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It took all of two seconds.
Two seconds. The vents were cleared. You payed no heed to your shipping wall - if you had, maybe it would have reminded you. Told you not to, don’t do it, you’ll regret it.
One, and you’d seen him. He was there, yellow blood staining his shirt. The blood pumping through your veins was almost unbearable, your heart beating so hard out of rage, your face twisting and contorting. Two, two, two and you saw nothing but his eyes - two and you’d cut straight through him, shrieking and manically beating and eye fur an eye makes the world go ‘round and so should a meowrail for a meowrail!
Really, you should have thought it out more. You shouldn’t have just rushed into it, but you did. You did and now you regret it. You can't even think anymore, blinded by your horror. It was stupid, stupid, stupid cat!
The smell. Oh the smell, it’s already so bad, how can that murderer stand it? How can he stand it, how can he stand to see his moirail lying dead on the floor, guts torn open and red, red everywhere, red all over the floor, red staining the steel, red staining your hair, your face, the jacket that had already tasted so much red but not like this, not like this, not from the innards of your flush that all you wanted to do was keep him safe and protect him from himself and and
And now none of that will happen, because you killed him. You killed him, and that murderer found you with his rainbow palette of blood, still slashing mercilessly at the body, and all he had done was toss his head back and laugh sharply, a cruel loud sound that sliced through akin to your methods, throwing a half-empty bottle of Faygo your way, filled with blue blood that mocked you and laughed the same laugh.
It was like a bad joke. One that you hadn't yet gotten. Or that you were the punchline in.
He left.
Not a word. Not a hesitation. Not even a flash of acknowledgment in his eyes.
No point. No point, it echos in your mind. No point, no point, no point. Echoing as your eyes mindlessly turn towards the battered and broken and ripped apart body that was once your flush. Echoing as you sink to the floor.
You’d find a way to make up for this. Somehow, someway, even if it meant taking down that murderer yourself. But for now, all you can do is wail, and sob in agony, your green tears mixing with his red blood.
He doesn't look like he blames you for what you did. But you do.