My Little Waiter! ( VOXTO FANFIC )

Secret Revealed

( By the way, this was writen days before Shoto's new lore stream so we're basing this fanfic off of his old lore )

On his bed, Shoto screamed into his fluffy white pillow. Kicking his legs behind him and grabbing onto the cushions that muffled his cries.

He was fucked. He is fucked. He kissed his boss! He did that- Hah, he kissed his boss. No big deal, right?

Right??

-x-

"Oh dude, you're fucked."

Well thanks Mysta. As if he didn't already know that right after he put his lips on Vox!

"You are not helping." He gritted his teeth with furrowed eyebrows. Glaring at Mysta who gave him an awkward look. He swears he wished his best friend had a filter sometimes.

"Well sorry for not making up lies!" The detective replied sarcastically. "It's not my fault you kissed a demon-" Before continuing any further, he smacked his hands onto his mouth. Causing him to stay completely silent.

Shoto heard that last part- Demon, was it? Yeah, it was. He stared at Mysta with a confused expression before pointing a finger at him to guide his uncertainty. "Say that again." His voice demanding but still soft and hesitant.

Mysta tsked and ah'ed nervously before trying to slide out of the situation he placed himself in. "Ah- Oh well- Would you look at that! I think my mom is calling me hah-" Making up white lies and excuses from being put on the spot, he caressed a hand over his nape.

Before the detective could exit out of the door, Shoto blocked him by standing infront of it with his arms crossed. "Mysta.." He spoke ever so slowly, like a mother who was about to scold her children. "What did you say?" Skeptical, his eyes narrowed down with a pout of suspicion.

Accepting defeat, Mysta finally caved in and spilled the slip up he didn't mean to say. "He's..." His words coming light and airy with a bit of air, making it seem breathy. "A demon, Shoto." The seriousness in his voice caught the slayer off guard, though he seemed hesitant to tell Shoto the secret. He still told him in all honesty, blunt and straight-forward.

"Wait what?" Shoto questioned, trying to process what his best friend just spilled onto to him. Confusion bloomed over him and his mind while betrayal carved a way to his heart.

"I kissed a demon..?" Voice cracking as he whispered those words to himself rather than to Mysta who was infront of him. He couldn't believe it. The one that made his heart flutter and skip a beat was something he swore to obliterate and kill. A demon.

He fell inlove with a demon. Someone and something that took  his first love. Ether. The one he swore to avenge and love till the very end. So why? Why was Shoto so hung up on this? Shouldn't it be an easy decision?

Why?

What made Vox so different? Was it because he didn't show any traits of being a creature that murdered his entire childhood? Because he actually cared  for Shoto? Or was that just a facade he wanted to put up so he could get him vulnerable.

Breaking him from his trance, a familiar voice spoke to him. "Shou?" His voice coated with worry and dismay, eyes narrowed and brows scrunched together to form a troublesome expression.

The slayer looking up to him, eyes wide from overthinking. He responded with a hum. "I know it's a lot to unpack-" Yeah, no shit Sherlock. "But I'm here, yeah?? Just tell me what to do and consider it done." Though the detective was never one to exhibit comforting words towards his peers, he felt like he needed to be strong and supportive for Shoto.

He nodded, purple locks flowing as his head bobbed up and down. He needed time, he definitely needed time after this. Maybe even take a day off from work.

Breathing heavy, he stares at Mysta with desperation and panic within his indigo eyes. Eyes once known to hold killing intent and brutality, is now flowing with consternation and disquet.

How could he love a demon?

-x-

A few days passed, Shoto called in sick for work and used family complications as an excuse to take a few days off of work, including his demon slaying job. He felt sick  by the thought of killing his love's species and kind. Has he been looking at the world by the wrong perpective?

Scrolling through twitter as a means to distract himself, sometimes retweeting a funny post about british people moaning in bed as it reminded him of Mysta. In the end of the day, he was always alone with himself and his thoughts.

He eyed his dagger that stayed perfectly still and radiating off his countertop near his bed. A blade he cherished with hatred and guilt. Afterall these years he still wouldn't forget the first day he had ever started training.

It was cold yet hot at the same time, his hands twitched and burned by the sheer radiance of the sharp knife that were held tightly around his small hands. The ground snowy and blinding, blood being the only color he could see stain the white crystal fluff on the ground. His bare feet roaring with pain as each step meant another sharp ache throughout his entire body.

He remembered pleading to the gods to end his suffering, how he hoped he got frostbite and died right then and there. If so then maybe he wouldn't have to suffer rethinking his life decisions ever since he was born.

He sighed, got up and started rummaging his cabinets for any books or journals to write onto.

Finally, he spotted an old diary that he never really got to use. Blowing off the dust and filth, he was brought to the pages of the aged book.

Grabbing a pen, he started writing his thoughts and worries. He thought that compiling them up together would make his brain less frazzled and more organized in figuring this out.

So, he started writing.

"Dear Me."

Thinking how he should form his words, he realized how much more harder it was to express his feelings and emotions to understandable sentences. It was like his mind went completely blank, like your throat being dry when you're asked to say something. It was like his brain was clogged with a fog of confusion and desperation.

"Dear me.

          A few days ago, I kissed my boss. I don't know how to honestly feel about it because I sort of enjoyed it- but he's a ... demon. And My whole purpose is to literally murder them so- What now."

Okay, it was a start. Not the best first try of writing but can you blame him? He was never a writer to begin with.

"But what if murdering those rat bastards isn't just my purpose? I can love someone even if they object through my beliefs and standards, right? Not everyone can fit such high standards..

But is it love or is it admiration? Sure, I wanna spend lots of time with Vox but I'm like that to everyone..! I wanna learn more tips from Ike, play Valorant with Shu and know more about Alban and Reimu! Vox can't be any different, right?

Yeah, maybe I notice a couple of things more with Vox but that's probably coincidences- Like how I always check if he's around whenever I start my shift early, that's not me wanting his attention- I'm just spying around so I know that he won't be bothering me.

It's not anything romantic-"

Next page.

Wait- next page? Has he already writen that much? If so, then he'll need to hope this diary won't run out of pages.

Sighing, he stopped. 'My hand hurts.' He thought to myself before letting the pen go and slouching within his place. He has to go to work tomorrow, he'll be fired if he keeps skipping.

But is he really ready to see Vox again.