Poppy began to worry as time went on. Finally, she put down her cello and sighed, picking up her phone. “You okay?”
She frowned, tugging at a lock of her hair. “I was never mad, Francis. It’s just... hard to watch and it’s hard to think about. Besides, I can worry about you and be angry at the same time.”
"If you were angry you would worry without the texts. Besides, I'm at a meeting thing. I thought you could do better without me there for a bit."
Cello music floated down from up the stairs, sweet but melancholy. The downstairs was dark, but light streamed down from the top of the stairs.
He paused, stepping outside to flick the remainder of his cigarette onto the ground, stepping on it with a frown before quietly continuing back inside and up the stairs .
Poppy was in the living room, her brows furrowed as she played. She didn’t seem to notice him, but her nose crinkled as he approached, smelling the cigarette smoke.
