[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/231110/8d749d906d93af45726a04f7ecf5f219.png[/img][/center][hr]The sprint out of the ballroom turned into a marathon as Jannick led Hollyhock through the darkness. Jannick’s lungs should have been burning, his body complaining about injuries and exertion, but he didn’t feel any of it; as he ran, it felt almost like he was floating, eyes and hands and feet without a body connecting them, with the only object in his mind reaching the fortifications at Stern Hill. 

Jannick didn’t miss a step when a Knight ushered the pair of them through a solid wall; even if he wasn’t already familiar with this fortification from his policing days, he wouldn’t have questioned anything coming from a friendly uniform. The first pause he allowed since they fled the ballroom was sitting down on the train, Jannick ensuring Holly took the window seat so he could box her in, just in case. His whole body thrummed with adrenaline; it took several minutes on the train before a coherent thought even entered his mind, and that was only in response to a squeeze of his hand, ensuring that Holly was really there next to him. 

He eventually gave Holly a cursory look-over, seeing that she didn’t appear injured, but the blood staining her arm concerned him until he found its source. His armour was full of it, in addition to a few dents in his pauldron and breastplate where the masked gunmen shot him. He was sure there were more dents he couldn’t see – by the Mother, with police gear he’d be dead three times at least from these injuries - but an exploratory wiggle told him nothing seemed broken, and if he ran this long without falling over dead, then he couldn’t have been bleeding much. 

But the longer he sat, the more he felt the true toll of his time in the melee: no broken bones, that was good, but gradually every joint in his body started to ache, his neck grew stiff, and his shoulder seemed less enthusiastic about moving by the second. His free hand still gripped the shortsword he’d liberated from one of his attackers, and after a brief examination, Jannick was almost disappointed. Under all the blood, it was junk; maybe not the absolute bottom of the barrel, but pretty close. Terribly balanced and made of cheap steel, it looked like something he might have confiscated in a drug bust – minus the kitschy home modifications. This thing was bog standard, straight out of the bargain bin. If he’d have been able to see it in the light, he probably wouldn’t have entrusted his life to it. 

Hollyhock was silent when it came time to disembark, and Jannick followed her lead, tucking his sword away for use as evidence later. A few times he thought to say something, maybe ask her if she was okay, but the words never formed. It was a useless question anyway: of course she wasn’t okay, she just lived through a terrorist attack and saw more death and destruction in the space of twenty minutes than most people ever experienced in a lifetime. 

But she wasn’t injured – that was a good start. Instead, she wanted to wash up. Jannick followed dutifully behind, reasoning that he would see a medic about his shoulder after he was certain that Holly was safely put away. That was, until Holly threw him an all-too-familiar smirk and took off down the hallway. 

Ambling along up until that moment in a sort of post-adrenaline haze, Jannick suddenly snapped to attention, almost bowling over the poor servant as he broke out after his charge. Foreboding questions flashed through his mind; had she seen something? Was the castle being infiltrated too? A quick glance around revealed nothing threatening, but his mind flooded with fear that he would lose her for a second time that night – and that this time, he wouldn’t be as lucky. It took Jannick’s now-cold and aching body everything it had to keep up with Holly, joints protesting loudly as she came upon a guest room. 

Jannick burst into the room after her, stopping only when he saw that she wasn’t escaping through the window to lean against the door frame. He tapped his chest, breathing hard in the new open air as his helmet receded back into his gorget. His hair was damp and stuck to his forehead, but his eyes were wide with alarm. 

[color=9A906B]“Why are you running?!”[/color] he demanded, heedless of his volume. [color=9A906B]“Mother’s tit, Holly, why do you [i]always[/i] run away from me?!”[/color]

What Jannick had seen after he had charged into the room wasn’t the same Hollyhock that had sat in a cold silence. It wasn’t the smug Hollyhock that had decidedly managed to sprint away in full view. It was a Hollyhock that had tears welling, but a refusal to cry. A Hollyhock that kept her arms tight to her body so that she wouldn’t shake.

She could have refuted his words. She could have played the dozens as the two of them usually did. She could have explained why she felt that, in that moment, decided to run away. But she didn’t. Instead, she slowly approached the entry that Jannick had been leaning against. Her feet dragged each step. Her gaze avoided his face.

And Hollyhock slowly closed the door.

Jannick had more words waiting in the wings, ready to launch into a disorganized tirade about how Holly’s escapism habit could have gotten her killed, how none of this would have happened if she’d have just stayed by his side, how she needed to grow the fuck up and [i]listen[/i] to him for once in her pompous, sheltered life - but it all died in his throat when he finally saw what was standing in front of him. Holly wasn’t getting on with her night, she wasn’t snickering at him. She wasn’t the bored, mischievous aristocrat’s daughter he was used to, nor was she one of Incepta’s glorious chosen like the stained glass window behind her. She was just a scared little girl coming apart at the seams. 

He only watched in mute horror as Holly shambled closer, wishing he could recapture his words as she slowly closed the door. He stumbled back when the door nearly met his face, staring at it for a moment in stunned silence. He rubbed his face, inadvertently smearing it with half-dried blood from his gauntlet, and used all of his strength to drag himself down to Ballroom A. All anger had drained from him in an instant, replaced only by cold regret – for his outburst, and for everything else. 
[hr][right]Collab with [@OwO][/right]