you flower, you feast (harry styles)

chapter 1: her

goosebumps - Travis Scott
One Of These Days - Vance Joy
come out and play - Billie Eilish
Be My Mistake - The 1975

The bell jingled as I pushed open the rusty, old glass door.

"Large coffee black, no cream no sugar!" Shouted the lanky, tattooed millennial standing behind the register.

After glancing around the nearly empty shop, my eyes were drawn to the beautiful, apron wearing, dark haired girl who was securing the lid over my travel cup.
Her grey eyes were piercing, and when they met mine I froze in place.

"Harry," I forced out, offering my hand.
She hesitated a minute before she offered hers in return.

"Winnie." She replied, attempting to conceal the soft smile that appeared across her face.

In that moment, I knew that she had to be a first year, and my heart sank. At twenty-three years old, it would be incredibly frowned upon for me to pursue an eighteen year old.
I pushed the the idea of us out of my head and internally laughed at myself as I retrieved my coffee. I sent her an awkward grin, and retreated through the same door in which I had entered.

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After completing my three classes for the day, I found myself in the university library, attempting to power through a biochem assignment.

"What are you taking this semester?" I heard a familiar female voice ask. I looked up to see a nervous Winnie, biting her plump bottom lip and picking at her left thumbnail.

"Sit, I don't bite." I offered, shocked at the casualness of my own words. I nodded toward the chair next to me.

She awkwardly obliged, tripping over the chair as she pulled it out, drawing the attention of the entire second floor.

Her face turned beet-read as she slowly took her seat, once again attempting to conceal her beautiful face. She looked at me apologetically, almost as if she was giving me permission to dismiss her for causing a ruckus.

"It's okay, Winnie." I assured her, trying to suppress the smile that so badly wanted to creep across my face. "I'm taking biochemistry, psychobiology of mental disorders, calc III, and literature for neurological disease." Only realizing how prestigious I sounded after the words left my mouth.

Again, an embarrassed expression washed across her face. "I wanted to study pre-med, but I'm afraid I'm not quite smart enough." She attempted to smile. "So I'm just taking intro biology and chemistry, in addition to intro psych and a literature course. I could've tested out of those with my AP scores, but I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle the next level."

I listened intently as she spoke, trying to come up with a way to insert myself into the picture.

"I could help you." I suddenly offered, filled with an immediate rush of anxiety to my chest.
She stopped and looked at me, and I was unable to read her face.

"You're not too busy?" She softly asked, almost guiltily, staring down at her feet. I sighed, and racked my brain for a bullshit reason to give her.

"I know what they say about me." I responded, dodging her question. She and I both knew that the answer was yes, I was too busy. I didn't care, I needed to know her. "I'm not a prick, and I'm not a psychopath, I promise," I found myself pleading her.
"I just...I only do things that I feel are worthwhile." I confessed, and that was the truth.

It had been the truth for the entirety of my life, and growing up, my teachers had thought I was cognitively impaired because of it. After I passed the age of four, I saw no purpose in coloring, or in practicing printing. Reading little storybooks was utterly useless, when there was real literature out there: for example, type of books that my gran would read to be before bed, like Oliver Twist, Pride and Prejudice and countless works by Emily Dickinson. Mum used to beg her to refrain from certain stories, worried that they were too dark for a young boy. "He's a smart boy, Anne." She would reassure her, "he understands." And she was right, I did.

"Which days are you available?" I inquired, still unable to believe that I was genuinely going through with this.

"Uhm, Friday's, and Saturday mornings. They've got me fully booked at work for every other spare second of my free time." She admitted apologetically.

"Perfect. This Friday then? Five o'clock. Wherever you'd like to meet." I stated, using every ounce of my energy to conceal my current excitement.

"Absolutely," a massive grin consuming her face. "I don't care where. You pick. You're the one sacrificing your evening to help me."

"Come to mine then." I offered, anxiously. "I don't live far from the coffee shop. I'm a few miles outside of campus, do you have a ride?"

"I've got my bike," Winnie shyly smiled. "I'll ride over."

"You're sure? It's a bit far for a bike ride," I persisted. "I can absolutely come get you, no problem at all." I assured her.

"Harry, it's okay. I love bike rides. I'll see you then." She replied, visibly anxiously excited. She proceeded to gather her books and get up, pulling out her chair.

"You can stay," I offered, nodding to her current seat. "I wouldn't mind the company.

"I'm sorry, I've got another shift tonight." She apologized, sending me a sweet smile. "Thank you."

"Winnie?" I asked, in an audibly nervous voice.

"Yes?" She replied, glancing back at me.

"I don't...mean this in a creepy way. I just want to help. You seem different than most of the pricks here." I admitted, glancing down.

"I know," She blushed. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this." She sent me one final smile, and I watched her go on her way.