It was a verdant spring, and Kiril had been on his third roommate in half a year until yesterday.

“People are dicks, Alais,” he announced promptly on the phone while holding it between his shoulder and his cheek - his hands were occupied with the process of trying to get coffee grounds into the pan, then trying to pour water on them, then trying to find a clean cup from the cupboard.

“I agree. But we both know that you can’t pay for that apartment on your own, not in the long term.” Alais had his parent voice on. Kiril hated the parent voice.

“Yeah, but I can pay for it in the short term,” he argued as he finally found a clean cup and managed to fill it with coffee. The sun painted striped shadows on his arms as he took the drink and sat down on the floor.

“Besides,” he raised his voice when he heard Alais starting a counterargument, “the ad has been up for a week now, and nobody has sent me any messages. It’s fine, I’ll pick some additional shifts–”

“Kiril.”

Kiril scowled broodily as he sipped his coffee. It was dark and bitter, and his mood was steadily starting to match the taste. His mind quickly went through possible options for supplementing additional income, but all of them were related to the life he had been leading before and Alais would never accept any of them

Alais had cut ties with his old life, just like Kiril had. Alais was also vocally adamant at both of them keeping it that way.

“I actually got someone message me this morning,” he finally broke the sullen silence. “Studies biology, works part-time. Seems like the quiet, harmless type.”

“Isn’t that what you’re looking for?”

“Depends if she’s actually gonna be quiet and harmless when she’s at home,” Kiril sighed and slumped against the fridge door, before sliding down to lay on his back. “That last girl was vicious once she saw me in a skirt.”

He placed the cup on the floor and pulled his knees to his chest, feeling the stretch at the lower back. His tail was wagging restlessly.

“Some people are dicks,” Alais agreed, “but you can’t live your life thinking all of them are. It’s not good for your health, nor for your bank account.” Kiril took a deep inhale, then rested the screen against his forehead and closed his eyes.

“She’s coming over at two. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“That’s a good rascal,” Alais praised him so energetically Kiril scowled, but anger didn’t rear its head. “Remember to eat.” The call disconnected, and Kiril lowered the phone to his lap to stare at the call info on the screen.

“Ass,” he said silently to the phone screen with a fond tone, before drinking the rest of his coffee. Then he pushed himself up to look at the clock on the wall - less than one hour, and it would be two. Less than one hour, and he would meet another candidate for sharing his living space with.

His first roommate arrangement had worked out for less than two months - he had suspected Kiril had been mixed up in illegal activities due to his strange working hours and non-traditional job. He had moved out on his own.

With the second roommate, Kiril had been the one to terminate the rental contract with her - she had a nasty habit of including both Kiril in her social media posts, and Kiril wanted to be both specific about his brand, as well as careful about any pictures that someone could use to figure out where he lived.

The third one was simply a bigot. She had moved out the fastest, perhaps for the best for both of them.

Kiril heaved out a frustrated sigh and looked outside. It was going to be a bright and clear summer day, as much was evident from the way his tanned orange skin was now an arrangement of yellow and sienna freckles. Combined with a red top and plum yoga pants, he was a polychromatic mess.

He had a choice of either clearing up his appearance, or clearing up the apartment.

He chose the latter.

Five minutes to two Kiril grabbed a hairbrush and pulled it through his tangles a couple of times.

Four minutes to two, he brushed his teeth hastily.

Three minutes to two, he paced restlessly in front of the door.

Two minutes to two, he peeked out from the spyhole to the corridor, expecting to find it empty.

Instead there was a girl. Long, white hair, simple white summer dress, a tote bag on her shoulder and a phone in her hand. She was standing in front of the door and staring at her phone, intently, waiting.

One minute to two, Kiril had decided that white definitely wasn’t her colour, determined that she seemed to think she was in front of the correct door, discovered that she had a nervous habit of switching her weight from one foot to another and wavered over whether it made her look childish or cute.

Exactly on the moment the clock hit two, the girl looked up from her phone, reached over and rang the doorbell. Kiril startled so badly he didn’t think to wait until opening the door reactively, leading the girl behind it to look just as startled as he was.

“Hi!” It came out louder than Kiril had intended, and the girl visibly flinched at the sound.

“Hi,” she replied with a high-pitched tone, then continued with a more normal voice: “Are you - are you Kiril? I’m here for the…”

“For the room, right? Come in.” Kiril moved to let her in, and she slipped past him. He made an idle note of how her hair smelled like lavender, how her skin had the scent of sunscreen.

She wasn’t ugly - she was so tall and slender it gave her a slightly foal-like demeanour, which robbed most notions of conventional beauty. But she had large eyes, pleasantly shaped lips, and she looked like a deer when she looked up to Kiril in anticipation.

“Um, are you going to show me the room?”

Everything about her radiated sheltered softness.

Kiril was sure she had never had to stay the night in the streets, never had to go hungry, never had to fight for her right to exist.

I guess we’ll never be friends.

But he was not looking for a friend, he was looking for a roommate. And while the girl - Quir - was not the type Kiril usually found interesting, she had several traits that promised smooth and effortless cohabitation.

She was silent. She was meek. She studied at the university. In addition, there was a familiar emotion layered in the way she talked and moved that Kiril knew well: Quir was lonely. Not the type of lonely that went out to meet new people every week, but the kind of resigned lonely that would most likely never invite people over for study groups or whatever university students got up to.

That, too, was something Kiril could relate to, even when he wished otherwise. The distance between his old life and his current life had required burning all the bridges he had ever built, and while the choice had been the right one, it did not remove the loneliness.

Quir was just another compromise in Kiril’s life. And, if she truly was as meek as she seemed, she would be one of the more harmless ones.

One year from that moment, most things would still remain the same. Kiril would still wake up in the mornings, head out to jog and start his day of filming, meeting people, creating collaborations, with the occasional food delivery for added income squeezed in. From there, the late afternoons and early evenings were always the same; groceries, home, eating at the laptop and editing until he felt tired enough to sleep.

But something would have changed. A realisation that he and Quir, despite the initial impression, had things in common; that they would share their space together, the territory of each (dirty training clothes, empty coffee cups and paper slips versus house plants, books, and seemingly endless storage of tea) intertwining neatly.

Everything about them formed intersecting lines, all pointing out towards a shared secret, something that would tie them together.

All of it would come later. On that afternoon, Kiril was just happy he had found a roommate. After Quir had left, Kiril pulled on his shoes. Restless energy filled his body, and he ached to release it into action.

The asphalt outside dug into the bottoms of his running shoes. Kiril felt his pulse rising at the sensation and the anticipation it brought.

Everything was inciting him to run faster, then faster. The road under his feet, the sun on his freckled skin, the thrilling rush of adrenaline when he first jumped from one rooftop to another.

 And, just like always when he was running, every thought, emotion and memory drowned under the screaming of his muscles.