Work Text:
Shoto wraps the blanket around his shoulders tightly. His butt aches from sitting on the roof, but he can’t bring himself to move. It’s peaceful up here. The sky is clear, allowing the crescent moon to shine down on them gently. Being in the middle of the mountains meant he could clearly make out several constellations. They dotted the inky blackness in shimmering little lights, dressing the edges of the moon and flaring out far beyond what the eye could see. Though he can’t name any of them, their presence layers his mind with tales of bravery, love and sadness. The second theme clings to his throat like stones at the bottom of a lake.
Love.
What a wild concept.
It meant so many things: family, friends, confidants, soulmates. Shoto often wished he had a soulmate. Someone so close to him, down to their atoms. The gravitational pull that would draw him to their embrace and them to his. The one person who could soothe him like no other and vice versa. He craved that closeness, that sureness that came with having.
Though, he could say he had one. A person he felt that draw to. The string pulled taught like a bow so tightly that his being crackled with affection. He supposed Cupid used that connection to shoot his devastating arrow that was lodged into Shoto’s ribs. The tendrils of incomprehensible admiration swirled through his extremities as if to push out all other emotions. It had to be true because the way his heart filled around his love was all-encompassing. Whatever graced his mind prior to seeing them was wrung out to make way for his adoration. Shoto became something else. A steward of appreciation and aid.
That was normal right?
To see the person who plagues your mind so sweetly and have your whole existence overwritten to make way for the vast emotions they gave you. Shoto couldn’t believe that love could be experienced any other way. Any less and it could be shadowed by doubt or other affections. Any more and he might just pop.
They held him, mind, body and soul, in their hands. The fingers kept him whole as they pressed together the pieces of Shoto’s disarray. They made him make sense. They made him feel like himself. How peculiar that he would need someone else to know himself. Then again, they learned with him. Before their presence, he was Shoto the Demon Slayer. The man with unforgiving turmoil in his mind and demonic ichor on his hands. He painted his eyes with it. Made his bed with the sadness of loss. Ate his bread to taste regret. Washed his body in plans of murder. He inevitably lost sight of the people he once held so dear. It felt like their spirits took home in the target corners of the world. Even Esther stopped humming to him through the hilt of his blade.
But then Shoto was found. His Love beat him so badly in the midst of battle he could finally feel all the pain he carried. His limbs felt so constricted, he caved inwards. The pain flooded out his eyes until he couldn’t make out the person's silhouette. He cried for his family. He screamed out his anger. He cursed at the gods. He let go until he ran out of energy.
He fell into silence once it was all done, back still curled into the earth. He thought to himself, what a disgrace; to be so rooted in a day of his life that he lost the following 15 years. Surely, his foe would find him laughable. He truly deserved to finally die there. For all his years of revenge, somewhere along the way he’d lost his objective and his identity. What more could he do as the hollow shell he came to be? Perhaps in death, he would find peace or be granted another chance to be who the universe created him to be.
He let his body go limp, too exhausted from fighting himself and the world. He welcomed the katana.
Where he should have found utter agony, Shoto found warmth. He found the slippery feeling of silk caress his cheek. His body settled into lean muscle, black hair, and a deep voice whispered to him, “its ok.”
Its ok.
That was all. The person didn’t say anything more. Warmth settled on his back. It slid around in soothing circles. Their body stilled and their breathed took on a calmness unknown in war. They just held Shoto with sheltering arms he’d only found in his mother and Esther. 15 years he’d been without a place to hide and along comes this mysterious person who accepted him just after a battle too the death. How crazy is that? He should have fought or ran or did something besides just kneeling there. Their scent wafted in the air like before. Demon. But there was more there.
Pity.
Sympathy.
Worry.
Confusion.
Protectiveness.
His own shaky hands latched onto the robes despite his logic. His face buried into the pale neck. The tears began to flow again, but this time, they cooled his burning cheeks. They ran like rivers until he lost consciousness. In the morning he would find himself in those same arms. The arms which swore to him in a dim room with the rising of dawn peeking through the curtains, “I will never leave you. I’ll help you.”
Five years passed in cascading events. Shoto allowed himself to take the broken pieces of his soul in his scarred hands. Together, they nurtured it with the help of several other friends made along the way.
He now sat on that cold roof in the January air, a new person. Shoto, the pancake lover. Shoto, the gun slinger. Shoto, the infamous blanket stealer. Shoto, the man so infatuated with his savior that he gave all the love and support he was first shown in turn. Even if it forced cracks in his being all over again.
“You’re awfully quiet. I would have thought you’d make a comment on the stars by now.”
“They’re pretty.” He gave the words like an offering. If his love wanted him to speak, he will.
“They are.”
Shoto didn’t have anything else to contribute. He enjoyed this closeness too much. The two feet of distance felt like centimeters.
“Are you alright, Shoto?”
Shoto stirred, drawing his knees up to his chest with a light laugh. “Honestly? I don’t think I’ve ever been better.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
He was answered with a soft hum. The golden eyes set upon him now turned back to the sky, the lids half closed. Shoto took this moment to dip his head down. He laid his arms crossed on his knees and pressed his cheek into them. Like this, he could admire his Love freely.
The skin around the man’s eyes stayed its permanent shade of red. Shoto thought about how nice the color contrasted with the pale skin. He traced his Love’s face with his gaze. He followed from the eyes up to the man’s manicured eyebrows, across sharp cheek bones and down the prominent Addams apple. His Love was beautiful even in a black hoodie and sweats. Their everyday wear had been shucked in favor of comfortable clothes in the late hours of the night. Getting the expensive robes dirty would be a pain later. Any straps Shoto usually wore would have gotten caught on the tiles below him.
Shoto distantly thought his lover would be stunning in even the worst Victorian outfits. Must be that demonic charm or cocky attitude.
“You’re staring.”
“Am I? I didn’t notice.” Shoto continued his tracing. “Feeling intimidated, Vox?”
“Hardly.” Vox turned back to him with a lazy smirk. “Maybe if you looked more awake, I would.”
The lie made them both chuckle. Vox had stopped fearing Shoto around the time they moved to the west coast some three years ago.
“I’m not falling asleep. I’m just… At peace.”
Vox’s smirk dropped and his eyes widened for a moment. His eyes flitted between looking at both of Shoto’s before his smile began to slowly form. The look was so soft, Shoto’s fingers twitched unconsciously. He wanted to feel the smile actively forming under his fingertips.
Vox simply said, “I’m glad” before laying down. The moment was over too soon. Shoto willed Vox to look back, to give him just one more second to feel like Vox could only see him. Unfortunately, the demon never did.
Shoto weakly hummed his agreement. He followed Vox’s gaze up to the stars, looking for further conversation. Something, anything, to keep this going.
“What are you looking at?”
“Aliens.”
Shoto snorted, throwing a stray twig he found by him at Vox. Vox laughed, throwing it back and missing completely. Shoto gave him a teasing look which was met with a roll of Vox’s eyes. That’s better.
“Okay, okay. Just don’t laugh.” Shoto feigned surprise and placed a hand on his chest. Vox snorted, reached over and nudged Shoto with his knuckles. “Oh, shut up.” He let his arm fall, face resting into a pensive look. His attention fell back to the stars. “I'm just looking for the Andromeda and Perseus constellations. They’re somewhere up there.”
“I didn’t know you knew constellations like that.”
“I don’t.” Vox admitted. “I learned them recently.”
“Oh? From where? Can you teach me?” Shoto placed his hand down on the roof. Their hands were inches apart. Like this, Shoto could just reach out and feel his warm skin. He could intertwine their fingers, pull him close, and hold him. He could touch the soft skin he’d felt through his hoodie just hours before. He could dip down and taste the lips he longed for—
“Ike taught me.”
The scent of lavender.
Shoto froze. Hot rods of jealousy stabbed through his chest, cracks forming on the surface. It took one glance at the pink dusting Vox’s cheeks for his heart to wilt. He cast his eyes down somewhere off in the trees, unable to himself to look at the man who held his heart. “Oh. Really?”
“Yeah, last week on our first night here. He took me out by the lake around 2am to stargaze. Taught me a few constellations I’d never heard of. I really like the story of Andromeda and Perseus.”
Shoto’s hand curled into a fist. He felt his eyes get misty. “Oh. I’ve never heard of them.”
“It’s a really cool story actually!” Vox sat up, launching into a recap of the time he spent with Ike and the stories he learned. He spoke animatedly, using his hands like indicators.
Shoto mourned the loss of proximity. Somehow, he felt colder despite being clad in a thick blanket. Lavender continued to drench the air making it hard to breath. The reflex to gag tickled the back of his throat uncomfortably. If Vox had paid more attention, he would notice the way Shoto tried uselessly hiding his nose under the blanket.
Once again, he was reminded of his place in Vox’s life. Don’t get him wrong, he loved being in his life at all, much less being one of his closest friends. Being allowed to meet the man at all saved him. The morning after being prepared to die was filled with mercy he hadn’t been shown since losing his village. 15 years down the line, filled with life and dreams again, Shoto owed everything to Vox. The pain of being second best couldn't touch the sea of hurt he felt all those years ago. He could manage for Vox. He’d do it over and over if it meant he could see that enamored look in the demon’s eyes. If it meant he could smell lavender until it just became part of his every day background.
Shoto didn’t mean to interrupt but he couldn't stop himself. The words drifted out of him, tinged in unspoken hidden sadness. “You really love Ike. Don’t you, Vox?”
Vox blinked, turning to Shoto with genuine surprise. For one, lingering beat, Shoto hoped he was wrong. He fooled himself just one more time. Just in case his nose was failing him. Maybe he’d lost the blessing. It could just be a new scent connected to Vox. It wasn’t uncommon for a person’s personal scent to evolve. I could just be hallucinating, he thought desperately. It could just be sickness, or mentally formed. I can deny it just a little longer—
Vox looked away, holding his face with one hand. The pink deepened to a rosy red. Even in the night, it was clear.
Please let me be wrong. Look at me for once. Look at me—
“…Is it that obvious?”
He was drowning. Shoto was drowning in fully bloomed lavender so thick in the air he could cut it with Ether’s knife. He could bottle it and sell it as perfume. It clung to his skin so tightly, he knew when he woke up tomorrow, he would still smell it. Wave after wave crashed into him. He wanted to plug his nose, tear it off, throw it away in the bin, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t because that would mean never knowing Vox in a way no one else could. He had to endure for his selfish needs. He needed that intimacy.
Shoto gagged on it, huffing for clean, unscented air he knew he’d never find.
Vox threw a hand out, worriedly, “Whoa, hey, are you ok?”
“Fine-“ Shoto hacked out coughs hard enough to make him nauseous. Vox moved to touch his shoulder or back. The thought of it, for the first time ever, sent bitter sadness through Shoto’s veins. He felt sick. “No—*cough* I’m fine!” He willed himself to breathe no matter how much it stunk. “I’m fine! Spit went down the wrong pipe!”
Vox gave him a disbelieving look but hesitantly moved back. “Okay… Just take a second.”
Shoto nodded and continued his mental battle against his senses. It must have only been a couple of minutes, but it felt longer. Even as he acclimated to the smell, he could feel his hatred for lavender growing with his desire for it. Would it be the same scent if it were him and not Ike? Or would he be haunted by the sight, smell, and sound of something he could never have?
The silence stretched, soon becoming uncomfortable. It was so unlike them. It’s my fault.
“… You should tell him.”
It was Vox’s turn to cough this time. He spluttered for words. “What?!”
“You should tell him.” Shoto swallowed the lump in his throat. “He’s at the lake right now.”
“What are you on about? It’s not like it would amount to anything. It’s not like he feels the same.”
Shoto didn’t answer. He forced his breathing to stay even, his lip to stay still. His eyes darted to anywhere but Vox’s.
“Shoto? Does… Does he love me back?” Vox crawled over and lightly grabbed Shoto’s shoulder when he didn’t answer again. “Shoto?”
Shoto steeled himself. His heart screamed for him to stop. He can barely breathe with the scent of lavender assaulting him so ruthlessly. The cracks in his being extended so far but the sound of Vox’s hopeful tone pasted it closed temporarily. Maybe Ike will get everything Shoto wished for himself. It hurt to know, but the happiness Vox would feel? After all his hard work? After losing everything himself?
Shoto couldn’t deny him that, nor could he deny the truth any longer. Vox wasn’t in love with him. He couldn’t change that no matter how hard he wished. Their touches were solely platonic. Vox never secretly overthought all his words or his mannerisms. Vox never yearned to press himself into Shoto’s side. Vox didn’t want more than what they had. Shoto had no right to force emotions that were never there. He didn’t have that power. Besides that, Vox gave Shoto his life back. Who was he to divert the demon from his own love?
He had to pinch himself so hard, his arm bruised. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, he does.”
“Shit.” Vox sat back on his haunches. “Shit. Oh, my gods. You’re joking.”
“…”
“You’re not joking. Holy shit. I have to- the lake? But I don’t want to just leave you here-“
Shoto forced a bright smile. He held a finger to his lips like he was hushing Vox. “But don’t tell Ike I told you.”
Vox’s mouth flapped open and closed a few times. He seemed to struggle with the new information and his new options. He gave Shoto this look that screamed uncertainty. Shoto gritted his teeth.
Just a little more.
“He likes baby’s breath. It grows some two miles behind the cabin. There’s some paper in the kitchen and a roll of twine.”
Please don’t go.
“You can grab some and head over.”
Stay.
“Make sure you use the right words.”
I love you.
Vox nodded along, mentally taking notes. Shoto could see him building his courage. Even if he was a 400-year-old demon, the man was more human than most. Shoto loved that about him.
Vox carded a hand through the locks of hair Shoto fantasized about braiding. “Fuck, I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. He already loves you. Go and be happy. Don’t forget about me, ok?”
Vox scoffed. “I’d never.” He fiddled with his hands, taking a shuttering breath. The demon rose to his feet, clumsily making his way to the little window they had used to access the roof. He paused at the windowsill, turning to Shoto. He gave him that look. The same look of absolute happiness. That look of softness he wore when Shoto first gave in to him and accepted his help. The one that most likely kickstarted Shoto’s slow decent into madness. “Thank you.”
Shoto’s nails dug into his arm with such ferocity, a drop of blood slipped out. He knew Vox was too far gone to even notice the smell of it, should it escape the blanket. “Shut up. I’ll leave the door unlocked. I’m going to bed soon.”
Vox grinned, stepping into the house.
“And Vox?”
The man turned around, stuck his head out the window. Shoto let himself truly sink into his love for the man. Let it pool in his feet, fill his body up to the point it bled across his ears in a clandestine blush. He let the vase around his heart shatter. He let the sharp edges tear his soul with want. Cupid’s arrow perforated his lungs, went through his spine and out the other side. Aphrodite screamed her delight so loudly, the wind ruffles Shoto’s bangs. It was like a nova blasted in his body, wrecking the universe with the force of his love. Then, all at once, Shoto let it finally begin to settle into his atoms. He rested in it. The metaphorical sun set brought night to his selfishness putting it to sleep.
“I’ll miss you.”
Vox tilted his head and chuckled at his exaggerative friend. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Good. Hurry up, before he heads back.”
Vox gave him a thumbs up, running full speed out of the room and down the stairs.
Shoto laughed. He laughed so fully, he cried. He cried for himself. He cried for Vox’s happiness. He cried for Ike’s horribly perfect matching scent of lemongrass. He cried for his future as best man. He cried for everything he wished he could never have.
When the tears stopped coming, when he felt too exhausted to think, Shoto curled up on the roof and slept. In the morning, he was met with the new couple covered in small love bites and holding each other close. Vox winked at him, burying his face in Ike’s neck. Ike had never smiled harder.
Shoto came down with a terrible fever for the rest of the trip.