i.
Harry doesn't talk to most people.
It's not because he's hateful nor is he cruel, he just really can't find it in his heart to speak with them. Truth be told, he can't be bothered with most of the high school bullshit that had bled into university, which included staring at him like he was some science exhibit, starting rumors about him, giggling while he walked by, etc, etc. He was proper annoyed by it – he'd always garnered a lot of attention throughout his life, but it wasn't until Junior year he realized it was all shit. Popularity didn't matter, Harry hated his friends, and he didn't want to talk to them anymore.
So he didn't.
And he'd secluded himself into a life where he was comfortable and content with silence, not minding the cold feeling of solitary as his marks improved ten fold and he'd felt more confident in who he was. Not trying to be anyone but himself, wearing what he wanted without regard, doing as he please, and if he had to speak he would say what he wished to. There was no longer the pressure to fit in and be as everyone wanted him to be.
However, much to Harry's frustration, this merely attracted more attention, and more people tried to weasel into his life than even before then. They pleaded with him to go to parties, where he'd go for a few hours and concede to temptation (or rather his dick would tell him to concede in temptations) and he would drink, fuck, then leave. It gave him a small reputation and apparently he'd broken lots of hearts, but he thinks that's silly – how could he break someone's heart if he didn't even know them properly? It's their fault, he thinks, for painting this image of him without knowing anything about Harry to base it off – they'd imagined him the quiet brooding type with a soft spot for the one he likes.
Harry doesn't think he has many soft spots though. Maybe one for cats, one for his family, and one for coral reefs, but those were it he's pretty sure.
"Hey, Harry, wait!"
Maybe one more.
Y/N is – well, Y/N is different. She'd squashed her way into Harry's life when he'd come to this university and cemented her spot there, which he's confused on how she'd done it. Harry had come in expecting what the last two years of high school were like – no friends, lots of fucking, good grades, and lots of free time – but Y/N changed a good portion of it. They'd met during one of Harry's cramming sessions for a test, when he was sat in the library with books surrounding him, headphones nestled in his ears (despite his music not playing) and his fingers and head aching something fierce. He hadn't eaten much at all that day when he should've, and his stomach only punctuated his thought with a growl that frustrates him. There was no time to go down to the dining hall and besides, it was around dinner so it would be too crowded.
She had slid the chair out across from him, plopped down and made him look up, "Hi, I'm Y/N nice to meet you. I noticed you didn't have a study snack and I have an extra muffin and some milk."
Harry's mouth watered at the thought, he remembers, that nothing had sounded so good in his life, but he's seen this before. Girls always tried to butter him up while he was studying – something about studious types being sexy or summat – and his brows furrowed recalling that the one time he had let someone sit with him while he was studying when they'd offered a granola. They did a whole lot of talking and a whole lot of asking Harry for his notes, out for a date, and a quick fuck in the library storage room. It'd ruffled his feathers so much he sat up without a word and left.
So he replied, "I don't want it," before turning his head back down to his books, thinking maybe that would dismiss her but what he would learn later is that Y/N was not easily deterred, so she only set them off to the side and wiggled down in her seat.
