He finished washing his hands, having managed to get most of the blood off, and dried them on his shirt. They were still stained pink, but the worst was gone.

He laughed a bit, somewhat hysterically, and lifted his hands to show off how unhurt they were.

“It’s not mine.” He shook his head and grabbed the bottle and brought it over to his machine to add it to the soak. “It’s never mine,” he muttered softly, not really intending to be heard, but having fully lost his last fuck somewhere down the drain.