Poppy flinched and grabbed the beaker, her hands shaking. She looked at him from her spot on the ground, her shoulders tight and tears streaming down her face, obviously terrified. It took her a moment to realize that it was him, but she couldn't seem to let go of the beaker.
His eyes widened as he saw her and he hurried over to her, kneeling beside her "Poppy! Are you okay?"
She shuddered, and shook her head. She was shaking so badly that it seemed like she would fall apart at any moment, and she clutched the beaker close to her chest, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. "It's n-n-neverending, Francis," she said quietly, hiding her face in her hand, trying to catch her breath as the tears slipped down her face. "I'm worried h-h-he's going to hurt my dad, or something."
She was still tense, her shoulders tight, but her hands fit with his perfectly, small but strong, and she shook her head, looking at the ground. "He said that one day my dad wouldn't be around to protect me," she said quietly. "What the hell does that even mean?"
She shuddered, looking down at the ground. Although her frame was naturally small, she seemed to shrink in that moment, her brows furrowed as she looked down at the ground. "I just wish I knew what to do."
Poppy looked up at him. Her eyes were sorrowful and hopeless, and she sighed. "I'm sorry, Francis," she said quietly. "This is embarrassing."
She looked down at her hands, surprised that it made her sad that he pulled away. "You can go if you'd like," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm really sorry about all this."
She looked up at him, her head tilted slightly. "I'm sorry. I promise I'm not normally like this," she said with a self-conscious laugh. "We've just decided to become friends at a weird time."
"Oh, don't say that," she protested, a little bit of color returning to her cheeks. "It makes it sound so dismal."
