I want to be in a ruthlessly formal relationship with Fauna. Every so often we would get together to keep appearances up, collect tax deductions, and so forth--but there would be no sex, no children, no physical intimacy, not even the lightest peck on the lips, and no "dates". A cold, sharp glance, and perhaps a word or two, would be all the content of a week. I would write, go to the library to study, and generally brood downtown alone at various points of the day, sulking and meditating, often stopping in at restaurants or cafes for a bite to eat. Occasionally, she would cook, certainly never when I was at home, leaving me a cold meal in the fridge when I returned home from "work". The frigidity, the indifference of it would make it a delicacy, finer than anything I could get at restaurants. As a top vtuber she would be well-paid, of course, with ambition enough for both of us. She would have absolutely no taste for sensuality except as a means to an end, and I would be quite content with that, and perhaps betray a hint of admiration. Yet her Machiavellian spirit would remind me (and this would be one of the precious fruits of our weekly interaction) that I want little to do with the echelons of business and the social ladder, and am quite justified in my ways. I, on the other hand, would serve as a reminder to her that no one gets anywhere without being ruthless and unfriendly, and that the idealist is entirely unfit for the real world.
The apartment would be immaculate, and completely silent at all points of the day, broken only by some loud exclamation by the neighbor, whose low-breeding might be point of mutual disgust between us, even culminating in a witty remark which would give the other a chortle once a month. Neither of us would clean, obviously. She would be able to hire a maid. We would certainly not sleep in the same room, and probably not even at the same time of day. Sporadically, and entirely by accident, I would catch a glimpse of exposed skin--a bare shoulder, the curve of her neck--realizing that she was, in fact, quite feminine and beautiful, as she was leaving to mingle at some important event. Immediately I would turn away, pretending as though it had not happened, and quickly part ways. This would trouble me for some time, perhaps a few hours during which I would not be able to eat anything. I would darkly ruminate and probably be quite rude to the maid, until, finally, I became amply convinced that there was nothing at the bottom of it, that it was merely some sudden mirage, some deception or illusion, and that there was no meaning to it. The thought of her coldness and shrewdness would return to me, and my default disgust would find its seat again in my temperament. This would leave me quite giddy and gleeful, and I would apologize to the maid and go out for something to eat, even breaking my meditation to socialize with strangers.
