Alan arrived home just a little after 10 pm. His parents weren’t from Toronto, and he was unwilling to commute into the city each day for his classes. So he had gotten a job as a server at a nearby bar, took out a sizeable loan from the government, and rented a run down loft he had spotted on Kijiji. It wasn’t ideal, and the apartment itself was - frankly - a run down shit hole, but it was what he could afford. The apartment was in an area of the city notorious for the constant wail of sirens passing through on their way to deal with the almost never ending string of crimes the neighbourhood seemed to produce and Alan had to consciously avoid reading too deeply into people he passed on his way to the lift. He had no interest in knowing what his neighbours spent their time on provided they left him out of it. He wasn’t an amoral person - if he had concrete knowledge of a crime in progress or about to happen, he would of course call the police. But that didn’t mean he went looking for trouble to get himself into. There was more than enough of that to go around without taking an extra share of it.

Without heed for the creak of the floorboards as he walked up the hallway to his front door, or the dimly audible screeching of one his drunk neighbours, Alan plodded over to the thick steel door he and his roommate had saved up to buy for their apartment, and started in on the arduous process of unlocking the multiple latches on it. He had no idea why Jane insisted on so much privacy, but given the neighbourhood, he couldn’t fault her for it.

Thinking of Jane, Alan carefully relaxed all the tension in his body assuming a posture that spoke of vulnerability and weakness. Of the need to be protected. He wasn’t - in his own opinion at least - any of those things, but having met Jane months ago he’d had more than enough time to find a series of signals to broadcast around her that resulted in something approximating friendship.

Before he’d figured that out though, he’d considered moving out more than once. Jane was, even at her best, abrasive.

Preparation done, Alan pulled the door open and slunk inside. Alans apartment was not typically very well organized. This was because Alan was a male college student - a species not well known for its househusband skills, and Jane his roommate was the type of person who slept all day and only woke up in time to go clubbing.

As such, the small living room area he walked in to, where beer cans littered the area and snack wrappers were a common enough presence on the floor for their crinkle to be a form of home security, did not surprise him. What did surprise him was that Jane was awake already. Her feet were up and crossed, wiggling back and forth like a cat lashing its tail on the coffee table in a cleared space surrounded by the remains of a six pack he was sure hadn’t been there this morning. His gaze ran up the length of her freckled legs to a pair of black.. He wanted to call them short shorts but that might be being generous. They were made of a sort of faux black leather that he doubted was comfortable, but that Jane seemed to manage to spray paint on to herself at least once a week when she went out. The redhead was also wearing a purple crop top that in - Alan’s opinion - was entirely to small. He supposed, given her profession, that such ostentatious clothing was necessary to attract customers. He had definitely seen worse on the cities street corners after dark.

But not by much.

Alan made no attempt to talk to Jane as he came in. She was capricious by nature, and though he could tell what her current mood was using his unique talents, he could never be quite sure what would change it. A few months ago he had made the mistake of allowing Dan to visit the loft. They had done nothing except play video games and drink. Jane however, had complained furiously of the ‘stench’ his friends cologne had left behind for weeks afterwards, constantly shooting him suspicious glances and making biting remarks as to his virility.

Alan genuinely wondered how the woman managed to maintain any friends, let alone go clubbing without racking up assault charges as souvenirs.

“In other news, the local police say they’re making headway tracking down the murderer of three prostitutes in the area of the village- “ the news anchor was saying, having finished talking about kittens or whatever else made up today's twenty four hour news cycle and restarting from the top with the most sensational news.

“You should be careful tonight.” Alan said in a low tone that conveyed more concern than he actually felt. Many would consider it unnecessarily submissive, but Alan was naturally a social chameleon. He found dealing with Jane about as taxing as pretending to like his co-workers or any of a dozen other minor social concessions most people made without a second thought.

Damn he wanted to get into his room so he could let the facade slip.

“Eh, I’ll live. Grab me another beer.” said Jane. She didn't bother turning around to address, her body language plainly showing she had far more interest in the report than she was willing to say aloud.

“Did you put more in the fridge? I don't think we had more than what's on the table right now.” whined Alan. He had to be sure it came out as a whine, or she’d notice that he was criticizing her. It’s not like she would attack him over it or anything, she was abrasive, not violent. But she would make his weekend hell.

Also the beer she had finished was his and he wasn't willing to let it go completely without reprisal.

Jane leaned back over the couch to watch him upside down, her short fiery red hair falling away to show an indulgent look on her face.

“Why don’t you check?” she said, rolling her eyes towards the out of date fridge in the nearby kitchen.

‘Because I’m tired and wanna go to sleep.’ he thought. Instead he said “Sure.” and finished kicking his shoes of then hung his jacket. He strode over to the fridge intending to get this over with as soon as possible, only to find it positively loaded with food and liquor. Specifically liquor. As in, a entire shelf of liquor.

“What the fuck?” he mumbled, grabbing two bottles of beer from the fridge and shutting the door.

“Hah! Now you can’t bitch out and refuse to cook.” Jane cackled stretching a lazy hand out for the beer as he held it out to her.

Sometime early in their cohabitation Alan had realized that Jane was - for lack of a better word - domestically useless. If she were a game character she would have negative housework skill, and it showed. After several loads of ruined laundry, a constantly ruined kitchen, and a perpetually bitchy roommate, Alan had simply opted to take over doing all those tasks for both of them.

“Touche. Where’d you get the money though? You’ve been bumming meals off me for a month.” Alan said, realizing she still had her hand out, the beer in it unopened. Somewhat annoyed, he snatched it from her, stalking around the couch to use the edge of the coffee table as a bottle opener.

They had an actual bottle opener somewhere, under the clutter, but if he started looking for it now he would start cleaning. A task that he was only slightly better than Jane at.

“Im not a maid you know…” he grumbled, setting the bottle down in front of her.

Jane rolled her eyes at him, and a feral grim spread out over her face as she watched him open his own beer and begin shuffling off to his bedroom. Her body language was triumphant, her expression smug.

Alan knew from prior experience that she took great joy in forcing him to act like he was a housewife. He didnt typically mind because - if he was being honest - she spent a vast majority of her time mostly naked, and it wasnt usually overly invasive but at this moment it irked the shit out of him.

“You know if you weren’t like this all the time you’d be hot as hell.” he snarked, letting some of his facade shift to body language that was full of appreciation and lust. Then just as quickly he let the demure disinterest he wore like a cloak resettle around him. It was a small thing. Not much different than changing the emphasis in a sentence. But the subconscious mind picked up on signals like that much better than someone unaware of them would think.

And Alan was very, very aware of them.

Jane’s body stiffened as she processed the fairly simple comment, and Alan took the opportunity to slip away to his bedroom. He quickly sped across the floor to the stairs but was stopped abruptly when the short athletic woman leapt from the couch and blocked his ascent.

“Say that shit again.” Jane whispered, somehow managing to loom over him, despite the top of her head being level with Alan’s chin. Her posture had changed from smug to domineering. It wasn’t a stance Alan would easily recognize except he’d seen it a few times before.

In angry gorillas that is.

‘This… this might have been a mistake.’ he admitted to himself privately. Alan spent an unreasonable amount of time conscious of himself and the people around him. It would not be an exaggeration to say that, because of this awareness, he spent nearly his entire day playing a part. Pretending. Acting.

So the end of his day, his final approach to his affordable bedroom with its two padlocks, was when he was the most vulnerable. Because all that acting, was tiring. So much so, that despite his foreknowledge of Jane's temperament - he had provoked her.

Alan cleared his throat before speaking.

“Ah, if you weren’t so… abrasive...” he began, artfully avoiding the word ‘bitch’ which was what he actually meant.

“Not tha-” Jane said heatedly, interrupting him before pausing. Her gaze tracked downward to his pocket, where Alan’s cell phone had begun blaring ACDC's Big Balls.

He hurriedly fumbled it out, cursing Dan for forcing the inane ringtone on him. In the process, he completely missed the expression that flickered across Jane’s face.

If he had, he would have categorized it - being a normal person despite his talents - as ungodly anger. An all consuming rage. Someone without Alans unique outlook on the world would more simply describe it; as murder.

“What?” he said flatly, not feeling a need to be polite if only because Dan wouldn’t hold it against him. By the time he looked back up, Jane had ready exited his personal space, and was across the room slipping into her heels and jacket.

“Hey man. Remember I asked you to come out with me tonight?” Dan’s deep voice said.

“No.” Alan said, trying to hold the exasperation back. You had to be firm with Dan, or he’d roll right over you. He meant well - but it was a pain to deal with him regardless.

“Oh. Well earlier I asked you to-” Dan started.

“Not in the mood man.” Alan sighed.

“Alright fine. Real talk though can you swing by my place tomorrow? There was a work emergency and I was hoping you’d feed my cats this weekend.” a wheedling tone had entered into Dan’s voice. Alan watched Jane hastily double check her purse, pausing to glare at him again before pulling the front door open and slamming it soundly behind her. Alan already knew his neighbours would hear the noise and come to complain - the drunk down the hall notwithstanding, and groaned dejectedly.

“Fine.” He agreed eventually, crossing the hall to re-lock the door.

“Great. Catch you around 9 am.” Dan chirped, his mood changing to an upbeat one so fast it practically gave Alan whiplash. Then he hung up.

Alan pulled the phone from his ear and stared at the time. Technically he had more than enough time to get a full nights sleep and then some. But he was feeling particularly drained all of a sudden, and the idea of being ousted from bed on a day he would usually sleep in bothered him to no end.

He allowed his facade to melt away, leaving in its place a very tired, annoyed, college kid. He set his alarm for 8 o’clock, leaving himself an hour to get ready and take the subway to Dan’s.

Then he trudged into his room, stripped off his clothes, and laid down in his bed to sleep. He spared a thought for Jane out there in the night with a serial killer, but the idea of trying to stop her from going out never crossed his mind once.

Alan knew better than most, that sometimes you just needed time to be yourself to feel centered. Without the masks or lies you wore on a daily basis to satisfy your surroundings.

Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.