Yumekei had his lips pressed closed together, a light hum leaving between his lips. He seemed to be cleansing a pool of blood and ichor with a mop, a disinfectant spray bottle appended to his black leather belt with an engraved metal buckle, his whole outfit giving off a gothic vibe to him.

He halted to a stop when hearing a soft and watery breath hitch behind him, turning his head over his shoulder only to see you, standing there, in confusion but realization that he was cleaning guts.