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Ethan feigned nonchalance as if he didn’t dread those types of questions. “Oh, probably just relax. Errands. I think I’m just going to be low-key this weekend, maybe do some reading.”

Not a lie. Not entirely, at least.

The truth was that he’d be doing the same thing he did every weekend since he’d moved here.

Not a damn thing. That would require friends.

Joyce sighed and shook her head. “Ethan...” Her voice was soft. “You’ve been here a year, and I don’t think I’ve heard ya’ mention once about a friend or a date. Nothin’.”

And this is precisely why I avoid this kind of stuff.

Ethan played it off like it was nothing, even though he knew he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Eh, it’s just not really my thing,” he said, the vinyl creaking below him. “I, you know, just prefer to be alone.” He shrugged and forced a smile.

The lie came out smooth, practiced. He’d gotten pretty good at it.

Joyce pursed her lips and slowly nodded. “You know, my nephew, he was like that. Quiet. Kept to himself. Always talkin’ about how he liked it that way.” She paused, leaning closer. “Turned out…he was just scared. Took him years to figure it out.”

Ethan didn’t anticipate the therapy session. Unsure of what to say, he forced a quiet laugh as he stared back at the clock.

Joyce stood and squeezed his shoulder as she grabbed her purse to leave. “Look, I’m not tryin’ to pry, honey. I just worry about ya, that’s all!” She gave a small smile. “You’re a good kid. You deserve more than…” She gestured around the office, the fluorescent lights and stacks of papers. “All this.”

Ethan stayed silent. Joyce meant well. She always did, but not everyone was built for connection. Sometimes, alone was just…better.

Honestly, he hadn’t had many friends, even back in New York. Most of the time, his face was buried in a book or in his room writing, the blare of cars honking in the background, his own kind of white noise.

Ethan pulled out the notebook he carried around, one of several that were stuffed in drawers around his apartment. He flipped through the pages, looking back at poems and stories from years back. The words didn’t even feel like him anymore. But then again, nothing really had felt the same after his Dad died. Besides his cat Teddy, writing was kind of all he had.

Ethan’s gaze jumped to the clock, 5:00 PM.

Finally.

He packed his things, made his way out of the office, and headed toward the two sets of security gates, desperate for the quiet confines of his apartment.

Ethan had always found it funny how much the company over-indexed on the security here. Often, he wondered whether it was to keep the bad from coming in, or if the Willows just wanted to keep something inside from getting out.

Scanning his badge, he waved goodbye to the security office. “See ya, later, man.” One thing he’d learned was always to be nice to the people in the office, especially security. It had only taken a few months of living here to realize that the “Seattle Freeze” was a very real thing, so he made it a point to be as kind as he could be.

Ethan pushed through the revolving doors and stepped out into the mist-filled air. The rain had let up, but the sky was still that particular shade of gray that Seattle seemed to specialize in. Like some kind of limbo where it wasn’t quite a downpour but the skies still weren’t clear.

Just kind of…

Stuck.

Ethan slid into his seat on the metro bus and checked his phone for the first time that day.

Nothing.

Perfect. He’d get to enjoy another bus ride home with the sounds of late 90’s rock and his thoughts to keep him company.

Buildings and people blurred past as Ethan watched through the rain-streaked window. The passing trees and gray sky blended into a gloomy mosaic of muted colors that he always found oddly comforting.

Gloomy, brooding, and plain.

It matches my insides perfectly, he thought.

He sat back, pressing his eyes shut as he listened to the sounds of the bus as it rattled down Western Ave, approaching his stop.

Ethan’s mind cycled through the day. Jake and Preston were more uptight and bizarre than usual. And Joyce was even more grandmotherly today than normal. Was he that pathetic looking to people?