“Mind the blood on the floor, try not to slip.” – @moyokoi
『 MACABRE — BLOOD 』
He stops himself to take a glance when his step splashes lightly and the words warn him of crimson spilled on the floor. It's an image too familiar to be surprising, and yet his expression contorts in surprise anyway. Somehow, he couldn't get used to this Nishikiyama-san and his ruthlessness, as many times as he tried to wrap his head around it.
He was one to talk, wasn't he? He remembers his own anger, his own violence, the path of blood he took. To top it off, even now, he can hear the ringing of Hikawa's laughter as he tortured him. He wishes he would've been the one to erase that sound, as opposed to death itself. Maybe, that's why Hikawa still laughs, and why he sees this blood and feels dread instead of satisfaction.
Nishikiyama-san is as lost as he used to be – as he is. And he fears what awaits them both. He wishes the other would've never stained the floors red, but had he done anything to stop it? Did anyone else try? Could anyone, anyway?
"I could come over some other time, Nishikiyama-san." He states, glancing over at the trail, at the splatter, the remnants of a scene – the scattered props of the climax of a play. "It seems like you were hard at work, today. You should take a rest."