Chapter Text
There are many things that Edgar Allan Poe, a detective and a writer succeeding in both fields, doesn’t know or, for a lack of better word, doesn’t understand. There’s a certain mystery around some of the stuff that by standards of the society are a norm and yet, Edgar could never quite comprehend.
One of them is and always will be an abandonment of a child and leaving them to fend for themselves. For all the years and all the logical excuses his foster family provided, Edgar’s empty hole in his chest and a feeling of having failed somewhere, could never explain why Edgar’s father had run off as soon as his mother died and Edgar himself never wanted to find out. Perhaps it was the man’s cowardice and insecurity that he could not raise Edgar on his own; perhaps it was the man’s lack of responsibility; and a third option that Edgar tried to not consider was that his father simply didn’t care about him at all.
There’s a feeling that accompanies thinking about his father, one that Edgar tries so hard to bury. The feeling that ruins everything Edgar wants to achieve, because once Edgar gets close to someone; once he lets someone in or is at least close to, the whispers of “they will leave you” and “you won’t be good enough” start to make him hesitate. Make him withdraw. A lot of it stemmed from Edgar’s own self-doubts, and a lot of it could probably be linked to his most recent defeat and a proof of Edgar’s own incompetence – the day Edogawa Ranpo came into his life.
Now. Edogawa Ranpo, Japan’s—no. World’s greatest detective, came in barreling on Edgar’s door in a form of easy smile and a firm, yet gentle confidence that seemed to clash with Edgar’s low self-esteem that manifested in loud, dramatic announcements of beating Ranpo. For quite a while that’s what it was – the idea of being better; of being worthy of being someone’s opponent. It bordered on obsessive – those six years spent writing a mystery novel that still wasn’t enough.
Edgar thinks that it would never be. Enough, that is. Not with Edogawa Ranpo’s intelligence.
And that is the second mystery of Edgar’s – the man that despite being younger than him by mere two years, the man who took in stride Edgar’s effort and the man who doesn’t think it’s a waste of time to keep talking to Edgar and he—
Edgar doesn’t understand it. Can’t understand it or maybe won’t – because comprehending what Edogawa Ranpo wants is like reading a book filled with plot twists and no real ending; despite seemingly innocent, Edogawa Ranpo is not an open book. Or perhaps, he is, but written in a dead, ancient language Edgar’s not fluent in.
So when Edgar’s being invited over and over again to the Agency’s building, greeted like he’s an old friend and treated – sometimes – to a piece of candy, the first thought is that the man is making fun of him; possibly just hanging out with Edgar for the laughs. Karl, however, who’s been with Edgar for a long, long time now and who is very sensitive to people who mean Edgar harm, doesn’t seem to hiss at Ranpo – in fact, a lot of times he finds Karl hanging out with Ranpo, wrapped around his neck like a scarf. It makes Edgar miss his warmth a lot.
(There are times when Karl is playful, sneaking out and hiding Ranpo’s favorite snacks around the building. Edgar is hesitant to say whether that’s a real bother or an extra exercise since Ranpo never has any problems figuring where the stolen candies are).
It leads to situation like this – when the Agency has a lazy day with barely any cases being brought to their attention – where Edgar is invited over, sat by the table he occupied that one time when he came over for a party (and was left to fend for himself, that stunk), and talked to. It’s those moments where Karl doesn’t stray too far from him, instead he makes himself comfortable in Edgar’s arms as if sensing the man’s anxiety at being so far away from home where he knows he’s safe.
This time, Ranpo joins him almost immediately, instead of hanging around by his desk like he usually does, and nearly throws himself on the couch. Forcing himself to not flinch away, as he usually does since he’s not that used to people being energetic in a good way, he looks over at him and squeezes Karl a bit before saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring any books today.”
Ranpo hums, “It’s fine.” Then, he looks at Karl and smiles, “No hugs from my favorite raccoon?”
Karl blinks at him, before nuzzling Edgar’s collarbone. Ranpo tilts his head at him, before slowly trailing his eyes up to Edgar’s covered eyes and he rests his hand on his palm, “Ah, and I was waiting for my daily dose of Karl. What a shame.”
Edgar strokes Karl’s fur. Perhaps it’s that lazy day that gets to him, that makes him so nervous to be around. In the safety of his house, Edgar never has to worry about making a fool out of himself; he doesn’t have to force himself to speak when his throat closes up on him.
“I’m sure Karl will come to you soon enough. He always does.”
“Mhm. Maybe. It’s possible he won’t leave your side today, though.” There’s a secret smile on Ranpo’s face as he peers at Edgar’s face, “You could have stayed home if you didn’t feel well.”
Face flushing at that, Edgar shakes his head, “I’m feeling alright.”
Not believing him, Ranpo nods, “Right. Of course.”
Wanting to fix the situation despite not having done anything wrong, Edgar continues, “It’s really fine. I wanted to come.”
I wanted to see you, goes unspoken.
Ranpo stills for a second, before sighing and leaning backwards, “It’s a really boring day. There are no real cases and my candy stash is decreasing.”
Karl peeks his head up. Edgar feels Karl’s disappointment at not having anything to steal despite Karl not even making a sound. He pets his head and smiles when Karl leans into contact. Times like these Edgar is envious and he’s envious of other people who are so easy to initiate contact, to hug people. After years and years of not having anyone close, Edgar admits to being a little touch starved and sometimes, Karl’s affections aren’t enough to ease that need.
Glancing back at Ranpo, Edgar says, “Perhaps you could go shopping?”
“Mhm.” He mutters back, not convinced.
A lazy day, huh?
“I—“ he hesitates, then clears his throat and speaks a little louder, “I could come with you. If you want.”
Ranpo looks like he’s actually considering it, before he shakes his head and replies, “Don’t wanna.” Then, he looks at Edgar, and while Edgar doesn’t see his eyes, he knows the man is trying to figure out something. “Hey—“ he starts.
And Edgar feels hopeful. That is, before someone yells Ranpo’s name and Ranpo is sighing, irritated and bored out of his mind. He stands up, brushes his inverness cape and for a moment, Edgar thinks it’s actually quite graceful.
Then, Karl lets out a hiss when Ranpo moves to stalk to his desk and Edgar is ready to apologize when Ranpo actually turns around and levels Karl with a look. There’s a minute of silence before whatever Karl’s been trying to communicate dawns on him and he nods, as if making a decision.
And then he pets Edgar’s hair.
Too shocked to move, Karl’s pleased squeak not going unnoticed, Edgar stares, wide-eyed.
“My shift ends in an hour,” Ranpo says and Edgar tries to blink away his sudden daze, cheeks feeling on fire, “if you wait for me, we can go to your place and go over that new mystery idea you had.”
Then he’s gone just like that, leaving Edgar with a mess in his head and a flaming cheeks and probably a heart that seems to experience a failure, but Karl only nuzzles closer to him. If he weren’t a raccoon, Edgar is sure he’d be purring in self-satisfaction.
Casual touches, Edgar finds, are quite complicated for someone who isolated himself from people for six years then suddenly started going out and meeting very energetic, very touchy-feely people. That was not supposed to be a problem, not after Edgar decided to quit the Guild and rent an apartment in Japan.
However, it is one. A problem, that is.
The Agency likes to be close with each other, he observes. Dazai, the bandaged man Edgar tries to stay away from because he reminds him of things that he’d rather leave buried, is fond of wrapping his arms around his coworkers shoulders; Kyouga, the girl whose party Edgar has been invited to, keeps close to people she trusts and leans on their side; Tanizaki siblings are. Well. Edgar would rather not comment on them. Kunikida, the sensible one, Edgar found out, isn’t one for close relations and he mostly keeps to himself, but he does clap someone on their back when they do a good job; same with Kenji, who is actually always in their space and yet at respectable distance if they uncomfortable.
The president, Edgar is not sure. Doctor Yosano is quite fond of ruffling people’s hair. Edgar knows it from experience.
“Your hair is so fluffy it’s impossible to not mess with it,” she said when Edgar stammered his question the first time it happened. “I’m sure Ranpo would appreciate you clipping it back more, though.”
And that brings Edgar to the man above – Edogawa Ranpo.
Who is everywhere and up in everybody’s space. He leans into their sides, he touches their shoulders, their backs. Ruffles their hair and side hugs them. And more often than not, Edgar realizes that this, too, is reserved; quiet and happens only when nobody is looking.
And lately, it’s begun to happen to Edgar as well. It’s small at first, small enough for Edgar to miss it if he weren’t so attuned to Ranpo in general.
(And he is. Attuned. A lot. So much it honestly scares him.)
Karl knows it’s strange for Edgar and he never leaves his presence when it happens – a touch here and there, a pat on the head that moment and a ruffling of his hair a bit later. Each time the skin contact on Edgar’s body sends tingles and shivers down his spine and he feels hot. Not in a bothered kind of way – just hot. Warm. Those touches aren’t anything big and yet they reassure Edgar that he’s okay, too.
And lately, it’s been weighting on him a lot – that he might not be okay.
The thing is Edgar doesn’t understand casual touch and when he tries to reciprocate he backtracks almost the second those thoughts get into his head. The only touch Edgar remember is scalding and painful – a pull on his hair there, a ruler to his hands here. On occasions, Edgar was slapped. Rarer he got beat up. Kids didn’t like how different he is and threw sand at him. All those interactions and more made Edgar grow up and resent any closer contact.
In fact, the first time someone touched him and he didn’t see it coming, he flinched so hard he almost fell flat on his butt. Another time, he just froze. He likes to think that he’s getting better at that, that he doesn’t feel so alien when the touch isn’t meant to harm but to soothe, but he knows.
Ranpo is not fooled. He never actually is.
He comments on it quite early when they start hanging out, too. But it was so long ago that it totally slipped Edgar’s mind, that off-hand comment about it.
Until he brings it up again.
“Karl is more clingy to you when you’re anxious, isn’t he.”
Startled, Edgar doesn’t register his words at first. Mind focused more on setting the oven right. “Pardon?”
“Karl,” Ranpo repeats and although there’s a slightly irritated edge to his voice at having to say the same thing twice, Edgar doesn’t sense his anger directed at him, “He’s more clingy when you’re anxious.”
And then he sends a pointed look to said raccoon on Edgar’s shoulders, as if pointing to a culprit.
“Oh,” Edgar manages to get out, “I didn’t know.”
Ranpo hums, legs swinging back and forth on Edgar’s kitchen counter, “I figured.”
When Edgar doesn’t make any effort to elaborate on that, Ranpo asks, “Why does he do that?”
“I’m not sure,” Edgar replies slowly, as if considering it himself, “but he’s always been close to me. Perhaps he just senses it.”
Ranpo narrows his eyes – Edgar didn’t know it was possible – and lets out a groan, “Does that mean I make you anxious, Poe-kun?”
Perhaps the question was phrased like this and yet, Edgar could only hear his insecurities yell over and over again that it’s a bother, that Karl is annoying to Ranpo. As if faced with a serious issue, Edgar takes his time answering and when he opens his mouth, it’s to only utter two words, “…no, you don’t?”
“That sounds more like a question to me,” Ranpo states bluntly.
Edgar flushes, “You don’t—make me anxious, that it. I’m just—“
Socially awkward to the point of the slightest interaction making me want to go home and never, ever leave the safety of my bed.
Ranpo tilts his head, waiting. Edgar trails off, unsure.
“I’m just like that.” He ends up saying, “It’s nobody’s fault I’m—like this.”
Ladies and gentleman, Edgar Allan Poe, a writer.
To be completely honest, that could be a lie. But it’s not Ranpo himself that makes Edgar feel so on edge, perhaps it’s just the knowledge that with Ranpo’s intelligence he could use anything Edgar could show him and use it against him; he could take Edgar’s most precious moments, twist them and make them painful.
But that’s not what’s the problem. No. Of course not. Edogawa Ranpo is not like this. Not even Edgar’s doubts could turn him into a monster like this.
It’s the fact that he wouldn’t do that, is what makes Edgar so hesitant, so careful, so anxious. Ranpo is not Edgar’s foster parents. He’s not anything Edgar could pick up apart and figure out on a whim. He’s an open book written in a dead language.
“I see.” Ranpo replies slowly.
Edgar doesn’t face him, but he finally sets the oven and lets Karl jump from his shoulders down on the floor. Ranpo watches him go, before he turns to Edgar, “What cookies did you bake?”
“Chocolate Chip.”
A smile widens on Ranpo’s face and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when he opens them to stare at Edgar. “My favorite.”
And when he rests his head on his palm, tilting it to look at Edgar in that way that makes his breath hitch, Karl claims his spot on Ranpo’s hair. The sight is so silly, so unexpected, that Edgar’s corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Ranpo, for his part, doesn’t even twitch, used to by now to Karl’s affection.
“I hope you’ll like them, Ranpo-san.” Edgar says.
“Why do you keep adding the –san, Poe-kun? Come on. Try saying it without it.”
Edgar is so very glad his hair is in the way and covers at least half of his face, because this way it’s less likely that Ranpo will notice his blush. But Ranpo doesn’t budge on that, that one is clear without the man saying anything, so Edgar takes a deep breath and says, “Ranpo-kun.”
Ranpo drops his head and whines, “Without it, Poe-kun! Without it!”
Edgar turns away to fiddle with his cup, a weak excuse just to avoid Ranpo’s watchful eyes, but an excuse nonetheless, “You add the honorific to my name, too. Actually. You don’t even use my name, just my surname.”
“Yes,” Ranpo says patiently, “but that’s because your name is too English and too mouthful.” Edgar doesn’t comment on that, so the man sighs, “Do you want me to use your name?”
Edgar freezes, blush turning into a scarlet from the burning on his cheeks, and Ranpo continues, oblivious to the effect that one suggestion has on him. “Well, do you? If that’s what it will make you drop the honorific then I’m all in for it.”
“No!” he blurts out, turning around suddenly. Ranpo blinks, surprised, “I mean. That’s fine. My last name. It’s fine.”
Then, the surprise turns into something more mischievous and Ranpo grins, “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely!” Edgar reassures him.
And Ranpo is still grinning, as if he just learned something interesting, but it seems that he files it away for future purposes because he only shrugs and jumps down from the kitchen counter. “If you say so. Come, Karl, let’s make a mess in the living room.” He only stops in the threshold to look at Edgar and say, “Let us know when the cookies are done!” and he’s gone and with him, obediently following Karl.
Somehow, Edgar thinks he should have expected it.
Edgar is not friendless – is what he’d like to say but is too scared to admit in fear of that knowledge being a part of his imagination. He’s not, however, entirely alone or at least, he doesn’t seem to be.
Louisa May Alcott, the 18 year old girl with short, light hazel bobcut-like hairstyle, which ends above her shoulders and green eyes surrounded by round glasses, is Edgar’s I’m-terrified-of-heights and my-anxiety-keeps-me-from-making-friends buddy, so to speak. They both met when Fitzgerald recruited them and after the Guild broken up they both kept contact.
Which usually leads to them meeting at the café, close to the Agency, but far enough that neither Louisa nor Edgar have to worry of meeting the whole group at once.
“You seem to be doing well, Edgar.” Is what Louisa says the day they sit down in the café after not talking to each other for some time.
Edgar, who’s never been the one to share much about himself, nods slightly, but doesn’t elaborate other than to say that, “I’ve been doing okay, thank you.”
Louisa smiles and it’s gentle and kind and Edgar is glad she’s gotten past her previous anxiety to speak to him. Despite her age, she’s very intelligent, capable of holding deep, meaningful conversations and more than content to just sit in silence if the situation calls for it.
For someone so small, so young and fearful, Louisa is braver than many people Edgar has known his whole life.
“You look brighter, too.” Edgar comments after they order their drinks. “Have you found Fitzgerald?”
Louisa’s face falls a little as she shakes her head, “No. But I’m getting close and that’s what matters.”
A door chimes, signalizing that someone else entered the café. Louisa and Edgar ignore that.
“That’s good, then.” Edgar nods.
Louisa tilts her head, “But what about you?”
“Me?”
“Yes. You look better but—“
“But…?” Edgar encourages.
“But you still look like – excuse my language – shit.” Someone comments from behind them and both of the whirl around to look at them. “No offence to you, Ed. But what’s up with you? And where’s Karl?”
Lucy Maud Montgomery, the 19-year old girl with long, dark red hair with choppy bangs put in two thick braids and green eyes, is their newest addition to the group. Lucy isn’t anxious at all, nervous sometimes, but not to the extent that Edgar and Louisa are, and she’s confident and loud. And rude, although neither Edgar or Louisa blame it on her. The orphanage she grew up at wasn’t the best place to learn manners.
“At home,” Edgar answers, albeit a little slowly, “He was feeling lazy today.”
Or perhaps grumpy, as Edgar hasn’t visited Ranpo in a while.
Lucy narrows her eyes, Louisa leans back on her chair. “What about you?”
“About me?”
“What’s up with you? You have that, I don’t know, look in your eyes. Did something happen?”
Technically, no. It’s been going okay, as he said, it’s just that Edgar can feel the imminent Bad Day – as Edgar started to call them – and he doesn’t quite want to confront it. Not like he ever did. It’s just that ever since he befriended Ranpo and Louisa and even Lucy and the Agency, he didn’t want to be a liability; a burden or someone who just wants attention.
And that’s how he was on Bad Days.
“No.” Edgar gets out, although the words come out kind of choked up, and Louisa sends him a worried look.
They are so easy to fret, he thinks, knowing that Lucy’s narrowed eyes are a clear sign that she doesn’t buy his words, at all. He wonders why they can care so easily about him when Edgar’s foster parents couldn’t even stand his sight.
Louisa seems to catch something in his eyes, because she sighs, “We’re here if you want to talk about it.”
“Thank you.” Edgar mutters out politely.
Lucy still sends him looks and she doesn’t let him move out of her sight when other customers come, but she doesn’t comment. For that, Edgar is grateful.
Changing the subject, Louisa takes her cup of tea and smiles, “How are you doing with your dear Ranpo, then?”
Glad that he didn’t get a full sip of his own drink, Edgar splutters out a undignified, “W-what?”
Louisa’s eyes sparkle like when she finds out a solution to a hard question on her exam, “Your Ranpo, of course. How’s he doing?”
“He’s not—“ Edgar stutters out, “He’s not mine.”
“He’s not?” Louisa feigns surprise.
Edgar shakes his head vigorously, adamant on denying such declaration but even so Louisa doesn’t seem like she’s going to budge on that. She sips on her tea quietly while Edgar tries to compose himself. Finally, he breathes out and says, “No, he’s really not.”
“But you’d like him to be, wouldn’t you, Edgar?”
Edgar looks down onto his cup, “It doesn’t matter. He’s not—He’s worth more.”
The silence that falls on them is heavy and Louisa seems stunned into silence. However, there’s a whisper between them, one that Edgar pretends not to hear as he drinks his own tea.
“You’re worth more, too.”
It loses its meaning in Edgar’s mind as soon as he registers it.
As Edgar said before, the Agency is very, very touchy feely with themselves, whether it’s a touch on the back or a side-hug or a affectionate pat on the head. There are some who are better at it than others, but there are people who look like they’re not used to it. Sometimes, he catches the were-tiger, Nakajima Atsushi, flinching away; sometimes he sees Kyouka standing frozen still at unexpected touch.
There are other, subtle hints that one is not used to receiving kindness like that. Even Dazai, for all his bravado and shifts between seemingly one personality to another, darker, gets this look in his eyes when someone offers him a hug – like he’s being haunted by something.
Yosano, Kenji, Ranpo and the Tanizaki siblings are the most comfortable with it. Like giving out love and care is something that comes naturally to them. Edgar finds himself, often, watching them from his place on the sofa in the Agency, wondering if he would ever be able to get on the same level as them.
Well, no matter that. Edgar is not even sure they will let him stay so long as to find out. He’s not exactly the most interesting person out there.
As if sensing his thought process, Karl from his place on Ranpo’s work desk jumps down from it and runs across the room, earning himself a surprised squeak from Nakajima when he accidentally knocks down his papers. Then, he carefully nestles into the crook of Edgar’s neck, growling.
Ranpo looks up from his desk at that, opening his mouth to complain, before he catches a sight of someone in the doorway and he grins, “President, how was the trip?”
Edgar freezes a little at that, hand automatically reaching out to pet Karl. The growling subdues, replaced by quiet purr.
“It went fine,” the President Edgar had yet to officially meet, Fukuzawa Yukichi, said as he walked into the room, crossing the floor to stand in front of Ranpo’s desk, “and I’m guessing you didn’t do any paperwork while I was gone?”
Ranpo’s grin turns wider, “I did all the paperwork you gave me.”
If Fukuzawa is surprised at that, Edgar doesn’t see it because he stands up to make a swift escape. It doesn’t work as well as Edgar though it would, part of being too tall for his own good and having a pet raccoon on his arm was, he supposes, not really normal around the Agency and thus, he was easily noticed.
Yosano catches his eye and smirks, “It must be because Poe-san was here the whole time you were gone, President.”
“Poe-san?”
Edgar stumbles, clutching Karl close to his chest now and he turns around at the sound of his name. Heart beating too fast, too hard and making him dizzy. If anyone paid attention to that, they didn’t comment, so Edgar thinks he’s going to be fine. Yet, when the President starts to make his way towards Edgar, all attempts to stay calm fly out the window.
Perhaps it’s because the President is almost the same height John Allan, Edgar’s foster father, was.
“T-that’s me,” he mumbles out when he comes face to face with the man, but it’s so quiet that he’s sure it wasn’t even audible.
“So you’re the reason Ranpo did his paperwork?”
“I always do my paperwork!” Ranpo calls out.
“Not when I’m not around to nag you.”
Ranpo puts, “Those are lies and slander and you know it, President.”
Edgar’s head goes back and forth between them, trying to understand before he gives up and just stares helplessly. Karl lets out a whimper at being jostled every time he turns his head, so Edgar decides to stay put and wait it out.
“But I do admit to having an ulterior motive.”
Yosano grins, “If he does his work, he’s allowed to play detective games with Poe-san and that’s that.”
Ranpo opens his mouth to retort, then closes it and shrugs, “Well. They are more fun.”
Despite hearing it from Ranpo’s mouth, Edgar can’t focus on the usual warmth the words bring him. There’s the tell-tale of Edgar totally freaking out, from stress and anxiety both, when he feels his breaths coming out shorter and his hand shakes.
And then, there’s a hand coming towards him, intent on patting his hand most likely and that’s actually what happens as it ruffles Edgar’s mess of hair. However, that’s not Fukuzawa’s hand Edgar sees.
Later on, he will blame it on himself; on his messed up brain and not controlled movements. He will scold himself over and over again for flinching away so hard he almost falls over; for squeezing Karl too hard, desperate for an anchor; for his wide-eyed, fear stricken face at Fukuzawa’s hand that didn’t mean any harm. He will blame it all on himself.
“Poe-san?” Yosano is the one who speaks first as the rest of them are stunned.
Edgar opens his mouth to answer, but he can’t. Words can’t come through. He feels hot wave of shame wash over him, the stinging eyes. And then he catches Ranpo’s own green eyes stare at him. It’s too much to handle.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, humiliated, “I have to go.” He excuses himself lamely.
He’s out the door before anyone can call after him.
Karl sends Edgar judging looks every time Edgar lifts his head to attempt getting out the bed, which is concerning itself when Edgar realizes that animals aren’t exactly supposed to do that. Or at least, it shouldn’t be so obvious to see.
But even so, as soon as Edgar tries, he knows. It’s just one of those days – the Bad Days, where getting out of bed just isn’t appealing enough. When the covers of his bed are so soft and yet suffocating and he doesn’t want to lay in them, but it’s better than choking on air in another room. He thinks that maybe if he did try harder, maybe if he actually got up, that it would be better, somehow.
After all, staying all day in bed isn’t healthy. In fact, it’s the opposite of what Edgar should be doing.
He stands up briefly to make himself some food, but he ends up munching on dry bread and eating peeled cucumber. Using plates seems useless when he glances at the sink and sees it full of dirty dishes he knew he was supposed to clean up yesterday. He ignores it, drags himself though the living room.
Bathroom seems so far that Edgar is surprised he even made it there. He doesn’t do more than washing his face, though. It feels too much even looking at himself in the mirror. “Stupid,” he mumbles to himself the whole time, “it’s not that hard.”
But it is. Hard, that is. Shower seems like a nice thought, but Edgar doesn’t bother with it and crawls back into bed.
He feels like he wants to cry, but he can’t. Like he used up all his supply of tears and is left dry. He supposes it’s fitting – the emptiness in him never seemed as glaring as it was now.
Karl chirps at him from his spot on the nightstand, a question to why Edgar curls up on himself to get warmer, trying to chase away the coldness seeping though his skin and settling in his bones.
“It’s alright—“ his voice is raspy, a reminder that he hasn’t said a word in quite a while, “I’m okay.”
Karl chirps at him, this time sadder and maybe a little angry when Edgar says that. Perhaps he already knows it’s a lie.
It couldn’t be more than two days of my absence around the Agency after the Incident, Edgar thinks, finally having the strength to sit up and look around the room, the messy floor of clothes being thrown around making him wince, I wonder if they’re angry.
If Karl could talk, he’d ask, “why the heck would they be angry?” and Edgar wouldn’t be able to tell him; he wouldn’t be able to find a logical reason for them to hate him other than memories of voice too loud, and hands too heavy and words too sharp for a child to hear. There’s the little voice saying that they could dislike him for the connection to the Guild, but its quickly shut down by Ranpo-like voice saying that, “Lucy also worked for them and yet we don’t throw her out. Get a grip, Poe-kun!”
Maybe the worst part of Edgar panicking in front of the Agency’s members was the humiliation of 28 year old man freaking out over a head pat. Something he shouldn’t have a problem with; something he should have gotten used to already, with Agency being so close to each other.
But all Edgar can remember about the Incident is the stunned silence, Yosano’s voice saying “Poe-san?” and Ranpo’s green eyes staring at Edgar in what Edgar can indentify as mild surprise, and mix of hurt and confusion.
And tiny specks of anger. But he’d rather not think about That.
Sitting up is the hardest part. Checking his phone is the close second. When the screen lights up, Edgar swallows down hard and checks his messages.
At least fifty of them are from Ranpo himself, three from Lucy asking if he died, and one from Louisa reassuring that she’s okay and she hopes he’s too. When he gathers the courage to reply to at least one of them, the new message notification pops up.
Edogawa Ranpo: im heading over
Then, a second later.
Edogawa Ranpo: and you better have snacks or else I’ll be mad.
There’s a question of how exactly Ranpo knows where Edgar lives, because Edgar’s mind is obviously not well enough to remember certain details; how he just casually says he’s heading over; and why he’s demanding snacks after—
Well. The Incident.
Actually, the whole situation doesn’t feel real; doesn’t make sense to Edgar’s tired mind. So much that Edgar doesn’t really register anything happened and goes back to bed, if only to prolong the sweet ignorance and pretend that no, Ranpo surely is not going out of his way to actually visit; and no, he doesn’t even care that much for Edgar to consider that. Not after Edgar made fool out of himself.
However, when Karl doesn’t immediately fly to his side, Edgar cracks one eye open to look at him. The raccoon is sitting on top of the nightstand, ears perked up and watching something – and as Edgar trails his eyes over to what he’s staring at, he’s surprised to say it’s the door.
“He won’t come, Karl,” Edgar says, although it should be obvious that Karl doesn’t know what he’s talking about, considering that Karl can’t actually read the text message, “he’s busy with his work.”
Karl growls, as if offended by those words. Edgar sinks back under the covers. “I’m telling you. Surely, Ranpo-kun has—“
Karl lets out a pleased purr, successfully interrupting Edgar’s pathetic excuses and somehow – Edgar doesn’t know how – he does so just before the doorbell rings.
Edgar freezes, hesitating. Karl doesn’t waste any second, he jumps from the nightstand and runs out of the bedroom, crossing the living room in magical speed and stopping only in front of the front door to scratch the wood. Edgar himself, feels as if the covers on him weighted a ton and he considers ignoring the bell. For a split second he thinks it would be for the best.
That is until—
“I know you’re in there, Poe-kun!” Voice of one Edogawa Ranpo echoes in the empty corridors of Edgar’s apartment building, “Better open up before I break in!”
Such lack of manners will never cease to amaze Edgar and he tries, tries really hard to sit up and he manages so after a minute of struggle, perhaps too fatigued to realize he’s still in rumpled, probably sweat soaked pajamas and with messy hair that gets annoyingly into his eyes and that he hasn’t washed in two days. He gets up, well aware of the insistent ringing of the bell and he tries to not cringe when he sees the unwashed dishes in the sink on his way to the door.
And the way to the door is long. If it wasn’t for the fact that his neighbors don’t like the noise, Edgar would just stay in his room and not bother at all. But Karl is scratching on the door still, and Ranpo is impatiently standing outside and all that noise is bringing back the headache Edgar got rid of hours ago.
He takes a deep, steadying breath and unlocks the door, opening it just a little, just to make sure it’s not a dream or a nightmare, but that slight gap is enough for Karl to slip past and Edgar only manages a startled, quiet yelp of protest before Karl climbs up and onto the person tapping their heeled leg onto the—
Wait. Heeled?
“Geez, couldn’t you take any longer, Poe-kun?” Ranpo asks, hands on his hips and Edgar flinches at the sound, lifting his head to properly look at him. “I swear, even Dazai doesn’t take that long and the guy lives to annoy the heck out of people by making them wait.”
Edgar doesn’t bother replying, but his gaze drifts slightly to the left, at the second person in his threshold and the victim of Karl’s demands for petting.
Yosano Akiko, dressed in her usual work attire, hardly even twitches when Karl nuzzles her neck. The action so friendly that Edgar does a double take at that and manages to reel back his surprise from his features by a second too late, judging by Yosano’s smug grin.
It’s only when Ranpo stomps his foot that Edgar focuses back on him, “Yes?”
“Well? Are you going to invite us in or not?”
Karl is even purring—
“Us?” Edgar repeats weakly.
“Yes,” Ranpo confirms slowly, as if speaking to a child, “that’s what I said. Are you deaf?” Edgar shakes his head, “Good. So?”
“So?”
Ranpo gives him an exasperated look and Edgar snaps back to focus, “Oh. Um, no.”
Yosano tilts her head, “No?”
Edgar mentally looks back to his apartment, the smell of dirty clothes thrown in the corner of the bedroom, unwashed dishes, unwashed everything actually, counting himself, and he winces and doesn’t even bother hiding it. He finds it’s too much effort.
“I’m—busy.”
“Liar.” Ranpo calls out.
Edgar throws him a look. “I am.”
“With what?” Ranpo challenges.
Edgar opens his mouth to reply, but memory of the same green eyes that blink at him now looking disappointed, hurt, flashes before his eyes and he gulps. Even now, as Ranpo stands before him, his usual grin in place and Yosano gently stroking Karl’s fur, Edgar can’t help but think that someone like him is just a burden, a liability. Ranpo— The Agency would be better off without him. It’s not like they were friends.
But then, Ranpo’s eyes glint and Yosano’s eyes lit up in recognition. Edgar wants to take a step back at that, and he doesn’t only before it would either mean slamming the door shut in their face and abandoning Karl or opening them and letting them in.
“I just—“ he starts and his voice gets stuck in his throat.
His grip on the door frame is near painful. Ranpo doesn’t even blink. “Well, I’m coming in, anyways.”
“Wait—!” Edgar tries to stop him, but the door is opened anyways and the younger man walks in as if it were his own home. Following him is Yosano, still having her hand in Karl’s fur and then, only then Edgar is waiting for the judgment, for disgust, or maybe mocking.
It never comes.
Edgar closes the door behind them, the coldness despite the warm air keeps Edgar from speaking out, shame filling his body. There are millions of things Edgar could have done but didn’t; like actually start trying to clean the rooms, open the windows or at least excusing himself to take a shower. But the heaviness in his bones doesn’t cease, and so Edgar musters out strength only to cross the room and stand in the threshold of the living room.
“It’s a lot dirtier than it was when I was here the last time,” Ranpo comments bluntly.
Edgar blinks, “You were here—oh. Right.”
They baked cookies together, couple of times. That explains why Ranpo knew where he lived.
Yosano is nowhere in sight and as Edgar strains to hear where she might be, he realizes there are noises coming from the kitchen, the sound of water running and clinking of dishes enough for Edgar to look alarmed. Ranpo looks that way too, but he’s unbothered.
“Why—“ Edgar’s mouth is like sandpaper and he struggles to speak, “—why are the two of you here?”
Ranpo actually throws him The Look, the one reserved for imbeciles and incompetent police officers and Edgar tries to not let it get to him. Ranpo knows close to nothing about social norms, he may now even intent for The Look to insult him—
“Are you an idiot?”
—oh.
“Excuse me?” Edgar asks weakly.
Ranpo crosses his arms. “You disappear for two, actually, three days and expect us to not worry? What are you? Five?”
“I’m—“
“And when we try to text you, you don’t answer your phone, either,” Ranpo continues, ignoring the protest dying on Edgar’s tongue, “Not even Lucy knew what’s up with you.”
There’s a beat of silence and finally, Edgar sinks to the floor, legs no longer listening to him. He doesn’t bother trying to stand up either. Mess in his head, shaky hands and a gasp, desperate for air, and then Edgar whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Ranpo’s glare doesn’t ease.
“What are you sorry for, huh?”
“Just—“ Edgar stutters, “For—“
“Because we’re not mad.” Ranpo cuts him off. “We’re not,” he repeats when Edgar’s eyes widen, “We’re worried. Not only because you ran off that day, but because you didn’t think of texting us while you hole yourself in your apartment. That’s all. Nothing else is something for you to apologize.”
There’s thickness in Edgar’s throat and so he nods. Ranpo looks satisfied, before he wrinkles his nose. “And you should go and take a bath.”
“Aren’t you straightforward?” Edgar blurts out, the familiar banter easing up some of the tension.
Ranpo looks him dead in the eye, corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a wolfish smile, “That’s probably the only straight thing about me.”
And he waits. And Edgar stares, because what can he actually say to that? It’s as if those words couldn’t register. As If there was a mental block saying that no, Edogawa Ranpo certainly isn’t saying that.
And then, there’s Yosano in the room as well, sleeves of her white dress shirt rolled up and hands slightly wet. Edgar trails his stunned eyes to stare in the direction of the kitchen. “You—“
“Washed, yes.”
“But—“
“And I’m about to clean the whole living room as well,” she decides, then looks at Ranpo, “You’ll help, won’t you? You’ve been here before, you know what things I shouldn’t touch.”
Fully expecting Ranpo to protest and complain, Edgar is shocked once again to see him nod and say: “Yeah, duh.”
Edgar tries very, very hard to hide the way his eyes sting and the way his throat constricts. He can’t even open his mouth and Karl, previously perched on Yosano’s shoulder leaps of off it and quickly finds himself in Edgar’s lap, letting out distressed noises and growls, pawing at Edgar’s face. It brings his focus elsewhere and he’s glad – he’s not sure he could handle looking at Ranpo or Yosano any longer.
“You don’t—“ he tries, only to cut himself off. He clears his throat, “You don’t need to. I will—I will clean. I uh,” he stumbles over his words, mocking sneers of ‘and you call yourself a writer?’ banging at his mind, “I will—just please give me—a minute.”
He expects judgment; a glare. Pity, above all. Perhaps he’s even ready for laughter, because really, could he get even more pathetic than that? Edgar Allan Poe, the famous poet and former Guild member, praised by critics, at loss of words and dirty and depressed in his little apartment in Japan when he has a whole mansion ready somewhere else.
He’s not that weak – he’s not. It’s always—
It’s always just a few days. Only few. He’s not—
If they could just give him—
“Oi, Poe-kun.” There’s a hand waving in front of him and Edgar startles, grips Karl’s fur tighter and murmurs apologies when Karl voices his pain. Ranpo crouches in front of him, with look of— well. Not pity, that’s for sure. There’s something else in his eyes, though and Edgar has a second to realize he can actually see the green orbs, as they are not closed. “I know you’re not stupid. Why are you acting like you are?”
It seems to break through the chaos in his head as Edgar splutters, “I’m not!”
Ranpo levels him with an unimpressed look, “Really?”
“Stop talking to him with riddles,” Yosano sighs, “You’re making him more anxious.”
Karl hisses at her, but Yosano waves her hand. Ranpo reaches out to stroke his fur. Karl quiets down with a look of puzzlement. Then, Ranpo continues his thought, “You’re actually not the first one to freak out over President giving unexpected head pats.”
Edgar’s entire body locks up and he looks from Ranpo and Yosano, and back.
“I didn’t—“
“Dazai used to freeze up all the time,” Yosano said and she takes a step closer, only to sit down in front of Edgar seiza-style, far away if only to make sure Edgar has a room to breathe, “and so did Atsushi-kun and Kyouka-chan. You’re far from the first person to react the way you did.”
Edgar can’t say anything to that, so he settles for staring at her folded hands on her lap – they look delicate and smooth, but Edgar is not fooled, he sees the calluses and scratches. It’s only when Ranpo snaps his fingers in front of him that he looks back up. “In fact, most of us knew you’d flinch away the second he walked in. It’s something like a, hmm, welcoming head pat.”
Edgar blinks. Then repeats dumbly, “Welcoming… head pats.”
“Yeah,” Ranpo nods, all serious. “And recently we get all those troubled and hurt souls. We were just surprised you didn’t come back the next day.” His eyes sweep around the room, “Which now I see, wasn’t just because you decided to be a loner.”
Edgar narrows his eyes, and immediately feels a wave of tiredness. The whole conversation too much for him to handle. That action, however, is enough to make Yosano grin. “Ah, but look at him, Ranpo-san, he has the nerve to glare at you after we came all this way to visit him.”
Ranpo’s hand stops petting Karl for a moment. Edgar notices that if he’d just move a little lower, he’d touch Edgar’s own hand. He’s somewhat disappointed when Ranpo doesn’t do just that.
“You’re right,” Ranpo cocks his head, “and that means you’re well enough to get up and take a bath. Come on, up you go, Poe-kun. We’re not wasting more of this day for brooding.”
Karl squeaks in agreement. On his way to the bathroom, Edgar sends the raccoon an insulted look that Karl eagerly ignores in favor of demanding more pets.
Edgar’s kitchen is not on fire when he comes back, dressed in the last set of fresh clothes he owns and with still dripping with water hair – because apparently, getting in the shower, washing himself and getting dressed were the only things he had energy for – and instead of burning he notices that it smells suspiciously like eggs and bacon.
As he walks in, he stops just short a step outside, seeing it. Ranpo swinging his legs back and forth, with lollipop in his mouth and humming a song and Yosano carefully placing food on the plate with a content – content! Not bothered or annoyed or irritated – face. It’s only when Karl squeaks at him in greeting, claiming his place on Edgar’s shoulder, that the two of them notice him standing there.
“Hello.” He says, because he may be a writer, but he’s still far from knowing social norms that come with greeting someone who practically barged in without invitation and used his kitchen.
It’s awkward and Edgar hates it and then hates himself when he realizes that he hates it, just to make himself even more miserable, but Yosano only nods, the same smile still on and Ranpo’s eyes snap to him, closed this time, with a grin and a, “Poe-kun!”
Edgar’s eye twitches, “That lollipop—“
“Oh yeah, I allowed myself to go through your snacks cabinet.” Ranpo informs casually.
Edgar opens his mouth to comment, before he decides against it and sighs, “Of course you did.”
The beaming smile Ranpo gives him almost blinds him. Karl nuzzles Edgar’s cheek. Yosano puts the plate full with scrambled eggs, piece of bacon and slice of bread with butter, takes out a fork and nods at it, “Come on. Eat.”
Edgar’s really, really tired, because there’s no way—
“That’s an American dish,” he ends up saying instead, suspicious.
Yosano blinks, “Yes.”
Edgar stares at the plate in puzzlement, “You don’t eat American breakfasts, Yosano-sensei.”
“Obviously,” Yosano starts patiently and he wonders, he really wonders when she will snap at him for being overly paranoid, “but you do. You’re American, right? Ranpo-san, I swear if you mixed American with British again—“
“I didn’t!” Ranpo cries out, “And that was one time!”
Edgar still doesn’t move, “Why?”
“You didn’t eat breakfast, did you?” She asked, leaning on the counter next to Ranpo, “Or dinner. Or actually anything, Poe-san. So we decided—“
Edgar narrows his eyes and cuts her off with unnecessarily sharp, “I don’t need your pity.”
That’s the thing with Bad Days – they start innocently. Sometimes, all Edgar wants to do is lay in bed, think ‘why am I here? What am I doing? What’s the point, what’s the point in all this if everyone leaves?’ and then think that he’s useless and pathetic because there is point. Really. There is. It’s just that Bad Days take the meaning away, they make Edgar think, ‘the world is beautiful, I just don’t want to live in it all alone’.
But sometimes. They’re bad. Edgar doesn’t try to fight them anymore. They come and pass as they please, they end up with Edgar washing after a week, Edgar doing his daily chores after a week; Edgar doing something after a week of not doing probably nothing more than occasionally going to the bathroom. Sometimes, they’re bad but Edgar can pull through and pretend the world isn’t weighting him down and presses him to the ground. Sometimes, Edgar can function, it’s just that he doesn’t really want to – he just goes through the motions.
Other times, they make him angry. There’s emptiness inside, but also irrational fury at people – at Edgar’s father for leaving Edgar and his mother; at his mother for dying; at Edgar’s foster father for treating Edgar like nothing more than a bonus in a family and at Edgar’s foster mother for never standing up to him like she could. There’s irritation and venom clawing at his throat.
Because Edgar is not a good person, he really isn’t.
Yosano’s eyes narrow in that way Edgar started to associate with annoyance and thinks, ah, great. Maybe she will understand that Edgar is no good.
But Ranpo doesn’t even blink, he just sucks on his lollipop, “We’re not pitying you, silly. We’re friends.”
Ready to retort, Edgar opens his mouth, then the word ‘friends’ registers in his mind and he freezes, and the cold in his bones warms up a little bit, just enough for Edgar to feel that it’s covering up the anger.
Something smug flashes before Ranpo’s eyes and Yosano looks between them, then at Edgar with a, “I thought you already knew that.”
“I—“
“Oh yeah, he did.” Ranpo confirms, “But he’s silly.” Then to Edgar, “Are you trying to become stupid? It’s not a good look on you, Poe-kun.”
“Stupid?” Edgar splutters, “I’m not—!”
“Then don’t act like you didn’t know. It’s very insulting to mine and Agency’s efforts. Tell me, would I come into someone’s house to bake cookies, if I didn’t think of them as friends?”
Yosano and Edgar in union, deadpan at him, “Yes.”
Ranpo throws his hands up, “Alright, I get it! Bad example. Different one then,” he hops off the counter and takes a step towards the man, and despite Edgar being a lot taller than him, he feels small, “Would I actually spend my time talking about mystery books I can solve under a minute, with someone I don’t consider a friend?”
The answer is automatic, “We’re rivals.”
“Not this again, Poe-kun.” Ranpo groans. “Yosano-san, please tell him.”
“I’d rather watch you two bicker, it’s amusing.”
“No!” Ranpo complains, “It took me weeks for him to stop mentioning we’re rivals every single time someone asks about our relationship. Don’t ruin it for me! Yosano-san—“
“Ranpo-san. Really.”
“Yes!”
Edgar looks back and forth between them, “Um…”
Yosano and Ranpo look back at him, then both at the same time, “Please just eat the food.”
“But we were—“
“We can talk later, too,” Yosano cuts him off, already moving to the living room, “I have yet to vacuum the floor.”
Edgar’s eyes grow a little bigger and he glances at Ranpo, “You’re staying?”
Unbothered, Ranpo answers, “Yeah.”
A bit distressed, Edgar protests, “But your work—!”
“Can wait.” Ranpo says, oddly stern and then he’s hopping away, “Oi, Yosano-san, careful around the weird, antique black cat vase, it’s porcelain!”
“Got it!” is the answering yell and then Edgar is left alone with scrambled eggs and bacon, with Karl purring against his neck.
Resigned, Edgar sits on the stool and takes a bite of food. Despite being lukewarm, the heat spreads all over Edgar’s body.
Yosano wipes off the imaginary sweat off her forehead, cocking her hip a bit and grins, “All done.”
Ranpo stands next to her, looking oddly proud of the end result. The clothes that were previously thrown carelessly in the corner were now in the washing machine, the dishes were washed and dried and put in the right cupboards, all the commodes and the table were swept off the dust, and the floors have been vacuumed. Even Edgar’s sheets got changed, and bed made. All of it done in record time with half an hour to five o’clock.
And Edgar feels. Well.
How could he even put it in words, when they not only fed him but also cleaned up his entire apartment, without batting an eye in how sorry state Edgar himself was. In fact, they even told him to wait and sit on the balcony with a book and instructed Karl to not let him in.
“Well?” Yosano looks back to awkwardly standing Edgar by the door, “How is it?”
Edgar takes another glance at the living room, and yes it’s clean and shiny, but—
Ranpo suddenly frowns, “Now it just looks empty.”
Unused. Cold. Unwelcome. Edgar flinches at the word, hunching on himself even more. Yosano glances at him, then back at the room, and hums, “That’s true. Say, Poe-san, don’t you have any pictures?”
“Pictures?” Edgar asks, a bit confused.
“You know, of your family? Your friends?” She blinks at him when he stares at her helplessly, “Nothing, really? You must have at least one, surely?”
There are no photos, as far as Edgar knows, of his mother. She died early, leaving him with nothing but a rusty key to the house that was probably sold right after Edgar was picked up by the Allan family. His foster father never liked Edgar, and his foster mother was sickly from the beginning, and Edgar was stuck in the ‘don’t bother them more than you already have’ mindset by the majority of his stay with that family, so he never dared to ask for the picture.
Lucy isn’t fond of being on photographs, either. Louisa is camera shy, and Karl. Well.
Edgar brightens, “I have pictures of Karl on my phone.”
Yosano’s voice seems to die on her and her eyes flip to the raccoon softly crooning at Edgar. Ranpo’s hand holding the gummy bear pauses in front of his mouth and he slowly puts the snack down. Edgar finally lifts his gaze from where he was looking at Karl, and his smile falls a little when he sees them staring at him, “What?”
Yosano opens her mouth to reply, then closes it. Ranpo doesn’t even bother.
Finally, she suggests, “It feels lonely, here, doesn’t it?” Edgar keeps his mouth shut. “Perhaps you could print out some pictures of Karl and frame them?”
“Frame them?”
“And put them on the walls, or on the commodes, yes.” Yosano nods.
Edgar looks around the room again, “I haven’t thought of that.”
Ranpo snaps out of whatever daze he’s been and huffs, “Well, duh. It will actually look like you’re living here.”
A bit offended, Edgar mutters out, “I’m not even living here for that long. Maybe I just didn’t decorate, yet?”
“Well, why wouldn’t you do that in the first place?”
Edgar shrugs, “I didn’t think… that I would stay here, that’s all.”
Yosano frowns, “Would you come back to America?”
Edgar shakes his head, “No. I have a bigger house, actually. Somewhere here.”
“A bigger house.” Ranpo deadpans.
“A mansion, actually.”
“You have a freaking mansion and you’re not living there?” Yosano’s eyes shine and she looks like Edgar hung the moon, “Why? Poe-san, imagine, all the girls would be all over you if they knew you had a mansion. Knowing you, it probably looks like a castle.”
Edgar thinks of the white building standing somewhere Edgar didn’t bother remember the name of; of enormous rooms, the ballroom floors and stairs that look like taken out of the fairy-tale. He thinks of the way his voice echoes in hallways; he thinks of the way Karl looks sadly at the too big table in the dining room. He remembers, above all, how alien it was, to even be in the place that big, all alone.
Ranpo suddenly perks up, “This apartment is closer to the Agency, isn’t it?”
Edgar nods once, slowly, “Yes.”
Yosano quickly catches up to what Ranpo is implying, “Wait. Don’t tell me, Poe-san, that you’re living here, right here, when you have a huge mansion, just because the Agency is near here.”
“No—“ he starts, then pauses. He clears his throat, “Well, yes. That’s part of the reason, but—“
“I told you, Yosano-san,” Ranpo drawls out, “that Poe-kun is a social creature at heart. You are, aren’t you, Poe-kun?”
“Um—“
“But I think a huge mansion doesn’t suit you, at all.” Ranpo finishes up and Edgar blinks. Yosano looks between them. “You don’t have any pictures of your family, so I’m guessing you’d be there all alone. I wouldn’t want that, either,” Ranpo continues, even when Edgar looks ready to protest, “because I don’t like being alone. And because I think being around people is fun. Don’t you think it’s fun, Poe-kun?”
Trying to catch what he’s trying to hint at, and trying to follow the conversation, Edgar nods.
“That Lucy girl likes talking to you, too. She’s a bit—“
“Rude.” Yosano throws in helpfully.
“Ill-mannered,” Ranpo ignores her, “and rude, too. But she’s got wild imagination. Don’t think I didn’t notice you two talking on her lunch break about stories. She likes to write, too?”
“She does. A little.”
“There you have it. The Alcott girl, too. You talk to both of them and they like it—no, hush, Poe-kun,” he glares at him when he tries to speak over him. “I’m talking now. They like it, because you never judge them. Their ideas are weird, over the top. You never mock them for them, though.”
Edgar thinks of his foster father, and nods, “No one deserves to be shunned for being creative.”
“Right.” Ranpo nods. “My point is. You have friends here, don’t you. I wouldn’t want to leave my friends for some stupid, enormous mansion in God knows where in Japan, when I can have a small apartment near the best café in the world.”
Yosano mutters under her breath, “I wouldn’t mind a huge mansion, though.”
“Shut up, Yosano-san.”
“It would be nice! Living alone, however, could cause some problems. Who would carry my shopping bags?”
“Do you think only—“
Edgar clears his throat, thankful for the way Karl wraps himself all over his back. Ranpo cuts himself off, albeit a little irritated at being interrupted. Yosano only huffs, crossing her arms. “I will think about printing the photos.”
“You better.” Yosano mumbles. “Unless you want us to decorate the whole house.”
When Edgar takes too long to answer, her eyes shine, “Do you? It can be easily—“
“No, thank you.”
She grins anyways, “The offer still stands if you need it.”
Ranpo hums, “Your walls look bare. Even if you put some pictures up, it’s still bland and boring.”
Edgar notices the grey walls as well, but he pays them no mind. “Duly noted.”
Ranpo’s eyes snap to him. “You will just ignore all of my advice, won’t you?”
This time, Edgar doesn’t answer him.
Lucy doesn’t waste any time greeting him, if anything – she practically corners him during her lunch break just as Edgar comes into café, makes him sit down at one of the tables and crosses her arms with the angriest frown Edgar has ever seen.
He has just enough time to get a “I’m sorry for…” before she blows up.
“Do you ever think about how others feel, Edgar?” Lucy asks and it’s the scary mix of calm and fury in her voice making Edgar shrink on his seat a little, “A little, stupid text saying ‘I’m sick’ or a dumb ‘Sorry, I’m planning on holing myself in my apartment for no reason’ would be sufficient. Why didn’t you even give me that?”
“I don’t even come here every day—“ he tries to defend himself, but Lucy snarls.
“But your boyfriend detective does.” Before Edgar can correct her, Lucy sits down and nearly slams her hands on the table. “That—that Edogawa guy. You text each other daily, or rather, he blows up your phone with messages. Imagine my surprise when the Agency gets worried because you didn’t even bother replying to him and they come to me, as if I had better luck with your—“
“The Agency?”
Lucy narrows her eyes at the interruption, before she takes note of Edgar’s genuinely confused face and sighs, “Yes. The Agency. The tabby cat came to me to complain, because your—“
“He’s not mine—“
“Detective friend,” Lucy corrects dryly, “Refuses to do anything and pouts about “Poe-kun leaving him to die of boredom” and asked me if I know anything. That’s the whole mess you made with your sudden disappearance.” Her voice gets darker and darker with every word, the disgust only showing up when she had to talk about Nakajima Atsushi and slowly morphing into something that sounds weirdly like concern. “But that’s not even all. Why didn’t you tell me that you made friends with the rest of those freaks?”
“Why do you call them freaks?” Edgar ask, stalling.
“Because they put chocolate on popcorn.” Lucy answers seriously.
Edgar nods. That’s fair. “I apologize for making things difficult for you.”
“Don’t apologize to me, you idiot.”
“They didn’t want my apology, though.” Edgar muses, leaning backwards, “If anything, they were very much against it.”
“Who? The Agency?”
“Who else?”
“You already went there?”
“No! They came to me.”
The disbelief colors her voice as she whispers, “And you let them? Woah. Edgar, you really are getting it, huh?” Edgar glares at her and she puts her hands in the air, “I’m just surprised. Who visited you, then?”
“Ranpo-san. And his friend, Yosano-sensei.”
Lucy hums, head resting on her head as she stares at him. It seems that her anger died down a little. Edgar feels oddly vulnerable under her knowing grin, but despite Lucy’s want to always, always tease him, she doesn’t comment on that, other than to say, “You have people in your corner now, don’t you?”
It shocks Edgar so much that he slowly nods and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, “Yes.”
“That’s good.” Then, after glancing at her watch, she sighs again, “My break is ending soon, but—“ she nods toward the package on the counter, “Would you mind taking it up to the Agency? They ordered it as a celebration.”
“What celebration?” Edgar asks, already getting up and rearranging his coat when Karl yelps in surprise and in his haste almost rips it off his shoulders.
“Hell if I know,” Lucy calls out walking behind the counter and tying her white apron back with a smile, “maybe one of them has birthday? I’m not friends with them like you.”
Edgar takes the package and murmurs loud enough for her to hear, “The were-tiger has other ideas, I imagine.”
Lucy resists the urge to throw something at him, mouthing curse words under her breath as she busies herself with cleaning up something. Edgar watches her for a moment, notices the change in the way she holds herself and comparing it to the way she held herself back at the Guild. She wasn’t treated badly there, quite the opposite, but she was something like the kid of the organization. She lacked people her age.
As Edgar walks out the door, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, she found something she was looking for right where she is now.
Walking through the Agency’s door always felt intimidating, even now as Edgar got used to being around there. Actually opening the door was a whole another level of fright that Edgar always tried to put away and not think about. Especially now, with the memory of him leaving the place in hurry, gathering courage to come in was a hard task.
In the end, it’s Karl who jumps on the knob and in his panic, Edgar automatically twists it.
The light is blinding, a total opposite of Edgar’s usually dimmed rooms back at his apartment, and he waits a second to get adjusted to it. His grip on the box of, presumably, sweets, tightens for a moment and he takes a deep breath.
“Pardon my intrusion,” he calls out softly, “Lucy asked me to bring this to you.”
A chorus of “Poe-san!”, some a little taken a back, some casual as if nothing ever happened, and then there’s a drawled out “Poe-kunn!” in the back of the room where Ranpo sits sprawled on the desk, as if someone put him there as punishment.
It’s the President, who Edgar didn’t notice before, that speaks over the noise, “Thank you,” he says and Edgar has to swallow a few times, both because he’s nervous and because it’s probably the most exercise he had in a two days and his throat is painfully dry, “Would you be so kind to stay for the celebration, Poe-san?”
Edgar’s brain is still caught in between the disbelief of not being ushered out or yelled at by the older man, so he only manages a weak nod, “A celebration?”
“Kyouka-chan’s first official paycheck, of course!” Tanizaki Naomi gushes over the mentioned girl sitting on Nakajima’s desk.
Kyouka looks at him, apologetically, before her eyes shine that similar light at the sight of Karl draped over his shoulder, part excitement and part hesitant adoration. Edgar has always been weak for that look, something Ranpo liked to call him out on.
“I can stay for… a little while.” He agrees, then leans to whisper to Karl, “You can go.”
Karl watches him, that weird assessing look in his black eyes, as if deeming if Edgar is really okay being left alone, then he jumps down and runs to the girl. Edgar always found it weird that Karl takes careful steps around people, getting to know their intentions, before warming himself up to them.
It reminds him, in a way, that one cold evening when Edgar met the Allans for the first time, his foster family, and Karl hissed and growled at the man to no end. He wonders, if maybe Karl always knew, if he was so careful because of that one family.
He always shakes the thought away. Karl is a raccoon. He shouldn’t have that much conscience.
(In theory).
“I would also like to apologize,” the President continues in a quieter voice when everyone focused back on Kyouka. Edgar wriggles his hands, hunching on himself. “I seemed to overstep some kind of boundary last time we meet and—“
“No, that’s—“ Edgar clears his throat, eyes still not looking up, an old habit Ranpo is set on fixing. He takes a steadying breath, “I shouldn’t have reacted this way. I should be the one apologizing.”
The President is silent for a moment. Edgar nervously stares at the floor, deeming it interesting enough to pick on any slight and barely there cracks. He considers telling the President that any longer and the tiles will crack. He doesn’t.
“I don’t think you did anything wrong, Poe-san,” he says, slowly as if letting Edgar register those words. And Edgar does, but he can’t really believe it. Not when he knows, he knows that his habits, his jumpiness and shyness are flaws and a liability.
“I—“ he cuts himself off, then starts again, more determined, “I’m still sorry.”
The President nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t really accept the apology. Edgar finally gathers courage to lift his eyes from the floor and it’s just in time to see the President raising his hand. The familiar panic grips at Edgar only for a second this time and the President stops a good distance away from him with a thoughtful look. “May I?” He asks patiently.
Edgar grips at his own wrist to stop himself from flinching away again and breathes out, one time, two times, to calm his nerves, even though it’s such a small, such unimportant thing. That it shouldn’t feel so big is enough proof that there’s something in Edgar that’s clearly not right.
But the President isn’t even annoyed by Edgar’s hesitance. It’s then that Edgar recalls Yosano’s words, the ‘you’re not the only one who reacted this way’ echoing in his mind.
He nods, then remembers his voice and croaks out a near silent, “Yeah.”
The contact is no longer than few seconds, enough to properly ruffle Edgar’s already messy hair and give a gentle pat. When Edgar looks up to look the President in the eye, the older man doesn’t smile, not quite, but there’s a hint of pride in those eyes. Something Edgar is not used to seeing when it’s towards him. It makes him feel warm.
“Thank you,” the President says before joining the rest of the group, “and thank you for looking after Ranpo.”
Edgar snaps back to reality after Karl lands on his head with a squeak, hiding in his hair. Edgar didn’t even realize he’s been smiling, only noticing it after Karl pokes at his cheeks, whining for food.
“You’re wrong,” he whispers to himself, eyes somehow finding Ranpo chatting with Yosano standing by Kyouka’s side, “He’s the one looking after me.”