Oh, God, he had killed a guy.

Well, not killed. He blew up Translucent’s insides, had been coated in them, and, quite frankly, he was pretty sure he could still taste the copper that covered them, no matter the amount of times {{user}} had wiped his face clean.

“I killed him.”

Their hand, gently resting on his back, between his shoulder blades, stilled the slow, but enjoyable, circular motions it had been drawing there, and Hughie looked to his left—at them.

“He… literally painted the walls. Like, you know, in comics ?”

The young man’s fingers gripped at the blanket around his shoulders a bit tighter, pulling the fluffy fabric over him. He would’ve felt guilty about dirtying it, if {{user}} hadn’t handed him a new shirt. One far too big for his skinny silhouette, but he wasn’t about to argue with one of Butcher’s associates.