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Chapter Text

Brisk.

That was one word that could be used to summarize the man named Edogawa Ranpo.

Always flitting about, talking, laughing, he was the candle in Edgar’s dark room, always there to bring him down from the discordant blur of his own thoughts.

Tonight was no different, Poe and Ranpo sat in Poe’s office, Ranpo seated on a couch across the room reading a book, and Poe staring at a half written paper on his desk, hands threaded through his wavy black hair.

He had been on and off writing for days, which almost never happened to him. He was usually writing out stories like it was all he knew how to do, (though he felt it was), not sitting and looking pitiful in a dark room in front of his rival (crush).

’When you were little, what did you want to be?’

Ranpo spoke up from across the room, causing Edgar to snap out of his trance like state and look up at the green eyed man.

’Pardon?’

’You heard me, what did you want be?’

Ranpo snapped, his eyes opening ever so slightly to shoot a pointed look at the author.

Poe paused for a moment, before replying quietly.

’An oceanographer.’

’A what?’

’An oceanographer. Someone who studies the science behind the chemistry, physics, and biology of the sea.’

He explained, his expression shifting from worry to nostalgia, as if he was reliving the days he spent looking through science books in his school lab rather than eating and playing with other children.

‘I know what an oceanographer is, Ed! I’m asking why you would to be one! It’s so boring, I’ve always wanted to be a detective, and I’m the best there is!’

Ranpo threw his hands up in the air, expression shifting from annoyance to pride, a smug smirk resting on his lips. Poe flinched back at the raise in volume, sinking down in his seat at Ranpo’s harsh words.

‘W-well, yes, you are quite extraordinary, my dearest Ranpo. But in my perspective, the ocean is one of the most beautiful things there is. I mean, just think of it! We know more about space than we do the deep sea, and there are sharks that can live for hundreds of years! How could one not be drawn to such a thing?’

A skeptical chitter sounded from somewhere inside a pile of cushions that Karl had constructed next to Ranpo, causing the taller of the two to cringe. He probably sounded like a freak.

‘Come on, Ed! The sea is just a bunch of fish and salty water, what’s there to be drawn to? Detective work is so much more exciting!’

‘It is exciting, but—‘

‘No buts, you know I’m right! Besides, you’re better at writing. Even if your work is super easy to figure out.’

Ranpo cut the author off, waving his finger in the air as a signal not to respond. Poe fell silent at the gesture, his gaze falling back down to his papers.

’I think you should go home, Ranpo. It’s getting late.’

’Awww, already? You’re mean!’

He pouted, and for some reason, Poe felt none of the usual fondness at the way he puffed out his cheeks and the little frown.

’Just… please go.’

Edgar murmured, his request cutting through Ranpo’s playful demeanor like a claw through flesh.

’O-oh. Okay. See ya, Ed! Don’t forget, coffee on Thursday!’

Poe nodded slowly, shutting the door almost as soon as Ranpo shuffled out the heavy door and into the dark halls of his manor.

He stood there a moment, bitter tears beginning to bead in his smoky eyes. Why did Ranpo always talk about himself? Why could he never reciprocate any of the raven haired man’s praise?

Maybe it was a selfish wish, (it wasn’t, and he certainly deserved it), but it was physically eating him away inside. Since they first started their genuine friendship around seven or eight months ago, he had been progressively falling deeper into a state of apathy and his self destructive tendencies had greatly increased, even more so than during the six years he spent plotting to kill Ranpo.

Edgar’s nails dug into his arms as he trudged up the stairs to his room, nearly hitting Karl as he slammed the door to the large space.

Surely he should have cared that he almost hurt his best friend. So why didn’t he? By now, he was openly crying, albeit quietly, but every sob made his chest hurt with the force.

Why did it hurt so bad? Ranpo was just focused on his own career. That had to be it! Right? He would never try to hurt Poe. He was sure of that. The two were rivals, not enemies, and rivals don’t hurt each other.

So why did every time Ranpo redirect the conversation to himself feel like he was slapped across the face? He hasn’t been hit since very early in his childhood, and it wasn’t like Ranpo was abusing him…

.

..

…

Right?

He hadn’t hurt himself since the day of the intelligence battle, that horrible, horrible night that he lost all the confidence he had ever possessed for his skills.

But now, oh how he craved the delicious burn of the cuts on his arms, the blood, the hazy feeling that came with the pain medication afterwards. It took a moment of internally yelling at himself to get up, but he managed to
traipse to his black tiled bathroom, fumbling with the cabinet above his mirror.

It took a moment to register, but he looked terrible. His hair was ruffled and his bangs pushed out of his eyes, which were red and puffy. He had dark circles under his eyes, which shouldn’t have alarmed him, but they were far darker than normal. His dead eye was seemingly cloudier than normal, and he had wet streaks running down his pale cheeks.

After a few minutes of searching, he found his prize. A shiny, unopened pack of razor blades that had been tucked in the far back of the top shelf.

Carefully rolling up the sleeves on his white shirt, he peels the package ope. Tapping it against the white marble countertop, one of the blades came loose from the cluster and clattered into the sink.

Poe sighed exasperatedly, carefully picking it up so that he didn’t nick his fingers, and pressed it to the delicate skin on his wrists.

It started with one, light drag of the metal, then a second, equally as gentle, and a third, fourth, fifth, progressively getting deeper until he realized that his sink was covered in sticky red liquid, and that he was bleeding almost up to his elbow.

A little too far, but not untreatable. Tossing the razor in the trash can beside the toilet, he reached for the bandage roll in cupboard, he carefully wrapped his forearm after running it under cold water. He hissed as the fabric caught on one of the deeper lacerations, flipping the light switch off and collapsing in his bed. He could deal with the rest tomorrow, now was time to rest. If he could even fall asleep, that is.

Only a few minutes after his body hit the mattress, his body completely shut down. If you hadn’t seen him go to sleep you might very well think he was dead with how still the man was.

What felt like several days, but in reality was maybe 9 hours later, Poe awoke to Karl insistently clawing at his back. He hissed, rolling over and glaring at the animal.

‘Karl, leave me alone. I don’t want to deal with you right now.’

He hissed, barely registering the the defeated whimper the raccoon made. Normally, he would have scooped his companion up, carried him to the kitchen, and set him on the table while he got to work on breakfast. This morning though, he felt far, far too heavy to pull himself out of bed.

How odd. By now he should have already been on his way to see Ranpo with a new chapter of his manuscript, judging from the light filtering through his dark curtains. It certainly had been a while since they had been drawn open, based on the light layer of dust visible on the grey material.

Groaning, Edgar managed to push himself off the blankets, rubbing his eyes wearily. A jolt of stinging pain reminded him of his… activities from the night before, and he winced as he dropped his arm.

Walking over to the curtains, he pushed one slightly to the side with his, if you will, good arm. The tall man immediately recoiled at the rays of white light that spilled through the glass panes, making a mental note to set an alarm that evening so he could wake up before the sun.

Reluctantly, Edgar made his way out of his room and down the the stairs to his large kitchen, Karl trailing a good distance behind him for fear of further irritating his owner.

‘Damn it… Ranpo…’

He muttered to himself, absentmindedly clenching his one of his hands into a tight fist as he searched for an acceptable meal to mark the start of his day. Eventually, he settled on a simple bowl of cereal, careful not to drop any crumbs on the tee shirt he couldn’t remember putting on as he poured the cornflakes into a black ceramic bowl. Curse his horrible short term memory…

Karl squeaked at his feet, pawing at his bare ankle under the pants he was also apparently wearing.

‘Hush, Karl. Give me a moment and I’ll get you your food.’

The black haired man chided, waving his finger just like Ranpo had done the night before. Curse that detective and his little habits.

Much to his chagrin, his cheeks flushed lightly at the thought of the younger man, though someone might say it gave his sickly pale complexion a healthy bit of color. It was an ongoing joke it the guild - or, had been - that while tall, Poe looked like a sickly Victorian child who might collapse if you breathed on him too hard.

He wished Ranpo would tell he didn’t look awful. That would be a welcome break from the detective’s rambling. Though, Poe talked just as much as the younger did when he was excited, poor Minoura had witnessed it on multiple occasions. And god forbid those two got into a debate, anyone involved would be there for hours u til one of them finally either gave up, or was simply too exhausted to keep arguing.

Speaking of Ranpo, he had yet to check and see if he had any messages or calls. Or anyone else for that matter, given that he only had a few saved numbers.

Nervously, he unlocked his phone, wincing at the brightness of the screen. Everything was too much for his poor eyes today. One notification, from an unknown number at that. How odd. Poe didn’t often interact with others, let alone give them his number. Hesitantly, he clicked on the icon, carefully reading the short, highly confusing message.

???: Heyyyyyyy emo boy this is Dazai form the agency 😋🤪☺️😍 Ranpo rlly wants to see you but he thinks he fucked up with u or smth 🤔😢🥺

Poe: Thank you very much for informing me, Mr. Dazai. Regrettably, I’m I’ll not be coming to the agency for while. Please do not tell Ranpo, I would rather he not deduce why.

That was good enough. Aside from the plethora of confusing emojis, it seemed apparent enough that Ranpo suspected he had done something wrong. No matter. It wasn’t exactly like he was planing on talking to him again.

The night before had been the final nail in the coffin for admiration turning to indifference, and Poe had made up his mind to move back to Boston and possibly find Louisa or maybe Mark.

Those two were like siblings to him, after all. He would go down to the cafe to say goodbye to Lucy, and then in a few days he would fly back to America and never set foot in Yokohama again. Simple as that. It was clear that Ranpo either completely disregarded Poe as an individual, or was simply too oblivious to see how much his harsh words were affecting the author.

Chapter Text

Only when Poe heard Karl’s bowl clatter somewhere on the ground did he snap out of his thoughts, glancing over at the seemingly very annoyed raccoon. As much as he loved his pet, Karl’s attitude when it came to food could sometimes be downright unbearable. With a reluctant sigh Edgar shuffled to the pantry, his gaze rained on the floor as he poured his pet a generous amount of kibble. 

‘That should hold him over for a couple of hours… unless he’s still hungry. That’s always a possibility, Edgar.’

He thought, slowly making his way back to his room in order to get dressed and bid his farewell to his friend at the café. 

However, instead of opting for his usual vampiric attire, he picked out a plain white tee shirt, nice black pants, and a more casual blue button up jacket to go with it. 

The second layer certainly warranted, given that the cold was already setting in on Yokohama, even in mid October. Even several days before leaving he knew he would miss spending Halloween and Shogatsu (New Years) in Japan, they always had such lovely celebrations.

That was the one thing that he had never gotten used to in Japan, even after living there for nearly ten years of his life. How the weather could go from so hot he could barely stand to wear his vest to pouring rain to the point where even Karl didn’t want to go splash in puddles was beyond him.

Much to poor Edgar’s chagrin, the blue brought out the already dark circles under his eyes so that they looked like stark greyish makeup against his pale skin.Quite annoying, so he opted to style his bangs how he had since before his battle with Ranpo.

He had only become more comfortable wearing his hair out of his face around two months ago when Ranpo said, and I quote: “Stop hiding your eyes, Ed! They’re pretty, and having your bangs like that all the time makes you look like you should be on antidepressants or something.”

Poe had laughed then , but looking back it was a bit of a crude thing to say, especially given that he had been taking medicine and had only come off of them around the time that Ranpo made the comment.

Such a shame, too. Only very recently had he become more comfortable in showing his full face, so hiding it again would be quite a drawback from progress. If Edgar remembered correctly, it had been quite a shock to the Aremd Detective Agency, including Ranpo who had only ever seen a little bit of one of side of his face when he went to see his rival with his hair behind his ears and pulled back in a loose ponytail.

That day Dr. Yosano had said something along the lines of him being perfect for a makeup model, which had been one of the worst things she could have said since he didn’t have his hair to hide the very obvious (and persistent) blush that had stuck around for about 20 minutes.

Snapping himself back out of his thoughts, he gently picked his raccoon up and allowed him a moment to settle on his shoulders, before whisking out the front door and down the sidewalk to the red brick building that Lucy worked at.

Another downside to the cold was how many people were traveling by bike and car rather than walking like him, which meant far more unnecessary navigation of the streets than anything else.

As he neared the street where the cafe was located, the faint sound of police sirens became increasingly more aggressive compared to the quiet wail in the background when he had been a few blocks away.

How odd, he thought. The cafe was right underneath the Agency office and dorms, so there was rarely any crime around the intersection that it was located in.

The moment he turned the corner to the crosswalk that would take him over to the entrance, he froze. Yellow tape and black and blue cars decorated the area all specifically around the building he was heading towards.

For a moment, he panicked. What could have happened? A break in? A murder? His mind was going a mile a minute until he saw Lucy, arms crossed and expression sour, standing next to Minoura and several other officers.

“L-Lucy! Is everything alright?”

Poe called, his voice much shakier than he should have liked for such a situation. Upon hearing the author, Lucy whirled around, eyebrows raised.

“Poe? What are you doing here? And before you start freaking out, I’m fine. There was a robbery and someone got shot, nothing else.”

That was something that always horrified Edgar when it came to the redhead. She was always scary calm, even when she could have very nearly died. Then again, she might hav even completely normal and he was the one who was always freaking out.

They were both ex members of the Guild, but Poe was much more involved in everything than Lucy, which may have led to his paranoia and high anxiety.

“O-oh. That’s good. W-well, not good that somebody was shot, but— you know what I mean…”

The author trailed off, feeling rather vulnerable under the girl’s rather intimidating gaze.

“I came to say goodbye, of it’s not too much trouble. I’m moving back to Boston and I’m going to miss you.”

“What?! You’re leaving me?! Why?!”

Poe flinched back at her outburst, he could practically feel the annoyance in her tone. “I just… don’t think I’m suited for Japan anymore. You have my phone number, you’ll be able to call me.”

“Does Ranpo know?”

“…yes, he does. He respects my choice.”

He felt terrible for lying straight to her face, but it was for the better. He would much rather have Ranpo find out on his own than try to convince the black haired man to stay. Not that it would work, anyway.

“Well, you better take real good care of yourself, you hear me? That means eat every few hours, you idiot. Otherwise I’ll come over and kick your skinny ass to next summer.”

She snapped, pulling him over into a card too tight hug. He let out a little croak at the pressure, doing his best to pat her on the back from the position he was in.

“I will. And I’m not that skinny…”

He managed, panting slightly once she released him from her grip. He didn’t feel anything off, but he might have a small bruise from the hug. Lucy was VERY strong.

”Bullshit. I bet I could pick you up and carry you around for at least and hour. You probably weigh something like 130, you twig.”

What she said sounded a bit like an insult, but to someone who knew her well would know that teasing was her love language and that she loved Poe like a very, very overprotective brother 

After a few more goodbyes going back and forth, and a “Good luck” from Detective Minoura, who seemed both a bit upset that one of the best detectives in the city was leaving, (he had Ranpo, why was he upset? At least that’s what Edgar asked himself), and annoyed that he had two foreigners speaking another language right in front of him (who didn’t speak a word of English), all that was left to do was to fill out the paperwork for Karl to come with him, buy his plane ticket back to the United States, and pack. How sad that he was leaving, but how much better he would feel once he was gone. One could only hope. 

Chapter Text

Packing was probably one of the most time consuming, most overwhelming process a human being could ever even attempt to commit to, in Poe’s opinion. Items had to be sorted, stored, discarded, and sometimes they would break. He really should have done this sooner.

But there he was, sitting on the floor in his room sorting through stacks of books to keep and to donate, many of them either being rare editions or his own work. And with a limit of three bags and 32 kilograms, it was certainly going to take a while. Going through his large assortments of books and trinkets from traveling was certainly a tedious task, and his fingers were starting to hurt from moving things around so often.

He had already been sitting there for around an hour and a half already, and he still had probably another hour to go until he was fully done. The day before, the moment he arrived home he had gotten to work on filling everything for Karl and himself, which had taken quite some time so he ended up completely ignoring his inventory until now.

How unlike him, something Ranpo would probably have commented on had he known, or been there in the moment. Why did he keep going back to thinking about the green eyes detective? To hell with Ranpo! Even if he did care about Poe, he certainly didn’t show it and if he didn’t care?  Well there’s another reason he was leaving Japan.

Truly, he asked himself, how much of a fool does one have to be to love another so dearly that for months at a time they never notice the mistreatment, the interruptions, how could he have loved the younger of the two so much that he had barely seen it until now? There was something his father used to call him before he died, years before he left America, before he even reached his tenth birthday.

Useless. That was the word. That day when he came home from his fourth week of 1st grade, holding a slip of paper from his teacher was the first time he was hit.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Poe,

Your son Edgar appears to have some sort of mental disorder. All month he has barely spoken to me or his classmates, and refuses to answer any problems for math or languages. He is an exceptionally smart boy, I’ve seen how well he reads, but he doesn’t seem to realize how intelligent he really is. He has a hard time focusing when has something is out of order, and constantly rearranges it. I am not a professional, but I would recommend getting him tested for OCD.

Warm Regards, Mariana Peterson

He didn’t know why his father had seemed so angry when he had read the letter at first, he was only six at the time. Had he done something wrong? Surely his teacher hadn’t my said something bad about him, Miss Mariana was so kind to him and the other students. All of his thoughts had come crashing down when he felt the sharp sting on his cheek, the way something warm had begun to trickle from his nose upon impact.

Poe had barely had time to realize what was happening when his father grabbed his wrist and dragged him up to his room.

”You stay in there, you hear me?! Useless freak! We should have had you aborted the second we knew you existed!”

He cried that night, cried harder than he had done any time before, and he never cried that hard again until the night he lost to Ranpo. David Poe was and had always been an angry man, for reasons a young Edgar would never come to understand until the day he learned what alcoholism was. He didn’t have any memories of a time his father was kind, except for a very vague recollection of him, his mother, and his father ice skating around the time he was three. He didn’t like the cold. But it wasn’t avoidable all the time, even in the warmest parts of the world. How unfortunate for Poe, he would have much preferred if the world was spring all year round. That would be much nicer than freezing his ass off for 5 months every year, he thought.

Thinking about his parents always made the author sad, his mother and father were far from healthy people though. He couldn’t help what happened way back then. His mother, Eliza was always so tired. She would come home from shifts at the hospital completely spent, and she almost always had marks on her shoulders and arms from the poor treatment she received in lieu of Poe.

He remembered when he was twelve, only a few months before his parents had passed away, he told his friend parents he liked boys. His mother had smiled at him, told him that it didn’t matter who he loved and told him he would always be her son. His father, however, had pushed her aside, called him a failure and held his wrist so hard his hand felt cold, and the skin was a disgusting mix on purple and yellow for several days afterward.

And then, they died. He went to show his mother a scary story he had written, and only a moment after she began reading his creation she disappeared in a haze of gold light. The very same thing happened to his father when he snatched the book away from Edgar to rip it. How ironic. His teachers over the years had said he was an amazing writer, and it killed his parents. He held that paper for hours after he felt the dual heartbeats stop, but he hadn’t cried l. He didn’t cry when the police were called after two days, he didn’t cry when he was classified as an ability user, he didn’t cry when he went with the Allan family. He didn’t cry when he was discharged from the military, he didn’t cry for years after.

How could he cry if he didn’t feel anything but disappointment? He didn’t care that David was dead, he cared about Eliza. He cared about his mother more than he could even begin to explain to someone else, and he missed her every day for over twelve years after that day. But he never cried. He didn’t smile again until he joined the Guild, when he met Lucy, and John, and Fitzgerald, every member had been like family to him. Fitzgerald was almost like a dad to him. But he didn’t let himself think of that, his father was dead and he wanted it like that.

It was Louisa who found him sobbing into his arms in the meeting room well after dark the night he lost, Mark who took care of Karl when he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, Lucy who took him shopping when he couldn’t bear to be alone for fear of going back to hurting himself.

It was a painful decision, moving back to place he hadn’t seen since he was only sixteen years old. He’s certainly miss Yokohama, and he didn’t really want to leave everything that he had grown to love so much behind, but it was better for him to leave. Yes, it was better. He’d miss the trips with Ranpo to the— No. He cut himself off, no more thinking about that man. Ranpo wasn’t allowed to invade his thoughts now, he was leaving and forgetting about everything that had ever happened to him in Japan. This was going to be his real fresh start.

He supposed he should start writing his goodbye letter for the next time Ranpo came over, he at least deserved an explanation as to why his house was empty. It then dawned on him, he had finally finished his manuscript the day he kicked the younger man out. Yes, that could be his parting gift. A perfect parting gift for a bitter ending. Maybe not as symbolic as the author would have liked, but he really couldn’t think of anything else to give him, really his only other idea was to give him nothing at all. But he wasn’t heartless, he wasn’t going to deprive the green eyed man of his best mystery yet.

Poe had been writing for months, attempting to build a detailed story line that might get through to the detective with a mystery even he couldn’t solve. His last attempt had taken a full six years and failed rather miserably once he finally located his target and invited him to the challenge. Thankfully, even after he blatantly murdered her, Dr. Yosano held no grudge, no trace of bitterness and became a sort of younger sister to the author. He didn’t remember much during his time with the Allans, but he certainly recalled the child that had dressed him up for tea parties so many times that ruffles were now one of his favorite things to wear.

Virginia Clemm, the darling 7 year old girl with her little brown ringlets and shiny pink sneakers. Not a day went by when he lived with her that she didn’t insist on some way that he wear more color. In his mind back then, as a depressed teenager, color was the bane of his existence and he needed up spending much of his youth wearing grey and black. Such a shame, he would have looked much less sickly had he committed to adding a bit of personality to his overall demeanor. Unfortunately, he did no such thing and remained in his rather monochrome attire until well into his early twenties.

He had finally stopped and begun dressing in lighter colors around the time he met Ranpo, one of the first thing he remembered the other detective saying to hime was that the crème ribbon in his hair brought out his visible eye. He wasn’t certain at all, but it did seem like that simple compliment was the beginning of his seemingly unrequited love for the younger man. Many a night he had spent pining over him, writing little love notes to drop at his desk during his visits that he more often than not crumpled up and tossed to Karl so the raccoon could shred them.

Sitting down at his desk, which now felt terribly empty being devoid of everything except for a stack of papers being his manuscript for Ranpo and a simple sheet for his goodbye letter, he began to write. He wrote about living Ranpo, he wrote about feeling invisible, he wrote about leaving for Boston every word scrawled in purple ink added weight to the pen, he felt cruel for being so, as he saw it, harsh to the poor man.

Except Ranpo was completely fine, Edgar simply convinced himself that he was he problem. Years of blaming yourself for every little mishap in a persons life will start to do that to you, and Edgar had been doing it for nearly ten years. Certainly an unhealthy coping mechanism, but at least it made him feel like he had to at least attempt to fix whatever it was, instead of standing and looking pitiful while others struggled with their problems.

Fitzgerald had done his best during Poe’s time in the guild to give him objectives in order to keep him occupied, he knew from experience with Zelda that with someone so prone to depressive episodes that Poe needed to have some sort of purpose or he would spiral into anxiety to the point where he would barely eat, let alone sleep. And Poe was great full for that, without he assistance he might have ended himself long ago.

Fitzgerald and Ranpo were oddly alike, in some ways. They both reminded him of fireworks, always fizzling and ready to burst with some new color that would either scare or amaze their coworkers. He supposed that was why he was drawn to the leader of the guild while he was planning his revenge, he needed that little bit of arrogance and unpredictably in his life. He had been writing for much longer than he thought, apparently , because when he looked up from his desk, the evening sun had long since disappeared. Based on the moonlight streaming through the windows, it was probably nearing midnight. One last rest in his bed here, and he would never set foot in this house or Japan ever again.

Chapter Text

To my rival, Edogawa Ranpo

If you are reading this letter, it is most likely you came to see me. My sincere apologies, we will no longer be meeting.

I do wish we could have had one last “normal” visit, but I simply could not stomach the thought of telling you in person that I am leaving for Boston, and I will not be returning to Yokohama or Japan ever again.

I suppose I’m still very young in that sense, to have such a foolish fear. But is it really foolish if everything is future, fiction, and prediction?

It must be far too late to bring this up, but since the day you solved my challenge, my love for writing has been steadily declining with every time you figure something out and tell me I could do better.

I knew I was doing better, I knew then and I know now that my novels were at the very least somewhat acceptable.

But one could assume when you have the supernatural ability to find the truth in an instant, it applies to all fields, does it not?

It is almost certainly unprompted for me to write this so suddenly, but I loved you.

I loved you when you saved Dr. Yosano in my book, I loved you when you had me bring my new chapters to your office, I loved you when you you called me to help you with Fukuzawa-San.

I loved you more than I can begin to express through writing, so I imagine it would be just as difficult to explain through conversation.

Do what you will with this information, but please don’t attempt to contact me.

My final manuscript is in the folder next to this letter, I truly hope that you enjoy it.

Thank you for all you’ve done.

Warm regards and sincere apologies, 

𝓔𝓭𝓰𝓪𝓻 𝓐𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓷 𝓟𝓸𝓮

.

.

.

He couldn’t breath. Ranpo couldn’t breath, simply staring at the godforsaken letter on the table. Poe left? He MOVED?  Because of him? He knew he was a little self centered, but was he really that bad? Nobody had ever taken the liberty to tell him.

Even worse than that, he loved him too? Ranpo had spent months pining over the taller man, trying to work up the courage to ask him out only to completely chicken out and just say something snarky. He could feel tears brimming in his usually closed eyes, threatening to break down right there in the empty office.

Only fifteen minutes ago, he had been knocking on Edgar’s door to check on him. Thursday coffee had been their little tradition as long as they both had time, which was almost always, so Poe not answering was a foreign concept entirely to the detective. Now why on earth wasn’t he opening the door? It’s rude to leave people waiting, Ranpo thought.

Another five minutes of waiting and he had finally come to the decision to use the spare key he was given, pushing the heavy wooden door open. Now, about this time Karl would have come sprinting up to him and been scratching at his tights until he was pet, but the house was quiet and cold. And he knew how Poe despised low temperatures.

‘Hey, Ed! Where are ya?!’

He yelled, shrugging off his cape and tossing it haphazardly on the floor. The mansion was dark and eerily quiet, a shame he has neglected bringing his glasses today in favor of wanting to give himself a real challenge if Poe had a new chapter for him to read. Of all days, why leave his power behind? Maybe if he had them he would have been able to reach out to Poe in time.

“Hello-o-o? Anyone home?”

Of course there was nobody home, he knew that already. How could he not? The house was never left in such a state if Poe was around to maintain his expensive (and expansive) residence. The real question was, if he wasn’t in the house, where in all that was good and holy was he?

Creeping through the freezing hall to the eccentric writer’s office, he took his time pondering why Poe might not be at his house. The man was extremely antisocial, so the only few instances he left was for groceries, walking Karl, going to the cafe, or delivering a book to either Ranpo or the publishing firm he usually employed.

The door to the office was standing fully ajar, though from his angle in the hall he couldn’t see anything past a bit of warm, orange tinged lamplight filtering on to the floor in front of the doorway. How odd, he never left the door open.

Was Edgar actually in there? Had he worked himself to sleep again? It happened far too often for the green eyed man’s taste…

Or had he simply not heard him? Questions, questions, always racing through Ranpo’s overactive mind.

‘You in there, Eddie? You’re startin’ ta scare me, y’know…’

By now, his voice had gone down from an excited shout to a meek call, he cringe internally at how lost, dare he even say nervous, he sounded. Curse Mother Nature for making him care so much about such a strange man. Why on earth was he so endearing, with all his nervous habits and theatrical outbursts Ranpo would never know.

Carefully, he slipped in to the large room, freezing in has tracks at the sight before him. The bookshelves lining the grey stone walls were empty, the papers and inkwells always cluttering Poe’s desk were nowhere to be seen.

The only thing that he recognized about the room was the table, intricate carvings of ravens and waves adorning the side and legs of the old piece of mahogany wood, he remembered how agonizingly painful it was any time he hit his hip on it while going to sit on the edge, but all that was shoved aside.

Because there was a singular black folder and thick stack of papers right smack in the middle of the desk, surrounded dramatically by a beam of warm afternoon light streaming from one of the high up windows behind where Poe should have been sitting, lavender eyes trained on the fine paper as usual.

But he wasn’t there, the man Ranpo loved was nowhere to be found. He had ripped to envelope open, frantically reading over its contents. And that was what had happened up until the present, where he was now sitting on the dusty floor and crying quietly into his hands, because how could he ever stand to solve a mystery again if he couldn’t tell Edgar about it?

What was even the point of anything if he wouldn’t be able to walk over to this house, this godforsaken, empty house to spend hours just enjoying the company of his dear rival.

His hands shook so badly he thought he might drop his silver flip phone as he dialed Atsushi’s number. Praying that the young detective would pick up.

‘Hello, you’ve reached Atsushi Nakajima! So sorry, I’m not currently available right now! Please leave a message at the beep!’

Fuck. Dazai would have been his next option, but the suicidal brunette was out in some sort of collaboration mission with the Port Mafia’s gravity manipulator. What was his name again? …Chuuya! That was right, the redhead he had trapped in Poe’s novel roughly eight months ago. He almost certainly still held a grudge against Ranpo for the stunt, so it was probably best not to come into any sort of contact with him, be it verbal or physical.

Kunikida? Probably not, unless he wanted to risk a scolding for sneaking away from his work, which definitely wouldn’t do any good for already delicate mental state, and he didn’t feel like crying in front of someone would probably just tell him to get it together and get back on task as soon as they got to the office again.

That left Yosano or Fukuzawa, since Junichiro would be in school right now and Haruno couldn’t be bothered to leave her desk since she had over ten appointments a day to plan out and schedule, bless her heart for doing so well even while still recovering from the events of their most recent incident (a rather nasty fight with an organized crime group known as Tide.

The president was probably his best option, since he wouldn’t be nearly as embarrassed crying in front of his (practically) father rather than his younger sister figure.Thank god he had Fukuzawa’s number saved as the first contact, otherwise he might have started crying again if he hadn’t heard the older man’s calm, deep voice through the crappy speaker.

‘Hello, Ranpo-Kun. Is there something you need? Kunikida is quite unhappy, so it would do you well you come back to the building before he, as you younger people say “loses his crap.”’

“I-I need you to c-come pick me up from E-Ed’s house, Old Man. Right n-now. I don’t wanna b-be here.’

He managed to sniffle, though it sounded more like a choked out whisper than anything else more coherent, as his nose already burned with the threat of losing himself in tears again. The line was silent for moment, before he hear Fukuzawa’s voice again sounding considerably worried for his son.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, do your best to stay calm. Let Poe know you’re coming back, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

The last sentence nearly broke the young man, barely holding in a sob as he responded with a shaky “Got it”, hastily hanging up and tossing that stupid phone across the room, barely registering the crack of the screen as it skimmed to a halt after slamming into the leg of the table.

Stupid, stupid Poe, making him so emotional he could barely stand to talk ti the man who took him in when he had nowhere else to go.

Stupid Poe for making him fall in love.

Chapter Text

Well this was a surprise, especially for poor Fukuzawa. He hadn’t really expected Ranpo’s reason for coming back so suddenly to be anything bigger than maybe sensory issues or simply being bored, but he was proven sorely wrong when he was disturbed from his thoughts by the black haired boy sliding into the passenger seat with tear strained cheeks and clutching his cape to his chest like a small child would a teddy bear.

‘Ranpo? Are you feeling oka—‘

‘Shut up. Just shut up, old man. I don’t wanna talk about that stupid place right now.’

Alright then. Not the first time Ranpo had snapped at him, but certainly odd of him right after coming from his best friend’s house. Or, as Ranpo so crudely put it, “That stupid place”. What on earth could have happened to make him so upset that he didn’t even want to explain what happened? Explanation was quite literally his entire job, for him to completely avoid it certainly wasn’t a good sign, in Fukuzawa’s mind.

The man in question was currently curled up in his chair, not even having bothered to put his seatbelt on yet. From his angle, it looked like the detective was holding something, but with his declining sight, he really couldn’t see much more than what looked like a rather large stack of fancy looking papers.

‘Please, just drive. I don’t wanna be here.’

Ranpo sniffled, fingers digging into the manuscript Poe had left for him. While he had waited for Fukuzawa to come pick him up, he had flipped through the first chapter or so, which proved to be exactly the wrong idea at that particular moment. So far , from what he had read, the story followed a young man named Aoki Yoshida, who was very obviously in love with his coworker, Sota Hizashi. Unfortunately for Aoki, Sota was both completely oblivious and rather self absorbed.

Aoki and he both worked at a cozy little restaurant in Shibuya, where the two handled the later shifts when they were short staffed due to illness or weather trouble. Now, Aoki was very much a hopeless romantic, and had a not-terrible friendship with Sota, so he often took the man out to art shops  or parks, which seemingly brought the other considerable joy.

But then, two days after their latest outing to an adorable, albeit expensive miso bar, Aoki had been walking home from dropping Sota off at his apartment when he was cornered in an allyway beside his favorite bookstore and stabbed four times in the back. The next day, his body was found by a woman out walking with her daughter, and since most of his family lived all the way in Kyoto, Sota was called to identify the body, where it was revealed that Sota wasn’t really oblivious, he loved Aoki back what was simply too nervous to tell him.

The car slowing to a halt signaled to Ranpo that they had returned to the agency building, where he silently pulled himself out of the car and trudged up the steps to their office area. Kunikida’s head snapped around so fast it almost hurt to watch, and you could practically see the steam rising from his head.

‘EDOGAWA RANPO, WHERE ON EARTH HAVE YOU BEEN? IT’S BEEN ALMOST TWO HOURS AND TWENTY SEVEN MINUTES SINCE YOU LEFT THE OFFICE, WHY ON EARTH COULD YOU POSSIBLY NEED TO LEAVE THE WORK YOU’VE ALREADY NEGLECTED?!’

‘Shut the hell up, Kunikida. A couple of documents left out for a day isn’t the end of the goddamn world. Not everyone has the energy you do, anyways.’

Had he been his usual sarcastic, snippy Ranpo self, as Yosano had once put it, he would have probably been rolling on the floor laughing at the stunned looks rapidly spreading throughout the present members in the office. Kunikida looked absolutely shocked, maybe a little bit concerned as to what might have prompted such a blunt response. Yosano seemed like she didn’t know whether to break down laughing or to check and see if Ranpo was okay, Dazai, who apparently had come back early from a successful mission was openly wheezing at the remark, and Kyouka was covering hers and Kenji’s ears, who looked especially confused as to why such a nice city person was saying bad words.

Kunikida was about three milliseconds from blowing his lid at Ranpo’s snappy reply, when Fukuzawa silently raised a hand as a signal to be quiet and let the shorter man do what he needed to do, even if that was delivering a rather uncouth series of curses under his breath, that only, thank god, Kenji and Kyouka didn’t quite catch from the far side of the room. Had they been any closer, poor Fukuzawa probably would have finally had to sit them down and explain the “adult world”.

While the other members of the agency were still struggling to comprehend what on earth could possibly prompt Ranpo, who by default was at least somewhat good natured, a certain silver haired man had ushered his son to his office, quietly locking the door behind them with a click that felt deafening compared to the wholly uncomfortable silence that had settled between the two.

‘…I’m not interested in whatever you want to say, dad. Ed left and went back to America because of ME. Stupid fucking Poe… he never said anything was wrong! And apparently he blocked me too, ‘cause none of my calls or texts are going through!’

Fukuzawa had to hold back a correction for the detective’s crude language, but held his tongue in lieu of further upsetting him over the admittedly shocking news, even he was quite experienced with traumatic ordeals throughout his 45 years. The expression on Ranpo’s face made his heart ache, for it reminded him far too much of his own reaction to Fukuchi’s death some 6 months ago.

‘…I wouldn’t be a proper father if I didn’t ask you if you’re alright, even if I can tell that you aren’t. I may not be the most…  proficient… when it comes to comfort, but I can offer you something that I read years ago. It is impossible to live pleasurably without living prudently, and honorably, and justly; or to live prudently, and honorably, and justly, without living pleasurably.’

‘That makes no damn sense, old man. Besides, unless you’re gonna break it down to me piece by piece, I’m not gonna understand that nonsense. Call it your old age, but I think you’re forgetting that not everyone collects random philosophy books.’

‘I thought you were the world’s greatest detective? And mind your words, young man. I’m 45, not 60. I suggest you save such words for Kunikida, since it seems you take so much pleasure in harassing my employees. And as for explaining it, if that is what you desire, that is what I shall do. To live pleasurably is to live without burden or regret, to live without a fear of what might come tomorrow or the day after.

This requires living prudently, which is to live with the ability to judge between virtuous and vicious action, and with regard for propriety and appropriate action.’

‘You’re still making no sen—‘

‘Hush, child. Let me speak. If you’ll allow me to resume, to live honorably is to live and act so that one’s words and actions uplift instead of depress those whom they affect. And finally, to live justly, where one knows what is morally white, black, and all shades of grey, and has the ability to determine where and how to employ what tactics when. Therefor, Edgar left for a reason. And while that isn’t comforting to my knowledge, it is the truth. From a logical perspective, everything that happens is fate. Nothing is simply random, and while it may feel like the world is turned upside down without him, there is always an answer to your question. So tell me, Ranpo, what are you going to do?’

To say that the aforementioned young man was surprised was an understatement, as he had opened his eyes some time ago and was staring slack jawed at his father. How on earth was he supposed to answer that?! Good lord, he asked for an explanation, not a college psyche course, or whatever that was. What was he going to do? Why was Fukuzawa asking him that? He just found out his long time crush left the damn country because of him, how should he know?

‘I’m not forcing you to answer now, Ranpo. I’m asking you what you thing the proper reaction to this development is. After all, think of your life like a book. You have roughly 82 chapters, let’s say. And this is only chapter 26. You have 56 left. I’d say that’s plenty of time. Whether you want to do it in three chapters or less is up to you, but do your best. Because that’s really all you can do, in the grand scheme of our world.’

‘Where did you learn all this? I know plenty about you, thanks to my Ultra Deduction, and I’m sure you’re not taking classes for all this shit.’

.

.

.

‘Let’s just say I had someone to ponder over for several years in my youth.’

Chapter Text

____________________________________

Dazai Osamu

Oh.

Oh, this is RICH. Edogawa Ranpo, self proclaimed “Worlds Greatest Detective”, always cool under pressure and one of the most docile and good natured of them all had KUNIKIDA of all people rethinking their life choices. How much better could this day get?

First, he wakes up next to his gorgeous Chuuya getting ready for work as usual and is treated to a ready made breakfast of tamagoyaki and miso for breakfast, thank god for Chibi’s culinary skills and waking up early to get ready to go over emails and messages or he probably would have just skipped breakfast all together.

Maybe not the best idea though, since somehow the redhead knew everything, and skipping a meal would earn him a harsh snack on the back of the head and a good fifteen minute lecture on why he can’t just neglect his calorie intake due to laziness. Every time it happened, Dazai would swear up and down his boyfriend was just trying to fatten him up to use as food for his precious puppies at work! So cruel of his precious shortstack…

He digressed, after finishing his delicious breakfast and going to get dressed, to his luck, his usual brown trench coat had been through the wash and hung out to dry on the balcony, so it smelled like clean linen and citrus thanks to the amazing detergent they used.

And to further brighten his mood, the train station, by some miracle was nearly empty and left plenty of room for him to take a seat on a particularly comfortable bench, sprawl out, and watch the early morning sun over Yokohama. Now, Dazai wasn’t really one to observe the surroundings of the city or get all sappy over a sunrise since they happened every day, but with the soft light and cotton candy clouds, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat at ease.

Getting to work on time was rare enough as is for the brunette, but getting there early? Completely unheard of. But here he was, strolling into the office at the ripe time of 7:41 in the morning on a Friday second only to Kunikida and the President himself, who were talking quietly with their coffee about something he couldn’t quite make out over the birds chirping rather obnoxiously outside.

However, moment he brushed past the blond to get his own cup of pure caffeine, all conversation stopped in lieu of Kunikida nearly choking on his drink and Fukuzawa snorting some up his nose. If that was going to be the reaction, maybe he should make it a point to come in early once every few weeks if he got to see his boss of all people surprised.

‘Goooood morning Kunikida-kun, boss! How are you two this morning? The sunrise is gorgeous, isn’t it?’

‘Wh— you’re— it’s— what the hell? It’s 7:40 in the morning, Dazai! What on earth are you doing?’

Well then, that solidified his plan to reparations this once in a while. After all, it’s always good to keep your coworkers on their feet, as he said! And nothing does a better job at that than coming in BEFORE the designated arrival time instead of thirty to forty five minutes after.

‘Well, Chuu-Chuu train had to go to work early today and I didn’t want to sit around at home for two hours if it meant getting to hang out with my favorite partner!’

Fukuzawa huffed something akin to a quiet laugh behind him, while Kunikida’s expression morphed from confusion to a pleasant almost-smile, nodding curtly and stepping back as Dazai whisked off to the cafè downstairs, coffee in hand and phone out, most likely to play games until Ranpo or Yosano came in.

And now, hear he was, doubled over wheezing and clutching his stomach because his partner looked like he was about to go throw himself off a balcony, with Yosano gently putting a hand on his shoulder and tugging him back to his desk.

What a wonderful day!
______________________________________________

Yosano Akiko

Oh, poor Kunikida. The man looked like he was going to have a brain aneurysm with the way his eye was twitching, and Ranpo was obviously not having any of his crap because the way he stalked off to Fukuzawa’s office spokes words that none of the seven people currently present had the nerve to say.

Except maybe Dazai, but that really didn’t count because he was, well… Dazai. He had the nerve to say anything that came to mind, even when it came to certain Russian terrorists that had some sort of ridiculous savior complex. And a certain white haired jester that was doing an… internship of sorts with the agency.

Just a few hours ago she had sent him off to find out when Dostoevsky was being released, since the man was officially being let out after having a considerable amount of time shaved off his prison sentence for good behavior and positive psychological evaluation.

Personally, in her doctors opinion, it was most likely an act in order to get back out on the streets, but even Nikolai, who had been having twice weekly counseling sessions and was put on bipolar disorder medicine was doing far better, so Yosano supposed there could be a chance at redemption for the supposed demon.

Back to the matter at hand, she had led Kunikida back to his desk, where he was now staring blankly at his laptop, probably processing the fact that Ranpo of all people had not only snapped at him, but actually told him to essentially, as Jun’ichiro said these days, sit down and be humble. Kids… even if Ranpo acted like a child most of the time, he was surprisingly adept to serious situations and could be incredibly insightful. But not snappy, something was definitely wrong.

Hadn’t he gone off to see Poe not too long ago? Coming back from the mans house usually meant he was bouncy and excited from reading either a new mystery, or consuming an amount of sweets that should have given him diabetes long ago.

Hmmm. That wasn’t right at all, she’d have to talk to him later and find out what was wrong. For now, the blond man next to her almost certainly needed a glass of water, or something to distract him from his current mood. And that thing probably wasn’t being crowded, so she’d leave him be for now.

______________________________________

Kunikida Doppo

What on earth was THAT? Good lord, did Ranpo just grow a backbone? Not to say that he didn’t already have one, both figuratively and literally. Confidence was something the older man never lacked in, and he always made it a point to flaunt his supposed ability to be the sole reason the agency was still standing. Which, of course, it was. Without Ranpo, half of their cases would probably still be unsolved.

And scientifically, he wouldn’t be walked around with a backbone. Because of course, the backbone supports the bone structure of most of the human body, and connects the rib age together, which houses your lungs and heart. So, literally speaking, Ranpo always had a backbone. Without one, the black haired man wouldn’t even be able to move around properly, given that—

Oh. Right. He was still in the office. He jolted slightly at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, turning to glance at Yosano, who looked like she was giving him her best current attempt at a sympathetic look. How pitiful, Ranpo was a grown man and he should have expected this at some point.

There was no reason to get so worked up, he told himself as the purple eyed woman steered him back to his desk and slunk off to do… whatever it was she did without any patients to treat. Oh, this wasn’t what he needed to focus on right now! Nikolai had been out for a while, surely it doesn’t take that long to run a simple errand.

Then again, the pale man was incredibly prone to getting distracted, and he probably ran into one of the apparent hundreds of people he had connections to in Yokohama alone. Aside from the fact that he had literally framed them for a massacre roughly a year ago, he was a surprisingly pleasant man, and quite good at what he did, so he had Kunikida’s vote to join the agency. Mostly.

Just no more limb removal, and maybe a little more responsibility when left alone with a deck of cards instead of turning them into the most complicated structures you could make with paper thin plastic sheets.

Back to the task at hand, he had work to do.

_________________________________________________
Kyouka Izumi & Miyazawa Kenji

‘Kyou-Chan? Why is Ranpo-San mad at Kunikida-san?’

‘… I don’t know, Kenji. Do you think his friend got mad at him? He’s back earlier than usual for a Thursday.’

The brown eyed boy tilted his head thoughtfully, one slender finger tapping gently against his chin. For someone who seemed so completely oblivious to the agency’s antics most of the time, when he was informed, Kenji was surprisingly intuitive when he wanted to be. Which, not surprisingly, wasn’t very often.

The kid had said it himself to Fukuzawa once, he preferred to stay on the sidelines and not get involved unless his strength was required, in which case he would happily jump but only to help, and very rarely for combat. It must have been nice growing up without being forced to use your ability, Kyouka thought.

Akutagawa still hadn’t apologized for anything he did, despite Atsushi’s constant insistence to do so any time he stopped by the agency to say hello to the weretiger, and occasionally Dazai. Thankfully, he seemed to be in a munch better mood as of late due to the effects of vampirism increasing his health greatly. Bram had inquired about any desire to be released before, but the black haired man had declined due to his much preferring to not break down coughing every half hour.

Of course, that meant he couldn’t eat or drink much besides blood, and it wasn’t really Kyouka’s business to know how the Port Mafia supplied it for him. But, despite not explicitly apologizing for any of his actions back when they were affiliated, but he did accompany her and Atsushi for crepes or chazuke once every few weeks and had actually taken up SMILING, so in her mind, that at least meant he was making progress in his emotional repression.

Of course, not all was forgiven, because how could she so easily forget all that the older man had put her through? Demon Snow was still rather difficult to keep under control when not assisted by Dazai or the president, so having her flip phone at all times was a must. But doing so proved to be a rather annoying task, and sometimes when you’re in the middle of a task you can’t just call your ability when your hands are full.

Fukuzawa had long since followed Ranpo to his office, so going back to let the cat that had been sunbathing on an open windowsill was unfortunately a no. Maybe Yosano? She didn’t have any patients as of now, and going to gossip with the other girl always proved to be a treat. Kyouka supposed being a doctor meant having plenty of information on the lives of others, so she was never really bored while listening to the dark haired woman go on about some new topic.

Quietly, she shuffled up beside her and followed her into the infirmary, poking at her side to get her attention. Yosano flinched, spinning around and sighing contentedly to see it was only the blue eyed girl. For a woman who seemed so outwardly relaxed, she was surprisingly on edge and easy to startle, especially if you followed her into a closed room.

‘Ah— Kyouka! What can I do for you, sweetheart? Are you hurt?’

‘No. I was just wondering if you have any tea for me today?’

Yosano’s startled expression settled into a devious grin, motioning for Kyouka to join her on the leather chairs occupying a corner of the room facing away from the actual clinical area. She folded her hands in her lap and leaned back leisurely, magenta eyes shining in the bright afternoon lighting.

‘Hot or cold? I have lukewarm if you’re interested too.’

‘Hot, please. I need something to take my mind off… whatever all that was. I think Ranpo-San might be having trouble with his friend. The one with the raccoon, Poe-San, I think.’

‘Ooooh, I think you’re right! He is back way earlier than he should be. Today’s Thursday, right? He should still be out getting coffee and talking about, well, whatever those two discuss with nobody else around. Anyways, I digress. You said you wanted the hot tea? Ooh, do I have some for you!’

Kyouka leaned in expectantly, a small smile settling on her lips. Not many things could make her visibly happy, aside from Atsushi, bunnies, tofu, and crepes. But Yosano’s gossip was always an exception, blackmail material was always necessary in case she was hungry and none of the agency members were particularly willing to take her out.

‘I think Fukuzawa-San and Mori have something going on. After you left the groupchat last Thursday, Elise started bullying Mori and said he was, and I quote, “blushing an acting gay”. The president left almost immediately after he was mentioned, and I was sitting right next to him. And guess what? He was blushing! My theory is that those two aren’t over each other in the slightest.’

The girl’s eyes widened slightly as she listened, furrowing her brow he’s she rolled the idea over in her head. Now that she thought about it, any time one of the leaders logged on to the chat the other left almost immediately afterwards. And sometimes, very, very rarely, they would hold full organization meetings at either the Port Mafias great hall or in the ADA meeting room.

And whenever that event came to pass, when one wasn’t looking, the other stared. If she really payed attention, sometimes it was almost unbearable how awkward it was when the room went silent. Thank god for Kajii in those moments. She didn’t know the brunette very well, but he always had something outlandish to say, and that usually restarted something to talk about when business was over and socializing began.

How could she have missed it? Her next goal would have to be catching it on camera, or something of the like. If she succeeded, never again would she be denied tofu! A perfect plan for the perfect food. And the next meeting was only two weeks away, so her plot would come to pass soon enough.

Chapter Text

Poe decided that day, as he ducked through the sliding doors and into the sterile, white tiled building that he despised airports with every fiber of his being.

Not only was it loud, crowded, and full of children, but it was absolutely freezing, so thank god for the fuzzy wool sweater he had opted for.

It felt strange, being in such a large place, completely alone. Normally, he’d have Karl settled on his shoulder or head, but the poor thing had been taken away earlier for quarantine until they arrived in America, where Karl would finally be returned to him once more

The last time he was at an airport, it was relatively quiet, and Ranpo was there with him, so at least he had human support as well. He couldn’t remember why they were there exactly, just that it had been a particularly interesting case and Ranpo had managed to drag him along with the promise of lunch. He did not get his lunch.

Now, he was surrounded by people without an ounce of familiarity and waiting in line just to simply pass through a scanner that would undoubtedly malfunction and lead to having to check through his carry on bag.

If only Poe had remembered to take his jewelry off, because the moment he stepped through the damn metal detector, an alarm started blaring and forced him to take a begrudging step back.

Now, the security guard was no doubt scrutinizing him as he slid off the various bracelets he was wearing and unclipped his earrings - feathers, a gift from Margaret - before sheepishly handing them over.

‘… how old are you, kid?’

The guard asked, a question that left Poe’s mind reeling on whether to be offended that Kishi, her name tag read, though he was so young, or flattered that he apparently seemed to be.

What a dilemma. One that could most certainly wait, however.

‘I’m 28 years old, miss. Far from being a child, I’m afraid. Is there… any specific reason you ask?’

‘Y’look way too young to have all those piercings, Mr. Big Kid. Head through, I don’t have all day. You’re holding up the line.’

Poe flinched internally at the pointed look of annoyance she was giving him, slipping through the detector again and grabbing his bag off the X-ray conveyor belt as quick as he could.

Admittedly, maybe Poe did regret a few piercings, like the daith he got when he was 20, but they had never been a problem at the airport before.

That was new technology, he supposed.

Some time later, perhaps an hour, after numerous, rather annoying obstructions, Poe finally slumped on in a chair near his gate, fighting the urge to dig his phone out of his backpack in lieu of saving the battery for the time he would spend awake on the roughly 15 hour flight, instead choosing to fish around for one of three books he had opted to bring just for this reason.

Vaguely, while staring at the cover of the book now in his hand, Poe wondered what on earth had led him to purchase something titled “The Resurrectionist”, grimacing slightly as a particularly loud child followed her mother to a seat maybe three chairs down from where Poe himself sat.

‘Lillian! Would you hush?! I told you no iPad until the flight!’

The woman hissed, causing the child, Lillian, to shoot her an exceedingly dirty look for what Poe presumed to be a 7 year old, crossing her arms over her chest and curling up in her seat, facing towards him.

He offered her an awkward little wave, to which she promptly responded to by staring for a good 20 second before standing up, marching over to stand in front of poor Poe, and pointing.

‘You. Move your hair out of your face. I want to know what you look like.

Lillian’s mother nearly jumped out her seat to collect her, but he hesitantly brushed the hair away from the non-scarred portion of his eye and smiled.

‘Why did you want to know what I look like, Miss?’

‘Cuz you looked like you were hiding from a monster. I do that too, sometimes. And my name’s Lillian.’

‘Ah. My name is Edgar. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lillian. I suppose do still hide from monsters.’

‘What does suppose mean?’

‘It’s sort of a fancy way to say “I guess”, if that makes sense.’

‘I suppose.’

He snorted at her response, barely muffled by a poor attempt to giver his mouth lest her burst out laughing. So she had an attitude, that was most likely the reason behind her mother’s very prominent annoyance.

‘What are you reading?’

‘A very complicated book.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘The Resurrectionist.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Someone who brings people back from the dead.’

‘Gross.’

‘Quite.’

By now, Lillian had climbed up to sit on the top of the bench to look over Poe’s shoulder, little blond pigtails bouncing as she rocked side to side in what he assumed was boredom.

(Hey you! read this real quick, this style of writing is getting hard so I’m kinda switching it up)

“Do you like to read, Lillian?” Poe murmured, more to himself than to the girl, though she responded with just as much interest as he would expect from a restless child. “Not really. Reading is hard. But I do like fairy tales.”

“Really? What fairy tales?” He quirked an eyebrow at that, turning slightly to check if she was still paying attention. She was, to his chagrin or excitement he wasn’t sure. Poe had never been particularly good with children for who knows what reason, so this was plenty refreshing.

“Alice in Wonderland. The Mad Hatter is my favorite.” Lillian chirped, dropping down off the back of the seat an lying down on her back to stare up at the fluorescent white lights bathing the entire lobby in a rather depressing grayish hue.

Poe hummed softly, tucking his book back into his bag and leaning back against the hard leather himself.

The Mad Hatter, an interesting choice. Was it for the color? Most likely.

“I’ve always been partial to the Cheshire Cat.” An odd choice for an individual of his level of introversion to find comfort in a cat that quite literally was a metaphor for insanity, but some things just can’t be helped.

Like a certain green eyed detective staring at his phone on a chair in the agency lounge, like he had been for the past three hours, give or take a few minutes to get more chips.

“What does partial mean, Mr. Edgar?” Internally, he flinched.

Call it habit of a tortured author, but he always failed to observe when others found little meaning in his admittedly slightly Victorian dialect, he should have taken in to account that he was talking to a seven year old and not the press that handled his writing.

“Partial can mean two thing, Miss Lillian. Partial can mean a part of, or it can mean a preference or a like.”

The light above made Poe’s skin seem almost bleached, bereft of light for so long that he may have very well been a ghost.

Such was his preference for dark rooms. “Does that mean I’m partial to purple?” She tilted her little head at him, big green eyes staring expectantly. “Yes! I’m partial to purple and black myself, we’re the same.”

Lillian nodded thoughtfully and slid off the bench to go pester her mother, but not before waving a polite goodbye to Poe.

He smiled to himself, that little girl was definitely going place.

She almost reminded him off—

“Attention, passengers of Flight 314 to Boston, please proceed to Gate 23. Boarding will begin shortly, and we are preparing for departure. We kindly ask all passengers to have their boarding passes ready for inspection.”

Poe’s head snapped up, fingers trembling slightly as he shoved the book next to him back in his bag.

Well, no going back now.

Maybe there was still a bit of apprehension towards the daunting thought of leaving after so many years, but that voice was more than drowned out just a little by the catharsis of a new start.

Maybe he’d finally finish his series with new scenery and new people as inspiration. Maybe he’d make new friends. Maybe he’d find someone else, someone who paid attention and listened.

Maybe.

“Attention, passengers of Flight 314 to Boston, please proceed to Gate 23. Boarding will begin shortly, and we are preparing for departure. We kindly ask all passengers to have their boarding passes ready for inspection.”

The voice rang out over the intercom again, startling Poe out of his thoughts as he rushed over to the gate.

In hindsight, maybe he could have been a bit more polite to the man checking passes, but his nerves were practically fried with anxiety. Perhaps whatever deity was out there could forgive him?

With a hasty thanks, Poe slipped past the attendant and through a small gathering of older teenagers in the jet bridge, who just so happened to think the middle of the narrow hall was perfect to convene for some sort of plan.

The aisle was already packed, people shuffling past one another and trying not to step on various feet.

Overwhelming as it was, Poe adjusted his bag strap, ducked his head, and tried not to grip over a stray stuffed animal laid out on the ground like a body in one of his books.

“Let’s see… seat 24A,” he muttered, glancing down at the strip of paper for what was probably the third or fourth time since he got through security. A window seat, of course, at least he’d have that big of refuge from everybody else.

Thankfully, overall the flight wasn’t too full, it only seemed as such since most passengers were in the aisle stuffing bags in to overhead bins.

Maybe he even had the luck of being alone the entire flight? That would a be a blessing, not having to introduce himself or chat at all.

The seat was certainly less than comfortable, not enough leg room and all warm leather. Was it really so much to ask for fabric? Ideally, it would be much more cozy.

“Hello everyone! This is your captain speaking, I hope you’re all buckled in. If not, please do so now. Here in a moment, our lovely crew will come around and check if the oxygen masks are working. We hope you enjoy your flight.“ And with that, he closed his eyes and waited for the plane to take off.