the liability of Soph’s ‘wealthy’ sister catching their interactions, at any rate. She would not be so charitable as her other sister, if she noticed anything.

In that way their worries about the risk seemed to be opposite; the thought of hospital events stole away that smile Sophia had grown to adore. Subconsciously she curled into him further, entwining their legs while he thought through the challenge. Took in a clipped breath as he seemed to decide it was worth the risk. “We can think of something when that happens,” she murmured. Perhaps it was not such a negative that Lydia had her suspicions about them; she’d guard Sophia’s secret to the grave and perhaps agree to Sophia’s refusal to attend any events with the rake present. “I know I can manage Lydia,” she added quietly. Or at the very least, now knowing the risks, find a way to keep her distance.

The move to take her hand and kiss it felt surprisingly tender then, a romantic gesture of confidence that put butterflies in her stomach like a naive little debutant. It drew a soft, curious smile as their eyes met. Why are we still doing this, she felt tempted to ask – tempted, but worried enough by the tailspin it could cause that she did not want to voice it. But they were being more open now with each other than they ever have been, in a way Sophia was not sure they would be again. Not without the threat of tearing down everything over their heads.

“...I never expected any of this, when we met,” she said instead. “I certainly was not looking for such a distraction. Though as the distraction persisted, I cannot say I have any regrets.”

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thank you gin for the set<3

Ozymandias held her gaze when she met his eyes. There was an intensity there that went beyond sexual tension; it seemed that more passed between them than words when they looked at each other like that. No regrets, she said. An interesting phrase to use given how rocky things had been between them at intervals. She'd thrown him out of this dressing room once, and they'd parted badly after their dance in the ballroom. Would he have changed anything, given the chance? He wasn't sure if he could have, even forgetting the logistical impossibility of changing the events of the past. They felt inevitable — not just the outcome, curled in each other's arms and waving away the idea of obstacles that had a few moments ago seemed insurmountable, but all the steps along the way. Nothing could have played out any differently than it had. Or maybe he was being unnaturally deterministic because it was easy to slip into philosophizing in the afterglow of an orgasm.

"I couldn't have anticipated you," he agreed, setting her hand back down where it had been on his chest and covering it with his own. "But I don't think I could have avoided you, even if I'd wanted to."

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   Sophia Voss

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MJ is the light of my life <3