Life comes into sharp focus when you wake up alone in an abandoned school bus parked on the side of an organic farm.

It makes you realize things. Subtle, deep truths that float through your head as you slowly wake up in stages, remembering where and who you are:

Do all school buses smell like this?

Can my back seriously even hurt in this many places?

Jesus, am I technically in my ‘late’ thirties now, instead of ‘mid’ thirties?

And then, naturally: I am getting too old for this shit.

Granted, waking up here was better than the time I’d had to sleep in the park in New York City for three nights. Better than the hostel in Amsterdam that had more bugs than it had people. And yeah, definitely preferable to even the rich wood four-poster canopy bed with a plush pillowtop king-size mattress that I stayed on last time I visited my mother. I’d finally learned that no amount of good sleep could make visiting her tolerable.

I’d spent years in chaos. And I’d loved every minute of it, until somewhere along the line, it started to feel hollow. Like it wasn’t fun not to have a place to call home anymore.

But this morning, I woke up in a school bus that belonged to my friend David, with a crinkly blue tarp thrown over my legs and a small bird above me, perched on a half-open window, twitching its head and watching me with what I interpreted as a vague sense of pity.

The alternative to David’s school bus would have been sleeping in the front seat of my pickup truck. I’d been working my way up from San Diego, to northern California, then to Oregon; now, finally, I was in Washington State, and I’d called David as soon as I’d gotten into town. He was an organic farmer and an artist, and the only friend I knew in this area. He’d purchased the old school bus for $600 and converted it into his mobile home.

I was glad he let me stay with him for a couple weeks until I got a steady job sorted out—not an easy task in the weird, middle-of-nowhere land between Portland and Seattle.

But now I had a job. I was the newest member of Mimi’s Cleaners, the best and only all-purpose cleaning crew in the area. It felt strange to essentially be a maid, but I was no stranger to odd jobs. And it was a job I desperately needed.

So when I checked my phone and saw that a landlord was renting out a tiny apartment in the nearby town of Fox Hollow, Washington, I literally leapt out of bed. Or, more accurately, I leapt off of the wooden plank that David had covered in a sleeping bag for me, accidentally knocking over a pyramid of empty tin cans on my way up.

I tugged on my boots and made my way to the front of the bus, briefly glancing at my reflection in the weathered, dusky mirror up front. I looked like shit, and I needed to shave, but that was to be expected after being in a bus for any amount of time.

I found David crouching near one of his goats at the edge of the empty green field.

“Oh, Adam, you’re up,” he said, with his signature warm smile. He squinted up at me. “Great news. Wendy, Millie, and Silky all laid eggs this morning. They’re beautiful, man. Omelettes for dinner tonight, for sure. If you want to go over and say hi to the girls, they were squawking away for you earlier.”

“I’m probably gonna have to miss the chickens today,” I said, crouching down near him. “The landlord I contacted has a place to show me.”

“Ah,” David said, with a calm nod. “I knew you’d be movin’ on soon, buddy. All the best to you, brother. You’ve been nothing but good to me. I’ll be rolling south for the fall soon anyhow.”

I pulled him into an awkward side-hug and patted his shoulder. He smelled like patchouli and soil. “Thanks, David. These last two weeks have been fun.”

I’d said it more to be nice than anything else.

In reality, I wouldn’t be thinking about David, the farm, or the school bus at all after that morning.

Because later that day, I met Grey.

* * *

“Well, this is it.”

Curtis, the landlord, dropped a manila folder on the kitchen table with a slap. “This little bungalow is the only one I’ve got in your price range. Cheap as hell, but as you can see, it’s pretty damned small. Yours if you want it. You said you work at Mimi’s?”

I checked the inside of the fridge, the stove, and the cabinets. Everything was at least ten or twenty years old, anything once white now resolutely cream, but at least all the appliances seemed functional and clean.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, closing a drawer and turning back to Curtis, who stood leaning against the kitchen counter, beer gut protruding. “I just started work with them.”

“Best cleaners in the county, I’ll tell you that,” Curtis said, with a sharp nod. “Better’n any of the folks I’ve ever hired to come up from Portland. Mimi’s crews always get my units spotless within hours. No bugs, no hair, no nothing. Never had a better cleaning crew. Mimi’ll treat you well, Adam.”

I nodded, still scanning the kitchen. It was certainly small—barely any counter space, with a small 2-seat kitchen table and a rickety door that led out to the back deck. But there was also something uniquely charming about it, a 70s nostalgia that had aged pleasantly instead of just looking old. In short, it had character, in a way my home growing up never had.

“You worked cleaning jobs your whole life?” Curtis asked before breaking into a short, hacking cough.

“Nah,” I said, glad to discover that he apparently had no clue about my years in 5*Star. It made sense—Curtis didn’t exactly look like the age and demographic that would have listened to a boy band from years ago. “I’ve never worked on a cleaning crew before, actually. I’ve had… a lot of odd-jobs throughout my life. But Mimi and the rest of the crew have been showing me how it’s done. I’ve tagged along to deep clean some stores and a couple apartments already.”

I always found it easier to just tell people I’d “had a lot of odd jobs” than say the truth. “I made a bunch of money in a boy band called 5*Star but spent it all traveling around the world” tended to be jarring.

I walked over to the door that led out to the backyard, peering out through a screen that was littered with holes.

Immediately my eyes were drawn to a young man, standing on the deck of the house next door. There were no fences between the yards of each home, so I could see him clearly. His body was pulled taut, hands shoved into the pockets of a denim jacket, and he was staring upward. It was a little odd, honestly, and I couldn’t tell if he was looking at the overcast sky or at the tall evergreen trees that lined the yard.

“Oh, yeah, we can go out to the yard, I’ll show ya,” Curtis said, lumbering over and pushing right past me, barreling forward through the doors and waving me out onto the deck.

I stepped onto the weathered wood and allowed myself to look toward the young man.

He met my eyes, startled as he saw us come out of the house like he’d been broken from a trance. Clearly he had preferred being outside alone. His face was still, and frowning faintly, and I knew I shouldn’t stare but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him. His hair was a wavy black untamed mop, but his face was chiseled, and striking even from far away, the kind of face I’d sooner expect to see in New York City than the middle of nowhere, Washington State.

“See this here?” Curtis was saying, kicking at some loose piece of wood on the deck. I momentarily looked down as Curtis assured me he’d definitely be repairing the loose plank soon. I itched to look back over next door but when I finally did, all I caught was the dark impression of the man’s silhouette walking back inside, then the door slamming behind him. He was gone.

A loud train whistle blew in the distance and in a few more seconds, the train came rumbling down tracks just past the thick line of trees at the perimeter of the yard.

“Hope the trains won’t bother ya too much,” Curtis said, waving a hand in the direction of the railroad.

The sound receded along the track. “Always kinda liked the sound of trains, actually,” I said.

Curtis gave one final kick to the wood of the deck and then turned to me, his arms crossed. “So? What do you think, Mr. Fara?”

I nodded slowly, glancing around at all the evergreen trees, the dusky sky, and the stunning mountain range hovering in the distance. The apartment was tiny, but the scenery was likely the most striking I’d ever seen. There was a reason I’d chosen my destination as Washington State—the scenery absolutely transfixed me, and this was no exception. It looked more like a painting than real life, utterly gorgeous.

“I’ll take it,” I said, looking back to Curtis.

He gave a little whoop sound and clapped his hands together once. “Great to hear, Adam. We can go sign the lease, and if you can give me your deposit up-front, you can move on in whenever you’re ready. Place has been vacant for weeks.”

I went back inside, signed the lease, signed a check, and Curtis handed me a key. The process was so easy it was almost alarming.

“So, when you think you’ll be movin’ in?” Curtis asked as he headed toward the front door.

I looked around at the nearly empty room and shrugged. “Um… now?”

“Oh, are you gonna go back and get all your stuff tonight?”

“I’ve got all my stuff out front,” I said. “It’s all in my truck.”

“Oh,” Curtis said, his beady eyes going wide as he realized I didn’t have any more stuff than what I’d brought with me in one truckload. “Well… okay then. I’ll leave you to it. Call me with any concerns. Welcome home, Adam,” he said, with a slap on my shoulder.

* * *

The first few nights in the little house went exactly the same.

I woke up early to go to work, came home in the afternoon and cooked a meager dinner, then read or messed around on my guitar until I fell asleep. I also steadily unpacked the various things that could make the house feel less bare and anonymous. I adorned the walls with artwork I’d collected and threw as many of my blankets and tapestries around as possible. I was still using a sleeping bag in the middle of the living room, but as soon as I’d saved up a few weeks of paychecks, I knew I’d finally be able to get a bed.

It was a luxury I hadn’t had in who knows how long: my own bed. Not a hotel, not a friend’s futon, not a hard floor. There were entire years of my life where I’d been happy not to have a place to call home—I had relished the uncertainty, the knowledge that life could take me anywhere, that my home could be with anyone I cared about, anywhere. But more and more I wanted to be somewhere. Somewhere of my own, staying still long enough to develop routines, seeing what one place looked like through more than one cycle of seasons.

And so I’d decided on here, the Pacific Northwest, a place the opposite of where I’d grown up in the desert of New Mexico. Washington was lush, verdant, teeming with evidence of life, where the desert had just been dry and unwelcoming. Unwelcoming to me, at least.

The sun stayed up late at this latitude. Now, still, in late August, the last light wouldn’t sink below the horizon until nearly 9 p.m. Sometimes just after dinner, before the light had fully left the sky, I’d look out the back door window and see the figure of the guy standing there next door.

He was always in the same place, perched on the grass just a little bit in front of his deck, looking up at the trees. Sometimes he took a dog out there with him on a leash, but more often he was just alone, seemingly staring at nothing.

I half wanted to go out and talk to him. Typically I could talk to anyone, but his reaction when the landlord and I had seen him outside was so abrupt, I knew he likely wasn’t looking for a friend. So I left him to himself, instead just slowly growing accustomed to the times of day he’d be outside.

The third night in Fox Hollow I woke up with a start, terrified.

Bang. Bang. BANG.

I shot up in my sleeping bag, my body already shaking with alarm. I thought I’d been dreaming about someone pounding against my door—but I’d just woken up and realized that it wasn’t a dream at all—it was actually happening, and it sounded violent.

I glanced at my phone quickly and saw that it was 2:30 a.m. Who the fuck would be at my door at this hour? No one knew I lived here yet. I’d just moved in.

I swallowed hard and quickly rolled over to grab the cold wood handle of my old little-league baseball bat that I’d propped up against the wall. I took it everywhere with me, and slept with it near me out of habit, since it was the only real form of self-defense I had.

I got up off the floor and slowly crept out into the dark kitchen, looking at the faint light coming in through the screen door, but I didn’t see anyone there. I took a few steps closer.

BANG. It happened again, loud as fucking hell, and I jumped, knocking my knee against the wood of the kitchen table.

“Fuck!” I yelled, dropping the baseball bat with a loud clatter and bringing my knee up to my chest, hugging it against my body.

After a few seconds I heard a strange sound from out back—not the banging, but more of a rustling.

I knew I had to go outside. If I died, I’d lived a good, varied life.

I gingerly put my leg back down to the ground and picked up the bat. I silently moved to the door, and then quick as I could, opened both the screen door and the back door.

I felt the rush of the cool night air, and immediately all I heard was barking.

It was a dog. The dog from next door, crazed and out of control, alternately barking and growling at me. But clearly, it was more afraid of me than I was of it. It had a plastic ball at its side, and I realized all at once that the dog must have somehow been launching the ball against my door. That explained the banging sound.

“Chewy! Chewy!” I heard a voice coming from somewhere else in the yard. Someone was running over to my deck.

It was him. The guy I’d been weirdly keeping tabs on the past three days. He ran over, shirtless and wearing sweatpants, and immediately grabbed the dog by its collar, crouching next to it.

“I am so sorry,” he said, his voice pleading and desperate.

“It’s fine—it’s no big deal—” I said.

“Hey, heyyyy, hey,” he said to the dog, keeping his voice low and velvety. The dog calmed almost immediately when he arrived, transforming into a docile, friendly creature and sitting obediently. He petted the dog slowly and methodically for a few seconds, keeping his eyes steady, and eventually it rolled over onto its back.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, watching him work. “That was like magic.”

He glanced up at me. “Chewy knows me. I’ve had a lot of practice. She’s a rescue dog, and she’s really nervous, and she apparently figured out how to break out the fucking window. I won’t let this happen again.”

“She’s beautiful,” I said, already completely forgetting about the rude awakening and more focused on the man in front of me, the pale skin of his exposed back as he crouched on the floor. “Do you know what kind of dog she is?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We have no clue. She’s a total mutt, brought into the shelter in a box of 3 other puppies a few months ago.” She had scraggly brownish hair, and kind of looked like a brown mop.

When Chewy was completely calm, he got up slowly, and finally his face was within my range of view. He was only a couple inches shorter than me, which was saying a lot, because I was taller than almost everyone.

And fuck. Even in the dark of night, disheveled and half-clothed, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. It was the first time I’d seen him at close range, and it was even more striking than from far away—his face was beautiful in a severe kind of way, with high cheekbones and dark features.

“I’m Adam, by the way,” I said, holding out my hand so that I could do something other than just stare at him.

“I’m Grey,” he said, regarding me with an inquisitive look now that we were face to face. It almost looked like he was studying me for a second, his eyes sliding up and down my body in a way that almost made me shiver. “Wait a minute. Adam? You’re not… Adam Fara from 5*Star, are you?” He shook my hand quickly, then seemed to realize all at once that he was still shirtless. He attempted to put his hands in his pockets and then found that there were none, so instead he raked a hand through his dark hair.

Shit. He knew me from the boy band. I didn’t normally care at all when people recognized me, but for some reason, with him, it was different. I nodded sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. Guilty as charged,” I said with a tight smile.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “Wow. You are a lot better looking in person, dude.” His hand immediately shot up to his lips, eyes widening. “Uh, I mean—not that you didn’t always look good on TV and stuff, it’s just—wow, you’re taller than I would have thought…. Fuck. I’m gonna shut up now.” He turned away from me slightly, averting his gaze suddenly.

I let out a quick laugh. “It’s really fine. Thanks for the compliment. If it makes you feel any better, you look even better up close than you do through my shitty screen door, too.”

There was a brief lull and crickets’ low chirping rang through the air. I hoped my returning the compliment hadn’t been too awkward—I’d been trying to lessen the tension, not make him clam up even more.

“Interesting name, Grey,” I said finally. “Short for Greyson?”

“Oh,” he said, his voice more timid now. “No. Uh, I got stuck with the winning name of Gerald, but everyone’s always just called me Grey.”

“I like it.”

“It does the job.”

He said nothing for a minute, eyeing me with a wary side-glance, like he wasn’t sure how to act. Truthfully I didn’t know how to act either—I’d spent the past few days wondering about this person, and despite thinking so much about who he might be, I hadn’t considered at all what I might actually say to him.

“So, uh… you just moved in?” he finally asked.

“Yep. I’m new to Fox Hollow,” I said. “Do you like it here?”

“Does anyone?” he said, with a distinct edge to his voice, crossing his arms. “I need to get out of this town.”

Then I heard the faint whistle of a train and moments later, it came rolling along the tracks, just behind our houses. We stopped talking as it came by, both of us looking through the clearing in the trees at the train cars passing by slowly, and the dog moved to stand behind Grey, as if for protection.

The sound of the train slowly faded into the distance, and I turned to him again.

“Can I ask you something?” I said, before I really considered what I was about to say.

He waited a beat, but then gave a single nod. “What is it?”

“Well, uh… I’ve only been here a few days, but I’ve seen you come outside a lot. Do you come out for any reason in particular?”

“I mean, usually to take Chewy outside,” he said, and she perked her head up at the mention of her name.

“Yeah. But I mean, all the times she isn’t with you.”

He peered over at me. “…Have you been watching out your window or something?” he said, clearly tensing up.

“No, no,” I said, feeling my cheeks get hot, and suddenly glad it was dark outside. “Well, kind of. But not in a bad way. I just… when I eat dinner I look outside sometimes, and I’ve seen you.”

“Oh,” he said, finally relaxing a little and looking out at the trees again.

“I mean, I’ve seen plenty of birds and squirrels and trains too, but you’re more interesting.”

He puffed out a quick laugh at that, but still didn’t smile. “Um, yeah… I do go outside a lot. I guess it calms me? I used to smoke, but I don’t anymore. I miss how it always got me outside, so now I come out anyway, just without a cigarette.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It’s not that great. Really unsatisfying actually, but whatever.”

Grey shivered when a breeze blew through the trees, and tiny goosebumps rose all over his skin. He was thinner than I’d realized, and my immediate instinct was to drape my arms around him, give him some of my warmth. I pushed down the fleeting thought. Just because you already have some weird, nascent impulse of affection for this kid doesn’t mean he returns the feeling. I was so used to spending time with my friends over the past months, people I’d never hesitate to hug or protect, that I had to remember how to act around a total stranger again.

“Congrats on quitting smoking,” I said.

He made a noncommittal grunt. “Yeah. Only started because my ex-boyfriend smoked.”

I cracked a smile. “That is usually how people start. He must have been pretty special.”

Grey hitched up one of his shoulders in a shrug. “He was great in bed. Not much else I can say for him,” he said quickly. “Then the girl I dated afterward hated the smoking, so I quit.” He chewed on his bottom lip, his face falling into a resigned frown. “Now I’m alone and I’m still addicted to the ritual, but I don’t let myself actually do it anymore.”

“That’s admirable,” I said. “I really mean it. Lot of people as young as you wouldn’t have the willpower.”

He laughed, genuine this time, and I realized it was the first time I’d seen him smile, radiant even if it was tinged with bitterness. “I’m not that young,” he said, shaking his head.

I was about to ask him how old he really was—because yeah, he was definitely in his twenties, but to me he looked pretty fucking young—but I had a distinct sense of Grey pulling away, drawing back, like he'd spoken too much about himself and was ready to retreat. Soon after, he turned and suddenly started back toward his house, stepping off of my deck. “C’mon, Chewy,” he said, waving her along. “Goodnight, Adam,” he called back to me, giving me one last glance with his deep-set eyes. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t get out anymore. Sorry again.”

“Okay,” I said, “See you around.” I didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to stop talking to him, but it was past 2:30 a.m. and there were no more excuses for us to be outside any longer.