Holland exhaled through his nose, the sound caught between a huff and a laugh, though the shake in it betrayed that he was still catching up with everything that had just happened. He could still taste the tension, that metallic tang of a fight about to break out, the way the room seemed to hold its breath just before Rodrigo's fist had landed.
Now, all he could hear was the dull buzz of conversation picking back up and the faint hum in his ears. The bastard on the floor groaned, face pressed to the filthy tiles, and Holland winced. Not out of sympathy, exactly. More like secondhand embarrassment for being the reason it had gotten that far. His gaze flicked to Rodrigo. The man's shoulders were still coiled tight, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. But his eyes, those soft, doe-like eyes, were nothing but concern. Holland had seen plenty of men throw punches in his time, but never one who looked so damn sorry afterward.
He rubbed the back of his neck, the remnants of adrenaline making his skin buzz. "Yeah, uh… not my finest moment," he muttered, managing a crooked grin. "Usually I try to talk 'em down before things get… that." He gestured vaguely toward the unconscious heap on the floor. "Guess you're faster on the draw than I am."
When Rodrigo's arm came around his shoulders, Holland froze for a heartbeat. It wasn't the touch itself that startled him. It was the gentleness of it. Each inch the exterminator drew closer came with that unspoken question in his eyes. And somehow, that wordless asking disarmed Holland far more than the earlier punch had. He didn't pull away. Couldn't, really. The quiet sincerity in Rodrigo's expression, that careful blend of warmth and restraint, kept him rooted. So instead, Holland gave a slight nod, one corner of his mouth twitching into something that was almost a smile. "Yeah," he said softly, voice rougher than he meant it to be. "It's okay."
As Rodrigo led him out of the bar, Holland threw one last look over his shoulder. The sight almost made him laugh, a short, breathy sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. The bastard deserved the floor, but it still felt strange to be walking away from a fight he hadn't finished himself. Outside, the night air hit like a clean slate. Crisp, cool, carrying the faint tang of rain and cigarette smoke. Holland gently bit his lip, the weight of the night beginning to slide off him.
Holland felt himself being drawn in closer, steadied by Rodrigo's arm as the breeze cut through his shirt. The warmth radiating off the other man was grounding, almost sobering, though the alcohol still made everything feel slightly softer around the edges. He blinked up at Rodrigo, processing the question a beat slower than he should have. Right. Names. They'd just been through all that and hadn't even gotten to the basics.
"Holland," he said, the word coming out a little thick, a little loose. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Name's Holland." A lopsided smile tugged at his lips as he swayed slightly, catching himself against Rodrigo's solid frame. "And yeah, I… I definitely caught yours. Hard to forget the name of the guy who just laid someone out for you." He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head like he was still trying to make sense of the whole night. The movement made him wobble just enough that he had to grip Rodrigo's side to keep steady. "Sorry, think I had one more than I should've back there. You're, uh… you're pretty solid though. Good for leaning."
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