Grey paid little attention when Catherine dove into the food that had been left out. The man was intelligent enough to figure the woman was probably famished. Her current appearance, while refreshed from proper sleep, still spoke of the abuse she had done to herself. There was still a gauntness to her cheeks, a hollowness to her appearance speaking of her lack of appetite during the time. So while, Grey tried to puzzle through the essay he was still listening as she helped herself to the spread of food. As such, there was almost a deafening silence at the end of his response. For a few seconds he lingered in academic thought before he blinked, his mind refocusing.

The man had turned in his chair—Spade jumped down from his lap at the movement—just as the woman retreated back into his bedroom. If he was any other man, and if their relationship was different, that probably would have seemed like an invitation or at least a very pleasurable aspect to reflect upon. However, this was far from the case, Grey was left analyzing the door and glancing at the spread of food, noticing it barely touched and one pastry discarded. He turned his thoughts back before with a sigh, he shook his head and touched a hand to his temple. He lifted his head when the woman returned from the room. Part of the man’s sensibilities told him to just allow her leave with no word. However, another part told him that to do so would be adding fuel to whatever fire was burning between them (and third part said he was screwed no which he chose).

“Speak, Catherine,” he said, deciding a direct approach would be better. “You were famished mere moments ago, and I had no qualms with you eating any of that. If you do not speak then I do not know what has happened and we shall probably end up with a repeat occurrence. So let’s try something different…?” The man stood up from his desk, his entire attention upon the woman now instead of his work.

The man visibly flinched when the woman started to raise her voice, but otherwise did nothing. Part of him expected this, and the coward in him wished that he had just let her walk out the door with nothing said. It certainly would have been easier, but Grey was not in the habit of taking the easy way out. The man did try to take responsibility for things where he saw them, however it seemed that never seemed to work out well for him when it came to Catherine. He sighed quietly, once more rubbing a hand over his face as he slouched slightly as he buttocks came to rest on the desk edge. He had no notion that Catherine had compared his standing to that of a predator. It was certainly not something he had contemplated, but then he did not realize the woman might be a little afraid of him either.

“That was not something I knew last night,” he stated in response. Might as well start from there. Grey didn’t deign to reply to her accusation of his being impossible to talk to. Why deny the truth? “I am ill-equipped to handle the emotions of others, and last night you were, forgive my expression, a powder keg of them ascending upon me. You’re frightening, Catherine,” he said, ending quite bluntly as he folded his arms across his chest. “However, I do promise you, that my actions stemmed from your best interests and not from any selfish inclination of mine. Do not believe that your depression of late has not gone unnoticed by those who care about you.”

Yes, the potions professor did care for the scattered Herbology professor no matter how much she confused and frightened him in her moments of emotional upheaval. It was hard not to grow some sort of feelings for the woman given how much they had been in the other’s company of late. It was just a miracle those feelings were not those of dislike or hate, but still remained positive.

“It’s not in my nature to be forthcoming,” he stated. “It was not how I was raised nor my own natural inclination.” He did not go on to state that it wasn’t in his interests to be open to others either. There was quite more he could say if he had been the open sort like Catherine. He could write her an entire book about his history, given he was the bastard child of a prominent pureblood family. A bastard in many ways. It was probably this very connection that had shaped who Grey was so profoundly. A single meeting with his sire that had result in so much, many emotional and one physical—the very scar down his face. “So, I guess to put it simply, I do not wear my thoughts and emotions openly as others do, so while I may seem cold I am actually not.”

It was an awkward conversation, and part of Grey didn’t know why it seemed he had to spell everything about himself out. Already he was saying much more than he would have preferred to be doing. However, the world was not perfect, and he knew no one would actually understand him given his isolating tendencies—which, he wasn’t about to change. However, the man could acknowledge the need to not being arguing or being emotionally and rationally thrown by this woman at every encounter. A certain sanity needed to be maintained.

His inner contemplations were cut short when the woman keyed into a single statement of his prior. He raised his head and looked at her with an arched brow as she positively broke down into laughter. “Frightening, confusing, and intriguing. I cannot understand you, and every time I try I get thrown off-kilter by something you say or do. A frightening being.”

It was a little amusing to watch the woman fall into fits of laughter—at Grey’s expense, given she was laughing at the thought that he found her frightening. It was perhaps amusing in a way, but the man shrugged it off. It wasn’t really something he could change in the moment. Each person found different things frightening, and unfortunately Catherine was just embodying the traits that cause Grey discomfort, especially when they were directed at him. However, given his personality and temperament, he was able to hide his discomfort better than most. Which was frankly what it came down to, his ability to hide his emotions, to appear so cold.

He shrugged his shoulders again when she further explained that she found him intimidating, listing various reasons. “Hardly things in my control,” he stated simply. “Potions have always been held in the dungeons, and who am I to change that when it doesn’t bother me? As to Slytherin, well, I would imagine who could piece that together, along with the fact that there is often more to those in Slytherin than what is on the surface,” he stated with a shake of his head. So many of the Slytherins seemed to end up as loners, even if they belonged to a circle of peers. There was just something inside of them that set them apart from others. However, there was also the stupid notion that Slytherin produced only dark witches and wizards, so the fear was not irrational.

“Though while I dwell in Slytherin, I do not buy into many of the common mentalities,” he stated, perhaps a bit more harshly than he meant as his gaze swept to the side as he thought of something else. Anyone in his class knew that pureblood students, even those in prominent families, received no special treatment from Grey. He did not hold with that pureblood supremacy nonsense, with good reason. Unknowingly, his fingertips rubbed briefly at the scar on the side of his face.

The question jarred Grey from his thoughts and brief trip down memory lane enough that a word escaped his lips even thought he had heard the woman clearly the first time. “What?” He glanced briefly at his hand, dropping it to his side with a shake of his head, his next words following quickly upon the tail of his prior remark. “No, it doesn’t.” It was probably about all the response the woman expected to receive from Grey. He certainly was not going to be forthcoming about it.

Grey knew that his scar was a topic of discussion among some of the students. At the start of the term there always seemed to query as to how he received it and rumors tended to float around. However, the Potions’ professor had never seemed bothered by the many conjectures as he had never sought to dispel the rumors nor put a stop to them. Frankly, he never bothered himself to really care what others thought of him. Most of them were not particularly close enough to the professor to warrant his even thinking about it. However, many days, Grey forgot the scarring was even there, reminded only when he happened to catch his reflection.

However, his mind returning to the present, Grey took stock of the change in their positions, and he merely arched a brow. He had not moved from his position, leaning against his desk, yet Catherine had moved closer. Thankfully she had not (yet) entered his personal space.

Perhaps it wasn’t so much that Grey was incapable of being open or even being intimate with another, that physical contact such as a hug would seem foreign to him, but rather Grey was simply not comfortable enough with anyone around him for such things to occur. As frankly, the last person to see any show of affection or openness from the man had been his mother, and she had been deceased for quite a few years now. Grey had never felt a similar connection since, a need to share his being with another person. One was not talking in a sexual sense, as Grey was no virgin, but rather on an emotional level. Frankly, Grey had not yet met someone he felt he could trust, who he could lose himself with but still feel safe. If he found someone, gotten close to someone in such a way, it was quite possible the man could open up to them, but this had not happened. So Grey kept such doors firmly shut.

It was possible he could be facing such a door in the form of the herbology professor, but like in so many instances, some things needed to pushed and prodded into place. A little nudge here or there, so to speak. It was possible, but it could also be equally disastrous, and it was the latter option that often kept Grey closed off from others.

Before Grey could respond, the woman was already acting upon her request. Frankly, she must had been speaking as she had walked back over to the spread of food. A small quirk formed at the corner of Grey’s lips at the action and words. “Feel free; it’ll just go to waste normally,” he stated, turning his attention back to his desk now that this thing, whatever it had been, seemed to have been averted for the time being.