It is silent in this room. Through the small wooden windows, the skies reflect an inky indigo that is dotted with distant stars and intermittently obscured by thick grey temperamental clouds. Light rain falls at every ten to fifteen minute intervals and interchanges with the soft sauntering breeze of a peaceful nature.
Hikaru watches him from her bed. He is sitting with his back turned to her and his face buried in his hands. Tobi is frustrated, she knows and it is unlike him to see her with such frequency.
She breathes lightly, and shuffles to his side.
His closeness does not exude warmth or security, rather, it is a chilling detachment that is reserved for women like her. Women who come in extreme proximity to him, whose physicalness is no doubt a potential threat to his vulnerabilities.
But there is an element of trust. They have a mutual contract and they both seek the same satisfaction from nights of pure lust.
She has known him for years. Their relationship never extends beyond one night. Even during acts of intimacy, he is quiet, automatic yet aggressively dominating. He is never there to please nor does he ever feel the need to please himself. It is almost like something he must do, a mere inconvenience or necessity he must complete.
Unlike her, he is never fully unclothed. His shirt remains or his trousers remain, and it is this choice that Hikaru believes is used as an additional guard to bar himself from the potential threats of emotional bonding.
Tonight was no different. He was swift and unsurprisingly violent with his intimacy. It is an act Hikaru has come to accept long ago. She does not mind such brutality. Perhaps it is another form of guardedness. Whatever the reason, it is incredibly rare for him to exhibit any mode of gentleness.
Hikaru focuses on his concentrated expression at the dark wooden floors. His attractiveness may be a lure for other contracts with women, but for Hikaru, it has always been his mysterious personality. Never has she come across someone who exudes so much inscrutability.
But despite her curiosity, she is not one to pry. She has long ago given up on the fantasy of winning Tobi's affections. For Hikaru, it is safer to stay on the mutual contract of one night intimacies than meddle with feelings.
Her gaze now lingers on his clenched fists. The emanating anger and exasperation douses the surrounding air.
When her hand moves to rest on his leg, she feels the sensation of roughened fabric that presses uncomfortably against her skin. His trousers stayed on tonight. Perhaps for good reason because he withdrew from her so fast, she questioned whether he had gotten the release he needed.
"So Tobi, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you so much lately?" Hikaru asks.
Tobi does not speak and it does not come as surprising to her. He is incredibly volatile, non-verbal at the best of moments and sadistic in his actions and his words at inappropriate times.
But she senses a change in him. Frequency may be one palpable change, but it is his character. Uncertain, frustration and anger are probable words to describe his state of mind, yet they may be understatements.
In usual circumstances, her meetings with Tobi are scarce. Once every two months at most, sometimes for longer periods. Perhaps he is rotating with other women in the meantime. His business there does not concern her. But he comes to her frequently as of late. Angry and vexed, he sporadically sits in complete silence. Unmoving. Only when she speaks does he respond. Sometimes ravenously, sometimes disappearing with not a word spoken.
She shuffles close and gently runs her fingers across the muscular plane of his back. Tobi does not react but he eventually gazes at her from the corner of his eye.
"We are acquaintances with a mutual contract and have been so for a while. That does not mean that I don't sense any change in you," Hikaru says quietly.
"What do you want?" he says coldly.
Hikaru laughs. That callous part has not changed.
"To tell me why the sudden change in frequency?" she answers.
"My business does not concern you," he says dangerously.
Hikaru frowns.
"No, it does not but that does not mean I am an uncaring person," she says softly.
Her fingers trace his jawline.
Tobi does not reply. The deafening silence is perhaps an indicator that she should drop her peruse of the subject.
"Fine," she breathes.
And she takes his face and watches his frigid, blank gaze as she leans in. Her lips are inches from his.
He abruptly turns from her. Between his gaze, his face darkens in exasperation.
"Still don't kiss hey?" she says mildly, "Kisses men, sleeps with women. I wonder who would be lucky enough to get both?"
His eyes narrow in disdain at the sardonic comment.
It may be a quirk of Tobi's or there may be other dark reasons behind his choice of action, but she never questions him. From personality to sexuality, his intentions remain buried in the depths of secrecy.
She will never know.
Tobi is extremely reticent about his personal life. He never once divulged a single piece of information to her. He comes and goes. He does not even face her during their acts of intimacy, let alone disclose any personal matters.
And she accepts this. It is their unspoken contract.
Hikaru has her reasons for engaging in such impersonal matters herself, but she is beginning to question whether she should move on from Tobi. She knows she is being taken for granted, but he satisfies too much of her physical needs. Perhaps then, she is taking him for granted?
Not like it matters anyway.
"What can I say, you're always a mystery," she shrugs insouciantly.
He turns from her and fixates his watch on something outside the window. Hikaru lets the silence fall between them before she decides to speak.
"Cold as always," she whispers in resignation.
"Don't push it," he says caustically.
She frowns at the contradictory emotions displayed. There is lust when he looks at her. And tonight it was clear, stark as daylight, with perhaps a sense of hunger embedded in his salacious gaze.
The strangeness of such obvious desperation is something Hikaru cannot quite comprehend. It is almost like he is projecting his selfish desires through sexual means, perhaps as a way of avoiding the mysterious pain that is latching itself to him.
He stands and slides his shirt on with effortless ease before making his way to the door.
"You know where to find me," she whispers lightly to his back.
He always does, even if she is on the other side of the country.
He halts at the door and gazes at her from the corner of his eye.
Then he turns to leave, just like he always does at the end of their physical contract.
Hostile, expressionless, and tantalisingly enigmatic, he is here to satisfy his physical need for release.
Nothing more.
Never anything more.