The door closed with a barely audible click as Hisao entered the foyer to the house. While removing his coat and shoes he could hear the distinctive atonal melody of one of Rin’s curious albums plunging and soaring from the living room. He would never understand her taste in music and he didn’t need to; it was Rin, afterall.
Carefully opening the door so as not to disturb her work, he was met with the usual sight of her back framed by the canvas before her, the visible edges sometimes awash in colour and sometimes bare. The warm light of sunset radiated from the windows, softening the edges of her figure wrapped up in a worn set of overalls and a newly sullied white shirt. For as long as he lived, he would cherish that sight.
“Hello Rin.”
“Hello Dear,” she returned after a lengthy pause, dexterous toes still clutching the red brush that cut bloody swaths into the white of the canvas.
“‘Dear’?” Hisao said quizzically, depositing his bag containing books and student’s papers on the sofa as he moved closer to his wife. In their two years of marriage and seven years of being a couple, she had never called him anything but his name.
“Thought I’d try it out,” she said, pausing to mull it over.
“And?” he enquired, before leaning down behind her and placing a kiss on her paint speckled cheek.
“…Don’t care for it,” she said with a decisive shrug and he laughed before standing and moving to the side to examine her work. Bold angular features seemed to fight for dominance, some creating animals or people, faces or things, some recognizable, others purely abstract. It was hectic and violent yet somehow systemized. Bloody struggle and tragedy made mundane. Was it a statement or vision or a dream? He could never decide. Neither could she, for that matter.
“Looks great,” he said, drawing upon his limited knowledge of art.
“Bad luck,” she returned, grabbing another blackened brush to darken the scene.
“Haven’t seen any yet,” he said, chuckling slightly. “I’ll make us some dinner,” he offered and gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze before walking to the kitchen.
“I’m not hungry,” she said flatly.
“I know,” he said as he removed some pans from one of the cupboards, more than familiar with her tendency to ignore basic survival instincts when submerged in her art. The kitchen was modest and there were no walls to separate it from the dining room, nor it from the living room. Theirs was a half studio, half house home - lots of open space with precious little privacy.
Sometimes Rin’s paintings would sell for unbelievable sums, sometimes moderate, sometimes not at all. When her work sold well, they could easily afford a larger home. But when it didn’t, it fell to Hisao’s more stable salary from his teaching profession to pay the bills. Combined, a simple home filled with luxury was the outcome. It was perfect.
They went about their tasks in comfortable silence, the strange sounds emanating from the stereo fidgeting in the background, though never enough to break the calm. Occasionally Hisao would look through the partition above the kitchen counter and watch Rin. Every little change of expression, every slight or severe lean to her left to right to utilize a new perspective, every stroke made with flexibility that still amazed him to this day. She was in her own world, her natural habitat, her most clear and defined; Rin at her Rinniest.
The sun had set by the time the meal was ready. Hisao had turned on the lights as the night came, fighting the urge to see if she would continue painting in the dark. He set the plates down on the living room table, never worrying about traditional eating formality. It was a simple curry dish, but aromatic enough to draw Rin away from her work (giving it an almost threatening glare as she stood) and sit down on the couch.
“Thank you,” she said, offering a light grin in return before she dug in, fork in foot. That little curvature of her lips and the momentary affectionate softening of her eyes were more than enough reward. He beamed back and they ate in silence.
When they were done, he washed up and graded papers while she continued her work. They exchanged snippets of conversation and absurdities now and then, playing off each other in a way that would seem strange to any outsider. This was their relationship, their love, their life.
Once finished, he stood and yawned and stretched.
“Bed time, I think,” he said, working out a crick in his back after having sat hunched over depressingly failed tests.
“You go. I’ll be there in a minute…or not,” she said, relaxation on her face suggesting she had found a groove and the painting was going smoothly for the time being.
“Okay,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t give in that easily. He walked over and leaned down and drew her attention away for kiss, cupping her left cheek as he did so. She leaned into it and into him and he prided himself on being the only one able to bridge that chasm between her world and the real world with such simple acts of intimacy.
He drew away slowly and looked at her. Her hair was slightly longer now, strewn above her brows and tangling wildly out to the sides and down her slender neck. Flecks of paint stood so vivid against her pale skin - a work of art in itself. And those eyes, those bottomless green eyes, full of the same passion shown only to her paintings and to him. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said softly through a genuine smile. “And it’s very distracting. Good night,” she finished in her usual lazy voice, looking back to the painting as he drew his hand away and placed in her back and gently smoothed it across her shoulder blade as he made for the bedroom.
Once in bed, he began reading and hoped Rin wouldn’t be long. An hour passed and he began to doze. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Placing the book on the nightstand, he resigned himself to another night alone.
He was woken up by something prodding his ribs. He leaned up and groaned and the vague shape of Rin stood before him, foot retracting from his chest. She looked at him expectantly and as consciousness returned it dawned on him.
He stood and began undoing her overall buttons. They fell away easily and formed a denim pool on the floor. Next came her shirt. The smaller buttons proved a little more difficult in the dark, but soon he slid the now multi-coloured fabric from around her form, leaving nothing but bra and panties. He moved in closer to unhook the bra and she smelt of paint and skin and the slightest tang of citrus from her shampoo. He breathed her in and deftly removed her bra. He dropped it carelessly to the floor and placed a trail of kisses from her shoulder to her neck to her mouth, her scent invigorating him. She responded with a quick intake of breath, released in a languid sigh.
He moved down, chaining together little kisses, lingering just a little bit longer on her breasts, before hooking his thumbs through the strap of her panties.
“I’m…tired,” Rin managed after stifling a moan.
“So am I,” he whispered back, kneeling as he lowered her underwear to around her thighs. Her abdomen received breathy grazes of lips, one after another, down, down, around her belly button, further; he felt tiny pebbles prickle suddenly across her flesh before finally reaching that warmth and wetness between her legs. She may not be the best conversationalist, but her body responded vividly.
One last most intimate kiss and she came undone, at once tensing and softening. It was safe to say he had her undivided attention.
Hisao tugged the one remaining offending item of clothing to her ankles and she stepped out of them, her breath quickening as he stood, placed an arm behind her back and her knees and lifted her up, feet dangling with toes clenching and unclenching in the dark. She was still so light, he mused as he turned and laid her down on the bed.
He pulled off his T-shirt and discarded it with his pyjama bottoms and underwear, once or twice glancing up to meet her gaze. Her ivory skin and bright eyes stood stark against the darkness of their bedroom, as if somehow retaining the sunlight cast on her through the day.
Without breaking eye contact, he approached the bed and positioned himself over her. He lightly brushed aside a lock of hair that had come to rest at the corner of her mouth and kissed her, slowly and sincerely. For seconds lasting minutes the kiss broke and resealed with soft breaths in between. Tongues mingled and the warmth that passed between them drove out the chill of the night.
Once or twice she nibbled playfully on his lip and he remembered when she first tried that. Emi had gossiped with her about sexual encounters and Rin had apparently been paying enough attention to take a few mental notes. The execution was less than seductive however; either Rin was a little overzealous or Emi likes it rough because she had drawn blood. Thankfully, she seemed to have mastered it since.
He stopped and shifted to his side on the bed. He came to rest next to her and she turned as well to face him, drawing her leg up, over and around his, locking them together. He inched closer and slipped one hand under her head to stroke her hair and graze the hard nape of her neck and slender shoulders. The other he slipped down, cupping her breast and massaging it, feeling the flesh yielding to his own and thumbing a stiffened nipple. She moaned and half-whispered his name in a tone meant only for him.
Rin buried her face in the crook of his neck, nuzzling it desperately and he kissed her forehead through the tousled bangs, breathing her in as his hand migrated further south. His fingers roamed across the shallow rise and fall of her ribs, palming the tautness of her stomach as he delved into the incredible heat that they had formed between each other.
His fingers finally reached the destination between her legs and he found her wanting, maddeningly so. He didn’t hesitate to work his fingers back and forth between the moistened lips, her hips lightly thrusting in to the touch. She buried her head deeper beneath his own and he heard quiet words fluttering against his neck.
“Hmm?” he hummed, not ceasing his attentions.
“More,” she managed, pleadingly. He removed his hand, dragging his fingers along the wet slit as he did so, her hips drawing forward lingeringly after the touch. With a little effort he came to sit below her, lifting her legs to either side of his own. He was determined to be gentle, but impatient, his erection painful by now.
He touched the tip to her entrance and her legs wrapped around him and tightened, forcing him in somewhat. It seemed she was impatient as well. He obliged and pressed in completely and she tensed and threw her head back and moaned again, louder this time. Her reaction, her voice, her abandon – it spurned him on. Something whispered in the back of his mind that word in cold, sterile tones.
To hell with it.
Hisao pulled out and drove back in, Rin arching her back as he did so, breasts heaving with every breath. Again, again, faster, harder. He placed each hand on either side of her head for support as he bucked. His heart was pulsating wildly, but not dangerously…he hoped. Her legs clenched tighter, painfully, and he thought he should have been used to their strength by now. She was getting close, as was he. The thudding in his chest protested, but he didn’t care.
At last, he thrust in and was held there by the climax, surging through him, blanking his mind and his vision. Rin yelled something, possibly his name, he wasn’t sure. He collapsed to his elbows on top of her, feeling her twitch slightly as the throes of passion died. They were left breathless and slick with sweat. He focused and slowing the incessant drumming in his chest. Just as he was cursing himself for being so reckless, she leaned up and clasped his lips in her own.
“You okay?” she asked after pulling back, as if sensing his thoughts.
“Yeah, I think,” he said, and pulled out. He fell to the side, exhausted, spent. She turned once more to look at him and he looked back and the only sound was their breaths slowing and quieting like a distant receding shore.
“I may start sleeping fully clothed,” she said, joking in her serious tone.
“You love it,” he shot back.
“I love you,” she said dreamily, her eyelids drooping. She smiled before widening it into an enormous yawn.
“I love you too,” he said, and leaned in for a quick peck on the lips. She responded faintly, bordering on sleep. He lifted the covers up and over them, the cold of the night creeping back. He watched her and listened to her. He heard her breath even out and her eyes occasionally flicker behind their lids.
Hisao absently rubbed the faded scar on his chest. He was 25 now. How many years did he have left before this condition or something else claimed him? What then, what of Rin? Who will look after her? Emi? No, she has her own life to live. Was he the only one Rin wasn’t a burden to?
She shifted in her sleep. The sound and motion broke his worrying and he looked at the woman he loved. You can’t change the future or the past, her voice echoed from a memory. All he could do was live in the present, for her and with her. He snuggled closer and draped on arm around her protectively, placing one last kiss above her brow. Another memory surfaced and he smiled despite himself.
“That word, Rin,” he whispered and closed his eyes,” is happiness.”