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quiet room. “I am.”
    * * *
    Wren definitely dresses differently on stats class days now that he’s had three months of reading Cam’s reactions to his appear­ance. He dresses to look smaller. Exposes little bits of skin. His collarbone seems to be a particular enticement, which really works for Wren because it’s ridiculously sensitive.
    He pairs Cam’s affinities with his own for soft fabrics against his arms and neck and structured pants or even tops, depending on his mood. Most of the things with which he surrounds himself make him feel good, maximize his sensual pleasure: the light and fabrics in his room and wardrobe; the incredible, lush give of his bed. Wren textures his life with small luxuries, and rarely, but intensely, indulges in bigger, more raw ones. Whoever this Cam is, Wren knows he’ll be incredible.
    * * *
    The closer they come to the end of April and the semester, the harder it is to hold off. Wren squirms in class; the tether between them is so taut and electric, it’s only through the incredible self control he’s rigorously practiced that he manages first to stay put and then to slip out of the room before Cam can find him.
    “You are driving us crazy ,” Nora says one night.
    “God,” Brokk adds, “please just fuck him and give us a break.”
    “Fuck you,” Wren says, laughing. “What do you know about it?”
    “Listen, I don’t have to have your abilities,” Brokk replies, using a fork to gesture between Wren and Nora, “to know you’re so horny you make me want to go out and get laid.”
    “So go get laid, then,” Wren says placidly.
    “I will if you will,” Brokk retorts.
    Wren rolls his eyes, but Nora’s laughter is bright and contagious. Several patrons around the restaurant turn toward the sound.
    “Just—” Wren twists the sweating glass of water on the table before him, “lay off. It’s hard enough.” He breaks off when Brokk laughs. “God, what are you, thirteen?”
    “Young at heart.” Brokk winks at Nora.
    “ Anyway ,” Wren continues. “I was saying it’s difficult enough, holding out. But we’re almost there.”
    “Praise be.” Nora wiggles her fingers skyward dramatically.
    “Just be careful,” Brokk says lightly, ignoring the displeased look Wren sends his way.
    “Seriously?”
    “Come on, Wren, you know he can’t help it,” Nora butts in. “He’s naturally protective; all people have proclivities, and when we care about each other, they come out, even in those who aren’t gifted. It’s not a terrible thing, having a friend looking out for you.”
    “I know,” he sighs. “I can feel you guys, you know. We’re all way too turned on by my game,” he jokes. “Here, let me do what I was made to do.” He looks Nora in the eyes and quietly draws a calming peace from her. Then he looks at Brokk. It’s a little harder with him; he’s naturally guarded. Luckily, Brokk is both good-natured and comfortable with Wren. Wren’s friends trust him; and while he’s often irritable about Nora using her gift, he’s always gotten joy and comfort from using his to make the people he loves feel good.
    “That’s lovely,” Nora smiles at him softly. She pushes a sweet calm at him, too. It’s not the same as being compelled; but there’s something nice about feeling other people when they’re like this.
    They leave the restaurant, and Wren looks up at the sky. Nora threads her arm through his and shivers. It’s not really cold, but there’s a lingering chill in the air, an April night on the cusp of summer, leaving spring slowly behind. Above him, the sky is inky black. It had been a lovely crisp blue all day, hazy with cir­rus clouds and full of gentle breezes. He knows that in some places, the sky is carpeted with stars on nights like this; but not here. The lights from the city and suburbs pollute the sky. It’s no matter to Wren. Knowing that things like star-filled skies exist, beautiful and timeless things, grounds him. It is as it