Opinions.

Dos.

Oh shit.

How're you?

I care.

What did the sea do to the beach?

He waved at him.

My jokes suck so bad.

•••

Harry stood over six feet four inches in stature. He was a fit young man, and couldn't go a day without working out. It was worked into his blood, he had only started the routine four years ago. He was happy with the way his skinnies fit; he liked the way he didn't have to search a billion piles of jeans in a store to find his size. He was happy when he could feel his shirt brush against his bare skin, and he loved the way his hands and feet were much larger than anybody who had met him had seen.

Harry had moved from his small home, leaving his mother, step father, and older sister behind. Sure they were sad to see him go, but they didn't need him. They had all they needed, who cared? He sent them cards and letters, they didn't need anymore from him, and quite frankly, who did?

Harry kept his low voice to himself, stared at his way-too-worn boots, and didn't make eye contact. While he was busy not looking, everybody else was taken aback by him. They weren't only star struck by his height, but also his eyes. They pierced anything and everything that came in his short eye view. He didn't mind making eye contact, he just didn't particularly love it. He always felt awkward when somebody held his eyes in their for too long. It was unnecessary.

As Harry stared down at his lap, he tried hard to study the words before him. He was having such a hard time focusing, it was ridiculous. He was used to studying his papers in a cab. The traffic moved slowly, so it was almost as if he was at school, if you eliminated the few jerks the car made.

When the cab driver grunted, Harry glanced up. Immediately he noticed he had arrived at his destination. Slamming a few crumpled bills in his hand, Harry fumbled out of the car. He regain his balance, and checked to make sure he collected all of his belongings. Harry could count the times he'd left something in a cab on both of his hands, as well as his feet.

When asked, Harry would politely grumble that he was happy with his life style. Never did anybody hear him complain, but he often did in his head. He would argue back and forth with himself about stupid little things. He never once spoke any of his troubles to the outside world. Nobody cared about anybody's opinion anymore, so why waste your breath shouting it out? Harry would call it unnecessary, in fact he did call it that. If he saw somebody on the street, which he frequently did, he'd shuffle past them, mumbling something hopefully incoherent.

Harry felt his defined stomach growl, and he knew he had to stop somewhere. Harry ate infrequently, he was too busy studying to even remember to eat. He'd even gone a couple days without eating once. He knew he was hungry, it's just that the test he was studying for was more important.

His legs led him to a small bakery in the middle of Oak Street. As he opened the door carefully, the fresh bread rushed into his nose. Harry breathed deeply; he loved this smell, it always brought back memories he was happy to relive. He glanced around the familiar place, and walked to the cashier. He ordered his regular as his eyes darted around the place. He was sure he looked nervous, but he wasn't. He was simply avoiding the thing he hated most; eye contact. It did make him nervous, he tried convincing himself he wasn't, but it never worked.

After a small wait, he was handed his order, and he took a seat at a table, dwarfing both of them. His knees touched the top of the table, and he didn't mind. He knew people were doing sideways glanced at him, but he just kept to himself, slowly eating his muffin, and drinking his coffee.

Only ten minutes later, Harry was continuing his walk back to his building. His mind wandered to his family. He hadn't called his mom in a few weeks, she was probably worrying about him. Harry made a mental note to call her shortly.

His free hand went to his curls, pushing them to one side. His hair was all kinks, except for where he pushed it away. That part had become practically straight. Harry liked how his hair did that, too. He liked a lot of things about himself, it was impossible not to. What was wrong with him being comfortable in his own skin? Some people said he was full of himself, like his sister did. He disagreed, he liked to say he was confident.

Except when it came to eye contact.

~angel~