Chapter Text
There has always been a specific smell to everything and an accompanying thought or memory. Flowers and their aroma bring peaceful joy; rain's dampness is saddening; the averse smell of garlic makes me gag. Everything always has a scent and a memory, and every one I remember with delicacy and precision.
To my surprise, there's never that one scent. One that pins me to the wall like a dart and startles me like a deer in headlights. I've always guessed I'll find it one day, possessed by an awful demon or in the arms of a beautiful woman. I'm not excited about either, and for a multitude of reasons.
—
As I take my shoes off, my body aches with pain. I've been on the move every day for weeks, and it's started to take a toll on me. My knees buckle if I stand for too long, and my arms aren't as strong as I feel they used to be. Worst of all, my chest has started hurting again from all of the labour. I've been going to the doctor about it but opted out today to rest.
My eyes flit to the clock, and it reads 19. Not late enough to sleep, but not early enough to do much else. Since I’m so exhausted, I decide I’ll just grab something to drink and take a nap. It’s been a while since I’ve had enough time to myself to be lazy.
Sliding my deep purple coat off my shoulders, I give a sigh of relief. I didn't realise how warm it was wearing a sweater under this thing! The top is the next thing to come off, falling to the floor by my feet with the jacket. My flat, bare chest still feels awkward, so I enter my bedroom to look for a T-shirt.
The clutter of my bedroom would be an eyesore, but it's not a bother to me. It’s the kind of mess where only I know where everything is. Digging into my wardrobe, I find a cream-coloured shirt that’s just a size bigger than I usually wear. It’s one of my favourites due to its bagginess, and I try to wear it whenever possible. I slide it over my head, ruffling my dark hair. Since I’m already in my bedroom, I swap out my blue-grey jeans for a pair of black shorts and walk back into the main room.
As soon as I get out of my room, there’s knocking at the front door. “Ugh,” I groan. I’m not sure who it could be, but the banging is frantic and heavy. My instincts say to ignore them, but my morals say to open it, and the latter gets the better of me. I twist the doorknob, and the door swings open to reveal a bloodied man in a tattered white suit with long black hair. Oddly, a floral black haori draped over his shoulders is the only thing untouched.
“What the—?” I try to ask, but he pushes me out of the way, coughing blood into his sleeve. My entire heart stops trying to figure this situation out. First and foremost, his scent is driving me crazy. I’m unsure what to make of it, with the metallic stench of blood interfering every time I try to figure it out. He slumps down against the hardwood floor and then looks up at me.
“Close the door,” he hisses. I don't move, mostly out of shock. “Please!” His frightened tone makes me oblige, my hand pushing the door back until I hear it click. Although the man is sketchy, I don't want to hurt him if he's harmless. “Thank you…”
Running footsteps outside the hall become apparent to me, and the man crawls into the corner near my bedroom, covering himself with his haori. I press my ear to the door, trying to listen to the people running. I'm immediately alerted to two men, their voices strangely familiar, although not quite.
“Where did he go?” one of them whispers. “We just had him!”
The second man groans. “Sneaky motherfucker. With how long he's been around, I don't doubt he knows how to escape.” There's a pause before he speaks up. “Give it up. We're not going to be able to find him again. Next time.” They both walk away, and I peel my ear away from the door.
Immediately, one thing is clear: demon. This man is a demon, given away by his confusing smell and the hunters outside my door. I know I should open the door and tell them, just kill him right here—but I can’t. Whether it’s his human appearance, his pleading, the blood or just how gorgeous he is, the idea of killing him seems outrageous. Along with that, I’m certainly not awake enough for murder, and I have to focus on the bleeding man in my apartment. Slowly, I turn my head back to find him lifeless against the floor.
“Hey!” I yell on impulse. I drop to my knees, grabbing his shoulders and shaking the life back into him. He groans. “Wake up! Don’t fall asleep!” He doesn’t respond, freaking me out even more. I can’t believe I’m trying to save a demon, but I don’t necessarily want a dead man in my apartment.
Suddenly, I get an idea. “Tell me your name, okay? Tell me about yourself.” It’s the most I can do to keep him awake. “Please, anything.”
His eyes flutter open a bit. “Vox…Akuma.”
Oh god, it’s that one. Now I remember. Throughout my community, I’ve heard hundreds of rumours about the Voice Demon—from an alleged stint with alcoholism in the late 1900s to how he falls head over heels for every man he meets. A shiver goes down my spine as I recall his persuasive ability. I hope he doesn’t use that on me; however, I’ve been told he tries to use it very little. Nevertheless, that’s just hearsay. How would I know if he manipulates me? He’s a demon!
Vox takes a sharp breath and wraps his arms around his abdomen. “Is that where it hurts?” It’s as if he doesn’t hear me because he just whimpers, eyes squeezed shut. “Vox, where did they get you?” I ask louder. He must hear me that time. One arm shifts to reveal a large gash and a metal arrowhead dug almost an inch into the skin. The temperature in the room must have lowered at least ten because I almost cry when I see it. “Oh my god. Okay, I’ll get some stuff to fix it. Don’t remove the arrowhead!” Out of the corner of my eye, I think I can see him smile as I sprint to the bathroom.
Somewhere in here, I hid a first aid kit. Being a demon slayer—although that title’s on hold for tonight—I get into situations where I’m wounded frequently. If I ever make it to my apartment with anything unbandaged, I’ll always have something to use. Or if I ever need to clean up a civilian in my apartment for some reason. I guess that, too.
I quickly grab a bottle of peroxide and bandages from my kit, along with a warm damp towel, and run back into the main room. Vox is still near-dead on the floor, like paint smeared across a canvas. What’s changed is his breathing is heavier now, and that’s all that matters. Kind of.
“Vox, I got some bandages. Do you think you could roll over so I can fix your stomach?” The demon pulls his haori over his body, whining. Is he embarrassed, or just scared? I’m not sure which I believe less. “Please? You’re hurt. And you’re bleeding into my floor.”
That seems to get him to move, and strangely fast, because he moves over onto his back before I can say another word. A small stream of blood drips from his mouth and nose, and most of it is spilling out of the spot near the arrowhead. At least he didn’t remove it like I said not to.
“Okay, hold still. This is going to hurt, but you’ll be okay, mhm?” For some reason, my hand goes to Vox’s shoulder to comfort him. A small smile is visible under all the dull red.
“Mhm.”
—
After I finished cleaning and bandaging his wounds, Vox was exhausted, but enlisted himself to clean the spot on the floor he bled into. I stopped him obviously, so he resigned to laying on my couch and watching me through his half-closed dark reddish amber eyes. It was awkward at first, but I got used to his eyes on me as I mopped. The floor ended up a bit warped; it’s not like I’d notice, and I care much less. Once I finished, I offered to make some food, and he happily accepted. He ate his bagel in what seemed like seconds. I wonder how hungry he must be.
He couldn’t keep wearing his stained white suit, what with the rips and especially the large tear from the arrow. He is a bit larger than me in stature, but I was able to find a particularly large shirt in my drawers and a pair of grey sweatpants I bought once that were a few sizes too big than I realized. It might hurt me to say this, but I can’t deny my heart stopped when he came out of the bathroom in my clothes. For a demon, he is pretty. Ugh, stop it! He’s still evil. Right?
Right now, he and I are sitting on opposite sides of the couch. He’s got a glass of water and is drinking it slowly as he watches the TV. I can’t seem to focus on the show, which seems to be some kind of animated comedy. My sleepiness has started to creep back up on me, making it difficult to stay awake. Some part of me wants to rest, but there’s still a voice in my head that’s untrustworthy of the demon I’ve let loose in my home. My internal conflict is interrupted by the man’s deep yet soft voice.
“You can go to bed.”
“Hm—huh?” I’ve been holding my head up with my arm and didn’t even realize my eyes were shut. It takes a moment to comprehend what he said. “No, I’m alright.”
“I’m serious, sir. You deserve it. I caused you so much trouble tonight, you should at least sleep well,” Vox mumbles timidly. His words make no sense until I realize why. He called me sir!
I clear my throat, trying to sound less tired. “You don’t have to call me that. My name is Shoto.”
Vox giggles and nods in response. “Shoto. That’s a beautiful name. Well, Shoto, you can go to sleep. If you don’t mind, I’ll be watching the television until I get tired myself. I promise by dawn you’ll be rid of me.” There’s a bit of pain on his face, but not the kind stemming from his wounds.
I’m hesitant to respond, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. My hand reaches out to his shoulder, but carefully so I don’t press on his bandages. “If you need more time to recover, you can stay as long as you like.” A thought occurs to me. “Hey, I don’t have work tomorrow. I have all the time in the world to make sure you’re in good health. You can leave if you’d like, but—”
A gentle hug cuts me off from the demon. It catches me by surprise, but I quickly find myself sinking into it. Maybe he’s just using his demon hotness to persuade me into something stupid, but for now, I’ll relish it. Vox is strangely warm, making the hug just that much better.
I start falling asleep again but catch myself before I slump into his arms even further. “Well then, I’ll…go to bed. Goodnight, Vox.”
“Goodnight, darling.”