Francis followed quietly, staring at his hands the whole time. He wasn't sure if the blood was his. At one point he looked up. "Poppy?"
Poppy stopped walking, and stood still, her back to him. Her hands held her arms so tightly that her knuckles turned white, and her shoulders trembled, although whether it was from being worried, upset, or scared was difficult to tell. She inhaled a whispery, tremulous breath and held it, seemingly unable or unwilling to let it go.
("I just want you to know, that he started it.") Francis stopped as well. He refrained from touching her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for the night to be this way."
(LOL that's so funny oh my god) She took a small breath, trying to fill her lungs to a point where she felt like she could breathe. She looked up at the ceiling and took another breath. One more. She turned her head slightly to glance at him, her grey eyes filled with tears and watching him warily, like at any moment he could attack. She sighed and closed her eyes, facing her gaze forward again. "We need to clean your cuts," was all she said, starting to walk again, her hands trembling at her side.
She turned to face him, studying him intensely, her gaze tracing his facial features that she had come to know so well. "I don't know," she said eventually. "I don't want to be scared of you."
He looked down, his face blank, then back up. He walked towards her, but ultimately passing her. His movements were stiff and unsure. "I think I can handle my own injuries." He looked back for a moment. "Thanks, though."
She looked back at him, a tear running down her cheek. Her gaze locked with his for a moment before she broke it, glancing down at the ground with a furrowed brow. She didn't say anything.
Francis went back to his room, shutting the door behind him. He rested against the door for a long while, before going to the bathroom and assess the damage.
Poppy stood in the hallway for a couple moments more before returning to her bedroom. Not even glancing at the sheetless bed, Poppy sat down, staring into nothing. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and hid her face in her hands, trying to keep herself quiet.
He sat in the bathroom. He didn't know what to do. Turning on the sink, he washed the blood away, and the stinging on his knuckles told his the answer to his previous question. He stopped, letting the sink run. Standing here, her just peered at the water running down the drain.
Poppy sat in silence, pressing her fingers against her eyelids. She took a deep breath before curling up on the bed, hoping for sleep that she knew wouldn't come. (Maybe a time skip?) (Also, damn you Evan for ruining an adorable relationship)
(Hmm. I'm not sure. Francis probably wouldn't be going to breakfast. He'd probably go and play piano instead as a way of venting.)
(Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I was actually considering having Poppy go to the lab, but maybe she could come to the library to check something out for her experiment and run into Francis?)
(Alright, zoom!) The concoction fizzled and went flat. Again. Poppy sighed, and pushed up her goggles, scribbling some notes onto her watch. She frowned and stood up. There was something here she was missing. She began to walk to the library, her goggles lightly perched on her forehead, a smear of soot on her nose. Her lab coat was splattered with various colors, and no one bothered her, either because of her strange appearance or her unwelcoming demeanor.
There was faint piano music. It was sloppy, and paused at random points. The keys were pressed much harder than they were supposed to be.
Poppy hesitated at the doorway, her brow furrowed. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. She needed that book. Everything else was a distraction. She entered the library, taking off one of her gloves to tuck her hair behind her ear.
