Page 15 of Refraction

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When Calvinwoke up, the streetlights were cutting into the darkness of the room right through his open curtains and leaving a bright mark across the bottom of his bed.

He patted around for his phone on the nightstand but didn’t find it, and squinted out the window at the still-falling snow, trying to remember what he’d done with it.

Feet shifted under the comforter, making the light bend and break across the folds, and with a smile he remembered.

Tucker.

So it hadn’t all been a dream. Not a sleeping dream anyway, or the kind of waking dreams he had when he hadn’t eaten in a while.

He leaned over and kissed the tiger on the shoulder—though maybe Tucker was more like a bear. He was so fuzzy.

That was a cute thought, but shit, he had to pee. He hopped out of bed and headed for the bathroom, giving Timmy a wave on his way by.

“Hey, man. You hungry?”

“Always.” Timmy laughed.

“I bet Tucker is too. Don’t order anything yet.” Calvin hurried into the bathroom.

The cold of the tile made his balls draw up, and he beelined to the toilet, then peed forever as his feet froze. He wasn’t sure if he felt better for the relief or worse for the shivering. He washed his hands, grabbed a couple of bottles of water, and headed back toward the bedroom.

“What kind of name is Tucker?” Timmy asked as Calvin walked by.

“It’s an artist’s name,” Calvin shot back, knowing full well that wasn’t what Timmy meant.

“Whatever. Tell him it’s Chinese or Chinese. They’re the only fools delivering in this weather.”

“Will do!” Calvin went back into his room and closed the door.

Tucker was sitting up in bed, pencil flying over that sketchbook, but he stopped when he saw Calvin. “Hey, honey.”

“Hey.” Calvin tossed him a water bottle and then crawled back into bed beside him. “Timmy says he’s ordering Chinese if you want.” He leaned closer, trying to make out what Tucker was working on.

“Yeah? I’d take a sweet-and-sour soup. It’s the right weather for it.” Tucker had drawn him, sleeping, laughing, drinking coffee.

Calvin frowned. Why him? Why not Bryant Park in the snow or that insanely beautiful, angular light coming in through his window? He didn’t like the way Tucker captured him in that notebook. All his imperfections. Not the sharp angle of his collarbone, but the bruises to his ego. All the scratches on his soul. Was Tucker doing that on purpose?

“Draw something else, tiger.”

Tucker looked over at him, blinked, then nodded and turned the page without a word. That pencil moved like it had a mind of its own.

He wanted to look again, to see what had Tucker so focused, but his spine was still tingling in an eerie way, and he just couldn’t. He slid off the bed again, this time going for a robe. Stupid winter. “I’ll tell Timmy to order you that soup.”

“It’s okay, honey. I’d rather just sit with you and chat.” Tucker leaned and slid the notebook into his clothes.

“Don’t do that—you draw if you want to. I’m not trying to interrupt. It’s only this dark because it’s winter, and we’ve got a long night still. You’re going to get hungry later, and anyway, Timmy is waiting on you to order. I’ll be right back.”

He gave Tucker a smile that he hoped covered for whatever all of that babbling was about and tucked his robe around him. He hated feeling flustered. He was almost never flustered.

“Timmy,” he said as he swept out of the room. “Tucker wants sweet-and-sour soup.”

“That’s it? I’m getting him some fried rice. That’s not enough food for a grown man.”

Timmy’s pupils were taking over his face. Calvin squinted at him. “Are you stoned?”

“Maybe a little. It’s snowing. Where am I going?”

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