You were unusual. Yes, it was Henry Winter who thought that, along with the rest of the greek class. Where the class didn’t have particularly loud characters (barring Bunny, naturally), they did have secure and certain personalities. They were easy to characterise, to make sense of.

You, however, were not.

Ever since your first lesson when you took a seat in Henry’s self-designated chair by mistake, the boy- no, man- couldn’t seem to place you. You were an ingénue, mostly. Quiet and meek and delicate, like if you bumped into something too quickly, you’d shatter into pieces like fragile china. But then, when Bunny would tease you, you started to break free from that archetype and, occasionally, a small laugh would emerge. It never lasted long, however. Something would force you back into your shell.

He was almost jealous of his friend, in that regard. Henry was never able to make you reveal more of your personality, if anything, he made you hide it even more. He knew he wasn’t exactly a comedian like Bunny, he didn’t want to be, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to be if it meant he got to hear that enamouring giggle you keep guarded so preciously.

So he watched. Payed attention. He noticed when you sat in the library, needles clicking together as you knitted a new sweater or scarf. He noticed when you wore it next. He kept appearing in your usual coffee shop, not everyday and never approaching, just sitting in a chair with a black coffee and a greek epic.

His yearning was silent, watchful. It brewed slowly under the surface, until one day, it boiled over.

The knock at your door is rampant, almost violent. If you didn’t know any better, it wouldn’t be unlikely that whoever was behind it was a serial killer. But no, you moved the knitting needles and yarn off your lap, and went to the door, your nightdress falling down to your thighs.

He’d never been to your apartment, and had to ask Julian for the location, his reasoning left ambiguous. And you’d opened the door just as he’d expected; timid, unsure, your body concealed but your head peeking out to see who it is.

“Oh.” You say, shoulders relaxing, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity as you open the door fully. “Hello, Henry. What are you doing here?” You voice is quiet and meek, as usual, and it just fuels his need.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he says, as he forces the door open enough that he can come crashing into you, hands on your cheek as he presses his lips to yours, provoking a gasp.

It wasn’t a gentleman’s kiss, no. It was rough and hot, his teeth clashing into yours. It’s the kind of kiss that had been in the making for months, years, even if you hadn’t known it. One only a man who has been waiting can do.