Archive of Our Own ^beta

The realization hits him on an unassuming Thursday afternoon, the downstairs cafe a quiet backdrop to the sudden lurch of the ground beneath his feet– Poe smiles behind his teacup and Ranpo is in love.

*

early summer

What a disconcerting thing, he finds this whole love business to be. Frightening, as well, and it haunts him all the way up to the Agency’s office, a shadow clinging to the edge of his vision. 

Had he acted any different just now? Ranpo can’t be sure. He thinks not, but between the curving of Poe’s lips and his following answer, there were precious fractions of seconds that slipped his awareness.

It’s terrifying.

And it kept happening, and it will keep happening, because Ranpo didn’t notice the tightening of the noose and now someone went and kicked the chair– he’s left gasping for air, a steadily fracturing neck.

“Oh, Ranpo-san, you’re still here?” 

Atsushi doesn’t startle him, but he forcibly drags him back to the outside world with jarring speed. Again, how disconcerting. Ranpo blinks. The implications are clear, but a relatively unbiased third-party point of view might be helpful, so he settles for humoring the obvious, “of course! Statistically, a major crime should be occurring this afternoon, so those lousy police officers will definitely need my help soon!”

Somewhere from the depths of the couch, he hears Dazai snort.

“Erm,” Atsushi hesitates, and he’s so naively, clearly, feeling guilty over his own suspicion, even though experience has surely taught him to be wary of their easy answers. Still, the kid soldiers on, “sure?” 

Ranpo stays silent.

“I mean, I wasn’t complaining or anything!”

Really, why hasn’t Dazai done anything about the boy’s nervous rambling tendencies?

“ – or, or, accusing! It’s just, Poe-san was here? Or I think he was? I mean, I thought I saw Karl, but that might have just been a random raccoon? Oh no, I fed a wild raccoon, didn’t I? What if it had rabies? Kunikida-san is gonna kill me, oh man, and–”

Atsushi’s spiraling despair fades to the background, no longer useful, and Ranpo settles back into his chair, bag of chips in his lap and new box of Pocky within reach, the afternoon sun casting a long golden strip across his desk.

The light highlights the looping handwriting on the cover of Poe’s new manuscript, and Ranpo is thoroughly distracted for a full second– glittering silver from Poe’s favorite fountain pen, the confident press of the ink, no creases on the paper so he hasn’t been falling asleep mid-writing again, shorter than the last one, was he impatient? Did he wish to see Ranpo again sooner rather than later? 

The bag of chips crumples, empty. Poe prefers short stories, he’s told Ranpo this before. Occam’s razor, in the end.

Still, this is no good. 

Closing his eyes, he tries to shake off all the useless inputs from his surroundings, ignores all the threads begging to be pulled, so much happening he has no interest in knowing. There’s a headache looming on the horizon. 

Logic would say confessing is the best course of action– just get it over with. After all, what are the chances Ranpo would be able to hide it for long? Honest question, here. How long? Generally speaking, a long damn time. Narrowing it down to the people under this roof, not that long.

In fact, he’s surprised Yosano hasn’t cornered him yet. She’s being considerate, isn’t she? Damn it. She wants him to figure it out on his own, hm? Probably thinks Ranpo hasn’t noticed his own feelings yet, which was, sadly, true enough as of earlier today. Still, factoring in his newfound awareness, he should brace himself for that conversation sometime in the very near future.

Dazai, on the other hand. Their unspoken agreement of staying out of each other’s business should probably hold, so Ranpo should be safe on that front. Of course, one can never be one hundred percent sure with Dazai, but Ranpo didn’t interfere with that messy, messy Shibusawa business last year, so he owes him this, at least. All in all, it’s more likely that Dazai won’t meddle as long as Ranpo keeps this self-contained. 

That leaves the President as the last one liable to pry, and while he largely hasn’t, in the past, Ranpo has to admit this situation is unprecedented. What a bother, the President’s discreet taciturn nature will definitely clash with his perceived responsibility as a fatherly figure of sorts. Worst-case scenario, he’ll want to talk to Poe about it. Hmm, he’ll need to run interference here soon. 

Ranpo carefully relabels Fukuzawa in his mind, moving him up on the priority list.

Well, as for the rest of the Agency, he’s not worried. Even if they notice something is amiss, they’ll stay out of it, concerned questions notwithstanding. 

So. Bottom line– he could realistically keep his secret for no more than an optimistic couple of days before he’s forced to deal with it in some sense or form. From there, Yosano and the President will get in his case about either confessing or moving on and while Fukuzawa will respect whatever course of action he chooses, Yosano is too reckless with her affection not to insert herself in the situation if it goes on for too long.

And Dazai. He shouldn’t forget about Dazai. It’s just as likely for him to meddle if he’s bored enough and it seems funny enough, and the longer it drags on, the more are the chances. Actually, Ranpo should prioritize finding leverage against him on this. Ugh, it’s always such a pain to find good blackmail over such a shameless person.

Alright, now narrowing it down further to a single point of contact: Poe. Keeping a secret from him wouldn’t be impossible, more so because if asked to drop the matter, he’d never bring it up again, but that’s not where the risk lies, is it? No, the problem is that love is unsubtle by nature. Flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, elevated pulse– all outside his control, and that’s not to mention the especially terrifying mudding of his thoughts that seems to come and go in unpredictable bouts. 

It’d be too much to ask as brilliant a mind as Poe’s not to notice such obvious signs.

Even banking on his obliviousness, he’d know something is up and he’d ask and–

And could Ranpo really lie to him? Normally, yes. On this, though? Something trembles inside his chest, balking at the thought. His heart feels odd, tender like an overly ripe fruit, easily bruised. 

Whatever. Conclusion, then: hiding it will not work, not long term. Unfortunately, he can’t ask Yosano to cut his ribcage open and scoop these feelings out with an ice-cream ladle so he can stuff them in the safe underneath his desk, lock them up outside his person where they can no longer ruin the brighter parts of his life.

“ – hey! Ranpo!” Now truly startled, he blinks, Yosano’s frown taking up all space in his vision, so very much as if summoned by his thoughts. She gives him no time to regain his bearings, barreling forward with no mercy, “even Kunikida’s already left, why are you still here?”

Behind her, Atsushi’s sheepish figure adds, “he’s been like this all afternoon, Yosano-san. I don’t think he’s even moved, actually– is he sick?”

All…! Oh, it’s evening already. The stripe of sunlight seems to have crawled across the expanse of his desk to sprawl on the floorboards, paling into near nothingness. Has he truly been thinking this over for so long? Troublesome, all of this, so troublesome. Time for some damage control now, damn it. “Ha–? It’s closing time already? Lame! Today was so boring, I even fell asleep.”

Yosano leans back out of his space, raising an eyebrow, arms crossed. “You were napping.”

“Oh, that does make sense, I guess…” Atsushi says, but his gaze lands on all the litter around his desk, curls into a frown.

Ranpo is nothing if not committed, though. He nods sharply. “I was napping.”

“Atsushi says you were acting weird.”

“That’s not what I–”

“Unreliable narrator. He’s just trying to distract himself.”

Immediately Ranpo knows he’s made a mistake. He sees the exact moment Yosano zeroes in on the words– worse than a shark smelling blood, worse than a dog with a bone. Ah, there’s the headache. 

“Eh? Distract– Ranpo-san! Really, I don’t know what you think– I mean, there’s nothing to distract from–”

Honestly, it’s in times like this that Ranpo really sees the value of having Atsushi around; the kid is awfully convenient for throwing at problems. Eh, he’d feel bad but cats and landings, right? “Sure thing, Atsushi-kun! So you won’t mind staying behind to lock up, right? Since you definitely don’t have anywhere to be!”

Atsushi is flushing an awful shade of red and Ranpo wonders if this is some sort of omen. Surely, he’s not about to start looking like that? Well, foreboding aside, it works fairly well in briefly distracting Yosano from the scent. “Of course, yeah, no problem,” Atsushi laughs nervously, “nothing to do! Just, er, Kunikida-san usually locks up? So could–”

A pause. Ranpo waits it out patiently with the certainty of someone whose fame precedes them. Just as expected, Atsushi takes one look at his cheery smile and reaches the rightful conclusion that it would be more trouble than any help whatsoever. With a sigh: “Yosano-san, would you mind showing me where the keys are?”

While misdirection will gain him no favors with Yosano, he hopes offering up Atsushi as the sacrificial tiger might be just enough of a trade-off. Her eyes narrow dangerously in warning, but she only huffs, taking the kid by the shirt, “fine, be that way! Come on, kid, let’s mess up Kunikida’s stuff while you spill the beans.”

There’s a pitiful look of mortified resignation on Atsushi’s face, but really, better him than Ranpo. If anything, it’s a great opportunity to learn how to stay out of people’s business! “In that case, I’ll be going ahead! Good work today!”

Echoing answers slip past the closing elevator doors, and finally, Ranpo breathes out in relief. As predicted, his epiphany moved up the timeline, so Yosano will definitely try and talk soon, but that’s tomorrow’s winds.

Right now, it’s still tonight, and the air is static in the summer heat.

*

mid-autumn, before 

Afternoon rolls around with muted sunlight, clouds crowding up the sky at a sluggish pace, and with chilly weather arriving earlier that week, it finds the Agency in a sleepy haze.

The landline ringing cuts through it like a knife.

A few desks over, Kenji drops the pen he’d been messing with, sending it scattering across the floor in the space between rings. “Sorry, sorry,” he calls over his shoulder, jumping after it, and because Yosano’s door has never opened just to answer a phone, Kunikida takes it upon himself to pick up instead.

It’s strangely empty today, with Naomi having the day off to sort out something school-related and Dazai having borrowed both Atsushi and Tanizaki to sort out some nonsense that’ll for sure turn out related to an ongoing case. Personally, Ranpo doesn’t mind. Either way, it’s got nothing to do with him, so who cares, but even he has to admit things have been horribly boring since this morning.

Which takes us back to the telephone ringing.

Kunikida hangs up with a wary look on his face. It’s not his Dazai’s shenanigans look, but it’s definitely a precursor to a headache– ah, the police then. Sure enough, he’s approaching Ranpo next, expression smoothed out. “The police are requesting our help at a crime scene, apparently it was either us or the nearby temple, but the officer on the case is asking after you by name.”

“Minoura! Every officer should be more like him and just call me already when things get tough, it’s so boring when they keep running around cluelessly!”

“Right,” Kunikida casts a hopeful look at the door– which is silly, because the Dazai thing is so obviously gonna take all afternoon, there’s no way Atsushi or Tanizaki will be back in time for this– before clearing his throat, “robbery this time, it’s a bit out of the way, past the shopping district, so you’ll need to go to a different station– I’ll give Kenji a map, surely that will–”

“No need for that,” Ranpo says, grinning at his alarmed look. Kenji wouldn’t do this time. Honestly, for someone who was so worried about letting Kenji and Ranpo run off on their own, Kunikida shouldn’t be looking so disturbed.

“Ranpo-san, I don’t think–”

Right on time: “Excuse me, there was no one at the front desk…?”

“Poe-kun! Do you know how to take the train?”

Standing stiffly by the door, Poe blinks as if caught by an incoming truck’s headlights. His hair’s a little messier than usual, no doubt caused by the wind steadily picking up outside, and he must have hurried here, considering the steam still rising from the coffees in his hand. “Yes, of course,” he finally says, allowing Karl to jump down from his shoulders before walking inside, waving awkwardly at Kenji. One of the paper cups is carefully set amidst the candy wrappers, “hot chocolate. Ranpo-kun, are you looking for a suspect in the train?”

“Not exactly,” Kunikida explains while Ranpo takes the cup without ceremony, warmth immediately filling up his chest like taffy. It’s his usual order from his favorite cafe, he can immediately tell, only somehow tasting even sweeter than usual– he’ll have to ask Poe which barista was on shift next time they’re there. “ – so you see, we need someone to accompany him.”

“Understandable,” Poe nods, sipping from his own coffee, “but wouldn’t it be easier to simply take a car instead?”

Kunikida makes a face. A very disagreeable face. “You mean to ask why we are not taking a cab to the other side of the city?!”

“Yes,” Poe lies, “that is what I meant.”

See, Ranpo tries to communicate silently to Kunikida with a glare, the Guild didn’t make their best detectives ride the stupid train. Message absolutely not received, but Kunikida’s judgy eyebrows very clearly say ugh, spoiled rich boys.

“Ah, Poe-kun, you’ll give Kunikida an aneurysm like this!” Ranpo laughs, letting Karl climb up his lap and sniff around his drawers, “his schedule doesn’t allow for any more budgeting, especially after this afternoon.”

“What’s happening this afternoon?!”

“O-oh, I didn’t mean to,” Poe says nervously, but doesn’t fall into muttering, rallying himself and pushing forward instead, Kunikida left ignored in the background, “but in any case, I can pay the cab fare, it really is no problem. Besides, it’s getting late and it might rain, it wouldn’t do to be caught outside when the storm breaks.”

“Well, I suppose– if it’s really not a problem– although, to the other end…! Do you even have any idea how much–”

“Great! Now that that’s settled, let’s go, Poe-kun! You can just leave your cup wherever, don’t worry about it,” he jumps to his feet, drinking the rest of his chocolate and scooping Karl up from his desk, lest Kunikida decides to fuss over silly things like pet policies. His own paper cup is abandoned on Atsushi’s chair as they leave.

“Wait, Ranpo-san– what’s happening this aftern–”

The elevator doors cut off Kunikida’s wail. 

“Will, uh, will he be alright?” Poe asks, taking Karl from him. 

Ranpo shrugs. “Eh, sure. We can always leave and report back tomorrow morning.”

Outside, the sky is indeed darkening at a much faster pace, as if the sun’s decline is pulling along the storm clouds in a new gravity field, and Ranpo has to hold his hat down to keep it from flying off in a gust of wind. Whatever syrupy mood had been trickling down before has clearly melted in this electric weather.

A storm gathers on the horizon and the whole of Yokohama is holding their breath.

With the frantic flux of people hurrying home before the rain, it takes a couple of tries to flag down a cab, but the driver thankfully allows Karl to board with them without complaint. The man– middle-aged, balding, divorced, with two children, one of them starting college next year– keeps sneaking glances at them through the rearview mirror, although he restrains himself from asking anything until they’re more than halfway to their destination, “so, you boys detectives or something?” 

Hardly the worst he could’ve asked, and Ranpo is about to enlighten him, when Poe answers, leaning forward, “why, of course! Ranpo-kun here is the greatest detective in the world! And I’m his rival, obviously!”

Ranpo preens under the praise, grinning at the driver. “And don’t you forget it!” And because this is exactly the sort of thing that should be rewarded, he retrieves two toffee candies from his pocket, popping one in his own mouth and offering the other to Poe.

“Erm, of course,” the driver mutters, looking firmly back to the road. He won’t be making small talk again.

Rather amused, Ranpo turns back to the man beside him to say– something. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been important, slipping so easily away in face of just Poe, speaking quietly to his raccoon, a brilliant smile on his lips and the pale sunlight washing over the scene.

How strange, Ranpo swallows. 

In what feels like the blink of an eye, the drive is over.

The cab is paid and they’re deposited at the side of the road, the car immediately speeding off, likely spooked by the police car parked barely a few feet away. It does stick out like a sore thumb in the middle of this painfully ordinary street: a well-off neighborhood, made of rows of modern houses, undoubtedly a product of new-money rich folks, too close to downtown to mingle with the generational wealth uphill. 

One of the doors is opened, a figure stepping out with a cigarette in hand, but it’s quickly discarded when the detective catches sight of them. “Ranpo-san! And the American, too. Good, good, thank you for coming.”

“Minoura! Where’s my crime scene? Did they really think a ghost was stealing their stuff? Bah, people are so stupid, what would a ghost do with jewelry?”

“They think a ghost is the culprit?” Poe wonders, frowning. 

“Stupid,” Ranpo agrees.

“Did you both get it all out of your systems?” Minoura sighs. He steps on his cigarette, snuffing it out, “let’s talk inside. Just– the wife is a little shaken with everything that’s going on, so.”

“Of course, we won’t comment on how foolish that conclusion was,” Poe nods solemnly, “people can be excused some absurdities in the throes of emotion, I believe.”

“No promises,” Ranpo pushes past them, cheerfully slipping inside. 

Introductions really are so boring, but Ranpo allows Minoura to go through the motions if only so nobody will question their presence and get in the way. Besides, it’s not wasted time: what better opportunity to snoop around?

Around them the house is spacious, a living room connecting with a wide dining room and equally wide kitchen space, counter and all, everything so very harmoniously decorated. Really, it’s all straight out of a magazine page, including the unlived-in feeling. The staircase and hallway they were led through before being ushered into the parlor were no better.

The parlor, though. 

It’s cluttered in the way only a person’s favorite room can be– bookshelf-lined walls on both sides, a large flat-screen TV mounted across from the door, a leather couch facing it, and pushed in the corner farther from the door, a large vintage-style armchair. On its seat, a book with a bookmark peeking out.

“We don’t know what else to do,” the husband– late forties, big-shot doctor, annoying– is saying, running a hand through his recently dyed hair. The lines around his eyes are tight with desperation, eyebags from disturbed sleep, and he has an arm around his wife’s shoulders, protective and comforting. Not guilty, Ranpo decides for now. “It all started a week ago, things just started disappearing.”

“It was small stuff at first,” the wife– mid-forties, long hair, also a big-shot doctor and also annoying– nods. Her hair is tied back carelessly and she’s got no make-up on either, nothing to hide the terrified tiredness from showing on her face. “A watch here, a ring there– we didn’t even notice it.”

“But three days ago it changed, right?” Minoura prompts, not unkindly.

The husband swallows. “Yes, it certainly did. My wife’s entire jewelry box disappeared overnight.” He shakes his head, “I know what you’re thinking, it doesn’t seem that strange, right? Just another break-in. But I’ve been thinking about it, and you officers couldn’t explain it either! The whole house was locked, no alarm was tripped, nothing was broken. Even the yard! Nothing on the mud, no scuffle on the ivy, the lights weren’t even triggered! I- I can’t explain it, how did they– my wife and I, how did we sleep through– the dog, too!”

“They have motion sensors in the front lawn and the backyard,” Minoura explains quietly, gesturing to the closed window. Through it, Ranpo can make out a very symmetric green lawn and ivy-covered walls. 

What a bother, he really thought this would be more interesting. It’s no fun when things spell themselves out so cleanly. Pouting, he decides, might as well, “what about the ghost stuff?”

The wife immediately shrinks into her husband. “Oh, it’s been a nightmare! As I said, we didn’t think much of it at first, but then…” she trails off, breathing in deeply as her husband shakes his head, even paler than before. The woman shudders, folding the ends of her cardigan tighter over her chest, and when she looks up, her eyes are haunted by unshed tears. “Then, I had a night terror. Sleep paralysis, that’s what the doctor called it back at the hospital. Perfectly normal. Just a natural reaction to such a stressful situation. Nothing to worry about– ha! That’s because he didn’t see it!”

“Darling, you don’t have to– if it’s too much…”

“No, no, I can–”

“Your husband is right, lady,” Ranpo interrupts. In light of this escalation, maybe they should wrap this up sooner rather than later; at his side, Poe seems to agree, by the concerned frown on his face. “No need to waste time, let me guess– you saw a man, awfully pale, underweight? Unkempt. A worm, really.”

“I– how– yes! That’s exactly– he was just standing there! In the middle of our room! Oh, I’ll never forget– his eyes! So, so empty, soulless! Cruel, inhuman– you were right, it wasn’t human, it couldn’t be– a worm, then, yes, that’s better to think than a demon! Just, he kept staring and staring and staring! I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream. All I could do is look back at those terrible eyes!”

“She fell back asleep at some point, we think,” the husband says, pulling his wife even closer, “I didn’t hear anything. Slept through the whole thing. Then the next morning– nothing. It was– just nothing.”

“Yes, yes, but it didn’t quite end there, though, did it?” Poe speaks up, sounding annoyed and thoroughly unimpressed. He’d been listening closely up to this point, Karl secured on his shoulder, wandering to the bookshelves when it got too boring, but now Ranpo can see the impatience in his shoulders, “did you hear creaking steps? Felt watched, too? Did you see shadows in the corner of your eyes? Things that don’t disappear but are never where you put them? Dog barking at nothing? And you told all of this to the police, yes?”

“Why, yes, of course! That’s why–”

“Then I don’t understand why we’re still wasting time here,” he continues, talking over whatever inane observation the husband had been about to make. Ranpo watches this unfold with rapid interest– it really isn’t often that Poe gets worked up into one of his bursts of confidence, even rarer with this many people around, but it’s so fun to see! 

Man, the crime scene might’ve been a bust, but this totally makes the trek here worth it. 

“Don’t you think Ranpo-san has better things to do? Honestly, a mystery! This is amateurish at best!” He waves his arm in a dismissive gesture, hair sweeping away as he whirls around to glare at Minoura, and the artificial light reflects in his eyes, dark grey shining almost violet. It makes his gaze seem more intense. Piercing. Ranpo shivers. He couldn’t look away if he tried. “Have you officers truly not figured it out? If a crime is committed in a house with no break-ins or outs, then clearly the culprit has been inside the whole time!”

Minoura seems to be unsure between offended and disbelieving, which is stupid because Poe is right– this much was beyond obvious. “We did search the whole house– both times!”

“And we would’ve– we would’ve noticed if someone– I mean–”

“Eeeh– ! No way! But how can that be– the security cameras didn’t show– ”

Ignoring the babbling, Ranpo slides in his glasses, allowing the world to grow even sharper around the edges like always, information falling in place to paint a picture he’d already more than half-guessed. “Ne, Poe-kun, I knew I didn’t bring you around for nothing!”

“Oh? Ranpo-kun, I– I haven’t done anything, really,” Poe draws back in surprise, already over his outburst, and blushing under acknowledgment like he always does. Ranpo basks under his full attention.

“Seriously, that cafe we were going to would for sure be closed if we took the train later,” he says, grinning. 

“Oh,” Poe droops. 3, 2, 1… “Wait! Ranpo-kun? Does that mean we’re still having coffee–”

“Alright! Everyone!” Stepping forward to take his place in the middle of their little circle and shutting all the useless chatter down in the process, Ranpo smirks, “no need to run around for the third time, Minoura, why make such a fuss when I can tell you right now where your thief is? And lady, you can stop shaking, this guy really didn’t want anything other than rob you guys blind.”

Ranpo pauses, giving the criminal the courtesy of fessing up himself. “Haah? Did you hear it, ghost-san ? I already figured you out, are you really making me do all the work?”

Another pause, and this time, the whole room seems to hold their breath, waiting for something they didn’t even know. A dog barks outside. A car drives by. 

Inside, the silence holds.

“Ugh, fine,” Ranpo adjusts his glasses. Criminals really are the worst, huh? Whatever. This is the best part, anyway! “Listen, lady, you said earlier you’d never forget his eyes, right?” He waits for the wife to nod hesitantly, then waves her over, leading them to the one place no police officer would have thought to look, no matter how many searches they performed: “So, would you say it’s anything like this one?”

There, hidden in the colorful pattern of the fabric, a small hole in the cushion. And inside it, unmistakable: staring right back at them, a human eye.

Having known they were being observed from the start, Ranpo doesn’t feel the hair-raising dread or the heavy stones sinking his stomach, but like this, it really is impossible not to notice the disgust mixing with fear in the couple’s demeanor. The wife is screaming, loud enough to give anyone a headache, and her nails dig sharply into her husband’s arm– at this rate, she’ll break skin and they’ll contaminate their own crime scene! Although, the man seems too out of it to register much of anything besides the unblinking eye watching from the armchair.

The way they all back up in a haste, gazes darting around in suspicion as if every other furniture piece might house a silent intruder, just waiting to pounce.

Minoura seems stunned, swaying back in his surprise like the room sped up and left him frozen behind, and it takes him another half a minute to take out his gun, safety still on. Cautiously, he tugs the distraught couple further away and out of the room, grumbling about allowing civilians too close to danger.

Now, Poe also looks fairly surprised. Ah , he had been guessing secret passages, hadn’t he? Damn, Ranpo should’ve made him bet on it, he could’ve gotten a good amount of snacks out of this! “I suppose…” he’s muttering to himself, “too modern, yes…”

All the while, the eye remains a silent spectator: dark pupil sunken in blood-shot white. Its hungry gaze has sunk its claws from the beginning on Minoura, undoubtedly having labeled the officer the biggest threat in the room, but there was also a malicious glee in the unwavering stare: this person has been having much fun watching the police run around in circles. 

Not only then, either. Every time the wife came into this room, sat on that very chair in the evenings to read her books, whenever the husband watched the news late at night, lying on the couch a mere few feet away, or even more so on the occasions the couple stood there together, discussing their absurd ghost theory– all without knowing the real culprit had been present for all of it, had walked through their rooms every night, had eaten their food and drunk their wine, had been biting his tongue not to make a sound as he laughed, distorted body nearly shaking to contain his giggles in his confined hiding place.

Without warning, the eye shifts– 

“See, ghost-san,” Ranpo calmly continues, not bothering to hide the smugness out of his voice as he stares right back at the thief. “Come out, already! Eh, it’s already basically sundown anyway.”

Predictably, everyone sneaks a glance out of the window, including the husband and wife who should’ve already left but insist on lingering by the door out of the same morbid curiosity that has people inevitably peeking into dark basements with strange sounds. Outside, even though it’s not yet after six, it’s darker than usual. The storm clouds have finished gathering. Through this filter, sunlight has no hope of passing through, and with the sky completely covered, they can’t even see a sliver of the moon.

In the end, it simply means the shadows grow longer and the lights are turned on earlier, and when the wind howls, it seems to shake something deep in people’s bones. 

And hey, maybe there is truth to saying evil spirits only come out at night after all because just then, the eye that’s been peering at them from the dark vanishes from sight. 

“What the fuck,” Minoura whispers like he can’t help the words escaping, in the same way, he can’t stop watching as the armchair trembles, fabric rippling in places, stretching and sinking in turns, rising and falling like a beast’s heaving chest. The unmistakable sound of a zipper. Something heavy falls to the floor. 

Behind the chair, in the space between wall and furniture, rises a man. He can’t be older than thirty, but his clothes are wrinkled and stained, his hair an unkempt mess that falls nearly to his sharp shoulders, and his thin build only make his limbs appear too long for the body they’re attached to. 

“Oi, hands where I can see them–”

The man ignores Minoura and his gun, ignores the couple cowering by the door, even manages to ignore Poe with Karl perched on his head not even a foot from Ranpo. “How did you know,” he throws the question like a statement, and his voice is hoarse with disuse, hissed through lips stretched into an amiable grin. If not for his wide eyes, sunken against his sickly pale skin and unblinking, he could’ve been mistaken for someone who was not brimming with rage.

“Eh, ‘cause I’m the greatest detective, duh,” Ranpo rolls his eyes, flapping a hand in dismissal. He hates when criminals get all blubbering.

“Is that so?” The thief drawls, “I spent weeks restoring this chair, fixing it into perfection– the moment I saw it, I knew it was divine intervention! The entire plan, it just came to me in a second!”

With careful observation, the bloodlust would be very easy to spot wafting from this man in waves, and coupled with the desperate way he talks about his scheme– honestly, there are not many ways this could go. Still, Ranpo allows him to keep babbling, “It was flawless! And no one had to get hurt, understand? I put them to sleep, didn’t I? I’d be outta here as soon as the cops backed off. But no, you people just had to get in the way, huh?”

Now, it all happens too fast.

The half a second it takes Minoura to turn the safety off means he misses the guy by a hair when the thief lunges forward. The pocket knife he had been hiding on his sleeve glints in the light. 

If it were Kenji or Kunikida here with him, like Minoura, they’d have been distracted by the civilians and the dramatics, but not Poe. No, he’s smart enough to have noticed both the ill intent and the knife, and while he’s not the type to be thrown at the line of fire like Atsushi, well. 

Ranpo steps back just in time for a book to be shoved in the criminal’s face. 

A flash of light and the man is gone, knife clanking to the floor. 

Then, silence. It’s like everyone is frozen for the time it takes Poe’s book to fall down to the carpet, Karl the only moving thing as he scurries to catch it.

“Hey, that wasn’t one of your novels for me, was it? ‘Cause, last time Fancy Hat really didn’t apprec–”

“Are you alright?” A miscalculation: Ranpo definitely had not foreseen the way Poe grabs him by the shoulders, frantically looking him over like Ranpo might keel over from some imaginary stab wound, suddenly close enough to see the lovely violet in his gaze. 

“Haah– of course I am!” He blinks, not quite managing to catch his breath. Well, he supposes it’s not every day he’s caught off guard like this, even if it’s over dumb sentimental stuff. “Why are you so worried? I knew you’d catch the guy, there was no danger!”

“You knew…” Poe trails off, still bleeding concern like an artery, and his hands twitch once, so very briefly, like he means to pull Ranpo even closer. He doesn’t. Instead, Poe straightens up abruptly, stepping away and looking around, having finally realized they had been making quite a scene. “O-oh, terribly sorry, we’re fine now…”

Minoura sighs. Loudly. “Jesus, kid, are you trying to give me a heart attack? Next time, just point out where the suspect is hiding, how about that?”

“But that’s no fun,” Ranpo grouses, fixing his cape. Huh, now that he notices, it really is just the three of them here. And of course, “so, should we just let ghost-san in Poe-kun’s novel? Because let me tell you, he’s definitely not leaving on his own.”

“Er, this one was intended to be published,” says Poe, “it should be easier than the ones I bring you, Ranpo-kun. Although…”

“It was not meant for someone to jump in like that either, then. Hah , in that case, I guess ghost-san is gonna live up to his name, after all!”

“What?!” Minoura doesn’t seem to appreciate the irony, though. He gestures urgently at Poe, “don’t just stand there! Spit him out!”

“Geez, no need to be rude, it’s not like the guy would just die on the spot like that,” Ranpo frowns, unimpressed.

Poe gives them a faint smile, still, because he’s nice like that, before concentrating on his Ability, unused to activating it in such a way. In his hands, the book trembles, pages fluttering like a child throwing a tantrum, before another flash of light blinds the room and the criminal is hurled out from the novel. “That felt weird,” is all Poe mutters, carefully placing it back in his bag.

Unlike him, the thief is nowhere as calm, scrambling backward until he hits the couch, wide-eyed and scratched all over, “what the fuck?! What the fuck was that, what kinda demon cat–”

Ranpo watches the man flinch and blubber for another minute while Minoura goes over all the procedures to arrest him, but this whole thing has already completely lost his interest. Mystery solved, culprit apprehended, case closed. Theatrics aside, how easy . His glasses go back into his pocket and his eyes fall shut to nearly nothing.

So many uninteresting things begging for his attention, it really is a headache sometimes.

Outside, despite the dark clouds cluttering the sky into a midnight black, the weather seems to be holding, with not a raindrop in sight. The dog from earlier seem to have been retrieved from the yard, no longer barking up a storm underneath their window, and allowing the quiet sounds from the cicadas to drift in with the breeze.

“Shall we go, then?” Poe asks in his soft voice, and when Ranpo turns away from the window, he finds not the happy-nervous tilt of Poe’s tiny Ranpo-only smiles like he’d been expecting– hoping…?! – but an uncharacteristic furrow to his brow. “I’ve talked with the detective already, we’re free to go as long as the paperwork gets done by tomorrow.”

It’s still not a smile, but Poe took care of the horribly dull task of debriefing with the police, even though he dislikes dealing with them because he knows Ranpo hates doing it, and he really made working more fun, so Ranpo is the one to grin, wide and bright, “already? Eh, you should always come with me on cases, Poe-kun!”

Poe flushes. Behind them, someone coughs. “Er, it was my honor, really… I mean… I’m awfully busy writing these days, but if Ranpo-kun were to call…”

“Great,” he says with pleased finality. 

Skipping down the stairs, they pass the dazed couple in the living room speaking with more police officers, and parked outside, there’s a new police car, lights still flashing red-blue in the brightly lit street. It’s quite showy, and the crackling radio seems to spook Karl into winding around their legs like a clingy cat.

“Bit late for a cafe,” Poe murmurs, letting the raccoon climb all the way up and drape over his shoulder, “and the weather…”

Ranpo hums. “And the weather, yes.” He waves his arm, flagging down a cab and making eye contact with the driver– it’s the same man from before, but now it’s too late for him to ignore them, he already signaled he’s pulling up. “Dinner, then, you’re right.”

The taxi driver is terrible at hiding his weariness as he asks them for an address. Ranpo rattles off Poe’s, since his own apartment will be understocked with what Poe considers dinner-worthy food, and the convenience stores in Poe’s neighborhood always have more options after the dinner rush.

With that settled and Poe lost in thought beside him, Ranpo pulls out his phone, scrolling through his messages to see how Kunikida is faring. Sure enough, he finds the group chat with several unread texts:

notebook-san

A reminder that all employees are to keep a change of clothes in the Agency’s lockers

And I can’t believe I have to say this but do not bring a suspicious suitcase you found at the bottom of the river to the Agency

Dazai Osamu

but kunikida-kun we’re literally a detective agency!!

tiger boy

i’m sorry kunikida-san, i’ll try harder to stop them next time

notebook-san

See that you do, Atsushi

Dazai you check the contents first damn it!

Dazai Osamu

but what if it’s a bomb tho

or a dead body cut up into tiny little pieces

i’d be traumatized!! forever!!

snow (ginger)

well I’m traumatized anyway

dazai-san with all due respect please don’t ever make me watch that again

notebook-san

Dazai, I don’t even know where to start

tiger boy

… and yet he yelled at us for hours (-_-)

notebook-san

There was mud everywhere, Atsushi

And dead fish

Dazai Osamu

but the jewels! the stolen jewels were there too!

see!! i’m just doing my job like you asked kunikida-kun~

notebook-san

We hadn’t even been hired to solve that robbery, it’s too deep into mafia territory!

Next time focus on your own ongoing cases instead!

And stop with the suicide attempts already! We can’t afford Atsushi running around after you!

tiger boy

we also care about you dazai-san!

snow (ginger)

why were we even there tho

like did we really need to be there for that

Dazai Osamu

whoa tanizaki-kun sure is brave today~!

snow (ginger)

it’s only because we worked so hard today!

with just dazai-san and no one else!

great work today guys! 

big win for the agency!

notebook-san

At this point, I don’t even care

Just put the phone down and help clean the mud you people tracked in here

and @chainsaw-sensei stop hiding in your office, I know you’re here

Come and join the cleaning efforts

chainsaw-sensei

sorry, i don’t do after hours

good luck tho!

notebook-san

I can literally see the light in your office

And now you turned it off, yes

Dazai Osamu

anyways~ now that i led our precious newbies in a victorious pursuit of justice <(￣︶￣)>

can i have admin rights back

can i have admin rights back

can i have admin rights back

can i have admin rights back

can i have admin rights back

notebook-san

No and stop spamming!

In any case, I’m clearly not the one to ask

Dazai Osamu

but my naaaaaaaaaame  。゜゜(´Ｏ`) ゜゜。

notebook-san

Suck it up like the rest of us

Snickering to himself, Ranpo is about to turn his phone off completely when it lights up with another text, this time a direct message:

Kunikida

Ranpo-san, I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but the police have issued an informal request after today’s case

Normally, I’d dismiss this as a misunderstanding, but the President told me to pass it on

They said they’re “thankful for the assist, but please keep the flirting out of the crime scene”

world’s best detective

don’t be boring kunikida 

just choose a nickname already before i do it for you 

Kunikida

I’d rather you don’t

In any case, I’ve already told them it wouldn’t be a problem

Are you coming back to the office?

world’s best detective 

bye bye kunikida ＼(￣▽￣)／

Immediately, his screen displays incoming call president but Ranpo declines it without hesitation, pocketing his phone before more nosy co-workers decide to send annoying absurd messages.

Now that his entertainment is gone, he looks up to the shopping district’s lights reflecting in the window, a colorful blur passing them by at a dizzying pace. It’s been this long, huh? Congratulating himself for his restraint, he finally speaks up, “okay, ask.”

Poe startles, badly. “Eeh– Ranpo-kun? I didn’t say anything…”

“But you were thinking very loudly. So, ask.”

For a moment, Poe stays silent, likely sorting out his thoughts– Ranpo could almost see the cogs turning in his head. Then, “sleeping pills?”

“They already had a prescription bottle in the dresser, easy to switch.”

“And the cameras?”

“Lotsa blind spots, especially if ghost-san was crawling.”

He nods. “And he really found the chair by chance?”

“With things like that chair,” Ranpo says, “it’s only a matter of time until it falls into the wrong hands.”

“Indeed, it seemed to have been built for nothing but ill intent,” Poe muses, a wry tilt of his lips, “one might wonder if there’s any escaping nature, or should we just be done with it from the start.”

Sensing some introspective bullshit sprouting roots, Ranpo leans over to tug lightly at his hair. “Furniture doesn’t get a say in the nature versus nurture debate, stop brooding.” Poe is pouting a little, but Ranpo doesn’t give him the chance to argue, adding, “and anyway, that wasn’t even what you wanted to ask, so just get on with it.”

With only a bit more muttering about metaphors, Poe finally clears his throat, even tilting his head to properly look at him, “you knew from the start the criminal might get violent.”

Ranpo shrugs. “Cornered animals always bite. That’s it? That’s not a question!”

“It’s a segue!” Poe whines, and it’s adorable, and that’s an absurd line of thinking, so Ranpo ignores it completely, focusing on Poe’s next words, “what I meant to follow up with is that it’s been well established that I don’t mind to have my Ability used in your plans–”

“Eh, you can always revoke that, you know.”

“ – so this is not about that, but I only wish, if it is your well-being on the line, that is, like today, you would warn me beforehand.”

Oh. Sweet like taffy, something unfurls in his chest stretching in the crevices of his heart even as he blinks, bewildered, “why? I knew you’d step in, I told you.”

Poe shakes his head, looking not exactly frustrated, but somewhere adjacent. “Still. I-er, I’m beyond grateful for your trust, Ranpo-kun, but what if I were late? What if I hadn’t noticed the knife or the intent or–”

“Don’t be stupid, I saw you, you realized the second he decided to go for the stabbing.”

“Still,” this time his tone is so insistent, it brings Ranpo to a halt. It makes him look with his eyes open. “Neither of us can see the future. Even if it’s on the unlikeliest of chances, I’d rather not take the risk. The fallout would be… inconceivable.”

They don’t talk much after that, Ranpo remembers agreeing with it if only because saying he’s never been wrong before would be… not true, not after last year, and it’s not such an unreasonable request. Mostly, though, he remembers sitting side by side in that taxi car, shoulders brushing, and those words lying in the space between them– non-existent and infinite in the same breath.

*

early summer

He’s laying on the couch, feet dangling off the end over the armrest and his head is not on Poe’s lap but his hair is brushing Poe’s thigh, and every time he goes for the popcorn bowl on Ranpo’s lap, it feels like he wants to linger, hands hovering, uncertain where to land.

Wishful thinking or facts? Friendship or romantic?

Ranpo looks up, watches Poe watching the TV. It’s research, he’d said earlier, how they use narrative devices. It had been half-excuse, half-explanation, shushing a scoff he’d known was coming because Ranpo always scoffs at movies, always whines, always says something like–

Why bother? We both already know the end, it’s gonna be so boring!

– and one year ago that would probably get him what he wants, but these days, six feet deep in this friendship, Poe just grins and bribes him with enough snacks to last a double feature. 

But don’t you wanna know how they get there anyway? is the answer written all over so Poe never bothers saying, and Ranpo never bothers disagreeing either– because, no, he doesn’t particularly care, but he does enjoy the quiet of Poe’s place, likes the way here, inside this one-bedroom apartment crammed with bookshelves, Poe’s eyes are more often visible from beneath his bangs, wants to know how the movie lights reflect in the grey-violet.

So, all in all, same difference, right?

Now, though, he shoves more popcorn in his mouth, turns the thought around in his head for a second, and finding no immediate problem with it, asks, “tell me about those six years.”

Poe startles. From the floor, Karl squeaks, ears twitching as he looks up with beady little eyes. “Excuse me?” Ranpo knows Poe heard him perfectly well, so he waits, lets the apparent non-sequitur fall in place, and even allows himself to bask under Poe’s undivided attention. “I was with the Guild, I– Ranpo-kun, you know this.”

“Lame,” he scoffs. Poe is frowning above him, hands clutching the TV remote since it’s too hot for comforters. His bangs are covering his eyes again. “Details! Come on, tell me about your travels! That’s more interesting than watching that guy fall from the roof!”

“It’s for research,” Poe mutters, sullenly pausing his dumb black-and-white foreign movie and allowing room on his lap for Karl to scramble up. 

In a rather disappointing turn of events, Ranpo finds that he is not above spells of petty jealousy.

“There is not much to tell,” he settles on, finally, and doesn’t elaborate.

For god’s sake.

“Come on,” Ranpo whines, kicking his legs once to showcase his frustration, “I don’t care about the Guild’s secrets or whatever, that’s way too easy to figure out if we have to!”

Poe snickers a little, looking faintly surprised before the expression fades into something fonder. “Ah, suppose it would be, for you.”

“Obviously,” he huffs, immediately adding with a pout, “so just get on with it!”

“I– where would I even start? There truly is not much to tell, I’m afraid most of my time was spent in the Moby Dick.”

The giant flying whale, right. “Eeh? Before or after it got upgraded?”

“After, of course,” Poe says, stiff posture beginning to melt and fingers relaxing on his death grip on the TV remote, even going so far as stealing a chip from Ranpo. “Everything was pretty much steel already by the time I joined. Although, it still made weird noises sometimes, at the start.”

Despite the tension bleeding out, his eyebrows are still pulled down, a wrinkle right in the middle, and because Ranpo finds that he wants, badly, to smooth it out, so he does just that. Reaches with one finger and becomes terribly endeared at the way Poe goes a little cross-eyed.

“Er, Ranpo-kun?” Poe blinks down at him, flushed even under the faint black-and-white light coming from the TV, and Karl sniffs at the air, beady eyes looking between them, before scurrying off to scavenge the living room floor for crumbs.

Ranpo takes his hand back, grins even brighter. “Fine, then I’ll start!”

“What–”

“Before I moved to Yokohama,” he says, “I used to live in the countryside.”

Poe is wide-eyed staring. There’s a hungry glint in his gaze that Ranpo recognizes in the answering greed that’s been living in his own chest, the kind that unearthed his question just a minute ago. I want to know everything about you, every crook and cranny, every scrap of you; it seems to beg.

“It didn’t snow all that much either, but at least when it did, it wasn’t boring like here– it made the lanterns look like ghost fire at night sometimes and like the fields were covered in powdered sugar. Ugh, the streets never look like that here in Yokohama.”

“That… sounds beautiful,” Poe whispers, then clears his throat. Briefly pausing, he seems to think better of speaking, switching whatever he meant to say at the last second, “er, I’m not sure– there’s very little I miss– I mean, not to say I don’t have fond memories, but–”

“Tell me one story, then.”

That request seems easier to follow through, less overwhelming at the very least, and Poe seems to happily comply, recounting how buying chocolates in the Alps on one of their off days ended up snowballing into a series of mishaps after Twain and Alcott got somehow involved. 

All the while, Ranpo listens greedily, and eats through his bribed snacks.

*

spring, 2 years ago

Alright, so, that one time in the book. Ranpo remembers it like this:

Getting sucked into Poe’s book is not exactly smooth sailing, the transition jarring and disorienting for a second, but if you know to expect it, it’s not so bad, truly.

Ranpo, not his first time, just blinks and makes a beeline for the kitchens.

It’s another rather gothic mansion, with high ceilings and spacious rooms, and this time, lines of cabinets stocked full of snacks. There is also, of course, a buzzing of staff coming and going, but that’s secondary. 

Happily munching on a daifuku, he sits down at the table to wait. Going back out will take some time, he can already tell, with the way so many paths are opening for pursuit, all equally worth investigating, but before he gets to that, Ranpo supposes he should check to see how Nakahara is holding up.

It wouldn’t do, after all, to get such a valuable hostage killed with things as they are.

How long have they been here already? He never got around to asking Poe about that, what an oversight. No matter, it’s no use wondering about things out there– he’s made his move, now he must lie in it.

And trust either the others will follow through with the plan or Dazai will just wake up already from his stupid surgery and take over the scheming. Less likely, but still– Kunikida’s pursuit may yield something. 

Those are, of course, the only acceptable outcomes. Anything else–

No. There is nowhere else for the pieces to fall. Whatever the case, the President will be awake by the time Ranpo exits the book, undoubtedly waiting with a few choice words about his mutiny, but in the end, won’t do more than a long-winded scolding and– 

Ah . There’s their guest.

Unlike the encounter in the tunnels, this time Ranpo hears him way before he sees him. There’s screaming cut-off mid-sentence and what sounds like an entire china cabinet crashing to the floor, and then, the doors being kicked open.

“You!” Nakahara is splattered with blood, suit jacket missing and tie loosened, and even his hair is more disheveled than usual– heh, adjustment period without his ability, probably.

“Me,” Ranpo says mildly. Shaking himself, no use worrying about things outside his control. He made his play, he took himself off the game, all that’s left is focusing on getting out. 

And keeping Nakahara in here, but that’ll work itself out, for sure.

Case in point: his lukewarm reaction seems to only enrage Nakahara further, and he stomps towards him with a snarl. “You little shit, what the hell is this?!”

Ranpo takes another mochi. “We’re inside Poe-kun’s book, obviously.”

“I’ve got that already,” Nakahara says, and if Abilities worked here, the floor would probably be cracked already in messy spiderwebs, “how the fuck do we get out of here?”

“Easy– investigate, solve the mystery, find the murderers!” He lists off cheerfully, ignoring the implied threat in Nakahara’s clenched fists– if he wanted to kill Ranpo, he would’ve used the knife in his boot by now. Or any of the cutlery on the table. Or his hands, really. “There should be around 500 of them! Poe-kun has been working real hard on this one, you can tell.”

“Investig– I don’t have time for this,” he finally goes for the knife, “tell your boyfriend to deactivate his shitty Ability before–”

“Won’t work! The only way out is through, Mr. Fancy Hat,” Ranpo stands up, dusting his clothes before pinning Nakahara with an assessing look, “and from what I’ve heard, I’m your best bet for getting out of here at all.” 

Nakahara growls. “I don’t know what that bandage-hoarder has been saying, but I’m not stupid!”

“Everyone’s stupid,” he tells him helpfully, because if he just hurries up and accepts that so he can listen to Ranpo, then they can just skip the chase– it’d be so boring ! “Except me, that’s why I’m the greatest detective in the world! Come on, you read my file, you know that’s true! Let’s go already, the murderers won’t arrest themselves, you know–”

“Oi, oi! Don’t just leave, damn it! We’re not done talking–”

“ – or maybe they will? No one expects the culprit to just confess right off the bat, after all. Poe-kun might be trying a new trick…”

“Enough about this person already!” Nakahara is grinding his teeth, but he’s stomping after Ranpo while furiously scrubbing at his hands with a dishrag, so murder has probably been put off the table for the time being. “Listen here, just because it’s true killing you right now would be more trouble than it’s worth it, don’t think I won’t if I catch you stalling me on purpose!”

The door they chose opens to a small corridor by a grand set of stairs and the low light in the hall does nothing to hide the truth in Nakahara’s words. “Sure thing, Mr. Fancy Hat. After all, we both have the same clock ticking above our heads.”

A look of distaste crosses his face like he tasted something particularly foul. “Fucking Dostoyevsky,” Nakahara grumbles, discarding the rag as he pushes past Ranpo to get a look at the large ballroom ahead. Somehow, his scowl deepens at the sight, “great. Fuck this, I’m taking upstairs first.”

Not particularly caring either way, Ranpo follows, pointedly making sure to let the other know how unforgivable a crime it was to make him climb all those steps. The second-floor sprawls on either side in long hallways, tall windows letting the moonlight cut through in clean rectangles that shine pale through suspended dust motes. Right at the mouth of the stairs, a lavish tea desk sits with a tray of caramels on top, and beside it, a single unlit candle with a box of matches.  

Nakahara takes one look at it and throws the candle, candelabra and all, at a window. “Fuck this Victorian gothic bullshit,” he says, glaring at the shower of glass shards at his feet like each and every tiny piece is personally responsible for keeping him inside the book.

“Feeling better now?” Ranpo pops a caramel in his mouth.

“Actually, yes,” Nakahara’s smirk is as sharp as his knife, and the now open window allows the wind to venture inside, blowing at his hair like the proper haunted protagonist Poe had designed their characters to be. 

They take the left side first arbitrarily. 

Or, for accuracy’s sake: Nakahara chooses left at random. Ranpo takes a fistful of caramels and follows, eating them like popcorn in a mildly entertaining spectacle.

Ugh, he had to pick the boring hallway. The windows they pass show snapshots into a wide garden opening into thick woods past the ivy walls. It’s pitch-black outside where the moon casts more shadows than light, and the hedge maze seems to curl around itself with no end in sight, perfect maddening spirals. 

Now, that’s gonna be fun to explore later.

If Nakahara doesn’t set it on fire first, that is. Right now, he’s rattling the doorknob back and forth like that’s going to make it any less locked, before giving up and simply kicking it open. The study is obviously empty, and while Ranpo could point out that the rug seems a little too out of place not to be hiding something underneath, why would he?

“The bedroom is gonna be useless,” he says instead, watching Nakahara kick another door open.

“Shut up,” Nakahara disappears inside. From behind the door, the sound of furniture moving is clearly heard, along with his angry muttering.

Ranpo snickers.

And so it goes while they comb through what is clearly an unused wing of the manor, nothing very useful to show for their efforts– all the little things Ranpo made a note to check on later notwithstanding, of course. 

Frustration mounting, Nakahara runs a hand through his hair, cutting him a glare when he notices Ranpo looking. “Whatcha laughing for, huh? I’m not seeing any progress from your end either, asshole.”

Ranpo blinks. That’s true. The longer he keeps Nakahara here, the better, after all. But it’s no good if the executive sniffs out his plan, so he shrugs carelessly, “eh, not my fault you chose the boring side of this place, Mr. Fancy Hat,” then, leaning forward to get a better look at his face, he drops his distraction: “aren’t you gonna ask?”

“Haah? The hell you’re talking about?”

“Why, Dazai, of course.”

It really is so funny to see how the change is immediate. Nakahara splutters, then scoffs, then points an accusing finger imperiously at him, “why would I ask about that shitty bandage-wasting maniac? Just hearing his name makes me sick to my stomach!”

“Sure, sure,” Ranpo waves him and his truly terrible lying skills off, “let me tell you anyway since you obviously wanna know.”

“I’ve just said–!”

“His surgery went fine, he’s probably gonna be up and about by the time we get out of here.”

The defensive stiffness of his shoulders dropping at the news, Nakahara huffs, looks away. His hands are hidden in his pockets, mouth set in an unhappy line. “Whatever. Only an idiot would worry about that guy, he’s worse than a cockroach, there’s no getting rid of him.”

“You’re not surprised he was in the hospital, though,” he points out.

Nakahara rolls his eyes, “do you think we just went in blind? This clusterfuck going on with Dostoyevsky of all people and no sign of that nosy asshole? Suspicious as shit, of course we checked.” 

Indeed, but Ranpo doesn’t want to think too hard about what’s going on outside the book, so he says, “isn’t that the same as being worried?”

“Haaaah?! Shut up! Who’s worried here?! If anything I hope that shitty idiot survives just so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of dying!”

What a convoluted way of saying he’s relieved, Ranpo muses, snorting. It must be exhausting going to such lengths to keep from saying what one really means, isn’t it much easier to just say what you want to say? Normal people really are so stupid sometimes.

“Ugh, why did you have to bring up that dead-eyed freak? I need a drink, where did your dumb boyfriend store the alcohol in this place? And stop following me, damn it!”

“Who are you to call anyone dumb, anyway? As if,” he grumbles, idly wondering if he should correct Nakahara in his assumptions or simply let him continue until he makes a fool of himself in front of more people. 

Throwing his hands up with an annoyed growl, Nakahara stomps away, wrenching a door open at random as he goes. Rather than follow, Ranpo yawns, stretching his arms. While the mafia executive had made a pretty decent bodyguard in this murder house, this reprieve gives him a good opportunity to investigate for real this time without seeming suspicious.

So taking out his glasses, Ranpo finally gets to work.

Eh, how easy! The secret trapdoor under the rug in the first room leads him to a secret tunnel and from there things just keep falling into place, puzzle pieces locking into each other to paint a bigger picture that gets increasingly easy to guess as time ticks by. 

It does a wonderful job of keeping his mind occupied, he must admit. While the mysteries are no match for his Ultra Deduction, it still makes him work for it, even if just a little, and besides, now that he’s inside the book of his own volition, Ranpo can appreciate how Poe is everywhere in this world.

Really, it’s almost endearing, in a way. Abilities come from the soul, after all, and what’s this world if not borne out of Poe’s very existence? Willed into being by Poe’s wild imagination? 

And somehow, in the whirlwind of murder mysteries, he took the time to scatter lanterns for Ranpo to navigate this maze, filled trays with sweets, and stocked a kitchen with his favorite snacks. Lines and lines of words with no other purpose but Ranpo’s own satisfaction.

It’s enough to make it almost annoying that Nakahara is also here.

Right.

Somewhere in the manor, a clock booms at half-hour intervals, echoing all the way to each crook and cranny of the place.

It chimes five more times before he runs into Nakahara again. At this point, Ranpo has resurfaced from the catacombs underneath into another study on the other side of the house, dusty and just a slight bit cranky.

Once again, Nakahara throws a door open, dragging a boy inside by the collar this time. Spotting Ranpo by the window, he barks, “oi, detective guy– the French couple, in the library, with the candlestick.”

“Do you have a pen and paper?”

“Haah? Why would I– what the hell you need that for?!”

“Well, telling you all the crimes I’ve solved so far would take too long, so writing it down would be better to save time.”

“You–! Bastard, you’re worse than that slimy stinky fish!” He seems to take a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. Still dangling by his collar, the boy he’d brought with him looks absolutely terrified. “Nevermind. Fucking whatever, give me your damn list later. Is this one of the murderers?”

Ranpo blinks. “That’s a child.”

“A ch– how old are you, brat?” He gives him a shake for good measure.

“Uh, fourteen, mister– please, I didn’t do anything! I swear I don’t know anything–”

“Shut up,” Nakahara gives Ranpo a pointed look, “see, he’s fourteen.”

“Do you know many fourteen years old with a body count, Mr. Fancy Hat?”

Nakahara rolls his eyes, severely unimpressed. “Did the brat fucking kill someone or not, stop wasting my time, damn it!”

At this point, the boy seems to be nearly pissing himself, crying rather pathetically on the floor like that’s gonna help with anything– tears and snot are definitely not gonna wipe the blood from his shoelaces or the gunpowder that’s bound to be under his nails. Ranpo shrugs. “Seems like you already know the answer.”

“Great, just checking,” Nakahara smiles. It’s enough to send the kid into hyperventilation. “Hey, brat, stop worrying, I don’t give two shits about the fictional crimes you committed against fictional people.”

“Would you if they weren’t fictional?”

“That’s beside the point,” he waves Ranpo off, continuing pleasantly to the boy, “the point is that since you’re so sorry and all, we’re gonna have a little chat here and you’re gonna tell me everything you know.”

“F-fictional? What? I don’t–”

Nakahara’s questioning gets boring very quickly, and Ranpo decides to ignore it as background noise instead, knowing very well it won’t bring in much more information than what he already has. There are so many murders committed already, some they haven’t even found the bodies yet, and many to happen in the next hours, but despite the sheer number of mysteries presenting themselves in front of them, it’s really not that hard.

Once you find one loose thread, it unravels easily; a tapestry of connections falling apart before his eyes. 

“Oi, detective-san, don’t just stand there! Isn’t this your job, anyway? So, get to detecting already!”

“Hm, as a thug, are you going to beat up everyone you find?”

“I’m not a– ! Whatever,” Nakahara huffs, fixing him with a withering glare. His little interrogation must have told him this isn’t as straightforward as he first thought, considering the new levels his frustration has reached. Ranpo pities him, honestly, even if he’s not as dumb as Dazai would have everyone believe, average people are still just so stupid. “This is seriously the worst. At this rate, we’re never getting out of here.”

Ranpo snorts. At this rate, Nakahara will truly start beating up people very soon, he’d say. With that in mind, it’s probably best to make himself scarce before he gets sucked into it. Besides, he’s already seen everything this mansion has to offer in terms of information anyway, so if Mr. Mafia over there wants to bring the ceiling down on his head, it’s not like it’ll matter either way.

“You should start in the attic, then make your way down,” Ranpo says, throwing him a bone as he saunters past him on his way out, “see you on the other side, Mr. Fancy Hat!”

Nakahara’s angry shouting is the last Ranpo will hear from him until long after the world is thrown into chaos with the Decay of Angels.

*

mid-summer

Outside, the city lights illuminate Yokohama in a way the countryside has never hoped to be– in his memories, everything aside from his parents is shrouded in a dull twilight, full of half-shadows. Confusing. Ranpo never misses it, but sometimes– an old familiar ache unfurls lazily in his chest, like a cat stretching in a patch of sunlight.

Ranpo knows more now than he ever did at fourteen, has seen and done worse things since clinging to Fukuzawa with a stinging cheek, and yet– here he is, balking before barreling forward with an idea.

The thought makes him grin. “Ne, shouldn’t you be happy?”

“That you’re still insisting on turning my table into a graveyard of dishes?”  The president looks on with something between horror and despair, seeming to regret ever buying the mayonnaise as he watches Ranpo’s attempts to drown the takoyaki in it.

“It needs flavor,” he informs him cheerfully.

With the air of someone who’s had to deal with this for over a decade, Fukuzawa merely sighs, setting his cup down. The invitation had not necessarily been out of the blue, it’s not uncommon for the president to treat him to dinner or lunch from time to time, but this time, it had felt uncharacteristically loaded– Yosano poking her head out of her office just to snicker at him from behind Fukuzawa’s back had definitely not helped. 

Either way, Ranpo had figured it was better to just get it over with sooner rather than later. 

“I had also meant the tempura you shredded earlier,” the president gestures vaguely towards the remnants of his search for the sweet potato in the dish, before shaking his head. Then, he finally gets to the point, “I suppose it can’t be helped. Although, I hope you’re not giving that poor boy this much trouble with dinner?”

This is the worst. Ranpo scowls down at his mayonnaise sea, “Poe-kun doesn’t mind if I leave stuff out. Besides, Karl and I have an agreement.”

Fukuzawa smiles wryly, “of course. He seems like a good man, despite his past involvement with the Guild.” A pause, then: “Indeed, I suppose I am happy, after all.”

This is precisely how Ranpo knew this evening would go, and yet, he can’t help fumbling with the hashi, flustered, just like he can’t stop relief from slipping through the cracks. It’s horrible. To make matters worse, Fukuzawa is patiently waiting, with a small smile that’s equal parts sincere and knowing. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he whines, “shouldn’t you be telling me off for fraternizing with the enemy, anyway? What kind of president are you?!”

“Considering Poe-san has been helping us ever since leaving the Guild, I’d say he’s hardly the enemy,” Fukuzawa says, “and as for the Agency, I was under the impression employees are only asked to update the paperwork in case of marriage, no?”

“That’s not–! We can’t even get married!” Ranpo groans, head falling to the tabletop. So annoying. This whole thing really is turning out unnecessarily complicated. Couldn’t they just go back to how things were? Ugh, what’s so great about falling in love, anyway? “Seriously, I’m finally thinking twice before doing something like you said and this is the thanks I get!”

Fukuzawa raises an eyebrow but otherwise stays silent for another moment, mulling things over. His expression still hasn’t lost that knowing edge, like for once he’s the one that can see right through Ranpo. “I think,” he says, indulgent like Ranpo might startle at the slightest of movements, “you’ve been thinking this over for far longer than that.”

Unwilling to answer the obvious, Ranpo merely sits up, shoving another takoyaki in his mouth.

“I also think,” Fukuzawa continues, “you’ve grown remarkably in the years I’ve known you, a true great detective, indeed– there are few matters you can’t see through in a glance.”

“Well, that’s a given!” He says, somewhat cheered despite the uncomfortable weight looming on his chest.

“But as humans in this world, some things will always be difficult at the start, it’s only natural.”

“I'm not taking up piano, what does that have to do with anything? And anyway, even that can’t be too hard. There’s nothing I couldn’t do if I really tried.”

A brief frown crosses Fukuzawa’s face then as if he’s imagining the racket that would entail before he chases it away with a sip of his tea. “Perhaps, but unlike the piano, a person’s heart may bruise easily, you can’t play carelessly as you see fit.” 

“I’m not! Poe and I, we're fine like this, Yosano is just nosy, and anyway-”

“I meant,” Fukuzawa interrupts, “for you to be careful with your own. Just remember, the heart is a mystery to any human being, this is nothing new.”

Ranpo grumbles, mood plummeting further and further again. “Mysteries– bah. Who cares, I’ll solve them all anyway.”

Ignoring the way he’s sinking into his seat and hoping to become a puddle on the tiles, Fukuzawa merely places a plate of manju in front of him, adding with humor. “I see, let’s make sure to get it published if you ever do get to the bottom of it.”

“Ugh.”

“In any case, it is unlike you to hold back.”

Ah. There’s the question. Fukuzawa was unfortunately right in saying this is not something Ultra Deduction could dissect and present the truth in a neat answer, and it’s not that the world has grown turvy once again, Ranpo still sees it all in sharp definition. It’s just. 

It’s just– well. For the first time, he’d have to admit to being emotionally compromised.

So pros and cons and tallies it is. If he can’t trust his own eye-witness account, he’ll have to double-check, scrub the rose tint away, weigh everything until his brain tires itself out.

And when the chips are all placed in the balance, is it really so selfish to want things not to change? To have Poe sitting across from him with his quiet smile, all the nights spent in that one-bedroom apartment piling up like snowfall? So much of last year had felt like a constant landslide, each day fought over tooth and nail just to keep above water, every inch conquered threatening to swallow them back like quicksand– the inside of Poe’s books the only solid ground.

“Eh, no change, shachou. All’s well that ends well with me, as always.”

The tea has gone cold already. Fukuzawa gives him the same knowing look from earlier. “And is this truly well with you?”

Ranpo swallows the last manju. It’s not as sweet as the others, azuki crumbling in his tongue like nothing, and suddenly he doesn’t feel all that different from a decade ago. He is being careful. 

“Perfectly,” he says instead, and the quiet, non-committable hum he receives in answer is enough to ward off the late-night chill.

*

summer’s end

“I’m just here to drop off these files,” is all Mushitarou says before dropping down in front of him in the cafe. At this hour, Uzumaki Cafe is fairly empty, not many people milling around so soon after lunch, but Kunikida and Atsushi are having ideas about hotpots again, so Ranpo has been camping out here for a good couple of hours. The distraction is very well-timed.

He eyes the folder in front of him for a second before deciding that if Kunikida wanted advice on wrangling whatever mess Dazai is dragging with that jewelry case, he should’ve thought twice before stinking up his desk. “Sure. How’s the cushy government job going?”

“It’s not– I’m not working for the government!” Mushitarou cries, slumping further into his seat, “I’m just assisting and consulting at times. Although this is a personal favor, I’m not an errand boy, alright?”

Ranpo snorts. “Ango should just come by himself next time, or arrange one of those super shady meeting spots we at the agency totally don’t know about.”

“Agreed. Your children friends are horrible, I’d rather not meet them again.”

“Just for that, I could have you meeting Dazai,” he grins, “and you’ll have to deal with him spewing nonsense about how romantic your situation was.”

It’s not his favorite thing to bring this up again; even Ranpo knows it’s cruel to poke at wounds when they’re still healing, and Yokomizo is still a hemorrhaging gash at his side, clearly. The reaction is immediate– Mushitarou scowls fiercely as if he looks angry enough, no one will notice the grief underneath. “I have no interest in meeting whatever lunatic you’re associating with now.”

“Great, that’s not important. But on the topic of your friend, did you ever tell him you were in love with him?”

Mushitarou splutters. He chokes on the coffee the waitress had brought him not even a minute before, tiny black dots spilling on the tabletop when he brings the mug down with a little too much force. “What– I– you can’t just– why would you– what?”

How annoying. Ugh, he can’t possibly think Ranpo hadn’t known before, right? “So that’s a no?”

“I– unforgivable! How can you just ask me something like this?! Have you no shame? Or, or– pity, at the very least?!” His voice drops to a hiss at the end, and he looks around like someone in the cafe might overhear and give a shit about it. 

It’s interesting, though. His wording, that’s not a denial anymore, so Ranpo eyes the downturn tilt of his lips, the frown carved deeply into his face, and how even his perfectly gelled hair now has flyaways. He looks harried and deeply disturbed. This is a person in love. 

Statistically speaking, most people don’t look so miserable about it. 

Mushitarou makes a disgusted sound. His metaphorical hackles don’t exactly lower, but he’s a lot less ruffled, like a balloon losing oxygen in bursts. “I see. This is about Poe-san, isn’t it?”

“No need to be so formal about it! But yes,” he grumbles, shuffling a large bite of cake into his mouth, “it’s really obvious, then.”

No mercy, the ax swings down on his neck: “yes, it really, truly is.” Mushitarou snorts, crossing his arms over his chest, “it’s awful to watch. Like a car crash.”

“Why’d you never tell–”

“Confess already and put us all out of our misery,” comes the swift interruption, Mushitarou scowling at him from across the table. A car alarm blares outside. He huffs, fixing his hair like he can’t stand not having something to do with his hands, “look, Poe-kun won’t do it, so you’ll have to be the one entering the tiger’s den. It’s nerve-wracking, but it is what it is.”

“Who said anything about confessing?” Now it’s Ranpo sliding down on his seat, hunching over the last bites of his cake slice, and poking the strawberry around his plate. He was the one to start this conversation and he knew his friend would get defensive, knew even that he’d most likely say this. It is, after all, the same rehashed argument he’d had with Yosano. 

The same seesaw balancing his carefully plotted pros-and-cons tally.

It still sucks to hear it announced out loud like this.

“For god’s sake!” Mushitarou throws his hands up, groaning, “you can’t possibly be thinking of just– not doing anything! Say something, anything! If you give him half a clue, he’ll take the hint! Honestly, what’s the hold-up? Back then, since I thought you were a bastard at first, I figured you were just stringing him along, but now I’m out of ideas!”

A pause.

“Are you? Stringing him along, I mean?”

Ranpo tamps down the irrational urge to throw Mushitarou’s own coffee at his face. Instead, he settles for glaring pointedly. His cheeks, to his great embarrassment, are scorching hot and the flames seem to be catching fire on his chest, burning up all the oxygen in his lungs and turning all his words to ashes before they even reach his throat. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Hey, what’s a man supposed to think? It was really hard to go to sleep last year when he kept running around muttering about books for you, alright? That manor was huge but all that noise only echoed.”

Perhaps, someone else would feel guilty about that, but this someone feels merely put out at the accusation– he’d thanked Poe, no? Even went so far as to reward him with candy from his very own personal stash! Praised him, too! Besides, things were really dire at the time, they all made personal sacrifices arguably much worse than a few sleepless nights. 

Still irritated, Ranpo glares up at him, “if your advice is so great, why didn’t you take it yourself, then?”

Predictably, that shuts Mushitarou like a slap to the face, vicious and leaving an angry red on his cheeks, but soon the shock morphs into something softer, his eyes shifting away from Ranpo. His sadness bleeds all over. “Ah, it’s exactly because I didn’t that I have the authority to tell you to just do it.”

Maybe… before, Ranpo thought Mushitarou’s situation might give him a little insight into the aftermath of his problem, discarding the evident differences, but now, he’s thinking it might be the opposite. His friend is too biased to give a sound judgment. In hindsight, it’s glaringly obvious: Mushitarou regrets never telling Yokomizo his true feelings, therefore he’d seek to stop Ranpo from ending up like him. The catch in this, of course, is that it’s easier for Mushitarou to regret it now since his friend is dead and there is nothing left to ruin. 

Would he still give out the same advice if Yokomizo were here? Would he go so far as to confess himself? 

“Although, if Yokomizo were here,” Mushitarou continues in a voice so tender that it hurts to listen, probably thinking about the dozens of letters and manuscripts he keeps in his room for a recipient who’ll never read them, “he’d say he already knew it anyway.”

Ranpo hums thoughtfully. “So you’re saying I should just tell him already because Poe-kun will find out sooner or later. I’d figured that out already, this was useless.”

“Then why did you–” Mushitarou’s expressions vault from grief-shattered to annoyed in an impressive couple of seconds, “I’m probably not even the first person to tell you this, am I?! I’m sorry, but if you’re looking for someone to tell you what you want to hear, I’m afraid you’re looking at the wrong place. There is no right place, actually, no one in their right mind will agree with you on this.”

His misery plunges further. “I’m smarter than this whole town combined,” he grouses.

“And yet, here you are, being incredibly stupid.” Something like glee seems to light up in his eyes, “it’s quite entertaining, I feel much better already!”

A waitress stops by to refill their coffee. She’s got a dog at home and she’s meeting friends after her shift ends, most likely at the park. It’s not hanami season so they’re probably celebrating something– the wistful demeanor indicates an engagement or something of the sort.

But then, the bell rings and none of it matters, not that it ever did, because slipping through the door is Poe, quiet and unassuming, with Karl around his neck like a scarf. So nice and so lovely, and it’s so irrational, the way he arrests all of his attention. Ranpo wants to know everything about him, wants Poe to want him to know. Wants not to have to deduce anything because Poe will just tell him instead, and that’s always more fun.

“Gross,” Mushitarou is grumbling but waves a hand to get Poe’s attention.

Poe smiles. It just about knocks Ranpo over. 

“Either get a grip or spill already,” is whispered waspishly across the table, not even a second before Poe is sliding into the booth beside him.

“Ranpo-kun, Mushitarou-kun,” he greets with cheerful shyness, not balking in the slightest when Ranpo extends a hand for the cookies hidden in his coat. “Ah, Ranpo-kun is sharp as always.”

Mushitarou snorts.

“Of course, I’ll even tell you this for free since you’ve brought these–”

“It’s not free if he’s exchanging baked goods for it, is it?”

“ – Getting a pet crow would definitely piss off Karl at this stage.”

Poe sighs wistfully, resting his chin on his hand. “Well, it was only a thought.”

It wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t, but Ranpo saw the pamphlets and the sighing, and he also saw Karl hissing at the pigeons. “Baked goods now, please.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Mushitarou cries, “if you get that damn demon crow, I’m never visiting you two!”

“Hey now, Lenore was a perfectly normal crow–”

“Oooh, is this about your time in Poe’s haunted mansion?”

“It’s not haunted!”

“Yes! And it definitely is! By that demon crow, for one!”

Poe is making a face, “crows are the smartest birds, that’s all. She’s just learned you were always leaving windows open on that floor!”

“I absolutely did no such a thing! I always closed the windows!”

“Eh, so Poe-kun’s family hall is really haunted,” Ranpo says, feeling better now that he’s so thoroughly entertained by their bickering, “by Mushitarou-kun’s forgetfulness, is that it?”

Mushitarou seethes quietly into his coffee while Poe nods solemnly, adding, “couldn’t be helped, I’m afraid. Terribly tumultuous times such as those tend to make one’s mind wander often.” He pauses, then takes out a small notebook from his pocket, quickly scribbling in it. 

Unbearably fond at the sight, Ranpo grins. “I was so bored today, did you bring me a novel?”

The notebook disappears from sight and Poe smirks. “Not today, dear rival!” Then, it softens into something more bashful, “actually, this is why I came by today. Ranpo-kun, I have something in mind, and I know you can’t help being brilliant, but I’d like to ask you not to actively try to guess.”

“Haah? A surprise?” Ranpo leans forward, more than halfway into Poe’s personal space. His chest is filling with the same syrupy sweet feeling again, heart trashing wildly against candy bars. He blinks, taking in Poe’s flustered demeanor, “what is it? Ah, Poe-kun, you’re so evil for this, just tell me now!”

Poe coughs, leaning back until he’s nearly falling off the seat and Ranpo is nearly falling into his chest, the idea of a surprise snagging at his attention and throwing whatever scraps of common sense he deigns to possess out of the window. Gripping the table with one hand and gently pushing Ranpo’s chest with the other, Poe rights them before they crash. “Er, I really… it’s a surprise, I would really like for it to be a surprise… you see, otherwise, with Ranpo-kun asking me…”

There’s an easy giddiness at the prospect that has him wanting to know everything right now at this very instant, but Poe is looking at him so sweetly, so quietly hopeful in his request even as specks of smugness linger in his expression– all of it promises a payoff greater if he endures the wait. 

So instead of stealing the answer himself, Ranpo sighs very put upon, tilting back with his hands behind his head, and turns to look at Poe, “fine! But then you have to entertain me, or I’ll be truly bored to death this week.”

“Of course,” Poe smiles, eyes peeking out from his bangs in his amusement, “allow me to start by buying another cake?”

While Poe slips out of the booth, Ranpo briefly thinks of the pink on his cheeks for the entirety of their conversation and the odd note in his voice at times, wishes he could’ve seen more of his eyes. Logic would dictate…

“That was disgustingly sweet,” Mushitarou informs him helpfully. “Are you done being stupid now?”

Maybe… things are good as they are right now, steady and reliable after last year’s mudslide of a situation with the Decay of Angels, and Ranpo could easily see the future as a string of days like this, stretching like cotton candy in the sun, could taste the sweet tanginess of them, even. 

As if sensing his gaze, Poe looks back, waving at them with a faint smile.

The cotton candy melts on his tongue under the heat of his want. Maybe, the balance is bound to tip sooner or later, after all.

*

summer’s end

Curiosity is a very hungry caterpillar that feeds ceaselessly on his boredom, and these past few days, it’s been having a veritable feast.

No, honestly, Ranpo’s been so bored. 

Work has been comprised of yawning slumped on his desk, slowly going through his stash of snacks, and napping enough to give Dazai a run for his money– he’s pretty sure Kunikida is halfway into a breakdown just from stopping himself from berating him– with the odd cases in between. Although–

“The butler did it!”

“Well, it couldn’t be anyone but the friend, and the money was obviously dumped as misdirection.”

“Ugh, the owner clearly did it himself.”

“Man, do you even have to ask? Seriously, even the newbie could solve this…”

– it’s been rather mind-numbingly boring as well.

Sure, sure, maybe his mood had put a damper on things, and sure, maybe his lethargy had begun to infect the rest of the office in slow waves, but whatever. If they wanted to cheer him up, they should’ve done better than sending poor Atsushi as the tiger for the slaughter with a single measly slice of cake from the cafe downstairs. Honestly. 

None of this matters now, though. 

After the horrible, no good, gloomy four days of silence since their last conversation, Poe has finally– finally! – called him to his apartment in the city. 

“Er, just to preface, I realize now, telling you in advance might have given you, uhm, expectations,” Poe is saying in response to his grabby hands. They had hardly settled on the couch before Ranpo had reached for the brand-new book on the coffee table, only to have it snatched by the author himself. “This is nothing big, really, so please don’t expect much!”

“Too late! I’ve been waiting forever, so this better be good,” Ranpo chirps, stealing the book from his hands. It’s definitely shorter than the usual novels, less than a short story, really, but the binding is as careful as ever, opening smoothly on the first page. 

As he reads the beginning of the prologue, the world swirls in light, sweeping him off his feet–

– and dumping him none too gently into a brand-new world.

And a brand new world, indeed. The ground hasn’t even fully solidified under his feet before the breath is knocked out of him: snow falls quietly with the gentle wind. At first glance, it’s a perfect recreation of what one might think is the classic winter countryside, with the woods opening up nearby, snow coating the branches in elegant drapes, and a frozen lake glittering in the last of the evening sun. 

Ethereal.

But more than that, if you’d look closer, the path into the treeline is beaten with the care of a thousand people walking it every day, and across the lake, the torii signaling the way to a shrine further up the mountain is a vermillion faded by the sun, paint cracked in places. 

Every flaw is proof of life, of humanity, and where true beauty resides. 

Further still, in the opposite direction, the road toward the village is lined with lanterns that sway and flicker like ghost fire in the darkening dusk, and all around, the land looks covered with sugar.

“Ranpo-kun?”

Poe’s voice comes from a few steps behind, unsure like it hasn’t been in over a year, and Ranpo thinks there is no way for a person to be completely certain, but if this isn’t it, then it doesn’t matter because he knows he’ll never want any other love. Whatever shape it takes, if it never grows past what they have now, never shifts, never changes, Ranpo will never love anything else, anyone else. 

Although turning around to find Poe looking at him like there’s nowhere else in this paradise of his own creation he’d rather be looking, the odds are stacking up higher and higher in his favor.

“As I said,” Poe says, hushed lest the wind steals his words, “it’s not too grand. If I had more to go off from… but I wanted a surprise. Ranpo-kun, do you like it?”

The inari statue at the mouth of the lake is moss-covered and partially hidden by grass, snout crooked. The lanterns look a lot more like onibi than they did in real life. He loves it.

And suddenly, the pros and cons tallies all seem so silly– he’s never cared nor liked common sense, so why bother now, really? Besides, seeing the unveiled adoration in Poe’s eyes now, Ranpo finds it rapidly addicting; he wants to hoard it for himself alone, down to the bottomless depths of it. 

Perhaps, being cautious and being careful don’t always align. In following the first, he’s left his own heart bruised like a bird throwing itself at its cage.

So, to hell with it, Ranpo throws any scraps of caution he’s been holding on to for dear life these past months and crosses the space between them to tug Poe down by the lapels of his ridiculous cape, and kisses him.

He feels Poe startle under his palms, then pull him even closer, clutching at the book-borrowed winter coat as if Ranpo might dissolve along with this world the second the mystery is solved. His hands usually feel cold to the touch, but now Ranpo feels like he’s burning up through layers of clothes, singed down to his bones.

Breathless, he wrenches himself away, just long enough to say, words stumbling over themselves, “the victim was trying to get to the inari shrine through the lake instead of walking around it through the forest and fell down before it froze overnight, so there’s no murderer. The boat capsized and sank when they tried to climb back in, that’s why there’s no sign of it. Both body and boat will show up once spring comes. There, mystery solved.”

As their surroundings once again swirl in light, the last thing Ranpo sees clearly is Poe blinking down at him, confused and awed, and once reality solidifies back into shape, back into Poe’s apartment, it’s still the sharpest thing in his vision. For a second, he merely looks, eyes fully open, taking in every detail, from the dark flush spreading high on his cheeks to the curve of his lips. 

“Ranpo…?” Poe whispers, swallowing.

Ranpo grins. Something has loosened in his chest, like coming up to the surface after drowning underwater for so long– finally, fresh air. Finally, finally. “I wanted to do this in the real world, too,” he explains, and this time, Poe is the one reaching out first.

It’s just as addicting the second time around, his mind going blissfully quiet at the feel of Poe’s lips on his, Poe’s hands on his waist, Poe’s hair tangled on his fingers. Impossibly aware he’s tired of standing, Poe is falling on the couch and taking Ranpo with him, and just the reminder this person knows him this well, it has him pressing closer, wanting to stay forever in this spotlight. 

“Does… surely, this means, then, Ranpo-kun returns my affections?” Poe asks after however long it takes for the giddy restlessness to mellow into gentler kisses, and later still for Ranpo to sit up.

He takes a half-second to dispel the fog from his brain, feeling lightheaded and light-hearted, but once he processes the words, Ranpo laughs, happy and carefree. “Why are you asking stupid questions now? Of course I’m in love with you! The world is full of idiots, you’re the only one that interests me. It could only ever be you, Edgar.”

Truthfully, Poe’s first name feels clumsy in his mouth, but with the way Poe beams at his trying anyway, Ranpo needs no Ability to know someday soon he’ll say it and it’ll taste just as familiar as any candy in his tongue. 

“Well, it need not be said–”

“No, it definitely does!” Ranpo interrupts. If his fears and uncertainty from before definitely feel unimportant now, so stupidly irrational, under the full force of Poe’s adoring gaze, he has already decided Poe must never know. “Since I’m so great, it’s only natural you’d fall in love with me, obviously, but tell me how much you love me anyway.”

Poe laughs, pushing himself up to kiss him again. The sound is even sweeter drunk straight from his lips. “Of course. While I’m afraid there are not enough words in this language to convey the love I have for you, if Ranpo asks me, I shall try. I shall invent new ones then, just for you.”

Writers are the worst, Ranpo decides. For the horrible crime of stirring a garden full of butterflies somewhere in his chest, strangling any replies down in the blooming foliage, he leans down to kiss Poe again, swallowing the poetry.

Meanwhile, the rain falls outside, quiet and soft, and thus, the water flows.

*

early autumn, after

“I think,” Mushitarou says, “this could’ve been a text.”

“You asked!” Ranpo cries, waving his fork in his face and sending tiny crumbs flying around the table like landmines, “and anyway, you were the one who told me to just confess.”

“I know– which, by the way, you didn’t have to recount that part, I was there, you know, I remember! Very differently, might I add,” he grumbles under his breath before clearing his throat, “anyway! All I asked was how things were going, you definitely could’ve spared the details.”

“That’s boring. You and Kunikida would get along, he said the same thing.”

“Ugh, and some of that wasn’t even that relevant, what was the point in telling me about that Mafia Executive? Or the creepy case-date you guys went on?”

Ranpo sighs, “three things. First, you needed to see how Poe and I work super well together. Second, now you know how great I was on those cases!”

Setting his coffee down, Mushitarou also sighs. “And I thought you two were going to be more bearable if you got together…”

“Funny, that’s what Yosano said too!”

“Ah, in any case,” he shakes his head, then offers one of his rare smiles, “I am truly happy for you, my friend.”

Ranpo grins. “Don’t you wanna know the third reason?”

Mushitarou blinks. “Huh? Oh, I suppose…”

“I guess you could chalk it up to context.”

“Context for wh–”

Before he could finish even half of his sentence, the door is thrown open, banging on the wall loud enough to drown the bell. In the threshold, looking rather rumpled and extremely pissed off, Nakahara Chuuya stands scanning the few customers milling around Cafe Uzumaki. Immediately spotting Ranpo, he makes a beeline, “you!”

“Now that’s some dejavu,” Ranpo chirps.

“Where’s that shitty Dazai?” Nakahara says it like he’s spitting poison, “the amount of bad luck I had in this case, there’s no way it’s not his fault.”

“I thought Executives were above simple little jewel cases?”

“Does it look like anything about this is simple?! I wouldn’t be surprised if that fucker was behind the robbery itself months ago, just to make my life miserable now.”

Ranpo snorts. “Bold claims. Is that a question?”

“No, the question was where the hell that bastard is hiding now? He needs to pay for messing with my business.”

“Detectives can usually be found in detective agencies, of course,” Ranpo says casually, “or out, doing some detecting. More than that is gonna cost ya.”

Nakahara twitches. Taking a deep breath, he pulls out a crumpled bag of potato chips from his coat, “this good enough for an address? I’ll get more from the convenience store down the block if you have anything else.”

“Make it the Lawson from two streets over and I’ll get you a timeline.”

“Done. This shit better be worth it, with all this trouble,” he grouches, turning around to stomp out of the cafe.

“Great doing business with you, Mr. Fancy Hat!”

The door closes with enough force to shake the glass panels. From his seat, Mushitarou gapes, “what was that?”

“I'm feeling generous, you could say,” Ranpo shrugs, opening his new snack without bothering to offer any. Man, he hopes Nakahara brings that milk bread Poe likes… and the cake rolls, too… eh, maybe he should’ve given him a list?