It's already dark when the club president climbs up on the top of a checkered stone table, one designated for chess games, and shouts at the top of her lungs that the last photography club of the semester will be ending. Her voice sounds a little watery, but Henry's reeling because a few seconds prior, he heard her make a dirty joke about flashing someone with her camera.

The various members scattered through the park begin making their way back. Even one of the girls, who went as far out as the Hudson River, hears the club president's voice. She's the last one back, making it just in time for the president's speech to end.

"Well, now that we're done," the president says. "Get outta my sight."

Maybe she expects the crowd of photography kids to immediately scatter, because when they don't, she tucks her hands into her pockets and shifts her feet uneasily. The vice president smacks the surface of the table, gesturing for her to get down before the park rangers come.

Watching this, Denny snorts, patting her pockets. Her hands still as she turns to Henry. "What time is it?"

Henry checks his phone. "5:43," he says. There's an unread message from Finch, which his eyes slide off of when Denny buries her face in her hands and exhales loudly.

"Aw man, winter sucks," Denny mutters.

"Yeah," says Henry, putting his phone away. "Yeah it does."

He reads the message later in the safety of his room. It's just a simple "Busy this Saturday?" but he's at a loss for how to answer. There are finals to worry about and every hour spent not studying is a wasted one.

But he's never refused Finch before. Wasn't it just last week that he agreed to go to the concert so eagerly? His phone screen's still showing the bottom outline of that particular message's speech bubble. He frowns at it, shuts his phone down, then moves to tuck it under his binder.

As he's doing so, the phone buzzes in his hand. The sudden movement makes him drop his phone. There's a muffled thud when it hits the table, and its vibrations are made all the louder on its solid surface. It's only when he catches sight of the notifications that his heart rate can start to settle.

Denny: So.

Denny: Did I make things awkward between us yet or...?

Henry sighs, dragging a hand down his face. No, he writes, you haven't.

Denny sends back a message saying that it's probably because she hasn't shown him her favorite furry porn yet. When Henry receives another message (this time with a file attached) he decides that's a good point to stop. His phone stays off for the rest of the night.

---

For Henry's efforts, the next day Denny grins at him sheepishly as he walks into math class. She's quiet, only waving as Henry sits down.

"Did you watch it?" Denny asks.

Henry shakes his head, sending Denny a disgusted look.

"What-a-shame," Denny says, punctuating her words with short pauses. She settles back in her seat, twirling her pen. "Those cats were so cute too."

Henry scrutinizes her. "I can't tell if you actually mean real cats."

And Denny just snorts, baring her teeth as her smile widens. "Oh ye of little faith and good grades. Let me copy your math homework real quick."

Henry stares down at her outstretched hands, a flicker of annoyance furrowing his brow. He nudges her hands away, saying, "No. That's academic dishonesty."

"Come on. What's more important? Your integrity or your best friend's math grade?"

"You're not my best friend," Henry mutters because Finch is, and for a second, it feels normal again, like it used to be. Then, there's a sinking feeling in his chest because he wonders if he can still call Finch by that title.

"Besides," Henry says, turning to face the black board. "Your math grade. It's unsalvageable."

---

In Biology, Turner stretches his arms out before plopping down on his desk and letting his hands dangle over its edge. The soft chatter of their fellow classmates has given him this obnoxious sort of bravado, because he doesn't even bother to muffle himself as his mouth opens in a long yawn.

Henry watches him from the corner of his eye. His pen's hovering a centimeter above his notes, and when he glances back to the board, he finds that the part he was copying down in is the process of being erased by the teacher. With a sigh, he sets his pen down. No one else is paying attention anyway.

He feels a tug on his right sleeve. As he turns, he sees Turner's hand retreating back to his desk to gesture to some words scribbled on his paper: How was the club?

Good, Henry writes back.

Turner shuffles in his seat, angling his body as he hurriedly writes something. When he uncovers it, this is what awaits Henry's eyes: Where are my nudes?

Henry scowls. It wasn't funny the first time he made the joke, and it's definitely not funny now, but Turner still snickers under his breath.

"I'll wait for you after school," Turner says once his laughter subsides. "Let's go home together."

And there Turner goes, inviting himself into Henry's schedule so casually, as if it's a given that he doesn't have any other plans.

"Fine," Henry whispers, seething with the knowledge that Turner's not wrong. He's never wanted a social life before, but lately, it's become more and more apparent to him that having one will be a necessity. Maybe next semester, he'll try harder.

As if in answer to Henry's thoughts, Turner grins and reaches out to pat him on the back. "Good boy."

---

Their walk to the station is uneventful, consisting mostly of Turner telling tall tales about his friend group. On the train, Henry closes his eyes and feigns drowsiness to avoid further conversation. At some point, he must have dozed off because he wakes up to the prerecorded voice on the loudspeaker announcing that the train will be slightly delayed.

Henry glances up. Through the train car's open doors, he sees that they've stopped just before the last stop. They're above-ground, so the breeze carries flakes of snow into the car and he burrows deeper into his clothes to escape the chill. Turner's warmth would be inviting, but the other boy's elbow keeps jabbing him in the side whenever he moves.

A glance to the side tells him that Turner's on his phone. Henry sees the familiar speech bubbles of his phone's text messaging program. He turns his head, trying to see who Turner's texting, but the motion catches the other boy's attention. With a short sigh, Turner inclines his head towards him, and the slow smile that spreads across his lips has Henry holding his breath.

"You look so dumb when you're asleep," Turner whispers, like it's a secret for just the two of them. He doesn't sound like himself, or any version of himself that he's ever been around Henry.

Not quite sure of what to say, Henry lets his gaze fall back to the phone. "Finch?" he asks, nodding towards it.

"No." With his feet dragging against the floor, Turner pushes himself into a more upright sitting position. "One of my other friends is wondering where I am."

"Oh," Henry says. Someone likes Turner well enough to miss him when he's not there. Meanwhile, Henry cringes at almost every word that comes out of his friend's mouth. It seems like a waste to have Turner here, going home with him.

"Don't worry. I hang out with them all the time. They need a break from me."

"So do I," Henry murmurs.

"On the contrary," Turner says, pinching Henry's earlobe. "You need to spend more time with me. We're dating."

Frowning, Henry slaps his hand away. He glances around the train car to see if anyone heard, but thankfully, nobody's looking their way. When he turns back, Turner's lost interest and is on his phone again. Before long, the train doors close and the train starts moving.

Henry expects Turner to ditch him once they emerge above-ground, but the other boy makes no mention of splitting up.

And when Henry gives him a questioning look, all Turner does is shrug and say, "We're walking home together."

"Is this what you and your friends do?" Henry asks, though he does, begrudgingly, lead the way.

It's a little difficult to hear Turner when the other boy is behind him, but Henry does catch the word, "Sometimes."

"Huh?"

Turner elbows his way forward until he's walking next to him. "We go to the park too," he says. "Sometimes we just visit random clubs to hang out. The art club's been working on the mural outside the gym. They yell at us when we try to touch it. It's pretty fun. You should join us."

"Maybe." Henry scratches the back of his neck. Denny isn't his only high school friend, but the others are just classmates that he's spoken to. It's easier talking to people when they can complain about the same class. But talking to Turner's friends--he can't see that going any way but awfully.

Turner seems to sense his hesitance because he nudges Henry and says, "You won't be a stranger to them. I talk about you."

Again, Henry can't see that going any way but awfully.

"Sometimes," Turner says in a low voice. "I even say good things about you."

---

The noise of the streets and the commercial stores begins to blend into the quiet of bare trees and looming, red-brick apartment buildings. "Oh, we're close to your house," Turner says. Even he recognizes the area now, as infrequently as he's been there.

It's less crowded in Henry's neighborhood, but there are more people that know him. He's kept his hands in his pockets to deter Turner from reaching for them, but his ears are starting to sting from the wind. He takes his hands out now to cover his ears with them.

Through the insulating layer of cotton gloves, he hears the muffled sound of Turner's laughter just before the other clamps his hands down on both sides of Henry's head. It leaves a ringing in his ears long after the impact. He tries to whirl around, but Turner's grip on his head has him squirming strangely instead.

"I've got you, Henry!" Turner exclaims. "Your ears won't fall off while I'm here." To his mortification, Henry feels his friend's breathy laughter against the back of his neck. It heats up his face; thankfully, his cheeks are already flushed from the cold.

His pride takes it the hardest when he goes slack and allows Turner to walk him down the block, but it's undeniable that his ears are warm now. Turner only lets go once they reach Henry's apartment building.

He doesn't want to turn around, doesn't want to see what kind of victorious expression Turner might be wearing. It doesn't matter what he wants because Turner sidesteps around him and faces him. The stupid boy even goes so far as to ruffle Henry's hair, brushing away the stray snowflakes that have gathered there. There's an inconsiderate tenderness to his smile as he draws his hand away, lowering it to Henry's chin. It's no surprise when Turner leans in to kiss him.

It's not the first time they've kissed, but all those other times were decidedly chaste--a quick peck followed by Turner's loss of interest upon seeing the dispassionate look on Henry's face. This time, Turner kisses him like he's chasing something, and Henry's out of breath trying to keep up. His lips are tingling like they never have before, and it's a welcome reprieve when Turner pulls away, only to coax open Henry's mouth with his thumb before moving to nibble his lower lip.

Henry can't think, but he's still thinking and he's remembering the hallways and the girls and Finch and when Turner pulls away, the cloudy joy in the other boy's eyes lingers for as long as it takes for him to search Henry's expression, and not find what he wants there.

There's only the sound of their quick breaths, the synchronized rhythms like something incriminating. Henry's thankful when without a word, Turner brushes by him and leaves.