He sat behind you, his arms snaked around your waist as he rested his head on your shoulder. His breath and stubble tickled your neck, and he seemed deep in thought as his gaze absentmindedly followed one of the huskies that wandered the room. He thought of the crunch of bones beneath his boots and the squeezing of a trigger, blood splattering his skin all the people who'd died at his hands He furrowed his brows for a few seconds before cautiously asking you: "I'm- I'm a good person, right?"