My Little Waiter! ( VOXTO FANFIC )

Fucking Nightmares

TW : Gore & Vomit

Dozing off to whatever fantasy his brain had in play for him, he felt a sudden coldness to the tip of his nose. He opens his eyes to look up and see Ether's body hung up the ceiling with the dagger being like a pin to keep him up. Like some twisted dart on a dartboard.

The room was plain white with only Shoto, Ether and his dagger. The two things he found comfort in was now being used to be some sort of sick and horrifying fear that his dream was trying to convey.

The blood trickled down, the room being quiet that you could hear a pin drop. But this time, it wasn't a pin. It was Ether's blood repeatedly falling down and either hitting the bridge of Shoto's nose or the flooring underneath him.

He was frozen still. Uncertain what to do when his only ever friend was right ontop of him, lifeless and bleeding while Shoto couldn't do a damn thing.

Sounds familiar? Of course it was, it's the same circumstance of when Ether first perished.  Shoto looking at his deceased friend covered in blood while all he can do is pray and stare. Pray that it was some sort of dream. Pray that it'd be all over and everyone will soon wake up and live lives as if nothing happened. Pray that demons didn't come to ruin his fucking future.

Mix feelings all around his mind. He felt like he could cry a river and never stop. Supressed trauma and fear all trapped into such a fragile body, packaged with love and care only for it to be shattered in an instant.

Because the gods were cruel and careless individuals. Shoto knew that all too well, having claimed to be 'blessed by the gods' as if that bullshit was near from the truth.

Why didn't he just die? Why couldn't he have just switched places with Ether? Why couldn't he just have suffered the cruel future of death?

Why is all he could ask. Why is all he wanted to ask. Anyone. Anyone to answer his prayers. His pleads of help but to no avail.

No one. No one has ever reached a hand to such a wounded boy who got fucked over by the world way too many times.

Where he lost everything and nothing at the same time. Where he had to learn grief and acceptance all at once. Where he had to make ends meet by doing what means necessary.

Tears flowed down his glossy indigo eyes as so did his best friend's blood that seemed to endlessly drip. Is this it? Is this how it really ends for him? Will he ever avenge Ether or will the guilt of killing so many affect him too much?

Will the burden on his shoulders lift? Will it ever be easier? Does he have anyone to tell him white lies that it'll all be okay and that they'll be here with him forever and ever?

No. Shoto was alone. He always was and always will be. Then why? Why does he try so hard to convince himself otherwise?

Denial? Has he grieved so quickly that he didn't actually pass acceptance..?

It was getting hard to breathe. His lungs felt like they were filling up with water, like he was drowning in his own thoughts and worries.

He covered his mouth with his hands before vomitting out endless amounts of water. It hurts. Everything hurts, everything aches. It won't stop, it never will stop. It's an endless cycle, a cycle no one can break- Not even Shoto.

As if his lungs didn't feel like they were gonna explode, he got a massive headache in the midst of the crossfire of him battling his fears and nightmares.

Never-ending, he was still gushing out water. As if his water symbolized his trauma that he kept inside so long that he burst. Finally letting it all out in one big blow. One big finale. The end of his show of trauma.