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The walk back from The Armed Detective Agency was a long one, and involved many shady trips down dirty decaying alleys. This, paired with the fact that Edogawa Ranpo had no idea how to use the transit system, paired for an interesting walk back to his flat. Everyday was an adventure after work, whether it be Kunikida escorting him home on the quickest (and most boring) path home, dipping into a storefront to spend someone else’s money, almost getting mugged, or stumbling across a treasure hidden in the town.
In today’s case, it was the latter; he tried walking along the route home with the most turns and most crimes, just for fun. In the middle of the boarded up stores down a road was a coffee shop, the Raven’s Drop, almost unnoticeable. There was no one else on the street, and the man who was tailing him had gotten lost a few blocks back, so why not enter?
The interior was cozy, yet unremarkable. It was plain in the way that you could recall it if you wanted to, but it would end up sounding a bit more extravagant than it really was. Some nice chairs faced one another, yet showed no signs of use- indicating that this was a fairly new place that opened and hadn’t had much foot traffic since. The bar- an odd thing for a coffee joint, was cleanly polished, the dark mahogany glinting in the soft lighting that encased the room.
A lanky man sat behind the bar, idly skimming through a book with an English title. ‘Clan of the Cavebear’ it said, the cover mimicking the pale blue of a sky littered with wispy clouds. The man himself was as pale as said clouds, ivory skin contrasting with a blackish-brown mop of hair that fell over his eyes and nose. Only when Ranpo approached the countertop did the man notice that someone had entered the store, to which he frantically closed the book and set it down out of reach.
“My apologies! Welcome to the Raven’s Drop, what may I get started for you on this fine evening?” He said, grabbing a permanent marker from a nearby mug that held them.
His eyes were still non-visible, his hair just thick and long enough that Ranpo couldn’t see his eyes. Not that he cared either way, his own eyes were closed for most of the time anyway.
“A hot chocolate and a raspberry scone, please!” Ranpo responded, it was increasingly clear that the barista was acting off a script. The book was a genuine mistake, yet the way he presented himself in his posture, his tone, his actions, those were all taught to him.
“Alright, I’ll get that drink going for you, but for now, here’s that scone,” As Ranpo reached for his wallet, the man interrupted him, “Oh! I assumed you knew, apologies again, but the food and drinks are free here. The boss of this place is really just some rich guy who needed to blow some cash and wanted to call it charity.”
Placing the coffee next to the scone, the man smiled and went back to reading his book. Ranpo, once again, went for his wallet… yet upon realizing there was also no tip jar, drooped in exasperation. The man saw this and laughed, looking away from the book for a second.
“I don’t need tips, don’t worry, I get paid thirty bucks an hour to basically just sit here for the day, I can manage.”
He went back to his book, eyes quickly scanning the pages, and Ranpo took his leave. If he had only looked back, Ranpo would have seen him looking on in sorrow as he left.
———————
The next day on his way back from work, he took the same way home, or to be accurate, the same way to that coffee shop. This time, he had a mason jar, nicely labeled ‘Tips!’ on it. He had gotten Yosano to decorate it, she was much better of an artist than him, ever since childhood.
The same man from yesterday was working again, a new book in his hand that he was already halfway through. Another English one, ‘Murder on the Oriental Express’ . This time as Ranpo came in, he closed the book and set it down where he was leaning.
“Wow, you are the only person who’s been here. Like, since we opened. What’s on the menu today?” He joked, once again grabbing a sharpie from the cup.
“Let’s do… some lavender tea and a cake pop! I also got you this Barista-that-I-don’t-know-the-name-of! Since you didn’t have one, yknow?” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the decorated tip-jar and placed it onto the countertop with a clunk.
His laughter at his nickname ceased as the tip jar came into view, a flash of confusion before meekness, “Oh that’s so kind of you, thank you! You’re really the only person who comes in here but-”
“Consider it a gift! Even if no one but me uses it, ‘cause I feel bad not tipping. The President told me you should always tip and he’s like my dad so…”
As Ranpo rambled, the man quickly got to work on his drink, laughing and nodding when appropriate.
“-and that’s how I became the greatest detective in the world! I didn’t really believe The President at first when he told me that I was just better than everyone but, yknow, he was kinda alive and my parents weren’t so. Yeah.” The barista laughed and set Ranpo’s food in front of him, the bag having looping cursive English spelling out a name.
Edgar Allan Poe :)
Those remedial English classes paid off it seemed, as Ranpo now had a pretty name to match an even prettier face. Looking up, Poe winked, and went off to clean the kettle used to steep Ranpo’s tea.
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you for the second time, Poe-kun! I’m Edogawa Ranpo, but please call me Ranpo. Edogawa makes me sound old.”
“It’s nice to meet you for the second time as well, Ranpo-kun.”
——————
It was part of his routine from then on; wake up, go to work, leave work, stop at the cafe, go home. Days were predictable, something that Ranpo usually hated with every fiber of his being, yet Poe added spice to those bland days. If life was a white woman’s cooking, Poe was an extensive spice cabinet, swirling flavors and myriads of combinations that always made something new. Days to weeks, weeks to months, that one thing in his life remained stagnant.
There were decidedly strange things about the place, like the fact that his head felt like it was filled with cotton if he stayed too long, usually on those weekends he decided to do some work in the quiet atmosphere of the shop. The horrible things his brain would whisper to him as he let his mind drift. The urge to keep on asking for food, to never leave, just to eat and eat and eat- Sometimes it was a lot.
Yet seeing Poe always set him right.
Ranpo wasn’t emotionally smart, that he knew. Could he solve murders in his sleep? Obviously. Yet the second it came to anything involving romance, he was inept, mind dulling at the thought of anything to do with it. However, Yosano and literature inclined him to one thing, he’d completely fallen for Edgar Allen Poe. Head over heels, one might say, after he tripped whilst walking up to the counter. Poe had his bangs clipped back so his eyes were visible, and god were they pretty.
There was something bigger here, he knew it, yet it never occurred to him to solve it when he was faced with something odd. Amble small talk about Poe’s choice in books;
‘Ah, these are… works by old friends.’
Poe having an elaborate backstory, just for his time in university;
‘Of course I did cocaine in university, who didn’t? It was the 2000’s and I went to school on the west coast.’
And of course, the fact that the cafe should have closed five weeks and three days ago.
No matter how well Ranpo tipped, it sure as hell wasn’t enough to distract a rich American from noticing this leech of a property. There were no extra days off for Poe, no days they were randomly closed, no times that Poe talked or even indicated that his job could be terminated soon.
The last time Ranpo went to The Raven’s Drop was uneventful, a completely average and boring day at work. Yet, that’s how so many beautiful things go, swirling away on a morning breeze as you’re turned away, only glancing back when your treasure has fluttered so high- high enough to be drifting along all the other things you never knew you’ve lost. Sometimes things can blaze into oblivion, burning with passion until an untimely spark sets it exploding off, drawing the looks from far and wide. Oh, how he wished that it was one of those times.
He went in there with the intention to confess, to ask Poe on a date, for his number, for a kiss on the cheek, even. Yet, upon entering, a steaming cup of tea sat in front of his usual spot at the bar, in a pale white teacup with sage green vines painted near the rim (it was from Poe’s favorite tea set, hand sculpted for him by his younger sister when he first left for university). The man himself wasn’t behind the counter, instead in the seat next to the cup, facing forward the whole time.
Sliding into his seat, Ranpo took a good look around the place, a look that was met with the wrong furniture, the wrong color wallpaper, even the bar itself shifted colors ever so slightly. It was one of those rare days, those days that Poe decided to pull his bangs back, today in particular he had a hair tie that Ranpo got him. Poe hadn’t left the counter before, ever. In the near half-year that he had known him, he’d never gone out from behind it.
Which is why he wasn’t surprised when he could see through Poe, the sofa behind him flicking from a lounge seat to a dinner chair.
Ranpo looked down at his cup. Lavender tea, the same drink he got on the first day they’d ever known each other’s names. Taking a sip, he set it down with a clink onto the saucer it was there with.
The silence between them was familiar, this was how they worked after all, they just enjoyed each other’s company as one worked.
“This isn’t a real place, is it Poe-kun.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement of what he knew to be true months ago, yet there was no malice behind it, only sorrow as he thought about what was to come. As the words left his mouth, the place froze on its original form, familiar mahogany tables and creme colored plush chairs reforming.
Poe was crying now, smiling through the tear that streamed down his face.
“Yeah. Yeah it isn’t. This was supposed to be your own personal purgatory. I was-” He choked on a sob, breaking eye contact, “I was supposed to make you worse. My job here was an afterlife for me, a deal struck for those who want to work for a second chance at life.”
Around him, ghostly scenes started to play out, a man in a suit watching a young blonde girl play with an extensively large dollhouse, a woman typing away on a laptop as a teen watched her do so, he even saw his coworker, Kunikida, furiously doing paperwork into the early mornings.
“I died when I was in university, in the wrong place at the wrong time, yknow? I tried to save someone, don’t even know if I succeeded actually, but I ended up getting hit into the road. A semi-truck ran me over, crushed my skull. I remember seeing the lights coming at me and thinking about how the last words I ever said to my family were ‘Stop babying me, I’ll be fine’ .”
He was fading quicker now, and getting paler.
“You’re the first person to figure it out. All those ‘old friends’ are people who worked themselves to death over those books. It might be because you were a different case. Pride, Sloth, Gluttony, Envy; I was supposed to make you the biggest asshole Yokohama had ever seen. Look where we ended up, eh?”
He was shimmering, translucent chunks of him floating off into the air as his tears flowed steadily. He took Ranpo’s hands, clammy and inhuman.
“I won’t remember you after this, but you will. Ranpo I love you so much, come and find me- please- I love you, I love you, I-”
He was gone before Ranpo could reply, the words holding heavy on the tip of his tongue.
‘I love you too’
A paper slip drifted down from above, familiar loopy handwriting scrawled on it.
‘Thanks for the second chance’
He collapsed in sobs, clutching the note to his chest. Hiccuping in between muttered ‘I love you’ s he sat there for what felt like hours, until there were no more tears left, just heaving wails.
———————
Work was hard the next day. He almost didn’t want to go in, call in sick, use paid leave, anything to ignore reality for another fleeting moment. Yet that image of Kunikida working himself to death plagued his mind, the thought of him getting frailer, paler, more tired, sunken, hollow- he couldn’t allow that to happen. Being a horrible person might have sent him to meet Poe for the first time, but it wouldn’t do him any favors now that he was alive again.
He got there early, before the rest of the Agency members, and took the stack of paperwork off of Kunikida’s (and Dazai’s) desks. It was halfway done when The President arrived for the day, looking on in shock as Ranpo diligently worked.
“He’s been overworking himself.” He said, without sparing a glance up. Fukuzawa gave a nod and headed into his office. By the time Kunikida got there, it was in a neat stack on his desk with a note saying ‘To Be Filed ’. Dazai got to work 3 hours late, took one look at the lack of paperwork on his desk, and left.
He spent the rest of his time at the office under his desk, mindlessly playing whatever he had loaded up on his device last. Fukuzawa came by a few hours before the work day was over and told him that he could take the rest of the day off if needed. His phone was in hand, Dazai must have snitched.
Yosano accompanied him out, silence flowing easy around them. It surely wasn’t uncomfortable for her, yet Ranpo had grown uncomfortable with silence, old memories of Poe reminding him of what could have been. He walked that same route home, passing the cafe- or where it used to be.
It was boarded up now, all signs showing that it had been condemned just as long as the other buildings on the street. Faded spray-paint chipping off those oh-so-familiar walls, shattered windows giving way to dirty plywood.
“It’s the 40th anniversary of this place closing, did you know? I heard about it from Fukuzawa-san, think it was called ‘Crow’s Nest’ or something?” Yosano said, pausing as he looked on in sadness at the dirty building.
Ranpo cried the whole way home.
———————
Six months later was better, or a facsimile of it. The pain of losing him never went away, only dulled, sitting between his ribs, that glass decorated tip jar was a constant reminder of what could have been, what should have been. The Agency learned not to talk about it, eventually, scalding glares and accidental tears gave them the memo quickly, though, not as fast as he would have preferred.
He hadn’t been able to find a drink that was as good as the ones Poe made either, no matter how many coffee shops he went to. But, occasionally he needed a boost in the mornings, which is why he was trying to quickly grab a vanilla latte from a coffee shop near his flat on a warm Saturday morning.
Everyone had to be abnormally tall, didn’t they. He got run into on his way up to grab his drink, their tea spilled over his brand new white shirt. It wasn’t expensive per say, but it was annoying to clean. Yet, a familiar voice nearly sent him breaking down.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry- I wasn’t looking where I was going and my raccoon had his paw in my eye, I can buy you a new shirt, seriously, I am so so sorry-”
Edgar Allen fucking Poe stood in front of him, a chunky raccoon climbing off of his head and onto his shoulder. His plastic cup was mostly empty now, lavender tea spilled upon Ranpo.
Ranpo laughed in shock, playing it off as amusement.
“Don’t worry about it, let me buy you a new drink as well. I’m Edogawa Ranpo, nice to meet you!”
“Oh! Thank you, I’m Edgar Allen Poe. Nice to meet you as well, Ranpo-kun.”