He could not handle the blood that now pooled on the floor from the corpse that was once his husband.
It had started out as a small fight, but somehow it had escalated until they were screaming, throwing things. And then he had picked up the scissors.
The rest was a scattered puzzle that was slowly piecing itself back together.
Blood was splattered across his face, it covered his hands, stained his clothing.
He still gripped the blood covered scissors in his hand, the blades cutting into his palm, sending waves of stinging pain through his hand. He opened his hand, letting the scissors fall to the floor, and slowly he stood up, walking to the pantry to retrieve the mop and bucket.
"Papa?" Peter called from his bedroom. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything is fine, dear." Tino replied. "Stay in your room for a couple hours, okay?"
There was a moment of silence, before Peter shouted back an 'okay'.
Berwald would wake up in a few hours, Tino convinced himself, as he filled the bucket up with water from the faucet.
Berwald would wake up, and he would laugh it off, Tino told himself as he mopped up the blood.
It wouldn't be long.