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Chapter Text

Edogawa Ranpo is gifted, and that is an indisputable fact. He perceives patterns at a rate that most people can’t even fathom. Given an interesting enough problem to solve, he can parse out a logically sound solution that maximizes efficiency and fits so well, no one has ever disputed him. Outside of the unbreakable mystery that is Japan’s train system and all related issues of navigation, he perceives everything. His mind is his pride: level, organized, sharp. There’s no one better than he is at solving mysteries.

Perhaps that’s part of why the current uncrackable mystery is plaguing him so much.

Ranpo remembers the exact day he met Poe. Well, “met” likely isn’t the right word. He has never seen Poe in person, a fact he ruminates on while sprawled out on his back on his living room floor, surrounded by books with his laptop sitting just above his head. The screen displays his personal Facebook account, something he still maintains despite the fact that it has fallen out of use among most people his age. Beneath the floorboards is his office, and while neither the apartment nor the office are overly large, they feel cozy instead of cramped.

Their rivalry began six years ago because of a social media game. For Ranpo, it was just a way to pass time until he could get his hands on some real cases. At that point, he was in his second year of university. Of course, he passed the national exam with ease before even graduating high school, but the thought of police training, with its physical component and of any associated amount of deskwork, convinced him to pursue other venues of detective work, namely private consulting.

University was more engaging than high school but still bored him. It was too easy. Almost everything is for Ranpo. And easy things are as uninteresting as easy people, which is pretty much everyone outside of Yosano, his fellow graduate in medical school, and his two younger friends, Kunikida and Dazai, who were in their final year of high school when he finished university. They interest him for different reasons: Yosano is quick-witted but compassionate and dedicated to the tedium of medical school even in her undergraduate years. Kunikida is, instead, quick-tempered and oblivious, but something about his personality resonates with Ranpo. Maybe his competitiveness, though he applies all of that to his studies. Maybe his diligence, although it’s something Ranpo lacks and doesn’t want himself. And then, there’s Dazai. When they first met, Ranpo immediately knew Dazai was almost on his level. Almost. He was just as disillusioned with the school system as Ranpo had been. But Dazai’s mind was troubled in ways Ranpo’s wasn’t by issues Ranpo logically deduced mere minutes after their initial meeting and remained silent about. After all, Ranpo knows there are times the truth should remain hidden.

Things are different now that he’s out and dating that notoriously bisexual ginger with the fancy hat, Ranpo thinks, folding his hands on his stomach and licking the sucker in his mouth. Its fruity flavor spreads across his tastebuds. Anyone with common sense would be concerned about choking, but I hate common sense as much as I hated high school. Maybe more. It’s so boring.

But his mind is off track. And that just confirms what Ranpo already knows: he’s troubled by this case because it’s as unsolvable as it is personal.

Ranpo remembers spending hours with that stupid puzzle game, with the cases shifting from elementary to very easy but more mentally engaging. He played it obsessively to quench his thirst for solving mysteries. Within a week, he had the highest score in the world, unseating the reigning player.

He didn’t see the message until two days after he received it, and even though it was in English, he understood it no thanks to his continuing English education. Six years, it’s been, and Ranpo still remembers exactly what it said: I see I have found a worthy rival. Care to try cracking a different sort of case?

Intrigued, Ranpo replied in English, As long as it doesn’t bore me.

Within two hours, he had a word document. He waited for the computer to scan his document, and once the machine determined it was free of viruses, he opened it. The file contained over three-hundred pages of text, and Ranpo didn’t often read in English, but he did now. He kept a dictionary nearby, and it’s good he did since the vocabulary was admittedly beyond his level. For some reason, long after he solving the crime on page 12, he still hung on every word.

Six years, he tells himself, pulling his lollipop out of his mouth, and I still don’t know what it is about his writing that captivates me.

He responded to the message as soon as he identified the culprit. I know it was the maid. I started suspecting her on page five. But, he adds, I’m hoping to finish reading anyway. English isn’t my first language, so it may take a while.

Poe’s response was disappointed, but understanding.

It’s a good novel, he insisted. I’m just sharp. I’m hoping to be the world’s greatest detective one day.

So began their periodic exchange of messages, which meandered from mysteries to Poe’s latest work to their day jobs to their daily lives. Poe had just taken a position in HR at a prominent company in America. It offers financial stability and gives me time to write, was Poe’s justification. And Ranpo didn’t argue. He discussed his own status as a third-year student at Yokohama University, his studies, his future goals to become a private detective and his hope for lots of interesting cases.

To his surprise, soon after he mentioned Yokohama University, he received a message in Japanese. It was simple, with American directness. Teach me more of your language?

In response, he wrote, Only if you teach me more of yours.

They called each other rivals in both languages. Even in English, Ranpo called him “Poe-kun,” while the writer always called him “Ranpo,” or “Ranpo-kun” in Japanese. Over time, Ranpo felt they both improved, but he also found himself looking for opportunities to speak English. And that was entirely different than reading it, but he found ways to wrap his mouth around the language.

About a year after their initial online encounter, Ranpo happened to mention that one of their conversations. And Poe had answered, Then you can practice with me.

With the time difference, though?

He got a voice recording in response, and since he had headphones in at the library, he played it back. In accented but still intelligible Japanese, a voice that he guessed belonged to Poe said, “There are ways around that, don’t you think?”

Ranpo waited until he was at his apartment to respond in English, practicing until his mouth hurt before actually sending the message. “It would seem there are, Poe-kun.” He maintained the Japanese way of addressing the man despite the change in language. He couldn’t even write Poe’s first name; the thought of speaking it was truly troubling.

The first time they voice chatted was six months after that. January 19. It wasn’t pre-arranged, and Ranpo is still convinced Poe didn’t intend to call, but he still answered. “So my rival finally decided to grace me with his synchronous presence.” He says it in English. Still accented, but he has been using his earnings from his detective agency—one he was at the time running out of his studio apartment near Yokohama University—to take private lessons at an English conversation school.

“Ah, Ranpo-kun, I… didn’t intend to call.”

“Well, now that you have,” Ranpo continues, grinning into his laptop camera. “Happy birthday.”

“Not quite my birthday in America,” Poe corrects him, “but thank you nonetheless.”

“Well, happy early birthday, then.”

There was something squeaking in the background. “Please wait a moment.” Poe switched to Japanese to say that. His pronunciation was better, too, Ranpo noticed. A moment later, the man with hair in his eyes plopped down in front of the monitor with a baby raccoon of all things, nestled into what looks like a kitchen towel.

“Let me guess,” Ranpo stated. “You found a raccoon and just couldn’t leave it there.”

“His mother got hit by a car,” Poe explained. “Grisly stuff.”

“Grisly?” Ranpo echoed. “I don’t know that word. What’s it mean?”

“You know…” Poe trails off. “Grotesque.” He uses the Japanese word, then continues in English. “As much as I write about stuff like that, I’m not a huge fan of it in real life. Plus, the snow.”

Ranpo watched small, black, almost hand-like paws reaching for the bottle.

“Call me crazy,” he continued, “but I couldn’t leave him there.”

“Is that even legal?” Ranpo asked.

“Not in New York,” Poe answered. “But you know, I rent a house outside the city. I don’t think anyone will be checking to see if I have an illegal pet raccoon.”

After that, video chatting with Poe became routine, and Ranpo got to watch Karl and his little grabby black paws grow through the screen. “I think he likes your voice,” Poe observed at one point. “He might like it more than mine.”

“Impossible,” Ranpo laughed, and then diverted the conversation back to Poe’s latest novel.

Over six years of online contact, Ranpo learned that Poe was a prolific writer and a published one, yet he still held on to his HR job for stability. And Poe likely learned about Ranpo’s penchant for snacks, since he was almost always eating when the spoke. Even if they hadn’t video chatted in months, they exchanged text messages almost daily.

The agency is doing well, Ranpo would write. Most of the cases are boring, but I solve them to get by. I can’t wait until you send me your next novel.

Poe would respond with encouragement, then send another message a few hours later. Working on it. This chapter is giving me a hell of a time, but I’m determined to finish. Good luck with your cases.

In times like that, Ranpo sent voice messages in English instead of just text. It takes him less time now. Without even practicing, he sends one saying, “Do your best, Poe-kun. I’m looking forward to your next novel.”

Poe often responded something about not being able to trick him, or outwit him when it came to writing a mystery. And Ranpo always answered, “I’m not sure such a thing is possible.”

“You’re my rival,” Poe insisted. “I have to try.”

For years, that was how it was: almost constant messages containing photos of different local sights and text, photos of Karl getting into mischief or sleeping, voice messages, occasional video chats, documents containing drafts of Poe’s latest novel… Ranpo bought them whenever he saw them at the local Kinokuniya and always looked for Japanese translations (he was disappointed to find there were none, except for Black Cat in the Rue Morgue). In fact, he got comfortable enough with their odd connection as rivals to mention it while having dinner with Dazai, Yosano, and Kunikida years later, when Dazai showed up with a redhead he was obviously dating, apologizing to Kunikida for being late.

“So was I. I got lost on the trains again,” Ranpo announced.

Dazai laughed and sat down. “Some things never change.”

“I was reading a mystery novel from my pen pal in America and got distracted. Besides, my talents in other areas are unmatched.” The conversation shifted away from that topic, mostly because Ranpo asked about the redhead with the fancy hat, Kunikida practically choked when Dazai announced it was his boyfriend, and the evening went on without any other mention of Poe.

But that brings Ranpo to January 3 of that year, the point where he’s at now, sprawled out on the floor of his living space while his mind races, digging for any little detail that will help him solve this uncrackable case.

On January 1, as soon as he woke up that afternoon, Ranpo sent Poe a message in Japanese: Happy New Year.

He still hasn’t received a response.

It’s unlike Poe not to respond after a day. Ranpo stares at the ceiling of his apartment with his hands folded, chewing on the paper stick of a lollipop that he has long finished eating, and he becomes certain all over again that something is wrong.

Poe’s last message is from four days ago. Since then, he hasn’t posted to his personal Facebook page, or his author page. Or his Twitter. The message simply reads, Here’s something to keep you busy until next year. There’s a document that he hasn’t opened and still can’t because he knows there’s something wrong.

“December 30,” Ranpo murmurs to his empty apartment. “The day I received Poe’s latest novel. And… the day Poe went entirely dark.”

The case should be interesting. It is interesting. As Ranpo rolls onto his stomach and sits up, he realizes the biggest obstacle to solving it will likely be his own worry.

He scoffs and pulls the paper stick out of his mouth, then reaches for his glasses. They’re the ones he wears when he needs to see the world more clearly. They were a gift, and they work like a charm. Sliding them on, he smiles and says, “Like hell that will stop me from trying.”

Chapter Text

“You haven’t heard from him in how long?” Yosano asks.

They’re at a family restaurant in Tokyo. A café wouldn’t feel right, considering Dazai owns one, and a good one at that. Ranpo is there because he woke up with a pressing need to get out of Yokohama for the day, so he texted Yosano. Just come to Tokyo with me, Ranpo, she answered. So he did. Trains are still beyond his ability to comprehend, so she meets him on the platform. He spends time in bookstores and candy shops while Yosano is in one of her final master’s level classes. When she’s done, they wind up eating lunch, although Ranpo mostly alternates between working on a parfait and resting his head on the table. “Twenty-one days,” he says to the lacquered surface.

“And there’s no sign of him?”

“Nothing on his Facebook or Twitter. Or his pet raccoon’s Instagram,” he mumbles. “No missing persons reports around where he lives. No news stories about his disappearance.” He finally sits up. “Not even the glasses worked.”

“The glasses?”

Ranpo sighs against the table again. “Even with them, I can’t deduce something from nothing.”

Yosano smiles. “Isn’t that your job?”

“There are clues in cases,” he explains. “Even very subtle ones. But with him, there’s… nothing.”

“What was the last message he sent you?”

“A word document I can barely even look at, with the text, ‘Here’s something to keep you busy until the new year.’” Ranpo pauses. “What if he intended it as some kind of clue? Would he do that? He knows how much I love mysteries and interesting cases, and I’ve told him how much I like his writing.” He pauses as another thought occurs and tumbles out of his mouth. “What if he meant it as some kind of signal for help? Or… what if he didn’t mean it as anything at all?” Ranpo groans and lowers his head to the table again. “I just thought myself in a full circle. Is this what hell is like?”

“For you, yes,” Yosano points out. “Did you open the document at all?”

“It’s his next novel. I looked at the first page on the fourth and couldn’t read anymore.”

“You’re worried, Ranpo.

Ranpo folds his arms and pouts. “I can’t be worried. Worry is for people who are unsure of something.”

“But you are.” She leans against her hand. “You’re still the world’s greatest detective, Ranpo. And I admire you greatly for the sense of fulfillment you’ve found in your agency. But as you said, you can’t deduce something from nothing. And considering you’ve been in constant contact with this pen pal of yours, I’m really not surprised you’re concerned about him.” She takes another bite of her seafood doria and murmurs, “Can I talk about something a bit personal?”

“I don’t see why not,” Ranpo answers. “At the very least, it’ll provide a welcome distraction.”

Yosano sets her spoon down and draws a long breath. “I’m not a worrier by nature. But Dazai? I worry about him.”

Ranpo hums. He deduced long ago that Yosano is far more aware of Dazai’s situation than he is, and that that knowledge is not only unnecessary to him; it’s incredibly personal and private. It’s something that he knows happened long before they all had dinner almost two months ago. He also deduces that it was before October 26, the day Dazai nearly threw himself in front of a train, before before Dazai and Chuuya even started dating. Maybe while he was at Waseda, Ranpo thinks, but his mind goes no further. It’s forbidden territory. He doesn’t need to know, so he doesn’t want to.

“Dazai is very precious to me. Like family, almost. To tell you the truth, it’s because he believed in me. When my own parents said, ‘A doctor? But wouldn’t you rather be a nurse?’, he was the one who reassured me that my dreams were perfectly fine and natural.” She leans against her hand and sighs. “It takes a strong man to reassure someone who’s going through that. I’m relieved he’s happy now.”

“I know this has a point,” Ranpo murmurs, hoping that will cue Yosano to get to it.

“I’m telling you this because I see you similarly. We’ve been friends since high school. I’m still not sure how, sometimes.”

“Because you’re an interesting person.”

“Nothing really sets me apart from anyone else, but I appreciate you saying that.” Yosano eats another bite of her lunch. “Because you’re my friend, I want you to be happy, whatever that means for you.” Yosano draws another breath and looks at him. “This pen pal of yours… who is he?”

“A writer,” Ranpo says. “He publishes mystery novels pretty frequently, but I’ve only managed to find one of his works in Japanese. Even after I figure out who the killer is, I want to keep reading. He just has a way with words, I guess. Some critics complain about his style, but I’ve always liked the way he writes. It feels… I don’t know. Not like I’m reading a book. Like I’m stepping into it. Like I’m living it.” He takes another bite of his parfait. “For him to disappear like this… it’s as unusual as it is unexpected. He has to take care of Karl.”

“Karl?”

“His pet raccoon,” Ranpo explains, as if Yosano should already know.

Her brow arches. “He has a pet raccoon? Is that legal?”

“Not exactly,” Ranpo says, “but Karl needed help, and Poe provided it. He’s a good person, even if he’s breaking that particular law. It’s not hurting anyone.” Ranpo eats another scoop of his parfait. “That’s what makes his disappearance so eerie. And why I needed to get out of Yokohama. I’ve spent days pouring over every public document I can find, and still nothing.” He leans back in his chair. “While I haven’t solved this mystery, I have deduced three possibilities: he’s fine and in a situation where he can’t respond, he’s not fine and in a situation where he can’t respond, or he’s fine and in a situation where he doesn’t want to respond. But the last one doesn’t make any sense. I haven’t done anything to make him uncomfortable or repulsed that I know of. Our conversations up to December 30 were typical. I mean, he talked about Christmas, but that’s a big deal in America. He also notably mentioned his job less from what I could tell.” Ranpo finishes off the last bite of his parfait and returns his face to the table. “How embarrassing is it? I’m the world’s greatest detective, and something like this stumps me. I should just admit defeat.”

“You’re not defeated.”

He lifts his head and glances across the table at Yosano.

“You’re just at a point where you’re struggling and there’s no way forward. And you are worried.”

“I’m not,” Ranpo insists.

“What is it you’re always telling me? Denying the truth won’t change anything?”

“That’s for other circumstances like cases.”

Yosano smiles again and shakes her head. “You called him your rival earlier. I think he’s your friend, too. Someone who can almost keep up with you, like Dazai.”

“I’ve never been this worried about Dazai-kun. Not even when he was at his low point, because I knew everything would work out.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Simple. He held on this long, and I was confident when I went to Café Lupin the first time that even if he wasn’t looking for reasons to live, he would find him. It was inevitable, like Newton’s apple falling.”

Yosano stares at him. “Sometimes, I don’t believe you, Ranpo.”

“What’s not to believe? I’m telling you the truth.”

“Not in that sense,” Yosano continues. “I mean you’re astounding. I don’t get how anyone, especially you, could see Dazai and not worry about him.”

Ranpo shrugs. “Dazai is younger than us, but he’s almost as smart as me. I was sure he’d find something to keep him going, especially if he wasn’t looking for it.”

Yosano hums. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Huh?”

“You’re looking for some kind of sign that this pen pal of yours… who is he again?”

“Poe-kun.”

“Right. You’re searching for a sign that Poe is in danger. And you’re searching everywhere but in that novel he sent you before he stopped responding.”

“The answer wouldn’t be in there,” Ranpo insists. “The story is set two-hundred years ago.”

“Ranpo, he’s a writer,” Yosano states. “And it sounds to me like he knows you very well, if you’ve been talking for six years now.”

“He can’t know me without having met me.”

“But you’ve told him about yourself, especially that you like mysteries.” She gestures at him with her spoon to emphasize her point. “Knowing how much you enjoy puzzles, and being confident in his own craft, I don’t think it’s a far leap to think he’d hide some kind of clue in there for you.”

It’s a possibility Ranpo considers on the train ride back. The document is a puzzle piece, for sure, but he’s not entirely sure it fits, no matter which way he turns it. So, he turns his mind to Yosano’s parting words once he’s standing in front of his building. His office is downstairs, and he has lived in the roomy enough apartment directly above it since just after graduating. He has one foot on the bottom stair when her words echo in his ear, almost like she’s standing there.

“Just think about it, Ranpo. If you’re worried, I hope you can admit that to yourself. And I truly hope you find him.”

Ranpo climbs the stairs and opens his front door. Once it’s closed, he removes his shoes, folds his legs on the living room floor, and boots up his laptop. He turns on the heater in the meantime since it feels cold. The file containing Poe’s newest novel is on his desktop. He reaches for the glasses on his coffee table and pops the case open. With a slow breath, he put them on and opens clicks on the file Poe sent him. Now that his vision and abilities are even more enhanced, he draws a long breath and starts to read.

The premise of the novel is simple enough: a young man in his late twenties—that reminds him too much of Poe—lives in New York and travels to Missouri, the newest state of the Union. An unfamiliar place. And he gets framed for a murder. Obviously framed, because he was in his hotel room when it occurred. Still, no one will believe him because he’s an outsider. As luck would have it, this narrator is a detective with some pretty impressive deduction skills.

On page twenty, Poe realizes that the killer is actually the sheriff who accused the narrator, as evidenced by the narrator inquiring the sheriff’s whereabouts, and the sheriff responding, “That, my good sir, is not relevant.” Meaning it is.

Is that the clue? Ranpo asks himself, rereading Poe’s latest message to him. But it seems like a red herring. A glaring one. He frowns, opens a sucker, and pops it in his mouth. He needs to dig deeper.

But the deeper he digs, the less he feels like he finds.

He’s on page 70 around the time his computer pings to signal a new Facebook message. From Poe, of all people. Something simultaneously soothing and electric runs through Ranpo. He’s relieved, but he’s also excited. The message itself is nothing but a photo. A photo of somewhere that he recognizes. Yokohama Bay, near Elephant Nose Park, he tells himself. There’s a moment where he isn’t sure what it means. But the more he studies the photo, the more remarkable it becomes. It looks like it was taken from a cell phone, a fact verified by the fact that Poe is still online. He’s not sure what kind, but the phone has a good camera, so it’s probably recent. It was sent minutes ago, which makes no sense because that time in America is typically when Poe is in the throes of writing or resting up for his day job in HR. The photo also reflects Japan’s current time—

Something clicks in Ranpo’s mind so perfectly that he hears it. He shuts his laptop, lurches up while he tosses his glasses back on the table without even putting them back in the case, and calls Yosano.

When she picks up, she says, “Did you have a breakthrough already, great detective?”

“How do I get to Elephant Nose Park from my apartment?”

After a long pause, Yosano clicks her tongue. “Are you seriously asking me that instead of using the map function on your phone? I showed you how to use it last week.”

“Remind me. You’re right; I had a breakthrough. It’s urgent, and I don’t have the capacity to think about anything else.” His apartment door slams shut behind him, and he starts descending the stairs.

“Just click on the map icon on your home screen and input an address or location name, then click ‘Navigate.’ For you, I’d recommend picking walking since you struggle with—”

“Thanks, sensei,” he blurts. After he hangs up, he types. It’s not often he gets frantic when he cracks a case, but he is now. And as soon as the phone displays the route, he’s darting in that direction, which of course turns out to be the wrong direction, so he turns around and cuts back the way he came. He misses a turn, and makes a wrong turn at the next corner. By the time he gets to Yokohama Bay, he’s out of breath and earning questioning looks from passersby, including someone who reminds him of one of Dazai’s employees walking hand-in-hand with what appears to be a raven-haired university student. He’s too focused to check.

He walks along the bay, mostly to catch his breath. Every so often, he consults the map to make sure he’s going the right way and the photo to make sure he isn’t there yet. He knows the place. He’s sure he has been there and has since deduced its approximate location, but what if he’s…

Impossible. I can’t be wrong. I’m the world’s greatest detective. Even if Ranpo tells himself that, his doubt only redoubles. But the photo… the photo tells him he isn’t wrong. He studies the scenery, then his phone screen one last time.

He’s done it. He’s there. The photo and scenery match up perfectly, except for the change in light and a ship that’s no longer on the horizon. Lowering his phone, he glances around. At this point, he only knows he’s looking for Poe, but he has no idea what the man looks like below the shoulders.

It’s possible he moved after he took the photo, but… With a slow breath, Ranpo turns around. There are benches nearby. One is occupied by a cluster of high school students—his own judging from their uniforms. Another contains a middle-aged woman and her child, obviously hers considering how they’re doting on one another. But there’s another nearby, occupied by a shadow he thinks he knows.

No. He’s certain that he does.

It’s not often Ranpo stops long enough to notice his feelings. Excepting the rare instance where they cloud his judgment, they are more or less static in the background of his mental processes. He knows them well enough to name them, but what he feels now… it’s more complex than the top four or five most interesting cases he has solved. It’s some odd satisfaction bundled with relief bundled with… is he nervous? No, he can’t be nervous.

But he is. Because Poe being there in the flesh is the one thing he has failed to deduce.

He approaches the bench and plops down beside the writer without a word. For his trouble, he earns a quiet chuckle. “You finally found me, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo doesn’t answer.

“I watched you stand there for almost two whole minutes. Did I finally manage to make you unsure of yourself?”

Ranpo whips his head. “That’s—” Before he can say anything else, the raccoon on Poe’s shoulder scampers onto him, clawing at his brown inverness cape, knocking Ranpo’s matching hat aside, and instantly sniffing his scalp. “Karl, stop. That feels weird.”

“He likes you,” Poe comments, realigning the direction of his face with the water. It’s hard to tell where he’s looking, given how Poe’s hair shields his eyes, but Poe confirms that he is studying the water when he draws a breath and says, “The air here is really nice.”

Poe is smiling. He rarely does. And that adds another odd feeling to the untidy knot of emotion inside of him. In the end, he folds his arms and slumps down.

“Is something wrong?”

“I think I’m mad at you.”

“I’m sorry?” Poe has been speaking in Japanese, but he switches to English then. Then, clearing his throat, he says, “I sent you everything you needed to figure it out.”

“If you’re talking about that novel, I just started reading it today.”

“Why?”

Ranpo leans back, and Karl drops into his lap before curling up into a ball. “Because you didn’t answer, and I thought something serious happened.”

“Something serious did happen,” Poe explains. “I came here.”

“Not like that. Like you’d been kidnapped or murdered or something. Wound up like one of the characters in your mystery novels.” Ranpo sets his hand on the balled up raccoon in his lap and starts to stroke Karl’s fur.

“How on earth did that seem more likely than me coming here?”

Ranpo isn’t willing to admit he doesn’t know.

“Ranpo-kun.” Poe switches back to Japanese. “You sat down beside me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. My intent wasn’t to fool you. Or worry you. It was… more my attempt at surprising you.”

Ranpo sees Poe shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“Will you let me explain myself, at least?”

“But you didn’t answer.”

“There wasn’t any wi-fi on the ship.”

“What ship?’

“The ship I took here,” Poe answers, setting his hands on his knees. “You’re the world’s greatest detective. Deduce the rest.”

“I don’t want to deduce it.” He turns in Poe’s direction and stares at him. For a Japanese person, he thinks he does so for an uncomfortably long time. But for someone who claims to be shy in social situations, Poe just stares back through that curtain of untidy brown hair as if studying Ranpo. His stomach growls, and Karl’s head swivels to him. “Rephrase: I’m too hungry to deduce it.”

Poe smiles again. “There’s a crepe stand nearby. Do you want one?”

“I want to hear it from you.” It’s completely illogical, that desire, but it comes out of Ranpo’s mouth before he intends to say it, and he frowns. “Crepe or no crepe.”

“I would feel guilty talking about myself while you’re wasting away.” Poe rises. “Do you have a favorite flavor?”

“Deduce it,” is all he answers.

“Very well. Watch Karl for a bit, will you?”

Ranpo remains on the bench with Karl, who settles back down into Ranpo’s lap, curls his tail around his face, and twitches his ears. He knows hardly anything yet, but being one step closer to the truth puts his mind at ease.

And, at the very least, the dim shadow of all the grim prospects he imagined for Poe during his twenty-one day absence has scattered on the wind.

Chapter Text

Seven minutes later, Poe returns carrying two crepes. Karl immediately perks up, but he doesn’t move when Poe sits back down and hands one of the crepes to Ranpo. “Strawberry whipped cream was the best I could do,” he explains. “I’m guessing your favorite flavor isn’t in season.”

“Correct,” Ranpo concedes. “So what’s my favorite flavor?”

“Chestnut cream.”

Ranpo bites back his laugh. “It’s scary how we’ve never met and you know me so well.”

“Honestly, it’s because you posted about it on Facebook in November about how happy you were that chestnut Meiji cups were back in stock.” Poe plucks a piece of strawberry out of his own crepe and offers it to Karl, who sniffs it, crawls back into Poe’s lap, and nibbles the piece of fruit between his paws. “Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo hums. He has just taken a bite, so he doesn’t want to be impolite.

“I apologize for worrying you.”

There’s raw remorse in Poe’s tone, and Ranpo swallows. It’s uncomfortable for some reason he decides isn’t worth puzzling out. “One bite is all I need to be full enough to deduce that you didn’t intend to worry me. Not anymore than you came here just to surprise me.”

“Correct as always. Still, I wanted to apologize even if it wasn’t my intent.” Poe takes a bite of his crepe. He offers Karl another bit of strawberry, and the raccoon takes it with a happy chirp. After he swallows, he says, “Surprising you was my primary motivation, to be honest. Six years of not being able to best you… it really wears on my pride, Ranpo-kun. I didn’t account for your concern, though.” Poe continues staring out at the water. “In retrospect, it was a bit cruel to leave without telling you. I thought the ship was going to have an internet connection, and when they told me the wifi was broke…” Ranpo watches Poe’s head turn towards him. He immediately senses that he’s being looked at. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“Sure. You’re forgiven,” Ranpo states, shrugging and trying not to fidget under Poe’s gaze. The remorse in Poe’s tone is really getting to him since it’s right next to his physical person and not on the other side of the screen. “I’m not mad anymore.”

“But—”

“Poe-kun,” Ranpo announces, waving his crepe, but carefully so nothing falls out of it. “I’m letting this be your apology.”

Poe smiles. “I appreciate that more than you could know.”

“Nah, I know.” Ranpo grins. “It’s not every day someone sails halfway around the world to surprise me and buy me a crepe. It’s kind of touching now that you’ve explained it more.”

“Well…” Poe sighs. “I did say you were one of two reasons I came here.”

“Do I have to deduce the other?”

“You said you wanted me to tell you.”

Ranpo bites into his crepe again. He hopes that signals to Poe that he’s listening.

“I doubt you have this issue, considering you’re a detective of the highest caliber who runs his own agency, but… have you ever just felt stuck?”

“Stuck?” Ranpo echoes after he swallows. “Like when you eat too much and can’t move?”

“Not exactly.” Poe stares out at the water again and idly scratches Karl between his ears. The raccoon chatters and bats his hand away. He darts back to Ranpo’s lap and starts licking his paws clean. Ranpo can’t hold back his chuckle before Poe continues, “It’s more like…” He pauses. “Can I explain in English?”

“Sure. I’m used to your English. I’ll tell you if there’s something I don’t understand.”

“Alright.” Poe clears his throat. “You remember that game we used to play? How we met because you surpassed me in the leaderboards?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers, favoring the English that Poe is currently speaking in.

“There are games like it on mobile phones now. The puzzles themselves are easy enough. For you, I imagine they’d be boring. But the problem with these newer mobile versions is you can only do so much before you hit a wall.”

“Hit a wall?”

“Like, something you can’t overcome,” Poe explains in Japanese, then switches back to English. “A paywall is what they’re called. In order to progress in the game, you have to pay money. Real money. So instead of winning on skill alone, it becomes a situation where players exchange money for the ability to play more.”

“Ah,” Ranpo says. “I see.”

“It’s not a perfect metaphor,” Poe continues, “but that’s more or less what it felt like. My job in HR never brought me any satisfaction. And I felt like I was paying too much to stay there. Not with money. With time.” He shrugs, takes another, bite, and chews for a bit. “One morning, I just woke up and realized I wasn’t accomplishing anything. Even if the pay was good, it wasn’t really doing anything for me. In fact, that job was becoming a detriment to my writing because I was stuck, because everything was the same. So I… knew I’d need to do something drastic to find inspiration.”

“So?” Ranpo asks as soon as he chews the last bite of his crepe. “You quit your day job, packed up Karl, and boarded a ship to Yokohama?”

“That’s… an oversimplified version, but yes.” Poe turns his head a little as Karl climbs back up on his shoulder. “I decided on dates for my initial stay. Once I made all the arrangements—a bus to Seattle, then a ship to Yokohama—I took an extended leave of absence from work. I’m not required back until May.” Poe finishes off his own crepe and continues, “I could have gone anywhere, really. England, Canada… English is the official language in both places. But to be honest, I wanted to feel displaced. There’s something thrilling about unfamiliarity. It’s a bit unnerving, but it’s also inspiring.” Poe draws in another breath. “I decided on Yokohama because I wanted a little anchor, someone I could contact if I were truly in trouble.” Poe waves the empty paper in front of Karl, and he immediately reaches for it, sniffing it with interest before offering it back to his caretaker. “I don’t intend to impose any more on your time while I’m here, Ranpo-kun. I’m honestly glad I got to meet you. That’s more than enough for me. But… in the off chance that you don’t mind…” He folds his hands, then turns. “Perhaps we could have lunch sometime. I’d like to hear more about your work.”

“You say it like it’s an imposition,” Ranpo states, smiling. He’s pretty sure there’s a bit of color in Poe’s face that wasn’t there before, but that’s simply information he registers and files away. “I’m happy to eat anytime, but I think I’ll be especially happy to eat with you. I can’t show you around, my sense of direction being what it is, but if there’s somewhere you want to go, I can go with you if I’m not on a case.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t at least—”

“Friend?”

Ranpo cocks his head. “Is that wrong?”

“No. I just…” Poe fumbles with his words for a little longer. “I just… didn’t think I should call you that. A friend, I mean.”

“Why not?”

“We… connected because an online game that you bested me at. You read my work and enjoy it, but it’s still not good enough to keep you guessing.” Poe pats his legs, and Karl abandons his post in Ranpo’s lap in favor of Poe’s shoulder. “And I… I have a confession to make.”

“Another one?” Ranpo asks. Then, clicking his tongue, he says, “You’re just full of secrets, aren’t you? I’m listening, Poe-kun.”

“I didn’t call you the first time we video chatted. It was Karl.”

Ranpo watches Poe turn an interesting shade of pink and smiles. “Really?”

“Really. I had found him a few weeks before that, but he was more than old enough to get into trouble. I think he was mad at me for scolding him.”

“What did he do?”

“Tried to wash my keys in the toilet.”

Ranpo snickers.

“So he got on my keyboard, and I had just taken him down when you picked up.”

“But we talked anyway,” Ranpo says, laughing. “Good job, Karl.”

Karl glances up at Ranpo, chatters, and goes back to grooming his tail.

“Because of that, we’ve talked about all sorts of things, but I’m not sure we can say we know each other or that we’re friends, given we only just met.”

Ranpo cocks his head in the opposite direction. “Does it bother you?”

“I…” He fumbles again. “I’m just not sure if ‘friend’ is what I should call you just yet.”

“Oh.” Ranpo isn’t sure why the new information disappoints him. Something else he files away. He recovers with a grin. “Well, I would be a terrible rival if I didn’t show you how impressive my own Japanese language skills are.”

“Of course they are,” Poe answers. “You’re a native speaker. It makes sense that your Japanese is better than mine. However, I think I take your point.” He smiles and bows slightly. “Thank you, Ranpo-kun.” He switches back to Japanese to add that, then rises. “I’m feeling a little inspired, now that I’ve seen you, I think. Or maybe… it’s just this weather. It’s so much warmer here in winter than it is in New York.” He lowers himself into another bow, then straightens again. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again soon.”

“Hey, I have to walk this way anyway. Let me go with you for a bit.” He holds open his phone. “Just wait a minute. Ugh… what’s my address again?”

Ranpo catches the chuckle that escapes Poe in that moment.

“Laughing isn’t allowed!”

“I’m sorry,” Poe says from behind his hand. “I simply can’t help it. The world’s greatest detective, thwarted by navigation…”

“Ah. There we go.” Ranpo smiles in triumph as a line between his current location and his apartment appears on the screen. He knows if he taps the navigation button, it will blurt out his home address, and while Poe is a friend to him, at least, he’s not sure he’s ready for Poe to know where he lives. Still, he falls into step beside the American. He doesn’t bother looking at his phone. He’s not worried about getting off-track; if he does, the phone will just correct him.

“I admit, I find Yokohama easier to navigate than New York. Not to mention people are more polite here.”

“How long have you been here? Wait, don’t answer. I can deduce it now that I’ve eaten.” Ranpo counts the steps between his last sentence and his answer. One, two, three— “Seven days.”

“Impressive,” Poe says.

“You went dark on December 30. It’s January 20 now. Speaking of, happy belated birthday.”

“Thank you,” Poe says.

“How does it feel to be twenty-three again?”

Poe snickers. “I own every one of my twenty-nine years,” he answers. “It’s alright. I don’t suspect I’ll be sad about my birthday until I’m forty.”

“Well, if we’re still in touch then, I’ll make sure you’re a little less sad. And by that, I of course mean I’ll share my snacks.” Ranpo shrugs. “Anyway, back to you being here: there are cruises that take fourteen days to get to Yokohama from Seattle, which you mentioned earlier. The cruise would give you some time to adjust to the time change, but you’d need more once you got here, not to mention a rental property and some time to get over culture shock.”

“Fitzgerald owns a residential property in Yokohama that he uses when he comes over on business. And culture shock is honestly still something I’m working on. It’s touching that you think I’m over it, though. I’m still not used to hearing Japanese everywhere, and if I’m talking to a stranger, my response time is a bit slow.”

“Well, you learned Japanese from me in part. And I’m the greatest, so I think you’re doing well.”

Poe bows slightly again.

“You’re even bowing when Japanese people would.”

“Really? I’m not doing it too much?”

“We bow all the time. There’s a comedy skit about it online. I’ll try to find a link and send it to you.”

“Ah, thank you.” Poe turns his face forward. “I’ve done a lot of traveling within the city already. I’ve seen the bridge, the bay, the Red Brick Warehouse, Chinatown…”

“Did you buy a giant meat bun there?”

Poe shakes his head. “No, I wasn’t hungry when I went, I’m afraid.”

“Let’s go, then.” Ranpo smiles. “You send me a message when you feel like it. I’ll meet you there.”

“You’ll try, you mean.”

“Hey!”

Poe laughs a bit more behind his hand. “I promise I’m teasing you in good spirit.”

“Laughter is forbidden,” he repeats.

“Are you pouting?”

Ranpo doesn’t bother responding. He knows he is.

Poe laughs again.

“Laughter—”

“I know, I know,” he says, waving his hand. “Laughter is forbidden. I just didn’t realize this part of your personality fully through the screen.” He gestures straight ahead. “I need to go this way. Your phone is telling you to turn right.”

“Why Japan?” Ranpo asks the question because he doesn’t understand. Plus, it will extend their meeting a few more minutes. “You said earlier you wanted to experience discomfort but have an anchor. Deduction says that’s not the only reason. Is there something here you really wanted to see?”

Poe folds his arms and hums. “Cherry blossoms.”

“Cherry blossoms?” Ranpo echoes. “What’s so special about those?”

“I’m not sure.” Poe smiles again. “I guess I won’t know until I see them. Now, I really should get to my writing.”

“I’ll finish the novel you sent me. I identified the culprit already, but I’m still reading anyway.”

“Same as always,” Poe says. “Why do you, if you’ll allow me that question?”

Ranpoe smiles. “You’re a bit of a detective yourself. You tell me.”

Poe shakes his head. “I want to hear it from you.”

Ranpo chuckles.

“I thought laughter wasn’t aloud, Ranpo-kun.”

“You’re not allowed to laugh at me.”

“Then say what you mean,” Poe counters, this time in English. After a moment, he passes Ranpo what must be an expectant look, but his hair is still in his eyes, so it’s challenging to tell.

“Because I like them, of course.”

Poe stammers and lowers his eyes to the pavement. “Do you… buy them?”

Ranpo gets the feeling that Poe is trying to continue the conversation. He can’t deduce the reason, but he still answers, “Every single one.”

“But you’ve already read them.”

“They’re written in a way,” Ranpo finally answers. “I don’t know. Your writing holds my attention. Even if I know what happens, it’s…” He struggles to find the right word.

“Don’t think too hard about it, Ranpo-kun. You need to save some of that mind for your cases.”

“I’ve already solved them all.” He folds his arms. “I’ll tell you next time. Lunch, right?”

“Yes. And message me anytime. I’ll respond when I’m not in the writing zone.”

“Promise me.”

Poe turns back.

“Promise me,” Ranpo repeats, and hopes he isn’t being too obvious about how anxious he was in Poe’s silence. More anxious than he has any right to be about anything, because Ranpo is always sure. He’s the world’s greatest detective, after all.

“Alright.” Poe murmurs the word.

It’s possible he says it that way because he understands that Ranpo is really saying, “Please don’t worry me again.” But Ranpo pushes that thought aside because he has gotten the response he was seeking.

“Take care of yourself, Ranpo-kun. Say good-bye, Karl.”

Karl passes Ranpo a look, then curls back around Poe’s shoulders. “Bye, Karl,” Ranpo calls, and draws the raccoon’s attention for another moment.

“Karl must really like your voice.” Poe waves again. “It was wonderful to finally meet you, Ranpo-kun. I hope you get home safely.”

In truth, it takes Ranpo about 40 minutes to get back, a walk that takes an average person 22 minutes. But he does make it. And as soon as he’s back, he dives right back into Poe’s novel, hanging on every word until the inevitable conclusion that he deduced hundreds of pages ago. And yet the words still captivate him.

Having Poe physically there is… an experience. Ranpo won’t describe it any other way. I knew he was taller than me, but he’s a good height. And Karl… he likes me more than I thought. He recalls the weight of the raccoon sitting in his lap while Poe bought them crepes.

The last page stares him in the face. The characters have solved the case, but now, he wants more. Still, he decides to sit with his feelings about the novel until he’s sure.

Before hardly any time has passed, he’s messaging Poe about how captivating the novel is. But he doesn’t expect an immediate response. After all, Poe is feeling inspired, and knowing that he’s safe—in Yokohama of all places—is more than enough.

Chapter Text

“It was you.”

The business owner’s mouth drops open. Ranpo honestly doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“It’s obvious,” Ranpo continues, covering a yawn because of how unstimulating this case is. “Your shock is fake. Oh, wait. You’re surprised I figured out that you were stealing money from your own business? It’s nothing but a simple matter of deduction.”

The owner is still sputtering excuses as he’s cuffed and led to the police car parked nearby while the chief, Minoura, scratches his head. “We’ll take it from here, Ranpo-san. Thanks as always for your assistance.” The man tucks his hands in his pockets. “Your fees should be deposited by 3 pm today.”

“What? No praise for a job well-done? Or further contrition for thinking I was some rookie the first time the police force consulted me even though I passed the national exam at 17?”

“Your first consultation was three years ago, and I don’t have the list of those who take the national exam memorized, let alone from when you took them,” Minoura retorts, passing Ranpo a glare. “I believe my departmental budget and I have done plenty of apologizing in that time frame.”

Just as expected, Ranpo tells himself, chuckling as they part ways. He’s still agitated that he so drastically underestimated me, and even more annoyed that I won’t give him any discounts. Oh, well… He pauses. Wait… where am I going again?

Since cracking the case of Edgar Allan Poe’s disappearance, Ranpo has been a bit more diligent about consulting his phone for directions, mostly because he’s still ashamed he let himself panic in the first place. He reasons it away with his conviction that all his desperation came from how unexpected it was. As unreasonable as it was to conjure up catastrophe after catastrophe in retrospect, Ranpo deals with enough cases to know his worst fears were not impossible.

But he still can’t believe it. Poe is on the same continent. In the same country. In the same time zone. He half wonders what the writer is doing. Though there’s no sense in checking; he’s probably writing. Or sleeping, since his optimal writing hours tend to be when it’s dark.

Ranpo checks anyway. What are you up to? He sends Poe the message in English through Facebook, then continues walking, dividing his attention between his phone and his route since Poe is online.

He stops walking when an ellipsis appears. It lingers for what feels like an eternity before a response comes through. Grappling with my old friend, writer’s block. And you? The response is Japanese.

Smiling, Ranpo types his answer in English. Just finished up a case and I’m bored. He then types, If you have writer’s block, I can try to provide a little inspiration. It sounds too forward (though Poe is American and Americans tend to be forward), so he debates on whether or not to send it.

Before he can, Poe answers, I’m not sure I can entertain you, but I can try.

Shaking his head, Ranpo hammers his thumbs on the screen to edit his prior message and add to it. Then I’ll try to provide a little inspiration. Come to Chinatown. I’m by the west gate. He takes a photo of the gate to send with the message. A moment later, he realizes his blunder, hammers out a correction, and sends it, too. Wait. It’s the east gate, not the west. With a sigh, Ranpo mumbles, “My sense of direction or lack thereof strikes again.”

After he’s over his sourness, he texts Yosano. That direction thing you showed me has been working out really well. I owe you one. Of course, he doesn’t expect Yosano to answer, given she’s probably in clinicals. He fills the rest of the time before Poe arrives people-watching. They’re not interesting to him, but they are more interesting than just standing still and recalling the long list of boring cases he has had to solve recently, which he winds up doing anyway. The business owner syphoning funds out of his own business was bad enough. There was the missing cat, who was hanging out at the old man’s house of all places. He scratches his hair. Then there was that murder of a teen that looked like a suicide. So obviously the parents trying to cash in on life insurance. He folds his arms. Before that was that theft of some artifact from a museum. The security guard. Sighing, he grumbles, “How many more boring cases am I going to have to endure before I get an interesting one?”

No sooner has he said it does he feel a weight tugging at his leg. Ranpo glances down to find a racoon scrambling up his cropped pants. From a near distance, he hears Poe’s voice, but he’s too distracted by the raccoon that’s now sitting in his arms to hear exactly what Poe says. By the time Poe gets to Ranpo, he’s hunched over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“Karl,” he gasps. “You can’t… just run… off like that.”

Karl chatters in response.

“Sorry… Ranpo-kun. A… nother moment…”

Ranpo answers with an easy smile. “No worries! Catch your breath first. I can wait, though it is well past my regular snack time.” He pauses. “What’s that English word for being hungry and angry?”

“Hangry,” Poe states in English.

“That,” Ranpo says, responding in Poe’s native language. “I might get hangry if you take too long.”

“Another moment,” Poe requests, wiping his head with the back of his hand before rising. “I thought the full day was snack time for you, Ranpo-kun.”

He laughs, and Karl tilts his head back. “It’s obvious to me you were chasing Karl because he took off. Could the reason simply be because he likes my voice?”

“I can take him off your hands if he’s a bother.”

“He’s not bothering me as long as he doesn’t interfere with my objective.”

“To… be entertained?”

“You must be tired, Poe-kun. I already stated my objective: to eat,” Ranpo answers, turning towards the west gate. “Come on. Yokohama Chinatown is famous for meat buns, and if you’re not in the mood for those, there are loads of Chinese restaurants around.”

“I doubt they’d let Karl in,” Poe comments.

“Better stick to street food, then. There’s also a vendor that sells roasted chestnuts, but I don’t remember exactly where.”

“Then we’ll wander around until we find it. Karl would enjoy that.”

They do eventually find a chestnut vendor and buy meat buns. Ranpo buys two for himself, but Poe insists he’ll only eat one given how large they are. Poe coaxes Karl back onto his shoulder with one of the nuts, and Ranpo carries their meal until they find an empty bench. Once they’re seated and Karl is occupied with the chestnuts Poe slipped into his pocket, they start nibbling away at the meat buns.

“This is really good.”

“You like it?”

Poe nods. “It’s a simple dish, but it’s really comforting, especially on a cold day like this one.”

Ranpo takes another bite, enjoying the savory flavor. After he swallows, he turns to Poe. “On days like this, a lot of people prefer ramen or oden, but I always liked meat buns for some reason. There’s something really nice about eating them outside when it’s cold. It’s similar to the feeling I get when I eat roasted sweet potato.”

“I tried one of those the other day. They’re really satisfying.”

 “Like an interesting case, of which there have been none lately.”

“Or that flawless pocket of writing time, which has been eluding me since I came here.”

They both sigh at the same moment. Eventually, Ranpo devours the rest of his first meat bun, then pulls the second out of the paper bag. A suspicion hits him, cold and heavy. “Tell me something.”

Poe glances at him.

“I’m not the reason you lost your inspiration, am I?”

Karl stuffs his head into Poe’s pocket. When he emerges, he has another chestnut. “Not… that I know of.”

“You hesitated,” Ranpo observes. “Are you lying to me?”

“I don’t have any motive to lie to you.”

“Yet you clearly did. Your voice is waivering.” Ranpo folds his arms. “People only lie when there’s something they don’t want other people to know.”

Poe’s shoulders drop, and he stares at the cement below his feet.

“I think I get what’s going on.”

“Ranpo-kun, I can… I can explain—”

“Meeting me was so incredible, you’re having a hard time imagining anything more incredible!” Ranpo grins. “I’m right, aren’t I? Of course I am!” He notices Poe’s face has gotten redder. A side-effect of the weather, he tells himself. He also notices that Poe has finished his own meat bun, so he splits his second one and offers Poe the larger half. “Come on. I’ll bet you’re so worked up over your writing, you haven’t eaten or left your house in days.”

Without a word, Poe stretches out a hand. “You’re really too smart sometimes, Ranpo-kun. I admit it’s annoying enough I can’t fool you in my novels.”

“But your writing keeps me so captivated, time flies by when I’m reading. I even forget to eat sometimes.”

Poe strokes Karl with one hand while nibbling at the meat bun in the other. “Somehow, it’s even worse I can’t fool you in person. If you’re right, though, it’s all subconscious. I… hope it’s not strange to you at all.”

“Of course not. I’m Yokohama’s greatest detective, and I’m striving to be the world’s greatest.” He takes a bite of out his half. When he’s done chewing, he continues, “So to get you out of your slump, we just need to find something that’s almost as awesome as I am.”

“Impossible,” Poe states. “But I’m open to suggestions.”

“Osaka,” Ranpo announces.

Poe’s head tilts. “Osaka?”

“Of course, a good meal is the second-most amazing thing in the world, and the best place to get a good meal is Osaka. Dotonbori is especially good for that kind of thing. You should go and learn the Japanese custom of kuidaore.”

“Kuidaore?” Poe echoes.

“Of going bankrupt on extravagant food!” Ranpo waves his arms, and passes Poe a grin. “Or just eating until you fall over. I know you came to Yokohama to write, but maybe you’re getting too comfortable here already. You said when we met that there was something inspiring about feeling displaced, so maybe you just need to visit another part of Japan.”

“Ah.”

Ranpo frowns. “You don’t seem convinced.”

Poe continues petting the balled up Karl in his lap. “It makes sense your mind would go straight to food, given what I know about you.” When Poe’s head swivels, Ranpo can see his smile more clearly. “That’s so like you, Ranpo-kun. It sounds like an experience, but… I’m not so sure that would help.”

“You might actually have a point. Eating’s more my thing than it is yours.” Ranpo hums and folds his arms. “Ah, I got it!” He turns to Poe with a flourish. “Why don’t you hire the world’s greatest detective to find your lost inspiration?”

After a moment of silence, Poe says, “Huh?”

Ranpo brings his arm and taps his own chest. “I’m saying you should hire me.”

“Ranpo-kun, that’s… not…” Poe trails off and turns to look at the raccoon curled up in his lap. “That’s not… a case.”

“It is!” Ranpo declares. “An interesting one, which is what I’ve been waiting for. I’ve had cases tracking down all sorts of lost things. This week, that included a cat, for the record. But I’ve tracked down missing valuables, missing wallets, missing children… if I can find all those things in Yokohama, I’ll bet I can help you find your inspiration, too.”

“How is that interesting to you?”

“Three reasons!” Ranpo peers at the writer sitting beside him. “One: I’ve never tried to find something this abstract before, and because it’s unfamiliar, it’s interesting by nature. Two: I want you to be able to write your novel while you’re here because that’s why you came. Not just because I want to read it, though I confess that’s part of it. But you seem like a happier person when you can write. Even now, you’re a little gloomy.”

“I’m only surprised by… I’m not sure. The ridiculousness of what you’re proposing?”

“But!” Ranpo continues. “That leads to number three: it’ll give us more reasons to spend time together.”

Poe slowly turns his head again. “You… really want to spend time with me?”

“Of course I do,” Ranpo says. “You’re my rival, and even if you said you don’t want to call me a friend, it’s how I see you.”

“Oh.”

Does he sound… disappointed? Ranpo shakes the thought from his head and takes another bite of his meat bun. Once he swallows, he continues, “You came all this way to write a novel and went out of your way to meet me. Let me at least help you get back on track. As a special favor, I’ll even count the time we spend together as payment for my services. That’s the best deal I’ve ever given anyone, by the way.” Ranpo doesn’t mention it, but he can read the tension in Poe’s shoulders. He’s not worried. Is he uncomfortable? Ranpo realizes he’s looking a little too closely at Poe’s profile and scrunches up his nose. He doesn’t want my help. It’s pretty clear to me that—

“Alright.”

Ranpo’s eyes snap open, and he glances at Poe to find the American has turned towards him again.

“Even if we don’t find my inspiration and I go home without having written anything, I think… seeing parts of your country with you will be a meaningful experience.”

“Then…” Ranpo hops up and puts on an easy smile. “Let’s start by looking through the rest of Chinatown. I can tell you about some of my cases on the way. Ah… but I can’t tell you too much about them. Some of them are pretty serious.”

“How serious?” Poe asks.

Ranpo glances one way, then the other. Once he’s sure no one is listening, he gestures Poe to lean forward a little more and cups his hand over his mouth. “Last year, I helped the Yokohama Police catch a serial killer. Big doings.” He rises to study the way Poe’s mouth is hanging open slightly, likely from bewilderment. “But that’s all I can say! I’ll tell you about some of the less interesting ones while we walk.”

Eventually, Poe closes his mouth and rises. As Karl perches on Poe’s shoulder and they start forward, Ranpo begins describing his more mundane cases and peppering Poe with questions. Poe’s reactions are what he would consider normal: even the boring cases entertain and intrigue him. He frowns while answering the questions, like he is truly troubled about the state of his writing. The only unusual factor at play—one that Ranpo knows he saw in their last meeting—is the faint hint of color in Poe’s face.

Chapter Text

Ranpo treats Poe’s missing inspiration a bit too much like a real case. His living room winds up wallpapered in post-its that he keeps taking photos of to connect. And this case is interesting precisely because of how many ways the pieces fit together.

It’s not the sort of case he wants in his office downstairs. After all, this case is special. True, it’s not Minoura’s priceless expression of shock after he solves the case less than a minute after arriving on-scene. In some ways, it’s akin to the preciousness of Yosano, Kunikida, and Dazai congratulating him when he graduated high school, then university. Even though Poe is his friend, the writer is also his rival, so this preciousness is different.

While lying awake in bed at night, his mental wheels still spinning about that exact case, he has more than a deduction. It’s a realization, one that makes him smile in ways he knows he normally doesn’t without even checking his reflection. This case is precious to him precisely because this is his case. The one he asked Poe for. One that is actually interesting because this sort of case has never been solved.

And Ranpo is determined to be the first to solve something like it.

The next afternoon, after closing a couple of far less interesting, far less precious cases with barely any effort, Ranpo reviews the details he has on Poe’s particular case once more. Since Poe-kun arrived, we have seen each other five times now: first when he surprised me by Yokohama Bay. That’s the day it went missing. He extracts another potato chip from his bag and nibbles on it. The second time was when I asked for the case. At the time, I observed behavior that clearly indicated Poe-kun’s reluctance. Then what motivation did he have to go along with it? That’s a piece of the puzzle he still can’t figure out. He has twelve hypothesis, all on separate notes stuck to a wall that isn’t covered in clues. And he lied. He rises and takes his bag of chips. Which definitely rules out boredom. He removes one of the twelve notes and balls it up in his hand. And makes not wanting to hurt my feelings after all this time the frontrunner. He moves it above all the other notes. Still, meeting him in real life—we were both in awe. He was in the presence of a great detective, and I was in the presence of a great and prolific writer. He focuses more on the texture of the chip than the flavor. Picking apart his senses like that sometimes lead him to breakthroughs, especially where food is concerned. Unfortunately, this time, it doesn’t work.

Their third, fourth, and fifth meetings are fairly unremarkable because they so closely mirror the second. Ranpo decides he needs more information, Poe insists that he can ask through text, Ranpo counters that he’ll have a better grasp of the situation if they’re face-to-face, and they wind up meeting at some popular landmark: Sankei-en (Poe insists on paying for their tickets since Ranpo was 20 minutes late due to navigational issues), the Cosmo Clock (unsurprisingly, Poe is about as much a fan of heights as Ranpo, so they admire its neon glow from the ground), and most recently the Red Brick Warehouse (Poe has already been there, but Ranpo insists that he go back and experience it a second time). In each instance, Ranpo asks questions about Poe’s routines and moods and the events leading up to January 20, the day Poe’s inspiration vanished. He has asked twice to see what Poe has written so far, but Poe has refused.

“Karl is the only one who sees my unfinished work. And my editors, but that’s only because I’m obligated to send them a draft. Besides, it won’t give you any new information.”

So Ranpo asks Poe to describe the plot instead while they’re dazzled by the Cosmo Clock.

“To tell you the truth, I only wrote two paragraphs, and I deleted them. So right now, there isn’t much of a book to speak of.”

When they visit the Red Brick Warehouse, Ranpo tries a more direct approach. “What was it going to be about?”

“I don’t know.” Poe eats a bite of the gelato they’re nibbling on. Matcha flavored. One of his preferences, Ranpo deduces. It’s a cold day, but the sun is warm, and at the very least, they agree that it’s never too cold for frozen desserts.

In person, it’s easier to gauge Poe’s honesty about topics. And he is honest about most of them. Ranpo suspects there are some omissions from Poe’s daily routine, but even if Americans have been direct in Ranpo’s other interactions with tourists asking for recommendations (he always sends them to Café Lupin), Poe has always seemed more reserved to him. So, he lets the omissions remain private since they’re probably not important to the case.

However, there is one subject Poe consistently lies about.

“You keep saying I wasn’t the one who made you lose your inspiration.”

“Ranpo-kun—”

“But your body language and unsteady voice tell me otherwise,” Ranpo murmurs. He folds his hands and peers across the table at Poe, who is now frowning into his paper cup. “You can admit it. I promise I won’t be—”

“It wasn’t you, Ranpo-kun,” Poe insists.

It’s clear enough in the moment that Poe is in denial. At least to his face.

For my feelings? Ranpo asks himself, munching on another chip and studying the other ten notes. He clearly knows I’m the root cause. In fact, the way he drops his head and looks everywhere but me tells me he does. Ranpo cleans his hand off with a napkin before plucking his glasses off and shutting his eyes. Behind them, he refocuses on Poe’s mannerisms and tone. Or he tries to. He gets distracted for an instant by another memory. An image of Poe’s profile as he smiles.

Ranpo’s eyes snap open. “Focus.” He says it out loud in English, just to hear his own voice. “That has nothing to do with the case.”

Or it does, but that’s a knowledge that currently only exists deep within his mind. Too deep to reach, at least, so for now, he lets that memory go.

On the heels of that memory comes another: the color in Poe’s face, a wide variety of pink tints that range from barely visible to obvious. True, most of it is obscured by his hair, but there was definitely more color there than usual that first time. A side effect of the cold temperature, Ranpo decides, folding his arms. It doesn’t feel right, but it’s the best he can do at the moment.

He lets it go once again to work on a less important, and far less interesting case. Even if he is Yokohama’s greatest detective, he has to pay rent. After shutting his laptop, he pulls on his cap and inverness cape, then shuts the door behind him.

The case he goes to solve, like many others, is uninteresting. As cluttered as his mind is with bits of information about Poe’s missing inspiration, he has gotten good at compartmentalizing his thoughts. He has to be, or else his head would be so full, nothing would get done.

While he’s walking home, happy that he’ll get to rent his apartment for another month, he realizes he has lost his way again. In multiple senses. As if that smile and Poe-kun’s blushing don’t matter. Every detail matters. It’s just some matter more. He sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

It’s February 12.

Ranpo only pays attention to Valentine’s Day and White Day because both involve chocolate. Since graduating university, he mostly treats himself. Not that he needs an excuse to eat chocolate. Still, he stares at the date and wonders if, perhaps this year, he should share that tradition. With Poe. As rivals, of course. Or friends, I guess? Ranpo isn’t sure anymore, given how the line between the two has blurred. Pen pals. He settles on that. It’s what he called Poe back in November while at dinner with Yosano, Kunikida, Dazai, and the notoriously bisexual redhead with the fancy hat Dazai is dating. But even that isn’t right, given that Poe is now there, that they’re not just exchanging daily Facebook messages and occasionally video chatting. They’re going out. Together. Like rivals. Like friends. Like… Ranpo isn’t sure what.

He compares his encounters with Poe to those he has had with the handful of people he calls friends and winds up spending too long trying to measure and name his feelings. For Kunikida, Dazai, and Yosano, what he feels is affection, pure and simple. But with Poe, it’s more complicated. Those three were, and still are, expected. Poe being there is still something Ranpo grapples with, remembers sometimes when he wakes up from a nap. It jars him out of snack time between bites, or intrudes (but not much) when he’s thinking about a case that is paying his rent.

Ranpo’s thoughts circle back to Poe, to that first meeting down by Yokohama Bay on a bench beneath the warm winter sun. Back then, Poe wouldn’t call him a friend. He still hasn’t, come to think of it. But the sorts of things they do together… they sort of remind him of high school, when he’d go out with Yosano to restaurants or cafés. They also remind him of university, when Kunikida and Dazai started joining them. But the feeling is different. Because it’s Poe. Because they spend as much time speaking English as they do Japanese. Because Poe came all the way there. Not just to surprise him, but—

Ranpo’s mind turns like a Rubik’s cube. He hasn’t quite reached the solution yet, but all his musings are starting to match up. It’s enough to make Ranpo laugh. It seems this mystery with Poe’s inspiration deepens. And at the root are two more mysteries: why did he really come here, and what do I really think about it? Further, he says he came here to write a novel and I’m not the cause of his lost inspiration, but part of why he came was to try surprising me. He chuckles. Rivals still, then, he decides, opening his messaging app and tapping the call button. Because if Poe is going to surprise him, then he’ll just have to surprise Poe back. He can’t let Poe best him entirely, especially not in mysteries or surprises.

Poe picks up as the fourth ring bleeds into the fifth. “Hello? Ranpo-kun?”

“Yo, Poe-kun. I didn’t wake you, did I? Don’t answer that. I can already deduce that I did.”

“A nap,” Poe explains.

Ranpo is pretty sure he hears Poe yawn into the phone. And what that makes him feel something akin to but distinct from the affection he feels for his old friends.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Not being able to write means I’m not sleeping well.”

“Huh?” Ranpo asks. “Poe-kun, are you alright?”

“Of… of course I am, Ranpo-kun.”

He stuttered again.

“It’s just a symptom of being creatively blocked.”

Ranpo isn’t convinced.

“Haven’t any of your cases ever kept you up?”

Ranpo thinks back. “Just one. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Hey, listen… are you sure you’re okay?”

“I promise I am.”

“I want to bring you a vitamin drink.”

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo frowns. He had a plan when he picked up the phone. He has spiraled so far away from it, all because he’s concerned for his—rival, friend, pen pal, whatever Poe is. So, he has at least succeeded in surprising himself. What he intended when he picked up the phone… it wasn’t to try to get Poe’s current address, yet here he is trying anyway. “Just let me,” Ranpo insists.

“I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s not any trouble, really. And I’m kind of bored anyway.” It’s not entirely true considering that Poe has completely upended his plans. “Send me your address. I’ll just talk to you in person. It’s better that way.”

“How is it better?”

Ranpo shrugs. “I don’t know, but you can’t be here for more than 90 days as a tourist without a visa.”

Something like a scoff fills Ranpo’s ear. “So?”

Ranpo tries to deduce what Poe wants him to say. It should be easy. In fact, the deduction itself is a simple matter, same as always. But it’s the truth that’s hard to swallow. “So,” Ranpo murmurs, then smiles. “You don’t want to waste a second of your time in Japan, of course! And how am I supposed to find anything if you’re bedridden?”

There’s a long silence on the other end.

“I won’t overstay my welcome or go anywhere you don’t want me to. Plus, maybe seeing where you are now will tell me something.”

“You aren’t going to let me say no, are you, Ranpo-kun?”

Ranpo frowns. “I can’t force you. If you say no, I’ll accept it. But…” He mumbles the last bit. “I’m worried about you.”

Poe hums. “If that’s the case, I… suppose it’s alright.”

“Don’t just say yes because you feel guilty, Poe-kun.”

“That’s not the only reason I—never mind.”

Another clue. He knows it is. The thing he was going to say and didn’t. Ranpo also knows he should feel good about still having the upper hand, but the truth is, something gnaws at him.

“I’ll send you the address in a minute. Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“Your case is the only one I’m currently working on. I solved the rest.”

“Alright. I’ll see you later, then. Message me when you’re here if I don’t answer the door.”

The call disconnects, and Ranpo backtracks, recalling that he saw a Lawson two or three blocks ago. He finds a Family Mart first and dips inside. He picks up a pack of cookies for himself, some nuts for Karl, a few vitamin drinks, some hot C.C. Lemon… in truth, he goes a bit overboard, but it is Poe. Who, Ranpo tells himself while the clerk is ringing up his order, actually sounded a little happier that I said I was worried about him. Another post-it for my wall. Ranpo hands over a couple of 1,000-yen bills, takes his change, and steps out onto the sidewalk again. By then, he has Poe’s address. The trip involves a train to Kanazawa Hakkei Station, outside of the bustling urban center of Yokohama that he often spends time.

A voice inside him says, This is a fool’s errand. It’s impossible.

But another speaks louder. For Poe, I’ll figure this out.

It takes him ten minutes to find the station, another ten to buy a ticket, another ten to figure out which direction he needs to go in. He misses the train on the tracks, then waits for the next. Poe’s living space is a few stations down. He still doesn’t quite understand it, but he focuses on the names coming from the overhead speaker. Nokendai. Kanazawa Bunko. He nearly gets off there on accident, but he waits for the next station, Kanazawa Hakkei. So close to a Yokohama City University campus. Outside the station, he uses the map on his phone to get the rest of the way there. It’s a twelve-minute walk. Most of the buildings he passes on the way are local shops and restaurants or unassuming Japanese houses. One of which is, strangely, his destination.

He sends Poe a message letting him know he has almost arrived and approaches the door. Before he can even ring the doorbell, the front door slides open, and Poe stands in the middle of it. Ranpo raises his hand and smiles in greeting, but he doesn’t hear anything Poe says back because he’s busy cataloging any notable differences in appearance. Other than his hair being slightly more disheveled and the white ribbon around his neck being loose, he looks… tired.

Ranpo’s attention shifts fully back to Poe’s words. “…took longer than I expected.”

“Ah,” Ranpo answers. “The trains are still a mystery to me. It’s kind of a miracle I got here at all.”

“Well,” Poe murmurs, “it’s cold outside. You should come in.”

“Sure thing. Sorry for the intrusion.” Ranpo slips his shoes off by the door, then steps out of the entryway.

The house is lavish despite the average-looking exterior. Ranpo spends a little too much time studying a brass sconce on the wall near the entryway. “Ranpo-kun?”

He shakes his head and turns to Poe. “Sorry. This just isn’t the kind of place I expected you to live in.”

“What did you picture?”

“Oh, you know.” Ranpo grins. “One of those old gothic manors you’re always writing about.”

Poe laughs. “To be honest, my house in New York is over 100 years old. It’s not exactly a manor, but it’s pretty big. I think I have some pictures somewhere if you want to see them.”

“Maybe later. Before that…” Ranpo offers Poe the bag, and Karl scrambles onto Ranpo’s head before either of them can draw away.

“He really does like you.”

“Because I’m the world’s greatest detective!”

“Because you’re always eating,” Poe argues.

Ranpo laughs and says, “Drink the C.C. Lemon first. It should still be a little warm.”

Poe rummages around and pulls out a bag of nuts. “For Karl?”

Ranpo nods.

His slender hand dips back into the plastic bag. This time, he pulls out the little yellow bottle. “Ah, here we go.” He uncaps it and takes a sip.

“Good?”

Poe nods. “Yes, this is nice. Better than what we have in America, anyway.”

Ranpo follows Poe deeper into the house. “There’s something in America like this?”

“No. We mix this powder with water when we’re getting sick, but it tastes horrid.” Poe stands near the narrow staircase and finishes his drink. “Thanks. That kind of hit the spot. Like something I didn’t even know I needed.”

Ranpo answers with a grin and waves his hand. “Really, it’s no trouble at all. And Karl can stay on me as long as he wants. He’s not bothering me.”

Karl chirps and perches on top of Ranpo’s head as if to say he has no intent of going anywhere.

“Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

Ranpo nods, and Poe gestures to follow. As they pass a closed door, Ranpo stares at it. “The office,” Poe explains. “I don’t mind if you look inside. I haven’t been in there since I’ve last been able to write.”

Ranpo opens the door and flips on a light. A folded laptop and several stacks of papers sit on the black desk, and the leather office chair looks expensive. The shelves are lined with books, but not the cheap paperback kind. Ranpo pulls a red one off the shelf. “A first edition of Mishima Yukio’s Kinkakuji… is this first printing, too?”

“And signed. Fitzgerald can’t read any of them, and admittedly, a lot of them aren’t my taste. He just bought them because they were on sale.”

“Still, this must have been really expensive.” Ranpo turns off the light and follows Poe farther down the rest of the hallway. The kitchen is strikingly modern. “I’m pretty confident in deducing that this isn’t your style of architecture.”

“It’s not,” Poe states. “My boss, Fitzgerald, bought this house a few years ago once he started doing more business with Mori-san.”

“Mori-san? You mean Mori Ougai?”

Poe nods. “He insists that we call him that. Although… Fitzgerald doesn’t know any Japanese, so he relies on Mori-san to get around.” They wind up in the living room, which also looks lavish. Sleek and modern. The area rug beneath the furniture is unreasonably light, and the hanging light looks almost out of place for a Japanese house. “The lighting fixture in the living room was custom and cost nearly $7,000. I recall Fitzgerald bragging about it because it was such a bargain. Apparently, it was originally $15,000.”

Humming, Ranpo’s eyes drop to the rug again. “One wrong move with a bottle of melon soda, and that rug would be ruined.”

“Which is why I always eat at the bar.” Poe gestures back towards the kitchen, and Ranpo creeps forward.

“Are these counters real granite?” When Poe answers with a nod, Ranpo whistles. “Damn expensive.”

Karl settles on Ranpo’s shoulder while Poe sets the bag down on the counter.

“The bathroom is over here. One of the few things that remained Japanese style when Fitzgerald remodeled.”

Ranpo is almost relieved when he peers inside and sees familiar fixtures: a bidet, a step up into a smaller room with a shower on the wall, a sink, and a Japanese bathtub. “So normal.”

“For Japanese, maybe.”

Ranpo glances back to find Poe smiling.

“I really enjoy soaking in that tub. Part of me is inclined to do a little remodeling myself when I get home. But…” He pauses. “I’m not sure I want to undermine my own house’s charms.

They go upstairs next. “There are two bedrooms up here. I use the guest bedroom. There’s just something too… personal about sleeping in the main one.”

“Can I look inside?”

Poe nods, and Ranpo slides it open. He can see why Poe avoids it: it’s too ornate, an eclectic mix of midcentury and modern. Not Poe’s style at all.

“I don’t mind showing you where I sleep, but I do request that you not go inside.”

Ranpo nods and stands in the doorway while Poe enters and flips the light on. There’s a bed inside, but much smaller and plainer than the one in the main bedroom. Karl scurries down Ranpo’s body and vaults across the room to the bed, where he walks in a few circles and curls up, covering his nose with his tail.

“I don’t think Karl has been sleeping much, either,” Poe admits, flipping off the light. “I’ll just leave the door open so he can get out.”

Ranpo follows his guide back downstairs. Poe peers inside the bag again and pulls out the cookies. “Are these for you?”

“I can share,” Ranpo says. “That’s the highest honor anyone can get, by the way.”

Poe smiles. “I can make us some tea. I think I have some Ceylon that would go well with them.”

“Poe-kun.”

Poe hums, but he doesn’t turn around while he’s filling the hot water pitcher.

“I think I see the problem.” Ranpo notices the faint jolt in Poe’s shoulders. He waits until the water stops running to continue. “Or, more accurately, a problem. When we met, you said you were trying to make yourself a little uncomfortable by coming here because that helps you write more.” He spies the rigidity in Poe’s movements as he sets the kettle on the base and turns it on. “But this place… it’s not welcoming to you. It’s not yours. So now, you’re too uncomfortable to write.” Ranpo folds his hands and leans on the bar counter. “I’m not saying that’s the whole problem, but…”

“Ranpo-kun, you… might be correct.” Poe draws a breath, but he remains facing the ornate backsplash. “It’s… partly how uncomfortable I feel being here. I’ve tried to find traces of myself in this place, but… it’s all so much Fitzgerald. I was so grateful to him offering up his—is this his sixth or seventh property? Well, no matter.” Finally, Poe turns around. “I’m not ungrateful now because it means I can be here in Japan. It’s just…” Poe pauses. “It doesn’t… feel like I’m in Japan when I’m here. And I start thinking I can climb in my car and drive to my favorite restaurant, or my favorite bookstore, and when that happens, I—” He stops, then continues more quietly. “I realize I can’t.”

Ranpo hums. “Poe-kun, you sound really homesick.”

“It’s not that I’m unhappy being here! I just—”

The kettle flips off, and the silence stretches, long and uncomfortable. Charged with something Ranpo doesn’t want to name. “Sit down, Poe-kun,” Ranpo announces, finally switching to Japanese because they’ve been speaking in English since he got there. “I’ll get the tea.”

“But you’re my guest and I—”

“You’re in my country,” Ranpo insists as he starts opening cabinets, searching for teacups, “so by that logic, you’re my guest. Besides, as shaken as you are, there’s a high probability you’ll break something.”

“I… right.” He walks a bit too quickly around the bar and to the living room. Ranpo lets him go. It’s not hard to deduce that Poe wants a little bit of space, that between his sudden homesick ramble and his insomnia, he’s a bit more emotional than usual. He was excited about the cookies… does he like sweets? Has he eaten today? Probably not. Well… He opens the fridge and adds some cream and sugar to each cup, though he puts more sugar in his own. After stirring both, he carefully carries them to the living room. Poe is sitting on one of the sofas, hands folded, forehead leaning against them.

“Here,” Ranpo announces, setting the cup with less sugar in front of Poe. “Do you need another minute?”

“No.” Poe wipes his face. “No. I’m fine. Thank you.” He drops his hands and sighs at the rug. “I’m so sorry you have to see me in such a disgraceful state, Ranpo-kun.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” Ranpo states, folding his legs. “I’m sure it’s really hard being away from home. I’ve never left Japan, but… actually, now that I think of it, I’d probably get even more lost than usual if I did.” He leans across his cup and grabs the pack of cookies, then tears it open and offers it to Poe first. “Here.”

Poe takes one, murmurs a thank you, and nibbles on it.

“This case is so much more complicated than I was expecting,” Ranpo murmurs, nibbling on one of the cookies, then sipping his tea. Poe was right: they do go well together. “Not complaining, by the way, but the more time I spend working on it, the more I realize there are multiple contributing factors to your lost inspiration.” Ranpo scratches his chin. “As awesome as I am, I’m not sure I can clear them all, but the world’s greatest detective doesn’t give up that easily. So!” He sets his teacup down and smiles at Poe. “For now, I’ll stay here and help you fall asleep.”

Poe glances at him. “That’s not necessary, Ranpo-kun.”

“It sure is! Unless you’re saying you don’t want my help with that.”

“I… really think I can get by without it, thank you.”

Ranpo frowns and folds his eyes. “Seeing your sleeping face would help me solve the case.” He says it slowly while rubbing his chin. “I understand if that’s too much, though. I can get by without it.” Ranpo watches Poe shuffle a little. He can see Poe thinking about it. As predicted, in the end, Poe sighs and says,

“What… did you have in mind?”

Ranpo shrugs. “I’m open to ideas.” He watches Poe color.

“Then…”

The waiver in Poe’s voice also doesn’t escape his notice.

“Can I just… lean on your shoulder for a little while?”

He wants me to touch him? Ranpo’s mind scatters in four different directions, but in the end, he says yes. “But… but it might be odd, Poe-kun. I’m a man, your rival—”

“Then I respect your refusal.”

“It wasn’t refusal. It was more… reluctance?” Ranpo can’t believe he’s turning something so obvious into a question. “I guess it’s okay.”

“Really?”

“Sure, if it’ll help.” He says that. He means it. But as Poe’s head presses lightly against his shoulder, he starts to wonder exactly why it’s okay. Ranpo keeps his eyes locked on the empty part of the room. Even if spontaneous combustion has mostly been disproven by science, he’s afraid that looking at Poe for too long will tempt physics a bit too much.

“You’re tense,” Poe murmurs.

“Sorry. I’m just thinking really hard about your case.” He hopes that’s enough to put his rival off the trail that he himself hasn’t fully wandered down yet. Fortunately, it does. His hair smells good, Ranpo thinks. I’ll bet it’s soft—no, no. None of that. He shoves that thought away and curls his fingers around his knees. “Can I say something?” He feels Poe nod and swallows. “To be honest, I didn’t come here to do this.”

Poe hums. “Why did you come?”

“To offer you a choice. We can do something entirely unfamiliar or something that’s familiar but in a new place. As the next step to finding your lost inspiration, I mean. I’m free in two days.”

“Oh. Um…”

The writer sits up, and Ranpo notices how red Poe’s ears are.

“I… but in two days, isn’t it—”

“In two days, it’s the best time to go.” Ranpo turns his gaze to the empty cups on the table. “I always take myself out for chocolate on Valentine’s Day since no one else has ever really given me any.” He shrugs. “This year, I thought it’d be nice to go with you. I’m going to Café Lupin.”

“Café Lupin?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “The owner is a friend of mine from high school.”

“Why?”

“Maybe so you can take yourself out for chocolate, too.” He folds his arms and smiles. If he doesn’t, he’ll be way too tempted to see if Poe’s hair is as soft as he thinks it is. “I can deduce you’re reluctant to go.”

“I…” Poe pauses. “Can I think about it? It’s just…”

Ranpo’s ears catch the sound of a yawn and he glances to his right to see Poe covering his mouth.

“Sorry. I’m really tired now, and… I want to answer properly after I’ve slept.”

“Sure.” Ranpo tips his head back. The truth is, in the odd warmth of that moment—a  warmth he wasn’t looking for—he feels a little drowsy himself. “Just text me tomorrow, whatever you decide.” Though Ranpo is already fairly certain Poe will go along with it. “Lay down. I’ll clean up the cups and get you a blanket or something if you tell me where they are.”

“There are some throw blankets in the bedroom closet. You can go in there.” No sooner is he on his feet does Poe call him back. “Ranpo-kun.”

“Hmm?” he asks, rising with the two empty mugs in his hand.

“In what capacity are you taking me?”

Ranpo lets a chuckle slip out. “Three capacities,” he explains. “First, as my rival in solving mysteries. Second, as my pen pal who surprised me by coming all the way here.”

“What’s the third?”

“As my friend who is having a tough time and who I care about, of course.”

“Ah.” Poe’s legs scrunch up, and his one visible eye starts to shut. “For some reason, that makes me really happy, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo lets his own sigh slip out. “I’m glad to hear that.”

After that, it takes exactly two minutes for Poe to drop into unconsciousness. Ranpo knows it has happened by the way Poe is breathing. After washing the dishes and putting up the cookies (which he has decided to leave for Poe), he gathers his courage and goes up to the room Poe has been sleeping in. He doesn’t spend anymore time in there than he needs to. Karl follows him down the stairs, watches as Ranpo spreads the blanket over him, and climbs onto the couch. The raccoon curls up around Poe’s head, throwing a yawn at the air, and going back to sleep.

Ranpo leaves the kitchen light on, but he shuts off the rest, including that statement piece in the living room. Then, he puts on his shoes and cape and leaves. The trains are still running. He can figure it out. He has no reason to stay, having already deduced how this situation will end. The one thing he can’t deduce is the odd warmth he felt at the weight of Poe’s head resting on his shoulder.

It’s not what he feels for Kunikida. Or Yosano. Or Dazai. Or the old man. Or even his own mother, although those feelings are a bit more complicated. After all these years, Ranpo thinks, I’ve finally found a truth I’m not sure I want to know in him. He deduces that truth won’t matter to his current case, so he gets off the train and realizes he is a station away from where he meant to get off when the map on his phone tells him it will take 40 minutes to get back to his apartment. Shrugging, he starts towards home, grappling with his thoughts, fitting the new information together with what he already knows.

In the morning, he wakes up late to a voice mail from the local law enforcement requesting his help on a case. Far less relevant to him than the Facebook message from Poe. Thank you for last night, he reads. I’ve decided to take myself out for chocolate on Valentine’s Day, too. Coincidentally, I think Café Lupin is a good choice based on their reviews, and it would be more interesting to go with you since I can’t bring Karl. How does 2:30 sound?

Ranpo flops back down on his futon, laughing in disbelief because it sounds too good to be true.

Chapter Text

Over the next two days, Ranpo solves another case for Yokohama’s police, earning an eye roll from Minoura that he answers with a grin before unwrapping a fresh lollipop. With the time he has left over, he catalogs and re-catalogs the evidence of his personal favorite case. Never mind that it has taken him nearly two weeks to get to this point. There are only five post-it notes left of his original eleven for the potential cause of Poe’s missing inspiration, and he knows they may all be causes. He’s also chewing on a sixth he might add. He just doesn’t want to write it down. He knows he’s getting close to a solution because of how giddy he is. In fact, he’s only missing one or two final pieces, and he’ll…

Suddenly, he’s overcome. When this case is over, everything will be boring again. Ranpo sighs and sets his head down on his desk. He feels like curling up under it, especially given how his stomach is doing flips because that sixth possibility sticks in his head. What am I supposed to do after I find Poe-kun’s lost inspiration? Wait for his book? Read it and enjoy a few interesting hours?

So perhaps solving that case is not as good as he initially thought.

Nonetheless, he meets Poe in front of Ishikawacho Station that afternoon, a place he nearly doesn’t get to because of his terrible sense of direction. He’s all smiles. He has to be. After all, Poe came down here without Karl, and he’s visibly more anxious than usual. “Hey, you good, Poe-kun?”

“Yes!” He answers so loudly, a few people turn to stare at him. Clearing his throat, he murmurs. “Yeah. Just… it’s crowded, and that’s easier to deal with when Karl is around.”

Ranpo hums. “I guess I’m just used to them. I grew up in Yokohama, so…”

Poe nods, but he doesn’t look any more relaxed.

“Listen. I think you’ll feel really at home in Café Lupin. It’s good you suggested 2:30 because the rush should be over. And Dazai-kun’s a really good guy.” Ranpo glances up at his American friend again. “You’re still nervous.”

“Crowds,” he says again.

Sighing, Ranpo pats the back of his shoulder and tries to ignore his own inexplicable anxiousness. “It’s okay to be nervous. But you’re with the great Edogawa Ranpo.” He points his thumb back at himself with a grin, then passes Poe a thumb’s up. “I know it’s rough because there are so many people and so little space here, but you’re in good hands. I wouldn’t take you to Café Lupin if I didn’t think you’d like it.” Ranpo tries to deduce if that helps. He thinks it has, given that Poe takes a step forward.

“Alright. I’ll trust you, Ranpo-kun.”

“Good!” He grins, and his nervousness disappears. “Because I’m starving. I haven’t had any snacks after lunch today.” He rounds the corner and pauses to get his bearings. He sees the sign and leads Poe towards it. “If you’re nervous, you don’t have to say anything, but Dazai-kun makes it a habit to chat with his customers. Fair warning.”

Poe nods. “Okay. I think I’m ready.”

When Ranpo pushes the door open, the cheerful chime of a bell fills his ears. Behind it, Dazai and his barista, Atsushi, call, “Welcome to Café Lupin!” in perfect unison.

“Yo, Atsushi-kun.” He lets the door go, but he doesn’t hear it close behind him.

“Good to see you again, Ranpo-san. You picked a good time to come in. We just got through a rush.” Atsushi finishes wiping the corner table. “Please feel free to order with Dazai-san and sit wherever you like. He’ll be taking care of your order.”

“Because you were supposed to be on lunch break an hour ago,” Dazai calls.

“I know, but it was busy. And it’s really not a big deal.”

Dazai clicks his tongue. “Akutagawa-kun would probably eviscerate me if he thought I was mistreating you.”

“Dazai-san—”

“And that’s to say nothing of his bene—”

“Dazai-san, that’s—fine, I’m going!”

Ranpo watches Atsushi dart into the kitchen as the wheels in his head turn. It takes him six seconds to work out the puzzle. Once he does, laughs.

“Did you figure it out?” Dazai asks him.

Ranpo nods. “Of course! But you really shouldn’t go around speaking of such things so loudly. It’s a pretty public secret, but still…” Ranpo sees the way Dazai looks past him and glances over his shoulder to see Poe studying the space with slightly parted lips. He glances to Dazai and scoffs at his look. “You’re way off-base.”

“Am I, now?” he asks, folding his arms. “Then explain, oh great detective, why you’ve brought someone unfamiliar into my café.”

“That’s Poe-kun.”

“Poe-kun,” Dazai echoes.

“My American pen pal,” he clarifies.

“Ah.” Dazai passes him Ranpo a devious smirk. “So what is he here for? He writes novels, yes?”

“Ah, yeah. I guess he’s having some kind of quarter-life crisis. Is that a thing? Well, it is now.” Ranpo gestures to Poe over his shoulder. “Anyway, he took a leave of absence from his job and just moved here. Well, sort of. Visa rules, you know… he got here in January after disappearing in late December. Long story. I’ve been showing him things in Yokohama. In fact, he’s got me on a case, and I was hoping coming here would help.”

Dazai hums and leans against the counter. Ranpo hears steps behind him.

“Believe me,” he continues, “Poe-kun being here is just as much a surprise to you as it is to me. And I’m difficult to surprise, as you know.”

“Oh, yes. I remember when Yosano and I tried to plan a surprise birthday party for you and Kunikida-kun was more surprised than you were.”

Ranpo laughs and grins. “Because you didn’t tell him it was my birthday.” Ranpo turns to Poe and smiles. He’s still studying the café’s interior. “You know,” he murmurs, turning back to Dazai, “I hate to admit it because it wounds my pride as Yokohama’s greatest detective, but the one thing I didn’t deduce was him turning up.” He shrugs. “Since he’s here, though, I figured I would at least show him some of Japan’s traditions, so don’t get the wrong idea.”

Dazai glances past him again, then puts on a smile that is clearly customer service. Ranpo turns to watch Poe swivel away. He’s pretty sure Poe’s ears are red again. It’s kind of cute, he tells himself, then shakes that thought loose as Poe takes a breath and walks towards the counter.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Poe says in steady, near perfectly intonated Japanese. “My name is Edgar Allan Poe. I’m originally from Virginia, but I’m currently living in New York working in HR for Fitzgerald Corporation.” He bows slightly. “Ranpo-kun speaks very highly of you, Dazai-san.”

Ranpo hasn’t seen Dazai look that surprised in a while, but he recovers and responds, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well. Any friend of Ranpo-kun’s is a friend of mine. I’ll be happy to make your order. Are you in the mood for anything?”

“Ah… we came here for chocolate since it’s a Valentine’s tradition in Japan, so…” Poe pauses. “I’ll try the café mocha that’s on special.”

“Make it two!”

Dazai’s smirk returns and he says, “So I shouldn’t dust the top with cocoa powder hearts?”

Before Ranpo can object, Poe murmurs, “I’m fine with that. I would like the full experience. Ranpo-kun?”

“Sure. I don’t see why not, given we’re buying them for ourselves.” He passes Dazai a pointed look.

“Please have a seat wherever you’d like. I’ll bring your order out as soon as it’s ready.” But there’s something in his smile that irritates Ranpo. Like he knows something Ranpo doesn’t.

“Ranpo-kun,” Poe calls, “should we sit at the corner table?”

“May as well,” he answers. As soon as they’re both seated, Ranpo leans against his hand.

“Is something troubling you?” Poe asks in English.

Ranpo peers at him with one eye. “Nothing much,” he answers in the same language Poe spoke to him with. “But if you think something is, deduce it.”

Poe folds his arms. “Is that a challenge, Ranpo-kun?”

After a moment, Ranpo says, “Know what? Yeah. Loser pays the bill.”

“That defeats the purpose of buying ourselves chocolate, doesn’t it?”

“Then loser pays the bill wherever we go next time.”

Poe smirks. “Very well, Ranpo-kun,” he murmurs in Japanese, voice dripping with what Ranpo knows is confidence. “I’ll reveal every detail before we’re finished here, and I’ll even do it in English to save your dignity, since the owner clearly doesn’t speak a word of it.” One of his eyes appears from beneath his bangs as he folds his hands and leans against them. “I look forward to drinking the expensive Japanese alcohol I’ll be requesting.”

“And I look forward to you treating me to—” He breaks off as Dazai’s shadow appears in his periphery. Dazai sets down the two mochas with a slight bow. The cocoa powder hearts on top of the foam are are flawless.

“I added some extra syrup to yours since you have such a sweet tooth, Ranpo-kun.” He rises and slips the receipt into the cylinder on the table, giving Ranpo a pointed look and a smirk that says all too well he knows something. “Please pay at the front counter whenever you’re finished.”

After Dazai leaves, Ranpo leans against his hand and studies Poe, who is currently transfixed by the coffee. “It’s quite a nice design,” he admits.

“You should drink it.”

Poe lifts the cup to his lips and takes a sip. Both his eyes fly open, and he sets the mug down. “Oh, my. It’s wonderful.”

“Right?” Ranpo grins and takes a swill of his own. Of course, it’s perfect. Dazai knows his preferences quite well, considering they’re friends. “Dazai-kun is really talented when it comes to coffee. Almost as talented as I am when it comes to solving mysteries.” Ranpo sets his cup down and watches Poe take slow sips of his coffee.

“It’s lovely,” he admits. “Like he knew my preferences without me saying them.”

“Yeah, he’s like that with men in general,” Ranpo states. “It’s a bit harder for him to figure out a woman’s preferences, but that makes sense, all things considered.”

Poe tilts his head, then hums. “Ah.” He waits for a moment before murmuring in English, “Is that really something you should be telling me, Ranpo-kun?”

“Dazai-kun has really opened up about it in recent months. I’ve deduced that he flirts with Mr. Fancy Hat whenever he comes by. Ah, you don’t know who that is.”

“I think I know.” Poe hums again. “Still, I thought Japanese attitudes about that kind of relationship were less than positive.”

“They can be.” Ranpo takes another drink of his mocha and lets out a satisfied sigh as he lowers his mug. “But you know, Dazai-kun has been my friend since I was seventeen. I’m twenty-seven now. That’s over ten whole years.” Ranpo passes Poe another grin. “There aren’t many people I’d commit felonies for, but if anyone ever looked down on Dazai-kun for doing what makes him happy, I probably would.”

“Assault?”

“Blackmail,” Ranpo answers. “Much more my speed since I’m so good at deducing things and can find the information to back it up.” He blows on his mug and considers the problem of Dazai’s father, but since that’s a non-issue for Dazai, it’s a non-issue for Ranpo. “Is it like that in America?”

“Attitudes have changed a lot,” Poe confesses. “There are still some who oppose that sort of thing.”

“What about you?”

“I… feel that’s a rather personal question.”

“I’m not asking about your relationship history, Poe-kun,” Ranpo states. “Just your attitudes.”

Poe shrugs and takes another sip of his drink.

“Poe-kun—”

“Deduce it,” he states.

Ranpo does. Blindingly fast. From Poe’s body language and the slight waver in his voice. Ranpo takes another swig of coffee. “What’s Valentine’s Day like in America?”

“Huh?” Poe asks.

“Are you more startled that I switched back to Japanese or that I’m changing the subject? Don’t worry; I already deduced it. I just don’t think it’s right to say the answer out loud.”

Poe doesn’t respond. He does, however, hunch a little lower in his chair. “Valentine’s Day in America is nothing like this. In Japan, it’s usually friends or romantic partners exchanging chocolate. Coworkers, too, right? They buy chocolate for the department.”

Ranpo nods.

“In America, it’s… really commercialized. Not many things are like this.” Poe gestures to his cup. “It’s simple and elegant. A lot of American Valentine’s Day goods are really gaudy. I remember being forced to hand out these cheap cardboard valentines to everyone in my class and bring in a cereal box that I decorated so people could do the same.” He takes another sip. “A lot of the candy is too sweet, and there’s too much of it. I don’t know… maybe it’s because I’ve always enjoyed Japanese culture, but I can appreciate the simplicity of the celebration over here. And the idea of a reciprocal day a month later really appeals to me.” He pauses. “I’m talking too much.”

“You’re talking just the right amount.” Ranpo grins. “My mug is almost empty, Poe-kun. Have you deduced whether or not anything was troubling me yet?”

“It’s clear to me that it was,” Poe answers.

“Well, you still have a little time.” Ranpo takes another swig of his coffee. “Want me to drink slower as a show of mercy?”

Poe scoffs in response. “That’s not necessary.” He sips his own drink, but Ranpo notices him tapping his foot under the table.

A nervous habit? No, he’s really focusing. Ranpo smiles at Poe over the lip of his cup. It’s kind of cute. Wait… what’s with me thinking that? He shakes the thought loose and hears Poe emit a low hum.

“I got it,” he announces, sending Ranpo a confident smirk. “You’re annoyed because there’s something you don’t know and you think Dazai does.”

Ranpo chuckles. “How did you deduce that?’

“You were annoyed immediately after Dazai told us to sit down. The timing alone suggests that he was the source, but I needed more proof. The fact that you denied something was bothering you tells me that it was. You being able to deduce things is a matter of pride. So, it stands to reason a gap in your knowledge is the cause.”

Ranpo stares across the table at Poe, who is clearly waiting for him to respond. “You’re half correct.”

Poe frowns at him.

“There are two reasons I’m annoyed,” he states, finishing his coffee and rising. Poe follows him. At the counter, they split the bill with Atsushi, then walk outside, and good timing, too. It’s three-fifteen, and Ranpo is almost certain that soon, droves of high school students will start to arrive for a second rush.

“Ranpo-kun,” Poe calls after him.

“You got one of them,” Ranpo states, turning around and folding his thumb down.

“Isn’t that four?” Poe asks.

“The Japanese count by folding their fingers in,” he explains. “Is it not like that in America?”

“No. We count one by extending our index finger most of the time.” Poe folds his arms. “If I got one, am I allowed to ask what the other is?”

Ranpo shrugs and rubs the back of his head. “I’m trying to figure out how I feel about persimmons.”

“Persimmons?” Poe echoes.

“Persimmons,” Ranpo says, this time in English.

“Ah,” he answers. A moment later, he snickers behind his hand.

“I forbid laughing!”

But Poe doesn’t listen. He throws his head back and laughs long and loud. Ranpo can feel people staring, but he’s too transfixed by the unrestrained sound coming out of Poe’s mouth.

“Poe-kun!”

“Sorry,” Poe says as he recovers. He’s still chuckling behind his hand. “Sorry. It’s just… very obvious to me that ‘persimmons’ is a stand-in for something.” He smiles. “It was interesting to deduce the source of your annoyance, Ranpo-kun. Do you want to call it a draw?”

“May as well.”

Poe’s smile fades. “Are persimmons really bothering you that much?”

Ranpo pivots and folds his arms. “I need to get back to my place. Text me about dinner or Japanese alcohol. Whichever you want first.” He barely gets two steps before he feels a tug on the back of his cape. “I’m going the wrong way, aren’t I?”

“You can follow me back. I need to get on the train at Ishikawacho Station anyway.”

Ranpo folds his arms and frowns.

“Ranpo-kun?”

“I have a shitty sense of direction,” Ranpo admits.

“So you’ve mentioned.” Poe smiles. “I only have a good sense of direction because I have to navigate parts of New York City.”

They walk back to the station together. Ranpo is buying his ticket when he sees Poe staring his way.

“Your office is by Yokohama Station?” Poe asks.

Ranpo nods. “It’s maybe fifteen or twenty minutes walking.

“I’d like to see it sometime, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

Poe frowns. “Dazai or persimmons?”

“Both,” Ranpo confesses.

Poe hums. “Can I do anything to ease your troubles, Ranpo-kun?”

“Nah,” he answers, sticking his ticket in the machine. “I just need to sit with it.”

Poe accepts his response almost effortlessly. They board the subway heading north, sitting in a silence that Ranpo thinks is a little uncomfortable. “You really didn’t know the word ‘persimmon’?”

“They aren’t very common in America,” Poe answers.

The conversation dies off again until Ranpo hears the train say the name of his stop. He rises, but Poe tugs him back down.

“The next stop is Sakuragicho,” Poe tells him. “I need to transfer lines at Yokohama, so just get up when I do, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo scoffs. “It’s so weird to be getting advice about Japan’s trains from someone who has only been here for a month.”

“Well, I’ve ridden the trains a lot,” Poe says. “It isn’t like I’ve been writing.” The train sways to a stop, and Poe sighs. “I have to ask, how’s my case?”

“Your case?”

“You know,” Poe says. “Trying to recover my lost inspiration.”

Ranpo tries to focus on those details, but all he can think of is Poe’s laugh. “I’m getting close,” he finally says. “I think today, we cleared an obstacle. You found a comfortable place. More comfortable than where you’re staying, anyway.”

Poe smiles. “That’s very true. Café Lupin’s atmosphere is nice. And it was nice to feel comfortable.” He folds his hands. “I’m… really grateful I got to share that with you, Ranpo-kun.”

There’s something in Poe’s voice that unsettles Ranpo again, but before he can think too much on it, a pre-recorded female voice announces, “Next is Yokohama.”

Rising, Poe grabs the bar overhead. Ranpo stands and reaches out when the train sways. He almost topples over, but Poe grabs his arm and stares at him. “Sorry,” he murmurs, letting go.

Ranpo notices Poe’s face is red again. And he can’t blame the cold this time.

Once they’re in the station, Poe says, “It was very nice to take myself out for chocolate with you. I’ll send you a message later.”

“Sure.” He watches Poe head deeper into the station. He glances both ways, then turns around and waves at Ranpo, before heading confidently in the direction of his transfer.

Ranpo waves back at him, then heads for the exit gates. Once he’s out, he sets his hands on his knees. It’s not that he had a bad time—in fact, their banter and competitiveness feels oddly reminiscent of their video chat. The trouble is, with Poe right in front of him, that sort of dynamic feels different than it does on-screen. It makes him feel differently, too. He has dated men before. Women, too. Ranpo doesn’t know why a chill sweeps over him at that realization. He came here to surprise me. Dazai-kun knows something I don’t. Ranpo sinks a little lower. I think he’s cute. And that confidence of his. His face burns, and he buries it in his hands.

It’s the first time in his life he has actively tried to avoid a truth. But despite his best efforts, that missing piece falls right into place. And just like that, the case of Poe’s missing inspiration unfolds.

“I’ll never write it down,” he tells himself as he turns and starts to walk. “Because that would make it real.”

He says that, but he knows he can’t pretend it’s not a possibility anymore.

To add insult to injury, he walks for ten minutes in the wrong direction before turning back towards his apartment.

Chapter Text

A quiet week passes. Ranpo wishes he could say it was peaceful for him, but the silence grates on his nerves. Specifically, Poe’s silence. Ranpo can’t explain why or even deduce it with full certainty, but he feels like he overstepped a boundary. Even if he knows exactly how Poe sees him—a knowledge he’s still not sure he wants if he’s being honest—he’s just as sure Poe doesn’t want him to know that. Maybe Poe sees him as unattainable. It would pose a lot of problems, Ranpo thinks as he closes his lips around a sucker. The sugary flavor immediately floods his mouth. I’m not anymore opposed to dating men than he is, but it’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone. He doesn’t like to think about the last time. And when I was, I was never serious about it. Whether it ended after a good meal or a love hotel, it was just a temporary release from boredom. He turns his head and lowers it to his desk. He’s never been ashamed of it like this before, but he is now.

In that time frame, the post-it notes detailing the potential reasons Poe lost his inspiration dwindle to five. But he knows the truth isn’t on the wall. It’s in his mind. He hopes it stays there. Especially now that he’s in his office with his head on his desk, wavering between boredom and self-loathing. He tells himself if he finishes, he can go eat something special. But of course, he’s a hard man to convince, especially when what needs to be done is unpleasant.

After solving a case for Minoura and walking him through the solution, he calls the two private clients whose cases he solved that morning, providing the results of his investigations in a way they can understand. The first one is cut and dry. “Regarding your husband’s inexplicable spending, he isn’t having an affair. He’s trying to surprise you. I won’t say what with, just in case you still want to be surprised, but you don’t need to worry.” To his surprise the woman bursts into tears, thanks him profusely, and promises to wire him payment by the end of the day.

The second is a bit more complicated. “Regarding your son sneaking out… he’s not doing anything illegal,” Ranpo explains. “He’s just trying to get a little space to do what he likes without all the pressure you’re putting on him.” Of course, the mother who hired him bursts out about how he can’t possibly feel that way, how he just needs to focus, push himself a little harder. He stops listening and bites down on his lollipop, listening to it crack beneath his teeth. After three full minutes of berating him, she finally stops to breathe. He removes the paper stick from his mouth and retorts, “Case and point. If you treat your son anything like you just treated me, it’s no wonder he needs air.” When she threatens not to pay him, he cuts her off with a laugh. “I’ll send an attorney, then, if I’m not paid by the end of the week. You knew my rates when you hired me. I solved your case. It doesn’t matter to me that the truth is unsatisfactory to you.”

She hangs up on him, and Ranpo leans back in his chair with a sigh. Ultimately, that last case stings because it reminds him of things he doesn’t want to remember.

In university and in his early years after graduating, when Ranpo found himself in this particular mood—usually after a phone call with his mother—he turned to all sorts of things to curb the boredom. Logic puzzle books, sudoku, chess and go… but this is different. And he knows there’s only one cure, one he hasn’t sought since that last sour conclusion to a relationship just as temporary as all of the others he had been in because it quickly became just as boring.

But now, he’s thinking about more things he’d rather not. And he’s getting tempted to fall into old habits.

He reaches for a sucker instead and glances at the clock. He feels something beyond boredom. He’s uninspired. Frustrated. He needs—

His cell phone rings. For a moment, he considers letting it go to voice mail, suspecting it’s that client who hung up on him earlier. Instead, it’s a number he doesn’t recognize. Picking it up, he says, “Good morning, this is Edogawa Ranpo.”

“Huh.” A pause. “I would have expected you to have a secretary of some sort, given how your name flies around so often.”

He doesn’t recognize the voice. “Who are you? Wait, don’t answer. Let me deduce it.”

“You can’t deduce the identity of someone you don’t know.”

“But I’ve already deduced you’re calling me about a case because of how politely you’re speaking,” he counters. “You’re not with the police. Or if you are, you’re new.”

“I work with law enforcement, yes.”

“Not Yokohama, then,” Ranpo murmurs. “A government job, then… what’s that noise in the background?”

“You tell me, great detective.”

He scoffs. “Minoura recommended me, huh? He calls me that out of spite, you know. You even got the inflection just right.” Ranpo listens to the steady gray noise. “You’re in a parked car,” he finally says. “It would be rude to call me on the trains, and by now, there would’ve been some kind of announcement for the next station.”

“So you are as good as they say…” The voice trails off. “If you have a moment to step outside, I’d like to speak with you about a case, Ranpo-san.”

Before Ranpo can respond, the call disconnects. Whoever this person is, Ranpo tells himself, grabbing his cape, he sure doesn’t waste words. Or time. And he’s reasonable. Well, reasonable enough to take a recommendation to hire me. He opens his office door and sees a car parked by the curb. A Bentley with Yokohama license plates. As he paces towards it, the passenger side window descends, and he finds himself staring at a stern-looking bespeckled man in a brown suit. “Quite the car you’ve got there.”

“Yes,” he answers. “Though not nearly as impressive as your mind.” The door locks click. “If you have time, I’d like to invite you to take a drive with me. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes, and whether you take the case or not, you’ll be well compensated for your time.”

Ranpo opens the car door, but only after making sure his phone is in his pocket. He shuts it and fastens his seatbelt. The man checks all three of his mirrors before easing the car back into the flow of traffic.

“Do you know who I am, Ranpo-san?”

“Can’t say I do, but judging from the car and the suit, you’re pretty important. Not to mention, you have decadent tastes.” He smiles. “I’ll bet you’re the kind of guy who only eats counter sushi.”

Ranpo is pretty sure the man huffs as the car slows to a stop at a red light, but he’s not very expressive, so Ranpo isn’t sure. “My name is Sakaguchi Ango. I work for the Public Security Intelligence Agency in Tokyo. I assure you, the pleasure of meeting you is all mine.”

“As it should be, considering I’m Yokohama’s greatest detective and probably the world’s.” Ranpo pulls a sucker out of his pocket. “Mind if I have one? I think better while eating.”

“As long as you don’t make a mess.”

Ranpo unwraps the candy and sticks it in his mouth. “I may not know you, Sakaguchi-kun, but I can deduce why you called me. You have a case. I hope it’s an interesting one.”

“I think you’ll find it interesting. There are some files in the glove box. I need to keep my attention on traffic.”

Ranpo pops the glove box open and pulls out a manila envelope. While the car starts moving forward, he traces the shape of the candy with his tongue and starts skimming words. It doesn’t take him long since they’re on paper. The writing itself is fairly dry, but the ideas catch him. A string of mysterious e-mails. Descriptions as blurry as the security camera photos they reference. The name Aum Shinrikyo, which he vaguely knows from his childhood that causes him more pain than he’d ever admit to anyone, even his own mother. The car sways to a stop, rounds a corner, then keeps going. He stacks the files up and glances at Ango, whose eyes are still on the road. “Aren’t you concentrating a little too hard, Sakaguchi-kun?”

“My last Bentley was totaled by someone deliberately while it was parked and I was still in it,” he retorts. “I’m simply avoiding a repeat of that incident.”

Ranpo pulls the sucker out of his mouth and waves the file. “Does that have anything to do with the cult referenced in these documents?”

“You tell me,” Ango responds. “You’re the great detective.”

Scoffing, Ranpo closes his lips around the lollipop again. “These read like footnotes, which are only good for understanding the text. And only from the perspective of whoever wrote it.”

“What exactly are you saying, Ranpo-san?”

“I’m saying,” Ranpo continues, returning the envelope to the glove compartment, “that you’ve given me the footnotes. I want the whole story.”

As Ango stops at another red light, his eyes drift away from the road over to Ranpo’s. “You understand how dangerous this case is.”

“It’s not dangerous if we’re the only ones who know I’m working on it.” Ranpo passes him a smile dripping with confidence.

Ango’s eyes line up with the road again. “Why?”

“Because it’s interesting,” Ranpo states, shrugging. “I’ll take your case.”

Sighing, Ango reaches up to the visor and turns it down, then passes Ranpo a thumb drive. “You have ten days. Do it faster if you can.”

Ranpo takes it. “Pretty high demand, Sakaguchi-kun,” he murmurs, studying the plastic. “Lucky for you, it’s interesting, so I won’t charge you a premium—”

“Three million.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Three million,” Ango repeats. “Your payment for solving the case. Plus twenty-thousand for the drive.”

Ranpo’s head spins, and the sucker nearly falls out of his mouth. His rent isn’t terrible, and cases generally pay well enough for him to live on. But that much money in one sitting makes him fantasize about filling his entire apartment with snacks and eating through it room by room.

“Is that sufficient?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Yeah. It’s more than sufficient.” He doesn’t bother mentioning it’s not the money that matters.

“Good.” The car rounds another corner. “I don’t need to tell you that you are bound to absolute secrecy. You can’t speak a word of this case to anyone. I also don’t need to tell you that this is your only case.”

“Of course. You can leave it to me.”

“Good,” Ango answers.

Ranpo watches him sigh. With relief, if Ranpo has to guess. “Did you really think I was going to decline?”

“To be fair, the review I received of your capabilities as a detective was glowing. It’s your personality that I was concerned about.”

Chuckling, Ranpo tucks the flash drive in his pocket. “So it was Minoura.”

Ango doesn’t answer. Instead, he adds, “I’m counting on you, Ranpo-san. Arguably, so is Japan. We don’t need another March 20.”

The vehicle sways as it pulls up to the curb. Ranpo is surprised to find they’re right back where they started. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Ranpo-san. You have my number if you make any headway.”

“Sure,” he says, but he notices Ango staring past him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Ango adjusts his glasses. “I simply needed to make sure that man standing outside your office had a racoon on his head.”

Ranpo opens the car door. “Ah, that’s just Poe-kun.”

“I believe I said—”

“Relax,” Ranpo says, opening the car door. “He’s my American pen pal and rival. He just wants to tour the place.” He steps out and frowns. “Rest assured, Sakaguchi-kun, the tour will not include anything we talked about.” Ranpo can see the doubt in Ango’s expression, but he shuts the car door anyway. Misplaced doubt, he tells himself, watching the sleek car pull into traffic. Well, no point in telling him that. I’ll show him soon enough. Forget ten days. If I have enough information, I can solve it in seven. He pockets the jump drive and bites through the sucker in his mouth, listening to the sugar crunch. He pulls the empty stick out and calls to Poe, who turns to face him.

“Ah, Ranpo-kun, I’m so sorry to bother you—”

“Hey, don’t apologize.” He waves the empty paper stick to punctuate his point. “I didn’t expect to be out of the office today, or I would have told you.”

“Ah,” Poe murmurs. “Well, if now is a bad time—”

“No way! You want to see it, right?”

“Oh. Um… I mean… if it’s not too much trouble.”

Ranpo smirks and pulls the keys out of his pocket. “More than happy to give you a tour, Poe-kun. Right this way.” He swings them around as he approaches the door, then wonders where all of Poe’s confidence from Valentine’s Day went. Probably sitting right next to his inspiration. He slides the key into the office door and opens it. “After you.”

Poe nods and creeps inside, murmuring, “Sorry for the intrusion,” as he steps over the threshold.

“You know we normally only say that when entering people’s homes, right?” Ranpo asks, letting the door fall closed behind him and flicking a light switch. The fluorescent bulbs overhead spring to life, and as Poe’s head turns so he can scan the room, Ranpo finds himself smiling for some reason.

But then, Karl jumps onto his head, knocking his hat off, causing him to yelp because he was too transfixed by Poe’s wonder to pay any attention to the raccoon. He drops his keys as Karl’s paws grip his hair and Poe shouts a long chain of apologies, half English, half Japanese, all unintelligible. It’s so absurd that he winds up laughing until his sides feel like they’re splitting open. And when he realizes Poe is staring at him slack-jawed, he starts laughing all over again.

By the time he stops, Karl has gotten his balance, and other than a dropped hat and keys and a sore stomach, he’s no worse for wear. “Poe-kun, you look so mortified—”

“Because Karl normally doesn’t do that! And you dropped your keys, and I came here unannounced, and I’m—”

“Poe-kun,” Ranpo cuts in, clicking his tongue as Karl descends his arm and starts rummaging around in his pocket. “You’ve apologized enough. It’s fine. He’s probably just after the candy in my pockets.” Karl glances up at him, then scurries off. Once he’s sure it’s safe, he stoops to pick up his keys. Before he can reach for his hat, he feels it settled on his head and glances up to find Poe has placed it there.

He realizes the kind of position they’re in and shoots to his feet, clearing his throat and straightening the garment on his head. “Alright, alright. Now that your emotional support raccoon is done causing chaos, let me show you around. Though honestly, there’s not much to—”

“Karl, come here.” Poe speaks the words in English with so much authority, Ranpo feels a chill run down his spine. Apparently, Karl does, too, because he’s on Poe’s shoulder again in an instant. Poe holds out a hand, and Karl deposits an object in it. The jump drive he got from Ango, which he didn’t even notice Karl removing from his pocket. “You shouldn’t take other people’s things, Karl.”

The raccoon chirps and scurries off, and Ranpo watches him go, frowning.

“I’m so sorry about that. He’s usually not like this.” Poe offers him the jump drive. “You’re troubled. Are you sure this isn’t—”

“It’s not a bad time,” Ranpo answers. Because it isn’t. And as uncomfortable as it is that Karl just lifted his case files off of him, he’s more concerned about how he feels. About Poe’s voice, and the gentle way he set Ranpo’s hat back on his head. He stuffs his hand in his pocket and pulls out another sucker. He offers it to Poe, who accepts it with a shrug and opens it. When Ranpo reaches back into his pocket, he realizes he just gave Poe the last one, but Poe has already stuck it into his mouth. “I’ll take the wrapper.” Poe offers him the empty plastic, and he creeps into the kitchenette to find Karl on the counter. He freezes when the lights flip on.

“Ah, there you are,” Poe sighs from just behind Ranpo’s shoulder.

Ranpo tosses the paper stick in the burnable trash and the plastic wrapper in the unburnable trash, then opens a drawer and pulls another sucker out. “I suppose most people would use this for coffee or tea, but you know how I am about snacks.” He pushes the drawer shut and turns to unwrap his sucker. “Is it anything like American candy?”

“It’s… not as artificial-tasting,” Poe murmurs. “What flavor is it?”

“Ramune. Mine is pineapple,” he answers.

Poe folds his arms and lets out a hum. “It’s a nice flavor. Reminds me of Smarties.”

“Like us?”

Poe chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s an American candy. But it’s solid. Powdery. Really cheap. I’m honestly not fond of the texture myself, but I think you’d enjoy it.”

“Ah,” Ranpo answers, feeling Karl’s weight climbing his cape. He chatters when Poe picks him up, but then, the raccoon instantly settles down. “Your vocabulary has gotten better,” he remarks as he leads Poe back into the main part of the office. “Employee restroom is down that way, though it’s pretty typical of Japanese bathrooms. I keep some paper files in this room. I can let you in, but I’ll have to ask you not to open any of them.”

“Of course not,” Poe says. “Though I can’t make the same promise for Karl. I’ll try to keep him calm.”

Ranpo pushes the door open and flips on the light. The entire closet is full of drawers.

“It’s really tidy.”

“It looks that way, but really, most people would find my filing system too haphazard to follow. Then again, that’s just how my mind works.” He notices something odd fill Poe’s smile. “What’s with that look?”

“Hmm… deduce it,” Poe announces.

Ranpo scoffs. “Half of me thinks you’re curious to see how they’re organized. The other half of me thinks they remind you of something.”

“Correct on both accounts. But if I’m to be sure on the reminder front, I would need an example.”

“If I didn’t have all my files for your case in here,” Ranpo states, tapping his head, “I’d invite you to look at those. But for that, I insist we go upstairs.”

“To your apartment?”

Ranpo pulls the sucker out of his mouth and smiles. “Aren’t you a little curious to see what a real Japanese apartment looks like?”

“I admit I am if it’s not too much of an intrusion.”

“It’s really no trouble,” Ranpo says, flicking off the closet light. “I do most of my work at this desk. Just let me make a sign for the door real quick.”

“A sign?”

“New case,” Ranpo says. “I can’t say anything else except I’ve promised it will be my only one and it’s extremely confidential.” He’s pretty sure Poe deduces the source of that case, but Poe only nods in reply while he grabs a pen and handwrites a tidy row of characters. “My apartment is a little lived in because of how hard I’ve been working on…” He stops when he realizes Poe is watching him write over his shoulder. He spins to the American with a slight frown. “Something wrong?”

“No. This is just the first time I’ve seen your handwriting.”

Ranpo shrugs. “It looks like everyone else’s. We all learn the same characters and stroke orders. Having to practice them was so mindless.”

Poe sets one hand on his hip and leans to look a little closer. At this point, his chin is almost touching Ranpo’s shoulder. “But it’s nice.”

Ranpo scoffs. “How?”

“Here.” He reaches over Ranpo’s shoulder and taps the paper with two fingers while Karl remains on his head. “I’m not a native speaker, and I’m certainly not very good at writing it, but the way you wrote this kanji was very graceful.”

Ranpo tips his head. “That’s the kanji for ‘wish’.”

“I know,” Poe says. He withdraws his arm a bit and steps back. “The way you wrote it, though… maybe it was the spirit? Anyway, it was a little inspiring.”

Ranpo swivels back to the page and finishes his note, grateful that from his current angle, his hair probably covers his burning ears. Is he actually flirting? He can’t be. Ranpo realizes it would disappoint him if Poe wasn’t, so he thinks, He has to be. Then, he realizes how much it would scare him if Poe was.

As soon as he’s finished, he tapes the sign to the door. He’ll set up a voice mail for his office phone later. For now, he’s more focused on giving Poe a grand tour of his apartment.

They walk up the stairs to Ranpo’s front door. Once they’re inside, they both remove their shoes. Ranpo shows him the shoe cabinet next to the front door and the storage closet near the door, although there’s nothing but a few boxes in each. “Kitchen’s on the left,” Ranpo says as they walk further into the apartment. “It’s pretty small, and I don’t really cook a lot, but every now and then, it’s nice to.” Ranpo also points out the washing machine and bathroom, both fairly standard. Still, Poe spends time examining them as if memorizing each detail. When Poe is ready, Ranpo leads the American to his living and dining room. “Where I do most of my best thinking, actually,” he explains, trying to maintain his smile as Poe’s head swivels in the same wonder it did at Café Lupin. Still cute, Ranpo tells himself as Poe studies the low table, the sofa, the dining table and two chairs in the corner. He turns to the sliding door. “There’s a balcony outside here where I hang laundry to dry. The view outside is of a park, and the neighborhood is really quiet.”

Poe glances at him. Even if his hair is in his eyes, Ranpo knows he’s being looked at. “Bedroom’s this way if you want to see it.” It feels strangely intimate to invite Poe to see that, given how little they actually know each other, but since Poe showed him every room of the space he’s living in, he doesn’t mind returning the favor.

“Yeah,” Poe murmurs. “Yeah.”

Ranpo opens the only other door in the apartment and flips on the light. Like the living room, the bedroom is furnished simply: a double bed, nightstand, closet full of belongings. Ranpo feels a bit anxious, at least until Karl scurries across the floor and occupies the center of his bed.

“Karl—”

“Let him sleep,” Ranpo states, shrugging. “As long as he doesn’t make a mess, I don’t mind.”

“He won’t,” Poe reassures him.

Ranpo leaves the door cracked, and they go back out into the living room. “This place probably feels really small to you.”

“Not really. My house being as old as it is, a lot of the rooms are closed off.” He smiles. “It’s true, the rooms aren’t as big. The living-dining isn’t even as big as the main bedroom in my house.”

Ranpo bites down on what little is left of his sucker. The sugar cracks beneath his teeth. He removes the paper stick. “Sit down and stay a bit. Karl has already made himself comfortable. You may as well.”

“But… you have a case, and…”

“So?” Ranpo waves his hand and heads towards the kitchen. He drops the stick in the burnable trash. “I’ve solved a quarter of it already, and I’m going to be busy for the next week or so solving it anyway.” Poe is standing at the entrance to his kitchen. Eventually, he creeps forward, dropping his stick into the burnable trash along with Ranpo’s. “I need a few more details about your case, anyway. You can look at all the notes on the wall. These are all clues. This column right here is potential causes. I need a glass of water. You want one?”

“Sure.”

Ranpo fills two glasses and smiles. He hasn’t written one potential to Poe’s missing inspiration. He’s still sitting on that possibility. But it’s increasing in likelihood. When he walks into the living room, Poe is staring at the notes in awe. “Here,” he calls, offering Poe a glass and studying his own notes.

“You knew I was lying.”

“Of course I did,” Ranpo says.

Poe swallows, then walks to the couch and sits down. Ranpo joins him. After taking another drink, Poe rests his hands on his knees, sighing. “I—” He stops. “So much work for this…”

“Don’t worry about it, Poe-kun. It’s interesting work, so I don’t mind. Can I ask more questions?”

“Will you write more notes?”

“If I need to.”

“Then… ask away.”

Ranpo removes his hat and tips his head back. “You seem more alert. Are you sleeping better?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you for asking.”

It’s a little uncomfortable, recalling that Poe fell asleep in front of him after leaning on his shoulder, but he pushes that truth from his mind because it’s not relevant. “What changed?”

“I know that’s something you can deduce, Ranpo-kun”

Ranpo isn’t sure he wants to, so he asks another question instead. “Are you writing?”

“A little,” Poe confesses, lowering his still hidden gaze to the floor. “Or… more accurately, I’m thinking about writing more. I still haven’t actually written anything. But seeing your handwriting earlier…” He draws in a breath. “I think I have a beginning in mind.”

“Good.” Ranpo says. “I’m glad to hear it. I look forward to reading your new novel as always.”

Poe nods again. “Is… that all?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says.

“Then you solved my case?”

Ranpo lets out an ambiguous hum and stares at the ceiling.

“So which of the five potential causes on your wall is it?”

“None of them.” Ranpo taps his temple and keeps his eyes on the ceiling. It’s quiet. Uncomfortably. He tries to find words to fill that silence. Where he should find them, he only finds the truth he’s been avoiding all week. He’s starting to realize something, as much as he isn’t sure he wants to: it’s not just Poe’s truth. That between conversations and competitions and that damnable laugh of Poe’s, it might just be becoming his truth, too.

When he feels the couch move, he glances at Poe to find Poe has hunched a little lower to rest his forehead on his folded hands. “How long?”

“I didn’t say—”

“How long?” he says again, this time in English, ignoring Ranpo’s objection.

Ranpo lets out another hum. “Deduce it,” he answers in his own native language. There’s no point in hiding now that he’s been caught anyway.

Poe answers in English. “Since the beginning.”

Ranpo sends him a glance. “I suspected since the beginning. I figured it out that night I went to your rental and you told me how homesick you were.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” There’s something half frantic in Poe’s tone now. It almost hurts to hear.

Ranpo pulls in a breath and prepares to answer.

“Were you making fun of me?” he asks.

“What? No.”

“You were,” Poe says. “You were mocking me in silence the whole time. Because I may be your rival, but I’ll never be as good as you—”

“Poe-kun—”

“You can say I’m pathetic to fly halfway around the world to write a novel and get writer’s block because I developed feelings for—”

“Poe-kun, that’s not it at all.” Ranpo sighs again, sitting up and sending him a pointed look. “What you’re accusing me of is in pretty bad taste, not to mention cruel.” He exhales. “The truth is, I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

Poe’s jaw drops open. “Huh?”

Ranpo shakes his head. “I thought maybe you’d be the kind of person who’d want to tell me on your own.”

“What the hell gave you that idea?”

“Valentine’s Day,” he states.

Poe blinks.

“You were really confident in yourself,” Ranpo continues. “That you could figure out what was bothering me.” He shrugged. “I figured maybe you were still unsure, so I didn’t say anything. Although Dazai-kun definitely knows.”

Poe chokes.

“Did you really not realize that?”

“I was too busy focusing on you!”

Ranpo chuckles and tosses his head back again. “Well, I am pretty awesome. But you’re awesome, too. Maybe I’m good at solving mysteries, but I could never write a novel, let alone how many you have.” He lets himself smile, adds another nervous laugh. Regret fills him. No. Regret is for people who think they did the wrong thing. But then why does it feel like I ruined something? He glances at Poe again to find the American frowning.

“I’m sorry. I made it weird. I’ll—”

“Just stay,” Ranpo says. “If it bothered me, I’d have told you.” He folds his arms and studies the American. “I’ve deduced you’re more comfortable here. If you’re really inspired, why don’t you just stay here while I work on my case?”

Poe chokes and shuts his mouth. “Ranpo-kun—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m planning on working in the office downstairs. I tend to sleep a few hours in the afternoon when I’m working on a case like this. You sleep early in the morning. I’ll take the couch.” He spews it all out as if it makes perfect logical sense, but the truth is, he’s nervous now because that truth he has been afraid to face fills the space between them. “We can take a one-hour break when I wake up and eat together.”

“Karl—”

“He’ll be fine here alone for a few hours, right? He’s already comfortable enough to sleep here.” Ranpo tucks his hands in his pockets. “I thought maybe you’d be more comfortable writing here, too.”

Poe shrinks down a little more. “I… are you sure it doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?” Ranpo asks, grinning. “If anything, I’m honored you feel that way about me. It’s not like I’ve only dated women, either.”

Poe jerks his head up. “Either? You figured that out, too?”

“I am Yokohama’s greatest detective.”

After a moment, Poe draws a slow breath, and Ranpo can tell he’s coming around. “What will people say?”

“Who cares?” Ranpo answers, laughing. “People who want cases solved bring them to me. If my personal tastes offend some clients too much, it’s their loss, not mine.”

Poe continues frowning up at him.

“You can decline.”

“Of course I can’t!”

Ranpo chuckles. “Then let’s go get your stuff. We’ll have a huge early dinner… what is that word in English?”

“Some people are calling it linner now,” Poe states.

“Linner, then, at this all-you-can-eat dessert place by JR Kawasaki Station. They have curry and pasta, too. We’ll eat our fill, stop by the Lawson right around the corner to get some snacks, and get to work.”

“But—”

“And,” Ranpo continues, “if you’re worried I’m putting off having this conversation, I am. This case has my full attention. Once I’m done and you’re satisfied with how much you’ve written, we’ll resume.” He spins his keys on his finger. “Come on. You’re treating me. It’s a flat price. You still owe me.”

“You owe me, too!”

“So I’ll buy you a few nice bottles of sake when we’re done.” Ranpo grins. “With what I’m getting paid for this case, I’ll have more than enough to afford it. We can even call it a proper date if you want.”

Even if that word concerns him, it’s worth using it just to see Poe change color.

“Come on. I want to start working by four. I know! Let’s make it a competition.” Ranpo grins. “Your novel or my case: which one of us will finish first?”

Like a charm, speaking to Poe’s competitive side works.

They don’t actually start until about a quarter past, mostly because Ranpo keeps going back for more food long after he’s full, both so he can focus on his work, and so he can carry the completely normal conversation with Poe for as long as possible before he gives the case his full attention.

Chapter Text

For Ranpo, having Poe around works well for a number of reasons. Even if their schedules are different, Ranpo feels like he’s making real progress on the case. Partly because it’s a competition. One he’s determined to win. But beyond that, there are little moments when Ranpo is grateful he suggested it. If he gets stuck, he can text Poe a complaint and get a reassuring response almost instantly. He returns the favors when Poe texts him with momentary writer’s block unless he’s pretty deep in his files, and then, it takes him a while.

Mostly, he just feels better having Poe close by.

There’s also the joy of seeing Poe stretched out on his couch, dozing with Karl curled around his head when he comes up for an afternoon nap. That first time, he brings Poe a blanket. The second day, he brings a can of coffee. Café au lait. Lightly sweetened. He climbs into bed without waiting for Poe to wake up, and when he wakes up himself, Karl is huddled against him. There’s a carton of the seasonal flavor of Lipton on his nightstand. Smiling, he rises and does his best to avoid disturbing Karl before combing his hands through his hair. He covers a yawn. The tea is sweet. He drinks the whole carton before he emerges.

“Morning,” Poe says without moving.

“Morning,” Ranpo answers on his way to the kitchen. He drops the carton and straw in the appropriate trash bins and stretches one arm over his head.

They normally eat their one meal together after Ranpo wakes up. That first day, they don’t because Ranpo itching to get back to his case as much as Poe is consumed by his writing. But after that, it’s never anything complicated: grocery store bento, different flavors of cup noodles, fresh fruit, oden, bags of chips, instant curry, rice balls… whatever one of them happens to pick up while buying the other a drink. While they eat, they talk about progress in vague ways.

“I wrote a really compelling scene today,” Poe murmurs on the third day.

“That’s great,” Ranpo says, chomping down on another takoyaki-flavored chip. “Are you getting close to the middle?”

“Maybe one or two more chapters.”

“That’s Poe-kun for you.”

Poe gives Karl, who has emerged to join them in eating, a pineapple chunk. “How’s your case?”

“Really interesting,” Ranpo answers. “You’d really enjoy it. It’s got so many layers… ah, but I can’t say anything about it.”

“That’s okay.” Poe smiles at his half-eaten food. “To me, it’s enough to see you so excited about it.”

It feels almost normal. Almost. There’s still that awkward truth sitting between them like a wall. Ranpo isn’t sure what to do about it. Or with it. Even if he’s sure about Poe’s interest in him, he’s not entirely sure of his own. There are times when it distracts him. He’s ashamed of it, really, considering how earnest Poe seems in his. He nearly all but said—but Ranpo cut him off. He almost wishes he hadn’t.

I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’m crushing on my American pen pal who writes interesting mystery novels. Ranpo lays his head down on his desk for a moment. I’ve dated plenty of people. But that’s just it: it was dating. Nothing else. Just something to pass the time. He stares at his half-drank milk tea and sits up. Is that what he wants? Something temporary? No. Is that all I want? He shakes his head, remembers the last time he dated someone, swallows his shame, and goes back to the case files. And he finds yet another layer in a case that seems to have no end to its complexity. Another clue. Another nod to the infamous Aum Shinrikyo. But there are enough differences for him to rule out a re-emergence of the actual cult. A copycat, he thinks, rising to add another post-it to his office wall.

On the fourth day, as Ranpo lays down to sleep, he swears he feels the blankets tucked tighter around him before drifting off. He dreams of a hand in his hair. Poe’s hand. It’s an innocent enough dream, simple and nice. Warm.

Ranpo just wishes he still felt as nice about it when he wakes up next to Karl.

Poe is kneeling at the low table when Ranpo emerges with a sleepy, “Good morning.” The American returns his greeting without glancing away from the screen. His fingers are racing across the keys. They stop when Ranpo pivots towards him instead of the kitchen. He’s still wearing the pajamas he slept in. Poe’s head moves an inch, and as Ranpo kneels, he smooths all the hair out of the writer’s face.

Poe immediately turns red.

“You should get a headband,” Ranpo murmurs, studying the circles under Poe’s eyes. “You’d be able to see the screen more easily.” He means to look away, but he doesn’t. Because he thinks he caught sight of something in them—but before he can pick it out, Poe pulls back and covers his burning face. Ranpo almost apologizes, but that would make the situation worse, he’s sure, so instead, he goes back to his bedroom for fresh clothes, then darts to his bathroom for a shower. He’s at least able to carry the fabric strategically, but as he lowers it, he sees the arousal he has been trying not to feel.

Shameful, he tells himself. He hasn’t been attracted to someone like this in over a year. That it’s Poe of all people, though… I could practically die.

When he steps into the shower, he only turns on the cold water.

On the fifth day, when the evidence has grown but the culprits have dwindled, Ranpo leaves a hairband with Poe’s coffee. When he wakes up, he peers through the doorway into the living room to find that a damp-haired Poe is actually wearing it. He’s so cute, Ranpo thinks.

Karl darts between his ankles and immediately occupies Poe’s lap.

“Good morning,” Ranpo finally calls.

“Yeah,” Poe answers without looking away from his screen. “Good morning.”

While they’re eating seafood doria from the convenience store that day for lunch, notably while Poe is without his headband, he says, “Why did you ask me to stay here?”

Ranpo glances up at him.

“Even after you figured it out, you… wanted me here.”

He shrugs. “I just did. I didn’t really stop to think about why.” It’s the truth. Well, mostly. Because he has thought about why since, and the reason troubles him. Fortunately, Poe doesn’t press the issue. He just goes back to eating his own rice.

“How’s your case?”

“Oh, I’m really close. I think if I have one more breakthrough, I’ll have it done.”

Poe smiles. “That’s amazing, Ranpo-kun.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

“Because I’m not sure if you’re going to best me again…” Poe rises and stretches, “but I’m going to have to work a little harder if I want to make sure you’re not.”

“Oh?” Ranpo grins. “How close are you?”

“Four more chapters. I think I can get them done tonight unless the characters do something to derail my plot.”

“What do you mean?”

Poe shrugs. “The characters. Sometimes, it’s like they have minds of their own. They resist my plans for them and… just do what they want instead. It’s hard to explain to someone who isn’t a writer.”

“Huh,” Ranpo murmurs. “Well, maybe that’s why your novels are so compelling.” He rises and stretches his own arms. “Do your best, then, Poe-kun. I look forward to reading it.”

Once they’ve cleaned things up, Ranpo goes downstairs to his office. He unlocks the door, sits down at his desk, and opens his laptop.

Immediately, he hits a wall.

“Damn it,” he grumbles, pulling a sucker out of his pocket. “You’re Yokohama’s greatest detective. Besides, your father always said denying the truth never did any good.”

His phone chimes, and he picks it up. “Poe-kun, why are you calling me instead of just coming down—”

“I forgot to say something before you left.” After a moment, Poe murmurs, “Ranpo-kun, I believe in you, and I want you to do your best, too.”

Ranpo flushes and presses his hand over his mouth.

“Well, until tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah,” he answers.

As soon as he hangs up, he plants his head on the surface of his desk. An image fills Ranpo’s head. The image of Poe sitting in his living room, his bangs swept back by the headband, Poe perched on his head, smiling as he murmurs those words into the phone… Too much. He’s too much.

Even so, Ranpo recovers by the time he has to call Ango with updates. He explains as calmly as he can that he’s making headway, that he should have it in a day or two at the most. Ango doesn’t do anything except thank him, but just as they’re about to end the call, Ranpo says, “You’ve sure given me something, Sakaguchi-kun. Truly, this case is the most interesting thing that has ever come across my desk.” He leans against his hand. “I’ll call you once I’ve solved it. I’m close.”

“Very well, Ranpo-kun. I appreciate your time.”

The call disconnects.

Ranpo hits a different kind of wall on the sixth day when a detail jumps out of him and completely unravels every single one of the conclusions he had drawn up to that point. He tries everything to get back on track: he paces his office. He stares at his wall of notes. He eats. He spins in his chair. In the end, he winds up marching up the stairs to his apartment with every intent to just curl up and hide from the world. He makes it as far as his bedroom door before Poe calls out to him. He ignores it, huffing as he sits down on his bed, folds his legs, and grabs a pillow.

“Ranpo-kun?”

He shakes his head and curls until his face is hidden. He can’t show a face like that to anyone, let alone someone who believes in him.

“Ranpo-kun—”

“I can’t do it!” He’s grateful the pillow muffles his words, but he’s sure Poe still heard them. There’s a long, still moment before the bed shifts under Poe’s weight, probably sitting beside him.

“What happened?”

Ranpo sends the man sitting beside him a pout. Karl instantly scurries off of Poe’s shoulder. “I missed a detail because I was distracted, and everything I thought I knew about the whole case just fell apart.” He sighs. “I have ten days, but I said I’d do it in seven. I don’t know what’s going to happen if I can’t solve it.” He grips the pillow tighter as a memory seizes him. “I’m no good at this.” He presses against the pillow again, wishing he could hide, but he feels something that makes his head jerk up. A hand—Poe’s hand—smoothing his hair. Just like in his dream.

“Sorry. I… just thought it would be comforting to you. It always was to me as a child. Still, I should have asked first—”

“Do it more.”

Poe flinches, but he obeys. For a while, he doesn’t even look at Ranpo, but when he does, there’s a faint smile on his face. “The mind beneath this hair is the most incredible one I have ever had the pleasure of battling against,” he murmurs.

“Your world is small, then.”

Poe scoffs. “Ranpo-kun—”

“I’m telling you, it’s no—”

Karl hops into his lap and starts tugging on his sleeve. He has a pen in his mouth. A fancy one that Ranpo knows isn’t his.

“Ah. Karl always does that when he knows I’m sad. I guess he’s seen me admiring fancy pens one too many times.”

When Poe’s fingers leave his hair, Ranpo feels like his chest is going to implode.

“I know this case is important to you. And you’re… intrigued.” Poe’s voice trails off, and he sets his hands on his knees. “No. You’re not just intrigued. You’re obsessed. You’ve been thinking of this case and almost nothing else for six straight days. Other than the two or three hours you sleep in the afternoon and the hour you take to eat with me, you’ve been working nonstop, and I…” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to beat you because you’re struggling with something personal.”

Ranpo studies the pen in his hand, then offers it to Poe. “I’ll be fine,” he insists. “I’ll be—”

“You will,” Poe agrees. “I know you will. Because as rattled as you are, I know you’re resilient, and that beautiful mind of yours will bounce right back once you take a moment to process things.”

Ranpo huffs and spins away.

“Was it your parents?”

“Isn’t it always?” Ranpo retorts.

“I see,” Poe murmurs. “Tell me about it.”

“Don’t want to.” And he doesn’t. Because that’s too personal, too much, too—And yet, part of him wants Poe to know, so he grumbles, “Deduce it.”

“I already have. I’m asking you to talk about it because it might help.”

Ranpo shakes his head again.

“I won’t force you. I can just sit with you if you want.”

“Your novel—”

“My novel will be there when you’ve recovered.”

Ranpo sighs. “Maybe we shouldn’t have just… dived into work. Maybe we should have taken time to talk about it before we started. If we had, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten distracted and missed such a crucial detail.”

“Well,” Poe says, “we can talk about it now. I’m no busier than you are.”

Ranpo uncurls and tips his head towards the ceiling. “I’m not perfect,” he confesses.

“I know,” Poe answers. “No one is.”

Huffing, Ranpo pivots back to the ceiling. “My parents wanted me to be, and I never was. My dad died when I was young. My mom raised me by herself, working whatever jobs she could manage to get. She was capable of so much more, but no one would take her seriously because she was a mother.” Ranpo frowns at the floor and sighs. “I don’t know if I should blame myself for all the opportunities she missed out on, but—”

“I don’t know her,” Poe cuts in. “But I don’t think she’d want you to.”

Ranpo shuts his eyes. “March 20.”

“What about it?”

“Have you heard about it?”

Poe slowly shakes his head.

“A cult punctured bags of sarin on the subway. My dad investigated the case.”

“What’s sarin?”

“A poison gas.” Ranpo closes his eyes. “He was fine for a while. Even after I was born. Until he wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ranpo shakes his head. “Don’t be. He was kind of an asshole. He thought he knew everything.”

“Sounds a little like someone I know.”

Ranpo sends him a glare and a pout, but Poe only smiles at him.

“I don’t mean that in a bad way, I promise. Are you sure you don’t want to just talk about it now?”

“No. I need to focus.”

Poe continues to smile even as he turns away. “Alright.”

“Please try to sound more disappointed.”

“I was trying not to, but I should know better than to try to hide it from the world’s greatest detective.”

Scoffing, Ranpo murmurs, “If the world could see its greatest detective in this state, I doubt anyone would believe in me.”

Poe reaches up to smooth Ranpo’s hair again. “I still do.”

“But I made a mistake.”

“Because you’re human.” Poe folds his hands and lets them hang between his knees. “Even amazing people like you mess up sometimes. What’s important is you caught it.” Poe’s smile fades a bit. “Having me here has been stressful for you, hasn’t it, Ranpo-kun?”

“No way!” he swivels to face Poe entirely, startling Karl in the process. “Having you here has been great! I like hearing you say ‘good morning’ to me when I wake up, and I like eating meals with you. I like seeing you so enthralled in your work, and I like that you bring me tea, and—” He stops because there’s something new in Poe’s smile.

“You said we weren’t talking about it.”

“We’re not! I’m just saying the things I like about having you around! This isn’t—”

Poe’s hand settles against his face, and he clenches his jaw. “Ranpo.”

His names sounds bare without the honorific, as bare as the thumb Poe is skimming his cheek with. “So… so what if…”

“If what?” he asks in English.

In a moment of stubbornness, Ranpo shakes his head and covers his mouth, a gesture of refusal to say anything else.

“I’ve already deduced that you return my feelings.”

“How?”

“That enticing color your face has turned, for one.”

Ranpo curls to hide it a bit more.

“But also.” The hand Poe is touching him with dips beneath his chin. “The way you helped me fall asleep just by being there when I felt homesick. The fact that you asked me here in the first place on a whim. How you turned my lost inspiration into a case, just so we could spend more time together. You stared so hard at my eyes a few days ago—”

“So what?” Ranpo demands.

Poe shrugs and withdraws his hand. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t ask me to do, Ranpo.”

They study each other for a few long, lazy minutes. Ranpo thought his heartrate would return to normal by now, but it hasn’t. He wonders if Poe’s heart is racing, too. He has to stop himself from reaching out to check.

“You can be direct with me,” Poe murmurs, switching back to Japanese.

Ranpo swallows. He just wants to focus on his case, wants the solution to become as clear as it was twenty minutes ago before that detail slammed into his perceptions and shattered all of his conclusions. But he can’t say that, given how childish it is to wish for things that can’t actually happen.

“Is me being here helping?”

“Yes.” He says it without meaning to because he can’t bear the thought of an empty spot beside him.

“Do you want me to move a little closer?”

Ranpo stares at him, then concedes with a nod. He expects Poe to be the only one who moves, but the truth is, they both do. Poe slides towards him, sets one hand on Ranpo’s forearm. And Ranpo meets him halfway, tilting his head to rest against the left side of Poe’s chest He’s not sure if Poe intended them to get that close, given low startled he looks, but it’s warm. At that distance, he can feel Poe’s heart beating. It’s quick, at first, but it slows as time passes.

Poe’s voice hits his ear. “Did you dream of this?”

Ranpo shakes his head.

“I did,” Poe sighs. “But I never thought it was possible.”

Ranpo shifts so he can see Poe’s face. Oddly composed, he thinks, though there is a hint of color in Poe’s face that normally isn’t there. But he wants to be sure. He smooths Poe’s hair back and studies the light gray eyes framed by dark circles. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I always thought they were gray.” He smiles. “But this close, I can see there’s a little bit of purple in them.”

Poe shifts again until their foreheads rest together, and Ranpo sees he isn’t mistaken.

He also sees he has miscalculated exactly how deeply his feelings for Poe run, because at the moment, he wants nothing more than to kiss the writer.

“I’ve already guessed what you want now. It’s okay. I want you to.”

Ranpo draws back a bit. “I’m no good at it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that if you let me.”

Ranpo peers up at him.

“No?”

“I can’t.” Ranpo sighs. “Sorry.”

Poe smiles. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m not disappointed. Can I at least kiss you, though?”

“I… do you really want to?”

“Of course. I want nothing more.”

Ranpo sighs. “Then… do your worst, I guess.”

He shuts his eyes and waits. When Poe smooths his face, he tenses again. There’s a press of lips, but not against his mouth. Against his forehead. They’re soft, warm, comforting… all the things he needs them to be except on his own. His eyes shoot open, and he studies Poe. The American reangles his head so they’re looking at each other again.

“That was your worst?”

Poe chuckles. “Not even close, but you looked uncomfortable. I didn’t want to force you.”

A laugh breaks out of Ranpo, charged with a nervousness he’s still trying to suppress. “You’re such a gentleman.”

“I tend to be with the people I’m interested in,” Poe answers. His fingers go back to smoothing Ranpo’s jawline, and Ranpo’s eyes drift shut. “Take a few deep breaths.”

Ranpo does. And each time the air fills his lungs, he feels a little calmer, a little more ready to go back to the case that has him so rattled.

“There,” Poe murmurs. “That’s it. Nice and slow.”

Ranpo can imagine Poe saying that under very different circumstances, but he maintains his focus. “Okay,” he says. “I think I’m fine now. Thanks.”

“It’s no trouble,” he answers as they part and sit up. “The truth is my lack of inspiration came from denying my feelings for you. I came here in part to forget about them.”

“Why?” Ranpo asked.

“I didn’t see any good in them,” Poe confesses. “But once I met you and realized they had meaning, I let myself accept them. Still, I promised not to tell you.”

Ranpo hums and stares at the floor between his feet. “What changed?”

Poe shrugs. “A great detective took my case, and I suddenly couldn’t deny them anymore. As an added bonus, watching him try to solve it—and actually seeing him succeed—was really inspiring. So of course, the novel that had eluded me for weeks suddenly begged to be written.”

Those words stay with Ranpo as he returns to his office downstairs, sits back at his computer, and puts his glasses on. He stares at the text on the screen and draws another breath. It takes hours, but slowly, slowly, the pieces fall back into more certain places. Night passes. The sun rises. His stomach growls, but he’s closing in on the truth. The real truth this time. He discards five more false solutions. There’s still a piece missing. He knows exactly where it is: in the files Ango showed him on the first day. He recalls that last missing detail and jots it down. One look at the wall, and he’s sure this time. Positive. He reaches for his office phone and dials Ango’s number.

“Good morning, Ranpo-san.”

“I solved it.” That’s all he says before letting out a breath. “I solved it.”

“Excellent. I’m in Yokohama today. Give me fifteen minutes.”

Ango arrives in thirteen. They wind up in a conference call with his superiors. It takes three hours for Ranpo to convince them he has looked at every other angle, which thankfully includes the false lead that got him in trouble last night. The attacks will take place in five days (so it’s good he solved it in seven instead of ten). Even if trains are still a mystery to him, he names the four lines they’re planning to attack from copies of e-mails and text messages he has received. Using photos of headquarters, he pinpoints their base of operation on a map. They match up almost perfectly with Google images. He names the eight culprits and their leader, who is operating abroad. He debunks every single alternative posed, including the one he almost accepted himself. His cell phone chimes, and he breaks away to glance at it, but it’s just Poe checking in. He hammers out a brief response before continuing as if he wasn’t interrupted. When he’s done, the people on the conference call seem satisfied.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” he says. “The attackers aren’t Japanese.”

That stirs up another twenty straight minutes of bickering and objections, but Ranpo points to the graffiti in one of the photos and says, “Just look at this kanji. The stroke order’s wrong.”

After another twenty-five minutes, Ranpo is standing by his office door, shaking Ango’s hand, exchanging pleasantries. He’s relieved when he’s alone. All he wants is to go upstairs to his apartment and sleep. He takes his laptop and phone with him, ascending the stairs with his glasses on his head. When he steps inside, he removes his shoes by the door and covers a yawn before creeping past his kitchen. He sees Poe sitting on the sofa, head tipped back. Karl is curled up on the arm of the sofa. Without a word, Ranpo joins them, plopping down on the empty cushion besides Poe and sighing at the ceiling.

“Did you finish?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “I just wrapped up the very last of it.” He pauses. “You?”

“Yeah,” Poe answers, lifting a hand and placing it over his eyes. “I also just finished. But the ending wrecked me.”  

Ranpo hums. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because I’m so exhausted from writing, but as always, the damn characters get their way. The ending… just really got to me.” He fans his fingers out over his eyes. “I’m sorry. This is such a shameful face.”

Ranpo isn’t sure what to do, so he leans against Poe’s shoulder and chuckles. “We’re two halves of a whole ass wreck, you know.” He catches Poe’s glance and smiles. “You want a glass of water or something?”

Poe shakes his head once and draws another unsteady breath.

“Shower, supper, or sleep?”

Poe wipes his eyes with his sleeve.

“Which one do you need the most?”

“Sleep,” Poe finally concedes.

“Then lay down in my room. I’ll take the couch.”

“Ranpo-kun, I can’t throw you out of your own bed.”

Ranpo is too tired to argue. He sags against Poe’s shoulder and chases sleep because even that amount of contact makes him feel warm and safe in ways that no one has. If he’s being honest, it’s a little unnerving, but delightful. He’s completely captivated by it.

Poe asks him something. He only grumbles an incoherent answer. He’s jerked away by the sensation of being lifted up. Instinct tells him to resist, considering they are definitely heading for Ranpo’s bedroom. But once they’re there, surprisingly, Poe just sets him down and withdraws.

“I’ll ask you again, since you don’t seem to know what you agreed to: is it okay if I sleep next to you?”

Ranpo stares at him. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Alright. I’m changing. You should, too.” Poe disappears without saying anything else. Once Ranpo is alone, he pulls pajamas on at breakneck speed, mostly because the thought of Poe seeing him in any state of undress flusters him. He climbs between his covers, making room for Poe and Karl when they enter. It’s a bit cramped with all three of them, but Karl doesn’t take up much space, and Ranpo is just concerned about getting too close. “You’re uncomfortable.”

Ranpo turns over. “We’re both tired. We haven’t talked about this. I just don’t want to cross any lines.” He listens to the shuffle of fabric.

“I don’t mind you getting closer,” Poe confesses after a moment. “Especially if it’s something you enjoy.”

Ranpo caves in and rolls over, using Poe’s arm as a pillow. He feels Poe’s hand settle against his back and sighs. “It’s never been like this with anyone else.”

Poe glances down at him. “You’re telling me the people you’ve dated didn’t let you do this sort of thing?”

“I wasn’t interested in it,” Ranpo answers. “But for some reason, I am with you. Even though we’re not dating.” Ranpo lets out a slow breath.

“Well,” Poe murmurs, “if you’re receptive to it, we can fix that after we’ve recovered sufficiently.”

Ranpo stares at him, then smirks. “Alright. We’ll go get a huge meal. My treat this time.”

“Can we try some sake afterwards?”

“Sure.” Ranpo smiles. “Also my treat. We can do whatever you want.”

“Like a date?”

Ranpo chuckles. “No like about it. It is a date. You earned it. We both did.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Ranpo says, setting his hand against Poe’s chest. He hears Karl snoring softly. He stays awake long enough to make sure Poe relaxes. Then, he lets sleep take hold of him.

Chapter Text

Ranpo agreed to a date, but he maintains he did so under duress. Namely the duress of a lack of snacks, but still…

Shortly after he wakes up beside Poe, who is still dozing, he reaches for his phone. It’s half past nine in the morning. The next day.

“Ranpo-kun,” Poe murmurs.

To Ranpo’s surprise, Poe is staring at him with eyes clouded by lilac drowsiness.

He throws his phone down and enjoys the feeling of being in someone’s arms. That’s not something he has really ever experienced. He feels Poe draw him closer, like he’s something precious, before murmuring, “Good morning.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers. “Good morning.” Slowly, his mind starts to work at its usual speed. He’s hungry, but he’s too warm to get up and eat. And he starts to process just how much time has passed.

Then, he registers something else growing in him.

Poe’s hand is in his hair, and it’s everything. But this position… it’s too risky. Plus, they do have plans that night, so out of nowhere, Ranpo pulls away and announces, “It’s time for you to go!”

Poe’s eyes snap open. “Huh?”

“I’m throwing you out.”

“You’re throwing me out?” Poe cries. “What do you mean throwing me out? What did I do—”

“Now, now, Poe-kun,” Ranpo states, sitting up, folding his legs, and grinning. “If we’re going on a date, we should get ready.”

“Wait, you were serious?”

“Of course!” Ranpo starts to push Poe out of his bed. Karl, who was on Poe’s other side, scampers over the writer to assist, pushing on Poe’s arm alongside Ranpo. “Now, up you go!”

“We haven’t even decided what we’re doing yet!”

“We can decide when I pick you up tonight at 6:30. Now, out—”

But he doesn’t realize Poe has grabbed his arm and winds up toppling to the floor with him. They wind up tangled in a heap, with their lips a few centimeters apart.

Around the time Ranpo starts to feel grateful, he’s reminded of Karl’s presence. The raccoon jumps directly on the back of his head, and because he’s not prepared for it, the gap between their lips disappears.

A moment later, Karl scuttles away, chattering victoriously, and Ranpo flies back, sputtering apologies in English and Japanese while Poe just stares at him. Eventually, his words die off because he realizes Poe is smiling. A little snicker works its way out of Poe, and Ranpo declares, “Laughter is forbidden!”

“I’m sorry, but I have to laugh a little. You’ve turned quite an interesting color—”

Ranpo dives against Poe’s shoulder. That seems like the safest place to hide, plus he can smell the faint but intoxicating scent of Poe’s cologne. Even that isn’t enough to drive away his mortification.

After about half a minute, he feels Poe patting the back of his head. “It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean to. It was Karl. So, let’s agree that doesn’t count.”

Ranpo peers at the author. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It doesn’t count.”

They untangle themselves without any further growth of that alarming feeling inside of him, and after Poe gets dressed, he collects his raccoon and heads for Ranpo’s door. “About earlier…”

Ranpo glances at him.

“I know you didn’t mean it. It was an accident.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo murmurs.

Poe stares at the floor. “I’ll… see you tonight.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo states. “Text me when you get back?”

“Sure.”

The door closes, and Ranpo realizes the full weight of what just transpired. It’s far too much with the added weight of he has agreed to. Shit, he thinks, sinking to the floor and curling up. His stomach growls. Worse still, being that close to Poe has had unintended effects on his body.

It doesn’t count. But it does. He can still feel Poe’s lips brushing against his, feel the way his heart—no, the whole damn world—stopped spinning for just a moment.

Why? he asks himself. How? As hungry as he is, he has more pressing matters for once, so he rises, shedding his pajamas as he walks towards the shower. How was even that sloppy accident of a kiss so good? How can I be so attracted to him? Has this happened before? Am I remembering all my old relationships correctly? He turns on the water. This time, he foregoes the cold. Well, if I’m going out tonight, he tells himself as a spray of water hits him. I may as well take care of it.

He tries not to think of Poe while he jerks off. He wishes he could say he succeeded. But that would be a blatant lie, considering he sighs Poe’s name as he comes into his own hand.

Once he finishes showering, he wraps himself in a robe and checks his e-mail and voice mail while his hair dries. He has a few inquiries about cases, but none of them are interesting. He has a voicemail from Ango thanking him for his assistance again. “As you deduced, the attackers were foreigners copycatting Aum Shinrikyo. Everything was exactly as you described it. The bureau has wired you your payment in full, plus a small bonus as a token of our appreciation for your expedience. My colleagues were truly impressed by your skills. I’m sure we’ll be reaching out to you again.”

Ranpo hums and check his bank balance. There’s a deposit on hold from the Japanese Government. He stares at the number for a long time, then lowers his phone. “Three-million five-hundred twenty thousand yen,” he says. He can barely believe it. It’s still not the money that matters to me, Ranpo tells himself, rising to go get a bag of chips from the kitchen. Still, I’ll be set for a while. I can’t deny the boring cases for risk of losing clientele, but I can at least scale back a bit if they bore me too much.

He spends the rest of the day cleaning his house and trying to decide what Poe wants. I mean, Ranpo tells himself, I know what I normally do on dates. Pretty sure he’s not into that kind of thing. Though now that he thinks of it, he’s not even sure he should call trips to restaurants or love hotels with random people he never plans to see again dates, even if both parties involved always agreed that’s all it was beforehand. It was easier that way because people didn’t hold his interest.

But Poe does. And that is as delightful as it was dangerous.

When his house is clean, he finds it’s only four o’clock, so he texts Poe. Hey. What kind of place did you want to go tonight?

It takes Poe a few minutes to answer. You can pick somewhere you like, Ranpo-kun.

Ranpo hums and studies the message, trying to deduce the reason behind it. The mostly likely answer is that he’s being coy. The second most likely answer is that Poe is the kind of person who always, always puts others first. Ranpo thinks both are true, so he answers, I would like nothing more than to take you somewhere you want to go, do things you want to experience, buy you a good bottle of sake, and drink it with you while listening to your favorite music. He wonders if it’s too strong, but he sends the message anyway before setting his phone on his stomach. While he waits for Poe’s response, he tries to deduce what those things might be. He’s about finished when the phone vibrates and he checks his message.

You can take me to a nice Japanese restaurant. I want to walk around afterwards if we’re eating a lot. There’s a nice liquor shop near Chinatown. They’re selling something I think you might like, too. We can go back to my house and drink. If you’re too tired or tipsy, or it gets too late, you can sleep here. Just bring an overnight bag when you pick me up.

By the time he’s done reading, there’s an ellipsis. The message comes through.

Your sleeping face is really peaceful. I don’t want to miss another opportunity to see it.

Ranpo combusts and practically drops his phone. He’s lucky he doesn’t hurt himself, let alone shatter its screen. Once he has recovered, he buries his face in one of the throw pillows on the sofa and lays on his stomach. He’s… really serious about this? I guess we should talk about our feelings tonight. Maybe after dinner. Over sake. So I don’t have to think so much about it.

Ranpo spends far too long deciding what he’s going to wear. It doesn’t feel right to wear his detective garb out on a date, although he has in the past just because it’s convenient. In the end, he goes for dark jeans cuffed up to reveal his ankles, a white button-down like the one he usually wears, a casual warm brown jacket, and deep brown shoes with soles that match his outerwear. He checks the directions to Poe’s place five or six times. He leaves early, yet he still almost arrives late. He winds up texting as he’s rounding the corner to Poe’s rental. By the time he gets there, Poe is standing in the doorway. Ranpo studies his cream-colored cardigan with a green scarf. He tries not to examine the borderline criminal black jeans Poe is wearing considering the way they hug his legs, but he definitely fails. =Karl is perched on his shoulder and immediately abandons his position as soon as Ranpo is close enough. He catches the raccoon and rises with a laugh. “Karl, you just saw me this morning.”

“Well, he’s happy to see you again,” Poe comments.

Since it is a date, Ranpo smirks at him and fires back, “Is he the only one?”

“Of course not,” Poe answers, chuckling. “Come in for a moment. I need to feed Karl and put on shoes, and then we can go.”

He tries not to watch Poe bend over to fill Karl’s bowl. I made a valiant effort, Ranpo tells himself as Poe scratches the raccoon behind the ears.

They make it out the door after Poe puts on a pair of black ankle boots and pulls on a double-breasted gray coat. “Hey,” Ranpo murmurs as Poe locks his doors. “You still want to call this a date?”

Poe turns to him. “If it’s alright with you.”

Ranpo frowns and folds his arms.

“What’s wrong? Are you nervous?”

The only thing I’m nervous of is screwing this up, he thinks, but he can’t tell Poe that. So he nods. “Maybe a little. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date.” He doesn’t expect Poe to pat his shoulder, but he glances up at the pressure.

“I’m nervous, too, but I’m still glad you agreed to this.”

Ranpo takes a slow breath before starting forward. “Come on. You want Japanese food for dinner, right?”

They take the train to Ishikawacho station. Ranpo almost forgets to get up because they’re in the middle of talking about Poe’s favorite Japanese mystery writers. He only remembers to because Poe rises and tugs him along.

Once they’re seated in a quiet part of an upscale Japanese restaurant, their conversation picks up right where it left off. Ranpo sees Poe frowning at the menu. “Hey,” Ranpo calls. “I’m paying, remember?”

“That’s really kind of you, Ranpo-kun, but—”

“I insist.” He grins and leans against his hands. It’s another good opportunity to test his theory. “It would make me happy to treat you, Poe-kun. After all, I’m the one taking you out.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Ranpo answers, watching Poe glance down at the menu and smile again.

“Alright. If you insist. But if we go at again—”

“If?”

Poe shrugs and smiles. “Fine. When we go out again, I’ll pay next time.”

Ranpo chuckles.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just like seeing you confident is all, Poe-kun.”

Poe hums and turns the menu page. “I was worried you might think I had an ego if I sounded so sure of myself.”

“Nothing wrong with a healthy ego!” Ranpo says, grinning and passing Poe a thumb’s up. “The world’s greatest detective is proof of that.”

They spend the evening gorging themselves on local dishes. There’s a salad made with locally harvested seaweed, and miso soup with tofu and kombu, a dizzying array of seafood dishes, a dessert made with yuzu. Poe eats them all without a single word of complaint. Not even the fish with heads deter him. They walk for what feels like fifteen minutes, but by the end, Ranpo’s feet are sore, and his ankles are chilly. All of their pauses are natural, and none of them feel uncomfortable.

Poe finds the alcohol shop and traipses inside. The owner approaches, greets them in broken English, and tries to help. Smiling, Poe humors the elderly man and explains he’s looking for a sake that would be good at room temperature or chilled, one that’s light and sweet given how much food they just ate. The owner recommends a few, and Poe ultimately goes with the Heiwa Nigori, with its notes of sweet rice, melon, and cream.

Ranpo insists on paying, also in English. He buys three bottles. He doesn’t plan to drink that much in a single night, but over time, he’s sure they’ll work their way through each one.

After they round the corner with Ranpo carrying the bag of rice wine, they glance at each other and burst out laughing.

“Why the hell are you laughing?” Ranpo manages.

“Because the owner looked like he didn’t know what to make of us. Why are you?”

“Because it’s weird to hear you speak English to someone else.” Ranpo laughs again, but Poe steadies him until they’ve recovered. By then, people are staring at them. Poe starts guiding him in the direction of the station. They’re still snickering as they buy their tickets. “But it was really nice of you to speak English with him,” Ranpo notes.

“He really looked earnest, like he wanted to practice.” Poe folds his arms. If Ranpo had to guess, he’d say Poe was staring outside the glass at the passing cityscape. “Dinner was lovely, but it was so much…”

“I’m surprised you ate that much,” Ranpo remarks. “And you tried everything.”

Poe shrugs. “Virginia, where I grew up, has a coastline, so I ate a bunch of seafood as a child. Seeing heads on fish doesn’t bother me that much.”

“Ah,” Ranpo murmurs, peering at the hand Poe has set between them. Almost deliberately. In the end, he glances away and reaches for it. When he tries to pull back, he feels Poe’s fingers slip into the bend of his arm.

“Is this okay?”

Ranpo relaxes and tips against Poe’s shoulder with a smile. He tries to remember the last time anyone made him this happy. He can’t.

When they get off the train, Poe lets go of his arm. They don’t touch again until they’re inside, when Poe removes his offers to take the bag from Ranpo. Their fingers brush, and they immediately stare at each other.

“I’ll… put a bottle in the freezer so it chills quickly.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo murmurs, stooping to remove his shoes again. He has one off when Karl scuddles to him, carrying something. It’s a flash drive. He studies the plastic, pockets it, and removes his other shoe.

“Do you want anything to drink while the sake chills, Ranpo-kun?”

“Tea is fine,” he answers, lifting Karl onto his shoulder and pacing deeper into the house. When he reaches the bar, he holds up the flash drive Karl just gave him. “Any idea where this goes?”

“Huh?” Poe turns away from the kettle. “Ah.” Even though his hair hides his eyes, Ranpo can still tell he glances at the floor. “That’s… my back-up copy of the novel I just wrote.”

“You’re done with it, right?” Ranpo asks.

“Mostly. I want to edit it a little more before I give it to you.”

“Then I’ll leave this with you.”

He tries to give the flash drive to Poe, but Karl immediately scuttles across the counter, pulls it out of his pocket, and offers it to Ranpo again.

“Karl—”

Poe laughs and twists back to the hot water kettle. “It’s because you had a jump drive with your case files on it. He thinks they’re important to you now the way fancy pens are to me.”

Ranpo chuckles and pockets it. “I promise I won’t read it. And if I forget to leave it with you tonight when I leave, I’ll bring it to you next time.” He sits in the living room with Karl on his lap, feeling the warmth of his affection towards Poe growing in his chest. He sighs, glancing in Poe’s direction as he emerges with two mugs of tea and sits beside Ranpo.

“I’m starting to think Karl likes you more than he likes me.”

“No way,” Ranpo says, scratching Karl’s back. “Maybe I’m just warmer.”

“I noticed that when we were sleeping last night,” Poe admits. “You were quite warm, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo smooths his hair, and his smile fades.

“Can we… talk about this now, or…?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers. “May as well.”

Poe frowns at him. “You always say that when you’re indifferent or reluctant about something.”

“I mean…” Ranpo’s voice trails off. It’s not like he can explain his relationship history to Poe, so he says, “I think the date went well. Don’t you?”

“Of course,” Poe responds, leaning forward and handing Ranpo a teacup before blowing on the steam coming off of his own. “Still, I think we should talk about it.”

Ranpo can’t argue with him. “Do you want me to start, or…”

“No, I can.” Poe sips his tea, then lowers the cup and sighs. “What… do you need to know?”

“How long?”

Poe tips back. “Two years?”

Ranpo twists to him. “Seriously? You hadn’t even met me!”

“I wanted to,” Poe confesses. “I think maybe I always wanted to. It’s really rare for me to find someone who can surpass me.” He takes another swig of tea. “When I saw you for the first time, I fully realized how I felt. That I… liked you as more than a friend. As impossible as that seems given we had only seen each other on screen, it took one look at you for me to know I was doomed.”

It’s the first time Poe has said that to Ranpo. He wonders if it’s the first time Poe has said it out loud at all.

“But when I figured that out, I panicked. Because you always struck me as the kind of person who knew everything. What would you think of me? That I was pathetic? Or strange for liking you when we’re both men? Would you be repulsed?” He shrugs. “Maybe I should have just told you instead of giving you that case. Denying my feelings for you made my life so much more difficult than it needed to be.”

Ranpo takes a long drink of his tea.

“What about you?”

“Oh. Uh… I just realized it recently,” Ranpo admits. “It’s really different with you than it’s been with everyone else. But I don’t know if I have the words to explain how.” He shakes his head. “On Valentine’s Day, if I’m telling the truth, I thought your reactions were really cute.” He glances to Poe to see how the writer receives his words. Sure enough, there’s an enticing blush creeping up his face. “Maybe it seemed a little odd, me inviting you to stay at my place. But really, that was just me trying to make sure you were comfortable enough to write. Because I know this place doesn’t feel like home to you.”

“Your place didn’t, either,” Poe admits. “But it still… felt very welcoming.”

Ranpo hums. “I meant what I said about the things you did for me while you were there. I liked them.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I… admit I liked the things you did for me, too.”

After another swig of tea, Ranpo says, “What did you like the most?”

“I think when you swept my hair back and said you saw the purple in my eyes.” Poe takes a drink out of his own cup. “You?”

“The snacks, of course.”

Poe frowns. “Really?”

Ranpo grins. “What can I say? I love food. You know this about me. But!” He passes Poe a grin. “The second best thing was feeling you tuck me in that one afternoon.”

“You were still awake?”

“Only a little. It was… really nice.” Ranpo finds a peace in those words. He’s glad that he told Poe, and not just because Poe is smiling.

“The sake should probably be chilled by now, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, probably,” Ranpo agrees, running the calculation in his head. “You want me to move Karl, or…?”

“If you did that, I’d have to call the police because it’s a crime to move Karl once he’s comfortable.”

Ranpo laughs. “Then, if you would.”

Once the sake is open and they’re drinking, the conversation circles back to more everyday topics: Poe’s writing, the weather, the cherry blossoms that will bloom by the end of the month, Ranpo’s next case for the police (he’s careful not to say too much, even with sake). But as they drink, they start to laugh more, and Ranpo starts to lose what little grip he has on his self-control. He laughs a little louder and longer, smiles in a way he knows he usually doesn’t. His mind becomes a little fuzzier.

That space, while less certain than his sober state, is still comfortable. He doesn’t have to worry about making mistakes or being wrong. He knows he’s right. His confidence is unshakable. He’s tipsy enough to be relaxed, but he’s still aware of everything that comes out of his mouth.

They’re talking about food again when out of nowhere, Ranpo passes Poe a sultry smirk and says, “You know, you’re a really attractive guy.”

Poe freezes. Then, he starts stammering. “I… don’t know what you mean, Ranpo-kun.”

“I think you do,” Ranpo continues. By then, Karl has moved to the cushion beside him, so he leans forward and sets empty sake cup down. When he sits up, he’s still smirking. “I like you for more than your looks, but… I admit, in person, it’s so much easier to appreciate them.” He shifts a little closer until their arms are touching.

“I… Ranpo-kun…”

Ranpo leans one arm on the back of the sofa. With the other, he pushes against Poe’s jaw so he can really study Poe’s features. “I’m serious. It’s almost unfair how good you look.” He’s gentle as he smooths Poe’s hair out of his face. “Your face is pretty red. Is that the sake or me?”

“Y…yes!” he declares.

Ranpo chuckles and leans a little closer. “That was really cute,” he murmurs, savoring the way Poe shudders in response to that tone. He traces Poe’s jawline with his fingers. The way Poe’s lips are slightly parted… it’s so enticing, he shuts his eyes and leans.

“Ranpo, don’t.”

He freezes as he feels Poe twist out of his reach and away. He has a hand pressed over his mouth, and there’s something in his visible eye… what is it? Ranpo can’t deduce it. He’s too busy wondering at what point he stopped reading the situation accurately, whether the mistake he just made is too grave to overcome. Poe’s words sober him up in an instant. Eventually, he murmurs, “I should go.”

“Ranpo-kun—”

“It’s fine,” he sighs, getting to his feet. “I can see myself out. Thanks.” Ranpo half thinks Poe is going to rush after him. He doesn’t. But he does appear at the other end of the hallway, leaning against the wall with one hand still on his lips. Ranpo pulls on his coat and steps into his shoes, perfectly steady. Then, he turns away with a sigh. He’s not really sure what to say, or what else he can do.

As tipsy as he is, he manages to get off the train just one station early. He uses the walk back to clear his head. Around that time, he realizes he left his overnight bag at Poe’s. Shit, he thinks, pulling out his phone. But he can’t text Poe anything. He can’t even think about sending a message. He wanders until he finds his apartment. Once the door is closed behind him, he leans against hit and throws every curse he knows at the ceiling. It’s only now that he’s realizing just how much he botched it.

The trouble is, he still isn’t sure how.

Chapter Text

The next day, Ranpo solves five cases while fighting off a headache that is definitely not because of the sake and noshing on pastries from Café Lupin. He stopped by in the morning since it’s Saturday and he doesn’t want to be there when the rush hits. And for once, he takes his time solving them, deliberately trying to outwit himself at every turn, because once they’re done, he knows he’ll have to go back to wondering what’s really important: what went wrong when he tried to kiss Poe. He has already replayed the scene in his head half a dozen times without meaning to, and he knows he’ll likely do it at least another dozen times before lunch.

On the eighth time, he asks himself, Did he not want to? No, of course not. He definitely wanted me to kiss him before. Then what? Did I make him uncomfortable? No, that’s not it. Well, that’s not entirely it.

Since he barely slept the night before after leaving Poe’s and making it back to his apartment, agonized by disappointment and fear, he does that night out of pure physical exhaustion. Unfortunately, he dreams that he tries to kiss Poe again. And this time, he manages to do it. For a moment, he’s happy in that dream, but then he pulls back and sees Poe looking at him with something worse than disgust: boredom. The writer leans against his hand with a sigh and announces, “That was okay, I guess.”

Ranpo jerks awake in a cold sweat, gasping. He checks his phone to see if Poe messaged him. He has a couple of texts from Yosano, Kunikida, and Dazai, but none of them are for him specifically. He flops back down onto his pillow and wishes Poe were there so he’d have something comforting to curl against. But he has to settle for a pillow. After what happened, he’s not even sure he deserves to want Poe, anyway.

In the morning, he half thinks he should call his mother. He’d rather talk to the old man, but she has more experience with this sort of thing than either of them. She married his father, after all. Ranpo dials the first two numbers and immediately stops because he already knows how the conversation would go. A perfect picture of it fills his mind.

“Ranpo-kun, you never call me…”

“Hey, mom. Uh… you got a minute?”

A disapproving silence. “What did you do?”

“I tried to kiss someone who apparently didn’t want me to, and I’m terrified I ruined our friendship because I haven’t gotten any text messages.”

“Ah, is that all? Well, relationships aren’t your strong suit. You should stick to solving cases. You’re better at that.”

“This is serious, mom. I really like this guy.”

“Guy?”

The one thing Ranpo doesn’t know is whether or not she would be surprised, disgusted, disappointed, a combination of all three, or just completely non-plussed.

He remembers how hollow Dazai looked after his parents found out about the recently deceased Oda and decides he doesn’t want to find out.

Ranpo throws himself at work that day again, solving five more cases. They’re all boring, but he needs to do something, or he’ll just sit around wallowing in self-pity, replaying that same scene over and over. He’s starting to lose his grip on specifics, and that makes Poe’s reaction even more confusing because he was unsure of the reason to begin with. Now, he’s unsure of the feelings behind that reason, too.

In the afternoon, when he can’t stand the sight of his office anymore, he locks up and walks. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, or where he’s going. He just knows he has to get out.

It’s no surprise to him that he winds up near Ishikawacho Station. With a little trial and error, a few wrong turns, and once instance of frantically doubling back, he winds up in front of Café Lupin for the second time in just as many days. He stands outside for a while, watching the lone customer at the counter and the high school student who works there. He clenches his fists and walks towards the door. As soon as the bell above it rings, the employee pivots and announces, “Welcome to Café Lupin. Can I help you?”

Ranpo is about to speak when the redhead sitting at the counter tosses him a chuckle. “What the fuck is your problem? You look like you just got dumped.”

Ranpo wonders if that’s what happened. Without saying anything, he approaches the counter. “Yeah. Get the owner for me, will you? I need a word with him.”

“Of course. Please wait a moment.” Her name tag reads Izumi Kyouka. She bows before disappearing into the kitchen.

“What exactly are you staring at?”

Chuuya laughs. “Apparently, an idiot who thinks the world ends after one single broken heart.” He says that, but then, he goes back to sulking in his own way.

Something he did recently, Ranpo supposes. But obviously, nothing to do with Dazai-kun, or else he wouldn’t be here. With a sigh, Ranpo goes back to his own close examination of the counter until he hears footsteps. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or even more worked up when Dazai emerges.

Pausing, Dazai says, “Nice to see you again, Ranpo. Why are you pouting?”

Ranpo doesn’t even get a chance to answer before Chuuya retorts, “He’s been pouting since he came in.”

“That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Fancy Hat.” He mostly calls Chuuya that because he knows it annoys him.

Sure enough, Chuuya takes the bait. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

“You’re the one looking like you found a body in your apartment.”

“Why the fuck would there be a body in my apartment?” Chuuya demands.

Dazai drifts into Ranpo’s line of sight, and he lifts his head. It takes less than three seconds for Dazai to announce, “Chuuya, take a walk.”

“Huh?” the redhead demands.

“It won’t take long. Maybe five or ten minutes. Go buy us something for dinner.”

“Dazai, what the—”

“And then…” Ranpo catches the smirk on Dazai’s face, one that’s confident, affectionate, and the dictionary definition of smitten. “Prepare yourself for the best cuddles of your life.”

To Ranpo’s relief, Chuuya slides out of his stool. “I’m paying first.”

“Pay me in cuddles,” Dazai insists. “The coffee is on the house.”

“Dazai, for fuck’s—”

“You get the boyfriend discount of one hundred percent. Buy us dinner. We’ll call it even.”

For the second time since he came, Ranpo is relieved, because Chuuya’s steps recede and the bell above the door rings. Ranpo sighs and glances at Dazai to find him staring.

“Problem?” Dazai asks.

Ranpo folds his arms. He didn’t come here to get interrogated.

“I’m taking that as a yes. Let me make you something.”

But he did come here for help, so he says, “I don’t get him.”

Dazai responds with an ambiguous hum.

“I don’t get him. At all.”

After turning to study him again, Dazai says, “Are we talking about Chuuya?”

Ranpo huffs, and Dazai shakes his head as he slips back behind the counter.

“You’re a genius, Ranpo. Yokohama’s greatest detective. Probably Japan’s. Maybe even the world’s.”

“Of course I am,” Ranpo says, finally sitting down. “I’ve solved cases that have been cold for decades, been consulted by various branches of the Japanese government, and am well on my way to becoming a household name.” The espresso grinder fires up. When it falls silent, he adds, “But I don’t get him.”

“Are you asking me for advice?”

“I don’t ask for advice.” He glances down at the plate of cake Dazai slid in front of him and grabs the fork. “I don’t need help. Asking for that would wound my pride too much.”

Dazai doesn’t even turn around as he answers, “You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He stirs the mug in his hand. Ranpo is pretty sure it contains espresso, cocoa, and a borderline criminal amount of sugar. “There’s a difference. But I want to make sure you’re willing to accept that offer, or else my advice just becomes a burden.”

Ranpo takes a bite of cake, then folds his arms.

“Talk to him.”

“And say what?”

“That…” Dazai pauses to slide him a café mocha. “Is not something I can give you advice on. That’s something you have to decide for yourself.”

Ranpo deflates. He gives up. Because Dazai can be childish, too. Because Dazai has always understood this part of Ranpo. “It’s too hard.”

And as if Dazai knows exactly what he needs to hear, he says, “Relationships are, but I find they’re worth the work. That includes Chuuya, it’s true, but that also includes my friendship with you.”

He glances down at the mug and reaches for it. He knows without even taking the first drink that the coffee is prepared just the way he likes it, but after taking a swig, he realizes it exceeds all of his notions about what he thought he liked. It’s perfection. Ranpo looks up at Dazai again.

“Take some time to figure out what you want to say to him,” Dazai suggests. “Make sure you listen carefully when he responds.”

“It’s so frustrating,” Ranpo confesses. He’s started at how quiet his own voice sounds, so he lowers his face again, half in shock, half in shame.

“I know. For you, especially, I imagine it’s difficult. People like you… people who are smart… tend to be so in their own head sometimes, the world outside of it doesn’t even exist as an afterthought. Truths that are nearly impossible to discern are so obvious to you, it’s a real challenge to understand others when they don’t operate at your speed. But I don’t think it makes you any less of a great detective. That just makes you human.”

Ranpo peers across the counter to Dazai, staring at him and processing his words. The bell above the door interrupts his thoughts.

“Welcome back, Chuuya. Give me a minute to finish cleaning up. We close in a bit, anyway.”

“No rush.” A moment later, he catches a shock of red hair in his periphery, and a shockingly blue eye appears from beneath the fedora.

“You get the advice you needed?” Chuuya asks. It takes Ranpo a moment to recover from the fact that he has spoken those words in English.

“I didn’t know you spoke English that well,” he answers, also in English. “Your accent still needs work, though.”

“I’m fucking trying, alright?”

Dazai dips out of sight and Ranpo realizes he’s alone with the notoriously bisexual redhead Dazai is dating. Ranpo isn’t sure what’s going on, but he definitely didn’t come here to speak English with—Wait, why does he know English? Is that accent American? No… it can’t be. Maybe British?

As if reading his mind, Chuuya announces, “We’re not talking about my accent. We’re talking about the guy who dumped you.”

“He didn’t dump me,” Ranpo sighs. “At least, I don’t think he did.”

Chuuya chuckles. “If you have to ask, he didn’t fucking dump you. But—and correct me if I’m wrong—is that the right wording?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers. “Though I’m pretty sure most natives speakers think it’s rude to say ‘fuck’ so casually.” He tries to remember if Poe has ever said it, but Chuuya catches him off-guard with a smirk that seems to accuse him of thinking about someone else.

“But you fucked up and did something to make you think he had a reason to.”

Ranpo puts his head in his hands. He didn’t come here for help, especially not from Dazai’s boyfriend of all people.

“You don’t have to tell me what you did,” Chuuya continues.

Ranpo stares at Chuuya like he has grown a second head. “What is this, some kind of confessional?”

“What’s a confessional?”

“You know…” Ranpo grapples with the concept. “At some churches—Catholic, mostly—people go there and tell a priest about all their wrongs.” He thinks Chuuya gets it, so he says, “Forgive me, Mr. Fancy Hat, for I have sinned.”

Chuckling, Chuuya says, “What sins have you committed, child?”

Ranpo snickers and gives up trying to place the odd rhythm in Chuuya’s accent, though he does figure out it’s definitely not Japanese. “You know, hearing you call me that is weird. You’re younger than me.”

“That doesn’t make my role as your confessor any less valid,” Chuuya retorts. “Think of Café Lupin as your own private Notre Dame.”

French, Ranpo decides. That explains the Rimbaud he always wears. He sighs. “He was into me. I was into him. I tried to kiss him. I mean, technically, we had already kissed but that was an accident, so—”

“Back up,” Chuuya says. “Did he say he was into you?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers. “I said I was into him, too.”

“Did you ask him if he wanted you to kiss him?”

Ranpo pauses. “I don’t think so. We were drinking sake.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Chuuya retorts. “You tried to kiss him while you were drunk?”

“Neither of us were drunk. Just tipsy.”

“Tipsy,” Chuuya repeats.

“You know… when you have alcohol and start to feel really warm and comfortable.”

“I got it,” Chuuya answers. “What I don’t get is why the fuck you tried to kiss him.”

“Because he’s attractive and I like him and our date went well.”

“How many dates have you been on?”

“Just the one.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who just goes out and fucks your date.”

“Only if we agree to that,” Ranpo retorts. He frowns at the uneaten part of his cake. “You’re kind of a jerk. I can deduce that’s how a lot of your dates ended, too. At least I was smart enough to check beforehand that sex was all it was.”

Chuuya scoffs. “Can’t argue with you there.” He drums his fingers on the counter. “Would it help to tell you about my first date with Dazai?”

Ranpo sighs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I took him to a soba shop in Kamakura. My friends from high school run the place.” He folds his hands. “We took my bike.”

“So the coat isn’t just for show.”

“Of course it fucking isn’t. Quit asking unnecessary questions.”

“It wasn’t unnecessary. It was rhetorical.” Ranpo pauses. “Wait. Rhetorical questions are rude.”

Chuuya shakes his head. “Afterward, I bought him a beer from a vending machine, and we spent some time staring out at the ocean.”

“And then?”

Chuuya smirks. “You’re a detective. You figure it out.”

Ranpo rolls his eyes.

“But—and here’s the important thing.” Chuuya knocks on the counter to emphasize his point. “We talked about it.”

Ranpo tips his head. “Did you think Dazai wanted you to have sex with you before—”

“It doesn’t matter whether I thought that or not. I fucking asked. I always ask. Because that shit is more than important. It’s…” Chuuya pauses. “Vital,” he finally says in Japanese.

“Vital, huh?” Ranpo asks in English.

“Vital,” Chuuya repeats. “I know you’re a good detective. I read the news about that case you solved for the Public Security Intelligence Agency, and that’s really incredible. You should be proud of that. But relationships are different than cases. Even if you can puzzle out everything that will make the person so crazy, they’ll scream your name, you have to talk about it. You have to stop if someone says they want you to, even if you know they wanted something beforehand. That goes for sex, yeah, but it goes for kissing, too.”

Ranpo eats the rest of his cake, but it’s not sweet enough to take the bitterness off of his tongue. “How do I fix it?”

“Text the guy. Tell him you want to talk. Apologize to him. No excuses, no bullshit. Even then, there’s no guarantee he’ll want to go out with you again—”

“I don’t care about that,” Ranpo interrupts. “I really don’t. If I ruined that, I can live with it. I just…” He pauses. “I don’t want to lose Poe-kun as a friend.”

“Tell him that,” Chuuya says. “You sounded really earnest just there. That’s important. And when you’re done apologizing, you ask him if you can talk about what you did wrong so you can not do it again.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers, watching Dazai emerge from the kitchen. “Yeah. I think I understand.” He chugs the rest of his mocha and rises. “You’re not a bad guy, Mr. Fancy Hat. Thanks for the advice.”

“Don’t mention it. And quit fucking calling me that.”

Ranpo laughs as he pulls himself out of his chair and pays Dazai. “Thanks for the coffee. I swear, it’s like you know exactly what to make me.”

Dazai smiles. “It’s always easy for me to tell with men,” he admits. “Although… I’m pretty sure I know what Yosano likes.”

“Because she’s our friend,” Ranpo answers, taking his change. “See you soon, Dazai-kun.”

“Good luck,” Dazai calls after him.

Ranpo pulls in a breath and heads towards Chinatown. Or he thinks he’s going towards Chinatown, but he winds up at Yokohama Bay. He sits down on a bench, takes a few deep breaths, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. After he opens the messenger app, he sees Poe is online.

Forget texting. He calls.

To his surprise, Poe answers.

“Hey,” Ranpo says in English.

“Hello, Ranpo-kun,” Poe answers.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Listen. I… need to talk to you.”

“I’m listening.”

“No, I mean… Poe-kun, this something I should say to you face-to-face.” He swallows. “But if today is no good, I can wait until tomorrow. It’s not urgent. I mean, it is, but…”

“Alright.”

Ranpo swallows the sigh of relief that balloons in his chest. “Do you want me to come to your place? I can pick something up for dinner on the way if you haven’t eaten.”

“Sure.”

The one-word answers make him nervous. He swallows again. “Okay. What time?”

“Any time is fine. I’ve just been editing today.”

So maybe it’s the novel and not Ranpo’s actions that have Poe sounding glum. “Do you want anything in particular?”

“Hmm…” Poe’s voice trails off. “Deduce it.”

Remembering Chuuya’s advice, Ranpo asks, “Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Poe answers. “I’ll see you in an hour?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers. “Yeah. That works. I’ll see you then. Don’t work too hard.”

“Sure. If you get lost on the trains, just text me. I’ll come rescue you.”

Ranpo snickers, then disconnects the call. He half wants to get lost just so Poe will make good on that promise. Instead, he walks to the station, buys a ticket to Kanazawa Hakkei, and steps through the gate.

If nothing else, Ranpo thinks as he climbs the stairs, I have a little bit of direction.

At the top of the stairs, he realizes he’s at the wrong platform, so he goes right back down the way he came, no less determined than before.

Chapter Text

Ranpo manages the trains better that afternoon than he does on most days. And he picks up more food than he thinks Poe needs at the Family Mart across from the station, that’s part of the apology considering how much he likes to eat. When he thinks he has enough, he walks the ten or so minutes to Poe’s rental property. He rings the doorbell, then steps back. It takes Poe a while to appear in the doorway.

“Sorry,” Poe murmurs. “Karl was—”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts.

Poe’s one visible eye blinks three times.

“I’m really sorry, alright? I’m sorry.” He lowers himself into a deep bow and offers the bag. “Please accept this as a token of my deepest apology.” After a moment, Ranpo feels the bag removed from his hands, and he lifts his head.

“Ranpo-kun—”

“Can I say the rest inside? It’s kind of cold out here. But… also, if you don’t want to let me in, I don’t blame you.”

Poe smiles and shakes his head. “No. Of course it’s alright for you to come in. Besides, I can’t eat all of this myself.” He shakes the bag for good measure. “I’ll have to share with someone.”

“Karl?”

Poe chuckles. “Of course I’ll share a little with him. But I was thinking I’d share with you if you’re hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Ranpo states. He finally lets himself step inside, removing his shoes at the entryway. He feels a little better now that Poe has invited him in. He pauses at the bar and sees Poe has disappeared inside the freezer. When Poe opens the fridge to put the bento inside, Ranpo sees another bottle of sake in the door. “Were you going to drink again tonight?”

“I was thinking about it,” Poe says, “but you came here to talk, so I might rethink it.”

“You can drink. I’ll drink with you if you want.” Ranpo folds his hands and stares at the floor. “I promise I won’t make another move on you if we do.”

Poe closes the fridge with a sigh. “Come on. Let’s sit down in the living room.”

Ranpo climbs out of his stool and follows Poe. Karl is curled up on the back of one of the sofas. The minute he sees Ranpo, he lifts his head, then charges at him. “Karl, what—ow!” Ranpo yelps as Karl scrambles onto his head, knocks his hat off, and gnaws at his hair. “Did you really just bite me? What did I do?”

“He knows you upset me, I’m afraid,” Poe explains.

Ranpo twists to find a faint smile on his face.

“You’d better apologize again so he can see you do it properly.”

Ranpo stammers half a word, then drops into a bow. “I’m terribly sorry for my actions. Can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you,” Poe says.

Ranpo stands up, and Karl, satisfied, climbs down. On the way, he steals Ranpo’s keys out of his pocket and scurries away.

“That’s his way of saying you’re staying until we’ve talked this fully out.” Poe sits down on the sofa, then pats the cushion beside him. After a moment, Ranpo sits beside him. “Are you alright with talking about it?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “I’m serious about being sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“I made you really uncomfortable. I screwed up bigtime. But… I need to know… no, I…” He stops, to grapple with his words before speaking again. “Can I… ask what about it upset you?”

“Deduce it.”

Ranpo pouts at him. “I already did, but I want to hear you tell me.”

Poe slowly turns away and folds his hands in his lap. “I was actually ecstatic that you wanted to kiss me. But it was really sudden. And considering you’d drank, I wasn’t sure if you were just being impulsive since you didn’t want to kiss me before. And I make it my own personal rule not to kiss people on the first date.”

“Really?” Ranpo asks. “I mean… that’s fine. It just surprises me a little.”

Poe studies him. “I guess I’m a little old-fashioned. Your first dates aren’t like that, I take it.”

“Depends on the date,” Ranpo admits, drawing his knees up. “To tell you the truth, all the dates I’ve been on the past haven’t really been anything beyond a temporary way to combat boredom, whether they end with a farewell wave or in a love hotel.” He swallows. “That’s not why I went on a date with you, though.”

“Why, then?”

“You already know,” Ranpo retorts, but he says it anyway. Because he figures it’s important. “It’s because I like you, of course.”

Poe hums and goes back to studying his hands.

“After last night, though, or after me telling you I haven’t really ever been serious about dating anyone, I can understand why maybe you wouldn’t like me anymore. Or even if you did, maybe you don’t want to go out with me. I messed up, after all.” Ranpo feels something brush the back of his hand and glances along Poe’s arm.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Ranpo-kun.” Poe lowers his hand. “When I forgave you earlier, I wasn’t just doing it to spare you Karl’s wrath. I meant it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Poe passes him a smile and squeezes his hand. “But next time you want to kiss me, I hope you’ll ask.”

“Of course,” Ranpo says. “And I’ll respect your answer, whatever it is. That’s what Mr. Fancy Hat would do.”

Poe tips his head. “Who?”

“Ah. You remember Dazai-kun?”

“Of course.”

“His boyfriend.”

“Ah.” Poe smiles. “He seems to give sound advice. I hope they’re happy together.”

“They are,” Ranpo retorts. “I don’t think two bigger idiots in love exist in this world.”

“Maybe they do,” Poe murmurs. “I saw a couple of university students holding hands the other day, passing each other enamored glances like they were in a world all their own.”

Ranpo scoffs. “I don’t know. Dazai-kun looks like that with the guy he’s dating, too.”

Poe shrugs. “Maybe that’s how I look when I’m spending time with you.”

“No way. You’re—” Ranpo’s smile fades, and he folds his legs. “Actually, now that you mention it, you do look like your head’s in the clouds, Poe-kun.”

“So do you.”

“Hey!”

Poe throws his head back and laughs, and Ranpo’s head grows fuzzy with the amount of affection that floods him.

“Laughing is forbidden!”

Poe’s chortle simmers down to a snicker, and he drops his hand. “Do you like my laugh?”

“Of course,” Ranpo retorts, folding his arms. “It’s nice.”

“It’s not too loud?”

“I like that it’s loud,” Ranpo confesses, glancing at Poe.

“That’s kind of you, Ranpo-kun.” They look at each other for another moment before Poe clears his throat. “I’ll… heat up the bento. Can we split them? They both look good.”

“Sure.”

They spend the next hour grazing on the food Ranpo brought, alternating bites between the trays of tonkatsu and cooked fish. They drink bottled milk tea while eating. When they’re done, they eat dessert, Poe his red bean paste mochi, Ranpo the slice of cake he bought.

“You want a bite?” Ranpo offers, scooching the paper tray closer.

Poe sticks his fork into the cake, then offers Ranpo one of the mochi. He accepts. They finish their meal in peaceful silence. After they’re done, Poe reaches for the empty containers, but Ranpo reaches out for his wrist. Their eyes lock.

“Poe-kun,” he murmurs. “I’m no good at kissing, but I still want to try with you.”

Poe’s brow arches. “You keep saying you’re no good at kissing. Did someone really tell you that?”

“Deduce it,” Ranpo retorts. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

Poe smiles and shakes his head. “I already did, so…” he murmurs, “how about I kiss you instead?”

Ranpo swivels and stares up at him. “You really want to?”

“I really do,” Poe answers, turning his body more towards Ranpo. “I’ve never wanted to kiss someone after a first date before except you.”

“Really?”

Poe nods. “Let me?”

“Yeah.” Ranpo swallows. “Sure.”

He says it, and he means it, but soon after the words leave his mouth, thoughts crowd his head. What if he thinks I’m no good at it? The sofa shifts. What if he doesn’t like it? Poe’s fingers slide between his. What if my body reacts and I—

“Ranpo-kun.”

The voice hits his ear, and he cracks one eye open.

“You don’t look like you’re okay with this.” Ranpo feels his face fill with heat and glances away. He doesn’t resist as Poe lifts his hand and folds his own around it. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“It’s stupid.” He catches Poe’s chuckle and turns to him.

“I promise you, it’s not.”

Ranpo glances down at Poe’s hands, warm and still folded around his own. “You already deduced it,” he grumbles.

Poe chuckles again. The sound fills his ear and, at that proximity, makes his heart beat a little harder. “Tell me?”

A request. As embarrassing as it is, Ranpo fulfills it. “I just… what if I ruin it? What if it’s a mistake, or I really am no good, or—”

As the doubts pour out of his mouth, Poe’s hand folds around his and slowly lifts it.

“Or it’s too embarrassing? Or…” He pauses, swallowing. “What if I like it too much?” Ranpo feels the press of lips against his fingers and swivels to find Poe smiling against the back of his hand.

“In truth, that final concern of yours is my biggest hope, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo still finds his anxiety coiling inside him, but something in Poe’s voice, and the way he’s gazing into Ranpo’s face, makes him want it anyway. He feels Poe release his hand, and almost instantly, Poe’s fingers brush against his cheek.

“Relax a little more,” Poe murmurs.

Ranpo can’t stop himself from flinching when Poe shifts to close the gap between their mouths, but the lips land against his cheek instead. He actually lets the whine building inside of him out, and that draws another chuckle out of Poe.

“That noise has convinced me you want me to kiss you. It’s still fine, right?”

Ranpo’s eyes snap back open. Is he teasing me on purpose? He searches Poe’s face for any malice or less than savory calculations. Instead, he finds a bottomless affection that makes him start leaning forward the same moment Poe does. When their lips meet, Ranpo feels… he feels way too much in that moment, if he’s being honest, but it feels right.

Poe draws away soon after, touching his own lips and glancing at the coffee table.

It was no good. Ranpo swallows. He hated it. I’m no good. I’m not—

“Ranpo-kun, can I… kiss you again?”

Even though his face is red, he murmurs an affirmative as earnestly and confidently as he can before accepting Poe’s lips a second time. He knows not to expect it to be as brief, especially when Poe’s hands slide along his jawline and reangle his face. His mind goes entirely blank for a moment. It’s rare, but because of it, he feels. The physical sensation of Poe’s mouth on his, his own emotions crashing inside of him, the rush of air that fills his lungs as Poe withdraws.

“Can I try a deeper kiss?”

Ranpo nods.

“Then… open your mouth a little for me.”

Ranpo obeys. He’s pretty sure he would have done it even if Poe hadn’t made that request. His nerves all fire as a taste that is distinctly Poe fills his mouth. His chest tightens. Oh no, he thinks. No… They break apart for air for a moment, but Ranpo can’t get enough and endures seconds that feel like hours until Poe leans forward again, this time to kiss his cheek. Not a heart attack, but if he keeps kissing me like this, I really will lose it. He realizes his hands are still on his knees. What do I do with them? But then, Poe’s tongue darts back into his mouth, and he loses his ability to think all over again. What the hell do I do with them?

It doesn’t take long for Ranpo to realize that he has never been kissed like this, with such affection and consideration, with so much focus on his pleasure and comfort. It’s too much.

He moans.

Ranpo half expects Poe to fly back, but instead, he feels Poe’s long fingers slide into his hair as they continue to feel each other out. Without thinking, he grabs Poe’s shoulders. He’s so annoyed that there’s fabric there, but the things Poe is doing with his mouth… he can barely fathom them. They’re better than snacks, more interesting than mysteries. More, his mind screams as he finally, finally starts to reciprocate. More, more, more. He barely follows the motion of Poe’s hands through the kiss as one fans out against the back of his head and the other settles between his shoulder blades. Too much… Ranpo breaks away and pushes Poe back. He nearly falls swinging one leg over the man, but Poe catches him, snickering. Once Ranpo is steady, he detects some sort of energy charging the air, one as nervous as it is needy.

“You said you were bad at this,” Poe comments, sliding the hand on Ranpo’s shoulders a little lower. It settles at the dip in his back, and his smile grows a little more devilish. “This okay?”

“You can move it lower,” Ranpo retorts. “Unless you’re not an ass man like I thought.”

Poe pulls Ranpo’s mouth down again, and their bodies press together. When he draws away after another dizzying kiss, he says, “If either of us is an ass man, it’s you. You were the one staring the other day.”

Ranpo reconnects their lips, lapping at the inside of Poe’s mouth. He rolls his hips—an experiment as much as it is a question. The shaky moan Poe lets out in his mouth and the firm press of Poe’s hands against his backside tell him it was a resounding success.

Only it backfires, because when Poe pushes back, Ranpo realizes he’s gasping and shaking. Worse still, he’s getting hard. He knows it. He glances at Poe, tries to piece together some rebuttal. Some rational explanation.

“I… I can… get off.” He realizes that’s a poor choice of words and blushes deeper. “I mean… we can stop if it’s off-putting.”

Poe’s fingers brush against his jawline, and he glances at Poe. “Of course it’s not, Ranpo-kun. It means you’re enjoying this, which is exactly what I intend.”

Ranpo frowns. “We’ve only been on one date,” he murmurs.

Poe traces the shell of his ear and smiles. “But my feelings for you have been growing for the past two years, and you’ve moved fast with the right people.”

“So?” Ranpo asks.

Poe scoffs. “Deduce it.”

“Like I can deduce anything like this.” He’s about to try, but Poe is gently guiding his head back down.

“Kiss me again,” Poe murmurs. “I’m positive that will help.”

He does, until his chest practically implodes from the lack of air. This time, he buries his hands in Poe’s hair. Soft, he realizes as he slowly breaks away. They share breath for a moment before Ranpo lifts his head out of Poe’s reach.

“Well?” Poe asks, smirking.

“I still can’t deduce anything,” Ranpo gasps.

“Then I’ll tell you directly: I’m willing to make an exception and be slightly less of a gentleman for you tonight, Ranpo-kun.”

“You shouldn’t make exceptions for me,” Ranpo murmurs, dragging his fingers through Poe’s hair and staring into his eyes, falling into that spark of lilac.

“It isn’t just for you, Ranpo-kun.” He tugs Ranpo back down again, but this time, it’s just so their foreheads rest together. “But in situations like this, as I know you’ve deduced, I put my partner’s pleasure first.”

Ranpo receives the chaste kiss Poe gives him before tipping back.

“I won’t force you,” Poe murmurs. “I’ll never force you to do anything, Ranpo-kun, because if I force what I intend as pleasure upon you, it’s not pleasure at all.”

“So what? You want me to fuck you?”

Poe scoffs. “Such a crude word for my hopes.”

Ranpo smirks. “You should have deduced by now I’m a bit crude. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one straddling you.”

Poe sighs. “Just hands. I’m willing to make some concessions, but I have my dignity to think of.”

“So what? I have no dignity because I’m an easy—ah…” Ranpo’s knees nearly give out as Poe’s hands travel over the slight curve of his ass and along the backs of his thighs.

“You have all the dignity in the world, Ranpo-kun, regardless of how you’ve dated people in the past. I simply wish to maintain part of my usual protocol. But you can finger me.”

“Do you… want me to?” Ranpo manages.

Poe smiles. “I simply want you to do what feels good.”

“Well, for me to feel good, I need you to feel good, too,” Ranpo counters.

He can tell that startles Poe by the way the American blinks at him.

“What? Don’t tell me none of your other partners took interest in your pleasure.”

“They… did, I think. But they were never so forward about it.”

Ranpo hums. “Is it bad that I’m forward about it?”

“No way! I really like it! It’s adorable! And it… makes me feel wanted.”

Ranpo lets out his breath and settles on Poe’s lap again. He doesn’t need to move to know he’s not the only one who is aroused. If Poe’s flushed face and unsteady breath wasn’t evidence, the moan that rips out of him is. A still silence follows, and Poe immediately covers his mouth.

“You didn’t hear that! You didn’t—”

“Pretty sure half of Yokohama heard it.” Ranpo loops his arms around Poe’s neck as he continues to stammer denials that turn to apologies, then fall silent as Poe nuzzles his skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “Your voice. Your mind. All of you.” He draws air into his lungs and smiles. “And right now, I really, really want to take you to bed.”

How they manage to untangle themselves and make their way up the stairs in that state is a mystery Ranpo cannot even begin to solve. He does know that as soon as they’re in Poe’s bedroom and the door is closed, their lips crash together, this time with more confidence and coordination. Clothes come off piece by piece: socks, belts, ties. There are too many buttons between shirts and slacks. Ranpo tries to unbutton Poe’s shirt, but Poe catches his hands and pulls him into another kiss, dazing him beyond even his deductive abilities, let alone his fine motor skills. And it doesn’t get any better when Poe’s mouth starts doing unspeakable things to his exposed collarbone. He arches, smoothing the back of Poe’s head. It doesn’t feel bad to be underneath him. Then again, nothing can feel bad when Poe is kissing every exposed inch of his skin. “Ranpo-kun.”

The name breaks through his hazy mind, and he feels Poe’s hands on his belt.

“Can I?”

“Yes, please, God…”

A little smile appears on Poe’s face. “Kissing isn’t all I’m good at, you know.”

It’s hard for Ranpo not to moan when Poe’s long fingers unfasten his cropped pants.

“Will you let me show you how good my mouth is at other things?” Poe murmurs. Ranpo is less successful at holding back his moan that time. “Would you like that?”

Frantic, he nods. He thinks he says yes. He isn’t sure. By the time he starts to wonder whether he did, Poe’s mouth his around his cock, taking him apart and telling him he did. Ranpo tries to keep up, but his mind empties of everything but the sensation. All he can do is clutch the covers, curl his toes, and pant as Poe works him closer to his orgasm, but not so close that it won’t last. Poe seems to have a knack for knowing just how to move his lips and tongue, when to engulf his erection entirely and when to back off and kiss Ranpo’s stomach.

“Is this good for you, Ranpo-kun?”

Ranpo lets out a shaky moan.

“Are you ready to feel even better?”

“Yes,” he pants. “Edgar—” He waits as his anticipation coils, but the deliciously warm heat of Poe’s mouth doesn’t come back. Thinking something is wrong, he lifts his head and finds Poe staring at him. “What?”

“You finally called me Edgar.”

Ranpo blinks. “I did not.”

“You did.”

Ranpo’s face combusts. “I—” He can’t deduce whether he did or didn’t. He can’t deduce whether Poe likes it. His mind, as good is it is, is utterly useless because he’s on the edge of an orgasm that he needed about five minutes ago. “I…” The rest of his explanation dissolves as Poe’s fingers trail along his inner thighs and push his legs further apart.

“I liked it,” Poe murmurs. “I always wondered what my name would sound like coming out of your lovely mouth while I was pleasing you.”

“You fantasized about me?” Ranpo demands.

Poe passes him a smirk and shrugs. “It’s not quite a fantasy anymore, now, is it?”

“Poe-kun—” He chokes as Poe’s tongue circles the head of his cock.

“I’m going to finish you off,” Poe murmurs. “Can you come in my mouth, Ranpo-kun?”

Ranpo shudders and fists the sheets again. “Yes,” he manages.

“Call my name when you’re close.”

I’m already on the edge, Ranpo thinks, but somehow, Poe stretches it out. Just when he thinks he’s about to die, he lets out a harsher moan, pulls in a breath, and screams, “Edgar!” The recessed lighting overhead dissolves as his orgasm rocks through him. He tries to squirm, but Poe holds him still, probably for the better so Poe doesn’t choke. Ranpo lets out some noise between a moan and a sob as he starts to come down. He feels Poe’s lips slide off of his softening cock and looks up just in time to watch Poe lick his lips and wipe his mouth.

“How was it?”

“God, Edgar,” Ranpo breathes, resting an arm over his eyes. “How are you so good at this? Plenty of people have blown me, but that was really something else.”

Poe chuckles and shrugs his likely ruined shirt off of his shoulders. And that’s when Ranpo sees it. A tattoo. A small, black silhouette of a bird in flight inked onto the front of Poe’s shoulder, staring at him. Before he can study it further, Poe’s voice pulls his attention away. “You’re going to make me blush if you stare like that, Ranpo-kun.”

He scoffs. “Your face is already red. What difference does it make?”

Poe unthreads his belt and tosses it before unbuttoning his slacks and stretching out beside Ranpo.

“Are you ready for yours?”

“I can give you another minute if you’re still strung out. It takes people a while to recover when I—”

“Nope! I’m good!” Ranpo grins and rolls onto his side. “You’re still okay with hands, right?”

Poe’s one visible eye drifts shut, and he nods.

“Do you still want me to finger you?”

“Ranpo-kun…” he murmurs as his eye splits open again. “I… would really like you to.”

“Then you have lube?”

“Of… course.”

“Want me to find it?”

Poe smiles again and passes him another nod. He seems genuinely surprised when, instead of rolling away in search of its location, Ranpo touches his face and draws their mouths together again. “Ranpo-kun!” he cries, flying away. “I just…”

“I don’t mind,” Ranpo purrs, closing the gap between them again. The moan Poe lets out into that kiss is louder than most noises that he has made. “Be right back,” he murmurs, smoothing Poe’s jawline before rolling and pulling the nightstand drawer open. There’s a bottle inside among the drawer’s other contents, but none of those interest Ranpo, who rolls over and passes Poe a triumphant smile.

“So keen,” Poe murmurs. “Did you deduce that I used what was missing since I got here?”

Ranpo smirks and shakes the bottle. “Quite the needs you have.”

“Being close to you was a lot to bear,” he says. “Staying at your place was challenging. I didn’t want to take care of myself there.”

“Well, don’t worry about that now.” He tugs on Poe’s slacks, and together, between his hands and Poe’s kicks, he gets them off. Once Poe is bare, Ranpo takes a moment to admire Poe’s body, including his half-hard cock. “You were enduring this?”

“I was focused on you.” Poe sighs and leans into Ranpo’s touch. His eyes flutter open again. “Will you be gentle with me? It’s… been a while since I’ve done this, too.”

“Of course,” Ranpo says, uncapping the lube. “As much as I like your ass, I think I want to do this with you facing me.”

“But I get really loud.”

“So get really loud,” Ranpo murmurs, coating a couple of his fingers and stretching his hand across Poe’s hip. “You still good with this?”

“I am,” Poe murmurs. “Just a little nervous.”

“Well, that won’t do. How can I help?”

Poe’s eyes meet his. “Kiss me.”

“Of course. Your kisses are so thoughtful and interesting.” He gives Poe enough time to murmur his name before brushing their lips together, then moving in for something deeper. He sighs and searches that kiss for a sign that it’s alright to proceed. Eventually, he settles for brushing Poe’s spine with his slick fingers.

Poe breaks away and murmurs, “Yes,”

Their lips come together again. It’s admittedly hard for Ranpo to focus given just how good it is to have Poe’s mouth connected to his own, but he manages to find what he’s looking for. After a few little teasing brushes of his fingertips, he gently works the tip of one inside.

Poe clutches his shoulders and makes a ragged sound.

“Hey, okay.” With is clean hand, Ranpo touches Poe’s face. “You’re okay. You’re still with me.”

Poe nods and gasps as Ranpo works his finger a little deeper.

“Is there enough lube?”

“A little more… ah…”

Ranpo kisses Poe’s forehead and squeezes more on his fingers. This time, he adds a little extra and smears it against Poe’s entrance once his fingers return to their position, and Poe grips his shoulders. “Better?” he asks.

Poe nods and pulls him into another kiss that he can barely keep up with. There’s less resistance when he pushes this time. Before he knows it, he’s up to the second knuckle.

“Still okay?” he asks, but he knows what this is doing to Poe.

“De… hah… deduce it,” he pants.

“I want to hear it from you,” Ranpo murmurs, dragging the finger he has inside of Poe out a little.

“Ranpo-kun, I… don’t take it out.”

“Do you need a minute?”

“I need it all the way inside.”

Nodding, Ranpo obliges, sliding his digit back in to the second knuckle. And he doesn’t stop there. He keeps going, smiling as Poe whines and grips his shoulders with trembling hands. He smooths that odd part of the body where thigh meets ass with his other fingers. “There. How’s that?”

“Ranpo-kun.” His name is a shaky moan. “Ranpo-kun, please…”

“Please what?”

“You know what.”

“I do,” Ranpo murmurs, sliding his clean hand through Poe’s hair. There’s so much sweat, it actually stays out of his eyes, which at this point are two burning points of some precious gem too beautiful to name. “But I want you to tell me. Because communication is important.”

Poe draws another ragged breath and cups Ranpo’s face, but all he does his rest their foreheads together. “Thrust a little to the right.”

Ranpo does. And just as he deduced, Poe covers his mouth, moaning behind his hand, then dissolving into an incoherent, whining mess as Ranpo continues. He feels Poe’s muscles tighten each time he comes close to that spot again. “Poe-kun,” he murmurs, reaching for Poe’s wrist. “Let your voice out. I like it.”

Poe tries to object, but Ranpo makes sure the next thrust slams right against what can only be Poe’s prostate. He smiles like a Cheshire cat at the needy sound that pulls out of Poe. “Do that again, Ranpo.”

He shifts until his lips brush Poe’s. “Of course. I’m so happy to see you feeling good.”

Poe isn’t quite as loud this time, mostly because Ranpo takes advantage of his open mouth and bestows a senseless kiss on him. It’s so filthy, it gets Ranpo going again. “Shit,” he hisses, breaking away.

“What?” Poe asks.

“I’m hard again.”

“You are?”

“I wasn’t trying to, honest. You were so good, Edgar. It’s just… your kisses are so interesting and thoughtful that I—”

“Ranpo-kun.” Poe’s hand trails over his shoulder and down his sides.

Ranpo stops moving his hand and swallows.

“I won’t be able to feel good knowing you’re in that state,” Poe murmurs, resting his hand on the slight curve of Ranpo’s waist. His face contorts when Ranpo thrusts the finger directly at Poe’s prostate. “Please let me come closer.”

Ranpo smiles. “Okay, but there’s something you have to do for me, too.”

“Anything.”

“Let your voice out while you’re grinding that perfect dick of yours against mine.”

“Ranpo-kun, you’re so frank.”

“Do you like it?”

Poe answers with a roll of his hips and a filthy moan that’s just as much his as it is Ranpo’s. After Ranpo recovers, he asks, “Can I put another finger in?”

“Please.” It sounds so much like begging, Ranpo bites his lip, but his erection twitches on its own anyway. “Please, Ranpo-kun.”

It’s delightful, the way Poe shudders as Ranpo slowly drives two fingers fully inside him, but that’s nothing compared to when he curls them against Poe’s prostate and keeps them there.

“Ranpo-kun, if you do that, I’ll—”

“Yes,” Ranpo murmurs, kissing Poe’s lips. “You’ll come hard and scream so loud, the neighbors might hear, but I’m not going to last long anyway, and I want you to come first since you started with me.”

“Ranpo-kun, I—” Poe breaks off, and his jerks become a little more desperate. “I…”

“That’s it,” Ranpo murmurs, smoothing the back of Poe’s head and curling his fingers. “Let me hear that lovely voice of yours, Edgar.”

Poe shudders. A broken, almost deafening moan fills the room. Ranpo feels Poe’s cock twitch as he comes, and the release against his stomach and leaking erection. “Ranpo-kun, my God… you’re so good.”

Ranpo shudders as he comes a second time. He doesn’t practically white out like he did from Poe’s mouth, but it still leaves him hovering in a blissful weariness that only follows good sex. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the covers, then hugs Poe and tucks his head under the taller man’s chin.

“I take it you only cuddle with people who keep you interested.”

Ranpo hums. “Deduce it.”

Poe chuckles. Ranpo echoes his laugh. They pass it back and forth for a couple of minutes, accompanied by appreciative caresses. “That exceeded all of my expectations and far overleapt the highest bar I had ever set for sex.”

“It’s because we know each other so well,” Ranpo murmurs against Poe’s bare shoulder. He kisses the skin there for good measure. “It’s been a while for me, but I don’t think it’s ever been that good.”

Poe sweeps Ranpo’s messy hair away from his forehead. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with casual sex, but it’s not for me personally. Maybe it’s good for you now because you’re doing it with someone you have more than a fleeting interest in.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo states, grinning. “You’ve worried me and amused me and knocked every sense I’ve had clean out of my body, but you’ve never once bored me, and I don’t think you ever will.” He sighs as Poe presses another kiss to his forehead.

“Let me up.”

“Huh? Why?” Ranpo asks.

“Don’t panic, Ranpo-kun. I want to clean up a bit.”

Ranpo, still reluctant, unwinds his arms, and Poe leaves him behind. He feels cold in the moments Poe isn’t there. Colder still since Karl doesn’t come in, like the raccoon knows the sort of private experience Poe and Ranpo have just shared.

But Poe makes good on his promise, and Ranpo sighs as the warm cloth drags across his stomach. “That feels nice,” he murmurs. “But not as nice as cuddling with you.” A moment later, Poe stretches out beside him again. Ranpo regards him for a moment, until Poe opens his arms. The black ink on Poe’s shoulder catches his attention again, but he breaks free of its lure and dives into Poe’s arms, sighing.

“What’s wrong?” Poe asks.

“Nothing,” Ranpo said. “But I’m the world’s greatest detective, and even I never knew I was missing this.”

“Well,” Poe murmurs, “it’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.”

Ranpo concedes with a hum, then sighs as Poe’s fingers weave through his hair.

“You don’t have to miss it anymore.” Poe’s hand trails along his neck. “Not while I’m here, Ranpo-kun.”

Chapter Text

Ranpo stays. It doesn’t feel right to leave, and even if he weren’t boneless from the pure pleasure of having sex with Poe, he wouldn’t want to. Not to mention, Karl took his keys and still hasn’t returned them. After they both clean up, he puts on the pajamas in his overnight bag—the same one he left there several nights ago—and winds up falling asleep while Poe holds him. His sleep that night is deep and dreamless. When he wakes up in the morning, he feels well-rested.

But he’s alone.

The empty bed makes his heart sink, especially since that’s how most of his prior dates ended. He sets his hand in the empty spot beside him and sits up. As he does, a faint smell hits his nose, and his stomach growls. Oh, Ranpo thinks, burrowing into the covers again. He’s cooking.

The house isn’t Poe’s, but the blankets still smell like him. Ranpo can’t decide whether that or the faint fragrance of breakfast creeping up the stairs makes him warmer. He debates between staying in bed and getting up, but then, he feels Karl’s feet scamper across the bed. After a moment, he emerges carrying Ranpo’s keys in his mouth. He sets them by Ranpo’s hand before curling up beside Ranpo’s arm. Ranpo scratches him before letting out a long breath and studying the jump drive in his hand. “Did you take these on purpose hoping Poe-kun and I would do this?”

Karl’s tail swishes back and forth for a moment before it curls around his body.

“You gave them back. Does that mean you’re okay with me leaving?”

Karl snatches the keys out of Ranpo’s palm and lays directly on them. The squinty-eyed look Karl gives him feels almost insistent to Ranpo.

“Can I tell you a secret, Karl?” He strokes the raccoon’s back and sighs again. “I… really like Poe-kun a lot. And he makes me super happy. But…” He draws the covers up to his nose to muffle his voice more. “I don’t know if I’m good for him, you know?” The sound of a knock on the doorframe draws him above the blankets again, and he sits up with a yawn.

“Mind repeating that last part for me?” Poe asks him in English.

Ranpo runs his hands through his untidy hair and sees Poe carrying a tray of food through the bedroom doorway. The smell that was coming from downstairs is more potent. “Deduce it,” Ranpo responds, also in English.

Poe chuckles and walks forward. Karl re-emerges, likely drawn by the smell of Poe’s cooking. He sits directly next to Ranpo as if he expects to be served as well. Of course, there’s a bowl of blueberries for Karl on the tray, but there are also two plates. Karl ignores both and reaches for the fruit. The plates are more interesting to Ranpo. “Homemade French toast with strawberries?”

“And fresh whipped cream,” Poe confirms. “You liked the strawberry crepe, so I deduced you would enjoy something like this in the morning.”

Ranpo scoots over a bit to make room for Poe, who sets the tray between them and grabs one of the plates. “Poe-kun, you didn’t have to do this for me.”

“Of course I did,” Poe says, cutting into his own breakfast. “I felt a little bad about leaving you alone in bed, but I figured you’d wake up hungry. I half expected you to come down because of the smell.”

Ranpo smiles and draws his knees up. “I did wake up. I just couldn’t decide whether or not to come down when I realized you were cooking for me.”

After swallowing his bite, Poe says, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Ranpo sighs and reaches for the other plate.

“I hope you like it.”

“Nervous?” Ranpo asks.

“I mean… I’m not sure you’ll enjoy my cooking.”

Ranpo shakes his head and takes a bite. The texture is crisp, the whipped cream is sweet, the strawberries fresh. He sets his plate and fork back down to chew that bite, tipping his head back with a long, satisfied hum.

“Good?”

“Easily in my top three meals of all time,” Ranpo answers once he swallows. “You didn’t tell me you could cook, Poe-kun.”

“I’m not sure you could say that.” Poe offers Karl a strawberry with a little whipped cream, and the raccoon takes it in his paws. “But you know, you like to eat, and I didn’t just invite you here to have sex with you.”

Ranpo frowns at his plate.

“What’s wrong?”

“Deduce it,” Ranpo retorts.

“I’d rather hear it from you,” Poe answers. “If you’re willing to tell me.”

Ranpo contemplates telling Poe as he chews. When he swallows, he says, “I’m just… I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “You said yesterday that when you were in relationships in the past, you didn’t move this fast, and maybe I feel a little guilty that I agreed to it because of that.” He sighs and takes another bite. It gives him time to think of a follow-up. When he swallows, he still hasn’t come up with anything.

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret is for people who did something wrong.” Ranpo pauses. “Maybe just a little.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” He shuts his eyes. If he had his glasses, maybe he could figure it out, but they’re on his living room table right where he left them. “You probably already deduced this long before I said it, but I’ve never been serious about dating people. Even in the rare case I had any feelings, it was just a temporary relief from boredom. A few dates, and I always lost interest. Or else, my personality became too much for the other person.” He has the desire to draw his knees up, but he’s concerned about disturbing the tray of food. “But you strike me as someone who has always been serious about relationships.”

“So?” Poe asks.

“So maybe I… I don’t know. I feel like I led you on or—no, that’s not right. I meant that I was interested in you. I moved too fast—I mean, it’s that, but it’s more than that.”

“Do you want to try explaining in Japanese?”

“I don’t think there’s a word for it in Japanese, either.” He stares at his half empty plate and takes another bite. While he’s chewing, he feels a pressure on his hand and turns to find Poe’s resting on top of it.

“Are you afraid you’ll lose interest in me?”

“That’s impossible,” Ranpo answers. He’s relieved at how sincere those words sound and feel. “But I… maybe feel like I took advantage of you a bit.”

“How so?”

Ranpo sighs again and tries to think, but his mind is too cluttered with feelings, and his stomach isn’t nearly full enough. And the way Poe’s hand rests on his…

“Ranpo-kun.”

“I’m thinking! Don’t rush me!”

“I wasn’t going to,” Poe murmurs. “But your ears are turning red.”

Immediately, Ranpo pulls his hand loose and covers them.

“You don’t have to hide them. It’s cute.”

Ranpo’s stomach flutters. It’s not unpleasant, but he still lets one hand drop and wraps his arm around it, hoping it will stop. It doesn’t.

“I accept your feelings for me,” Poe announces.

Ranpo whips to him. By now, he knows his face is red, which makes the green in his eyes stand out. But Poe just smiles and caresses his face. One of his eyes is visible through his bangs, its iris a subtle but luscious shade of lavender. It’s enough to make his heart stop.

“I thought that would be obvious, considering last night, but in retrospect, I guess I should have expected you not to realize that. Given your own relationship history, I don’t blame you.” Poe pauses to take another bite. “You told me yesterday you liked me. I’ve deduced your interest wasn’t just you wanting to have sex with me.”

“How?”

Poe smiles. “I just know.”

Ranpo stares at Karl, who finishes the last of his strawberries and begins cleaning his paws. “Was… last night really good for you?”

“Are you concerned it wasn’t?” Poe asks.

Ranpo shrugs.

“Tell me.”

Ranpo takes another bite of his breakfast and chews it for an abnormally long time. It’s his way of delaying the inevitable. Once he swallows, he sighs and tips his head back. “The last person I dated.” Ranpo rubs the back of his head. “It was probably six or seven months ago. We wound up at a love hotel. That happened a lot when I was dating. But after we checked out and were about to go our separate ways, she just said, ‘I guess it was okay.’” He glances up to gauge Poe’s reaction and finds him frowning.

“How horrible,” he murmurs. “I am sorry you had to endure that.”

Ranpo rubs his arm. “To tell you the truth, I had a nightmare you said that to me a few nights ago.”

“I would never,” Poe insists. “If it hadn’t been good, I would have opened a conversation about why to see if we could perhaps work together towards a more pleasant experience. But…” Poe takes a bite of his own. “Hearing you call my name like that… God, I was so happy, I could have died.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Poe chuckles again and folds one of his legs over the other. “It must be because of my writing, but the thought of death doesn’t trouble me. However, you don’t need to worry. I have plans to live for a long time.” When Poe reaches for Ranpo’s hand again, Ranpo accepts. Poe’s fingers slide between his own, and he feels a little more whole.

“You… aren’t bothered by the fact that I’ve never dated someone seriously?”

“Of course not. You weren’t bothered by the fact that I’ve only dated people seriously.” Poe lifts his fork. “I’d like to think in our own way, we’ll figure this out. If you still want to.”

“Of course I want to.”

“Yet you’re still worried.”

Ranpo frowns and drives his fork through a strawberry. “I just… what if I’m bad at this? At being in a relationship that isn’t just a way to stave off boredom?”

“Then I’ll help you get better. The same way you’ve helped me get better as a writer.”

Ranpo glances at him.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Good, because it’s my turn to panic.”

“Poe-kun—”

“Are you…” He stops. “Do you think I… was too loud last night?”

“Did someone tell you that?”

Blushing, Poe nods at the pillow. “The last person I dated. We were together for eight months. He broke up with me because he thought I was too loud.”

“Ah.” Ranpo hums as he chews. When he swallows, he says, “Want me to extort him?”

“Ranpo-kun, that’s illegal!”

“So is telling you you’re anything but perfect in every way.” Ranpo grins. “I liked that you were loud, Poe-kun. If we have sex again—”

“If?” Poe asks.

Ranpo feels his face coloring, but the shakes his head. “When we have sex again, I want you to be just as loud and confident as you were last night.” Something occurs to him, and he snickers.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just realized something.”

“Do you want me to deduce it?”

“Nope,” Ranpo says. “But I want to tell you.”

“I’m listening, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo takes the opportunity to finish off the last of his breakfast. Once he swallows his last bite, he laughs again and says, “Some people would call this pillow talk, but I suspect a majority of people would think swapping shitty relationship histories is an odd choice of topic.”

“I think it’s important to be open about that sort of thing.” Poe studies the strawberry on the end of his fork, then smears it through the remaining whipped cream on his plate and offers it to Ranpo. The detective has never turned down food, and he doesn’t plan to start now. “Good relationships and bad,” Poe murmurs as Ranpo chews. “Even though yours were fleeting, they always involved communication.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo agrees. “I wanted to set expectations at the beginning just in case anyone was serious about me. Of course, I knew they weren’t. Well, until you.” He shrugs.

“Still, this is the kind of conversation I usually save for the six-month mark.”

“Ah.”

“Is something else bothering you?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo concedes. “I think it bothers me that I’m messing up your usual timeline for this sort of thing.”

“Well.” Poe moves the tray. “You’re more than welcome to mess it up a little. I’ll let you. I deduced long ago that in the infinitesimally small chance that I did date you, our relationship would be drastically different than my former ones.”

Ranpo stares at him for a moment. “Then… we’re dating?”

“If you want to be.”

“Of course I want to be. Do you?”

Poe answers with a kiss. Luckily, this one is softer and more innocent than the maddingly sensual ones from the night before. Still, Ranpo pulls him in for something with a little more heat, careful not to disturb Karl in the process. When they part, Poe runs his hands through Ranpo’s bedhead. “To be honest, Ranpo-kun, I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything more.”

Ranpo feels Karl scramble into his lap. As soon as he’s in it, he balls up and tucks his tail over his nose. At least his keys are now free.

“You’re going to be there for a while,” Poe announces, setting Ranpo’s keys on the nightstand.

“What a shame,” Ranpo retorts, feigning disappointment. “You’re staying, too.”

“Okay.” Poe threads his arm around Ranpo and presses. Obediently, the detective tips his head until he’s resting against Poe’s shoulder.

“Ah, Poe-kun… you gave me a blow job, cooked me breakfast in bed, and said we were dating.”

“Is it really that unbelievable, Ranpo-kun?”

“Nah. It’s more like… if you’re not careful, I’ll never leave.” He grins. “I could stay here all day,” Ranpo admits.

“Good,” Poe answers, leaning down towards Ranpo’s lips again. “I don’t see any reason that you shouldn’t.”

Chapter Text

To Ranpo’s relief, the next few days feel normal. He’s happier, sure, but it’s hard not to be happy when he and Poe go out for meals twice in the next three days. The atmosphere during their outings is friendly and competitive, same as always. Poe talks at length about the progress on his book, and when he’s done, Ranpo talks about his cases.

When they finish their latest outing—this time to an Italian restaurant for lunch—Ranpo pays the bill, and they go back to the property Poe is staying at. As soon as Ranpo is inside, Karl scurries up his pantleg and into his arms. “Did you miss me, Karl?”

The raccoon chirps and clambers onto Ranpo’s shoulder. Poe laughs. They both do. It has barely been a month since Ranpo first heard Poe laugh like that. However, he’s already sure it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, that no amount of evidence—concrete, deduced, or circumstantial—could convince him otherwise.

Ranpo doesn’t decline the sake Poe offers him. After all, there’s still a bottle left, and he never turns down food or drink that he’s offered. He reminds himself to ask if the alcohol makes him want to kiss Poe any more than he already does, but it’s a desire he holds at bay because he’s enjoying this new form of normalcy in their interactions.

Karl occupies Poe’s lap as soon as he sits down. Unusual, considering Poe-kun claims Karl likes me better. But then, he catches the look on Poe’s face and immediately knows why: it’s distant, a little sad. After drawing in a breath, Poe sighs. 

“What’s wrong, Poe-kun?”

“Nothing,” he answers. “It’s just… the ending. It still haunts me.”

Ranpo smiles. “Maybe once I read it, it’ll haunt me, too.” Before long, there’s a weight on his hand. Poe’s fingers smooth the back of his hand. “Would talking about it help?”

“I don’t want to spoil it,” Poe insists, “but… I don’t know. Every time I try to envision a different ending, it feels… forced. Like the characters themselves are resisting any changes. Still, I don’t feel satisfied. This wasn’t the sort of feeling I was aiming to create for them or readers.”

“What were you going for?”

Poe draws a breath. “I can explain this better in English.”

“Sure. I’ll ask you if I don’t understand.”

“Okay.” Poe clears his throat. “I was going for something bittersweet. You know, satisfying. Happy in some ways, but still sad.” He sighs. “There’s a presence Dupin can’t return to now that the case is solved… I don’t know. ‘Bittersweet’ is the best word I have to describe it.”

“Setsunai,” Ranpo states.

“Huh?”

“Setsunai.” Ranpo removes his hand from beneath Poe’s and scratches Karl’s back. “I think that word might better capture what you’re going for. I think ‘bittersweet’ might be one way to translate it, but I don’t think it’s perfect because part of the feeling of the word is missing. It’s the absence of a fondness that can never really come back. Something you look back on happily, but you’re also sad because it’s gone.”

Poe smiles. “What a complicated feeling.”

“Yep,” Ranpo answers, grinning.

“I think to me, the most frustrating part of being a writer is having a feeling or experience that words can only imperfectly capture.” Poe sips his sake. To Ranpo’s relief, his smile comes back. “To tell the truth, I… regret that you’ve had to see me in these moods, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo reaches for his own sake cup while Poe continues.

“It’s because by coming here, I had hoped I would be happy enough not to show you this side of me.”

“The only thing I see is an incredible writer who is passionate about his craft and considerate of how it affects him and his readers.” Ranpo sips the sake, then lowers his cup. “I just deduced something.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t just feel that way about the characters.”

Poe sets his sake down and immediately starts to pet a now dozing Karl.

“Tell me?”

Poe sighs again. “Going abroad changes a person more than I anticipated.” Poe moves his hand to Karl’s ears. “It’s been hard coming here in a lot of ways. Japan is so different than what I’ve read and seen of it in documentaries and popular shows. The scenery isn’t, but there are parts of the culture that didn’t come through, or that come through more intensely in other media than they do in reality.”

“Do you not like it here or something?” Ranpo asks.

“Of course I like it here. It’s just… different than I expected. It’s the place I always dreamed of going, but it’s different than the ideas I had of it. And in some ways…” Poe pauses. “I could say the same of you, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo is suddenly glad he waited to take another drink. If he had, he’d likely be choking loudly enough to wake Karl.

“I’m sorry if this is hard for you to hear, but I… want to be honest with you.”

“Of course,” Ranpo murmurs.

“I… fell for the you on screen in our video chats, the you in our messages, the you who bested me at that silly Facebook game, the you who loves my writing and reads all my books. And you’re… quite different than what I pictured in a lot of ways.”

Ranpo folds his arms and stares at his sake cup. There’s a prickle of something working through him. He has to shut his eyes to really pick it apart, but he doesn’t get the chance because Poe starts talking again.

“Rather than realizing my folly when I met you, I only became surer of my feelings for you. And I still can’t tell you how happy it makes me that you return them. That you’re willing to date me… it’s only been four days, but I’m still over the moon.”

Ranpo glances at Poe and thinks almost anyone could deduce the look he’s being given is nothing but affectionate. That’s reassuring in some ways, but the prickle doesn’t go away.

“You’re uncomfortable.”

Ranpo glances up to catch Poe studying him. “Do you… like the whole me better than the me on screen?”

“Of course I do, Ranpo-kun. I don’t view you as two different people; you’re just all of the person I fell for part of.”

Ranpo hums. “Then I think I get what you’re saying. I was really relieved when things between us felt normal, even the morning after we had sex.” Ranpo draws his knees up. “I stand by what I said: having sex with you was good—really good—and I don’t regret it anymore because we talked about it. But I’m still… I don’t know, grappling? That I ruined your usual timeline for relationships, that you’re willing to let me do that…”

“Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo rests his chin on his knees. “I don’t want you to feel setsunai about me one day, Poe-kun.” It’s hard to say. The knot of feelings inside of him doesn’t loosen, even after he says it. That prickle is still there. In fact, it’s more intense now that he has said those words. Worse still, he had no idea he felt that way until they tumbled out of his mouth.

“Ranpo-kun—”

“I don’t want you to,” he insists. “I don’t want you to regret meeting me.”

After a moment, Ranpo feels his cap lift off of his head. A moment later, its weight is replaced by Poe’s palm. He hides in his knees while that hand works through his hair, while the feelings inside of him grapple amongst each other. His uneasiness grows in the silence.

“I’m an idiot. I thought things between us were normal again. But they’re tense. Really tense.”

“I don’t think so,” Poe says. “It’s just… we’re both carrying a lot of complicated things around. My writing, my unmet and exceeded expectations, my feelings for you… and you, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo tilts his head back to Poe to find him smiling.

“You’re just now realizing your feelings for me, and how acting on those feelings has changed them.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” he concludes. “Maybe I ruined something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” Ranpo swallows. “You.”

“Hardly. You letting me kiss you, then climbing into my lap and dragging me upstairs… that made me happy. Although that last one was a combined effort.”

“But I—” Ranpo falls silent as Poe’s fingers caress his face.

“You’re thinking so hard about this. Like it’s a case. And that just confirms that you care a lot about me.”

Ranpo’s head starts to buzz, but he pulls himself out of that. It’s a hole he doesn’t want to fall into, a mistake he doesn’t want to make again.

“Would it help if we slowed down a bit?”

Ranpo’s eyes open, and he peers at Poe again.

“You’re really struggling with how complicated your feelings are about having sex with me, and I’m okay with moving slowly.”

Ranpo blinks.

“What?”

“That’s such a logical response. Is it common sense? No way. I hate common sense.” Ranpo turns to him. “How do you make this look so easy?”

“I have more experience than you in relationships,” Poe notes. “We’ll wait to have sex again until our feelings grow a little more. Plus, this will give you space to explore all the feelings you have about me, the good and the bad.”

Ranpo sighs.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Are we still dating?”

“Of course,” Poe says, and there’s no visible trace of reluctance or uncertainty in that answer. Ranpo exhales as Poe’s fingers slide away from his face and return to Karl’s fur. “Let’s set some boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” Ranpo asks.

“You know.” He switches to Japanese. “Things that are off-limits for now. We can re-negotiate them later.”

“Okay,” Ranpo says. “Let’s wait to have sex again until we’re both ready.”

“Of course. Sex is off the table until we both agree it’s not,” Poe says, reaching for his sake cup again. “But are you okay with me kissing you?”

Ranpo sees Poe’s cup is empty and fills it. “That’s dangerous. Your kisses turn me on too much.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I intended those kisses to turn you on?”

Ranpo feels his face burn and hides in his knees again.

“Your ears are red.”

“They’re not.”

“They are.”

“They’re not!” Ranpo declares, but he knows it’s a lie because he can feel them burning, too. He feels Poe’s fingers in his hair again.

“You’re so cute, Ranpo-kun.”

“Calling me cute is forbidden!”

“Do you dislike it?”

Ranpo peers at Poe. “I… like it. Too much.”

“Then can I use it sparingly?”

“Okay,” he concedes.

Poe smooths Ranpo’s hair and leans back.

“Kissing is okay. I’ll tell you if I get aroused.”

“And unless you tell me you’re okay with proceeding, then I’ll give you space.”

“Okay.” Ranpo feels Poe’s hand drift over the curve of his shoulder and down his arm.

“Then… how about holding hands?”

“Also okay,” Ranpo decides.

Poe’s fingers slide between his own, and his mind finally settles.

“Can we cuddle?”

“Sure,” Poe answers.

“Then… I can come closer?”

“You’ve already deduced you can.”

“I thought it was important to ask,” Ranpo insists. “Mr. Fancy Hat would definitely say so.”

“Dazai’s boyfriend?”

“Yeah.”

Poe draws a breath. “What kind of person is he? Mr. Fancy Hat, I mean.”

Ranpo hums. “I’ve only met him a few times, but I’ve deduced some things. He’s twenty-two years old and graduated with a degree in international business. He has an older sister in Tokyo, and that’s the only family he has ever claimed. He’s fluent in French and passable in English, and he’s spent a lot of time abroad in France. He’s kind of like me in a way when it comes to past relationships: it was always just something quick and casual. But unlike me, that’s not what he wanted. He strikes me as the kind of person who drinks dry red wine. He owns a motorcycle. He smokes when he’s anxious. He has expensive tastes, which leads me to believe he’s well-off. I haven’t deduced his job yet. He’s loyal. A bit sentimental. He can be temperamental if someone attacks his sexuality or height. Maybe his taste in hats or shoes, too, but I’m not entirely sure. He’s a writer, too, I think. Not a published one like you. If I had to guess, poetry is more his thing. He gives solid relationship advice. Most important, though…” Ranpo folds his arms. “Is that he loves Dazai-kun and that they make each other happy.”

Poe smiles. “He sounds like a wonderful person.”

“Eh, he’s alright.” Ranpo shrugs. “Not nearly as wonderful as another writer I know.” Ranpo snickers as Poe blushes and inches closer.

“Aren’t you a little biased, Ranpo-kun?”

“Yep!” He leans against Poe’s side. “I’m allowed to be biased, though. I know you better than I know Mr. Fancy Hat. And even if he seems like a pretty good guy, he’s nowhere near as cute as you.”

Poe’s fingers leave his, and the weight of Poe’s arm encircles his shoulders. Ranpo tucks himself closer and hugs Poe’s chest. It’s warm beneath Poe’s arm, tucked against his side. Comforting.

That feeling only grows when Karl repositions himself, half on Poe’s lap, half on Ranpo’s. Ranpo studies the raccoon for a moment, then reaches down to pat him. Apparently, Poe has the same idea, because their fingers brush together, and they both fly back.

Poe laughs. “Sorry. I didn’t expect your skin.”

“Same,” Ranpo answers, chuckling. Still, he sets his hand on Karl’s fur, and after a moment, Poe’s fingers join his. Karl emits a quiet chirp, then covers his nose with his tail. His small body rises and falls as he drifts off.

“Ranpo-kun.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you feeling better?”

Ranpo hums. “Deduce it.”

Poe’s smiles says all too well that he already has.

Chapter Text

Ranpo finishes his last case, removes his glasses, and lays his head down on his work desk. None of them have been interesting. Even the one that could have been turned out to be dull. He’s pretty sure Minoura is still fuming that he solved it before even hearing all of the evidence. But if he expected any less, he shouldn’t have hired me. He sits up and yawns, immediately missing the cool surface of wood against his face and dropping against it again.

Two thoughts simultaneously move through his head. I saw some buds on the cherry blossom trees at Sakuragicho when Poe-kun and I went there yesterday. Oh. And it’s White Day. He sits up and puts his glasses on again. The cherry blossom forecast says the peak should be around the 25. He folds his hands. That’s in nine days. I can’t wait that long to see him. Ranpo sighs spins his chair. Just text him. You prepared for this. You deduced he wanted you to do something. So… Instead of reaching for his phone, he spins his chair again. Am I coming on too strong? We set some boundaries. I don’t think those boundaries included me not seeing him on White Day. No. I’m sure he wanted me to. Ah… Ranpo rubs his hair as he groans inwardly. I know I deduced he’d want me to do something, but I still think I should have asked him before I put in any effort. Well, no sense in overthinking any more than I already have.

Ranpo gathers the will to rise again and stretches. True, it’s impossible to shut his mind off entirely, but he shuts it off long enough to pick up his phone. As it turns out, he didn’t need to text Poe because Poe has already texted him. How are your cases?

What cases? I solved them all, he writes back. They were all boring. How’s editing?

His heart hammers while he waits. The ellipsis hovers there for what seems like an eon before it disappears.

He leans back in his chair and sighs. I can’t deduce what he means by that silence.

When his phone rings, he nearly tips his whole chair backwards. Fortunately, he doesn’t spill onto his office floor and recovers himself around the third ring. He nearly drops the phone as the fourth ring starts, catches, it and lifts it to his ear. “Poe-kun, you scared me!”

“Did I? Ah… when I was typing the message before,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t send it. I had a miniature breakthrough and wanted to write the paragraph before I forgot it, and when I was done, I decided it would be quicker to call you. I hope I didn’t worry you too much.”

Ranpo sighs. “So?”

“So editing is going,” he states. “The book should be ready for you in another few weeks.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” He leans against his hand. “Poe-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“Come over.”

There’s a long silence. “Why?”

“Deduce it,” he states.

A low hum fills Ranpo’s ear. “I think I know why. Can I bring Karl?”

“I wouldn’t let you in if you didn’t.”

Poe chuckles and murmurs, “Give me half an hour.”

“Of course. See you then.” He hangs up and smiles at his empty office. Just as I deduced… Poe-kun really did want something for White Day. Ranpo shuts his laptop. It doesn’t take him long to pack up. Normally, it wouldn’t matter if he forgot something, but he’s trying to be efficient. He’ll need the next twenty-eight minutes to frantically clean his apartment. It’s not exactly messy, but it is lived in and less organized than he’d want Poe seeing it. Plus, he’s anxious. If he sits and does nothing, he’ll focus on his feelings instead of the facts: Poe is coming. Poe wanted to come. Poe is probably bringing him something for White Day, too. No, he definitely is, Ranpo decides. He’s tossing a load of laundry in when he hears a knock at his door. When he opens it, Poe hovers in it with a bag hanging off of his arm. His hair is in his eyes, but Ranpo can tell Poe is looking at him.

Good, he thinks as he welcomes Poe and Karl back. I want him to look at me. Karl jumps onto Ranpo’s shoulder while Poe takes his shoes off.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he says as he rises.

“Hey, no worries. Make yourself comfortable. You want anything? I’ve got some jasmine tea in the fridge.”

“Seeing you is enough for me,” Poe confesses. “Especially considering you look so charming with your glasses on.”

“Ah,” Ranpo murmurs, touching the temple of his eyewear. “I forgot to take them off. I only wear them when I work.”

Poe’s palm rises. Ranpo knows without asking Poe what the writer’s intent is. To his surprise, though, Poe’s hand recedes without touching him, and he clears his throat. “Ah. I was taken for a moment. My apologies. Some tea would be nice.”

Ranpo smiles at Poe’s words even though he’s disappointed in the writer’s actions. Still, he lest that feeling go since they’re bound to at least hug before Poe leaves. “Sure thing.”

Karl returns to Poe’s shoulder while Ranpo paces to the kitchen. Once he’s there, he opens the cabinet and sets two glasses on the counter before Poe appears in his kitchen entryway. Since Ranpo is enjoying being watched, he fills both glasses with the tea in his fridge and offers them to Poe.

Poe studies him. “You did not.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Poe-kun.”

“You did not get me something for White Day.”

Chuckling, Ranpo sends a pointed look at the bag on Poe’s arm. “What’s in the bag, Poe-kun?”

Poe answers with a crafty smile and takes the glass.

“I’ve already deduced it,” Ranpo calls as Poe walks away, putting the bottle of tea back in the fridge and grabbing the little white bag he deliberately tucked too far back for Poe to see. When he gets to the living room, Karl has shifted to Poe’s lap, and the writer is petting him, staring at their tea and the bag.

“I just… thought since we bought ourselves chocolate on Valentine’s Day, I should get you some today.”

“Honestly, I deduced you’d want me to get you something. I’m just a little surprised you got me something, too.” Ranpo sits down and sets the gift bag on the table. “America doesn’t celebrate White Day.”

“But it’s a holiday I know about, and one I like the idea of,” Poe confesses, passing Ranpo another glance.

“Well, even though we’ve been dating for a week, we had the same thought.” He removes his glasses, sets them on the table, and takes a sip of tea, savoring the floral flavor. “That’s a little scary, don’t you think? And that’s saying something because I’ve read your books.” His smile fades and he murmurs, “I hope it’s okay. That I got you something without asking.”

“Of course it is, Ranpo-kun. I’m honored and touched you thought of me, and you can’t exactly surprise anyone with a gift if you ask them to receive it first.” Poe removes a box from the bag he brought and offers it to Ranpo. Karl follows the package with his eyes, his tail swishing. “Here. Happy White Day.”

“Can I open it?”

“Of course.”

Ranpo sets his tea down before he does. This is one of those rare instances where he’s trying to avoid deducing anything beyond the fact that it contains chocolate so he can just enjoy the surprise. When he lifts the lid, he sees a plastic container inside. He pops the lid off. “Chocolate-covered strawberries,” he states, smiling and watching Karl move to Ranpo’s knees. “Where did you get them?”

“I made them,” Poe says, grabbing Karl’s paws so he won’t steal Ranpo’s glasses.

Ranpo stares at him for a lot longer than he should, but he feels so warm, he can’t take his eyes off the American, especially since Poe is smiling. “I… don’t how what to say except… thank you, Poe-kun.”

“No problem. Sometimes, when I’m writing, I have to get up and do something that isn’t writing.”

“So you dipped some strawberries in chocolate for me?”

Poe nods. “I’d been meaning to all day. I just fell into my novel. Of course, Karl had one without chocolate.” The raccoon chirps as if recognizing his name.

“That goes without saying! If you didn’t feed Karl one, I’d be mad at you again.”

“Karl, settle down,” Poe murmurs in English. Once the raccoon curls up with a grumpy chatter, Poe reaches for the gift bag Ranpo got him. “Can I open this?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

After a moment of rummaging through tissue paper (Karl takes some of it in his paws and gives it a sniff), Poe’s hand emerges, holding a container of blueberries. Karl, as if knowing they’re for him, immediately loses interest in Ranpo’s glasses and starts chattering, reaching for the container. “Here, Karl,” Poe says, setting the container on the floor, then setting Karl down beside it. As soon as the raccoon is eating, he murmurs, “It was kind of you to get Karl something.”

“There’s something for you, too.”

“I deduced that,” Poe states, dipping his hand back into the bag.

Ranpo watches him pull out the gold foil box. “I’m not a good cook like you, even if I do it every now and then,” he explains as Poe unties the ribbon and lifts the lid off. “I figured my landlord would appreciate it more if I bought you chocolates instead. Those are from a local chocolatier.”

“They’re mostly dark chocolate, I notice.”

“I deduced that was your favorite.” He points to the one that isn’t. “They’re all filled with something different, but this one is my favorite. It’s got white chocolate ganache inside.”

“Then I’ll try it first.” He watches Poe lift the truffle to his lips and bite into it. He spends a long time chewing. So long, in fact, that Ranpo is sure Poe is doing it to drive him crazy. Because of course, he remembers what Poe’s mouth feels like against his in vivid detail. But just when he think he can’t take it anymore, Poe swallows and leans back with a sigh.

“Well? What do you think?”

Poe glances at him. “Deduce it.”

“I already did. I want to hear you say it.”

With a smile, Poe leans forward and murmurs, “It’s divine, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo senses Poe’s eyes on him, and all his confidence scatters. In its place, there’s something else. A want. A desire. God, I want to kiss him, but I really shouldn’t. Should I? He lowers his eyes to the floor. I really want to. Should I ask him? What—

Poe’s weight shuffles beside him, and Ranpo looks up to find the writer smiling. “I can’t wait to try the others, Ranpo-kun.”

He can’t stand it. He can’t stand how attractive Poe is. He can’t stand how much he wants Poe to kiss him, but it’s a desire he’s willing to resist a little longer. “Try one more, Poe-kun. You pick this time.”

Poe hums and glances back into the box. “What exactly are you planning to do?”

“Deduce it.”

Poe gestures to one of the chocolates at random, then turns his head. One purple eye flashes out beneath his bangs. “Do you know what flavor it is?”

“Caramel,” Ranpo answers. “Am I allowed to feed it to you?”

It’s worth the embarrassment of offering just to see Poe turn red. “I… okay.”

He’s careful not to drop it as he offers it to Poe, knowing Karl is still busy with his blueberries but would likely snatch the chocolate up as soon as it hit the floor. Ranpo steadies himself by setting one hand on Poe’s knee. Poe doesn’t object to Ranpo’s relief. “Here,” Ranpo murmurs.

Poe hesitates for a moment, then leans forward and parts his lips. Ranpo pushes the truffle past them, and Poe closes his mouth. As he chews, Ranpo smooths Poe’s bottom lip with his thumb. His heart lurches when Poe swallows and dips his head to kiss it.

“Poe-kun!”

“There. We’re both blushing now.” Poe sets the chocolate on the table and smooths the edges of Ranpo’s ears. “They get so red when you’re embarrassed.”

“It’s annoying,” he retorts.

“It’s adorable,” Poe counters, leaning closer.

Don’t panic, Ranpo tells himself, following the gentle push of Poe’s hand beneath his chin. Don’t panic. He won’t go too far. He knows I’ll get uncomfortable if he does. He—

There’s a pressure on his lips, but it’s not Poe. It’s Karl’s paws. At some point, he clambered onto the couch and into Ranpo’s lap, apparently. He chatters at Poe, almost like he’s chiding his caretaker, and Ranpo finds himself amused, surprised, and annoyed all at once. Poe just smiles and says, “I think Karl wants a kiss before I get one.”

Ranpo pulls Karl’s paws away from his lips and presses them between the raccoon’s ears. That seems to pacify him because he flits his tail and returns to his blueberries. “He’s so mischievous, Poe-kun.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Guess not,” Ranpo concedes, passing Poe a smirk. “Now, where were we?” The instant Ranpo feels Poe smooth his face, his mind kicks into overdrive again. But then, he feels Poe’s other hand sitting on top of the one he has resting on Poe’s leg.

“It’s okay to kiss you now, right?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers. “Yeah…” His thoughts fizzle out at the gentle pressure of Poe’s lips against his. As Poe draws away, Ranpo imagines—no, he notices—a faint sweetness lingering on his lips. He has to know what it is, so he reconnects them and nibbles Poe’s bottom lip until they part. The taste of chocolate and caramel fills his mouth as they kiss. There’s a wet sound as Poe draws back. Ranpo opens his eyes to find Poe staring at him. Poe shifts forward again, and Ranpo welcomes him back with a sigh.

It’s everything.

Ranpo isn’t sure how long they kiss. He’s not really sure he cares. But it’s all gentle affection underlaid by the remaining hint of sweetness in Poe’s mouth. It’s Poe’s hand sliding into his hair while Ranpo tries to decide what to do with his again because this is good. Too good. Better than anything he has ever had in his life.

The kiss ends the way it began, with Poe drawing away, then pressing their lips together softly again. “Are you still alright, Ranpo-kun?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

“You sound like you’re dreaming.”

Ranpo’s hands move to Poe’s face. “Maybe I am. This can’t be real.”

“My dear Ranpo-kun,” Poe murmurs, “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”

“How poetic,” Ranpo answers, smoothing Poe’s hair out of his eyes. “Beautiful words from a beautiful person.”

Poe smiles and smooths Ranpo’s face. “You should try yours, Ranpo-kun.”

If Ranpo is being honest with himself, no thanks to the kiss and the sight of Poe’s eyes, he completely forgot about the plastic container of chocolate-covered strawberries on the table. He’s honest enough to admit that to himself, but as the world’s greatest detective, he decides not to make a habit of it. It was just Poe-kun’s kisses driving you insane. He lowers his own hands and seeks out his White Day gift. If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind him driving me a little mad. Or madder, if genius is a form of insanity. He pops the lid off and studies them for a moment. They’re an even divide of milk chocolate and white, drizzled with the opposing chocolate. “You made these?”

Poe nods.

“They look really nice. Not as nice as you, though.” Ranpo lifts his eyes to Poe again. “This was really kind, Poe-kun. Thank you.” He reaches for one of the chocolates, but before he gets there, Poe’s hand closes around one of the white chocolate ones.

“Let me?”

“You’re spoiling me too much, Poe-kun.”

“You deserve to be spoiled,” the writer counters. “After all, I’ve waited so long to dote on you like this.”

“Since it’s White Day, I guess I’ll let you.”

“I believe you’d let me any day,” Poe murmurs, holding up the strawberry.

Ranpo smiles and opens his mouth. The instant it presses against his lips, he bites into it. Fortunately, the strawberries aren’t overly juicy, but they are ripe to perfection. They’re sweet on their own, but the chocolate just enhances that while adding a little richness. While Ranpo often enjoys food, it’s not often he feels the amount of thought and care that went into making it. It’s because Poe-kun made these for me. He swallows, then dives into deeper thoughts. If anyone else had done this for me, would I have been interested in them? He shakes his head and swallows. No way. It’s impossible. They’re not—

“Ranpo-kun?”

“Ah, sorry.” He scratches his head. “I got distracted by something in my head. They’re delicious.”

“I’m glad to hear they’re good. I wasn’t sure.”

“You weren’t sure?” Ranpo asks.

“I mean,” Poe says, shrugging, “I didn’t try one before I gave them to you.”

“Then you eat the rest of that one!”

“But I made them for you, Ranpo-kun.”

“And I’m really grateful for that, but they’re delicious, and I want you to try them, too.”

“Alternatively…” Poe offers him the other half. “You can eat it, and I can try it after by kissing you again.”

Ranpo blinks and feels his face heating up.

“If you’re… not comfortable—”

“I’ll let you,” Ranpo states.

Poe stares at him with one eye, then smiles. “Okay.”

He’s careful when he eats the rest of the strawberry. After all, this suggestion is messy in several ways. The juice could drip. The chocolate could melt. The taste of Poe along with his homemade chocolate-dipped strawberries could drive him to new levels of insanity. But Ranpo has run the calculations, and exactly zero of those things matter. They all fly from his head when, as soon as he swallows, Poe cups his face. That close, Ranpo can see the purple haze in Poe’s visible eye. He draws a breath and closes the distance between their mouths, and just like that, they’re tangled up in another kiss. The taste of chocolate and strawberries is stronger than that of the chocolate and caramel. He can’t tell if Poe is more focused on tasting the fruit or him. Before he can think too much about it, his head starts to spin, and he pushes Poe back, covering his mouth and drawing shaky breaths, staring wildly at the writer who simply smiles back.

“Sorry. Did I go too far?”

“I just…” Ranpo realizes he’s shaking. “I just… need a breather.”

“Of course.”

Ranpo lowers his hand and releases Poe’s shirt. He sets his hands on his knees.

“You’re a little aroused.”

“You see nothing,” Ranpo insists.

“I’m simply positing the truth. It’s fine. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“We’re not having sex.”

Poe nods. “Of course not. We agreed we wouldn’t until we both said we were ready again.”

“But I… do want you to hug me.”

Poe opens his arms, and Ranpo starts to lean, but Poe swivels and says, “Karl,” in a low voice full of authority. The raccoon freezes and turns to look at them. He’s on his back legs, his paws reaching for Ranpo’s glasses.

Karl scurries out of sight and hides behind the other side of the sofa. After a moment, he peeks out from behind it.

Sighing, Poe reaches for them and offers them to Ranpo. “Do you have a case? I don’t want Karl to do anything with them.”

“Yeah. Let me get it.” Ranpo fishes the case out of his bag, and once Poe hands him his glasses, he sets them inside. It snaps with a deafening shut. Just to be sure Karl doesn’t go for them again, he sets them inside his bag. When he rises, Poe smiles and opens his arms again. He leans without hesitation, sighing as Poe’s arms encircle him. Slowly, while Poe strokes his hair, the heat in thrumming through him cools to the warm affection that he is struggling not to move beyond.

“Ranpo-kun,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“There is… one thing I’d like to ask you. If you don’t want to answer, it’s okay.”

“Sure.”

He feels Poe kiss the top of his head. “How long was your longest relationship?”

“Maybe a month?”

“Then we’re a quarter of the way to our first anniversary.”

Ranpo peers up at him. “But all your relationships lasted for a really long time. What was your shortest?”

“Four months,” Poe says. “I still want to celebrate it. For you.”

Ranpo buries his face against Poe’s chest and returns the hug he’s being given. He doubts there’s a word in any language to convey the warmth he’s feeling, so he hopes that his actions are enough to convey it.

Chapter Text

The group texts start a few days after White Day.

Happy cherry blossom season! That first message is from Dazai. It ends with a cherry blossom emoji and is quickly followed by another. The weather’s really nice. We should go. This Sunday is no good for me, so maybe next week?

The next one comes from Kunikida a few minutes later. Dazai, are you actually trying to plan something?

Before Ranpo can jump in, Yosano responds. He has to get someone to cover the café, Kunikida-kun.

I was kidding, Kunikida responds. Next Sunday is March 27, right?

Ranpo can barely believe it’s that late in the month. I should be good. I’ll get back to you.

He sets his phone down to do some work, but he picks it up a few minutes later when his focus drifts.

What? Kunikida asks. Are you planning to eat everything at the nearest convenience store?

Kunikida-kun, so mean! Dazai responds with an emoji sticking its tongue out.

What a great way to pass the time! In all seriousness, you never know whether or not I might have a case, he answers.

The truth is, he already has plans for that weekend with Poe that emerged just a little sooner than these spur-of-the moment discussions about cherry-blossom viewing. It’s not that my friends aren’t important, Ranpo tells himself, opening Facebook on his laptop. It’s just… almost the end of March. That’s the most humane way to think about the situation. Because once March is done, April will arrive, and then…

Ranpo turns his attention back to the message on his screen from a couple of days ago. Ranpo-kun, if you’re not busy, can I ask you a favor?

Of course, Ranpo looks for any opportunity to call Poe, so he wrote back, You can call me now. I just finished a case.

After a few minutes, his cell phone rang, and he answered. “Hello! You’ve reached Yokohama’s greatest detective, Edogawa Ranpo! This is the great detective himself. How can I help you?”

“Ranpo-kun…”

Ranpo snickered. “Relax, Poe-kun. I’m just at work and trying to keep my professional phone etiquette at hand. What’s up? Something wrong?”

“N… no, Ranpo-kun.”

“How’s writing?”

After a pause, Poe groaned. “The ending is still bothering me, so I’m afraid there will be a slight delay. To my relief, my editor doesn’t like it, either.”

“You called me because of your editor?”

“I called you about Golden Demon Inn. I’m in the middle of booking a room with a private open-air bath. Of course, that means I can’t bring Karl, but he’ll be alright for one night alone.”

Ranpo hummed. “Sounds like a perfect getaway.”

“Ranpo-kun, please… you already deduced why I called you.”

Chuckling, Ranpo murmured, “But I still want you to ask, Poe-kun.”

There was a long pause where Ranpo wondered if Poe was bold enough to be direct. But then, he murmured, “I was hoping you would come with me. It’s an overnight trip, and maybe too soon for something like that, but… it’s an experience I really want to share with you. Beyond having a good time, eating too much, and having our usual conversations, I have no expectations.”

Ranpo still finds it touching how Poe tacked on that last part, a clear sign that, while he’s asking to sleep in the same room as Ranpo, he’s not planning to initiate anything they aren’t ready for.

“I understand if you don’t want to go—”

“Of course I want to go! And I will since you asked so nicely. I’ll show you how to soak properly, and the nights are still cool enough to enjoy it.”

Poe sighed.

“What? Did you think I’d say no?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Poe admitted. “We’ll be between our second and third weeks of dating at that point. And we’ve been out since then to dinner or lunch, but… I don’t know. This just seems like a lot to ask of you.”

“Poe-kun, I never turn down food.”

“Huh?”

“You said Golden Demon Inn?” Ranpo typed the name on his keyboard. “The place has great reviews, and the complimentary meals that come with the rooms are good. Oh, I’ll also make sure you wear your yukata properly.”

“Huh?”

“Most people wear them in the dining room when they’re eating meals.”

“Ah… I didn’t know that. I guess it’s good you’re accompanying me.”

“Of course it is! In addition to being Yokohama’s greatest detective, I’m also Yokohama’s greatest Japanese Inn enthusiast! I’ll make sure you don’t break any rules! Now, get back to writing. We’re still getting dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to it.”

Ranpo leans into the warm feeling that memory provides. While he’s been thinking, a few more texts have come through, mostly Yosano scolding Kunikida and Dazai for arguing. Relax, gentlemen. The great detective is available.

Good, because Sunday is after the peak, and I want to go before too many drop, Kunikida answers. I believe 9 am is the ideal time to meet.

Then let’s go to Sakuragicho, Dazai suggests.

Please tell me we’re drinking sake, Yosano writes. I’m all nerves about this new job.

Understandably so, Yosano-sensei, but I didn’t need my powers of deduction you’ll do great, Ranpo writes. They shift to negotiating who will bring what. Ranpo volunteers to bring sweets.

You’d better not eat them all, Ranpo-kun, Dazai writes.

I’ll do my best, but I make no promises! Ranpo responds.

Then it’s all settled. I’m looking forward to seeing you all.

Ranpo thinks Kunikida’s message marks an end to their conversation, but then another one comes through from Yosano. You are bringing Chuuya, right?

Yeah, warn a guy. Ranpo can almost hear Kunikida’s tone in that text. He answers with an emoji sticking its tongue out while he deduces the situation. It doesn’t take him long.

Of course he is. In case no one told you, or in case you forgot, they’re dating, Ranpo writes.

I know that!!!!!

Ranpo laughs at the absurd number of explanation points Kunikida uses, but then Yosano sends the line, Dazai, you’d better bring him.

Exactly two minutes pass before Dazai sends the final text of the conversation. Consider yourselves warned.

That excitement simmers in Ranpo’s mental backdrop. It’s a little less noticeable than the one he has about going to Tokyo with Poe, but it’s also a little less distant and novel. True, we haven’t been cherry-blossom viewing together in a few years, but I’ve never been to a Japanese Inn with Poe-kun. He tries not to smile thinking about it.

He also does his best not to envision Poe’s slender legs peaking out from beneath his yukata while he lounges on a bed, but he’s a bit less successful in that endeavor.

It’s not that I just like his body, Ranpo tells himself, because that’s clearly not it. When I thought he was cute, it wasn’t just his face. It was his personality. And his laugh. Ranpo rests his head in his arms as his face heats up. Did I really fall for a man just because of that? How ridiculous.

Ridiculous or not, he doesn’t need to be the world’s greatest detective to know that Poe has his full attention.

They see each other a few times before they leave for Tokyo the following Friday, including their dinner the night after they make plans and a Monday afternoon trip to Kamakura to see the Daibutsu there.

“It’s… not as grand as I pictured,” Poe observes.

“Yeah, it really isn’t. The grander one is in Nara.”

“How far is that?”

Ranpo glances at him. “You’re asking me the amount of time it takes to get between two places. Have you forgotten I can barely navigate from the train station to your rental?”

Poe smiles, and Ranpo notices how warm he feels beneath that expression. Apparently, Karl notices, too, because he jumps to Ranpo and curls around his shoulders. Ranpo glances away without saying anything. “Ranpo-kun?”

“I’m hungry,” Ranpo admits.

“Aren’t you always?” Poe says, smiling. “I hear there’s a good soba shop here, and they have outdoor dining, so it should be okay to bring Karl.”

“Yeah, guess that works.”

Poe hums. “You sound indifferent. Are you alright?”

Ranpo glances at him. “Yeah. I’m just… feeling.”

“You’re feeling.”

“Yeah. How much I like you. And how much you like me.”

Poe studies him for a moment. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It’s more intense than I thought it’d be. That’s all.” He feels Karl’s cold, wet nose press against his face. “I admit, I’m having a hard time figuring out what to do with it.”

Poe touches his shoulder, and Ranpo feels that affection all over again. “I know you’re not used to it. I… if I can do anything to help—”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “Take me out to lunch on a date?”

Poe smiles in a different way. It’s softer, somehow warmer. After a moment, he murmurs, “I fully intended it as a date, Ranpo-kun.”

“Then is our trip to Tokyo also—”

“Hmm…” They start walking, and Poe adds, “Deduce it.”

It takes Ranpo hours to decide, and when he does, he can’t stop smiling.

Friday can’t come quickly enough. There’s a slew of boring cases that Ranpo barely wants to solve. There are more texts between Dazai, Yosano, Kunikida, and him. There are other trips out with Poe. And the cherry blossoms are opening, a reminder of the passage of time, that all things fade.

The rest of the petals will drop, and Ranpo realizes for the first time that Poe will go back to America soon after they do.

“Ranpo-kun.”

“Hmm?” he murmurs, keeping his eyes on the glass.

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. It’s been on his mind since Poe invited him to Tokyo. He doesn’t want to say it out loud. He’ll wind up speaking it into existence. It’ll spoil the mood. Or worse still, he’ll blink, and Poe will be gone. So instead, he reaches for Poe’s hand and intertwines their fingers. He’s not sure if Poe deduces it. If Poe does, he, too, says nothing.

“I have an idea.”

Ranpo glances at him.

“There’s an ice cream shop close to the inn, and it’s too early to check in yet. Why don’t we go?”

“Sure,” Ranpo says. “I’ll pay since you paid for the room.”

Fortunately, the ice cream makes him forget about reality’s temporary and ever-changing nature. Mostly because Poe looks so taken at the matcha and azuki bean scoops he got. But not nearly as taken as he looks with Ranpo as he gazes across the table. Taken enough not to notice people are staring, Ranpo thinks. Well, let them stare.

Following their impromptu snack, they check into their room at the inn around four and go up to drop their suitcases off. Ranpo turns the wrong way, but Poe grabs his arm and pulls him in the correct direction. Ranpo unlock the room and holds the door open for Poe, then follows the American inside.

No sooner is the door closed does Poe catch him in a hug. Ranpo feels Poe’s breath hit his shoulder. In the end, he lets gravity take his overnight bag off of his shoulder and winds his arms around the writer. “Ranpo-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“How long are you going to let me hold you like this?”

“Deduce it,” Ranpo answers.

The rumble of Poe’s chuckle moves through him. “If I held you for as long as I wished, we would be here for a long time.”

“Trust me, Poe-kun. I’m more than okay with that.”

“Won’t you get hungry?”

Ranpo isn’t sure it’s possible to hold Poe closer, so he just threads his hand into Poe’s hair. “I’ll endure it. Even if I get so hungry, I can’t deduce anything.”

“But—”

“Shh.” He breathes the sound so softly, he’s barely sure it’s audible, but then he murmurs, “Don’t say it.”

“Ah…”

Ranpo feels Poe grip the back of his clothes.

“Ah… of course.”

The thought of this being anything but permanent is too painful to bear. Still, Ranpo knows they’ll have to part eventually. He just doesn’t want to be the one to instigate that parting. He buries his nose in that perfect part of the human body where neck meets shoulder and breathes deep. He’s surprised there’s a pleasant scent there. “You smell nice. Like birch and moss and… is that lavender?”

“Cologne,” Poe explains.

Ranpo inhales again, wishing that aroma would stay with him always. He settles for memorizing it. Once he has, he unwinds his arms, Poe unwinds his, and they let go. “We’ve got time before dinner, so why don’t we go to a bookstore?”

Poe pushes his bangs back so both of his eyes are visible. “How did you know?”

Ranpo smirks. “Of course I knew. We’re dating, aren’t we?”

“For two and a half whole weeks,” Poe notes, stooping to pick up his bag. “I could go for a good mystery novel.”

“Have you read Higashino Keigo? He’s a Japanese mystery writer, but I bet I can help you find some of his books in English.”

“Can you help me find them in Japanese, too? I’ve been working on my kanji.”

“Of course.” Ranpo folds his arms. “I was just thinking you could buy one in English to read when you’re not in the mood for studying.”

They spend hours in the bookstore. Ranpo is pretty sure they go up and down every aisle on every floor. Even if most of the books are in Japanese, Poe stops to thumb through them, smiling as he decodes this or that, occasionally asking Ranpo about a collocation. He spends an inordinate of time in the cookbook section.

“You’re planning something,” Ranpo accuses him.

“I don’t know what you mean, Ranpo-kun.”

“You made me chocolate-covered strawberries and French toast. That’s more than enough.”

“But you like my cooking,” Poe states. “Besides, I was actually thinking we could try cooking something together.”

Ranpo scoffs. “I nearly set my kitchen on fire the last time I tried.”

“I doubt you’ll make that mistake with me. Unless Karl got on the counters and knocked something over.” They wind up chuckling about that before continuing to brows. Poe buys a few Higashino Keigo novels. Ranpo buys the author’s latest work. “Don’t be jealous, Poe-kun. I don’t like him as much as you, but his mystery novels are still interesting.”

“Who’s jealous?” Poe asks. “The most important thing to me will always be that you’re enjoying yourself.”

Ranpo thinks that’s a nod at something else they’ve done together. In fact, he’s sure of it. But he doesn’t argue, object, or raise any issues with it. Plus, Poe insisted the only thing they’re there for is to enjoy themselves, and it doesn’t strike him as something Poe would say to pressure him.

But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re dating. As they leave the store, he winds his arm around Poe’s. The writer’s glance hits his. He thinks they spend a bit too long studying each other before they start to move forward, and by the time they do, they’re both smiling.

Getting Poe into the inn’s yukata is comical, and Ranpo is certain he isn’t the only one that thinks so. “If you wrap it that way, you’re dead, Poe-kun.”

“Considering how many characters I have killed in cold blood—”

“Nope. You’ll shock everyone else.” Ranpo wrestles it open and catches the smirk Poe gives him. The one that all too clearly says, Just as planned. “We’re drawing enough attention in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Not surprising.” In the middle of folding the left half inward, Ranpo finds himself being dragged into Poe’s lap. An appreciative hand trails down his back. “The world’s greatest and most attractive detective out in public with the world’s greatest and most attractive mystery novelist… what a scandal. And the comical thing is, no one has deduced anything about our relationship.”

Ranpo smirks. “You want to slide your hand a little lower, Poe-kun?”

“Does that mean you’re ready?” Poe asks.

“The only thing I’m ready for is dinner. And maybe a kiss.”

“I won’t do anything for maybe, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo threads his arms around Poe’s neck and leans until their lips connect. He sighs as Poe’s hands come to his hips, but they go no further.

In the end, Ranpo isn’t sure whether he enjoys that affectionate moment or the meal more. But the food and sake are spectacular. They spend an hour and a half in the dining room eating, and between the two of them, the sake bottle is empty by the time they head back up to the room.

“We should wait a little while before soaking,” Ranpo says as they get back to the room. “The sake might make you too dizzy if you go in now.”

Poe hugs him from behind and hums in his ear. “And how do you propose we fill that time?”

“You bought three books, Poe-kun,” Ranpo retorts.

“That’s not what you were thinking, was it?”

“Of course, we’ll cuddle while we read.”

Poe hums in his ear again. “I think I like that answer.”

They wind out huddled together on one of the two single beds bed arm-to-arm. Ranpo solves the case in his own novel a few pages in, but he keeps reading anyway. Not because the text is anywhere near as interesting as anything Poe has written. Because the heat of Poe’s arm resting against his while the faint haze of sake clears from his mind has got to be one of his top three favorite feelings in his whole life. So he leans a little closer, catches Poe’s one visible eye as it moves to him, and lowers his gaze to his book again.

He gets through about forty more pages before he stirs again.

“Ready to soak?”

“We have to shower first.”

“I know,” Poe states, closing his book. “I read that much online. Can I wash your back?”

“Sure—wait what?”

Poe just passes him an innocent smile. “Like I said earlier, the important thing to me is that you’re enjoying yourself. But if you answered too quickly or you’ve reconsidered—”

Ranpo stands up and unties his own yukata. He’s not sure why he suddenly feels self-conscious of his body. Maybe it’s just the way Poe is staring at him. He swallows and drops the fabric, then glances over his shoulder. “If… we’re showering together, you should take yours off, too.” He turns away and listens to the rustle of fabric as Poe rises. Something light drops to the floor. He doesn’t have to look to see that Poe’s yukata has joined his, that the bird inked onto the front of his shoulder is staring, too. He listens to Poe approach him, feels the light press of fingers against the back of his shoulder. He tries not to shudder. He’s not sure if he succeeds given that he stops breathing.

It’s easier once they’re completely naked and actually in the shower. He can focus on washing his own body while stealing little glimpses of Poe’s. When Poe slicks his hair back after washing it and peers at him through the steam, he’s pretty sure his heart jumps into his throat.

“You’re getting hard.”

Ranpo sputters and tries to hide it, but even after he does, he can feel Poe’s smirk burning into him.

“I promise I won’t do anything but wash your back. Unless you think you’re ready for something else.”

“You know I’m not,” Ranpo murmurs, hunching a little lower on the stool. “You already deduced it.”

“Still, I wanted to ask. Not to pressure you. Just so it was clear.”

Poe’s voice hits him in the back. It’s followed by the gentle sweep of cloth over his shoulders.

“You gasped.”

Ranpo didn’t even realize he did.

“Are you sure this is alright?”

“Fine! It’s fine, so get on with it, please!”

After a moment, the cloth resumes its movement over his skin. Endure it, he tells himself, his fingers curling into fists. He wants to do this for you, so endure it. Don’t lose control. Don’t think about it. Don’t—

But he does think about it. Poe spread out underneath him, gasping his name when Ranpo thrusts into him, while the black silhouette of a bird in flight stares at him—

A steady stream of hot water hits his back, rinsing the soap away. “I’m really sorry,” Ranpo murmurs.

“Don’t be. It’s just a sign that you like me.”

“I haven’t liked all the people I’ve had sex with,” Ranpo retorts as Poe walks away.

“Well, you like me.” Ranpo hears the door open. A wave of cold air cuts through the steam.

“People lie, Poe-kun. How can you just take me at my word?”

“Because I saw the way you were looking at me earlier.”

“Because you’re hot.”

“I’m glad you think so, but I meant earlier when we were reading. And on the train. And earlier in the week when we went to Kamakura.”

“It’s just a look.”

“Just a look,” Poe echoes. “That’s not a look you give someone you like as a friend, Ranpo-kun.”

The door closes, and Ranpo hunches over, trying to will his hard-on away. I can’t believe this, he thinks, sinking lower. Why is my body—well, that’s a rhetorical question, and those are rude. That doesn’t make him feel any less agitated. Okay, focus. You like him. You’ve come to terms with that. You’re about to soak with him in an open-air bath, and this can’t happen again. You’re not ready. You’re not—

A counter thought arises. But what if you are?

He shakes that notion from his consciousness and refocuses on calming down. He recites every detail of his three last cases, all of which were boring. Point by point, Ranpo feels his interest wane until it’s gone again. With a sigh, he opens the door and tries to piece together some kind of explanation or apology.

He finds Poe stretched out on the bed the same way he imagined it, but fortunately, the writer’s legs don’t kick his want back into gear any more than the way his book closes and his eyes rise. “About earlier.”

“Poe-kun—”

“I’m sorry if I… contributed.”

“You didn’t,” Ranpo says. “It was all me. Did you really not mind?”

“Deduce it.”

Ranpo does and smiles before tossing Poe a clean cloth. “For your head,” he explains, pacing towards the balcony. “Do you want to soak?”

Poe rises and drops his yukata again. Ranpo slides the balcony door open and steps into the cool evening air. He lowers himself into the water, hissing slightly at the change in temperature, then sinking a little lower. He listens to door slide shut. A moment later, Poe joins him, dunking the cloth into the tub and resting it on his head.

“So?” Ranpo asks. “How is it?”

Poe tips his head back with a sigh. “Nice. This is lovely. Much better than a public bath.”

“I don’t think they’d let you in unless you covered your tattoo. Which that would be a shame.”

“Maybe,” Poe murmurs. “But really, it’s because I’d be too self-conscious of my body.”

“You already know my opinions on your body,” Ranpo states, scooching a little closer. Poe must catch the motion because he lifts his head. “Can you deduce it?”

“What?”

“What I want.”

“I… want to hear you say it.”

“Then can I just hold your hand under the water?”

Poe nods, and a moment later, his fingers slide between Ranpo’s. As if the water didn’t make him warm enough, Poe passes him a look of affection and—

“Wait. That face you’re making. Is that how I’m looking at you?”

“Probably.” Poe squeezes his hand. “It’s a nice look. Then again, I think you look nice all the time.”

“Poe-kun, you’re shameless.”

“I can’t help it,” he says. “When I see something beautiful, I just have to say something.”

“Especially if that something is the person you’re dating?”

Poe hums and tips his head back with a content sigh. “This is really peaceful. I’m glad you agreed to do this with me.”

“Same.”

“You’re only happy because you got to eat.”

Ranpo deduces from Poe’s tone that he knows Ranpo’s full range of reasons. He can also deduce that this is Poe’s idea of a joke. He chuckles and lets himself feel full, not just from dinner, but at the fact the writer’s hand is in his.

“Speaking of that tattoo.”

“Huh?” Poe asks.

Ranpo glances up at him. “Tell me about it. It has a story, right?”

“Oh. Um…” Poe lifts his freehand and brushes the bird inked onto his shoulder. “A bunch of people in my junior year of university didn’t think I would do it. I learned they had a betting pool. It was always, ‘Edgar is too quiet’ and ‘His writing is too dark’ and ‘He doesn’t like pain.’” Poe rolls his eyes. “So I drove to a couple of tattoo parlors. One of them had a cancelation, and I just had it done.” He strokes the ink with his thumb. “It only hurt when the needles got close to my collarbone. Otherwise, it wasn’t really that bad.”

“Why a crow?”

“It’s a raven,” Poe clarifies. “And I got a raven because the class in question was Norse literature. Norse legend holds that ravens are symbols of wisdom. But other cultures view them as symbols of death, and since I write some pretty dark stuff, including something about a raven, I figured it worked.” He lowers his hand. “I put it here because I could hide it, but I could also see it. I never told them about it. The only people who know are the ones who have dated me long enough to get me out of my clothes.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Because my silence was all the satisfaction I needed.”

Ranpo turns and unlaces their fingers, then smooths the front of Poe’s shoulder.

“What are you thinking?”

“Deduce it.”

“Contrary to Japanese attitudes about tattoos, you think it’s hot.”

“Correct again! You know, I’m the world’s greatest detective, but you’re incredible in a lot of ways, too.” He shuffles to his feet. “I’m starting to get a little warm.”

“What do you do, then?”

“You sit on the edge.”

“Ah,” Poe murmurs, watching Ranpo rise. “Would you let me sit with you?”

“Of course.”

They sit side-by-side for a while, then soak again. When Ranpo feels Poe’s fingers against his, he spreads his own and leans. He has never wished time would freeze.

Until now.

Their conversation circles around normal matters until Ranpo yawns. Poe offers to carry him, but he declines with a sleepy smile and winds up hugging the writer. He’d fall asleep right there if he could.

“Come on,” Poe murmurs, shaking him gently. “It’s getting late. You’re tired.”

“Don’t want to go to bed yet.”

“Ranpo-kun.”

Sighing, Ranpo glances up at him. If he sleeps now, they’ll lose even more time together. And it took them so long to get to this point, he can’t bring himself to. “You can help me up,” he decides, “but I’ll walk in and dry off myself.”

Poe stares at him, then nods. “Before we get out, can I kiss you?”

Ranpo’s heart swells at how gently he murmurs those words. He answers with a nod of his own and parts his lips for the writer. It doesn’t last nearly long enough, and as much as he wants to draw it out, he knows that doing so in their current state of undress might lead them somewhere they’ve agreed not to go.

So, he lets Poe lift him to his feet. He sneaks another kiss before they both climb out. As drowsy as he is, he manages to towel himself off and get back into his yukata. He has to fix Poe’s. “Stop being dead,” Ranpo murmurs, wrestling it open again.

Poe chuckles.

“Are you doing it on purpose?”

“The first time was an accident,” Poe confesses.

Ranpo rolls his eyes. “So you are doing it on purpose.”

Poe catches his hands, and they spend a full minute staring at each other. “I…” He pauses. “Ranpo-kun, I want to kiss you more.”

Those words practically blindside him. “It’s no good. I might get hard again.” He resists the urge to lean back as Poe leans forward. But instead of a kiss, he just feels Poe’s forehead rest against his.

“I’m aware. If that bothered me, I wouldn’t have asked.”

Ranpo stares into the wisteria-colored eyes so close to his own. “Promise that’s all we’ll do.”

“I promise.”

“Then…” Ranpo stares at Poe’s chest for a long moment.

“Then?” Poe murmurs.

Ranpo swallows. “Then… it’s okay.”

“It’s just okay?”

Ranpo looks up. “Poe-kun, you’re teasing me.”

Chuckling, he answers, “Only a little,” and pushes Ranpo’s damp hair behind one of his ears. “They’re red again. Are you embarrassed?”

“No, but you’re teasing me too much.”

“I’m sorry.”

He can tell the apology is genuine, even if it does come with a little smile. “What are you waiting for? I still want—”

Poe’s lips cut him off. Ranpo can tell he’s still smiling, and that annoys him just a little. So, he wraps his arm around Poe’s shoulders and, with a little nibble, coaxes the writer’s mouth open. Ranpo takes a breath through his nose and shuts his eyes.

If not for his low energy level, he would let Poe kiss him all night, but as it is, they’re both tired. After they’re both satisfied, Ranpo finishes closing the writer’s yukata and climbs into his own bed. They’re still looking at each other when Poe flicks the light off and the dim glow of the hotel room alarm clock hovers between them.

“Ranpo-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t push you too far tonight, did I?”

“No,” Ranpo answers, smiling. “Kissing you is nice. Having sex with you was, too. I just… I’m not ready yet.” His earlier doubt echoes in his mind. But what if you are?

“I know.” Poe murmurs those words. “Are you supposed to be this sleepy after sake and a soak?”

“Don’t know. Deduce it.”

He says that, but he doesn’t stay awake long enough to hear the answer.

Chapter Text

At some ungodly early hour, Ranpo wakes up. Originally, he intends to stretch, roll over, and go back to sleep, but something isn’t right. The room is silent. Poe doesn’t snore, but Ranpo knows from the one time they slept in the same room that he should at least be able to hear the writer’s breathing. He twists in bed and cracks his eyes open to find the bathroom light on. Even half-awake, Ranpo deduces the water isn’t running. It’s quiet… unbearably quiet. He lays in his bed staring at the ceiling for five minutes.

But Poe doesn’t come back.

With a groan, he pulls himself out of bed and scratches his stomach through the inn’s yukata. He raises his hand to knock on the bathroom door, but he stops himself. Maybe Poe-kun is here because he needs space. Was I snoring? No… no way. When I snore, it’s really quiet. Ranpo struggles with his insecurities and second thoughts for only another moment before lifting his hand and tapping his knuckles against the door. It swings open, and he squints against the light.

“Ah, Ranpo-kun. I’m… sorry I woke you.”

Ranpo doesn’t see Poe in the doorway, but he does hear Poe’s voice. He glances around the space before dropping his gaze to the floor. Poe is there, sitting with his knees up and a book in his hands. He’s definitely farther along than he was when they went to bed. “Poe-kun, why are you in here at… four in the morning?”

“Huh? Oh, um…” Poe shuts his book and sighs. “A… bit of a bad dream, I’m afraid.”

“When?”

Poe picks up his phone. “An hour ago?”

“Do you remember it?”

“Ah… about the novel. The ending. I’m still really struggling with it.” He smiles, but Ranpo doesn’t see any happiness in it. “It was… one of those that jerks you out of your sleep, and you feel disoriented. And your heart is racing, but you don’t know why because you can’t remember the whole dream. And…” He trails off. “And…”

Ranpo draws a breath. “Come back to bed.”

“I’m too scared,” Poe murmurs.

“We can keep a light on. You can sleep in my bed with me.”

“But—”

“I can’t sleep when it’s completely dark, so it’s fine. The alarm clock light is enough, but I don’t mind something brighter.”

Poe glances up at him. “That’s… really kind of you, but—”

“Or I can stay here with you unless you want to be alone, but I’ve already deduced that you don’t really want that. But…” He pauses and covers his yawn. “But if you say you want to be, I’ll give you space.”

After a minute, Poe closes his book and shuffles. “You… are sure you don’t mind leaving the light on, Ranpo-kun?”

“It won’t bother me at all. It’s kind of cute you don’t want to be in the dark after a bad dream.”

“I’m better about it if Karl is around,” Poe murmurs, following Ranpo back into the bedroom. He turns the light on and sits down on his bed. Poe creeps out, still holding his book. Eventually, he sets it on the nightstand between the two beds and sits down beside Ranpo. “Are you… sure?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says, shimmying under the covers. “Lay down, Poe-kun. I’ll hold you.”

There’s no hesitation in Poe’s movements as he joins Ranpo in bed, no shyness as he curls up and makes himself as small as possible despite being a full fourteen centimeters taller than Ranpo. The bed obviously wasn’t built for two grown men, but Ranpo doesn’t mind the lack of space. He lets out a long, slow breath as the weight of Poe’s head rests on his arm.

“Are you shaking?”

“It was a truly unsettling dream.”

“Well, I’ve got you now.”

They’re nose to nose, breathing in the same space. Poe shifts forward a little. Instead of kissing his lips, Ranpo kisses his head and hugs him closer. He’s already getting drowsy again. The last thing he registers is Poe burrowing against his chest like he’s trying to hide from the remaining fragments of whatever filled his head with terrifying images.

Morning comes, and after breakfast, they check out. The train ride back to Yokohama is quiet. Ranpo catches Poe nodding off and guides Poe’s head down to his shoulder. He sleeps the whole way. Ranpo alternates between reading his book and wanting to read Poe’s. He catches a glimpse of Poe’s sleeping face and smiles at the glass, thinking of the raven tattoo on Poe’s shoulder. Wisdom, huh? Ranpo decides to do some digging later because he’s suddenly curious about the full range of symbolism behind the raven.

When the train pulls into Yokohama Station, they part ways. “It was a wonderful adventure,” Poe says. “Thank you for going with me, Ranpo-kun.”

“Hey, it’s no problem at all! Besides, I got to eat tasty food and learn more about you.”

Poe hums, then lowers himself into a bow. “And thank you. For taking care of me this morning.”

“No need to thank me for that. Waking up to your sleeping face was thanks enough.” Ranpo watches Poe blush and wonders if what he said was too forward, but when Poe hugs him in the middle of the bustling Yokohama Station, he knows it’s not. It’s real. Maybe it’s too much for someone else, but not for Poe. He lifts his own arms and returns the gesture. They stay locked like that for a few precious moments—he curses how little time they have left together—as strangers bustle by. But they’re too caught up in each other to notice anyone else.

Just as quickly as it happened, it’s over. Poe heads towards his transfer while Ranpo walks towards the exit. He pulls out his phone and gets directions back to his apartment. The walk will do him good.

He gets all the way to his door before he realizes he completely forgot to ask Poe about cherry blossom-viewing.

And he came here for that! How could I forget? Am I really that taken by him? Ranpo pushes his key into the door and freezes. Oh, shit. I am. He rests his head against the door. I really like him. Like a lot. Ranpo pushes his door open and exhales. It falls shut behind him. He should just slump against it and think for a while, but he has laundry to do. Well, I can do both. I’m the world’s greatest detective, after all. Now for the most obvious question: how did this even happen? I mean, Poe-kun has always been interesting to me, even back before he—er—back before Karl called me. He flips his washing machine open. That first time… did I feel like this? Did he feel like this? No, he said he felt this way about me for a couple of years. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t some kind of interest during that first call. Right? He dumps his clothes into the washing machine. Yeah, sure, in the past I’ve had fleeting but very strong interest in other people, but to the point of getting turned on by a kiss or a look? No way… that’s never happened before. Ranpo adds detergent to his washer, then sets it to run. He listens to it spin. You’re going out of order. Think logically, back to the beginning. Two years, he’s liked you… did anything change that far back?

Ranpo pulls open his laptop and spends almost an hour skimming through their old conversations. There’s nothing there that suggests Poe felt anything other than friendship. But he said he wasn’t sure of his feelings until he saw me the first time.

That leads Ranpo down another messy spiral of thoughts that he tries vainly to organize. In cases, clues aren’t like this. They fit together in patterns, and on a lower level like puzzle pieces cut so they only match up in one certain way. But in regard to Poe—when things changed for him—all of the pieces flat out refuse to fit together.

Part of it is, there’s so much. Six years of history. That whole time, I was dating other people. I never told him that, but I’m sure he has deduced it. Was he dating other people, too? Ranpo sprawls out on his living room floor. He’d have every reason to. He never thought this would happen. Hell, neither did I. But here we are, two and a half weeks into dating. And now I’m out of order again. Why is this so damn messy? He shuts his eyes. When you saw him the first time, what did you feel?

Ranpo already knows the answer to that question, and that makes it rhetorical, but he repeats his answer anyway. Shocked. Overjoyed.

He hums and asks himself, But were you attracted to him?

He knows that he wasn’t. He didn’t feel that draw to Poe… did he?

Did he feel it before?

Did he somehow subconsciously fall for Poe through years of messages and video chatting?

Does he like that he could have?

Does he like that he did?

Ranpo’s stomach flutters, and he wraps his arms around it. I don’t need help, he tells himself. I just need to think.

So he does as the light shifts across his living space, as the shadows stretch, as his wet laundry continues to sit in the washer, ready to be hung. He would call the shapes of his thoughts circles, but those are too simple. They’re multi-dimensional dodecahedrons that clack against each other as they fall, but none of them snap together.

He’s hungry. His back is stiff. It doesn’t matter. He won’t move until he has an answer.

But then, there’s the fact that I was the one that climbed onto him. That I was the one who got turned on last night. If Ranpo is being honest, that still bothers him. And because it does, he’s delaying the inevitable. Like gravity catching Newton’s apple, he thinks, chuckling to himself. Poe-kun and I will crash into each other again. And again. Until we figure out how we fit together. No matter how long it takes.

And then, there’s the matter of Poe’s moods. He’s insecure sometimes, and a bit gloomy, but… I like those things about him, too. Ranpo’s stomach growls, and he hugs it tighter. He’s so… warm. Soft… not just his body. Emotionally. He’s sharp and focused, but he also gives himself over to his own pleasure. His mind is beautiful. He’s so thoughtful… like, his tattoo? Hearing him tell that story? Ranpo swallows as his stomach flutters again. I like his smile. And his laugh. God, his laugh is perfection. And I don’t even wish he’d laugh more or all the time because I want the times he does to have meaning. Real meaning. He sighs. Well, I may as well hang the laundry.

He’s hanging his last pair of socks when there’s a knock at his door. Rubbing the back of his head, Ranpo paces through his entryway and answers it.

Poe is standing in the doorway with Karl on his shoulder. And he’s decked out, wearing a suit of all things.

“What—”

“Ranpo-kun, can I come in? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh.” He steps aside and tries to deduce why Poe is suddenly in his entryway, removing his shoes. “Why—”

“Ranpo-kun.”

“Y… yes?” he asks.

“I really missed you.”

Ranpo blinks. “Ah.”

“And I… wanted to see you because I—”

Ranpo’s stomach growls, and he immediately waves his hands. “Pay no attention to that. I’ll take care of it later. Continue.”

“Ranpo-kun, please, don’t starve yourself for me.”

“I’m not,” Ranpo says, smirking. “I was starving myself for me. I got distracted by a—” He stops himself because it doesn’t feel right to call it a case. “I got distracted. Don’t worry about it. Just tell me what you came here to—”

“I’m taking you to dinner,” Poe announces. “A nice one. Do you have a suit to wear?”

“But I won’t look as good as you.”

“You’ll look stunning,” Poe insists, closing his hands around Ranpo’s. “Please. Put on a suit. We can leave Karl here if you’re alright with that.”

“But—”

“Please, Ranpo-kun. I… if you’ll permit it, I really want to take you.”

Poe seldom asks for anything. Ranpo knows that. He can probably count them on one hand, and usually, it’s after Ranpo has already offered something. Except when he asked me to lunch near Elephant Nose Park. He’s always the one offering me things. And that’s such a beautiful gesture, but… why? Ranpo folds his arms and hums.

“R… Ranpo-kun, I’m sorry I upset you. I’ll—”

“Give me ten minutes,” he announces, turning on his heel. Did I really look mad? Am I being subtle? Of course I want to go out with him. I’m not mad he showed up. Just confused. We saw each other earlier today. Ranpo peels off his shirt as he gets to his bedroom and tosses it on his bed. He slides his closet door open and pulls a dress shirt of the hanger. While he’s buttoning it, he hears Karl chatter and turns around to find the raccoon burrowing into his shirt. He smiles the whole time he’s dressing. And not just because Karl has taken up residence in his discarded clothing. “Is it the scent or the temperature, Karl?” he asks.

Karl gives a quieter chatter.

“Which is it?” He scratches Karl’s head, then goes back to tying his tie. He’s not very good at this, but because it’s for Poe, he’ll try.

Before he can get too tangled up in it, he hears a gentle knock on his door. “Need a hand?”

“Poe-kun—”

“I deduced neckties were not your strong suit.”

Ranpo shrugs. “Fine by me.”

And just like that, Poe is in his space, turning up his shirt collar, threading the tie around his neck. The faint smell of birch, dew, and lavender hangs between them. Poe-kun’s cologne, Ranpo realizes. Ranpo stars into his face the whole time, but Poe is so focused. Only one of his eyes are visible, but it’s shimmering with unspoken notions, with affection and nervousness and—

“Beautiful.” The word spills out of Ranpo’s mouth, and suddenly, that eye is on him. “I… sorry. You were just really focused, and it kind of slipped—”

“Ranpo,” Poe states, smiling.

The bare sound of his name without the honorific makes him think Poe is about to speak in English.

Sure enough, he does. “Are you really apologizing for calling me beautiful?”

What is happening? Ranpo asks himself.

“Because it doesn’t bother me. I… actually kind of like it.”

They leave Karl in Ranpo’s apartment, curled up in Ranpo’s discarded shirt while they go to dinner. The restaurant is classy. Ranpo has never been any place like it. Everything is so lavish. The sight of the prices make his head spin, even if he did just make six months of his salary in a single case. He resolves to hold back a little.

“I’ve deduced you’re going to restrain yourself,” Poe announces in English.

Ranpo stares at him from across the table.

“Why?”

“Because this place is so…” He stops. “Bougie.”

“Bougie?” Poe echoes, chuckling. “How do you know that word?”

“I read it on a blog. Did I pronounce it right?”

“You had a bit of an accent,” Poe states, shrugging, “but I understood what you said. Besides, native proficiency is a myth.”

Ranpo chuckles, and after they order, this sense of normalcy rises between them again. The one he has missed. He’s not thinking about his feelings for Poe, or Poe’s feelings for him, or how they had sex. They just talk about everyday things like Ranpo’s cases and Poe’s book. They talk about where else Poe has gone, what else he wants to do.

“I can’t stay out late tonight,” Ranpo says, because he figures it’s a good time to bring it up. “I’m going cherry blossom-viewing with friends tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Poe answers, taking another sip of his sake.

“Actually, I was going to see if you wanted to come with me.”

Poe stares at him. “Is that really okay?”

“I mean, why wouldn’t it be? Dazai-kun showed up with Mr. Fancy Hat unannounced at a dinner four months ago.”

“I…” Poe puts down his glass and exhales. “I… can I think about it?”

“Sure,” Ranpo answers.

“I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“Poe-kun—”

“I just… have a hard time with large groups of people.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it. I don’t want to force you into anything. They’re pretty good people, but they can be a lot when they’re all together.” Ranpo smiles and stares across the table at Poe. “How far is Sakuragicho from here?”

“Huh? Oh…” Poe pulls out his phone. “I think about fifteen minutes walking?”

“Then let’s go tonight!”

“You can do that?”

“Of course! There are fewer people, so you’ll be more comfortable.”

“Are you sure it’s not too late?”

“No way. You said you wanted to go, and the season is almost over.”

“I mean… I’ve seen some just walking around—”

“Totally not the same thing,” Ranpo announces. “I’m taking you. As thanks for taking me to dinner.”

Eventually, Poe smiles.

They walk off their meal beneath the cherry blossom trees at Sakuragicho. Ranpo doesn’t plan to tell his friends he went the night before; besides, he’s going to see them more than to see the bloom. The petals are already falling. It would be nice enough just to walk beside Poe, but then, he reaches for Poe’s hand without thinking. When his fingers brush the back of Poe’s hand, he earns a glance, but when their palms are tucked together, it feels… right somehow.

“They’re really lovely,” Poe murmurs.

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “But not as lovely as someone I know.”

The way Poe colors at those words makes them more than worthwhile.

“You said you had something to tell me earlier.”

“Ah. Right. Can we sit down for a moment?”

“Sure. I think there’s a bench this way.”

Of course, the bench turns out to be the other way, but they do eventually find one. On the way, they pass some figures in the distance. Ranpo can’t make them out well, though he has a nagging feeling he might recognize one of them.

“Alright,” Ranpo states, brushing that from his mind. “I’m all ears.”

Poe draws a breath, then reaches for both of Ranpo’s hands and folds them in his. “Ranpo-kun, I… really do like you. A lot.”

“I know.”

Poe squeezes his hands a little tighter. “And I… want you to know that what I’m about to say isn’t to pressure you or make you feel like you need to move at anything but your own pace.”

Ranpo cocks his head as Poe inhales again.

“The truth is, I… wanted to have sex with you last night. I’ve been ready since just after we talked about it.” Poe’s breath is a little steadier this time. Then, he continues, “I didn’t want you to be ashamed for wanting to wait, but I thought it was important to be honest with you about how I felt. I’m not disappointed that we didn’t do anything, and I still completely understand that you’re not ready. I just want you to know that when you are, you can tell me, and we can talk about it. And if that day doesn’t come for a long time, then that’s fine, too, because I don’t want to rush you.”

Ranpo stares at him, half in disbelief at what he’s hearing. And that disbelief has two sources from his current standpoint. Poe really is earnest about how he feels, and Ranpo can’t believe he spent hours doubting that. But also, Poe is the one who doesn’t want to rush him, and that’s a puzzle he can’t even begin to wrap his mind around because he was the one who—

“I’m really grateful that you were willing to listen to me,” Poe continues. “And I really hope you don’t hold it against me that I told you this. I want us to be comfortable with each other and talk like we used to. Like we did at dinner. That was so wonderful.” He smiles. “But I also want to hold your hand and look into your eyes and kiss you because you mean something to me. As a rival. And a friend. And—”

He can’t stand it. He can’t stand the way that Poe is talking about him like he’s important. Like he really does mean something. It’s unfathomable. Absolutely bewildering.

And yet, like the simple joy of holding Poe’s hand, it feels right.

“And…” Poe murmurs, a little less ardent, a little less certain.

The most logical answer, and the one Ranpo gives, is to unthread his hands from Poe’s, clasp the author’s face, and draw their lips together. Softly, tenderly. For a moment, it’s just affection. But Ranpo knows it’s something more than that. He recedes, releases Poe’s face, and leans closer. “Let’s go back to my place.” He pauses and lifts his eyes to Poe’s face, then murmurs, “Edgar.”

Poe’s visible eye bursts like a supernova. “Are you saying—”

“I absolutely am,” Ranpo murmurs, rising. “I’m game if you are.”

To Ranpo, Yokohama’s greatest mystery—one that he will never solve—will always be how they make it back to his apartment without caving in to the growing want between them. He doesn’t even get his shoes off before Poe is scooping him up and kissing all of his reason away. At least tonight, he keeps enough of his wits to clutch Poe’s lapels while he tries to keep up. God, he’s good, Ranpo thinks, gasping when they break apart, then slipping his tongue right back into Poe’s waiting mouth. He’s so good, he’s divine.

And it only gets better when Poe’s hand slides past the dip of his lower back over the curve of his ass.

“Fuck,” he moans as he breaks away. It gives him a moment to breathe, to swim in Poe’s eyes, to really feel that moment. “Fuck…” He grips the front of Poe’s clothes as the pressure against his rear increases.

His brain turns completely off. He knows it does, because he shoves Poe against a wall and reconnects their lips until no part of Poe’s mouth is left untasted. He drinks the low moan that tears out of the writer as he presses their bodies together and grinds. Without warning, Poe’s fingers are loosening the knot in his tie.

“Poe-kun—”

The instant his necktie is loose, Poe works the top button of his collared shirt open and presses an open-mouth kiss against the exposed skin.

Ranpo makes a noise, unsteady but low, grounded so deeply in the current moment that nothing else exists. With Poe’s head low like that, he can smell the writer’s shampoo. “If you… ha—if you keep up like this, we’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”

Poe rises a moment later, his visible eye a lavender haze of desire. “What happened to Edgar?”

Ranpo chuckles. “If I call you that all the time, you won’t be motivated to earn it.”

The hand on his ass dips behind his legs, and before he knows what’s happening, he’s being scooped off of his feet, carried through the narrow hallway at the entry of his apartment. He can’t believe it. He doesn’t try; he just enjoys it. For gravity, he keeps one arm around Poe’s shoulders and nuzzles the side of his face. “If you mess with my ears right now, I might drop you,” Poe warns.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ranpo answers, pressing a kiss against Poe’s cheek instead. After all, he has no plans to test gravity, which still works as he learns when he’s placed gently on his vacant bed (he remembers glimpsing Karl on the sofa, still curled up in the shirt he was wearing earlier) and Poe climbs over him. “Wait.”

Poe freezes, his lips inches away from Ranpo’s.

“I… haven’t—” Ranpo watches Poe deduce what he’s about to say in real time, half squinting as the proverbial lightbulb flashes on behind Poe’s eyes.

“Ranpo.”

There it is again: his bare name, spilling out of Poe’s lips.

“I will never force you to do anything, and I have already asked you for so much.” Poe drops, and Ranpo feels a slick pair of lips against his neck. He whines, and his toes curl. As soon as they’re gone, a murmur hits his ear. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Somehow, that makes it even worse. “What if I can’t?” he asks, frantic. “What if I’m bad at it? What if—”

“Then we will change our approach, and I will take care of you in a different way.”

Ranpo feels Poe’s hands working at the buttons of his shirt again, and he… realizes he’s scared. Terrified, actually. But at the same time, being under Poe like that is… thrilling. Different. Welcome. He tries to articulate all of that, but the only word that comes out of his mouth is, “Okay.”

The smile he earns for his acceptance is more than worth putting up with his own anxiety. “For now, let me kiss those perfect lips of yours again, Ranpo.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding as Poe slowly drops. “Yeah.” Ranpo’s fingers wind through Poe’s hair as their mouths meet again. The rhythm this time is different. Slower, but at times more erratic. He can feel Poe’s erection pressing against his leg. He’s certain he isn’t better off.

Or, rather, he’s in just as good a state as Poe is.

He could kiss Poe for hours. Days. Of course, he’d have to take breaks for snacks and meals because Ranpo knows the sort of person he is when he gets hungry, but he might skip one or two if it means they can keep doing this.

In the same moment, they both stop.

There’s a flash in Ranpo’s mind that breaks between what they’re doing. An image, clear as a crime scene photograph being shown to him. But it’s not a photograph. It’s something he experienced a little over an hour ago. The cherry blossom trees at night. Two figures in the background. He thought he knew one. Now, he’s certain of it.

It takes him a minute to realize Poe isn’t kissing him anymore. He comes out of that inconveniently-timed deduction and glances up at Poe’s face to find he, too, is blank-eyed like something has just hit him. He sits up, then starts rambling in English so fast that Ranpo can’t even catch every other word.

“Poe-kun, what is it?”

“I’m reciting poetry!” he shouts.

“Why?” Ranpo retorts.

“Because I—oh, damn it. I want to do this with you, but I just figured out the ending to my novel, and I have a feeling that if we have sex now, I won’t be able to capitalize on this feeling.”

Ranpo sighs and sits up, tucking one leg under him and letting the other hang beside Poe. “Recite it slower, Edgar. I want to hear you.”

“My… poetry is no good.”

“If it’s your poetry, I definitely want to hear it!” Ranpo insists, hugging Poe’s arm. “Please?”

Poe sighs. “Do you want me to start over?”

“You can start where you left off.”

For a moment, Poe is quiet. But then, he draws a breath and starts at a pace that Ranpo can understand. “I was a child and she was a child, in this kingdom by the sea, but we loved with a love that was more than love—I and my Annabel Lee…”

Ranpo feels. He tries not to, but he does. The yearning in that poem. The loss, so different than his own. Sentiments deeper than those reverberate in Poe’s voice. Ranpo doesn’t name them; if he tries, he’ll only take away from their magic. But as his own desire wanes the rest of the way, he leans against Poe’s arm and listens more closely than he normally does just so he can remember what he felt in this moment. He hopes that by doing so, he can take away some of the pain in Poe’s voice.

When Annabel Lee is buried and the speaker is stretched out beside her grave, the poem ends. And Ranpo feels. Things profound and ordinary. Too much. Not enough. I don’t want to let go, he realizes, because that poem haunts him like the ghost of the dead girl it’s named after.

But he does because he knows Poe needs to write.

Ranpo walks Poe to the door. The writer collects Karl on the way out, who begrudgingly leaves his sanctuary in Ranpo’s shirt behind. But he’s asleep in Poe’s arms anyway. The writer slides his shoes on by the door, then exhales.

“Ranpo-kun—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” He grins. “Sometimes, the world’s greatest author has to write, and the world’s greatest detective has to figure things out for himself.” He kisses Poe on the cheek. “Now, go finish the next best seller.”

Poe smiles and pushes his door open. “I’ll text you about going tomorrow. If I’m up to it, I’ll… meet you there. And if not, I’ll… maybe see you tomorrow night?”

“Sure thing.” Ranpo smiles and waves as Poe disappears down his stairs.

The minute his door closes, Ranpo leans against it and sighs. Under normal circumstances, he would take care of his needs himself, but after hearing Poe recite that poem, the only thing he wants is to go to bed so he can hold on to those words and the voice that spoke them.

More importantly, Ranpo realizes that his deduction has led him to another truth he didn’t need to know existed.

But, he tells himself, pacing towards his bedroom and unbuttoning his shirt again, I have plenty of time for that, too.

Chapter Text

Ranpo hopes his mood isn’t too obvious.

He’s not disappointed that he and Poe didn’t have sex. That, he can live with. He can live with the terrible timing of Poe’s inspiration, the equally poor timing of his deduction, and even the text he gets at 5:30 in the morning before he wakes up.

I’m feeling much better about the ending now, but I’ve been writing all night and still need to work on it a bit more. Can I text you when I wake up?

Ranpo has barely woken up himself when he writes the reply, Of course. Congratulations on finishing your novel. I can’t wait to read it. Do you want me to tell you about the cherry blossoms?

He still doesn’t have an answer hours later when he’s standing beside Sakuragicho station with Kunikida and Dazai strides into view with Chuuya on his arm.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Kunikida-kun.”

“Hello, Dazai,” Kunikida retorts, pushing his glasses up and glancing at Chuuya. “I see you made good on your promise.”

“And I see you’re still bitter.”

“I’m here, too!” Ranpo announces, waving his hand. He has the bag of snacks he bought at the shop nearby. He hopes his energy hides his fixation on other matters.

“Ranpo-kun, it’s always a pleasure.”

He grins as Dazai and Kunikida exchange quips and clipped off laughs. Finally, Dazai says, “It’s not normal for Yosano to be late.”

“She’s not late. We’re just early.” Kunikida presses up his glasses again.

For once, Chuuya takes initiative and starts talking to him. It’s strange for Ranpo to witness, given how at odds Kunikida still is with the concept that Dazai is dating and happy. Before he can hear too much of the conversation, Dazai leans closer.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring that American with you. What was his name? Poe?”

Ranpo smiles. “He was up all night writing. Besides, I don’t want to hear you or Mr. Fancy Hat gloat.”

“Whatever would we be gloating about, Ranpo-kun?”

Chuuya twists to him and says in English, “Yeah, what the fuck would we be gloating about? Or can you not deduce it, oh great detective?”

Ranpo grins. “You’re saying you wouldn’t gloat if I told you we had sex?”

Chuuya smirks, Kunikida passes Dazai a look that he answers with a shrug, and the conversation dies off until Yosano arrives. Once they’re all seated beneath a tree scattering petals, the banter picks up almost where it left off.

“You two are as smitten with each other as ever, I see,” Yosano observes, watching Chuuya rest against Dazai’s arm.

“We are,” Dazai answers. “We celebrated our anniversary yesterday.” 

“Half anniversary,” Chuuya clarifies. “And yet this bastard tried to charge me for the coffee he brought me in bed this morning.”

Once Yosano is done laughing, she takes another swig of the jasmine tea Ranpo bought. It makes him think of Poe’s cologne a little, especially since Poe isn’t there.

“You know I was kidding,” Dazai insists.

“And when I offered to pay him with a kiss, he threatened to rat me out to my boyfriend.”

“Chuuya, I’m your boyfriend.” Chuuya smirks at Dazai’s words, and Ranpo can almost feel Kunikida seething, but the café owner only chuckles. “Now, now, we need to try to maintain a modicum of tolerableness. Can you manage that?”

As Ranpo takes a bite of hanami dango, Chuuya asks, “Can you?”

“You know,” Ranpo says as he chews, “you two are pretty entertaining. You ever consider stand-up comedy if Café Lupin goes under and you get fired from—wait, where do you work again?”

In response to the question, Chuuya asks, “I never told you?”

Ranpo swallows as Chuuya sips his tea. “I figured out you worked in business. International sales is my guess, given you travel abroad a lot and speak English decently enough. I just can’t figure out where.”

“Guess I should’ve brought business cards. Anyway, it’s probably enough that you know what I do.”

“Ranpo isn’t satisfied until he has the whole truth.” Kunikida folds his arms. “So just tell him, or he’ll start accessing your phone records. He might even blackmail you with all the lovey dovey texts you send Dazai.”

“That wouldn’t work.” Chuuya takes a bite of his own dango. “I’m notoriously bisexual, so everyone already knows I’m happy to date men. And if it’s not public knowledge we’re dating at this point, then people aren’t paying attention. Besides, I can think of a few reasons why that would be a shitty fucking plan.”

Ranpo sticks his tongue out and says, “I wouldn’t need to resort to blackmail. I just need to access his bank records. Besides, I’ve already deduced that you wouldn’t bother interfering in something you and Dazai had a hand in setting up.”

“What the hell did you two set up?” Kunikida’s sharp snap makes Yosano laugh again. “What?”

“The last to know as always, Kunikida-kun.” Dazai shrugs and clicks his tongue. 

“Know what?”

Poe isn’t there. It’s true. And Ranpo isn’t sure he should tell his friends, but he figures at this point, the cat is already more than halfway out of the bag “That my American pen pal flew all the way to Japan for inspiration.” He pauses to take a bite. “And by inspiration, I mean me.” In a rare instance of confidence, he opens both of his eyes and passes Kunikida a smirk. “Do I need to elaborate, or is that—” Ranpo stops when Kunikida pushes his glasses up with a bit more vigor.

“Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

“To be fair, Ranpo didn’t know, either.” Dazai passes him a smirk. “You should be thanking me.”

“If I should be thanking anyone, it’s Mr. Fancy Hat,” Ranpo declares. “He’s the one who put the final nail in the coffin.”

Yosano shakes her head. “A grim metaphor.”

“It’s appropriate. Poe-kun writes mystery novels. The last one he published was about a man whose wife was buried alive. Of course, I figured out it was the groundskeeper collaborating with the cook before I got to the fourth page. A classic open-and-closed case of jealousy, fueled by unrequited love.”

“Yet you couldn’t figure out the guy was into you.”

“What was that, Mr. Fancy Hat?” 

“You—”

Dazai’s hand rests on top of Chuuya’s as he laughs. “I swear, that roll in your voice gets me every time.”

Their banter goes on. Yosano tries to rein them in, but that ends in Dazai sing-songing, “Onee-san,” and Kunikida visibly cringing. Somehow, it’s Chuuya who gets them back on track by suggesting they open the sake. Ranpo smiles as Dazai fills his cup. Once it’s full and everyone has sake, he raises his own and asks, “Shall we toast?”

“To many successes,” Yosano announces, raising her cup as well. “Including, of course, Kunikida’s success on the job market this year.”

“That’s an unnecessary addition, especially considering you start a new position next week, Yosano-sensei.” He smiles as he calls her that.

“New position? No fair. You didn’t mention it to me,” Dazai whines.

“You were busy.” Yosano raises her glass to her lips and sips. “With the café and a fretting Ranpo.”

“I was not fretting!”

Chuuya scoffs behind his hand. “Could have fooled me.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Fancy Hat.”

“The fuck are you calling me again?”

There’s more banter, and flirting, of course. Dazai actually kisses Chuuya. It’s nothing inappropriate; just a little peck on the lips. Ranpo doesn’t need his gift or the glasses the old man gave him to know that they’re happy. In love. Comfortable with each other, and apparently comfortable enough with Yosano, Kunikida, and him to show their full range of affection for each other.

After refills, Dazai asks, “Kunikida-kun, you’re graduating next year, aren’t you?”

“Ideally.”

“So what kind of job are you looking for?”

“Honestly,” Kunikida murmurs, “I’m looking at PhD programs.”

“As I expected.” Ranpo swirls his glass. “Are you staying in Yokohama?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits.

“Well, whether you decide to or not, we should celebrate when the time comes.” Yosano nods.

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s totally necessary.” Dazai passes Kunikida a smile. “We want you to be happy and successful.”

“You say that, but you trounced on my exam scores—”

“Are you still hung up on that? Kunikida-kun, you’re so hopeless.”

“I’m not used to getting beaten at my own game, Dazai. Especially not by someone who continually said they didn’t care about any of it.”

“Kunikida—”

Ranpo knows it’s Yosano’s attempt to stop them, but there’s no stopping jealousy.

“Maybe because school bored me.” A smile appears on Dazai’s face, but his eyes continue to glare. “Hard to be entertained in a place that supposedly endows knowledge yet discourages any real critical thought.”

Chuuya tries to cut in, but Ranpo only murmurs, “Let them be,” as he devours the last piece of inarizushi.

Kunikida pushes his glasses up. “Then why even bother trying that hard?”

Ranpo thinks Dazai is going to answer. Finally. And what a relief it will be to him that they’re done arguing, but out of nowhere, Chuuya says, “Fuck,” and pushes his hat down. 

It doesn’t take long for a child’s voice to reach Ranpo’s ears. It’s strange enough that she’s saying, “Nakahara-san.” It’s stranger still that she’s with Mori Ougai of all people.

Mori praises the girl and pats her head before clearing his throat. “My apologies for interrupting. Elise-chan was just so insistent that we come and say hello, Nakahara-kun.”

“Hey, boss.” Chuuya grimaces and reaches for Dazai’s hand.

“And I see Dazai-kun is here as well,” Mori states. “I’ve been meaning to stop by Café Lupin for another cup of coffee.”

Ranpo watches Dazai instantly slip into a customer service smile, a safe place for him. He offers large orders, explains everyone he’s sitting with are his friends from high school… Ranpo exchanges glances with Kunikida, then Yosano. He can’t make anything of it because this is also something he failed to deduce. 

Out of nowhere the child—Elise is her name, Ranpo recalls—asks, “Rintaro, why is Nakahara-san holding hands with a man?”

That’s an uncomfortable question for Ranpo. He can tell it is for Dazai, too, who lets go of Chuuya’s hand only for the ginger to snatch it up again. 

“Perhaps you should ask him?” Mori suggests, passing Chuuya an oddly gentle look of askance. “Maybe he’ll tell you.”

With a smirk and a laugh, Chuuya announces, “Of course, it’s because I love him.”

“Shameless.” The comes from Kunikida.

“Petty son of a—”

Dazai interrupts with a laugh. At this point, Ranpo observes that Elise is glowing.

“Wow… so romantic. Are you going to marry him?”

Dazai’s laugh almost drowns out Chuuya’s choked off noise. Almost. Of course, Ranpo deduces that they will get married. They’ll definitely be engaged by October, he tells himself as Dazai explains the possibility and their present happiness.

After making a noise of understanding, Elise whirls to Mori. “Rintaro, when are you going to get someone like that?”

“Probably never.” He pats Elise’s head. “The opportunity has already long since passed me by. Now, don’t you think we’ve imposed enough, Elise-chan?”

Something about those mannerisms… it bothers him. He’s not sure why. But eventually, Mori and the child depart. Ranpo watches them, half listening to the moment he knows has been coming for a long time: Dazai mentions the job he was offered, Kunikida loses his temper, and Dazai finally, finally explains that his exam scores were simply a socially acceptable path to success, one of the few he could experience.

“How idiotic can you—” Kunikida stops, stares at the brunette, folds his arms, and adjusts his eyewear again. “I… I’m sorry I never realized you were struggling so much.”

The apology is really all he cares about because he’s still watching Mori walk away. A flash of memory fills his mind. Last night, under the cherry blossom trees, he caught sight of someone walking exactly the same way. And that person wasn’t alone. Oh, he thinks. I get it now. He lied. He’s really good at lying. I almost didn’t notice.

He zones fully back into the conversation in time to hear Yosano say, “If there’s anything to take from this, it’s that the world never was and never will be an ideal place for you or anyone else.”

Ranpo watches Kunikida wince. “Also, you should probably let that childish hang-up of yours go.”

“Coming from you, that stings even more.”

Something comes out of Chuuya’s mouth. It’s not English, but it is another language. “Sorry,” he says after a moment of silence. “Let water flow under the bridge. It’s an idiom for letting things go.”

“Agreed. I don’t hold it against you, Kunikida-kun,” Dazai reassures him.

“But really,” Yosano adds. “Even if the world is far from ideal, you should still try to be happy.”

Before Kunikida can answer, Dazai is on his feet. “Bathroom,” he states. “When I come back, let’s open the other bottle of sake.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Yosano responds.

“Don’t be mean to Chuuya while I’m gone. I’m the only one allowed to tease him.”

“Only because you like it when I get annoyed and roll my r’s,” Chuuya laughs.

“Because it’s sexy.” Dazai’s hands slip into his pockets, and he disappears into the crowd.

Ranpo resolves not to tease Chuuya and nibbles on more of the snacks as Yosano and Kunikida start talking. Mostly, it’s Yosano telling Kunikida how proud she is of him, but the stark memory of Mori walking away with a child… something about it—

The sound of Chuuya addressing him in English, rips his attention away. “Hey.”

He turns to the redhead with a hum.

“So things are good with the guy?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers. “We went to Tokyo a couple of nights ago to a Japanese Inn. It’s a good place. The Golden Demon. You should go when you get the chance.”

“Already been. Multiple times. I took Dazai over New Year’s.”

“Don’t tell me. Your family owns it.”

“Fuck, you really are a good detective. My older sister does. She’s been running it for almost seven years now. People thought she was too young, but she showed them.” Chuuya chuckles. “So if things are good with the guy, why are you so fucking glum?”

So much for his mood not being noticeable. “I’m not. It’s more… complicated than that. We haven’t had the sort of sex I was hoping to yet. I doubt you’d understand this, but we moved fast because there’s not a whole lot of time, and I felt guilty because he normally doesn’t.”

“Ah,” Chuuya says.

“I was ready again last night,” Ranpo confesses. “But something got between us.”

“What’s that?”

“His writing and my deduction. In the exact same instant.” Ranpo stops and thinks again of the scene he witnessed last night, knowing full well he’ll have to confront the old man about it at some point. It’s an unpleasant thought, one he can put off thanks to how near Poe’s departure is. “I’m not mad at him or anything. It just… wasn’t the time, even if we originally both agreed it was.”

“Good answer,” Chuuya states.

“He—” Ranpo stops. “What does it mean when someone recites poetry?”

“Fuck if I know. I’ve never read my own stuff aloud.”

Ranpo’s eyes narrow. “You do not—”

But around that time, Dazai comes back, and Ranpo is left to deduce exactly what Chuuya does and doesn’t do with his spare time while they finish the second bottle of sake. He used to go to night clubs a lot, Ranpo decides. He used to write poetry, too. High school, I’d guess. He was good, but he never saw himself as good enough. He tried and tried, and he stressed himself out with the uncertainty of it. So he quit. But he picked it up again after he met Dazai-kun. November, probably. That night we met him at the restaurant.

Once everyone is sated, they pack up and walk back to the station together. “Ranpo-kun,” Dazai calls. “I’ll see you around! Don’t be a stranger, alright? Café Lupin is more than happy to supply you with more pastries.”

Ranpo smiles. “Sure thing! I’ll see you soon!”

“Good luck with the guy,” Chuuya adds, giving Ranpo a thumbs up. He slips his arm into Dazai’s again before walking away from the gates. He may not have a sense of direction, but he knows exactly where they’re going.

“Are you going home, Ranpo?” Yosano asks.

He checks his phone to find he has a message from Poe. I’d love to hear all about it. Lunch? Or would dinner suit you better?

Ranpo smiles and shakes his head. “Sorry. I need to go congratulate Poe-kun on finishing his novel.”

“Well,” Kunikida says, “I really hope you’re happy with him.”

But happy is such a slippery word, as he well knows from the old man’s constant lectures about it.

Happiness is something he feels with Poe, but he knows it doesn’t look anything like Dazai and Chuuya’s version of it. It’s not endless banter and rolled r’s. It’s not ridiculous pet names (he remembers Chuuya calling Dazai a lanky mackerel bastard the night they met, and it’s only a matter of time before Dazai comes up with something equally ridiculous, probably in French). And whatever happiness they have… it’s not inspiring to Poe at all—in fact, Poe lost his inspiration because of Ranpo because he denied his feelings. Even though Ranpo is sure Dazai and Chuuya have felt their fair share of pains and insecurities (that would explain so much about October 26), they’ve managed to overcome those moments together. 

Ranpo doesn’t see himself helping Poe at all. It’s the author who is always taking him on adventures. Like to Kamakura. And to Tokyo. To the Golden Demon Inn. To dinner and Sakuragicho Park. It’s Poe who is on the adventure. Ranpo is just a side character, there to provide support and a little comic relief.

And romantic tension, but maybe that’s stretching the truth a bit.

For the first time in his life, he understands Kunikida’s envy. It’s not the same envy. He doesn’t begrudge Dazai his successes, even the meaningless one of entrance exam scores. Especially not the café; that was the closest thing Dazai ever had to a dream. But the closeness? The charged air between him and that fedora-wearing, foul-mouthed ginger who also happens to be a great source of relationship advice? That, he wants.

It’s more than curiosity, or affection, or attraction. What they have is love, underpinned by trust. I know that takes time, Ranpo tells himself. But what if time is something you don’t have?  

For once, he manages to get off at the correct train stop. He texts Poe on the way when he’s not trying to puzzle out what happiness is for them. He only makes three wrong turns on the way to the house where Poe is staying. After he knocks on the door, he steps back and waits.

The minute Poe is in the doorway, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black button-down with short sleeves, Ranpo throws himself forward and buries himself against his chest. An indescribable knot of feelings tightens inside of him. He wants to keep them in. He has to—

“Ranpo-kun—”

“I don’t want you to go.” He doesn’t mean to say those words, but they come tumbling out of his mouth anyway. He draws in an unsteady breath and shakes his head. “I don’t want you to go back to America. I want you to stay here. I want to go on more dates with you and take you on some, too. I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up to your face every morning. I want to get lost in your eyes and eat your cooking and maybe help you. I want you to recite more of your poetry to me, and I want Karl to get into everything I own.” His next breath is sharper. “I want to fall in love with you, Poe-kun. I can’t do that if you’re not here.” He grits his teeth and in a weak voice pleads, “Don’t go. Please… don’t leave me.”

The fresh air from outside disappears behind the door. A moment later, Poe’s arms wind around him. Ranpo knows all he can do is clutch the folds of Poe’s shirt while his eyes start to water. He pleads with time to stop and tries to deduce away international visa laws, but he can’t. After a lifetime of being a detective of sorts, he has found the limits of his capabilities.

“Ranpo-kun.” Poe’s hand feels cool against his forehead. He sniffles. 

“I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be alone again.”

“Ranpo-kun,” Poe murmurs. “Look at me.”

Ranpo refuses. In fact, he clings tighter because he’s afraid the tears are going to get worse. But eventually, Poe’s hand coaxes him to tilt his head up. Poe’s palms feel cool against his face.

“I know I don’t have much time left in Japan, but I’m incredibly grateful for the time I’ve spent here. Especially for the time I’ve spent with you.”

Ranpo sniffles, and Poe smiles.

“I want you to know that just because I’m leaving Yokohama, that definitely doesn’t mean I’m leaving you.”

“But we’ll be on opposite sides of the world, and—”

“And,” Poe interjects, smoothing Ranpo’s bangs aside and kissing the skin beneath them. “We will find ways to make it work. Because I know this feeling isn’t fleeting for me, and I don’t think it is for you, either.” Poe draws away. “Okay?”

Rnapo just dives against him again, clinging to Poe’s shirt, trying to will time to slow down or even stop all together so they won’t have to go their separate ways. But he knows it’s futile. Even with all the deduction in the world, Ranpo can’t reason away a social construct.

“Ranpo-kun.” He feels a hand smooth the back of his head. “I think it’s natural to lament the time that we’ll be apart, but I hope that even as you’re doing that, we can still enjoy the time we have left together.”

He takes a slow breath. Then another. “Your cologne…”

“Ah. It’s not that expensive. If you like it, I’ll give you the rest of the bottle I brought with me. You can smell it when you start to miss me.”

“It wouldn’t last a day.” Ranpo finally feels steady enough to let go. It’s humiliating to show anything but a happy or a focused face in front of Poe. More humiliating still that he has to wipe his tears away. “Poe-kun, I really like you.”

“I know.”

“I’m really sorry. I came here to congratulate you—”

“I won’t hear another word of apology.” Poe smooths the side of his face. “You don’t ever need to apologize for your feelings.”

Ranpo folds his arm and pouts.

“What?”

“You did.” He grumbles the words. Before he knows it, he’s ensnared in another hug. Not that he minds. If he did, he’d say something.

“Are you calming down a little?”

“Don’t know,” Ranpo murmurs. “Deduce it.”

Poe chuckles. “What can I do to help you?”

Ranpo scoffs and feels his ears flush. “Deduce that, too.”

Poe’s lips brush against his, and he sighs. They draw apart when they hear a chatter. Karl scampers into view, carrying something in his mouth. He shifts to his back legs and holds out his paws. It turns out to be a flash drive.

Poe and Ranpo exchange glances, and Ranpo knows neither of them can help but laugh. Eventually, he stoops and takes the object Karl is offering him, offering a scratch behind the ears. He’s still chuckling when Karl crawls into his open arms and onto his shoulder. 

“You want lunch?” Poe asks. “We can make it together. I’m just having a sandwich.”

“Sure,” Ranpo answers, slipping the jump drive in his pocket and following the writer towards the kitchen. They’re still inching towards that inevitable point in time where Poe will go back. But for now, their circumstances at least feel more bearable.

Chapter Text

Ranpo savors every moment he spends with Poe. Some days, Poe winds up at his apartment after work with Karl, and they just spend hours holding onto each other with Karl curled up between them. Sometimes, it’s an impromptu lunch or dinner, mostly at cheap restaurants. Chinese one day, yakitori the next. But that’s always Ranpo’s idea, and it almost always ends with an affectionate look or a hug or a kiss that’s seemingly devoid of the heaviness Poe’s looming departure ultimately casts over all their interactions.

At the moment, that happens to be sitting at one end of the sofa while Poe sits at the other, their legs side-by-side. Karl is curled up next to Ranpo’s hip, and they both have laptops. Ranpo is hammering away at a case the police just gave him, Poe at the edits on his novel. Occasionally, Ranpo toes the side of Poe’s leg. Sometimes, Poe responds with a nudge of his own. They pass each other glances and little smiles. On more than one occasion, Ranpo catches Poe studying him. That makes his chest swell.

Then, he remembers all over again that Poe is leaving.

He shuts is laptop and leans back.

“Having trouble?” Poe asks.

Ranpo can tell he hasn’t even looked away from his screen. “Just a little sad, Poe-kun.”

Poe’s keyboard falls silent, and he sighs. “I… honestly am feeling the same way.”

“Ah,” he mumbles. “The novel must be—”

“It’s not the novel.”

Ranpo lifts his eyes and strokes Karl’s fur. “Put your laptop down.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.” He watches Poe puzzle out what he intends. Then, he watches as the writer complies. Once he does, Ranpo moves carefully so he doesn’t disturb Karl too much. The raccoon’s small body rises and falls, and his paws grope at the empty space that Ranpo left behind, but he doesn’t wake up while Ranpo climbs over him and eventually lowers himself. When their bodies line up and press against each other, Ranpo wills himself to remember his own intensions. You just want to cuddle, he tells himself, burying his face against Poe’s chest, seeking out the faint smell of birches, lavender, and dew. Before he finds it, he feels Poe’s fingers in his hair. “Edgar.”

“Y… yes, Ranpo-kun?”

“Recite that poem for me again.” He glances up to find Poe frowning. “What?”

“Why do you like it so much?”

“Don’t know.” He feels Poe’s chest rumble with a chuckle. “Deduce it.”

“Do you just like it because I’m speaking?”

He hugs Poe a little closer. “Because it makes me feel something.”

“What would that be?”

“I don’t know. Home?” Ranpo peers up at the writer to find he’s being studied again. “You don’t have to, but—”

“Alright.” He smooths Poe’s hair again and recounts, for exactly the fifth time since he first recited it, the tale of a love that was more than love. Ranpo’s mind empties of everything but those words and the things they make him feel. He’s pretty sure he dozes off. Or if not, he’s close when Poe finishes. When he opens his eyes again, the writer is napping beneath him, arms still hanging around him loosely. Karl has climbed up to the arm of the sofa and curled up next to Poe’s head, and Poe is leaning a little to the right towards the balled up raccoon. If Ranpo didn’t think it would disturb either of them, he’d take a picture. But instead, he rests on Poe’s chest again as it rises and falls until eventually, Poe stirs and stretches.

Ranpo bites his lip and clings to Poe, trying not to let the noise out. But Poe must feel him tense because he earns a look. A long one.

“We can go upstairs.”

“No.” The word comes out more as a breath than anything. “No… I’m fine. Just… I woke up and… and you moved really suddenly.”

“Are you sure? I’m not pressuring you. I just want to make sure—”

“I’m sure,” Ranpo breathes. “Just give me a minute.”

Poe smiles and lets his arms drop. Ranpo misses the contact, but he knows if he pulls it back—

“Ranpo-kun.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Oh.” Ranpo focuses on his empty stomach. “Maybe… we can go to a family restaurant. Have you been to one yet?”

Poe shakes his head.

“Then we’ll go. Just give me five more minutes to calm down.”

“Can we take a walk after?”

“So fond of your walks after dinner.”

“I always take one,” Poe says. “It’s relaxing, and it really helps me think when I’m about to write.”

“We can go, then.” Ranpo smiles. “Can I get a parfait?”

“You can order whatever you want, my dear Ranpo-kun. It’s your turn to pay.”

“Then pay, I shall. Starting with a kiss if you’ll let me.”

“Of course.”

Ranpo brushes his lips against Poe’s, and for one perfect moment, the world freezes. He probably lingers a little too long, but Poe doesn’t complain, and neither does he. Instead, they rise from their spot on the couch, and Ranpo stretches.

“Karl, we’ll be back soon,” Poe says. The raccoon chirps and goes right back to snoring a moment later.

Dinner is ordinary enough. Nothing like the fancy meal Poe took him out for. But because of that, it’s more relaxed. Poe winds up laughing at something Ranpo said and drawing a little too much attention, but Ranpo only barely registers that because he’s enjoying the moment. It’s so warm, even though the evening is cool. He gets to watch Poe try doria for the first time, and when he gets his parfait, he obviously shares. That attracts more looks that he ignores. Judging from Poe’s smile, he’s guessing Poe does, too.

They walk for a long time, sometimes taking in the scenery, sometimes taking in each other. “It’s a shame the cherry blossoms have mostly fallen,” Poe comments. “The bloom is so short.”

“That’s the idea,” Ranpo says. “A reminder that all things are temporary.”

“It’s sad. But in a happy way?”

“Bittersweet,” Ranpo suggests.

Poe glances at him and laces their fingers together. Their hands were already clasped, but this way just feels so much closer. They wind up near Minato Mirai. The bright lights of the Cosmo Clock flicker. Ranpo stops as they’re passing it, and Poe tugs on his arm. “Ranpo-kun…”

“Come on,” he says, tugging Poe towards the ticket stand.

“What? Ranpo-kun, I don’t like heights.”

“I know,” he said. “Neither do I. But I want to ride it with you.”

“Huh?” Poe cocks his head. “But how would that be fun? High places are unpleasant, and small spaces—”

“I know,” Ranpo says again. “And if you really don’t want to, I won’t force you, but it’d mean the world to me if you were willing to.”

Poe stares at his feet. “Would… something like that really make you happy?”

“I’d be completely over the moon.”

“Then…” Poe fidgets. “Promise not to let go of my hand, and I think I can manage.”

“I’ll be with you the whole time, Poe-kun.”

Poe glances at him. “I might wind up hating this.”

“That’s okay! I might, too.” They start forward. “But you know, the night view of Yokohama’s skyline is something, and you can see it really well from up here, or so I hear.”

Ranpo buys their tickets at the vending machine. He insists. They’re just in time for the last ride of the night. The car gives an unsettling rock as they get in. As soon as they’re seated, Poe clings to his arm with closed eyes. He has nowhere to look; even down is dangerous, considering the floor is glass like most of the enclosure. “Hey. I’m right here. I’ve got you,” Ranpo murmurs as the operator passes them a look and closes the door. After another moment, the cart rocks again as the Ferris wheel lurches into motion. Ranpo glances at Poe, who his shaking a bit. “Look at me, Edgar.”

One of Poe’s eyes appears from behind his hair, and Ranpo sweeps his hair back so he can gaze into both.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. The statistical likelihood of you getting hurt is extremely low if you’re following all the rules, and we are.” The cart slows to a stop for a moment. “You’re not jumping around or opening the door. And you’re with me. I’ve already deduced nothing bad will happen.”

“Will something… good happen?”

Ranpo waves at the view. “See for yourself.”

Poe doesn’t loosen his grip on Ranpo’s arm, but when he looks at the glowing city skyline, he gasps. Over time, his hands slip away and fold around Ranpo’s. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo murmurs. “It’s really nice. The wind isn’t too bad tonight, either. Good thing, since I’ve never done this before.”

“Aren’t you nervous?”

“I’m with you.” Ranpo smirks. “I feel nervous, but having you here is helping.”

The wheel circles twice, stopping once at its highest point. And it is there that Ranpo sees just how breathtaking the view is. He leans against Poe’s arm while gazing out at it. “How about we just stay up here with this magnificent view and each other?”

“If we had Karl, I think I’d want to.”

Ranpo smiles. “Of course. How could I forget about him?”

“He really likes you, Ranpo-kun.”

“Is he the only one?”

“Of course not,” Poe states. “We’re at the top, and I’d like another good thing to happen.”

“Sure. I wonder what?”

“Hmm… deduce it.”

“I already have,” Ranpo says, cupping Poe’s face and pulling their lips together. It’s momentary, though. They rock into motion again, and when their cart reaches the bottom, Ranpo is pretty sure his heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest. Setting his feet on the ground is a relief. He takes a few unsteady steps before Poe grabs his arm and tugs him away, laughing. They’re both laughing. Ranpo knows the operator is perplexed, dismayed, and amused all at once without looking back. They continue forward, hanging on each other, staggering every now and then.

“I can’t believe it,” Poe finally manages, turning back to look at how high the top of the Cosmo Clock is. “We were up there. We were really up there.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Ranpo loops his arm around Poe’s back and continues to laugh behind his other hand. “That was really something.”

“Unsettling, but the view… my God.” Poe wipes one of his eyes, which Ranpo deduces is watering because of the shock of what they just did. “And the fact that we kissed up there… I’ll never stop bragging about it.”

“You’d better not,” Ranpo fires back, his attempt at being stern gets them laughing all over again. They’re still smiling long after they recover. They’re still hanging onto each other, too.

Ranpo catches Poe looking at one of the love hotels while they’re walking back towards the station.

“Poe-kun?”

“Ah. Sorry. I’m just a bit curious about them. I mean, I’ve spent plenty of time—”

“Want to go in?” Ranpo smirks at how quickly Poe’s face colors at that suggestion. “My treat.”

“I… Ranpo-kun…”

“Come on,” he insists. “Whatever happened to the confident Poe-kun?”

“I just… know you haven’t wanted to, so—”

“Well, we can talk about it.” Ranpo lets the arm around Poe’s shoulders fall. “We can get the room and then just talk if one of us decides now isn’t the time.”

Poe nods. “Sure. That sounds fine.”

Ranpo rents the room for three hours. Fortunately, the clerk doesn’t give them any disapproving looks when he requests the room, or he’d likely threaten extortion. They take the elevator up to the fifth floor, and Ranpo unlocks the door. Poe removes his shoes by the door and waits for Ranpo to do the same before they walk deeper inside. Poe’s head swivels this way and that. He studies the bed, the television, the phone, the piano. “All of this feels… oddly normal for a hotel except for the piano.”

“I was curious if you played. I took some lessons, but I’m probably rusty.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Ranpo sits down and starts to play “Canon” in D-major. He’s surprised by how well he remembers it. He’s even more surprised when Poe sits down after he drops off and starts playing the opening movement of “Moonlight Sonata.” Its eerie slowness sinks into Ranpo’s bones. “You’re up.”

Ranpo shrugs and starts to play again.

“Fur Elise?” Poe chuckles. “You’re a bit of a Beethoven fan, are you?”

“Nah, this is just what I was forced to play a lot of.” Ranpo stops while he’s talking, then starts right where he left off. He only plays a minute or so.

“Do you recognize this one?” The piece starts slow, but there’s something thoughtful and beautiful about it nonetheless.

“I do, but I don’t know the composer.”

“Satie,” Poe states, smiling as he leans more deeply into the keys.

Ranpo watches him play. “You’re so at peace.”

“There’s something in this song that just makes me feel relaxed.” Poe’s fingers lift away from the keys. “Know anything else? Wait, let me guess… more Beethoven. Or Mozart.”

“A challenge! And you know I can’t back down from those.” Ranpo smirks and starts to play. It’s a lovely song by a Korean composer. He passes Poe a glance, but then, he joins in in a harmonizing key.

Another sensation arises in him, new and unfamiliar. The latest in a long list, he’s sure. But there is something almost surreal about sitting beside Poe playing piano. Time doesn’t stop because the beat continues, and that’s one way to measure time’s passage. But the way they play in imperfect tandem, sometimes dropping the beat, sometimes hitting the wrong note… Ranpo would wager a guess that neither of them are very good at piano, but this moment is, and that’s what matters. It’s better than good. Incredible. Even when the notes are off, even if they aren’t touching and their fingers are on separate keys, he feels a togetherness that’s different than when he holds Poe’s hand and from all the togetherness he has felt with Poe that evening. It’s powerful. It grabs some deep part of him, drives some powerful emotion through it to his very core.

Ranpo wants more of this, but given how things are, he barely dares to hope he’ll get it.

When they’re done, Ranpo lowers his fingers from the keys. “‘Moonlight.’ A truly beautiful song. You know anything else by Yiruma?”

“I’m afraid not. You?”

“I can play a little bit of ‘River Runs in You.’”

Poe smiles at him, and even without being the world’s greatest detective, Ranpo would know what he’s asking. So he plays the part he knows. Around the last few notes, he becomes aware that Poe has scooted a little closer, that the sides of their thighs are touching. It’s exciting. He misses a note, curses under his breath, and picks up where he left off until he reaches the end of what he knows. It’s only when the piano falls silent that he realizes how fast his heart his beating, how warm it feels when Poe’s hand closes around his. “Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo swallows. “Yeah?”

Poe leans a little closer to his ear. “Do… you just want to cuddle?”

Ranpo considers it for a moment, then shakes his head.

“Then…”

He’s sure that cuddling isn’t enough. He’s not sure if he can deal with anything other than hands. He stares at his own, waiting for them to give him an answer. Before he gets anywhere in thinking, he feels Poe’s breath ghost his cheek. What’s the logical thing to do? he asks himself. What… Ranpo thinks and acts in the same moment. He swivels his head and presses their lips together. It’s soft. Magic in its own way. It makes his heart race and his breath hitch, and that feeling doesn’t go away when Poe nibbles at his bottom lip before they part.

“Let me?”

Ranpo is sure he would let Poe do almost anything to him if he asked in that tone of voice, the quiet one that is confident but considerate, sweet but seductive. “Yeah,” he says. “You can kiss me all you want, Edgar.”

Surprisingly, Poe hesitates for a moment longer than Ranpo thought he would. Because of the name. Ranpo barely needs any of his deductive prowess to figure that out. And it becomes clearer when Poe murmurs, “Can you… call me that again?”

Ranpo swallows as he lifts his fingers to Poe’s face and skims his jawline. “If I do, will you kiss me again?”

Poe nods.

“Then… Edgar.”

“Again.”

Ranpo snickers. “You’re so greedy.”

“Because I want to be able to shut my eyes at any point in the day, whether I’m in the din of a crowd or the silence of my own living room, and hear you saying my name the way you are right now.”

It’s so… romantic. Ranpo’s mind stops working, then starts up again. The name falls from his lips again. “Edgar.” He leans closer. “Edgar…” Closer still, until he sighs the name and knows his breath hits Poe’s lips. “Edgar…”

They crash together with so much force, Ranpo thinks his mind careens out of his head for real this time. But no. It’s just the fact that he’s being kissed with such passion and reverence. He swallows every sound Poe makes. Sometimes, they mingle with his own. It’s magnificent to have Poe’s tongue against his, to taste him, draw those noises out of him, smooth Poe’s hair as they break apart for one breath and come back together. He wishes they could kiss like this forever.

But he also wants more.

“Let me touch you,” Poe breathes.

“Here?” Ranpo manages, blinking.

Poe’s visible eye cuts into him, and he yanks the writer’s hand against his crotch. His free hand slams against several piano keys, throwing a discordant group of notes into the air. Once they fade and Ranpo has caught his breath, he passes Poe a look. He hopes it’s smoldering as much as the heat in his gut. Poe’s fingers shift, and his focus erodes again. He barely notices Poe’s shadow lean closer, and once he does, he knows exactly what’s about to happen. There’s more pressure against the front of his pants, but more importantly, Poe’s lips glide along the edge of his ear and send his hands flying into the writer’s coat for support. “Ranpo-kun, you’re reacting so beautifully. As much as I’d just like to continue doing this, I don’t believe either of us want to walk home in soiled clothes or do laundry when we get there.” One more squeeze, and Poe’s hand is gone, leaving Ranpo breathless with want. “If here isn’t suitable—”

“Here is just fine,” Ranpo announces. “I’ve never had any kind of sex on a piano bench, and I want to try with you.”

“Then what are we doing?”

“Hands,” he gasps. “Just… just hands tonight.”

“Like we did last time?” Poe smiles and sweeps his hair out of his eyes. The lilac points of his gaze settle on Ranpo, and he’s swept away again. “Can we try one new thing?”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t want to deduce—”

Ranpo clutches the front of Poe’s shirt. “I can’t deduce anything when I’m like this. Just tell me, please.” His grip and voice are both shaky. He needs… he needs so much. Poe’s skin on his. Poe’s hand on his cock. He needs his fingers back in Poe’s hair as they slide together, exchanging filthy kisses. He needs to shut the damn piano key cover so he can quit accidentally hitting keys.

Poe just sits there, smiling at him like he sees every fantasy gliding through Ranpo’s mind. “You fingered me last time, so can I finger you this time?”

“Please…” Ranpo’s fingers loosen, and he winds up leaning against Poe’s chest. “Please… anything… anything if it’s you. I can’t stand it anymore.” He feels Poe’s lips press against the spot between is eyes, then against his own mouth.

“Alright. Can you get lube? I’ll get a towel.” Poe caresses his face and switches to English. “Take your time, my dear Ranpo. Recover a little so we can enjoy this. You can come back when you’re ready.”

He nods. That’s all he can do. When he rises, he nearly trips. He’s calmer than before.  His knees are week with desire. His head is swimming. Still, he manages to grab a packet. He’s pretty sure it’s flavored, but that won’t matter. Not this time, at least. He stands where he is for two full minutes. Then, with a breath, he walks back to where the piano is. By then, his head is clear.

But seeing Poe sitting on that piano bench, smiling as his fingers descend his buttons and humming Satie… that’s more than a sight.

Ranpo waits another moment before starting forward. He doesn’t want to break the writer’s rhythm. When he gets closer, when Poe sees him, he just stops and takes it in.

“R… Ranpo-kun, what are you doing?”

“Solving the world’s biggest mystery.”

Poe frowns. “We’re about to have sex, and you’re working on a case?”

“No,” he answers, smirking. “I’m trying to figure out how someone as stunning as you looked at me and saw anything at all.”

Poe freezes and glances up at him. “Ranpo-kun, whatever do you mean?”

Ranpo pockets the lube and holds up his fingers to frame the still seated Poe. “Yeah…” He murmurs the word slowly. “You’re pretty attractive, you know? Especially when you’re confident. I’ll bet you could model if you wanted to, especially the way you look right now.”

“R… Ranpo-kun…”

Ranpo smirks because he can see Poe is flustered. Still, he continues. “You’re gorgeous. All of you. Your eyes, your hands, your mind… and that voice of yours… I’ll bet you can sing.”

A slow smile comes over Poe’s face, one that makes arousal curl in Ranpo’s gut. “Then you should have taken me to karaoke instead of a love hotel.”

Ranpo watches the rest of Poe’s buttons open and licks his lips. He doesn’t even realize he has done it before Poe says,

“You must really like what you see.”

“I’m begging you not to make me solve the case of why you’re still wearing pants.”

“Says the world’s greatest—and currently still most dressed—detective.”

Ranpo removes his socks and unfastens his belt. He’s not shy about dropping both pants and boxers in one motion, especially since he hears Poe’s belt clinking nearby. When he rises, the writer is about as naked as he is from the waist down, and clearly erect. Ranpo glances through the frame he makes with his fingers again.

“Thinking about me modeling again?”

“Nope.” He pops the p at the end of the English word. “This picture’s just for me.”

“Lose the shirt.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He unbuttons the garment and lets it slide off of his shoulders, smirking at the way Poe stares at him. “Am I allowed to at least take yours the rest of the way off?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Ranpo is on him quickly, straddling his legs. But he’s careful. Any contact with his own hard cock is likely to get him going. He works Poe’s final two buttons loose and pushes the garment off of his shoulders. The raven tattoo stares at him, and he leans forward to kiss it. “I like your body a lot, Edgar. It’s not the only part of you I like, but… you’re so beautiful.”

“You should see yourself,” Poe murmurs in his ear. “I believe I could stare into your eyes forever and not get tired of them.”

Ranpo doesn’t have enough functional brain cells to say he doesn’t like his eyes, let alone articulate why. Especially since Poe’s fingers slide along the back of his thigh and make him shudder.

“Still good with this?”

He nods. Because he is.

“Alright. If you change your mind, tell me.” Poe pulls his arms loose and grabs the packet, and Ranpo watches him tear it open and coat a finger. “Are you scared?” he asks out of nowhere.

“That implies I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Nervous, then.” Poe offers up the word effortlessly. “I’ll tease you a bit before I push it in. It feels better that way.”

“It’s not like I haven’t—”

“Oh, Ranpo-kun, please. You don’t have to be modest with me. I know you haven’t ever let anyone touch you here.”

The ragged noise Ranpo makes at the cold liquid smearing against his rim… he doesn’t even realize he’s clinging to Poe’s shoulders until he realizes there’s so much more of Poe’s skin against so much more of his.

“Alright,” Poe murmurs, patting the back of his shoulders. “Alright. You’re alright. I promise I’ll be gentle with you.”

“Edgar…” He leans his forehead against Poe’s shoulder. “Edgar—”

“Shh…” Poe’s clean hand wanders up to Ranpo’s hair and slides into it. “You’re okay.”

And Ranpo believes it. Just like that, he’s convinced. He picks his head up and glances at Poe. After a moment, he sandwiches the writer’s face between his hands. “Kiss me while you do it.”

“Of course,” Poe answers. “Just remember, if you’re feeling good, lean forward, not backward.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo murmurs. “I’ll remember.”

The next kiss rocks him to his core. There’s a brief cacophony of notes as Poe leans against the keys and presses on one of Ranpo’s thighs to coax him lower. He drops slowly until they’re resting together and moans into the writer’s mouth. Poe’s finger returns to its original position. He stops kissing Poe long enough to nod. As soon as their mouths lock together again, he feels a strange intrusion. It stings a little, but the pressure is gentle. And… dare Ranpo say it?

“Good.” He lets the word out and rests his forehead against Poe’s. “Good. So good, Edgar…”

“Can I move it, then?”

“One sec.” He keeps his arms looped around Poe’s shoulders and scoots a little closer. He feels his cock brush against Poe’s and moans. Poe joins him, loud and shaky. “Okay,” Ranpo murmurs. “Okay. Let’s try to find a rhythm. You start. I’ll follow.”

“Keep kissing me, Ranpo. You’re so good at it.”

Ranpo smiles against Poe’s lips and pushes his tongue past them again. He’ll never get tired of how Poe tastes. And the way Poe’s finger is pressing into him again… he rocks his hips in time with it, drinking in the delicious noise Poe makes and the pleasure that friction brings him. “How close are you, Edgar?” he murmurs between one kiss and another. He realizes he doesn’t give Poe time to answer, but that’s just the spell Poe has cast over him. When their lips part again, Ranpo gives Poe more time to answer, but he’s pressing so purposefully inside of him. It’s making an odd new pleasure rise in him. Like electricity shooting up the lower part of his spine. “What do you think—hah—you’re doing, Poe-kun?”

Poe thrusts, and Ranpo sees stars. He’s not sure if he makes a noise or chokes. He just knows he slumps against Poe again and grinds. Desperately. To come. He needs to come. Needs them both to. He needs to hear the practically ear-splitting moan of Poe reaching the height of his own pleasure. Needs, needs, needs. They crowd his mind. But the one thing he needs most comes spilling out of his mouth.

“Do that again.”

Poe obliges, and Ranpo is pretty sure he turns to liquid.

“More,” he gasps. “More, Edgar… more… just like that. I’ll take… ah!” He breaks off and tries to recover, but Poe is kissing the front of his shoulder, now, and the precision of Poe’s thrusts, the friction of them grinding together, the building volume of Poe’s moans…

He loses his mind and tugs Poe’s mouth to his, desperate for another taste. It’s coordinated, but rough in a way that sets him on fire. Ranpo rolls his lips again. He knows the exact moment Poe comes undone because his mouth is filled with a moan that’s almost a scream and his stomach is a mess. Poe’s other hand closes around him, jerking him in time with his thrusts.

“Edgar.” That name comes out again, raw and bare. A demand, a plea, a warning.

“Let me see your face again. You’re lovely all the time, but I really want to see you feeling good.”

“God, Edgar… yes…” Another press, another pull, and Ranpo shudders as the unbearable pleasure in him snaps. He feels his muscles clamping down on Poe’s finger, and that just makes him draw another ragged breath. Poe smooths his back as he comes down from his orgasm. When he does, he’s almost entirely boneless.

“Are you okay?”

Ranpo nods and hugs Poe’s shoulders again.

“I’m going to pull my finger out, okay?”

“Not yet.” He feels his face growing hot. “Not yet.”

“Hey.”

Ranpo feels Poe’s hand along his thigh.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ranpo.”

Those words pacify him enough to make him stop shaking.

“Let me hold you until you stop hurting.”

Ranpo nods, whines as Poe’s finger comes loose from inside of him. It was one finger, but now, he feels empty.

Except a moment later, presumably after Poe has wiped his hand clean, Poe wraps him in his arms, and he feels full in a completely different way.

They clean up. First with the towel, then with a wet washcloth. Ranpo insists on doing it this time. “You cleaned us up last time. It’s not fair to make you do it all the time.”

“I’m sure you’ve deduced this,” Poe murmurs, “but I like taking care of my partner afterwards.”

“Then take me back to your place, lend me one of your shirts, and cuddle me while I fall asleep.” Ranpo grins. “Let me clean you off at least.”

Poe concedes. And Ranpo gives the tattoo on the front of Poe’s shoulder an affectionate caress before wiping off his stomach.

When they leave the love hotel, it’s the same way they went in: hand-in-hand. And when they get back to Fitzgerald’s fifth or sixth house—whichever it is—they wind up snuggled beneath the covers with Karl curled up above their heads. Ranpo feels the raccoon’s tail beat against his head every now and then.

“Poe-kun,” he murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“I still want to have sex with you.”

“Again?”

“Not now,” Ranpo laughs, smoothing Poe’s hair out of his face. “Just… next time we’re in the mood, we can talk about… you know. More than hands.”

“So you’re going to fuck me.”

“I thought that was crude,” Ranpo retorts. He deduces that Poe is smiling and smiles along with him.

“April 10.”

“April 10?” Ranpo echoes.

“We’ll do it on April 10,” Poe murmurs. “I leave the 11. It’s poetic.”

Ranpo huddles a little closer.

“You still don’t want me to go.”

“Of course I don’t,” he murmurs. “But I… know there’s nothing I can do to stop it, so… April 10.”

He accepts the kiss Poe places on his forehead. The whispered good-night that falls over him like a warm blanket. Accepts that this will, at least in some sense, end.

But Ranpo plans to savor it until the very last second.

Chapter Text

On April 10, Ranpo leaves his office at exactly 2:32 with an overnight bag containing, among other things, lube and condoms. Not as an expectation, of course. He just wants to be prepared in case Poe wants to make the night as poetic as he said he did a week ago. The only appetite he takes with him is the one for food. He just wants to be prepared for whatever others arise.

He has built in plenty of time to get lost on the way to Poe’s house. And he does, of course. Several times. On the trains, he actually goes north instead of south. He gets off two stops early. He winds up in a grocery store, half frantic because it’s almost four. He hammers “bakeries nearby” into his phone. Luckily, the map reveals one a couple of blocks away.

Once there, he buys roll cake. A matcha one filled with whipped cream and fruit. Once he pays the clerk, he pulls up Poe’s address. If he walks fast, he can make it on time. He doesn’t want to miss a minute of this evening. It’s the last one they have, after all.

When Ranpo knocks, he’s all smiles. As soon as Poe answers the door, Karl jumps into his arms, and he almost drops the cake, but he manages to save it at the last minute. “It might look a little less nice than when I picked it up.”

“What is it?” Poe asks. “You didn’t say you were bringing anything.”

“Deduce it,” Ranpo says, handing him the bag.

Poe weighs it and smiles. “A matcha roll cake.”

“You really like matcha-flavored things. I deduced that by watching your eating habits.” Ranpo pauses. “Now that I say it out loud, it sounds really unsettling.”

“I knew what you meant.”

Still, Ranpo puts on his most menacing grin and says, “I’m watching you, Poe-kun.”

They both laugh, and for a moment, Ranpo forgets tonight is the last night he gets to enjoy that sound.

“Did you get everything to make dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Hmm…” Poe smiles at him. “If I show you the ingredients, will you deduce it?”

“Of course! I’m the world’s greatest detective, after all.” Ranpo declares, grinning. “Show me what you bought.”

The ingredients are arranged in a way to trick them. He knows that just at a glance. Still, as he stares at them, he shuffles through dishes he has eaten in the past.

“There are two ingredients missing,” he announces. Karl climbs up on his shoulder, and he turns to Poe. “What are they?”

“One is a carbohydrate, one is a protein.”

“Meat and rice, then,” he murmurs, scratching his chin. But it’s not rice. It can’t be rice. Because Poe is leaving tomorrow, they ate the rest a few days ago, and the bags are sizeable. “A misdirect… some kind of noodles,” he decides, then turns to Poe. “Are you making yakisoba?”

“Correct.”

Ranpo hums.

“Do you… not want yakisoba?”

“I always want yakisoba,” he states. “It’s one of my favorite things to eat.”

“Especially with pork belly, right?”

Ranpo turns to him. Not to say anything. He’s just… touched that Poe somehow figured that out.

“It’s a simple meal,” Poe notes, “but I thought perhaps making it with you would truly make tonight special.”

He draws a breath and hugs Poe. He doesn’t know what else to do. Not with all the feelings inside of him. Not with the recollection that tomorrow, Poe will be on a ship sailing to the other side of the world.

“I know,” Poe murmurs. “This is difficult for you. And I… am—”

“No way.” Ranpo glances up at Poe. “Don’t apologize. I’ve really liked having you here. Even if you leaving makes me sad, I’m happy we got to spend so much time together and figure out our feelings.”

Poe smiles and kisses his forehead. “It means so much to me, you saying that. Thank you, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo feels Karl shift to Poe’s shoulder, then watches him vault away. He’s pretty sure he hears the raccoon’s claws slide across the granite counter, but he suspects Karl abandons his post pretty quickly. Poe doesn’t break his focus to scold Karl for once, and the raccoon disappears… somewhere. That means for a while, it’s just him and Poe, arms wound around each other, taking in each other’s warmth. “I’m not ready,” Ranpo murmurs.

“Not ready?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m still not ready to let you go.”

He feels Poe stroke the back of his head. “If I had my way,” the writer murmurs into his hair, “you would never have to.”

He squeezes Poe one more time, then flies away and waves his hands. “Poe-kun, we can’t be sad tonight. I want to enjoy this.”

Poe shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s right to ignore the sadness, but… I hope that happiness will win out tonight.” He brushes his fingers against Ranpo’s face and smiles. “Do you want to cook it together?”

“Yeah, I can help.” He draws a breath. “Kiss me first?”

Poe’s lips rest against in a heartbeat. Ranpo can’t help but sigh when they part.

“Alright,” he announces, tiptoeing so their noses brush together. “Let’s get started.”

Through their combined efforts, they manage to make what is easily the best yakisoba Ranpo has ever had. Ranpo does most of the chopping while Poe manages anything involving heat. “You know, if your career as a detective hadn’t worked out,” Poe comments while they’re eating, “you could have been my sous chef.”

“You think so?” Ranpo asks just before taking another bite.

He stops chewing when he feels Poe’s head against his shoulder. “I know so,” Poe murmurs. “If the kitchen is any indicator, we work really well together.”

He swallows and says, “If you staying at my place was any indicator, I think you’re right.”

Poe leans there for another moment before sitting up again and continuing to eat. The rest of their meal passes in silence. When they’re done, Poe grabs their last bottle of sake and pops the plastic container holding the now slightly askew cake open and skips cutting it all together. Ranpo joins him, taking forkfuls off of the opposite end. At one point, Poe offers him a bite.

“You know, Poe-kun,” he says, accepting the nibble and chewing it. “I really like you.”

Poe leans against his hand with a smile and studies Ranpo with his one visible eye.

“No, really. I like you.”

“I know, Ranpo-kun.” He reaches out to sweep his thumb across the corner of Ranpo’s mouth. There’s a bit of whipped cream there, which he laps off of his finger.

Ranpo’s heart starts to beat faster. “And…” he continues. “Now that I’ve met you, I know for a fact you’re not just an amazing writer. You’re an amazing person.”

Poe lowers his fork and leans against his hand.

“I’m really not good at this whole relationship thing.” Ranpo realizes that Poe’s eye widened. “Shit, did I say something—”

“Ranpo-kun,” he cuts in. “I… need to be honest with you about something.”

“Wait.” Ranpo drains his sake cup and sighs. “Alright,” he says, bracing himself.

“What? Ranpo-kun… I’m not about to—”

“Just get it over with.”

Poe stares at him. “Is this how it was with the other people who dated? The ones who broke up with you? They’d say, ‘We need to talk’ or ‘I need to tell you something’ and you just… froze up like that?”

“I’m ready. Just—”

“I’m not breaking up with you, Ranpo-kun,” Poe states. “I was just going to say that at the beginning, when I said I wasn’t sure I could see you as a friend…” He trails off and sweeps his hair out of his eyes. The sight of both makes Ranpo’s stomach flutter. “I… I’m sure you deduced by now that when I said that, I really meant that, having met you, I couldn’t just see you as a friend anymore.” Poe refills his cup, then sighs. “My feelings for you have changed. They’ve grown deeper. So… rather than breaking up with you, I… was going to ask you to be my boyfriend.”

Ranpo nearly drops his sake cup. It’s not often he’s this stunned, but he is now.

“I know it’s probably fast since we only went out on our first official date in March, but I’m committed to these feelings I have for you. And I… don’t want you to think that by leaving, I’m giving up on them. On us.”

“That’s not fair!”

Poe stares at him. “What isn’t, Ranpo-kun?”

“You… this…”

“You’re stammering. And your ears are red.”

“I can’t tie you down like this, not when you have so much to give!”

Poe chuckles. “But you’re the only person I want to give it to.”

“And if you go back to America and that changes—”

“It won’t change.” Poe says it with complete confidence. “In all instances of this happening in the past—of me becoming romantically interested in someone—the feeling has never been fleeting.”

“But—” He stops speaking the moment Poe caresses his face.

“Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo curls his hands into fists.

“I want this to be more than just temporary, but if you aren’t ready, even if you’re never ready, I’m happy to stay with you without calling you that.”

He can’t. He can’t stand this. It’s too much.

“Ranpo-kun?”

“How?” He demands it, and immediately his eyes start to sting. In a shakier, quieter voice, he asks, “Why?” He’s crying. He knows he is. If the way his vision blurs isn’t an indicator, then the way Poe’s mouth falls open just a little is. He pulls back to wipe his eyes, then turns to the cake and frowns.

“Look at me, Ranpo.”

The bare sound of his name without the casual honorific makes that request something he can’t refuse. So he turns his eyes. That’s it. But Poe is still smiling at him. “Two years ago, when I realized I was starting to develop feelings for you… I think it was a little after Valentine’s Day. You called me really excited about something. One of the cases you had solved wound up in a newspaper.”

“The one with the serial killer,” Ranpo murmurs.

“You seemed so thrilled that you were gaining notoriety, and I was extremely happy for you. But do you remember what you said after that?”

Ranpo tries to think back, but Poe asking him out of nowhere to be something more than pen pals, friends, and rivals has scrambled his ability to think. So he shakes his head.

“You said,” Poe murmurs, “that while you thought it was an interesting case, you weren’t sure you ever wanted to take another one like it. Because that case reminded you of how cruel one person could be to another in the wrong circumstances.”

He feels Poe’s thumb sweep across his face.

“When you said that, you looked really sad. For the victims, for the circumstances that molded their killer into what they were. I saw in that moment how smart but compassionate you were. So, for the how and the why, I… fell for you because you were you. Wickedly intelligent, genuinely kindhearted or at least trying to be, but still a little childish. And so handsome…” His smile fades. “But that day, when you said that, looked like you were remembering something.”

“I’m not a murderer,” Ranpo retorts.

“No,” Poe says. “But whatever it was made you sad. I always wondered if maybe that day, part of that case, or part of your conversation with me, made you realize something.” Poe’s hands cup his face, and he smiles. “You never wanted something like this before, and now you have it. And it’s overwhelming you.”

They’re gone in an instant. Once they are, Ranpo struggles not to reach out for them. Poe is right: he never wanted anything serious. More often than not, he was the one left behind, dumped by the people who tired of his antics. But in rare instances when his partner caught feelings, he called it quits. Over and over. That suited him just fine. He thought so, anyway. It meant he wasn’t tied down, that he could see the world. Except he never has. Ever since moving to Yokohama as a teenager, he has just stayed in this little corner.

But Poe has showed him parts of Yokohama he didn’t know. And they even went to Tokyo, which isn’t far, but it’s a step outside he hasn’t taken in a long time.

“I will give you plenty of time to think. If you never answer me, I will be happy with the fact that I was able to gather my courage and ask you, and even if you reject me in the end, I’ll be honored that you gave it even a moment’s thought.”

“How can I reject you?”

Poe shakes his head. “Plenty of people who have feelings for each other have. It’s because the time isn’t right.”

Ranpo sits with that knowledge. He can’t really do anything else except reach out. Which he does. He holds Poe’s face between his hands. “I… I’m sorry. I can’t answer. But someday, I promise I will.”

Poe rests his hand on top of one of Ranpo’s. “Thank you, Ranpo-kun.”

“How can you be grateful for me wavering at a time like this?”

“Because you were honest,” he answers, leaning forward just a bit. “And besides, we still have plenty of time.”

There’s an ache filling Ranpo that he can’t explain. He’s happy Poe is still there, sad that he’s leaving, elated that this isn’t over, confused that he can’t give any answer.

“To be honest, there is something I’d like to do with you tonight.”

Ranpo scoffs. “Because it’s poetic.”

“Because I’ve wanted to for so damn long.”

Ranpo shudders when Poe’s forehead touches his.

“But I understand, given what I’ve just asked you, if this is not the time, so… I can content myself with feeding you dinner and seeing you to my doorstep if that’s what you want.”

When Ranpo exhales, he feels how unsteady his breath is. “Tell me what you want, Edgar.”

“I want you to take me to bed, Ranpo-kun.”

“God, Edgar—”

But he keeps going. “I want you to undress me like I’m someone precious to you.”

“You are, Edgar. So precious…”

“I want you to finger me open nice and slow.”

Ranpo can practically hear Poe moaning while he does.

“And then…” His voice drops even lower somehow, but Ranpo still catches the words. “I want you to put on a condom and fuck me until the bed breaks.”

His heart isn’t the only thing that leaps when Poe says those words.

“If you can do some part of that for me, I will always look fondly back on it.” Poe’s eyes drift shut, and he lets out a breath. “Say something, Ranpo. Anything. A rejection, a conditional acceptance—”

“Okay.”

Poe jolts and pulls away to stare at him.

“I can’t promise we’ll break the bed, but everything else is something I want, too, so I’ll take you upstairs. But before I do, I want you to promise me one thing.”

Poe nods to show he’s listening.

“Promise me… that if the wi-fi on the boat breaks, you’ll send me a damn text telling me that so I won’t think you’ve been murdered again.”

Poe snorts behind his hand and throws a bellowing laugh into the room. Ranpo joins him, and for now, the cloud of sadness dissipates. He knows it will be back. He doesn’t need any sort of deduction to realize that, let alone the super kind that he possesses. But he’ll leave that for when it happens. Once their laughter dies off a little, he puts the lid on the cake, grabs Poe’s hand, and drags him towards the stairs. Karl, from what Ranpo sees when he rushes by, perks up as they head for the stairs, but Ranpo is pretty sure the raccoon also lays back down and curls his tail around his nose.

They stop on the stairs to kiss. Not once, not twice. Again and again, until Ranpo finally breaks free of Poe’s lips and climbs up the rest of the way. But then, they kiss on the landing, bumping into doors on the way. By the time they reach the bedroom, Ranpo manages to untie the ribbon Poe wears around his neck and unthread it. His own necktie joins Poe’s in the doorway. Ranpo spins them so Poe’s back is facing the bed and pushes, watching as the writer flops down on the mattress, then crawls over him.

“Ranpo-kun, your kisses are so wonderful.”

He catches Poe’s lips again, but deducing Poe has something to add, he backs away.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He dips again, pecking Poe’s jawline while he works on buttons.

“Ranpo-kun. Wait.”

He freezes and sits up.

“Are you good with this?’

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. You?”

“More than good,” Poe murmurs, hugging Ranpo’s shoulders and pulling him down. “I will absolutely lose my mind if you don’t make me come.”

“Then… more than hands?”

“Yes, Ranpo-kun. If you’re okay with that.”

Their next kiss is hungry, breathtakingly passionate, but every motion is calculated. It’s half competition, half collaboration, all mind-numbing because Ranpo half swears he can taste the sentiments on Poe’s tongue. He drags himself back to breathe, and to say, “Yeah. I really want to, too.” They spend a moment looking at each other before Ranpo goes back to Poe’s buttons. “I need to go get my overnight bag.”

“Condoms?”

Ranpo nods, but before he can rise all the way, Poe kisses his lips.

“Hurry back.”

Ranpo is surprised he doesn’t trip on his way down the stairs to get his bag. He also doesn’t trip on the way back up. When he returns, Poe is sitting up, unbuttoning his shirt. He has already opened his waistcoat. The smile on his face… “Are you thinking about me?”

Poe’s visible eye sinks shut as he lowers his head. It takes Ranpo a few seconds, but he deduced that gesture means yes.

“What about?”

“Just you,” Poe sighs, opening his shirt. “The taste of your lips, the way you smile, the sound of your laugh…”

“Edgar,” Ranpo sighs. “You know, you’re more romantic than I anticipated.” The raven tattoo on his shoulder draws Ranpo in. Once he’s straddling the writer, he smooths it.

“You really like that tattoo?”

“It’s lovely,” Ranpo answers. “As lovely as the rest of you.”

They exchange smiles again, as Poe’s fingers start descending his buttons. He takes a deep breath, lets it out again. “Nervous?”

“I’m not.”

Poe snickers.

“Laughter is forbidden!”

That only makes him laugh more. “It’s okay to be nervous. I am, too. But you know…” He untucks Ranpo’s shirt and finishes unbuttoning it. “I deduced long ago that you would be an incredible partner.”

“What were you going to do if I didn’t want to?”

“The same thing I do most nights.” There’s a dark edge in Poe’s voice. It’s new to Ranpo, and it does unspeakable things to him. “Touch myself and scream your name at the ceiling. Or to the bathroom walls.”

Ranpo hums and touches Poe’s belt. “This okay?”

Poe hums. While Ranpo’s hands work, Poe arches up and presses their groins together, causing him to fumble.

He forgets his hands exist when Poe presses a kiss to his neck. “Poe-kun…”

Poe pulls back. “What happened to Edgar?”

“You’re distracting me,” Ranpo whines. “I can’t undress you if you’re doing that.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”

Ranpo shakes his head and lurches, tugging Poe’s face closer. “Keep distracting me. It feels good.”

“Not nearly as good as you calling me Edgar.”

Ranpo’s fingers curl as soon as Poe’s lips come back to his shoulder. And Poe guides his hand lower, down his stomach past the belt, over the front of his pants until it’s settled against his growing erection.

“Ranpo-kun, please…” Poe murmurs the words against his skin. “I want you.”

Ranpo swallows again, then tips Poe over again. The belt comes off. Somehow. He’s not sure which of his remaining gray matter is responsible for fine motor skills, but he’s grateful. The slacks go next, followed quickly by Poe’s socks. All he’s wearing is his open shirt and boxers. Ranpo has no intention to either of those until they’re more equal. He struggles out of his own cropped pants, pulls his socks off, and on second thought, he slides his own waistcoat and shirt off completely. When he lowers himself again, he slides his fingers through Poe’s hair, combing it out of his eyes, taking in the flush on his face and the glint in them. “You’re so beautiful, Edgar.” He watches those eyes burst open like supernovas. “So, so beautiful. But if you want me, you’re going to have to scooch back so we can both lay down.”

Poe picks himself up on his elbows and pulls himself back. Ranpo follows, mostly so he can get into Poe’s drawer and grab the lube. As he pulls out the bottle, he shakes it and glances at Poe. “You’ve been thinking of me a lot.”

Poe nods and blushes.

“What do you think of?”

“Ranpo-kun—”

“I can deduce it.”

“Please don’t.”

Ranpo smiles and crawls over Poe again, smoothing his hair back out of his eyes. “I won’t ever deduce anything you don’t want me to. And if you don’t want me to do something or don’t like it, tell me, and I promise I’ll stop.”

Poe nods. He seems a bit more relaxed now that his mind is safe.

“Can we kiss some more?”

“As long as you want, Ranpo-kun. You’re so good at it.”

He leans over Poe’s mouth again. “I’m so happy to hear you say that, Poe-kun.”

Ranpo wishes he could kiss Poe all night. He’d lose his mind, and probably his dignity, but he’s okay with that. He likes the way Poe moans into his mouth, how his fingertips—the same ones he crafts those beautiful novels with—press lightly into the backs of his shoulders. They trail along his spine and grasp his ass through his boxers.

He breaks away gasping. “Poe-kun.”

“Hmm?” Poe asks, passing him a smile. “Should I not have—”

“I’m going to need you to get me naked unless you want our evening plans to involve doing laundry.”

Poe’s fingers skim his hips and pull the last piece of fabric Ranpo is wearing out of the way. “You’d better take mine off, too. There’s still a danger we might have to end our romantic evening doing laundry instead of each other.”

Ranpo snorts and tugs on Poe’s waistband. They both untangle to divest themselves of their boxers. Then, the come back together with hungry mouths and soft hands and—God, this is good, Ranpo thinks, hugging Poe closer and deepening their kiss. Their bodies press together, and this feels so different than the past times he has had sex. Feels like more.

“Ranpo-kun,” Poe whimpers. “You can… start with two.”

Ranpo blinks. “But I might hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

Ranpo presses his lips together. “You’ve been doing it your—”

“Don’t say it out loud!”

Sighing, Ranpo peels himself away and uncaps the lube. “Why are you ashamed of it?”

Poe’s face is now the color of a tomato. His lips remain pressed together, and he tips his gaze away. “I… don’t think I should give myself that much pleasure.”

“Why not?”

“Just… it’s… I… don’t think I should be doing that myself. It’s a pleasure I… think I should reserve for someone else.”

Ranpo hums, sets the lube aside, and folds his arms.

“R… Ranpo-kun?”

“Nope.” He holds out the lube. “I insist that you finger yourself for me.”

“Ranpo, why that? I’ll die of embarrassment!”

“Because you like to do it.”

“I like to do it because I’m imagining it’s you!”

“Then you start, and I’ll keep going.” He stares at Poe for a long moment. “I’ve already deduced there’s nothing wrong with fingering youreslf. Besides, it’ll bring me so much pleasure to watch you.”

“How can you feel pleasure just from watching?”

Ranpo frowns. “Because I want to see how you do it.”

“You can just deduce—”

“You didn’t want me to,” Ranpo states. “So I won’t. Unless you changed your mind.”

Groaning, Poe takes the lube from Ranpo’s hands and coating two of his fingers. He passes Ranpo a look before flopping back.

“Poe-kun, you look mad.”

“I’m just embarrassed and ashamed that I let myself get talked into this.”

“Well.” Ranpo pushes one of Poe’s legs up, partly to get a better view, partly so he can kiss the inside of Poe’s knee. “Know that I think you’re beautiful, and I’ll do it even if you don’t show me.”

“I’ll show you,” Poe murmurs.

Ranpo’s eyes wander, and a lump rises in his throat. Poe is teasing himself, letting out little appreciative whines. His breath hitches when Poe pushes both of his fingers inside. He watches them disappear. It looks easy. Like there’s little resistance. Like Poe has been doing this a lot. Poe stills, and his body goes slack. “Can I see your face?” The question comes out as a whisper.

Poe’s arm falls away, and Ranpo catches his gaze.

“You’re doing good,” Ranpo murmurs. “So good for me Edgar.”

Poe’s body jerks at that name. Or maybe it’s the fact that his fingers are pulling out and pushing back in. There’s a rhythm to them. It’s slow. Sensual.

“Can I suck you off a bit while you do this?”

“Ranpo-kun, if you do, I’ll—”

Ranpo shrugs. “I can work you up again. You’re not that old.”

“Then… please…”

Ranpo slides his lips along the inside of Poe’s thigh.

“I’ve imagined you doing this… so many times.”

“You thought about me sucking you off?”

“I did,” Poe sighs.

Ranpo tries not to smile. He’s not sure he succeeds, but he’s pretty sure Poe is too lost in feeling good to notice. Just as planned.

“Ranpo.” Poe lets out the name as a shaky moan. “Do you… mind if I… come in your mouth?”

“Of course not,” Ranpo murmurs, resting his hands on the tops of Poe’s thighs. “I kind of like the way it tastes. Just keep fingering yourself like that. And try not to thrust into my mouth too much. It takes a lot to make me choke, but I like to avoid it.”

“Sure.” Poe breathes the word. “Sure. I’m ready.”

“Then…” Ranpo licks a stripe along the bottom of Poe’s shaft before lapping at the head. Beneath him, Poe squirms, and he’s not sure if that’s because of what he’s doing or because of what Poe is doing to himself. He smirks and takes Poe in, inch by inch, until Poe’s entire erection is in his mouth.

“Ranpo!” Poe shudders, and Ranpo can guess why. He pulls off.

“You taste divine, Poe.”

Another ragged moan spills out of Poe.

“You look pretty close. Do you want me to finish you?”

“Yes… Ranpo, please… please…”

“Of course, Edgar. Just remember not to jerk too much.”

Poe passes him a nod. It’s not hard to deduce by the sounds coming out of his mouth that he’s beyond being able to say anything but Ranpo’s name. He’s quick to take Poe’s erection in his mouth again and tries to match the rhythm of Poe’s fingers. It’s not hard. It reminds him of when they played the piano at the love hotel last week.

But it is hard to smile as Poe’s moans become louder until he’s practically shouting Ranpo’s name at the ceiling. One more time, Ranpo thinks, dropping his lips to the base of Poe’s cock.

“Ranpo!” There’s a broken whine after. Poe convulses. The taste of Poe’s release floods his mouth, and it’s everything. He swallows most of it and pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and casting Poe a look.

“You still here?”

“God, that was something else.”

Ranpo smiles. “I’m glad you liked it, Poe-kun. You deserve it. You deserve to make yourself feel good. You deserve to feel good because of me.”

Poe looks at him. “Really?”

“Yep.” Ranpo smiles.

Poe lets out a long breath and glances away. “I… how can you be so confident in that?”

“Aren’t you?” He grins. “I used to just have sex with people because it feels nice. But I’m having sex with you for a different reason.” He hunches over to kiss Poe’s cheek. “It’s because I like you.”

The speed with which he’s pulled into another kiss is startling. Immediately, he jerks back. “Poe-kun, I just—”

“I like the taste of it, too,” Poe confesses, lapping at the inside of his mouth again. “But most of all, I like the taste of you.”

Ranpo lets Poe take his breath. He doesn’t need it. He just need more of this. More of Poe’s skin on his, more slow and sloppy kisses, more quiet moans pushed into his mouth alongside Poe’s tongue. They wind up side-by-side on separate pillows, mostly exchanging looks and smiles as their kisses taper off. Ranpo reaches out to touch Poe’s tattoo again. “You still want me to work you up again?”

“I absolutely do,” Poe answers. “But this time, you finger me. You watched me long enough, right?” He rolls onto is back, still smiling.

“I did,” Ranpo states, pushing himself up. “Pass me the lube and a condom, hmm?”

This is definitely different than watching Poe do it. The way his fingers slip inside so easily, the way Poe turns into a moaning mess again even when he’s going slow. He murmurs praises. “You’re doing good, Edgar.”

“Ranpo—”

“I know. Just… let me do it a few more times. I want to know where I’m aiming.”

“Where you’re aiming?” Poe asks.

“Unless you don’t want me to nail your prostate until you scream. Plus, the bed’s still in one piece.”

Poe inhales. “You’d do that?”

“Doesn’t it feel good for you?”

“But… what about you—ah…” Poe chokes a bit when Ranpo pulls his fingers out, then thrusts them back in with a little more force. “A little… to the left.”

“Oh, so you are telling me?”

Poe passes him a frown. “I… thought if I made you deduce it, you might believe I didn’t—”

Ranpo pushes, and the rest of Poe’s sentence dissolves.

Once he’s done keening, he lets out a raspy breath and says, “Fuck,” in English.

Ranpo chuckles. “I didn’t know you were capable of saying that word, Edgar.”

“I said it earlier,” he manages.

“So you did.” Ranpo smiles.

Poe’s visible eye looks startlingly dark and hazy. Ranpo can read the need in his face, but he also wants Poe to tell him when it’s okay to move again. “Ranpo.”

“Yes?”

“Fuck me.”

Being asked that makes Ranpo remember he hasn’t come at all. In fact, he’s sure he won’t last. Removing his fingers, he murmurs, “If I come too quickly—”

“Then we’ll do it again,” Poe says. “We’ll do it however many times it takes for it to be perfect.”

“For me?”

“For us,” Poe answers.

Ranpo tears the condom open. It’s so hard not to lose control from just that. He has to lube himself up. That’s pure torture. He takes a moment to breathe after he has done that much and hunches over Poe’s body again, using one arm to hold himself up. With the other, he grabs his cock and searches. It takes a few tries, admittedly. He hasn’t done this in a while, after all, but the minute he’s in, Poe is as much of a mess as he is. That first time, he does come too fast. But the way Poe’s muscles tighten around him…

This is more than sex. It’s home.

“Sorry,” Ranpo breathes after he comes down from his orgasm. “Sorry. I just—”

“Again.”

Ranpo knows it’s a demand. It’s the same low voice he used with Karl the one time he has seen the raccoon scolded. “I need to pull out,” he says. “Get another condom.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. I have a dozen, maybe?”

“Two more,” Poe gasps. “Two more. You know what you’re doing.”

Ranpo doesn’t argue.

The second time is better, just because he gets the opportunity to find Poe’s prostate before he comes undone himself. He makes sure he’s gentle as he slides in and out, makes sure he delivers those maddening caresses and pumps to Poe’s erection. Poe comes first this time, fisting the sheets, moaning into Ranpo’s mouth as he’s kissed.

The third time, Ranpo is surprised to find himself flat on his back. Poe rolls a condom down his erection, now slightly hard from the kisses Poe was peppering across his body earlier, and drops down onto him in one smooth motion. It’s fast. Rough. But senseless? That’s one thing it isn’t, because Ranpo manages to bend his knees and meet the rocking of Poe’s hips as he’s ridden, and Poe’s head tips back, his pale throat moving as he swallows. Ranpo has enough sense to reach for Poe again, but the writer catches his hand, hunches over him, and growls, “Harder.”

By the end of it, Ranpo wonders if he’s half deaf from the sounds they’re letting out. But he’s more marveling at the fact that, with nothing but some well-timed thrusts, he makes Poe come undone while their fingers are laced together and their eyes locked. Poe keeps rocking, and Ranpo shudders as he comes again, letting out some strangled, satisfied noise. A moment later, Poe collapses on top of him, breathless and sweaty.

But not breathless enough to kiss one more time before winding their arms around each other.

“What time is it?” Ranpo murmurs, fully aware that his voice sounds a little hoarse.

Poe rolls over and comes back a moment later. “It’s only five past seven.”

“Bullshit.”

Poe shows Ranpo the phone.

“Seriously?”

Poe shrugs. “Time moves differently when we’re together.” He tosses his phone and delivers another kiss. “Let’s get a shower.”

Ranpo stares at him. “You can still walk?”

“I’ll try for you.”

As it turns out, Poe can’t walk. He practically topples over as he stands, and they trip twice going down the stairs naked, laughing. Ranpo stands under the hot water with Poe, taking in the satisfied feeling and the new aches rising in his hips. It has been a while, after all, he thinks as he scrubs Poe’s back.

“So,” Ranpo asks as they’re toweling off. “What do we do for the rest of the night?”

Poe shrugs. “Let’s finish of that cake in bed for a start.”

“And then?”

“Then we cuddle and talk until one of us is tired, and then we fall asleep in each other’s arms.”

Karl walks into the open bathroom with a chirp.

“Karl can sleep with us, too, right?” Ranpo asks.

“I am positive he insists on it.” Poe slicks his hair back, and Ranpo licks his lips without meaning to. “But maybe I should get you something to wear first.”

“Aww… but eating cake in bed with you naked sounds so nice.”

To Ranpo’s surprise, Poe laughs at him and says, “Alright, Ranpo.”

There’s a moment where Poe’s smile seems… he’s not sure. Sad. But then, it’s gone again.

As it should be. The night is still young.

Chapter Text

If Ranpo could put himself in a time loop, he knows before ten o’clock he would pick that night. They eat the rest of the cake (Karl also gets a bite, but a small one that’s mostly cream and fruit). And for the rest of the evening, they just pass questions back and forth about this and that, deducing little details about each other. This goes on until almost three in the morning, which is when Ranpo finally starts to drift off. As he does, he feels Poe kiss his head. The lights go out, but the room isn’t fully dark, meaning he can sleep fine. Karl nestles between their heads.

For a few glorious hours, Ranpo is suspended in sleep. He doesn’t dream. But every now and then, he feels Poe stir and huddles a little closer. Karl winds up between their chests beneath the blankets. Maybe if he sleeps, morning won’t come. Maybe the universe will think better of ending this.

But the night grows old. And the time finally comes.

They eat breakfast in silence, passing glances and forced smiles back and forth. Ranpo is afraid to say anything for fear he’ll lose his composure again. He deduces that Poe is in a similar state.

After eating, Poe combs over the house a couple more times to make sure he has everything. He gives the rest of the perishable food to Ranpo. He also corrals Karl into a carrier, an event that makes Ranpo laugh because the raccoon darts into his arms expecting to be saved. Karl actually growls once he’s stuffed inside of it.

“He doesn’t like it much,” Ranpo observes.

“I know, but the ship won’t let me take him on if he’s not in a carrier. I’ll let him out in the room.”

“It’s okay, Karl,” Ranpo says, gazing into the carrier. “You can put up with it for a little while, right?”

Karl’s growls fall silent, but his tail is still puffed up larger than it normally is.

They clean up the house together. The last traces of their presence vanish beneath the damp cloth that passes over the counter. Poe spends an inordinate amount of time staring at the Murano light fixture in the living room. Then, with a sigh, he grabs his luggage and Karl’s carrier. They put their shoes on by the door. Ranpo takes the opportunity to make sure he has everything. After he puts his cap on, he sets his hands on his hips. “Ready?”

Poe nods. It’s solemn, bittersweet. The door clicks shut behind them, and Poe locks the house up. “I’ll give the keys back to Fitzgerald in New York,” he says. “The station is this way. I’m planning to take a train to Ishikawacho Station before walking to Nihon-odori.”

“Want me to buy you a coffee? Café Lupin’s open.”

“That would be nice. Thank you, Ranpo-kun.”

They don’t say anything on the train. They don’t say anything when they get off at Ishikawacho Station. Ranpo dips into the shop and finds Atsushi at the counter. Dazai is probably in his office, and Ranpo doesn’t want Dazai to see him in this inconsolable state.

“Two mochas, one with extra sugar. Got it. That’ll be seven-hundred eighty-four yen.” Ranpo hands the money over.

When the grinder dies off, Atsushi asks, “Are you alright, Ranpo-san?”

“Huh?”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s probably not appropriate to ask. I just… tend to worry about people by nature.”

Ranpo really considers the question before answering, “Yeah,” he sighs. “Maybe a little down, but I’ll be alright.”

“One of your cases giving you a hard time?”

“Something like that,” he answers, glancing at Poe just outside.

Atsushi must catch him. “Ah.”

Ranpo whirls to the university student behind the counter. “It’s not what you think, Atsushi-kun! You’re way off base! Poe-kun is my rival, pen pal, and friend!”

He says it, but the omission sounds wrong. Worse still, from the almost cat-like smile on Atsushi’s face, he’s positive Atsushi isn’t convinced.

Once he’s outside, he gestures to Poe, and they find a bench near Elephant Nose Park. “Three months ago…”

Ranpo glances up.

“I saw you in person for the first time. You were so frantic.” Poe smiles. “I never expected you to be my friend, much less return my feelings for you. But I’m so grateful you do.”

Ranpo nods.

“And… I’m really honored that I got to spend time with you, see parts of your country alongside you. This was… the adventure of a lifetime.”

Ranpo swallows.

“And now that I’m at the end of it, I—have so many feelings. I was worried at first, but I’m happy I came here. I’m happy I met you. I’m happy… you gave this a chance.”

He hears Poe’s voice crack and reaches out without even turning his head. He winds up wrapping his fingers around the writer’s arm.

“I’m sorry I can’t smile for you now, Ranpo-kun. I… it’s so disgraceful—”

Without a word, Ranpo pushes Poe’s head onto his shoulder, fighting back tears of his own. “That’s not fair.”

Poe draws a sharp breath.

“No, no… it’s not fair that—look.” Ranpo sets his coffee down and grabs Poe’s face. “You said before it was normal to be sad, and that I should let myself feel that sadness alongside all the good. So… you should let yourself feel sad, too. Right along with all the happiness and joy and—”

Poe hugs him. He lets it happen. They’re both a mess. And yet, they’re both trying so desperately to comfort each other.

And if people are staring, fuck them, Ranpo thinks, inhaling the smell of Poe’s cologne. I don’t want to lose a single moment of this.

They finally gather their composure and finish their coffee. Ranpo tries not to make it so obvious that he’s sniffling. But he’s pretty sure Poe is, too.

After tossing their cups, they walk to Nihon-Odori Station. Poe mentions something about the ride and walk being a little over a half an hour. When they get there, Ranpo draws a breath.

“Remember what you promised. About the wi-fi.”

“Of course,” Poe answers, but he smiles like a ghost. “I am… truly grateful, Ranpo-kun, for this time we spent together. For all of the time I’ve spent here. Perhaps my only regret… is that I didn’t just tell you at the beginning how I felt. If I had, we…may have had more time.”

Ranpo hums. “Don’t beat yourself up too much about it, Poe-kun. You weren’t the only one pretending we weren’t something more than rivals and pen pals.”

“I… figured. But thank you. It means a lot that you told me.” He draws a breath and shuffles the hold he has on his belongings. From the tote on his arm, he extracts a gift bag and offers it to Ranpo. “A token of my appreciation. It’s nowhere near enough, but… I hope you’ll accept it.”

Ranpo takes it.

“Open it when I’m gone.”

“Yeah.” Ranpo murmurs the word, then draws a breath. “Can I hug you one more time?”

“Of course.”

They do. A soft, warm embrace, out in the open where anyone can see them, but Ranpo is so far past that. He feels Poe ruffle his hair before putting his hat back on and squeezing him one more time.

He’s not sure if he’s ready. He’s not sure if either of them are ready. But in the end, he lets go anyway. He says good-bye to Karl, lets the racoon grab his finger when Karl reaches through a hole in the carrier, and stands up. When Poe disappears through the gate, Ranpo is pretty sure he still sees Karl reaching back for him.

Ranpo doesn’t have any destination in mind. He just walks until he starts to recognize bits of things. Or so he thinks, but his phone tells him he’s an hour walking away from his place. There’s a clear enough route on the trains, so he buys a ticket and goes home.

Once he’s there, he’s only met with pain. He didn’t want to cry any more in front of Poe. He didn’t want to make it even harder. But it is hard. Loss is always hard. Not that he has lost Poe in the sense that he lost his father, or that he lost all those people that came before Poe. But it hurts. And he feels the sadness, feels the pain, because that’s what Poe told him to do.

The first thing he does after wiping his eyes is put the perishable food in the fridge.

The second thing he does is open the gift bag that Poe got him. There’s an envelope inside written in black ink. The handwriting is elegant. So, that’s what he starts with.

To my dear Ranpo:

I write this while looking at your sleeping face. You wouldn’t believe how peaceful look. Like you’re wrapped in a dreamless world beyond kindness and cruelty.

I truly wish last night could have lasted forever in every dimension. You are so precious to me, and to be treated as someone precious to you makes me happier than words in any language can express.

I remain grateful that you took on my case. I admit when you proposed to, it was one I hoped you’d never solve. Then again, you are the world’s greatest detective. As your rival, I should have known better than to doubt you would.

These past few months have been so, so wonderful. As lovely as Japan is, I don’t think I would have had nearly as much fun if not for you.

I understand my departure makes you sad. In truth, I feel like I’ve gained something here that I can’t take with me. So, I will not say good-bye to you in this letter. Instead, I will say that I hope to see you again, and not merely on Facebook, either.

Should you find yourself lonely in the hours after my departure from Japan, or ever, I hope you’ll look upon our time together and smile. To commemorate that time, I leave you a few things to remember me by.

Please keep telling me about your cases. Even the boring ones sound interesting to me.

I will think of you often. I hope you’ll do the same.

Karl and I will miss you, and we wish you all the success you deserve.

The letter is just signed “Edgar.” Ranpo isn’t sure why, but his chest starts to hurt.

He spends more time than he’d ever admit to anyone fighting back tears before rummaging through the bag. There’s a small box of truffles from the chocolate museum. Ranpo laughs even though his eyes are still burning. There’s also a snow globe of the Cosmo Clock with confetti that looks like cherry blossom petals. There’s a pamphlet from Tokyo advertising the Golden Demon Inn, a postcard of the red brick district, a flyer from Café Lupin, a little plush raccoon that school children normally hang from their backpacks. He smiles at each one and wipes his eyes in between.

There’s also a bottle of Poe’s cologne. He takes the cap off. It smells just like him.

But the gift that touches him the most is at the bottom of the bag. He almost misses it, considering all the trinkets inside. It’s a flash drive.

He clutches the little device in his hand and wishing it was Poe’s hand instead. But Poe is gone on his way back to America. And Ranpo is there, on the floor of his apartment, trying not to cry.

He puts the items in a bag and takes a nap. When he wakes up, he still feels sad.

His phone vibrates to signal unread messages. He glances at it.

Dinner at six? I’m buying.

It’s from Yosano. He manages to write a message back that he’s not in any state to eat. He sees he has missed Facebook messages, too.

Wi-fi on the ship isn’t broken. Did you open the bag, or did you deduce what was in it?

Ranpo’s vision blurs again, and after wiping his eyes, he writes back, I’m going to get my revenge on you for making me so setsunai, Poe-kun. It was all really touching, thank you.

To his surprise, Poe gets online, and the ellipsis appears. You think you’re in a state? Karl is miserable without you. He keeps standing by the door of my room crying.

Ranpo snickers. I guess he really does like me, he writes. Safe travels, Poe-kun. I’ll message you tomorrow. Get some rest.

Poe only answers, You, too.

He gets up and grabs a pudding from the fridge that Poe didn’t eat. It expires today, so he pops the cap off and boots up his laptop. After entering his convoluted password, he dips his hand into the bag and pulls out the flash drive. Slipping it into a USB port, he waits for the device to register. Once it has, he puts his glasses on and opens it.

There’s a single document there, titled “TTH.” He opens it. And immediately, he’s devouring the novel. The one Poe wrote in Japan. The one he agonized over. He deduces the killer early on, but he still reads, because he is uncertain of the ending. When the pudding cup is empty, he nibbles on the chocolates and starts to feel better.

A knock at his door interrupts him. He rises, removing his eyewear before walking to the door and opening it.

Yosano-sensei. It registers in his mind that she’s there, that there’s a bag with carryout on her arm, that she’s saying something to him, but he doesn’t hear the words over the blood in his ears. He feels her shake his shoulders, but he just shakes his head and tries to swallow his tears. And that’s when her questions finally start to get through to him.

“Ranpo, what happened? Are you sick? Are you not sleeping? Is a case—”

“Poe-kun left.”

She closes her lips as soon as those words are out of his mouth.

“Poe-kun left, and I just—feel so alone without him here.”

Something registers in her expression.

“It’s not like that.”

“Ranpo—”

“It’s not!” he insists. Yosano is one of the few people who is aware of his dating habits. He had to tell someone, after all. Kunikida wasn’t a viable option. Dazai was, but he was going through something tough. And Yosano was willing to listen. She knows he’s pretty casual about it, that he’s only doing it to stave off boredom. And he knows, with a glance, that she thinks he’s saying the situation with Poe is exactly like that when he’s trying to say it’s not.

But it is. And he sees Yosano grappling with it, trying to fit it into what she knows about Ranpo’s romantic life.

He needs to stop her. Before she figures out—but she won’t. She has nothing to go on. Still, he blurts, “I shouldn’t have answered the door. I can’t hide anything when I’m like this, and besides, you hate weak men.”

Yosano studies him, then shakes her head. “You’re misunderstanding my definition of weak men.”

Ranpo lowers his eyes to the floor. “He didn’t have a visa, so he had to…” He can’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t want to face the fact that Poe is gone. “It hurts.”

“Where does it hurt, Ranpo?”

“It just… hurts.”

Yosano sighs. “Can I come in?”

Ranpo lets her. He’s not sure why.

She sets the food on the kitchen counter and then says, “Would it help if I hugged you?’

He doesn’t even answer. He just leans against her shoulder as his eyes burn once more.

“I know it hurts, Ranpo-kun. But you know as well as I do that he’s still an important friend to you.”

“I didn’t tell him.” He sucks in a breath, recalling Poe’s question. “I didn’t tell him how important he really was to me. I let him go and didn’t say anything.” He grits his teeth. “I’m a coward.”

“It’s okay to be scared, especially when in the past, all your hooking up has been with strangers who don’t really know you.”

He swallows and feels Yosano patting his back.

“Let it all out, Ranpo. You’ll feel better.”

Ranpo tries to reason away all the pain. It’s not necessary. It’s not logical. It shouldn’t even be there, yet it is. The more he tries to pretend it’s not, the more it sticks inside of him. And the more Yosano murmurs to him that it’s okay, the more he insists that it’s not until he finally, finally breaks down. He hasn’t cried this way in his whole life. And this time, because it’s Yosano, he really lets himself go. He cries until his teeth hurt. He didn’t even know that was possible, and yet here he is, sobbing against Yosano’s shoulder like the world has ended just because Poe is gone. She holds him the whole time without complaint or judgment. It’s the way he wishes his mother would have held him at times.

After he calms down, Yosano says, “There. Now go get some tissues. I’ll get you some water for you head. And if you’re up to it, I brought take-out from Chinatown.”

It helps to have her there. He’s the first to admit it. And as bad as he feels for imposing on her time that way, especially considering she just started her new job at a hospital in Tokyo, he’s the first to admit that without her, he wouldn’t feel well enough to eat.

“Am I allowed to ask about Poe?”

“What about him?”

Yosano stares at the ceiling for a moment. “What’s he like?”

“He’s quiet. Thoughtful. A little shy around large groups of people.” Ranpo sighs. “His laugh is fucking gorgeous.”

Yosano smiles and lifts her hand to her mouth.

“He wrote his novel while he was here. I was reading it when you showed up. I’ll finish it later. And then, I’ll probably read it seven or eight more times before he gets back to New York. But his writing… I feel like every time I read it, I’m looking at part of his soul. And it’s just so… magnificent. The way he writes, the way he thinks, the way smiles and turns red when he’s flustered that I’m telling him how good I think his writing is…”

“You really care a lot about him.”

Ranpo almost denies it, but he figures they’re well past that. If Yosano suspects their feelings, she hasn’t said anything. And even if she did, he couldn’t blame her.

“What sorts of things did you get into while he was here?”

“A lot of touristy stuff. We went to Tokyo for a night. The Golden Demon Inn. Ever been?”

“No, but I might have to now that I have money.”

“The owner’s a nice person. I think you’d like her.”

She eats another one of the dumplings she brought.

“Also, we rode the Cosmo Clock.”

“Did you really? But you hate heights.”

“So did he, but we went anyway. And the view was amazing.” He pauses. “Karl got into all sorts of trouble.”

“His pet raccoon?”

“Yeah. But it was nice having him sleep on my head at night.” He grins. “Also, we had sex on a piano bench.”

“You did not.”

“We totally did.”

Yosano doesn’t even bother trying to hide her laugh that time. Ranpo joins her because it’s a good memory. “I thought laughter was forbidden,” she says, recovering herself.

“I’ll allow it tonight.” Ranpo takes another bite of his fried rice. “Also,” he continues, pausing to swallow. “That day we all went cherry-blossom viewing? Well, don’t tell Mr. Fancy Hat or Dazai-kun this because I don’t want to upset them, but we went the night before since he doesn’t like crowds and his novel was really giving him trouble.”

“Sounds romantic.”

Ranpo chuckles. “Yeah, you’d think so.” He smiles at his half-eaten food. “He’s really smart. Almost as smart as me.”

“I should have guessed.” She offers Ranpo the last dumpling, and he takes it.

“Ah…” Ranpo puts it down. “I remembered something.”

“What?”

“The old man. I saw him with someone that night.”

“The old man?”

“The one who gave me the glasses.”

Yosano blinks. “I… apologize. I thought he was just some imaginary person.”

“Nah, the old man’s real. I met him after my mom and I moved to Yokohama when I was 14. She only stayed here until I was in University. Then, she went back to the small town I used to live in. He helped me out a lot. Glasses aside, he gave me a place to go when things got too tense at home.” Ranpo reaches for them and glances through them. “I wonder if it’s like this for him… when the person he treasures leaves.”

“Does that person leave often?”

He nods. “Germany, England, Canada, and America mostly.”

“Sounds like a prominent figure.”

Ranpo draws his knees up.

“Don’t worry,” Yosano says. “I won’t ask who. I know better.” She takes a swig of beer.

Ranpo deduces she still thinks what he has with Poe is a fling. He’s not sure he wants to offer any corrections. Especially so he she doesn’t threaten to dismember him if he breaks Ranpo’s heart. As slim as that likelihood is, I think I’ll let her think we aren’t dating for now. It feels wrong to trick her, but he isn’t ready to explain it. If it hurts her or makes her upset, I’ll explain and apologize later. To put her further off the trail, he changes the subject. “How’s your job?”

“You know, for men who are so educated, they sure are incompetent. And perfectly willing to take credit for my diagnoses.”

Ranpo leans against his hand and glances at her. “Want me to extort them?”

Yosano snickers. “If you did that, I’d lose my job.”

“You won’t lose anything as long as I don’t get caught, and I won’t. Because I’m the world’s greatest detective.”

She smiles. “You are,” she agrees. “Other than the incompetent men, my job is fine. My supervisor says I’m doing really well and I can expect a raise by July. And she thinks I’m more competent than doctors that have been there for ten or twenty years, though he won’t tell them that.”

“Well, at least someone values you work.” He stares at the mostly eaten food. “Hey, sensei.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for this.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to thank me, Ranpo. Just promise me you’ll feel your feelings and reach out to me if you aren’t fine.”

Ranpo studies her.

“What?”

“I deduced something. But I’m not sure I should—”

“Just say it.”

Ranpo exhales. “You told Dazai-kun that once during his gap year, after Oda died.”

She stares at him.

“What he faced and what I’m facing… they’re both loss, but they’re not the same. Poe-kun and I have already exchanged messages. He’s not gone from my life forever. We’re still pen pals, rivals, and friends, even if we did sleep together.”

“I know,” Yosano says, “but people tend to think, when stuff like this happens, that they can handle it alone. And those same people very quickly find out that they can’t.”

Maybe she’s not as off the trail as he thought. Or maybe she is. He doesn’t bother deducing it.

They clean up, and Yosano leaves. He aches after she does, but he still manages to sleep well enough that night to solve three cases in his first hour of work the next day.

The way he sees it, that just gives him more time in the afternoon to read Poe’s novel. He reaches the last page. The case is solved. All the loose ends are tied up. The culprit is rotting in a jail cell, raving about hearing a heart beating underneath the concrete slab of floor. But most importantly, Dupin, the detective in the story, is going back home. No one turns up to send him off, since his solution had unintended consequences like messing up the town’s economy, except one person. The culprit’s fully-grown child, Leonard. Alias and former identity: Lenore. From what Ranpo can gather, it’s because of how important Dupin has become in his few short months there, because that person wants to start something new.

He immediately messages Poe. I finished it.

Poe, unsurprisingly, messages him back even though it’s two in the morning where he is. What did you think?

What was the ending originally?

The ellipsis hovers on the screen for a long time. Dupin killed himself and Leonard stayed in that town until death, not really changing anything. I thought it was too grim, but it’s what he insisted on the first time I wrote the story. That just seemed so permanent and hopeless. I wanted something more hopeful, and my editors agreed with me, so I put a lot of thought into it. And then, when we were kissing after the cherry blossoms, the new ending just kind of hit me.

Ranpo thinks about it. Did he want me to leave with him? Is that why he waited until he was already gone to give me the novel? Or was it… that he just wanted to spend as much time with me as possible? He never decides, but he does pick up his phone and type a response.

It’s perfect, he writes. But it’s too short. So, after another moment of thought, he adds, Just like you are, Edgar.

Once the message is sent, he sets his phone aside, wanders to his kitchen for a snack, and scrolls all the way back to page one. He’s sure there’s some beauty in that novel he’s still missing.

And, much like Poe’s lost inspiration, he is determined to find it.

Chapter Text

The first few days without Poe are hard. Ranpo finds himself checking his phone too frequently. Occasionally, he’ll ache, but he can’t say exactly how or where. At night, he dreams that Poe is there, holding him while Karl is curled up between their heads. The steady rocking tells him that in some dreams, they’re not his apartment.

To his relief, Yosano doesn’t text him about Poe. He becomes increasingly certain that his strategies have worked. He knows if they keep dating, even if it is long-distance, he’ll have to tell her eventually. But for how, he lets the misconception stand even if he doesn’t exactly like how it makes him feel. He does, however, appreciate the space it gives him.

He reads Poe’s novel seven more times. And he was right: each time, there’s something new that moves him because it reminds him of Poe. The raccoon breaking in, eating the detective’s food, and falling asleep in his bag. The regrettable whiskey incident, which is never fully revealed, but Ranpo thinks whiskey is a good enough American stand-in for sake. The detective Dupin hiking a small mountain outside of town with Lenore (still Lenore at that point) even though they both hate bugs. It’s not overtly romantic, what those characters have. But they do stay up there for hours, just taken with the view.

He’s twenty pages into his eighth read through the next day when remembers something. What’s the title?

Poe doesn’t answer right away. He wouldn’t. His ship probably just landed in Seattle, and he’ll likely book a hotel room before taking a bus. So he goes to sleep.

In the morning, he has a text from Poe. The Tell-Tale Heart. It’s getting published in late June.

Ranpo smiles. I like it. I hope you’re getting used to American time zones again alright.

Jet lag is a truly awful thing I hope you never have to experience.

That’s a lie. Poe does want him to experience it, if the novel is any indicator.

The truly tough one is going from Seattle to New York. I made sure I adjusted my sleep schedule on the ship, but a three-hour difference somehow throws me off.

Ranpo chuckles and rolls over onto his stomach. Well, once you’re fully adjusted, I can tell you about some cases I’ve solved while you’ve been in transit.

An ellipsis appears, disappears, appears again. This time, a message comes through. Why don’t you tell me now, Ranpo-kun?

Ranpo laughs and starts a video call. While his phone is ringing, he flips on his bedroom light. He normally doesn’t do this sort of thing here, but he figures it doesn’t matter much. While he’s coming back, he hears Poe say, “Ranpo-kun?”

“Sorry. Had to turn on the light. Give me another second.” He snuggles back under his blankets and rolls onto his side before lifting his phone. “Hey. You look tired.”

“International travel has that effect on people. I hope you never have to find out. I think my next book is going to be about culture shock. Or maybe… reverse culture shock?”

“Oh?” Ranpo asked.

“It’s just strange to hear English everywhere and get served three portions at every meal.”

Ranpo chuckles. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re safe.”

Out of nowhere, Karl blocks the camera and starts chirping at it. Poe must lift him out of the way because he reappears and says, “Karl misses you.”

“Is Karl the only one?”

“Hmm…” Poe leans against one hand. “Deduce it.”

“Well, I miss you. A lot. Really a lot.”

Even though the light in the hotel room is dim, Ranpo is pretty sure Poe blushes a little. Then, he says, “‘Really a lot’ isn’t exactly what we say in English in this situation.”

“Well, ‘I miss you so much’ doesn’t capture what I’m trying to say. I’m open to suggestions.”

“I mean… I’d say ‘immensely,’ but that sounds a little too much like me.”

Ranpo nods.

“Sometimes, in casual situations, people say, ‘a lot, a lot.’”

“They just repeat it?”

“It’s really informal, and I doubt you’d ever see it in print.”

“Well, then I miss you a lot, a lot.” Ranpo smiles. “Does it still hurt that you left?”

“A little,” Poe admits. “From time to time. Especially after I dream of being in Yokohama. But I imagine it hurts you more. I’m swept up by other changes, and you… you’re still where you were at the beginning.”

Ranpo rests his head on his arm and sighs.

“Now, about those cases…”

So he tells Ranpo all about a husband cheating on his wife and the stolen pocket watch he recovers and a handful of other fairly routine, completely dull cases. When he’s done, he sighs and says, “I’ve read your novel seven times.”

“Oh?”

“Tell me something. Dupin… the detective who leaves with Leonard in the end…”

It’s hard to gauge Poe’s reaction through a screen, but he does see the writer sit up a little more.

“Are they… together?”

“Huh?” Poe asks. “In what sense?”

“I don’t know. Like… I know they’re together. But are they friends or… something else?”

Poe scratches Karl, who is curled up by his head with one ear swiveled towards the phone. The silence, even though they’re so far apart, feels heavy to Ranpo, laden with thought. “I’m not sure. I never thought about that.”

“But you wrote it!’ Ranpo practically shouts it at the phone. “You’re the author. You have to have an answer.”

“I don’t believe anyone has all the answers to any book, Ranpo-kun. Not even the author.” Poe says those words gently, and Ranpo feels the hurt of Poe’s absence twist in him, new and fresh. He lets all that pain out as a sigh. “How did you read it?”

“I don’t know how. That’s why I asked you.”

“Well, if you’re up to it, read it a ninth time, since you’ve likely already started your eighth.”

Ranpo smiles.

“I’ll read it, too. And when we both have enough evidence, we can present our cases.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “That’s fine by me.” He lays his head down. “By the way, I’m going to see the old man tomorrow.”

“The old man?”

“The one who gave me the glasses.”

“Ah.” Poe hums. “Are you… anxious about it?”

“I’m only anxious because I deduced something about him that he definitely doesn’t want other people knowing. But I think he’ll have some good advice for me, so I want to… I don’t know. At least try to talk to him about it?”

“Am I allowed to ask what?”

Ranpo draws the blankets up a little more. He thinks about it, really thinks about it. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

So he does. In a whisper. And to his surprise, Poe bursts out laughing.

“It’s a big deal, Poe-kun,” Ranpo says. “The old man is from a really powerful family. If word about this gets out, especially here, it could ruin him. But I also… thinking about him and his passions, I don’t think that would matter much to him. And I… also deduced that there’s only a thirty-four percent chance that he wants to talk about it.”

“If he doesn’t want to—”

“I know, I know. I’m not going to force him, but I’m really intrigued. I thought he was alone all these years. Or just in a really committed relationship with his job.” He smiles at his phone. “Hey, Poe-kun.”

“Yeah?”

“I really, really miss you.”

“I know,” Poe answers. “I miss you, too. A lot, a lot.”

Ranpo remembers that as he gets up a few days later on Friday morning and plows through a barrage of simple cases. When he’s done, he does some budgeting and stretches. He half thinks he should call Poe to see how he’s doing, but then he remembers. Poe is in America now.

And, rather than sit around and be sad about that, Ranpo locks his apartment door and starts towards the train station by his apartment.

Ranpo’s conscious knowledge of navigating Yokohama extends to exactly three places, although one is a recent development. He can get to his office (just go down the stairs), he can get to Café Lupin (though only if he tries hard), and he can get to the old man’s house. It’s the only train ride that has ever really made sense to him. With a few more weeks, though, I think getting to Poe’s rental would have made some sense, too.

He changes lines and gets off at Hiyoshi Station. The old man’s estate is near where he used to live. In fact, he walks past the apartment building where he and his mother used to rent. He wonders what sort of people live there now. The traditional house, rather than competing or clashing with the concrete buildings across the street, meshes with them. But even if his family is prominent, the house itself isn’t pretentious. It’s traditional, well-maintained, and practical. So reflective of its owner that it’s almost absurd to Ranpo. And it has been like that for generations, he thinks, folding his hands and staring at the nameplate.

Two kanji. Fuku, meaning luck. Zawa, meaning brilliant. He walks through the gate and marches to the front door, winding his cape a little tighter around him. It’s not cold, but he does notice how his stomach is fluttering. He raises his fist, lowers it, then takes a breath and knocks four times, counts to two under his breath, then knocks twice more. It’s his customary signal that it’s him. The syllables of his name. That was after that one time the old man thought he was an NHK representative.

After about a minute, the door slides open.

“Ranpo-kun.”

“Old man.”

Fukuzawa frowns. “I really wish you’d quit calling me that.”

“No way! You can frown all you want, but I deduced long ago you like it.”

Fukuzawa’s hands disappear into the sleeves of his green yukata. “Come inside. I’ll make tea. I picked up some monaka in Tokyo today. You’re welcome to have some.”

“Almost like you knew I was coming.” He tips his hat. “Are you sure you’re not a detective?”

“As I’ve told you countless times, I am just a philosophy professor.”

“Just a philosophy professor,” Ranpo echoes as he pulls off his shoes and stacks them neatly near the entry. “Says Fukuzawa Yukichi-sensei, the pride and joy of Waseda University’s philosophy department and author of many famous works, including the well-received All Men are Equal. You’re chairing the department, too, right?”

“My term was up at the end of last semester,” he explains, pacing down the hall. His tabi socks fall silently against the floor. Ranpo notices his own steps, though: bouncy, childlike, full of his ongoing wonder and admiration for his host. It’s akin to the sort of thing he imagines most people feel for their fathers. Or at least, people whose fathers treat them well.

The monaka are shaped like cherry blossoms. Ranpo studies them while Fukuzawa prepares the tea the same way he always does: with a calm underlaid by focus.

“It’s been a while since you’ve visited, Ranpo.”

Ranpo reclines and bends one of his knees up. “Because I haven’t been bored.”

Fukuzawa scoffs. That’s new. He has never done that before. Perhaps the lingering aftereffects of something too good to hide. “Are you going to make me guess what’s making you unhappy? That’s the only time you ever come here nowadays.”

Ranpo sighs and cradles his head in his arm. He feels Poe’s absence all over again. But he has ways to deal with that now, and that’s not what he came here to talk about. He waits until he hears tea falling into the cups to sit up and folds his legs on the cushion. “I deduced something about you.”

“Did you, now?” Fukuzawa raises his teacup. Ranpo deduces that the old man is waiting for him to say something.

“I came to apologize.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s definitely something you don’t want people knowing.”

Fukuzawa slowly lowers his cup. Ranpo stares into his own, swallowing. It doesn’t take super deduction for him to feel the tension in the air.

“What’s it like for you when Mori Ougai leaves?” He glances up and finds Fukuzawa staring at him like he has grown a second head. It’s the same surprised look he has seen so many times on the faces of culprits and guilty parties when he deduces the truth. “What?”

“You… how?”

“I saw you.” Ranpo finally reaches for one of the monaka. He’s pretty sure if Fukuzawa had his katana, or a weapon of any kind, he’d likely be staring down the point of it. “In March, beneath the cherry blossoms. You weren’t alone.” He takes a bite, chews it and swallows. “I wasn’t close at all. In fact, I was there with someone, too. If Mori hadn’t shown up with his kid while I was there on Sunday with my friends, I wouldn’t have known it was him. But something about the way he walked away… I deduced he was the person you were with.”

Fukuzawa’s fist curls, and he frowns at the table. “Don’t you… care?”

“Why would I care? I’ve dated plenty of men. I’m kind of dating one now, actually. Well, I say kind of, but we’re having to do the long distance thing because of visas—”

“That’s not—” Fukuzawa stops. “I interrupted you.”

“Go ahead, old man. I figure when you interrupt me, it’s because you’re saying something important.”

Fukuzawa’s fingers curl into a fist again. “Don’t you care that I never told you? Don’t you care that it’s…” He stops again.

“That it’s Mori Ougai? Please. The man’s no saint—no one in business is. But I’ve long since deduced most of the rumors floating around about mafia this and yakuza that aren’t true.”

Fukuzawa stares at the table. Ranpo knows he’s totally lost. Eventually, he covers his eyes and sighs.

Thirty-four percent, Ranpo reminds himself, but now, he’s banking on it.

“It’s hard. When he leaves.” Fukuzawa folds his hands. “It’s gotten easier over the years, but I honestly still struggle a bit.”

“How long, then?”

“I’ve known him twenty years. We’ve been pursuing each other for sixteen.”

Ranpo whistles. “Long time.”

“He was a student in my second semester of teaching. It wasn’t romantic, then. Just him egging me on, asking me all these questions. The attraction came after on his part and much later on mine.”

“So that came later.”

Fukuzawa nods. “He danced around it for years. His parents… no, I shouldn’t talk about him.”

“Tell me,” Ranpo says. “Your secret’s safe.”

Fukuzawa peers at him for a moment. “His parents had very traditional, very staunch views of love. There was no room for someone like Mori-dono in their worldview. And I… never thought I could be loved that way.”

“By a man, you mean?”

“In general.”

“In general,” Ranpo echoes. He doesn’t bother mentioning that Fukuzawa is a man of intricacies, that words like love “in general” are too simple for him. “Why?”

“Because the women who dated me before him weren’t interested in my looks. They just wanted my name. They were willing to put up with the rest of what that entailed because being Fukuzawa Yukichi’s wife was all that mattered.” He sighs again. “But it wasn’t like that with him. He didn’t want status or power. He had that. He just… wanted to be human.”

“So you pursued it even though it could destroy you both.”

Fukuzawa lowers his hands. “I think more than anything, we both fear that. And at the same time, we both long for it.” To Ranpo’s surprise, a little smile appears. He half thinks he’s imagining it, but even after rubbing his eyes, it’s still there. “To go out in a blaze of glory, then fade into obscurity, where people won’t whisper our names when we walk by or speculate about our private affairs in tabloids.”

“I don’t think that will happen.”

Fukuzawa stares at him.

“There’ll be backlash if you ever decide to go public. That’s a given.” Ranpo takes a sip of his tea. “But I’ve deduced with a hundred percent certainty that it won’t all be catastrophic. The views are different nowadays. People like you can get married in Tokyo if you want to. Even if I weren’t with Poe-kun, I’d feel that way. I have a high school friend who’s dating a man. Hell, my best friend is probably in the closet.” He smiles and sighs, hoping one day Yosano will tell him. “You’ve been my old man since I moved to Yokohama. No matter how public things with Mori get, that’s never changing.”

Fukuzawa stares at him for a full minute. “We didn’t pursue each other because we yearn for destruction.”

“Of course you didn’t!” Ranpo announces. “You did it because you make each other happy, and your happiness isn’t hurting anyone. I mean, beyond maybe ruffling some feathers and offending some delicate sensibilities, but fuck that.”

“Language,” Fukuzawa snaps.

But Ranpo continues. “No, really. Fuck that.”

“Ranpo—”

“Fukuzawa-sensei,” he insists, setting his palms on the table. “What’s that thing you’re always saying about happiness?”

Fukuzawa draws another breath and smiles.

“Say it.”

“That if one’s happiness doesn’t cause harm to the parties involved, then it is always, always worth pursuing.”

“That’s right,” Ranpo says. “So fuck them.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Fuck them all.”

Ranpo laughs. “With that kind of spirit, sake would probably be better.”

“Want some?”

“I never say no to good sake, old man.”

“For my sake, please go back to calling me Fukuzawa-sensei,” Fukuzawa retorts as he rises. He returns a bit later, and over sake and sweets, Ranpo falls into this long outpouring about Poe that he didn’t even know was inside him. Mostly, he does it so Fukuzawa feels a little better about what little he has said regarding his own relationship. While he does, Fukuzawa’s favorite stray comes in and makes herself comfortable on his lap.

“I wish I would have brought him to meet you,” Ranpo concludes. “I think you’d like him. He’s pretty reserved, and he has a pet.”

“A cat?” Fukuzawa asks, scratching the one in his lap.

“A raccoon.”

Fukuzawa immediately starts coughing behind his hand. The cat abandons her post in his lap and glares at him like he’s the problem before sitting down and starting to groom herself. Once he recovers, he clears his throat.

“I’ll introduce you if he comes back. But I want you to introduce me to Mori Ougai, too. If you’re ever ready.”

Fukuzawa stares at him. “We’re not family.”

“We are,” Ranpo points out. “Let’s see… you greeted my mother and I when we moved here. You gave me a refuge to hide from her outlandish expectations. You gave me the glasses when I was in a particularly bad slump…” He folds his fingers in as he counts the reasons. “You told me about that trick your grandmother taught you. With the persimmons.”

“It was fruit in general. Did you really pick persimmons?”

“It just seemed natural, even though it was spring. And they were a nice stand-in for Poe-kun.” Ranpo hums and folds another finger down. “You were the one who told me that I should take the police exam at seventeen—”

“Alright, alright. I get it. We’re something like family.”

“Not something like!” Ranpo insists, puffing up.

Fukuzawa sighs and drops his head to the table. “You’re impossible sometimes.”

“You told me I could do it.”

Fukuzawa’s blue eyes flit to his. They’re so different than his own, even if they are family or something like it. Fukuzawa’s are sharp like his family katana, often cold and cutting, but also pensive. Like cut gems, they refract his thoughts and multiply them. Ranpo’s own are warm green like foliage, and they remind him way too much of someone he really doesn’t want to remember.

“When I was tearing myself apart, completely lost in the dark of Plato’s cave, looking at shadows on the wall, you were the one who set me free and pulled me towards the light so I could see what the world really was.”

“I have to give you credit for using Plato’s cave correctly, but really, all I did was give you a pair of glasses,” Fukuzawa retorts.

“You told me I could become a great detective. I don’t think I would have become that if you hadn’t said you believed in me.” Ranpo lowers his head. “Now that I think of it, I’m really grateful, Fukuzawa-sen—”

“Old man.” The correction is curt, a little firm, but Ranpo notices Fukuzawa is smiling as he makes it. “Who knew you were a sentimental drunk?”

“I’m just sentimental because I miss Poe-kun. Besides, I’m still probably better than Mori Ougai.” Ranpo hums.

“You’re deducing it, aren’t you?”

“Yep.” He smirks. “But I can stop if you don’t want me to.”

“No, no… please continue.”

Ranpo taps his finger on the table and brushes the bridge of his nose with his index and middle fingers. The glasses aren’t there, but that motion always leads him to the truth, even without them. “He relaxes more when he has a nice glass of wine or liquor. He prefers sweet red wines and whiskey. Sake, he also likes. The dry kind with hints of fruit. But he’s extremely careful with sake.”

“Why?” Fukuzawa demands.

Ranpo can tell from the sound of Fukuzawa’s voice that he’s right. And he knows before he speaks that he’s right about the last part, too. “Because when he has too much, he gets clingy.”

“Extremely,” Fukuzawa sighs, but it’s the kind of sigh that says he’s remembering something happy.

“You like it.”

He gives one of his rare smiles and shrugs. “Right as always, Ranpo.”

At the door, as he’s putting his shoes on, he feels Fukuzawa’s hand on his shoulder. The gesture is parental, almost. It makes him freeze, but not because it’s unwelcome.

“Ranpo.”

He swallows. “Yeah, old man?”

“I’m really proud of you.”

Ranpo sucks in a breath, then puts on the most confident smirk he can muster. “Thanks, but I already knew that.”

“It means a lot that you’d just accept it. Mori-dono, I mean.”

Ranpo hums. “Well, it means a lot to me that you’d accept Poe-kun, too.”

“Bring him here. If he comes back to Japan.”

“Why?” Ranpo demands. “So you can threaten to decapitate him with your katana if he breaks my heart?”

“I merely wish to thank him for being good to you and making you happier.” Fukuzawa folds his arms into his sleeves again. “Besides, I was only going to threaten to castrate him.”

“You can’t do that,” Ranpo answers. He doesn’t bother explaining why. He knows his own grin is clear enough. “See you again, old man!”

He darts into the dark and starts walking once he reaches the sidewalk. Then, realizing he’s heading in the wrong direction, he turns around. He can only get to Fukuzawa’s house, after all.

Stretched out in bed, waiting to sleep, Ranpo reaches for his phone. He has a message from Poe. Let me know how it went with the old man.

Ranpo hammers out a response. It went fine, thanks. Have a good day. I’m heading to bed.

But after talking with Fukuzawa, he feels swayed to so something he never thought of doing. Shrugging the thought off, he rolls over and tries to drift off.

Instead of sleeping, Ranpo spends hours online, alternating between news stories about Mori Ougai and webpages describing landmarks in New York City.

Chapter Text

May turns out to be a tumultuous month for Ranpo, and that’s without the burden of traveling. He doesn’t go home for Golden Week. He never does. He’d just get lost on the trains, anyway. There’s no point, and there’s no problem either.

At least until his mother calls him. “Ranpo-kun, I really wish you’d come home.”

“I keep telling you I can’t.”

“Not even for a night?”

Ranpo rubs his eyes. He’s tired. He misses Poe. He’s pissed that her call is so close to visiting Fukuzawa, it makes him question even for a second that he told her.

“…miss you. You’re my only child, and I—”

“Look,” he cuts in, because he knows missing him is a lie, because the ‘only child’ bit is just to guilt him for what happened to his father, which wasn’t his fault or his mother’s. It’s just something they both have to bear the consequences of. “I don’t know what to tell you, alright? Just… I can’t.” He bites his lip. There’s so much more he wants to say, but he holds it all back. What good would it be to snap at her, anyway? It’s not her fault he’s still in Japan and Poe is back in America.

“Ranpo-kun, are you seeing anyone?”

His eyes snap open. His heart lurches. He fights the urge to throw his phone. “Did you deduce that, mother dear?” Ranpo does his best to keep his voice as honeyed as possible, but he turns it to venom for the last part. “Or did someone tell you?”

“Who would tell me that?”

Ranpo wants to hang up. So badly. But it’s his mother. He shouldn’t. He stays on the line, swallows his ire…

“At least tell me she’s—”

Fuck propriety. He hangs up, drops his phone on the desk, and curls up in his arms, simmering. He’s filled with a dire need to scream into his pillow or fuck someone and forget about it. That definitely isn’t an option anymore, he tells himself. The only person I want is him.

His phone starts to make a noise, so he picks it up and demands, “What now?”

“Ranpo-kun?”

He glances at the screen and sees it’s an audio call from Facebook, not his ringtone. He exhales and presses his ear to the receiver again.

“Did I catch you at a bad time? Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s something. I can tell.”

Ranpo sighs. “What are your parents like?”

“Oh. Um… I was actually raised by an aunt and uncle of mine. My dad abandoned my mother and she passed away when I was still young.”

“What are they like, then?”

“My aunt’s a lawyer, and my uncle manages a factory. They live in Virginia, but I talk to them every Sunday. And they feel more like family than either of my parents ever did.”

“Well, my mom’s a real piece of work,” he retorts. “Calling me out of the blue like the old man put her on the trail. I know better than that. He’d never breach confidence.”

“You… told someone about us?”

Ranpo bites back a curse. “Should I not have?”

“I don’t mind. I was just a little surprised by it is all. You seem like the kind of person that keeps personal relationships private.”

“That’s when I was only sleeping around with people,” he retorts. “I’m not doing that with you, so I think the people I care about deserve to know. But not Yosano. Not yet.”

“Yosano is… your friend?”

“From high school. My best friend. I plan to tell her. I just don’t want her asking questions just yet. Anyway.” He sighs.

“What’s wrong?”

“My mother thought I was dating a woman.”

“Well, you have, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been on dates with them, sure, but you’re not a woman. You’re Poe-kun.”

“I know.” He murmurs the words. “You’re just mad she’s sticking to the traditional narrative she was raised on.”

“Aren’t you annoyed?”

“She’s not my mother,” Poe answers. “But I get why that would annoy you.”

Ranpo wants so desperately to see him. Soon, he reminds himself. But Poe-kun doesn’t need to know that.  He sighs again. “Why does it have to be a woman?”

“It doesn’t, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

Poe’s voice soothes him almost instantly. “You didn’t call me because you knew I was in a bad mood.”

“Of course not,” he answers. “We both may excel at deduction, but even you don’t innately know. I actually called with some good news. Can I tell you?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. He needs some good news after dealing with his mother.

“Fitzgerald transferred me to the communications department. I’ll be developing company materials. It’s… really different than the kind of writing I do in my novels, but I think I’ll be happier there.”

“That’s great. Congratulations, Poe-kun. I’m really excited for you.”

As May comes to its midpoint, he hears his office door slam open. Without even looking away from his work, he says, “Be patient, Minoura. I’m a genius, not a miracle worker, and genius takes time, even mine. I’m working on your case, but it’s currently second-to-last in my…”

“Ranpo.”

He’s surprised to hear Yosano’s voice and turns towards her, peering at her through his glasses. Something’s wrong. Her eyes are wide. Her shoulders are shaking a bit. Her coat is hanging off one arm. Her hair pin is—

Something clicks in his head. “Shit,” he murmurs, removing his glasses. Then, again, “Shit.”

He goes with her to Yokohama National University to find Kunikida, who is hunched over his office desk grading a stack of math tests. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says when they arrive. “It’s good to see you both, but whatever shenanigans you’re here for—”

“Dazai got outed.”

His pen snaps in half. Ranpo expects him to shout. He doesn’t. He also half expects Kunikida to demand who it was, but there’s only one person petty enough who would do that. One look at the boundless fury on Kunikida’s face is enough to tell him he already knows. And if the anger is quiet, he knows it’s real. All Kunikida says in a low voice is, “That motherfucker.”

Ranpo almost makes a quip about Kunikida swearing. Almost. But he stays silent, stunned by this turn.

Yosano tells them the rest with Kunikida’s door closed while they feast on a convenience store smorgasbord that Ranpo funds and Yosano buys.

“So let me see if I understand this correctly,” Ranpo says, biting into a chip. “Dazai has been the owner of Café Lupin since August 9. You’re telling me in all that time, neither of his parents took notice. But all of a sudden, on May 14 at about 1:47 in the afternoon—and I say ‘about’ because that’s what Google identifies as Café Lupin’s peak hours—the bastard shows up unannounced and says… what exactly?”

“I didn’t ask,” Yosano says, breaking one of the donuts in half and taking a bite.

“Probably the same shit that he always does,” Kunikida grumbles. He takes a swig of his water. “Yosano, are you sure you should be telling us this?”

“She wouldn’t be if Dazai-kun didn’t explicitly tell her to,” Ranpo murmurs, chewing on the other half of the donut Yosano left behind. He has to look twice, though, because Yosano has covered her mouth and lowered her head. She moves to step out, but Kunikida stops her.

“Hey, you don’t have to leave. You can cry in front of us.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “I cried in front of you in April. We won’t judge you for it.”

Yosano pulls in a sharp breath. “I just wish I could do something for him.”

“You’ve done plenty,” Kunikida says, “and you can’t do anything for him if you’re a wreck yourself.”

When Ranpo thinks he has given her enough time to cry on her own, he scoots up beside her and taps her shoulder. “Come on, sensei. You can’t carry it alone.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to,” Kunikida insists. “Hold onto us until you’re okay.”

She leans to rest against Ranpo’s shoulder. Kunikida keeps patting her back. In that time frame, Ranpo deduces it isn’t just Dazai. It takes a while, but she finally stops crying. Since she’s still shaking, he doesn’t let go, not until she stirs and sits up to wipe her face.

“Damn it, I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Kunikida offers her a pack of tissues. “It’s alright. You’re always taking care of us.”

“Yeah, let us take care of you for once,” Ranpo says.

She wipes her eyes and her nose. “Please excuse me.” She blows it. “Sorry.”

“Yosano, it’s not like you to apologize this much.”

She sighs. “The emergency room is such a difficult place to work sometimes. It’s just… been bothering me a lot this week.”

Nothing in Yosano’s words violates doctor-patient confidentiality, and nothing in her words points to anything clear. But with the reaction, Ranpo knows she watched someone die last night, someone who thought they had nothing left to live for, just like he knows she thought of Dazai when that person came in, of October 26 when that could easily have been him if not for the phone call that saved his life and the choice he made after. He keeps the whole of that deduction private and pats her shoulder.

Kunikida offers her another tissue, and she takes it. Ranpo pats her arm.

“Hey, I know it’s hard. I’ve seen some shit as a detective. Hell, that serial killer case still gives me nightmares sometimes. I’ve had to tell plenty of parents their kids… aren’t coming home.” He swallows and thinks of his mother, trying to ignore the guilt. “It sucks. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that.”

“It’s what I signed up for,” Yosano sighs. “It’s what we both signed up for.”

Kunikida coughs.

“Something to say?”

“It’s in bad taste.”

“We don’t care,” Ranpo says.

Kunikida rolls his eyes and pushes his glasses up. “You want atrocious? You should see the pile of tests I have to grade.”

“Yeah, that is in pretty poor—” Ranpo stops when Yosano starts laughing. It’s shocking, honestly, to see her laugh that way. Someone as kind and compassionate at her, laughing at Kunikida comparing some emergency room horror to a math test. But she laughs anyway. Ranpo deduces it’s like because that’s all she can do in that situation. He hates to admit that he snickers himself. That’s just the kind of thing that happens in our line of work. Slowly but surely, we forget to be shocked or appalled by the violence people commit—to themselves and each other. He smiles and flops down on Kunikida’s office floor. To be a doctor, to be a detective… it means not turning away from those horrors. It means risking one’s own humanity daily to save the humanity of others. And even I’m not sure, for people like Yosano and me, if there’s any saving it. But in moments like this, he thinks.

“Ranpo, quit laying on the floor. It’s not sanitary,” Kunikida calls.

I hope that we’ll both somehow manage to keep it. He sits up and laughs, making some excuse about getting too comfortable. But really, he just needed the floor to think. It’s where he can think best, after all.

By the time they part ways, they all agree to give Dazai his space. Kunikida and Ranpo agree to text him. He waits until he’s back at his apartment and texts Dazai privately.

Hey, Yosano told me what happened. Are you doing alright?

He works on his case for a few minutes before his phone vibrates. No, but I’ll getting there, is all it says.

Well, let me know if I can help, he writes. He sends that, then adds, I’m in a bit of a slump myself since Poe-kun left, but it’s nothing like what you’re facing. If you just need to talk, let me know.

About an hour later, Kunikida suggests another sushi outing. Dazai’s birthday is coming up. Ranpo has just been waiting on Chuuya to set something up. Though we’ll likely go for crab, he thinks.

It’s later that night when he gets a message from Poe. First day on the new job. Wish me luck. There’s a photo of him with Karl on his head. His hair is tied, hanging over one shoulder like when they first video chatted. His smile looks confident.

All the luck in the world to you, Poe-kun. I know you can do it. I hope you have a good day.

Once he puts his phone down, he goes right back to looking at the calendar.

As it turns out, it takes more than he thought to plan a trip abroad. There’s buying a ticket. There’s checking hotels in the area to make sure enough of them have vacancies in case Poe isn’t in a place to let him stay (though he has slipped a few questions in here and there to gauge that possibility, and they are subtle enough that Poe won’t figure it out). There’s a SIM card for his phone. There’s getting maps for the airports and brushing up on his English (he uses two of his private lessons at the conversation school to do that, and even if the teacher is American). There’s the packing itself. Especially his passport, which he has always had but never used. Between it all, he checks up on Yosano (she’s doing better) and answers texts from Chuuya, who apparently stole Dazai’s phone to get Ranpo’s number and has taken charge of arranging his birthday. Crab is good, right? He likes that.

Are you asking me? Or did you ask him?

I’m not asking you shit. Chuuya responds in English.

After a while, another message from the redhead comes through. June 19^th at 5:30. I can send you the address.

Ask Kunikida-kun and Yosano-sensei. Their schedules are less flexible than mine.

You don’t think I already fucking did that?

Ranpo laughs. Of course I knew you did. I was just checking to see if you were still paying attention. That works for me. By the way, any tips for dealing with jet lag?

Chuuya, in his oblivion, gives Ranpo exactly what he needs. Adjust your sleep schedule slowly. Sleep on the plane. Take Dramamine. Even the non-drowsy shit knocks me out. And drink water.

The day before he leaves, he gets unreasonably sad in the afternoon. He couldn’t say why. In fact, he doesn’t want to. But it’s there, staring him in the face, and he knows the only thing that will help him move past it is talking to Dazai.

So, he boards the train, actually gets off at Ishikawacho Station, and manages to make it to Café Lupin about twelve minutes before it closes.

“Welcome to Café Lupin, Ranpo-kun,” Dazai says. “Can I get you anything?”

“A mocha,” is all he says as he sits down at the counter and folds his arms. He can’t believe he feels this glum the day before he’s leaving. Even the sight of the mug in front of him doesn’t entirely lift his spirits.

“One criminally sweet mocha.”

Chuckling, Ranpo shakes his head and reaches for his cup. “Funny you call my drink of choice criminal when my job is to find them.” He can’t help but sigh after he takes a drink..

“No good?”

“Nah, it’s just bringing back memories of when I came here with Poe-kun.” He stares into his drink  for a while. “Hey, Dazai-kun?”

“Yes?”

Ranpo glances up at him. “You’re dating a guy. What’s it like for you when he leaves?”

Almost instantly, Dazai is smiling. “A little lonely, honestly, but Chuuya’s coming back next week. I’m guessing that’s a little more certain than with you and Poe.”

Ranpo bristles. “I didn’t say we were dating.”

“You didn’t have to.” Dazai disappears into the back. When he comes back with a broom and dustpan, Ranpo follows the man with his eyes, even if they are shut.

“Did you deduce it?”

Dazai hums. “I don’t know if you’d call it that. It’s more… I picked up on your chemistry. I saw the way he looked at you when you were explaining why he was there, how he kept up with you while you were sipping mochas in the corner. Even if you were speaking in English half the time, that much was clear to me.”

Ranpo tries—and fails—to bite back the groan and plants his face on the counter, whispering a string of English curse words to it.

“Don’t be disappointed. I have an eye for this kind of thing, especially when it comes to men.”

“Why?” he demands, sitting up.

“Why what?”

Ranpo keeps his eyes on his coffee. He hears Dazai sweeping. “Why did I have to take Mr. Fancy Hat’s advice? Why did I have to fall for Poe-kun so hard? Why didn’t we pursue it sooner?” Letting out a long sigh, he murmurs, “Why didn’t we have more time together?”

Dazai dumps the dirt in the trash and disappears into the back again. Ranpo takes the opportunity to drink a swig of his mocha. It’s perfect, as usual. When he comes out, he looks like he’s about to answer.

“Never mind. I know the answers to all those questions.” Sitting up, Ranpo scratches his head. “Seriously, the guy flies to the other side of the world to surprise me and write a novel. He accomplished both in ways neither of us intended. And Karl—ah, that’s Poe-kun’s pet raccoon—some days, I think he likes me more than Poe-kun for some reason.” He thinks of Poe’s message about Karl pawing at the cabin door and crying. “Maybe it’s because I’m always carrying food or something,” he murmurs.

“Do you still talk to him?” Dazai asks as he drinks another swig.

“We exchange messages daily, and we video chat a couple times a month. But you know.” He pulls his phone out and waves it. “It’s not the same as having him in front of me.”

“What are you going to do?”

Ranpo looks up to see Dazai smiling and leans against one hand “Mr. Fancy Hat isn’t here to make his pithy little quips.”

“Well, I’m not as good as Chuuya when it comes to relationships, but I’m still here to help.”

“I don’t need help,” Ranpo retorts. “I already decided. I bought a plane ticket to New York.”

“Round trip, I hope.”

“Of course! I can’t miss your birthday.” He grins and continues, “But I also can’t let Poe-kun be the only one doling out surprises.” He glances back to his cup and drains its contents. “It’s really nerve-wracking, though, going to another country.”

“He did it for you,” Dazai observes.

“He did it for his writing.” Ranpo rises. “And I guess, to some extent, for me, too. That makes me feel really warm for some reason.” He sees Dazai thinking behind his eyes, the way he always is. There’s a knowledge in them that annoys him. He can guess Dazai knows something that he doesn’t again. He’s fairly certain that something has to do with Poe. But he opts to pay instead.

Dazai hands him his change. “Safe travels.”

“See you on your birthday!” Ranpo calls over his shoulder. “And seriously, if you need anything, text me.”

“But you’ll be—”

“Doesn’t matter.” He grins and peers at Dazai. “It doesn’t matter what side of the world I’m on. You’re still my friend, Dazai-kun. I’ll help you if I can. Although… maybe it’s best that you don’t ask me for directions.”

After a chuckle, Dazai, “Alright. Then I’ll text you if I need help with anything besides directions.”

Ranpo waves and steps outside. For some reason, the bell above the door triggers a recollection that sends him darting back inside. “Also, if Kunikida-kun and Yosano-sensei come looking for me, you can tell them. It’s too troublesome to do it myself, and I know annoying Kunikida-kun is your third favorite pastime behind making coffee and reading.” He hears Dazai chuckle as he leaves Café Lupin behind.

He stays in a hotel near Haneda Airport that night. The only part of his normal detective attire that he takes is his cap and tie. The rest, he leaves behind for blue jeans and a collared shirt. To his surprise, he has relatively few issues getting there. The problem is sleeping. His flight leaves in the morning, and he’s… a lot of things.

I’ve never left the country before, he thinks, staring at the ceiling. I bought a direct flight. I have my passport, enough clothes for a week. I’ll find a hotel with laundry. He shuts his eyes and rolls over. I can’t sleep. I’m too nervous.

He reaches for his phone. And he almost tells Poe. Almost.

He doesn’t. He drops his phone and rolls over again, determined to get at least a couple of hours of sleep.

At 5 am, Ranpo is dragging himself through airport security at Haneda Airport, covering a yawn. He checks his bags in, finds his gate, and shuts his eyes.

He realizes he’s at the wrong gate and sighs, walking toward the correct one.

Never mind. It’s the other way.

Against all odds, he gets to his gate. After boarding the plane, his pulse starts to rise. The safety video plays in Japanese first, then English. He tries to make himself comfortable. Everyone else on the plane is calm after all. But the plane is moving now. And he realizes that he’ll soon be high. Higher then the Cosmo Clock by… he calculates it. 93.1355. His palms start to sweat. Kunikida-kun would be so proud of me. And to four decimal places.

The engine hums, and he grips the arms of the chairs. There’s a tilt, a little bump, and he knows he’s in the air. It doesn’t take long for his ears to start hurting.

“Are you okay?”

He turns to the person sitting next to him, a woman who speaks in oddly intonated Japanese.

“Here.” She offers him a stick of gum. “For your ears. Chew it.”

“Thank you,” he answers, taking it.

The flavor of mint washes over his mouth. But it’s not the taste that helps. It’s the flavor. The texture. He picks apart the senses, just like he does when he needs to think about a case. But since he’s still nervous, he pulls his book out and starts reading it. It’s nowhere near as good as Poe’s, but it will do. And it is English, so it keeps his mind going.

When the cabin lights go out, he sleeps. He tolerates the airplane food (he’ll have to chide Poe for not telling him about how awful it is). He takes another nap, watches a mystery film and identifies the culprit almost two minutes in, and sleeps again.

He hopes when he wakes up, he’ll be on the ground.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, after being in transit for 13 hours, Ranpo just wants to sleep. His brain tells him it should be night, but it’s morning.

Normally, he’d go right to Poe, but he wants to rest off some of his jet lag before he does. And it’s too early to check into a hotel, so he gets a taxi to somewhere. “Go to the art museum,” the taxi driver says, then honks at the car that cuts him off. It strikes Ranpo as aggressive, but this sort of thing happens in Yokohama sometimes. “They’ll hold your luggage at the front. There’s a good pizza place right around the corner.”

“What about coffee?”

“Starbucks on every corner,” he says.

“That feels… wrong.”

“Huh?”

“Ah, sorry. I’m thinking out loud. My friend owns a coffee shop in Japan.”

“Ah, I got you. Nice place, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo sighs. “Real nice.” He wants nothing more than a criminally sweet mocha Dazai made.

Ranpo buys a ticket and spends hours in the museum. He wonders which of those paintings Poe would like the best. Probably the Mona Lisa, he decides. Which is in the Louvre, not here.

It’s strange to hear and see English everywhere. People here talk fast. With an accent. And the money is strange. Most people use cards. They stare at him. He feels out of place. Unsettled.

Is this what he felt? Ranpo wonders, staring at an old ceramic piece from Greece.

On the way out, there’s an argument in the giftshop about a stolen item. Security is there, and a detective from the looks of things. The clerk remains insistent it was them. They don’t defend themselves. Don’t object. They just nod and speak formally, keeping their hands visible.

Ranpo glances from the clerk to the detective, then back. He should mind his business. He should just—

But he has never seen someone so off-track with a case. It’s annoying.

“I’m telling you,” the clerk is insisting for what must be the fourteenth time. “They’re lying thieves. They’re in here every day and something is always missing!”

Denial may make someone more suspicious, but the silence is unsettling.

“Hurry up and arrest them so—”

“The culprit was you.” The words come out of his mouth in Japanese, but every eye turns to him. He stares at them.

“Speak English,” the clerk snaps. “You’re in America.”

“Sorry,” Ranpo retorts. “Jet lag. I said the culprit was you.”

“That’s absurd!”

“Well, more technically, it’s your younger sibling who does the stealing,” he continues, waving his hand. “Brother, I’m guessing. You just turn a blind eye, and because these two—who, by the way, have a budding interest in art—are in here so often, you try to blame them instead so you can keep your job.”

“You have no proof!”

“Really?” Ranpo smirks. “Then why did that person who looks just like you pull a gift shop snow globe out of their bag?”

The detective spins, throws the door open, shouts, and takes off running. Security just stares at him while he covers a yawn and rubs the sleep from his eye.

“Hurry up and arrest them!” the clerk shrieks. “Or I’ll call the police!”

“Police were already here,” one of them says. “They took off that way. They’ll be back.”

“But you’re just letting them stand there and—”

The door flies back open, and the detective shoves a teenage boy through the door.

“Got the little shit. Which I’m only calling that because he kicked me in the shin and it hurts like a bitch.” She holds his arm. “You two can go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison.

“Not ma’am,” she calls—she?—when the two teens leave. “You,” she says, pointing at the clerk. “You’re under arrest, too.”

Ranpo yawns and watches the rest of the scene unfold. Eventually, the supervisor shows up to thank him. He starts to bow, but says, “You’re welcome,” and rises again. When all is said and done, they’re putting together a job ad for a new clerk, and he’s starting to get hungry.

“Hey.”

He glances up. It’s the detective from earlier.

“You’re Ranpo Edogawa.”

“Yeah,” he answers.

“I’m Gillian Flynn. Gil for short.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he says, bowing, then shaking his head and extending his hand. The detective has a firm grip. “You don’t want to be called ma’am?”

“I use ‘they.’”

“Use… they?” Ranpo puzzles through it. “Alright. I think I get it. Sorry if I mess up.”

“Hey, no worries. Language is hard. Plus, you’re jet lagged. Just correct yourself, and we’ll be a-okay.” They, as it were, extend their hand, and shake Ranpo’s. “Folks at the station are not going to believe me.”

“How do you know who I am?”

“Our whole department knows who you are because of the daybreak butcher case in Japan. We were following it because we thought the culprit was American. I’m in cold cases.”

“But today, you’re in petty theft?”

She—They, he reminds himself—shrug and pass him a half-smirk. “I still go out a couple hours a week on patrol. I can’t sit behind a desk and solve cases all day.”

“Hang on a second.” Ranpo pulls out his business card. “Here. Back side is in English.”

They take it with one hand and flip it over. “This a common practice in Japan?”

“Yeah.”

“Where do I put it?”

“We usually have card holders, but it’s okay if you just put it in your pocket. My e-mail’s on the back if you want to hire me. I do private consulting, and my English is pretty good.”

“Yeah, you’re talking pretty quickly for someone from abroad. You study a lot?”

“I also have a pen pal in the city. I’m here to see him.”

“Well, I can’t officially pay you for this since I didn’t hire you for this, but how about coffee?”

They wind up at a Starbucks, where he orders a mocha Frappuccino. It’s nowhere near as good as Dazai’s, and it’s cold besides, but he drinks it anyway while Gil talks about their work. “I may not have hired you for this, but I could use your help on a few things if your pen pal can let me borrow you. I’ve got the budget. Is fifty-five an hour okay?”

“Yen?”

“Dollars,” they retort. “Our budget is small, and it’d really help us out. But you probably get paid more in Japan.”

“I charge what people can afford,” Ranpo says. “I’m not in this line of work for the money. Plus, you probably heard about that near repeat of the sarin attacks?”

“I think I saw something about it.”

“Yeah, I could tell you what I got paid for that, but you’d probably kill me.”

They shake hands again when they part ways. Ranpo grabs his luggage from the museum and heads to lunch. He holds off on the pizza place and finds himself eating a hamburger that is enormous.

At three o’clock, he checks into a hotel, takes a shower, and goes straight to bed. He orders room service when he wakes up. That food is enormous. And it tastes different, but he isn’t sure he can explain how.

He reads Poe’s novel for the thirteenth time. He can’t help it. It’s so beautiful. And by now, he has convinced himself that the detective is, at the very least, falling in love with Leonard.

That reminds him a little too much of himself.

He goes back to sleep and wakes up around 6. When he’s awake, he takes a taxi to the same place he was yesterday. The sun is rising above the water. He smiles, snaps a photo, and sends it to Poe. Then, he sits down on the bench and waits. He reads the rest of his book while he does. Definitely nowhere near as good as Poe’s, but it’s a way to pass the time.

He has twelve pages to go when he hears someone sit down beside him. Ranpo lowers his book and lets out a sigh. “I was worried I wasn’t specific enough.”

“The traffic was bad.” Poe glances at him. “You came.”

“You wanted me to,” he retorts.

Poe smiles. “And how did you know that? I told you I never wanted you to feel jetlagged.”

“The end of your novel. And,” Ranpo continues, “the fact that you figured that ending out while you were making out with me.”

Poe chuckles. “I didn’t do a very good job of hiding it, I suppose.” He stares out at the water. “When did you get here?”

“Yesterday. My head’s still a mess. I’m damn tired.”

“Jetlag,” he murmurs. “I warned you it was terrible.”

“I’m pretty okay. My body just says it should be night now.”

Poe nods. “How long are you here?”

“A couple of weeks. I leave the fifteenth. That gives me a few days to readjust before Dazai-kun’s birthday on the nineteenth.”

“Ah.”

Ranpo inhales. “Poe-kun.”

“Hmm?”

He swallows. “Yes.”

Poe snickers. “Are you so tired you’re forgetting your English?”

“Yes,” he says again, but it’s not about the English. It’s about something else. Poe’s look becomes puzzled. He sets his book aside and grabs Poe’s hand. “Yes.”

Poe’s mouth drops open, and Ranpo cups his face. It’s only been a couple of months, but Poe’s skin feels so heavenly under his fingers. “What I asked you… on April 10… you… will?”

“Yes, Edgar.” He sweeps Poe’s hair out of his eyes and pulls their faces together, just so their foreheads rest together, just so they can look at each other. The fluttering feeling he had when they were playing the piano settles into his stomach again. Like the world is just them and each other’s eyes. That close, he can see all the little flecks if violet in Poe’s. He backs away a bit and feels something hot hit his hand. “You’re crying.”

“Because you’ve made me so happy.” Poe smiles. “I’m really touched. That you flew all the way here to say that. Why didn’t you just tell me the last time we video chatted?”

“I couldn’t.” Ranpo slides away and turns back towards the water. “I missed you too much.” With a breath, he rises and stretches his arm. He slips his book back in his bag. “Welp, I’d better go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Don’t know, but you’re supposed to be at work.”

“I told Fitzgerald I had a personal emergency. Luckily, he’s one of those bosses who doesn’t care unless the work isn’t getting done.”

“Then let’s do something after you get off if you’re free.”

“I’m free,” Poe says. “What should we do?”

Ranpo scratches his chin, then drops his first into his hand. “Can you take me to your favorite pizza place?”

Poe smiles. “I will take you anywhere you want.”

“Great.” Ranpo watches Poe type in the number. “How’s seven?”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Poe-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“Should I rent another hotel room tonight?”

“Nonsense,” Poe announces. “You’re staying with me. I’m sure Karl will be elated to see you.”

Ranpo folds his arms. “Does that mean we get to cuddle?”

“Every night.”

Ranpo smirks. “Does that mean we get to kiss?”

“Whenever you want.”

His smirk splits open into a grin. “Does that also mean we get to—”

“Ranpo-kun, we’re outside!”

Ranpo chuckles. “I was going to say cook together, but I’m also not opposed to other things.” The wind that blows by is a little cold. “My check-out time is at eleven. I’ll keep my bags at the hotel. Do you want to meet me there at six-thirty?”

“Better make it six-fifteen.” Poe rises and stretches. “Traffic is awful at rush hour, and my favorite pizza restaurant is pretty close to Manhattan.”

“Can I kiss you before you go?”

“Of course.”

He does. Softly. On the cheek. When draws away, he says, “Have a good day at work, Edgar.”

Poe practically skips off.

He spends the rest of his day the same way he did Sunday: wandering, just going in places that look interesting. He checks out first, asks the hotel to hold his bags, and takes a cab to Coney Island. He eats lunch at a restaurant nearby. A hot dog. It’s also enormous. He takes another cab to a more expensive part of town and browses. He has to keep remind himself that in America, three zeroes mean something is expensive. He winds up in a used bookstore combing the mystery section. To his surprise, there are some Higashino Keigo books there. He buys one he doesn’t think Poe owns and reminds himself to buy a Japanese copy when he gets home.

At six, he goes back to the hotel and gets his bags. A few minutes later, he sees a silver car pull into the port. When the door opens and Poe steps out, he rises from his seat. “I’ll take your luggage,” Poe says as the door slides open.

“You drive a Mercedes Benz,” Ranpo notes. “Aren’t those expensive?”

“As a writer, I’m pretty well-off,” he says, slamming the trunk and darting to the driver’s seat. “Is it weird to you that that side is the passenger’s seat?”

“Extremely. Don’t even get me started on the experience of roads here.”

“I felt the same in Yokohama,” Poe states, throwing the car into drive. The minute he sees an opening, he pulls into traffic.

“So aggressive.”

“You have to be here,” he explains. “I get a bit less aggressive once I get out of the city.”

The pizza restaurant they wind up at, thankfully, is not as pricey looking at Poe’s car. The place is, thankfully, quiet. Still cheap, but they sip water and about their days and pass each other looks that make Ranpo’s stomach simmer with affection. They pick up an expensive bottle of champagne on the way out of the city. “To commemorate the official start of our relationship.”

“So our anniversary is today?” Ranpo asks as they walk towards the check-out.

“Hmm…” Poe smiles and hands the wine to the cashier, who rings it up and puts it in a bag. He’s definitely glaring at them. Definitely. Poe sticks his card in the machine, takes the bag, and turns away. He passes Ranpo a very pointed glance and joins their hands, spreading his fingers. The door slides open.

“Poe-kun,” he murmurs, “That guy was glaring at us.”

“So let me hold your hand out of a little pettiness. The rest is nothing but affection.” He tosses the wine in the back, and they leave. “Anyway, about our anniversary… our first date was March seventh.” He waves his hand. “But I got the idea you had something else in mind.”

“When we agreed we were dating,” Ranpo says. “What day was that?”

“I’d need to look at a calendar.”

“When we stop, then. I don’t want the glare to distract you. But I mean… our first date… like our real one… didn’t end very well, come to think of it.”

“I only refused because I thought you were drunk.”

“But really,” Ranpo sighs, “the alcohol made me relax too much. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Poe takes one hand off the wheel, and Ranpo takes it. “You already apologized. And I honestly wanted you to, but I was afraid it was just the alcohol.”

“How could it just be the alcohol?” Ranpo demanded. “You’re really attractive. That’s not the only reason I agreed to be your boyfriend, by the way.”

“No?”

“Nope.” Ranpo holds up his other hand even though Poe’s eyes are not he road. “Three reasons. One, you’re super smart. You’re one of two people in the whole world that can keep up with me. Two, you’re super sexy. Seriously, your eyes are really beautiful, and your body is perfect. And it’s probably a little weird, but your tattoo is a huge turn-on for me.”

Poe chuckles and takes his hand back as he pulls onto the freeway. The engine revs, and the car picks up speed. Once he has merged, he stays focused on the road for a while until the traffic thins out. Then, he seeks Ranpo’s out again. “What’s the third reason?”

“You can cook.”

Poe laughs, and Ranpo leans back to drink in the sound. “So,” Poe says as he trails off, “do anything exciting yesterday? Besides sleep.”

“I couldn’t check in until three o’clock, so I went to a museum.”

“MOMA?”

“Can’t remember. Is your favorite painting there the Mona Lisa?”

“That’s at the Louvre, but if it were here, it’d be at the Met. And that’s my second favorite.” Poe smiles.

“What’s your first?’

“Deduce it.”

Ranpo hums. “I didn’t pay attention, but there’s one of woods and… I’m not sure of the word in English.”

“The Brook in the Woods,” he says. “Worthington Whittredge. It’s a beautiful piece. The dark colors are soothing. I can show you when we get back to my house.”

“Sure.” He smiles. “I also solved a case.”

“Huh?”

“Some kids got accused of stealing, but I figured out who the real culprit is. And had coffee with the detective who was there. Gil, I think it was?”

“Gillian Flynn.” Poe smiles. “They’re pretty famous.”

“So that’s actually a thing in English?”

“It’s become one,” Poe says. “I learned a lot about it because my cousin uses they right now. Though last year, they weren’t… they are thirteen, so it’s not surprising to me at all.” He smiles. “You’re doing pretty well with it.”

“I want to get it right. It feels really important. Like it’s… part of a person. And maybe that part changes as they grow and realize more about themselves, but it’s important to say it right.” Ranpo stares out the window. “Is ‘they’ kind of like watashi?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good comparison. Watashi tends to be ungendered, although it’s usually read as feminine, so I don’t think there’s an exact match up.”

They talk about it more on the ride. Ranpo is pretty sure he gets it by the time Poe pulls into his driveway and shuts the car off. Ranpo receives his carry-on from Poe. And like a true gentleman, he takes the heavier bag. The minute they both enter the house, Karl darts around the corner so fast, he slides into a wall, but he regains his footing and scrambles onto Ranpo’s shoulders, flitting his tail and chirping while Ranpo laughs. He starts crying. He’s not really sure why, but Karl presses his head against Ranpo’s jaw, and he just hugs the raccoon. After a moment, Poe hugs them both, and Ranpo inhales, catching a faint whiff of birch and lavender.

They drink the wine in bed wearing pajamas with Karl between them while Poe looks up the painting and Ranpo looks up dates. Before Ranpo identifies the correct date, Poe taps his shoulder and shows him the screen.

“Wow,” Ranpo says. “It’s lovely. I think I remember seeing it.”

“So often, it gets overshadowed by artists who are more famous.” Poe glances at him, his look a silent question.

“March 2 was the day of our first date, but I don’t think we agreed to start dating until a few days later, the morning after we had sex.”

“March 7, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “March 7.”

“Then let’s call that our anniversary.”

“Aren’t you being a little too optimistic?”

Poe smooths his face and kisses him. “I believe I’m being just the right amount of optimistic, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

That night, it takes him a while to fall asleep. After all, he’s in a strange place. With strange people.

But somehow, in Poe’s arms, he’s home.

Chapter Text

“But on page seventy-three, Dupin says—”

“Ranpo, you’re circling back to old evidence.”

“Because it’s solid evidence, and you brushed it off earlier. That just confirms it’s important.”

“I thought I explained the detective was speaking in a platonic sense there,” Poe states.

“Please,” Ranpo retorts. “Listen to your verbs. He murmured the words instead of mumbled them. He spun away to stare at the wall, and all he can remember is the face he was just gazing at.” Ranpo reaches for a grape, gives it to Karl (who is in his lap), and grabs another piece of cheese for himself. The plate is almost empty. They’ve been at this for forty-five minutes. “Of course, at that point, the detective doesn’t know Lenore is actually Leonard, but he’s very clearly interested.”

“Ranpo-kun—”

“The verbs alone—” he insists.

“Page one hundred seventeen.”

Ranpo bites into his cheese and grumbles, watching Poe flip through his manuscript.

“Leonard, to Dupin: ‘Talking to you about this whole mess, I feel as though I finally have the kind of friend I was looking for.’” Poe lays deliberate emphasis on the word “friend.” He clears his throat and sips his glass of wine, a sweet white from a local vineyard.

“You use the same verbs on page one hundred seventy seven after they climb the mountain.”

Poe glances at him. “They gaze at the landscape, not each other.”

“‘Dupin glanced away for a moment, traced the shape of Leonard’s profile with his eyes—he saw shadows of Lenore there, who was perhaps not lost after all.’”

Poe huffs. “For the record, I added that scene in after we rode the Ferris Wheel.”

“Then where’s the piano bench, Edgar?” Ranpo smirks as Poe blushes. “Or would it be a barstool in this novel?”

“A barstool is impractical,” Poe retorts. “Better a bar than a barstool. A stool would tip.”

Ranpo stares at him. “You did not—”

“It was research, okay?” Poe cries. “And anyway, we’re off-topic. That has nothing to do with The Tell-Tale Heart.”

“Which, for the record, sounds much more romantic than any of your other titles.”

“Ranpo-kun—”

“Black Cat in the Rue Mourge, The Cask of Amontillado, The Mask of the Red Death—” Ranpo folds his arms and smirks. “The last paragraph. Read it out loud.”

“I’d have to flip to the page.”

“I have time, given you’ve provided me with food.”

Poe sighs and flips to the page and reads. “‘The two turned their backs on the town, destined to die now that the truth was revealed. Still, Dupin takes some comfort in knowing Leonard is leaving it behind with him.’”

“So what does Leonard feel in that scene?”

Poe stares at Ranpo for a long moment. “I don’t know. Probably a lot of the same things I felt when I left for Yokohama. Fear. Hope.” He shrugs.

“So why didn’t you say that?”

“Because I want the reader to decide.” Poe frowns at the table.

“You’ve been dragging this out.”

“Because seeing you so fired up about my writing makes me feel incredible.”

Ranpo taps his own copy of the manuscript. “Fine.” He takes off his glasses and rubs Karl’s ears. “I won’t make you concede that Leonard and Dupin share more than platonic interest in each other. But,” Ranpo states, reaching for a cracker. “I at least want you to concede that it can be read that way.”

Poe stares at him. “They aren’t us.”

“I know they aren’t.”

Poe swallows. “Ranpo-kun.”

“Yes, my lovely raven?” He’s startled when Ranpo’s eyes cut to him.

“Page two-hundred seven.”

Ranpo rolls his eyes. “We already talked about Leonard’s claim that he prefers the company of women. So now who’s circling back? Besides, Dupin doubts that.”

“Prove it.”

“He taps his foot. He always does that when he doubts something. He did the same thing when Usher made that speech about how sorry he was about the murder.”

Poe flips back to the page and reads the passage. “I didn’t even realize he did that.”

“So can we agree it’s one possible reading?”

Poe stares at him.

“Poe-kun.”

“I don’t want to.” It’s childish, completely out of character for him. Karl abandons his spot in Ranpo’s lap and scurries off.

“Why does it bother you? Do the characters not want happiness that way, or—”

“This isn’t about what they want or don’t want.” Poe leans against his hand and covers his eyes. “I don’t want to admit it because that means my feelings influenced what I wrote.”

“Have they not before?”

“Heartbreak has,” Poe confesses, reaching for his wine again. “That sort of loss was usually when I wrote poetry. It’s how I wrote ‘Annabel Lee.’”

“Was her name really Annabel?”

“No, it was Jennifer.”

Ranpo snickers. “What about ‘The Raven’?”

Poe’s finger circles the rim of his wine glass. “I wrote that after I got the tattoo and won a local contest with it. When my classmates said they liked it, I’m pretty sure I laughed at them. They thought I was crazy.”

“Well, they weren’t wrong,” Ranpo says. “You’re dating me, after all.”

Poe smiles, then turns away as Karl comes back, tugging at his arm and offering him a pen. He scratches Karl behind the ears.

“Did I really upset you?”

“A little,” Poe confesses. “But it’s like you always say, the truth only hurts when people wish it wasn’t true.”

Ranpo smiles. “Can I do anything to make you feel better?”

“You can absolutely come over here and kiss me during our intermission.”

Ranpo blinks.

“I’m not ready to concede anything yet, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

Snickering, Ranpo rises and circles the table. Poe meets him halfway with a slow, gentle kiss.

“Now, then. I think it’s past lunchtime.”

“Are we cooking again?”

“I was thinking of taking you to my favorite diner. And then, to my favorite bookstore.” Poe smiles. “And there’s also some tea I’d like you to try when we come back.”

“Sounds good,” Ranpo murmurs pressing their lips together one more time.

“Alternatively…” Poe’s hand slides into Ranpo’s hair. “We could order something for delivery.”

“And after it gets here?”

“Hmm…” Poe leans forward until their mouths are inches apart. “Deduce it.”

Ranpo pulls him in for something a little more passionate, but Poe turns away at the last minute.

“Ah, Karl! Not Ranpo-kun’s glasses!”

It takes twenty minutes for them to catch the raccoon, and by the time they have, Poe is breathless, Ranpo has a bruise from knocking his arm against a wall, and Ranpo’s glasses have taken an unfortunate dive into the toilet in the hallway half bathroom. Poe apologizes about a dozen times while washing them off in the sink. He’s about halfway through the thirteenth time when Ranpo hugs him from behind.

Poe stops in the middle of his sentence. “Ranpo-kun…”

“I really want you tonight,” he says. “It’s Saturday, and we can stay in bed late tomorrow. And we can eat breakfast in bed again. That was really nice.”

Ranpo watches Poe’s reflection smile as he goes back to washing Ranpo’s eyewear. “It’s true, we haven’t had sex since you got here. Because you’ve been tired. And we’ve both been busy.” Poe shuts off the water. “How many cases have you solved for Gil now?”

“Three. I’m almost done with a fourth, but the last one really rattled me. Really nasty serial killer case. Only killed kids under thirteen to keep them children forever.” He shuts his eyes and tries not to think about it. “All of them were asphyxiated to leave as few marks behind as possible.”

Poe sets the glasses on the hand towel and rests his hands on the bathroom counter.

“Sorry. It’s just… hard.”

“I’m a little relieved it is,” Poe murmurs, drawing a breath. “It means you’re still human.”

Ranpo glances up at Poe’s reflection to find the writer studying him. “Can I just… hold onto you for a little while longer?”

“You can hold onto me for as long as you want, my dear Ranpo-kun. I’m here to help in any way I can.”

“You’re helping plenty, Edgar.” He sighs against the back of Poe’s shoulder and just enjoys that moment.

At least, until his stomach growls.

Poe’s favorite diner is the kind of place where everyone knows everyone. Ranpo is familiar with that small-town atmosphere. He spent his first fourteen years in a place like that. The server takes one look at Ranpo and smiles. “What’ll it be?”

She says it so fast, Ranpo almost misses it.

“The usual,” Poe says. He hasn’t even looked at the menu.

Ranpo hums and skims the text. “Strawberry French toast.” That’s something he knows.

“You want the combo?”

Combo probably means more food, so he says he does.

“Two eggs and your choice of home fries or hashbrowns.”

“What’s a home fry?”

The server swivels. “Edgar, you didn’t teach him about a proper American breakfast?”

“We were engaged in a very compelling conversation about my upcoming novel.”

“The one you wrote in Japan?”

Poe nods.

“I think it’s his best one,” Ranpo says. “But really, what’s a home fry?”

“Home fries are cubed potatoes. Hashbrowns are shredded. Both are fried on the griddle and seasoned.”

“Poe-kun prefers the hashbrowns, right?”

“You some kind of detective?”

“I’m the world’s greatest detective, Ranpo Edogawa.” It’s strange to say his name in that order. “I’ll try the hashbrowns. Eggs over easy.”

“Coming right up.” She walks away without taking the menus. Ranpo glances at Poe, who watches her walk away.

A notion strikes Ranpo. “Does she know?” he asks in Japanese.

He feels Poe’s hand on his and murmurs back in the same language, “I think they all know.”

Even if they do, the atmosphere isn’t tense like it would be in Japan. And the one child who asks about it receives an explanation that they’re like any other happy couple. Of course, by then, Ranpo is distracted by how Poe is smiling at him, smoothing the back of his hand with his thumb.

When the food comes, Ranpo is startled by how big everything is. Still, he eats every bite. And he exchanges a few bites of his French toast for one of Poe’s sausage links. The food is heavy. He can barely move afterwards. When they cash out, the server slips Poe a couple of boxes and winks at him.

It makes Ranpo bristle. Mostly because her nametag reads “Jenny,” and he knows what that’s short for.

Ranpo stares out the window as they drive to the bookstore. “Poe-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“Was she your ex?” He turns to see the sort of expression Poe is making. His eyes are locked on the road.

“Ranpo-kun, what gave you that idea?”

“Her name—”

“Ranpo-kun, the Jennifer I had a crush on now lives in California and is married to a woman.” Poe smiles. “Is it your jealously clouding your normally perfect judgment, or is it the fact that you want me?”

“Deduce it,” Ranpo answers. When Poe doesn’t speak, he says, “Then when she gave you those boxes earlier and winked—”

“She was giving me two slices of pie—one cherry, one pecan—on the house in congratulations for my new relationship.” Poe glances at him. “Rest assures, Ranpo-kun, she didn’t intend that as a romantic gesture. Besides, I disregard or politely decline romantic gestures if they’re not coming from the person I’m with. And right now—and I hope for a long time—” As they slow to a stop, Poe sets his hand on Ranpo’s. “That is you, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo smiles and lets Poe’s fingers slide between his.

“I guess even the world’s greatest detective gets a little jealous.”

“I was not—”

“Ranpo-kun,” Poe murmurs. “It’s okay. I should have told you before we went.” The car starts to move forward. “Forgive me?”

“Only if you forgive me for being childish.”

“The way I see it, there’s nothing to forgive you for.”

They spend an hour and a half in the bookstore. Ranpo could almost eat a snack afterwards. Almost. He tries to sneakily purchase a volume of Poe’s poetry that he finds, but Poe extends his hands and glances away. “I’ll buy it for you. You bought me that Japanese copy of Salvation of a Saint.”

Ranpo hugs it a little closer. “I want you to read it to me.”

“I’ll read some of it to you,” Poe concedes. He’s blushing a little. “But I’m really not fond of my poetry.”

“Why not?” Ranpo hands over the book. “It’s beautiful.”

Poe takes it and dips to peck his cheek. “Sounds like someone I know,” he murmurs as he draws away.

Ranpo touches the skin Poe touched, then follows the American to the check-out.

When they get back to Poe’s house, they resume their debate in the living room over tea, occupying opposite ends of the couch. Karl rests on the arm of the sofa behind Poe, flitting his tail and making happy chirps as he receives scratches. It’s just as heated as before, with the same tug and pull. And the tea is magnificent.

“What kind of tea is this again?”

“It’s a rose Earl Grey,” Poe says. “I bought it from a vendor in the city. If you’d like, I can give you the address so you can go there Monday.”

“Yeah. I’ve got some time before I meet up with Gil.”

Poe hums. “Now, about page ninety-four—”

“Poe-kun.”

Poe throws his head back with a laugh. “Just admit defeat, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo sets his tea down and crawls over the writer. He receives a questioning look as Ranpo lowers himself onto the writer’s chest and hugs him tight. “I’m really happy I’m here,” he says. “But I really miss Japan.” The weight of Poe’s hand presses down on his head. “I really miss Café Lupin. And my friends. And the old man. I miss the food. And the places. Was it like this for you?”

“On and off,” Poe answers. “The whole time I was there.”

Ranpo inhales. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Poe answers, slipping his hand to the side of Ranpo’s face. “You never, ever have to apologize for your feelings, Ranpo-kun.”

When he drops back on Poe’s chest again, he’s smiling. “Edgar.”

“Hmm?”

“Can I hear you recite a poem?” He knows without looking that Poe is smiling. “I want to hear your poem about the raven. The one you mentioned earlier. Do you remember it?”

“Of course. It’s not a very happy poem, though.”

“It’s okay.” Ranpo shuts his eyes. “The important thing is that you’re reciting it.” Beneath his cheek, Poe’s chest rumbles with a laugh. He takes a breath, lets it out, draws in another.

Then, he starts.

It’s like magic, hearing him recount the tale of the speaker being driven mad by a raven on his mantle. On Athena’s bust, no less. The layers of meaning there… how madness and wisdom become conflated, making it a curse the speaker intends to shut out… perhaps that’s the real madness in it. And the fact that Poe’s hand trails along his arm the whole time he speaks…

“Ranpo-kun?”

“You’re so beautiful, Edgar.” He opens his eyes and stares at their empty mugs on the table. “So, so beautiful. You move me in ways I didn’t think were possible.” He feels Poe’s chest rise and fall. “I really… really like you, Poe-kun. Maybe that’s why… I’m okay with it.”

“Okay with what?”

“The thought of you fucking me.”

Poe jolts beneath him, and he turns so he’s looking at the writer.

“You like that thought, too, don’t you?”

“Ranpo-kun, you’re going to wind me up—”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do, my lovely raven.”

“Again? Why a raven?” Poe sputters.

“Why not?” Ranpo smirks. “You have a raven tattoo and a raven poem.”

“But I’m not—” He stops as soon as Ranpo reaches up and sweeps his hair out of his eyes.

“I’d let you do it.” He fills his lungs. “And if I have anything to say about it…” He lowers himself so their lips are a mere centimeter apart. “You will be the only one.”

Poe must read some implications in Ranpo’s words. His eyes widen, then slowly drop shut like he’s expecting something.

“Will you, Edgar?” he murmurs, brushing his lips against Poe’s. “Will you be my first and only?”

Ranpo expects a hungry kiss. Instead, he gets a smoldering look and a half-smirk that sends him plummeting towards Poe’s mouth again. As inevitable as Newton’s apple.

But he’s stopped by Poe’s fingers against his lips. “Page ninety-four—”

“You can read it both ways,” Ranpo manages, swallowing a moan as Poe’s hand drifts down his back. He deduces its destination and tries not to lose himself too much in the thought of Poe grabbing his ass. “Just like we can fuck both ways.”

Poe smiles. His hand rests on Ranpo’s lower back. “Take a shower.”

Ranpo stares at him. “Take one with me.”

“If I do that, we won’t make it to the bedroom, and the water will complicate things.”

Ranpo leans down so their heads touch.

“We can try it next time.”

“Then… can you wait for me?”

“I waited for you for two years,” Poe murmurs, caressing Ranpo’s cheek. “I believe I can wait another twenty minutes, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

Chapter Text

Ranpo towels his hair dry and wipes the fog away from the bathroom mirror. His face is still a little red from how thoroughly he cleaned himself. And from the thought of what he has given Poe permission to do.

He’s pretty sure he has lost his mind.

I’m in America, he thinks. I’m standing in Poe-kun’s en-suite in a towel. He’s in bed right on the other side of the door. Ranpo presses his palms against the sink and hunches over. And I want him. So damn much. But I’m also… Ranpo swallows and stares at his own face. Should I put my clothes back on? No… what’s the point in that if he’s just going to take them off again? He winds up putting his boxers on and sliding the robe on the back of the door over his shoulders. It’s all black, but it’s soft, and it smells like Poe. He’s not going to force me to follow through. I can just tell him I don’t want to and he’ll stop. I know he will. Ranpo glances at himself in the mirror again. But I… really want him to.

Swallowing, he opens the door and steps across the hardwood floor of Poe’s bedroom. He remembers, while Poe was giving him a tour of the house, he mentioned that the floors were all original.

He emerges to find Poe laying on the bed, flipping through the book he bought earlier. Ranpo comes to a stop, and Poe shuts it.

They stare at each other for half a minute. Ranpo swallows. “I, uh…”

“Ranpo-kun.” Poe pats the space next to him, and Ranpo creeps forward. He sits down on the side of the bed Poe isn’t on and stares at his feet, annoyed that his ears are starting to feel hot. “Ranpo-kun—”

“I’m scared, okay?”

Poe lets out a long breath that somehow doesn’t sound disappointed. “Let’s talk about it, then.” He hears a rustle and peeks over his shoulder. Poe has shifted one of the pillows against the headboard. Ranpo immediately occupies the space and draws his knees up.

“I really want to do this with you. I deduced that it would feel really good, especially because it’s you. Because you’re my boyfriend and… you know what you’re doing.” He sighs and lets one leg drop to the side. “When I think about how good it will feel, I’m honestly surprised I can think at all.”

Poe smiles at him.

“But it’s… different. And unfamiliar. I’m afraid it’ll hurt. And I want it to be good for you, too, but I can’t deduce whether or not it will be for some reason. And that scares me. Because what if it’s not good and you don’t want to date me anymore?”

“Ranpo-kun—”

“I’d die,” he groans, tipping his head back. “I’d starve. No matter how many snacks I ate, they’d never make up for losing you.” He draws his knees up again and hides in them. He stays that way until he feels the bed shift as Poe moves a little closer.

“You want me to tell you about my first time?”

Ranpo lifts his head. “Deduce it.”

Poe shrugs and coaxes one of Ranpo’s hands away from his knees. Once he’s cradling it between his own, he starts playing with Ranpo’s fingers. “I did it a few times myself before I tried it with someone else. To be honest, it wasn’t all that good. But we were both fairly inexperienced.”

“How old were you?”

Poe’s eyes shift away from Ranpo’s fingers. “Nineteen?”

Ranpo does the math. Ten years feels like such a long time, especially considering he’s never done this.

“You know by now I prioritize my partner’s pleasure. Sometimes, that means taking. But sometimes, that also means giving.”

Ranpo watches as Poe lifts his hand and kisses it.

“I understand your misgivings. I was afraid, too. So afraid that I almost backed out. But I’m glad I didn’t because by having that mediocre experience, I learned a bit more about myself. And I learned that my pleasure was important, too.” Poe presses the back of Ranpo’s hand to his cheek. “How can I set your mind at ease?”

Ranpo swallows. That voice… God, he’s beautiful. He rests his chin on his knees and stares at an empty part of the room as his arousal grows.

“If you don’t want to—”

“I do.” Ranpo knows that for certain at least.

“Do you have evidence beyond your red ears and your affirmation?”

Swallowing, Ranpo nods.

“You don’t have to show me, but I’d very much like to see.”

Poe’s fingers slide away from his own, and Ranpo curls his arm around his knees again. After a breath or two, he lifts his face and lets his face dropped. The sensation of being looked at only makes it worse. Still, he keeps his eyes on Poe’s face as Poe takes in the very obvious sight of his hard-on. Eventually, the writer’s eyes make it back up to his face.

“You are simply lovely, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo gasps without meaning to. And when he tries to inhale again, he realizes how breathless he is. 

“Ranpo…” Poe’s voice is low against his ear.

He bites the inside of his lip.

“I promise you…”

“Edgar—” He feels the weight of Poe’s chin on his shoulder.

“If you wish to do this—”

Ranpo realizes his want is breaching on need.

“If you say it’s uncomfortable or painful, I’ll slow down. If you ask me to stop, we will. If we stop and you still want to have sex, we will change our approach. And most importantly…”

He can’t hold back the full body shudder that seizes him.

“Even if this winds up not being a pleasant experience for me or us, I will not leave you.”

Ranpo tries to string his thoughts together, tries to breathe at a normal rate.

“Please let me kiss you, Ranpo-kun.”

He answers the question by tugging Poe’s mouth to his. He’s frantic in his motions, but Poe somehow makes even that feel coordinated. Thankfully, when they pull apart, Poe his just as breathless as he is. “Edgar.”

Poe surges forward, and Ranpo’s mouth is being tasted again. It’s everything.

“Edgar,” Ranpo manages, pressing his head against Poe’s shoulder and clutching his shirt. “I need you. I need—” Whatever plea he was voicing turns to a needy, incoherent whine as Poe traces the shell of his ear.

“I will give myself to you. Tonight, and every night you ask.”

“That’s—” Ranpo whines as Poe’s fingers trail along the bare back of his neck. “That’s… only when you want to, too.”

“Of course,” Poe murmurs. “Consent is an all too often unspoken part of intimacy, and I’m speaking of every form. Forced pleasure is not pleasure at all.”

Ranpo has to bite his lip to keep the lone fragment of sanity he has left when Poe kisses his jawline.

“Are you alright with getting on your knees?”

“Anything,” Ranpo gasps. “God, anything. I can’t stand you not being inside of me.”

Poe presses on his jawline, and he turns with his lips parted to catch the brief kiss he’s given.

“I want you to know I only make that request because prepping you that way is easier on your body. But when we move beyond hands, I want to see your face while you fall apart beneath me.”

Ranpo manages a nod.

“Remember…”

His eyes flutter shut as Poe caresses his face.

“Remember, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

Poe kisses him again, softly. And Ranpo doesn’t just deduce how this writer treasures him. He feels it.

“Talk to me if it’s good for you, so I can keep doing that. And if it’s not, so we can figure out a better approach.”

One frantic nod, and he’s pulled into a kiss so mind-numbing, he’s not sure he has had a single coherent thought in his life. There’s too much fabric between them, but he can’t make his hands work beyond clutching Poe’s shirt. They pause and exchange looks as Poe’s hands drop to the belt of the robe Ranpo is wearing. Ranpo nods before lunging forward again. He’s pretty sure Poe breaks a world record considering how fast the robe flies off of him. When it’s gone, Poe’s hands keep moving. There’s more skin for him to touch now around Poe’s neck and shoulders. His chest. He hugs the writer closer.

His back meets the mattress. The weight of Poe’s body presses the air out of his lungs. Ranpo tangles his fingers in Poe’s hair because they still aren’t close enough.

“Knees,” Poe rasps as he breaks away, but Ranpo drags him back down for one more kiss before wiggling out of his boxers and obliging.

God, it’s embarrassing. He feels Poe staring at him. At everything. But at this point, he’s not sure if his face is red from that or from arousal.

The pop of a cap cuts through the room, and suddenly, it’s real. Poe’s fingers trail his spine. “You’re shaking,” he observes.

“Need you,” Ranpo breathes. “Need you. Just… need…”

“You’re scared.” It’s a comment, not a question. Ranpo swallows and hugs the pillow tighter.

“Just start. I’ll be fine. I’ll tell you if I don’t like it. I’ll tell you if I do like it. Please—”

Poe’s chuckle goes straight to his groin. “You need to relax a little, Ranpo-kun. It will hurt more if you don’t.”

“So it’s going to hurt?”

“It always does a little the first time.” Something wet and warm drags across Ranpo’s spine, and Ranpo realizes he’s being tasted. “But I promise I’ll do everything I can to minimize the pain.” The bed shifts, and Ranpo whimpers as Poe’s thumbs pull him apart a little more. “Have you done it yourself?”

He shakes his head, then recalls Poe probably can’t see him very well from that angle.  “I wanted… you to…” Ranpo can’t believe the noise he makes when he feels lube smear across his entrance. He knows he’s never made a noise like that. And he knows that won’t be the last time he makes it tonight. The little teasing touches Poe is giving him makes his eyes water.

“Are you ready?”

“Fuck, yes, please—”

“Then take a breath for me.”

It’s hard to obey, but he manages.

“Good. Now let it out.”

As soon as his lungs start deflating, the intrusion of Poe’s finger fills his mind. A ragged moan spills out of him, and he grips the sheets.

“You’re too tense again, Ranpo-kun.”

“Don’t care,” he drops his head to the sheets. “Don’t care. Just… keep going.”

“Does it hurt?”

Ranpo presses his lips together. The intrusion recedes and stops. And by the time Poe’s finger is out of him, he’s mumbling, “No, no, no, keep it in,” into the sheets.

“A little more lube should help.”

“Cold!” He grits the word out, feeling the slick slide of liquid lower than it should be. “Edgar—”

“Shh… breathe in.”

He can’t believe he manages.

“Good. Out again.”

As he does, something slick presses past his rim. It’s farther than before. He can feel the intrusion he welcomes. He focuses on telling is muscles not to clench, but he’s losing strength in his arms.

He wonders what Poe looks like right now, shirt open, one visible eye blazing with want, face deep pink and slowly becoming red…

“There.” Poe rubs circles on his lower back. “That’s one. How is it?”

Ranpo takes a moment to check in with his own sensations. “Weird,” he murmurs. “Hurts a little, but I like it.” He tries breathing at the same pace Poe recommended earlier, a task complicated by the fact that his cock is so hard, it’s pressing against his stomach.

“You’re starting to relax.” Another kiss falls against his spine. “Can I move it, Ranpo-kun?”

“Just… not… against my prostate yet.”

“Oh, Ranpo-kun, if you’re worried about coming before I’m inside of you, that will actually make this easier.”

“Then touch me.” He grits his teeth and pushes his face up so his voice isn’t so muffled. “Please, Edgar. Touch me.”

“Hey.”

“Please!”

“Ranpo-kun, listen to me.”

He bites his lip so he’ll stop begging.

“I’d like to get one more finger inside of you before I make you come. Is that alright?”

“Yes.” His head is a mess. He’s practically sobbing the word because he has to wait.

“I know it’s frustrating, but I promise I have a reason that has nothing to do with all those lovely noises you’re making and everything to do with making sure you’re comfortable when I finally, finally take you.”

Ranpo nods and wipes his eyes on his forearm. He’s surprised to find they’re actually damp.

“I’ll move this one for a little while. When your body is ready for another, tell me.”

Ranpo manages another noise. He tries to breathe in time with Poe’s thrusts, but at times, he loses his rhythm because they’re so slow and gentle and thoughtful. So instead, he focuses on what is body is telling him. Slowly, that tinge of sharpness and discomfort sink beyond his perceptions, and all he feels is pleasure. “Poe-kun…”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Another.”

He hears Poe chuckle, feels another kiss against his spine, and Poe murmurs, “Alright. I need to pull this one out—”

He curls it right against Ranpo’s prostate, and he dissolves into an incoherent litany of begging.

“But I promise I’ll put it right back.”

Ranpo is starting to lose track of his sensations, but he does realize there’s a moment where he’s empty. There’s more lube, shockingly cold against him. There’s the easy press of one digit that meets very little resistance.

And then, there’s more.

Ranpo grips the sheets and sobs as he stretches to accommodate Poe’s second finger. He barely hears it beneath the blood pounding in his ears. Poe’s palm rests against his lower back again.

“God, Edgar, more, please. I can’t—” He has no idea what he’s saying anymore. He can’t even tell if he’s speaking Japanese or English. It’s muddled. All of it. All from two fingers.

A notion occurs to him: taking Poe might actually break him. But that notion doesn’t bother him at all.

“Alright,” Poe murmurs, patting his back. “That’s two. How are you doing?”

All he can do is moan while his eyes burn.

“Are you still with me? You’re shaking pretty—”

“Edgar, touch me. I need to come. I need—”

The bed shifts, and he feels Poe’s chest against his back, feels the writer’s lips against the side of his head. “Shh… your face is so hot. Are you actually crying?”

“It feels… too good,” Ranpo manages.

Poe’s breath skirts along his ear.

“Edgar…”

But Poe only shushes him again, softly. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Ranpo isn’t okay. He knows he’s not. He’s a mess. There’s only one thing he wants, one thing he needs, and he needs it more than air.

“If it’s too much, we can change positions.”

“Like this,” Ranpo murmurs, hiding his face in the pillow.

“But Ranpo-kun,” Poe purrs in his ear. “I want so badly to hear you.”

He wipes his face again.

“Nothing would bring me more joy than to hear how much pleasure you’re feeling.”

“Edgar…”

“Because I treasure you so much.”

Ranpo’s eyes start to water again, but it’s not the arousal this time. It’s the raw emotion in Poe’s voice when he says that. He feels… cherished. Important. Valued. All those words bubble through his mind.

“I wanted to tell you that first. Because I’m fairly certain once I do touch you, you’re not going to have the sense to perceive anything I say.”

Ranpo nods again. “Please.”

“Then… be as loud as you want.”

Poe’s touch is electric. He has nice fingers, it’s true, but when they wrap around Ranpo’s cock, he’s pretty sure he tears a vocal cord with how loudly he screams. And as those fingers travel down his shaft and back up, slowly, just like the fingers inside of him, the rest of his thoughts scatter. There’s nothing left but feeling. Sexual want, yes, but it’s underlaid by how important Poe is to him. “I’m going to come.”

“Good,” Poe murmurs in his ear. “Would you like me to hit your prostate a few times? Would that be too much?”

“Y… es…”

“Yes, what, my dear?”

Ranpo is vaguely aware that Poe is hard against his backside, that he is thrusting his hips back to meet Poe’s fingers and slide his erection through those deliciously long fingers. “Y… yes, please…”

The next thrust of Poe’s fingers rips him out of himself. And yet, at the same time, it paradoxically traps him in that moment that he wants to be trapped in. He begs between moans and sobs as Poe’s rhythm picks up. When he comes, nothing comes out of his mouth except a strained gasp. The force of it rocks his whole body. He collapses onto his chest, quaking like he has just been pulled out of a frigid river. One by one, his senses return to him. Mostly because he feels empty and Poe rolls him over onto his stomach. He tries to line his eyes up with Poe’s face, but he can’t quite manage it, so he slings his arms over them instead, just so he has one less sense to focus on. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I actually made you cry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he breathes. “It was… just really good.”

“I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it.” He feels the bed shift again and drops his arm to watch Poe take off the rest of his clothes.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.”

Poe passes him a smile, then drops out of sight to step out of his slacks. When he rises, he’s fully naked. He paces to the nightstand drawer and pulls out a condom.

“Poe-kun.” When Ranpo is sure the writer is looking, he shakes his head.

“Ranpo-kun—”

“I want to feel you,” he sighs. “All of you.” He hides his eyes again. “The first and only.”

The bed moves again, and Poe coaxes his arm away from his face. For a moment, they just look at each other. Then, Poe drops his lips, and Ranpo catches them. He tips Poe’s head so they can kiss at a better angle. Their lips smack as they do.

It’s not scary, being under Poe. In fact, it’s warm and inviting and… nice. He feels Poe’s hand wandering down his chest and chuckles. “You can touch me again if you want, but are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll wait,” Poe murmurs in his ear. “I know it will feel so amazing inside of you.”

Ranpo shuts his eyes and sighs as Poe’s fingers skim along his cock, down lower to where they were before. He breathes while Poe lubes his fingers up again, and when they’re at his rim, he lets a slow breath out as they slip inside.

“You’re not scared anymore.”

“No,” Ranpo confesses. “Because I know you’re going to fuck me so good, I’ll never want anyone else—ah.” He shudders as Poe’s fingers move deeper inside of him, close to that little bundle of nerves that will turn him into someone needy and loud. “Edgar, my lovely raven…”

“Yes, my dear Ranpo-kun?”

Ranpo smirks at him. “If your next thrust doesn’t hit my prostate, I might just have to ride you into the mattress.”

Poe chuckles and nibbles on his ear. “You’re being a little impatient.”

“Mmm… but you feel so good.”

“Then can I add one more finger? I want to make sure you’re stretched enough for it not to hurt.”

Ranpo passes him a nod and moans when two become three. It pushes the air out of his lungs and makes his toes curl, even if it is a little comfortable.

“And now—”

“God, yes,” he says, knowing the rest of what Poe is going to say. His whole body rocks as Poe’s fingers drive straight against his prostate.

“You’re getting hard again, Ranpo-kun. Do you like being fingered by me?”

“Yes, Edgar. You’re perfect. It’s perfect. So…” He breaks off to moan again as Poe nails his prostate. “So… good…” Ranpo pulls his pen pal—boyfriend, actually—into a slow, sensual kiss that grows a little more frantic when the pace of his thrusts pick up and he starts to scissor his fingers. “Poe-kun.”

“Yes?”

Ranpo caresses the writer’s face. “Come inside of me tonight.”

It’s incredible to see how quickly Poe’s eyes darken with desire. The writer apparently abandons the rest of his control. Ranpo keens as he’s left empty and panting, but only for a moment before his head is framed by Poe’s arms and a different part of the writer presses against him. “I’ll come inside of you, but you should guide me in.”

“Poe-kun—”

“I want you to control the pace at first. I promise I’ll pick up where you leave off.”

Ranpo smiles and draws his knees up before reaching down. It doesn’t take long to find Poe’s erection. It also doesn’t take much for that nudge against his rim to grow in pressure until finally, finally, his body accepts what it’s being given and he moans.

Their eyes remain locked the whole time, as Ranpo slowly guides Poe’s erection inside, as his body stretches to accommodate it. He drops his hand to the blankets, breathless and dazed. He raises the other to Poe’s face to sweep his hair out of his eyes.

“Poe-kun—”

“Fuck.”

Ranpo smirks. “Is it too much?”

“It is,” Poe admits, dipping until their noses touch. “But it’s not enough.”

“Then fuck me, Edgar. Nice and slow, until I’m falling apart.”

“Are you… sure you’re ready for me to move? It doesn’t hurt?”

“It does a little,” Ranpo confesses. “But I’ll bet that won’t last long, considering now magnificent you are at this.”

Poe places a kiss on his lips, then pushes until his hips are flush with Ranpo’s. Even that takes effort. His mind is starting to fall apart again, but the sting and the stretch is keeping him there. “Ranpo-kun, I’m… all the way inside.”

Ranpo feels something. “Did you just twitch?”

“You’re still a little tight. It’s… a lot.” Poe pants, then lines their eyes up again. “Can I move?”

“Move all you want, Edgar.” He smooths Poe’s face again. “Don’t stop until I’m screaming your name while I come.”

“Relax a little.” Poe rolls his hips and starts to pull back. Then, he slides back in.

“Yes, Edgar… that’s it… go slow and gentle like this…”

“Ranpo-kun—” He jerks a bit too fast and lets out one of those loud, unrestrained moans. Immediately, Ranpo feels a tinge of pain that makes him wince. “Sorry,” Poe murmurs, pushing Ranpo’s hair back out of his face. “Are you okay?”

“More.”

Poe stares at him, then smiles and resumes the maddeningly slow pace of his thrusts.

Ranpo isn’t sure if Poe means to hit his prostate, but he does. And immediately, Ranpo presses his fingers against Poe’s back. “There,” he pants. “There…”

It doesn’t take him long to get right back to where he was about twenty minutes ago: an incoherent, wanton mess, bound by his own pleasure and need. But he hasn’t forgotten Poe. In fact, he manages to press back every time Poe thrusts into him. Poe’s hands eventually shift from his hips to his ass, and he winds up bent in half while the writer fucks him into the mattress. His eyes start to sting. His gut starts to coil. Poe kisses him and slides one hand between them to tug on his erection. His toes curl into the air before he jolts and wraps his ankles around Poe’s back. With his other hand, Poe presses Ranpo’s into the bed, their fingers interlaced as Poe’s moans grow louder. They mingle with Ranpo’s in the space between their mouths.

“Inside,” Ranpo manages, throwing his head back and screaming as Poe hits his prostate again. “Inside, please, Edgar!”

He feels Poe’s grip on his hand tighten and looks up just in time to see Poe unravel. He knows it has happened not only by the way Poe practically shouts and shudders, but also by the completely unusual feeling of something fluid filling him. Poe finishes him off with a few jerks, and as Ranpo loses his mind for the second time that night, he clings to his partner, clings to the pleasure, clings— “I need you again,” Poe says in his ear.

Ranpo gasps and says, “Then take me. I’m all yours.”

Poe comes inside him two more times, and both times, he’s gentle, smoothing Ranpo’s hair off of his sweaty brow, kissing him, murmuring praises and sweet nothings in Japanese, English, or both. He always listens when Ranpo tells him he’s going a little too fast. He’d say that takes an admirable amount of control, but it is Poe, who is invested in his pleasure and who seems to value consent just as highly. When they’re both spent, they lay tangled together in each other and the mess they made until Poe offers to clean them up. Ranpo still feels full even after Poe pulls out. Not physically. Emotionally.

He hears the water in the ensuite running. Poe’s voice fills the room. “Do you want to take a bubble bath?”

“A what?”

“It’s something we do in America. You put soap in the tub and fill it up.”

Ranpo sits up and grimaces as Poe’s release starts flowing out of him. “Ugh… that’s not nice.”

“Sex is messy, Ranpo-kun.”

“So are feelings,” he retorts, maneuvering himself to the edge of the bed. “Unlike cases, this whole thing with you is definitely not a simple matter of—” He tries to stand, but his knees give out, and he winds up on the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth against the pain. When he recovers, he sees Poe’s shadow standing over him.

“Ranpo-kun, did I… hurt you?”

“Fine! I’m fine!”

Poe chuckles, and he walks across the bedroom floor before offering Ranpo his hand with a sweeping bow. “May I?”

Through their combined effort, they manage to get to the bathroom and into the tub. Poe cleans him up first. He knows he’d be aroused by that simple act of care if he hadn’t come four times already.

“You’re getting hard again.”

“I’m spent. You’re just—ah… being… really thorough.” He sighs with relief when Poe’s fingers slide out of him.

“I think I got it all.”

“Poe-kun.”

The writer glances back at him.

“Carry me.”

It’s comfortable being suspended in Poe’s arms. But not nearly as comfortable as being lowered into the lavender-scented suds and water. The tub is big enough for both of them, and Ranpo savors the feeling of being hugged against Poe’s chest. They don’t climb out until the water is cold. Mostly because they get caught up talking about Ranpo’s cases and Poe’s writing again.

They change the bedding together afterwards, including a lighter comforter. Ranpo watches in wonder as Poe tosses it all in a high-efficiency washing machine. They go back upstairs with Karl and the piece of cherry pie and split it. Poe lounges in his pajamas, and Ranpo lays beside him, wrapped in the robe from earlier.

“Poe-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“Can we talk about it?”

Poe slips his receipt between the pages. “I’m all ears, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo cuts off another bite of pie. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Ranpo offers Poe the bite, and Poe leans forward, closing his lips around the fork. “I’m a little sore, but I don’t blame you at all. It felt really good. You listened to me when I asked you to slow down or wait, and that made me feel… really special.”

“I’d hope so. You are very special to me, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo feels an uncomfortable knot in his gut. “Do you… hate it when I call you my lovely raven?”

“I know you don’t mean it possessively,” Poe states, rubbing the front of his shoulder. Ranpo knows his tattoo rests beneath that fabric. “It’s a term of endearment that I think I’m growing to like.”

Ranpo feels warm. So warm. Without knowing where the words come from, he murmurs, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Poe blinks, then presses a hand over his eyes and smiles.

Shit. It’s too soon to say that. You’re not even sure yourself. You—

After a moment, he slides into a fully reclined position and turns to Ranpo. He’s still smiling. Ranpo has never seen that expression on Poe. He tries to puzzle it out, tries to deduce—but then, Poe smooths his face, and all his thoughts fall still. “Then fall, my dear Ranpo-kun,” Poe murmurs. “I promise I’ll catch you.”

Chapter Text

For Ranpo, his second week in America consist of spending a couple of hours here or there in Gil’s office solving cases and doing stupid touristy things in New York, like taking a ship to the Statue of Liberty, visiting the Empire State Building, spending an hour or two at New York’s other art museum (he can’t remember the name of it). All week, he eats well. Poe makes sure of that. So does Gil.

Of course, when the sun starts to set and Poe gets off of work, his remaining time goes into dinners—both out and at Poe’s house. His sense of time evens out. He stops getting up at four in the morning to work on whatever case Gil gave him the previous day.

“You’re quite something, Ranpo,” Gil comments the next time he’s in the office.

“Thanks,” he answers, flipping through another case file about a single murder.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

Gil leans against the desk, and Ranpo glances up at them. “How do you sleep after?”

Setting the file down again, Ranpo glances up. “Mind if I ask about the case?”

“The one from last week where you somehow strung three cold-case murders together.”

“The stab wounds? Where the killer always cut off a finger?”

Gil hums and cradles their coffee in their hands. “So how do you sleep?”

Ranpo reaches for another bagel and, while chewing it, types with his other hand. “You don’t. Not if you’re still human.”

“So you’re saying it hasn’t gotten easier.”

“Oh, it has,” Ranpo answers. “That case that put me in the spotlight… I still have nightmares about it sometimes. I haven’t in a while.” He taps a few keys on the computer. “But in this line of work, you see shit.”

“A lot of shit,” Gil agrees.

“How do you sleep?”

Gil straightens and drains their coffee. “I don’t.”

“Gil.”

“Huh?”

Ranpo rolls his chair out, and they look at the screen. “That’s your culprit.”

Gil lets out a long whistle. “That’s six this week. You sure you have to go back to Japan?”

“Yeah, my friend’s birthday is next week. Plus, I have to meet up with the old man.” He sets his glasses on his head and peers at Gil for a long moment, but they just shrug and walk away. Wait… were they going to offer me a job? But it’s a job I can’t take. Like the one Mori-san offered Dazai-kun. Ranpo turns back to the computer and stares at the criminal’s face. It’s true, it would be great to be near Poe-kun, but I don’t think I’d be happy here.

“Hey, Ranpo! We’re going for lunch. You want to come with?”

“I thought you were a detective, Gil,” Ranpo retorts, locking the computer before stretching and rising. “You should be able to deduce that I never turn down food.”

That night, Ranpo does have a nightmare about that old case. He jerks away at some ungodly hour, shaking and covered in sweat, trying to figure out where he is because the moon is shining through the window and the bed doesn’t smell like him and—“Ranpo-kun?”

He lays back down without saying anything and huddles closer to Poe.

“Are you alright? You’re shaking.”

“Nightmare,” he says. “That serial killer case that first got me in the papers.”

Poe gives a drowsy hum. “Do you want me to make you some chamomile tea?”

He shakes his head. “Just hold me like this.”

“Gladly. I would do that even without the nightmare.”

He falls asleep with Poe humming Yiruma in his ear. The same song the played together. In the morning, he realizes he only has a week left in America. He half wishes Gil would have offered him the job. He wonders if he actually would have taken it, or if it’s just the desire to stay near Poe telling him he would have.

On the car ride in, Poe casts him the occasional glance. “What are you doing today?”

“Coney Island, The Brooklyn Museum… I don’t know what else. I guess I’ll ask the cab driver.”

Poe reaches for his hand. “There’s a nice used bookstore around there. I think they’re open on Fridays. You should go, read for a while if you’re tired. I’ll send you the address when I get to the office.”

“Sure.” Ranpo smiles. He can deduce Poe is worried about him. But then, he hears Poe sigh and knows the writer’s mind has turned elsewhere.

“I’ve managed to dodge my coworkers demands that I go out with them all week. I’m afraid I won’t be able to put them off much longer.”

“You should go.”

Poe glances at him.

“I can entertain myself and grab dinner alone.”

“Ranpo-kun, I… I simply refuse—”

Ranpo smirks at him. “What? Are we boyfriends enough for you to introduce me?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just—large groups of people. And I… don’t think any of them really know I’m… not opposed to dating people who aren’t women.”

Ranpo shrugs. “Well, think about it. And if you decide you want to go, text me. I’ll go with you. And if you want to go alone, then text me, and I’ll find somewhere to eat” He smiles at the glass and slips his fingers between Poe’s. “I’ll make sure to pick somewhere super expensive and make them send you the bill.”

“Ranpo-kun,” Poe laughs. “I’m well-off, and we’re dating. I would happily pay.”

“If I tried, I’ll bet I could put a dent in your account.”

Poe smirks at him.

They part after Poe parks the car in a garage, taking the stairs down together. “Am I allowed to sneak a kiss before I go?”

Poe catches his lips in answer and smooths his face. “Have fun today.”

“You, too.”

They walk in separate directions, and Ranpo spends the day at Coney Island Beach and The Brooklyn Museum. He gets sidetracked in Prospect Park, but he does find the used bookstore. And he spends hours in there. He buys Poe a bookmark with a raven on it. He always uses his receipts, after all, Ranpo reasons. This’ll give him something nicer. Snickering, he pushes the door open. Maybe he’ll think of me every time he uses it.

He heads to back Prospect Park, turning the wrong way several times, but he finally makes it back and spends some time reading the book he bought. For now, he’ll keep the bookmark between his own pages. He’ll slip it between the pages of Poe’s before he leaves, along with a note he plans to write.

He also spends some time checking texts. Fortunately, it seems things have been quiet in his absence. Dazai is doing a little better from the sound of things. Probably now that his notoriously bisexual boyfriend, Mr. Fancy Hat, is back. They’re definitely going to be engaged by the end of September. Ranpo chuckles. Maybe I should start a betting pool. With snacks. I’d totally win. Yosano-sensei would probably give me a run for my money, though. As he’s staring at his phone, he gets another message, this one from Poe. It’s an address and a request to be there around 6:00.

Ranpo shrugs and reads a few more pages of his book. When he’s satisfied, he hails a taxi. He winds up being two minutes late, which doesn’t really amount to much because there’s a cluster of people outside of the building talking, Poe among them. Ranpo studies them from a distance. A couple of them seem boring. Probably from HR, he thinks.

Out of nowhere, he’s being led in their general direction, and he’s far too stunned by it all to resist.

“Hey, Poe,” a voice behind him calls. “This the guy you were talkin’ about?”

Ranpo hears a strange rhythm in the voice, but he picks out the words.

“Ah, Mark, please—” Poe holds up his hands and swivels like he’s searching for Karl.

“Come on. Quit bein’ shy. Tell ‘im, John.”

Someone standing next to Poe pats his back. “Yeah, you’re not doing a very good job at hiding it with that face.”

“Hiding what?” Poe asks.

Oh, Ranpo thinks. Maybe we’re not dating in this situation… right? His smile drops, and he folds his arms as they stand side-by-side. Ranpo studies the sidewalk, catching snippets of conversation around him, but not really listening. He’s too busy wondering exactly what they are right now.

“Ow! Why’d you have to hit me?”

“Because you’re being a dunce,” John retorts. “Guy’s obviously uncomfortable.”

Ranpo glances at him.

“Name’s John Steinbeck. I’m an intern. This here’s Mark Twain.”

“Also an intern,” Mark announces.

“Poe’s been talking a lot about you.”

Ranpo glances at Poe, who seems just about as interested in the sidewalk as he is.

“Since he just joined our department a month ago, that means he’s newer than us, so we gotta tease him a little.”

A woman’s voice answers, “I thought I told you boys no teasing at all.”

“We weren’t teasin’ much, ma’am, honest.”

“Then why’s my newest departmental member the color of a tomato?” She shoes them away. “Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’.”

Her accent reminds her a bit of Mark’s. But it’s slower.

“Margaret Mitchell. I’m the head of communications at Fitzgerald, Incorporated, and Edgar’s new boss. Those two—” she gestures. “Are H.P. Lovecraft and my husband, Nathaniel Hawthorne, from HR.” They both wave.

“Ranpo Edogawa, world’s greatest detective.”

“Pleasure to meet ya.” She shakes his hand. “You’re also dating Poe, I hear.”

Ranpo swivels to look at the writer, who wrings his hands and says, “I was coerced.”

“Coerced?”

“You know,” he explains. “Forced maybe?”

Ranpo frowns. “Should I extort them?”

“Ranpo-kun—”

Margaret folds her arms and hums. “He’s got spunk. I approve, Edgar. Come along, y’all. Restaurant’s two blocks this way.”

Ranpo hangs back and murmurs to Poe in Japanese, “Why is she talking like that?”

“They’re from different parts of America. Kind of like Kansai-ben being different than standard Japanese.”

“Ah.”

“Hey, you two done makin’ out?” Mark calls, but John punches him in the arm again and drags him along.

“I did tell you to prepare yourself. They’re a lot.”

“Well,” Ranpo says, shrugging and offering Poe his hand. “Since they know, is this okay?”

“Of course it is, my dear.” Once their hands are tucked together, they start forward.

Fitzgerald is… different. He’s loud, excitable, talks a little too fast for Ranpo to keep up with, and casually buys several bottles of wine and sherry for the table. His secretary, Louisa May Alcott, is at the table with him. “Amontillado!” he announces. “Remember when this inspired you to write a book, Edgar?”

“Ah…” Poe fidgets in his chair. “I drove.”

“Jimmy and I am happy to offer you a ride,” Hawthorne states.

“Jimmy?”

“Ah, don’t bother yourself with that, darlin’,” Margaret says. “Edgar tells us you’re a detective.”

Ranpo nods and takes a sip of the wine. He’s glad he went for the Riesling.

“Mind givin’ us a demonstration?”

Ranpo shrugs. “I guess I could.” He glances at Lovecraft. “You’re into dark sci-fi and fantasy novels.”

“Very astute.” Lovecraft nods, as if in approval.

His eyes shoot to Twain and Steinbeck. “You two were friends in high school. Twain, you played baseball. Left field, but sometimes short stop. Steinbeck, you wrote for the school paper, mostly sports columns. You’ve been friends ever since.”

“Scary,” Twain says, whistling. “You sure you ain’t a psychic?”

“It’s just a simple matter of deduction.” He glances to Nathaniel and Margaret, the latter of which is still smiling at him. Oh, he thinks. Something I shouldn’t say.

“Go on,” Nathaniel states.

“Nope. That’s not my news to share.”

They exchange glances, and Margaret sips her water again.

“Spill,” John demands.

“I refuse,” she states.

“Ah,” Poe says. “I get it now.”

“Tell no one, or I’ll make a noose out of my living room curtains and—”

“Poe-kun won’t tell anyone,” Ranpo states. “He’s good with secrets. He’s kept one of his own for years. As for you…” Ranpo states, leaning against his hand and peering at Fitzgerald.

“Yes, do deduce something about me.”

Ranpo smirks. “Your taste in décor is terrible.”

Poe chokes on the sip of wine he’s taking and starts snickering behind a napkin.

“That wasn’t my deduction, by the way. Just my opinion. What the hell did that house in Yokohama ever do to you to deserve that?”

“I wanted it to feel like home. The place is tragically small.”

Ranpo sighs. “If you’re going to do business with Mori Ougai, you should really learn some Japanese at least.”

Poe’s snickering grows a little more noticeable.

“Also not my deduction, by the way. Just a little friendly advice.”

“Then what’s your deduction?”

“Your childhood dream was to be a playwright. You tried and failed, so you studied business instead.”

Fitzgerald guffaws. “Absolutely stunning, old sport!”

He glances at Louisa. “You like to garden, bake, and knit in your spare time. You name your houseplants after women, and you’ve always wished you were a little more confident.”

Louisa glances at him. “You’re right, Ranpo… all correct.” She smiles. “You’re really incredible.”

“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be the world’s greatest detective.”

The food arrives. There’s more conversation that Ranpo tries to keep up with. Every now and then, Poe touches his hand, and they exchange looks.

“Edgar didn’t actually tell anyone he was dating you,” Margaret notes.

“Yes, that was all Fitzgerald, I’m afraid.”

He laughs again. “I couldn’t help it, old sport. It was so obvious, considering how you skipped into my office your first day back, and it had been so long since you got your heart broken.”

“You’re fortunate I’m the kind of person that doesn’t mind.” Poe eats another bite. “Though I still might put you in my novel and kill you.”

Mark and John both burst into laughter. Margaret tries to scold them with words, Hawthorne with a glare. Ranpo grins and eats another bite of his food.

“Um… Mr. Edogawa.”

He hums and looks up at Louisa. “I… was wondering if maybe you could tell me how you and Edgar started dating.”

“But I already told you—”

“Yes, yes, we know your story,” Lovecraft retorts, reaching for his wine glass. “We wish to know the other side of it.”

Ranpo drinks his wine a little too fast, then sets it down. “I’m not really sure I’m the person for that. Poe-kun is the writer. His way of telling it’s better than mine, I’m sure.”

“Ranpo-kun,” Poe murmurs, leaning against his hand. He’s flushed from the wine, wearing a smile that makes Ranpo’s heart flutter for some reason. “If you ask me, a case is a kind of story. So, perhaps think of it that way.”

Ranpo stares at his plate and considers it. He’s not sure he can describe everything in English, so he murmurs, “But it wasn’t a case.”

“It started as one, though.”

Ranpo smiles. “Yeah, you’re right… I guess it did.”

“Did Edgar lose his wallet in Japan or somethin’?” Twain asks.

“Worse. His inspiration.”

“Oh, God, you had to see him like that and you still wanted to date him?” Hawthorne asks. “I mean no offense, Edgar. You’re just so… brooding when you can’t write.”

“But that’s something really beautiful about him.” He glances at Poe, who leans on one hand and passes him a smile.

He realizes he said it out loud and immediately buries his face in his hands.

“Ranpo-kun can be a little shy, too,” Poe murmurs, patting his back. “There, there. It’s alright.”

Ranpo stares through his fingers. The alcohol is making me too honest. He shuts his eyes. I’m going to slip and say something I don’t mean if I’m not careful. Drawing a breath, he says, “Anyway, he hired me to find it, I succeeded, and here we are.”

Poe snickers again. “That’s not the whole story.”

“What? You want me to tell them about the piano, my lovely raven?”

“But playing it with you was so nice.” Poe leans a little closer and smirks. “We should play a little this weekend, before you go.”

Someone clears their throat. It turns out to be Hawthorne. “I’ll have to ask you not to flirt so shamelessly in public—”

“Oh, lighten up, Hath,” Margaret retorts. “Why’s he calling you his raven, anyway? You’re a person, not a bird.”

Poe and Ranpo exchange looks, then in the same instant say, “Secret.”

There’s more laughter, more wine, more stories about what Ranpo and Poe got up to in Yokohama. There’s talk of Fitzgerald’s fifty—or maybe fifteen—yachts and Louisa’s four favorite plants (Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy). Mark and John mostly talk about baseball. After Fitzgerald pays the bill, they exchange a lengthy farewell outside the restaurant.

“Hey, if you’re ever back stateside, come see us again,” John calls.

“Yeah, you’re really somethin’, Mr. Detective.”

“Great detective,” Ranpo replies, but he’s pretty sure he said it in Japanese from the look they give him.

Hawthorne drives Poe’s car to his house, and Margaret follows behind them in their modest sedan. There’s a lighthearted argument between Ranpo and Poe in the back seat.

“No way,” Ranpo retorts. “Karl definitely likes me better.”

“Likes you better?” Poe demands. “I raised him! Tell him, Hath.”

“Edgar, calling me that is a privilege I reserve for my wife. If I hear a repeat offense, I will pull this car over and throw you in the trunk.”

“He totally likes me better,” Ranpo continues, ignoring Hawthorne’s threats. He gives Poe’s arm a playful swat. “Because I always have food. And I’m warmer. That’s why he snuggles with me at night.”

“He snuggles with us, my dear Ranpo-kun. Or did you have one too many glasses of wine with dinner?”

“Hey,” Ranpo says. “Isn’t amontillado in one of your books? Fitzgerald was serious about you getting inspired by it?”

“That was—” Poe stops and frowns at his hands. “Does Karl really like you better?”

“Of course he—” Ranpo stops. “Poe-kun, are you okay?”

“Do you like Karl better than me?”

“Poe-kun, what—”

“He gets like this when he’s drunk,” Hawthorne comments.

There are actual tears in Poe’s eyes as draws an unsteady breath. “You do, don’t you?”

Ranpo sobers up in an instant. “Poe-kun, of course I don’t.”

“You don’t like Karl?”

Ranpo is, for once, at a loss. He reaches for Poe’s hand and squeezes it.

“I like Karl,” Ranpo says. “And I like you.”

“He likes you more, though!”

“He’s going to start crying for real if you don’t do something,” Hawthorne retorts. Thankfully, they’re pulling off the highway at what Ranpo thinks is the exit.

“He does!”

“Poe-kun—”

“What about me?”

Ranpo sighs and reaches up for Poe’s face. “Edgar, my lovely raven, you know how I feel about you.”

Poe stares at him, sniffling while tears run out of his eyes. “The first and only?”

“Of course. I’ve never felt this way about anyone I’ve dated before.”

Poe blinks for another moment. “Really?”

“Really.” He smooths Poe’s face. “We’re almost home.”

“Home? Did we move in together?”

“Poe-kun—”

“Like in my dream last night.” He smiles. “Cooking together, playing the piano sometimes… we were so happy…”

Ranpo swallows and turns to the driver. “You know we haven’t been dating long, right?”

“Three months by my calculations,” Hawthorne states.

“Ranpo-kun…”

To Ranpo’s relief, they pull into Poe’s driveway.

“I really want to kiss you…”

“I promise we’ll kiss as much as you want when we’re inside, okay?”

“But I want to now,” he murmurs, pressing his hands over Ranpo’s. “You’re too far away. Come over here.”

Hawthorne pulls the keys out of the ignition, and the light overhead comes on. Ranpo sees how red Poe’s face is, then realizes the man in the driver’s seat has turned around. “You want me to help you, or you got him?”

“I think I’m okay. Are his hangovers bad?”

“Just a headache from what he has mentioned to me.”

Margaret knocks on the window, and Ranpo turns to Poe. “Poe-kun, I’m going to go for a second. I’ll be right back. Promise.”

Poe nods, and Ranpo climbs out of the car. “Good thing tomorrow’s a Saturday. He’ll probably sleep in late.”

“Hey…”

Ranpo turns to find Poe smiling.

“Congratulations. I hope your baby is healthy and happy.”

Margaret scoffs and heads back towards the sedan. “Lovely meeting you, darlin’! Come back to New York again.”

“Only if you promise not to get my boyfriend drunk.”

“I blame Fitzgerald. The man is a menace,” Nathaniel retorts, handing Ranpo the keys. “Good luck.”

Ranpo watches them leave, then shuts his door and darts to Poe’s side. He hits the button to unlock the doors on the key fab. Once Poe is safely out of the car, they walk towards the door with their arms looped around each other.

“Ranpo-kun…”

“Hang on. I’m working on it.”

“That one’s the deadbolt key.”

“Deadbolt?”

Poe taps a finger against the top lock.

“Ah.” He turns it. “Which one’s the front door key?”

“Hmm… dunno…” He drapes himself over Ranpo’s shoulders. “Deduce it.”

“Poe-kun, you’re heavy.”

“Mmm… but you loved being under me.”

Ranpo nearly drops the keys. “Poe-kun—”

“Don’t want to,” Poe mumbles. “No sex. Just… want to cuddle…”

Ranpo surprisingly gets the front door unlocked with the second key he tries. Once they’re inside, he stoops to help Poe take off his shoes, then removes his own.

The minute he’s on his feet, Poe caresses his face. “Ranpo…”

Ranpo smiles. “You still want me to kiss you?”

Poe nods.

“Where?”

After a moment of delay, Poe points to his lips.

“Okay. One kiss. Then, we’ll go upstairs.” He touches Poe’s face again and leans forward. He’s delicate about it. And to his relief, Poe doesn’t take it any further.

By their combined effort, Ranpo gets Poe in pajamas, a task he hinders more than helps, and one that Karl also complicates. They brush their teeth. Ranpo shuts the light off, and the moon filters through the window. He stares at Poe on the pillow. Poe stares back. He feels Poe’s fingers searching for his and meets him halfway. Karl is curled up above Poe’s head, so Ranpo scooches towards him.

“One more kiss? To say good-night.”

Poe nods, and Ranpo closes the distance between them.

In the morning, Ranpo brings Poe a glass of water and aspirin once they’re both awake. “I’m so sorry you had to see me like that, Ranpo-kun.”

“Don’t be. It was kind of nice. I mean, except for the part where you have a headache.” Ranpo smiles. “I like you better sober, but I’m glad I had the experience of seeing you that way.”

Poe swallows his medication.

“Did you really have a dream that we moved in?”

He promptly chokes and reddens. And laughing, Ranpo crawls back into bed and tugs him back down into a long hug that he hopes conveys the happiness the knowledge of that dream brings him.

Chapter Text

Ranpo spends Tuesday at Poe’s house with Karl. He’s trying to start pushing his sleep schedule a bit, but he’s also preparing for his departure. The letter to Poe is easy enough to write. He just doesn’t know how to sign it. Love seems too strong a word. Sincerely doesn’t sound romantic enough. He taps the pen he’s using on the table. Karl bats at the end of it. “I’m sorry I’m leaving you again,” he says, scratching the racoon’s head.

Karl just omits a sleepy chirp and curls up on Ranpo’s lap. He spends another thirty minutes trying to deduce what the correct way to sign the letter is. In the end, he just writes his name. And although it’s slightly illegal, he coaxes Karl up so they can nap on the couch together. He sets an alarm for at least an hour before Poe gets back. When his phone wakes him up, Karl is dozing in the gap between his head and the back of the sofa. Careful not to disturb the raccoon, he gets up, reads the letter again, and folds it. He’ll slip it and the bookmark into what Poe is currently reading before he leaves.

For a moment, Ranpo considers starting to cook. But remembering his own kitchen disasters, he opts to tease the piano keys instead, playing a little of this and that by ear, then falling into a rhythm. There’s a book of sheet music for Beethoven’s “Für Elise,” so he plays a little of that, too. He’s in the middle of a second pass when he hears the door open. The only reason he breaks off is because he has already deduced that Poe has brought the food they need to cook for dinner. Sure enough, when he creeps into the entry way, watching Poe try to toe off his second boot, there are four or five plastic bags scattered across the floor.

“Poe-kun,” Ranpo calls.

Poe recovers his balance and rises.

“Welcome home.”

The instant Poe’s boot is off, Ranpo is in his arms, breathing the faint scent of cologne against Poe’s neck, sighing at Poe’s fingers in his hair. “My dear Ranpo-kun,” he murmurs. “You do not know the price I would pay to hear you say that to me every day I come back.” Poe snuggles a little closer. “How I’ve missed you today. You didn’t need to stop playing on my behalf. It was beautiful.”

“We can play more together after dinner.” Ranpo waits for Poe to loosen his grip. “Poe-kun?”

“I hope you know it will be a little easier for me to let go of you tomorrow, but it will still be very hard for me.”

“I know, Poe-kun.” He wraps his hands in the back of Poe’s jacket and squeezes. “I know.”

After another minute or so, Poe’s grip loosens, and Ranpo slips away. “Remember what you said before you left Yokohama.”

Poe glances at him.

“It’s okay to feel the sadness, but let’s also try to enjoy the evening, okay?”

“Of course, Ranpo-kun. How could I not enjoy an evening with you?”

Dinner, it turns out, is a couple of nice pork chops with a nice pan sauce, some mashed potatoes, roasted brussels sprouts, and a chocolate cake with raspberry and ganache from a bakery near Poe’s office. Ranpo hates to admit it, but he hasn’t had a meal that good in a long time. After they eat, they wind up on the piano bench together, playing this or that, laughing and exchanging smiles between songs. Karl knocks the sheet music over, and Poe scratches his ears. “What’s wrong, Karl? Are you tired of hearing us play the piano badly?”

The raccoon scampers down the keys and into Poe’s lap, then chirps. Ranpo scratches between Karl’s ears, then returns his fingers to the keys and plays the opening of Chopin’s Berceuse in D-flat major. He watches Karl’s eyes droop as he plays, until he nods off in Poe’s lap and Poe rests against his shoulder while he plays. “You play so beautifully, Ranpo-kun.”

“It’s your turn, Poe-kun.”

“Play me something else.”

Ranpo glances at him. “What do you want to hear?”

“Deduce it.”

Of course, he plays Yiruma’s “Moonlight.” Somehow, he’s more adept at striking the right keys now. The whole time, Poe sits beside him enraptured, his lavender eyes smoldering with affection. When Ranpo reaches the end, he drops his hands and slides one of his between Poe’s.

“It has been truly magnificent having you here.”

“You know,” Ranpo murmurs, “It hasn’t been bad. I mean, I get lost a lot and I’m sad I’m leaving tomorrow, but—”

Poe stops him with a finger and lifts his head. “May I kiss you, Ranpo-kun?”

It’s easy to deduce that’s all Poe wants to do. So he nods and shuts his eyes, and when Poe’s lips touch his, he sighs. Karl wakes up from his quick nap and darts down. Ranpo watches him go, then follows the pressure of Poe’s hand and accepts a second kiss, this one a little deeper, but still soft and sensual.

“Let’s take a bath together.”

Ranpo has no arguments against that, so they wind up showering in Poe’s ensuite, then waiting wrapped in plush robes while the tub fills. Tonight, the suds smell different.

“Bergemot and sandalwood,” Poe explains, as if he has already deduced the question on Ranpo’s ind.

He’s less concerned what it smells like and more concerned about pulling himself up to Poe’s lips. The woodsy, fruity fragrance makes him dizzy, but not nearly as dizzy as Poe’s lips do. Before long, Ranpo pulls away. “Shit.”

Poe slicks his hair back and smiles.

“Just give me a minute.”

“We can have sex, you know.”

Ranpo shakes his head and hugs Poe tighter.

“You really don’t want to? Even though it’s your last night here?”

He shakes his head again.

“Ranpo-kun—”

“I just… really want to enjoy our time a different way.” Ranpo exhales and wills his hard-on away. In actuality, it goes away from the passage of time. “I want to eat cake in bed, then talk to you while we fall asleep.”

Poe smooths Ranpo’s face. “I am perfectly content doing just that tonight, Ranpo-kun. But if you change your mind, you can say so.”

Ranpo doesn’t, though. Once he’s determined to do something, he does it. Besides, there are other sensations to keep him preoccupied: their stimulating flow of conversation, the richness of the cake, the dissatisfying way that mixes with toothpaste, the warmth of Poe’s arms, and all the little sweet nothings they murmur to each other. By the time they drift off, Karl has joined them, and the contrasting flavors of mint and cake are not even a memory.

In the morning, Ranpo wakes up to the soft feeling of Poe kissing his head.

“Good morning,” Ranpo murmurs.

“Morning,” Poe answers. He rolls away, then comes back. “Let’s get up. You can finish packing.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Ranpo-kun, you’ll miss your flight if you’re not at least two and a half hours early.”

“I did all my packing while you were gone yesterday except for what I’m wearing today,” Ranpo states. “Just five more minutes.”

Five minutes turns into seven, and Ranpo finally lets Poe coax him out of bed. He dresses, slips his pajamas into his carry-on, then tells Poe to go downstairs while he gives the room a once-over. Poe smiles like he already knows, but he still leaves. Sighing, Ranpo slips the note and bookmark between the pages of the book Poe is reading. Then, after kissing Karl’s head and whispering a good-bye, he wheels his luggage into the hallway. Poe is waiting for him on the landing and takes the heavier bag. They load both into the car. Ranpo climbs into the passenger’s seat and watches Poe’s house disappear in the rearview mirror.

“We can grab some breakfast on the way in if it’s quick,” Poe states.

“Nah,” Ranpo answers. “I’ll just eat at the airport.”

Poe glances at him. “Are you upset?”

“No. I’m just sad. I mean, I feel better leaving America than I did when you left Yokohama, but like April, it just… doesn’t feel like enough time.”

“Until we don’t have to part ways for an uncertain amount of time, it will never be enough, Ranpo-kun,” Poe murmurs.

Ranpo nods. “Yeah, I guess so.” He glances at Poe. “Do you have a favorite bagel shop?”

Chuckling, Poe pulls onto the freeway. “I was hoping you would ask. Their coffee is good, too.”

“Not as good as Dazai-kun’s.”

“A close second.”

Breakfast is good, and they make it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. Before Ranpo gets out of the car, he catches Poe’s lips in his one last time. “Thanks for having me. And for asking me to be your boyfriend.”

“Well,” Poe murmurs. “Thanks for coming, and for accepting my request.”

Ranpo hops out of the car, grabs his luggage, shuts the trunk, and returns to Poe’s passenger side door. “See you next time.”

“Yeah,” Poe answers, smiling. “Text me when you get back.”

“Of course.” Ranpo pats his pocket to make sure he has his passport, then shuts the car door and turns towards the airport. He knows without looking that Poe is gone. And while he doesn’t feel the crippling emptiness he did when Poe left Yokohama, it still stings.

When it’s night in America and morning in Yokohama, he arrives back at his apartment after only minor navigational issues. Once he’s inside, he drinks more water, climbs into his bed, and tries to readjust to the smell.

He recalls his promise to text Poe, and after switching the SIM card out of his phone, a handful of messages come through. I found your parting gifts, Ranpo-kun. It was really sweet of you. And the note is something I’ll treasure as much as the bookmark.

Ranpo hammers out a quick response. I’m glad you like them. I miss you already. Don’t work too hard. Then, he starts his own process of unpacking. The pajamas, he washes. He did a load of laundry before leaving. He’s just getting to the bottom of his suitcase when he finds something he definitely didn’t put there: a book-shaped package wrapped in paper bags. He lifts it out and unwraps it. He’s startled to find himself looking at a copy of The Tell-Tale Heart of all things. There’s no note in the book, but when he flips the first page open, he sees Poe has signed it.

To my favorite detective: you buy all of my books. I figured I owed you a signed copy as thanks for finding my inspiration, and for flying all the way here to answer a very important question.

Yours Truly,

Edgar Allan Poe

It’s surreal to hold that book between his hands. He flips past the copyright page and immediately stops breathing.

The dedication reads, To my esteemed rival and biggest fan, without whom the ending would still haunt me.

Ranpo promised himself he wouldn’t cry, but he lets himself there. Because it’s incredibly touching and entirely too much. He hugs the book to his chest for a little while, tears running from his eyes, before he reaches for his phone and calls Poe.

The phone rings three times. “Ranpo-kun?”

“Making me cry is forbidden,” he murmurs. “You’re entirely unfair, Edgar. You can’t dedicate a book to me like that and just slip me an autographed copy. It’s way better than what I gave you.”

Poe chuckles. “I beg to differ, my dear Ranpo-kun. You gave me your answer, and your body, and two precious weeks of your time.”

Ranpo sniffles.

“I will never, ever be able to pay back just the answer.”

“Edgar…”

“I know, Ranpo-kun. I miss you, too. Immensely.” Poe sighs. “I really do wish we could have spent more time together.”

“We will. I promise. I don’t care if I have to take twelve trips to America.”

“Twelve is a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“But I want to see you every day and tell you ‘welcome home’ and cook dinner with you.” He slings his arm over his eyes. “I want to take more bubble baths with you and cuddle with you and Karl while I fall asleep. I don’t just want that for a week or two here and there. I want it always.” He knows he’s saying too much, but he’s tired. And he’s a mess. His eyes are burning again. And he just wishes Poe was there to hold him and tell him it’s okay.

“My dear Ranpo-kun, there may come a day where all of that is possible. But for now…” There’s a touch of a smile in Poe’s voice. “I can settle for getting your texts every day, hearing your voice every now and then, and video chatting a few times a month.”

“Yeah.” Ranpo wipes his eyes again. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Alright.” Poe sighs. “Are you a little better?”

“A little,” Ranpo concedes. “I’m not crying anymore, at least.”

“You can call me any time you need me. For now, I should get back to writing.”

“Yeah, sure. Sorry I interrupted.”

“No need to apologize. You were upset and reached out. I’m more than happy to help you. And I promise you, I always will.”

“Thanks, Poe-kun. Go write the next best seller. And scratch Karl for me, okay?”

“I’ll make sure I do.”

They hang up. As much as Ranpo loves the book, he wishes it were Poe. Or better yet, he wishes the writer could just pop out of the pages and be there without all the hassle.

On Sunday, when Dazai turns up to his own birthday dinner with Ango of all people, Ranpo waits until all of the introductions are over before he raises his hand and says, “Good to see you again, Sakaguchi-kun.”

“Ranpo-san.” Ango bows.

Detecting the questions, he explains, “I can’t say much about it, but I took a case for Sakaguchi-kun in early March.”

“Was that the one for the Public Security Intelligence Agency?” Yosano asks.

“Sure was! And I solved in seven days.” Grinning, he adds, “Thanks for funding my trip to America, by the way. Poe-kun and Karl also appreciate it.”

Ango adjusts his glasses. “That man with the raccoon—”

But Ranpo already knows what Ango is going to ask, so he says, “Yep! We’ve been together for three months thanks to Mr. Fancy Hat.”

“Do you have to fucking call me that?”

Ignoring Chuuya, Ranpo continues, “Although a lot of that has been long distance. I’m hoping to go to America again in July or August for a few weeks since the police there want to consult with me on some of their cold cases, and he’s hoping to come back to see the fall leaves, so until then, I’ll have to make do.”

Of course, he knows how Ango and Dazai know each other. It’s a little surprising that Ango is frank about being the best friend of Dazai’s dead boyfriend. Then again, more surprising things have happened. He knows more surprising things will.

Ranpo has a good time with them. The banter is outstanding, and the emergent plans for a housewarming begin to form. I know it’s not going to happen, he thinks. At least, not the way they’re planning. But I’ve already deduced that’s when Dazai-kun is going to ask Mr. Fancy Hat a very important question. Ranpo tells himself. The way Kunikida spudders at the suggestion that Chuuya is about to gift Dazai mind-blowing birthday sex is beyond entertaining. Once they’re both full, and once Kunikida is drunker than any of them, they spend what feels like two hours saying good-bye before parting ways.

Ango is the last to extend it. “Dazai-kun, I think I understand a little better what you meant before.” Bowing, he adds, “I’m really grateful you invited me tonight. And I look forward to your housewarming.”

“You know, Ango, as much as I hate to quote my business ethics professor again, he once told me that it takes courage to be happy.”

“I’ll remember that.” Ango straightens. “Until next time, Dazai-kun.” Then, he passes a nod to Chuuya. “Nakahara-san.”

“Seriously, call me Chuuya. Almost everyone else does.” But Ango is already walking away.

Dazai and Chuuya hold hands the whole time.

Ranpo is smiling when they all part ways, but the truth is, while he’s happy for Dazai and Chuuya, he desperately wants what they have. Not exactly what they have, Ranpo thinks. Just… I want to be able to see him every day.

He tries to deduce whether he will ever have that. He can’t. So, when he gets home, he pulls on pajamas and curls up in a bed without Poe in it.

Chapter Text

Every year, on July 7, Ranpo celebrates Tanabata the same way many people in Japan do: by filling out a tanzaku with a wish and hanging it, usually near Chinatown. This year is no different. As a bonus, since it’s Thursday, he can swing by Café Lupin for pastries. He hangs his tanzaku on the way, watching it flutter beside so many other wishes for success or knowledge or change.

But his is different. It’s a wish for time. More time. With Poe. He’s planning to watch Poe’s interview tomorrow since his new novel is selling well and news outlets are taking notice. It’s at an odd time, or else he’d stay up and view it live, but they’ve talked about it, and Poe insists that he rest given the increase in his caseload. Maybe I should have written a wish that he does well in his interview, too. Well, I can always pray at that little shrine near my apartment if I happen to pass it. And I’ll be thinking of it either way. He watches the slip of paper flutter in the breeze, then seeks out the air-conditioned refuge of Café Lupin. He buys a bag of pastries while he’s there. The café isn’t as crowded as it usually is, but it’s still crowded enough to make him prefer his office or apartment. He does wind up passing the shrine on the way home and stops to pray for Poe’s success. And he makes sure he texts Poe good luck before going to bed.

In the morning, he’s not sure the prayer worked given that he has two missed calls, several handfuls of increasingly frantic Facebook messages, and even a voicemail. Ranpo rubs his eyes and sifts through them, trying to make sense of the Japanese, then the English, then the two of them together. He plays the voicemail last.

“Ranpo-kun, I’m afraid I’ve done something unforgivable, and I need you to call me when you get this. I… I’m sorry.” The line goes dead.

Ranpo checks the time and calculates that Poe should be out of work, so he calls the writer’s cell and listens to it ring.

It takes four for Poe to pick up. “Hello?”

“Poe-kun, what’s the matter?”

“Ah! Ranpo-kun, it’s you!”

Ranpo frowns at the very real panic in Poe’s tone. “Are you okay?”

“Ah—” Poe falls quiet.

“Are you safe? Is it Karl? What happened?”

There’s a long, wordless moment where the only sound is Poe breathing into the phone. Ranpo feels his heartrate spike and is about to press him, but Poe only says, “I’m sorry.”

“What for, Poe-kun? You’re scaring me.”

“I…” He pauses. “I said too much. In the interview.”

Ranpo sits up and runs his fingers through his hair with a hum. “How much is too much?”

“Deduce it.”

Ranpo drops his hand. “You didn’t tell them about the piano bench, did you?”

“I told them about you.”

“Huh?” Ranpo finally swings his feet out of bed.

“Ranpo-kun, I just know you’re going to despise me—” He stops. “I’m sorry. If this changes things, I—”

“I’m still trying to figure out exactly what the problem is.” He opens his fridge and grabs a can of café au lait. He’d never admit it to Dazai, but he drinks this every now and then to jumpstart his brain in the morning. “Can you start at the beginning for me, Edgar, and explain exactly what the problem is? Normally, I’d be able to piece it together, but I just woke up, and my super deduction hasn’t been caffeine-activated yet.”

Poe groans into the phone. “The interviewers asked me about the dedication.”

“In your book?”

“To my esteemed rival and biggest fan, without whom the ending would still haunt me,” Poe recites. “Apparently, the second biggest debate surrounding The Tell-Tale Heart, just behind the nature of Dupin and Leonard’s relationship, is that dedication.”

Ranpo cracks his coffee open. “Why?”

“Everyone wondered who ‘my esteemed rival’ was.”

“You told them the book was dedicated to me?”

“Worse,” Poe groans.

Ranpo takes a sip of his drink and says, “You told them I was dating you?”

“I’m sorry.”

Ranpo’s face grows warm, and he sets his coffee down.

“I know you’re upset with me. I—we should have talked about it first before—” Poe stops again. “I’m sorry.”

But that’s the thing: Ranpo isn’t mad. He knows he’s not, or else he wouldn’t be smiling the way he is now. “Edgar, my lovely raven,” he murmurs, “I think today’s going to be the best day of my life.”

“Huh?”

“In fact,” Ranpo murmurs, trying to fight the warm feeling rising in his chest, “I’ve deduced it already is.”

“But… but I told the entire country—no, the world—”

“I told my friends when I came back,” Ranpo says. “You told your coworkers when I was there. Really, if I had a problem with people knowing we’re dating, I would have said something then.”

“But it could cause you some real and genuine problems for your agency, Ranpo-kun. People in Japan—they might…” Poe pauses again. “I… simply want you to keep succeeding.”

“That’s really sweet, Poe-kun.” Ranpo reaches for his coffee and takes another swig. “But really, I’ve had a heavier caseload since I came back. If people don’t like who I’m dating, that’s their problem. But no one is going to solve their case as fast as I can. If they don’t want me to solve their case because I’m with you, it’s their loss, not mine.” He tips the can again, then sighs and murmurs, “I’m not angry, Poe-kun. I’m really touched, and I wish you were here so I could hug you until you calmed down.”

“You would be hugging me all night.”

“You know I’d do it.”

“You… would?”

Chuckling, Ranpo tips his can and adds, “I flew halfway across the world just to tell you I’d be your boyfriend. And you flew halfway across the world to figure out how you felt about me. And apparently to write a best seller, but that’s because you’re the world’s best writer.”

“You’re really not mad?”

“Why would I be mad, Poe-kun?” he asks. After a moment, he answers, “Don’t tell me someone was.”

“No, but when I tell people about the person I’m dating, we tend to break up right after that.”

“I’m not breaking up with you. I’d never do that. I like you too much, and Karl would never forgive me.”

A clipped off little laugh falls through the speaker into Ranpo’s ear, and he smiles.

“Are you crying, Poe-kun?”

“I can’t help it. I was terrified you’d be mad and leave me.”

Ranpo smiles. “Edgar, I’m so sorry you had to carry that all day. I promise I’m not mad. I’m really touched you felt comfortable enough to do that.” He pulls in a breath. “Next time I see you, you’d better prepare yourself because I’m going to hug you so hard.”

“Is hugging me all you’re going to do?”

Snickering, Ranpo says, “Deduce it,” and grins as Poe’s laugh fills his ear.

It would hurt less if Ranpo knew exactly when “next time” was, but his deductive powers have limits, and predicting the future is beyond them.

Of course, Poe’s interview is stunning. He’s wearing his hair back, smiles confidently, but when he’s asked about the dedication, his smile changes to something warmer and more intimate. “I mentioned earlier I wrote this novel in Japan. The truth is, I went there in part to meet him. For years, we were pen pals. I wanted to know what else we could be. So, I purchased tickets, packed up my bags and one for Karl my pet besides, and I just went. And when I got there, I discovered the world’s greatest detective was so much more than my pen pal, friend, and inspiration. He is, as I wrote in my dedication, my esteemed rival. What I didn’t write, though I wrote this much in the inscribed copy I gave him, is that our relationship has evolved to include something stronger than friendship. I only dared to dream of it, and I don’t believe either of us intended it. Yet here we are, three months in, making it work even though we’re separated by half the world.” Poe’s eyes drift shut for a moment. “Not a day goes by when I don’t miss him.”

Rnapo has to stop working for a moment at the end of that speech. It’s so… passionate. So moving. The whole interview is good, but nothing compares to that last line. It makes Ranpo’s chest hurt in an unbearably good way. “I miss you, too, Edgar,” he murmurs, slumping down to rest his head on the desk for a little while, to feel that unbearably warm and uncomfortably messy knot inside of him.

He refuses to name it.

Coincidentally, his Tanabata wish also comes true when, a few evenings later, he receives an e-mail from Gil inviting him to work on a case. From what he can gather, the evidence hasn’t fully been collected yet, but they figure early in August, it’ll all come together. Ranpo decides to think about it. But really, he’s already made up his mind. He rises, paces to his balcony, and opens it to stare at the moon. Out of nowhere, without knowing why, he starts to hum Yiruma’s “Moonlight.” As if the moon itself puts a spell on him, he thinks of the raven inked onto the front of Poe’s shoulder.

Oh, he thinks, folding his arms and leaning against the railing. I get it now. I want one, too.

How that awareness escaped him for as long as it did is baffling, though if Ranpo had to guess, he supposes it’s the longstanding taboo against tattoos in Japan. His mother would disown him. His father—well, his father’s dead, so that doesn’t matter. The old man would be disappointed, but he’d probably come around.

Then again, he thinks, spinning to go back inside, if I put it in the right place, then no one but Poe-kun and I will ever know about it.

It’s not hard for Ranpo to deduce when Dazai goes to the bank. It’s usually Thursday late in the morning, but it’s always a toss-up whether Atsushi or Tanizaki will be working. This week, he gets lucky. He swings by around 11:20 to find Dazai gone, the café empty except for one customer, and Atsushi, who greets him with a warm smile. “Welcome to Café Lupin. Ranpo-san was it? Dazai-san is out right now.”

“I know,” Ranpo says. “I’m here to see you, Atsushi-kun.”

“Ah.” Atsushi’s smile vanishes. “Wait. I’m not a suspect in one of your cases, am I?”’

“Not at all! I’m actually here to ask you for a favor. And for some pastries.” Ranpo leans against counter and lowers his voice. “The guy you’re dating’s an art student, right?”

To Ranpo’s surprise, Atsushi actually glares at him.

“Whoa, scary! But you’re on the wrong track. He’s not a suspect, either.”

Atsushi exhales. “That’s a relief. Sorry if I scared you. I just… Ryuu’s pretty busy right now, and I want to protect him from anything that might stress him out.”

“Ah.” Ranpo taps the counter. “I was hoping I could commission him to design something for me.”

“Like a house?” Atsushi asks. “Or are you redoing your office?”

“Nothing like that.” Grinning, he says, “Talk him into it for me, Atsushi-kun. I’ll pay him well, and I’ll even let you borrow my copy of Poe-kun’s newest book. It’s only out in English, but I know the guy you’re with is pretty close to fluent. He can help you through it.”

Atsushi frowns at him. “What sort of book is it?”

“A mystery novel.”

“I mostly read literary works.”

“This one’s plenty literary! It’s got plot twists, and readers think the two main characters are in a more than platonic relationship.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Because they’re both men.”

Atsushi hums and folds his arms. “I’ll try. Mystery novels usually aren’t my thing, but that kind of sounds interesting.”

“Awesome! Let me give you a card. If you have a pen, I can write my cell phone number on the back. If he’s free this weekend or next weekend, those are the best times to do it.” Ranpo takes the pen Atsushi hands him and scrawls his number on the back. He hands it back to Atsushi, who takes it. “Come to think of it, I’ve never tried your coffee. Make me a mocha, criminally sweet. I’ll take a couple of tarts to go.”

“Coming right up, Ranpo-san. Um… do you mind if I put this in my pocket? I know that’s rude, but I don’t want to lose it.”

“Yeah, go for it.” Ranpo grins as Atsushi slips the card into his wallet, washes his hand, and makes Ranpo’s order. Once he pays, he returns to his apartment, where he sips the mocha, nibbles on the tarts, and solves another case for the Yokohama Police Department, plus two of his own besides.

On Saturday morning, he’s surprised to get a phone call from a number he doesn’t recognize. “Hello! You’ve reached Edogawa Ranpo, world’s greatest detective. What case can I solve for you today?”

A scoff fills his ear. “It really is you.”

Ranpo frowns. “This isn’t another one of Minoura’s tricks, is it?”

“Who is Minoura?”

“Scratch that,” Ranpo says, thinking for a moment. “I know who you are. You’re dating Atsushi-kun, right? Are you going to make me deduce your name? Is that something you do to all your clients?”

“My name is Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. I’m a third-year art and architecture student at Waseda University, and Atsushi mentioned you might have some freelance work for me. As it so happens, I am in the mood to do something besides look at my studio project, so I am willing to do the commission you request.”

“No matter what?”

“There are some subject matters I am not comfortable with, so unless you request those—”

“So you’re good with designing a tattoo?”

There’s a long silence on the other end. “You cannot be fucking serious,” Akutagawa finally says. It comes out in English.

Ranpo can’t hold back his laugh. Once he recovers, he responds, also in English, “My English is good, too, Akutagawa. Do you say that about all your clients?”

“Only the foolish ones,” Akutagawa answers. “Why would you want such a thing?”

“If you won’t do it, it’s fine.”

“I have not yet declined. I am simply asking a question to gauge whether or not I am comfortable with proceeding.”

Ranpo folds his arms and spins his desk chair. As it slowly circles the room, he murmurs, “So I have something that reminds me of him with me everywhere I go.” He waits for Akutagawa to say something. “What?”

“The tattoo you want… does it have meaning to you beyond that?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers. “Yeah… it does.”

Another long silence passes. “I do not have tattoos myself, but I have heard they hurt, especially on certain parts of the body where the bone is close to the skin.”

“What does that have to do with commissioning a tattoo from you?”

“I merely wish to caution you of that. You don’t strike me as the type to handle pain well.”

“Maybe my way of handling pain is to undergo a different kind of pain.”

Akutagawa scoffs. “You are making no sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but me and Poe-kun.”

Akutagawa hums. “I assume you mean Edgar Allan Poe, the American mystery author.”

“Yeah. I’m loaning Atsushi a copy of his newest book if you take the job.”

“He mentioned,” Akutagawa answers. “While I prefer non-fiction to anything, I admit certain premises of the book sound… interesting.”

“I can only let you borrow it if you take good care of it. It was a gift from someone really important to me.”

“Relax, Edogawa-san. Atsushi is a fan of books and treats them with respect, especially if they are borrowed.”

Ranpo knows he’s done it once Akutagawa mentions how well Atsushi would take care of his most prized possession. Sure enough, the next thing Akutagawa says is,

“I can meet you early next week to go over some preliminary designs. What exactly is it that you want?”

“A moon,” Ranpo says.

“A moon,” Akutagawa echoes. “That is simple enough to find at the right shop, I believe.”

“And,” Ranpo adds, “the first three notes of Yiruma’s ‘Moonlight.’ I can send you a reference if you want.”

“I am capable of finding one.” After a moment, he says, “What would you like me to do with the hold?”

“Surprise me,” Ranpo says. “How long does this take? I’m on a bit of a time crunch?”

“I can show you some drafts early next week. How is Tuesday afternoon around four? We can meet somewhere that isn’t Café Lupin. Your office seems private, if that will work. If you are not opposed, I’ll bring Atsushi with me.”

“Yeah, that works. Thanks a lot. You’re a real life saver.”

“Save that phrase for after you get the tattoo, Edogawa-san.”

The next few days drag, but he does look at plane tickets and get closer to finalizing the dates for his next trip. He e-mails Gil and lets him know he needs to talk to his contact in America before finalizing anything, and he also texts Poe asking to video chat with him on Tuesday night. It will be Wednesday morning for Ranpo, but he wants to see what Akutagawa comes up with first so he can tell from that conversation whether or not the image fits what he’s hoping it will do. I’ll have to live with it forever, Ranpo thinks, but Poe-kun isn’t the only one I’m doing this for.

Two minutes before four o’clock on Tuesday, his office door opens. “Ah, Akutagawa-kun! Good to meet you in person! Somehow, I knew you’d be the type to wear all black even in this heat. Atsushi-kun, good to see you again!” They all bow the rest of their greetings. “You can have a seat over here. I can offer you tea. Since you work for one of my best friends, Atsushi-kun, I can also offer you snacks.”

“Just tea, thank you,” Akutagawa says. “We are planning on going to dinner once I am finished up here.”

“Oh? Somewhere fancy, I’ll bet.” Ranpo grins at Akutagawa and watches his frown deepen.

“Um…” Atsushi raises his hand. “It’s actually my turn to pay, so… we’re going somewhere a little cheaper.”

Ranpo shrug and dips into his kitchen. He comes back with three glasses of jasmine tea, one for himself. It’s not sweet, but he thinks he can manage.

“Thank you,” Akutagawa murmurs, taking a sip of his before setting it down. He opens his messenger bag and thumbs through his sketchbook. Most of the pages are black and white, Ranpo notices. Other than that, he doesn’t note anything about it. “Now, about your commission…” He folds a page open. To Ranpo’s surprise, there are a dozen designs on it. “My first concern was, of course, the phase of the moon. I played a little with making the moon one of the notes, but it looked off-balance. So for a while, I stuck to moons more generally. I tried incorporating piano keys at one point, but that seemed extraneous and outside of your request, so I dropped the idea.”

Ranpo glances at Atsushi, who reaches out to grab his tea.

“Around the time I hit the sixth or seventh sketch on this page, I realized I was not considering size. You will see my designs got larger.” He flips the page. “I did draw a hibiscus unrelated to your commission, partly inspired but the colors in Atsushi’s eyes.”

“Senpai.”

Ranpo snickers at the scolding tone and the little frown on Atsushi’s face.

Akutagawa clears his throat. After coughing, he continues, “It was to loosen up and consider whether or not I wanted to incorporate color. But I conferred with my contact, and he said black tattoos were the easiest the first time. You can see the designs getting a little bigger, but around here…” He points to one. “I realized that for some reason, I was drawn to a waxing crescent moon.”

“Why?”

“Because such a phase signifies new intentions and potential, which I gather are important to you.”

Ranpo nods and sets his thumb on his chin.

“Then, there was the matter of the hold. You said you wanted three notes. This, too, in my mind, became a sort of opportunity. I started grappling with that here.” Akutagawa gestures to a design, then turns the page. “Around here, Atsushi distracted me briefly with how adorable he was being—”

“I fell asleep in Ryuu’s lap while he was drawing,” Atsushi clarifies.

“When I woke up from napping with him, I asked him a question: why can’t the hold and the moon work together?” He flips to another page.

“I had no idea what he was even talking about,” Atsushi admits, “but once he sketched it out and showed me what he meant, I told him I thought he was getting really close.”

Ranpo doesn’t miss the faint smile Akutagawa passes Atsushi before continuing. “I played a bit more with the angle of the moon and experimented briefly with a dotted line to represent the full shape, but that threw off the balance. After a little work with texture…” He turns the page a final time. “I came up with these three, all of which are I believe simple enough to serve as a first tattoo. However, if you are unsatisfied or wish for modifications, I am planning to copy the design over to a sheet of paper from a sketchbook with removable pages for you before I leave.”

Ranpo lets out a long whistle. “You really put a lot of thought into this. Maybe even too much.”

“No such thing,” Akutagawa states. “You are putting this art permanently on your body. It required that much thought. And I admit, it was a welcome distraction from my studio project.”

Atsushi murmurs something to Akutagawa about working too hard, but Ranpo is too taken by what he sees to catch it. He takes a deep breath and says, “I think I like the one in the middle, but with the moon in the one on the left.”

“Very well. Give me ten minutes.”

“Sure. I’ll get your payment while you work.”

“We never agreed on a price.”

“We didn’t have to,” Ranpo states, rising. “I have the money to match whatever price you ask.”

“Five-hundred thousand yen.”

“Ryuu!’

Ranpo shrugs. “If that’s a fair price, I’ll pay it.”

Akutagawa’s eyes flit up to his. “Do not tell me you also have a benefactor who is happy to throw his money and his tirades about his daughter at you.”

“Nope,” Ranpo states. “No Mori Ougais in my life. Yet.” He chuckles at that last part as he turns away. “But I did solve a crime for the Public Security Intelligence Agency back in February, and I have nothing else to do with the money they paid me except fly to America.”

“Fifteen thousand will suffice. The piece is not large.”

“Twenty five.”

Akutagawa glances up. “You do realize bartering is supposed to work the other way.”

“That’s such a commonsense answer,” Ranpo retorts, clicking his tongue. “I hate common sense.”

He hears Akutagawa snicker. “You are a damn fool, Edogawa Ranpo.”

Ranpo grins as he thumbs out a few bills from his wallet, slips them in an envelope, and grabs his copy of The Tell-Tale Heart from his desk drawer. “Takes one to know one, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.”

Akutagawa holds up the smaller of the two sketchbooks. “How is this?”

“Looks good.”

They exchange items: he hands the money to Akutagawa and the book to Atsushi. “Be careful with that. It’s my most prized possession.”

Atsushi nods and flips to the first page. Ranpo can tell from Atsushi’s blush that he read the inscription and understood it. He receives the sketch from Akutagawa, and after exchanging gratitude and promises to that they will take care of his book, they part ways.

Ranpo hasn’t had an occasion to ask Gil for their number yet, but he does in his next e-mail. Gil actually calls him a few minutes later. “I’m up on a case. Do you have travel dates yet?”

“Almost,” Ranpo answers. “I’ll have them tomorrow. I’m more curious about something that’s not work-related.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smirks and murmurs, “Know any good tattoo parlors?”

“Loads. I can hook you up with my artist if you’re looking to get one, but I thought Japan had some pretty negative views of that kind of thing.”

“Japan doesn’t need to know,” Ranpo answers. “I appreciate it. I’ll be in touch.”

After a night where Ranpo sleeps heavily and dreams of the raven on Poe’s shoulder staring at him, he wakes up early Wednesday morning and video calls Poe. The sketch is on his desk out of sight, and he gives it a long glimpse before Poe answers.

Except it’s Karl peering into the camera, so close that he’s nothing but a nose and snout.

“Karl, what are you—ah, Ranpo-kun!” Suddenly, Karl’s face grows smaller, and Poe sits down in his desk chair. “I’m so sorry. I stepped away to grab some water. I didn’t think he’d actually answer.”

“Don’t worry about it, Poe-kun. I’m always happy to see Karl, too.” He smiles. “But I’m happier to see you. I actually want to ask you for a favor.”

“Sure. How can I help, Ranpo-kun? Is this something about a case, maybe?”

“Kind of.” Ranpo grabs the post-it with his flight number and times jotted town on it. “August sixth, ten-fifteen.” He flips the post-it around and watches Poe’s face light up. “Pick me up at JFK Airport?”

Chapter Text

The plane is late. When it touches down at JFK airport, Ranpo breathes a sigh of relief that makes his stomach coil a little. Not out of nervousness. Out of sheer nausea. His stomach growls, but he knows he if he eats anything, he won’t keep it down. He spent half of the flight gripping the armrests, and the other half trying to sleep, but the constant pinging of the seatbelt sign and the turbulence kept him from doing anything worthwhile. He thinks he managed to sleep for a few hours while listening to some jazz, but his head his fuzzy, so it’s hard to tell.

He manages to get lost only once, mostly because he just follows the people in front of him. He goes through international arrivals, gets his passport stamped, nods when the man behind the desk says, “Welcome to America,” and follows the people in front of him to baggage. He chances some water. Fortunately, he doesn’t regret it. He takes another Dramamine just because he’s tired of his head spinning. That, he only regrets a little. By the time he picks up his luggage, his nausea is at least tolerable.

Poe has his flight number and likely knows the plan got delayed a little in landing because of the weather. Now that he’s on the ground, he finally thinks to turn airplane mode off and check his phone. He’s nearly at the top of an escalator when he hears his name. As tired as he is, he knows it’s Poe. Since the number of people have thinned out, he tugs his suitcases out of the way and throws himself against Poe’s chest, taking a deep breath. The smell of birches, lavender, and moss floods his nose. It feels surreal to be there in Poe’s arms, but he knows he is. And for some reason, that feeling overwhelms him until his eyes sting.

“I missed you,” Poe murmurs in his ear.

Ranpo sniffles and clings a little tighter.

“Ranpo-kun?”

“The flight was miserable. There were turbulence. I felt the plane drop at least four times. I couldn’t sleep, I was so scared…”

“You don’t need to be scared anymore, Ranpo-kun. I have you.”

“And the landing was rough. So rough. I couldn’t eat, either. I felt too sick, even after taking medicine…” He feels Poe’s fingers in his hair, and what little composure he has left slips away.

“I have you,” Poe murmurs again. And again, and again. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Japanese, but always in the same sure voice. After a few more times, his eyes stop stinging, and he loosens his grip on the back of Poe’s shirt. He lets go and moves to wipe his face, but Poe is already drying it for him. “There you are. You look exhausted. Let’s get your luggage. My car is parked in the garage across the street. I’ll drive you home. To my home, that is.” Poe smiles. “Do you want to pick up anything to eat on the way?”

Ranpo shakes his head. “Just tired. Too tired to eat.”

“I’ll make you something later, then.”

Ranpo catches Poe’s arm when he walks away, probably to get Ranpo’s abandoned suitcase before someone steals it. Poe glances at him, and Ranpo’s eyes fall to the floor.

“I’m not going far, my dear.”

“Promise?”

Poe smiles. “Of course. I promise.”

Ranpo has only the haziest of recollections about climbing into Poe’s Mercedes Benz. And he has no memory of the drive back to Poe’s house. The rain has let up a little, though, but the sound of it drumming drearily against the windshield puts him right to sleep. The next thing he knows, he feels someone unfastening his seatbelt.

“Poe-kun…”

“Ah. Sorry I woke you. I already took your bags inside. I was going to carry you in, but…”

“Okay.”

Poe passes him a smile and hoists him up, shutting the car door with his hip. Ranpo leans against his chest and breathes in the cool, damp smell of the woods, a stark contrast to the clean, warm smell that fills Poe’s house. “Is that cinnamon?”

“I spent part of the night baking,” Poe explains, setting him down and taking off his muddy shoes. While he does, Karl scampers around the corner. Ranpo barely has time to kick off his own shoes before Karl darts around the corner and clambers up his leg, letting out elated little chirps and swishing his tail. Karl tucks himself under Ranpo’s chin, and Ranpo hugs the raccoon close. Poe hugs them both, placing a kiss on Ranpo’s forehead and one on Karl’s before he slips away. “Would you like to rest some more before eating?”

“I think I’m up for a snack.”

Ranpo says that, but he eats three or four of the cookies and drinks a glass of milk and a cup of tea besides. After that, he buries himself in Poe’s blankets with Karl and sleeps better than he has in months. It’s still light outside when he wakes up, but Poe isn’t beside him. He said he was downstairs writing, he thinks, turning his eyes around the room. All of his bags are near the closet. He hopes Akutagawa’s sketch traveled well. And even if it didn’t, he has a scanned copy in his e-mail.

Karl is still dozing beside him on Poe’s pillow. Stretching, Ranpo rolls over.

And then, it hits him. Want. It’s deep, almost vicious. If Ranpo needs anything else, his body isn’t registering it.

Will he even want to? Ranpo asks himself. He tries to remember the sort of dream he was having. Instead, he just remembers Poe tucking him in and giving him a kiss before murmuring, “I’ll be downstairs in my study should you need anything, Ranpo-kun. Sweet dreams.”

But the sweetest dreams are of Poe. Did I dream about having sex with him? I’ve done that before, but now’s a terrible time. Slowly, he tips onto his side and tries to will his arousal away. Eventually, he gives up and slides out of bed. He knows where Poe keeps the lube and condoms. He grabs both and pockets them before drawing a long breath and creeping out of the bedroom. To his relief, Karl continues to doze.

He descends the stairs and spends a few minutes poking his head into various rooms, even managing to find the same one twice. But he eventually picks up the sound of Poe’s keyboard clicking. Sure enough, he follows it and winds up in Poe’s study, walled in by an impressive number of books and trinkets. There’s a bust of Athena, which reminds him of one of Poe’s poems. His diploma hangs above the window, which frames the empty backyard that could easily be a painting. Ranpo draws a slow breath and shuts the door behind him loudly enough for Poe to hear. Poe’s fingers stop for a moment, then pick back up again. Smiling, Ranpo creeps forward. When he’s a few steps away from Poe’s office chair, the writer says, “Do you need something, my dear Ranpo-kun?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says, swiveling the chair around until Poe faces him and leaning until his palms press against the edge of the desk. “You.”

Poe smirks and reaches out with both hands. They lock behind his lower back, then dip lower over. Ranpo wishes he could say he held his moan in. His brain practically careens out of his head when Poe’s hands reach the backs of his thighs. “Come here, then.”

Ranpo wastes no time in obliging. He climbs into Poe’s lap and lowers his weight slowly, just to make sure the chair doesn’t move too much. He wishes he could say he didn’t hiss when his erection brushes against Poe’s lap. Before he can recover, both of Poe’s palms are against his face, pulling their lips together. They both gasp at the initial pressure, but Poe keeps it gentle before pulling away, smiling, and sliding his tongue past Ranpo’s lips.

Ranpo swears they have never kissed like that. It tows a line between tender and blazing. His chest tightens. So do his pants. He’s dizzy again, but not from the flight. From Poe. From the incredible way their mouths are moving together, the slow descent of Poe’s hand down his spine. It winds up exactly where he wants it, and without intending to, he grinds against the man beneath him.

As urgent as his need to keep kissing Poe is, he needs more than just a kiss. “Bend over the desk,” he rasps as he breaks away.

Poe stares at him like he has just spoken a language neither of them know.

Ranpo’s mind catches up with his mouth. Why did I say that? Did I dream about it? I scared him. He tries to say something. Play it off as a joke or an impulse caused by his jetlag. Before he can, his mind turns to static as Poe’s hand drifts over his ass and squeezes.

“Let me up,” he murmurs. “And I’ll do anything you want me to, Ranpo-kun.”

It’s a struggle to pull back, but he does. He’s careful given that the chair could tip, but the chair is the first thing Poe pushes aside after setting his laptop on it. Ranpo watches it roll across the floor. Poe leans against the edge of the desk with a smirk.

“Do you really wish to do this with me?”

“Of course.”

“Are you awake enough not to fall asleep midway?”

Ranpo folds his arms. “I think I’m alright.”

“Good.” Poe steps forward. As he comes closer, Ranpo can see how blown Poe’s eyes are. His focus breaks when Poe’s fingers skirt along his face. “Can I kiss you again, Ranpo-kun?”

Ranpo answers by encircling Poe’s neck with his arms and initiating the kind of kiss that would make his toes curl if he was laying down. He can’t get enough, between what Poe’s tongue exploring his mouth and the faint woodsy-floral smell of Poe’s cologne filling his nose.

Poe leaves him before he can fall too deeply into it, though, and murmurs, “Are you sure?”

Ranpo drags Poe’s hand to the tent in his pants and presses against it with a breathy, “Deduce it.”

Chuckling, Poe murmurs, “I’m simply checking in. I don’t want you to push yourself. Plus, if I’m being honest, I’ve thought about it before.”

“Oh?” Ranpo smirks up at Poe. “You’re kinkier than I expected. Who exactly did you fantasize about bending you over your desk and fucking you?”

“I rode you into a mattress and fingered you on a piano bench, and you didn’t think I was at least a little kinky?” Poe retorts. “Well, I’ll forgive it this once since you’re jetlagged. As for the rest, deduce it.”

Ranpo stares at Poe for exactly two seconds and murmurs, “Oh, I think I know, Edgar,” before grabbing his collar and pulling his mouth down again. “I’m going to miss these lovely eyes of yours while we do this.”

Poe reconnects their lips and murmurs, “They’ll be right here waiting for you when we’re both spent, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

“God, you’re so fucking hot.”

“I could say the same about you,” Poe answers, smirking. Ranpo is pretty sure he still is as he turns around, walks towards the desk, and rests his forearms on its surface. “You can get a little rough tonight, Ranpo-kun.”

“A dangerous offer,” Ranpo murmurs, squeezing Poe’s hips and grinding his erection against the writer’s ass. He earns a sharp, shuddering moan for his trouble. “I can barely control myself as it is.”

“Control… ah… in the general direction of undoing my belt, if you will.”

“So impatient…” In a show of jet-lagged dexterity, he manages to unknot the ribbon around Poe’s shirt collar and unfasten a few of the buttons. He rests his weight on Poe’s back and leans until Poe shudders beneath him. Knowing his breath has reached Poe’s skin, he murmurs, “I like that about you, too. Let’s see how impatient you can get, hmm?”

“I’ve already deduced there’s nothing you can do to make me more impatient than you were when—”

Ranpo’s lips latch onto Poe’s shoulder, and he sucks, cutting Poe off and ripping another moan out of the writer. Although this one, Poe muffles by biting back or throwing it into the crook of his arm.

“When…” Poe gasps, chuckling. “I fingered you open in June and came inside of you three times in one night.”

Ranpo rocks against Poe’s backside again, savoring the friction as much as he does the whine that comes out of Poe. The rest of his movements are frantic: unbuttoning Poe’s vest and shirt, skipping straight to the belt and marveling at how well his fingers are still working despite how tired and horny he is, shoving Poe’s slacks and boxers around his legs… he stops there to appreciate the writer’s chest, Poe’s half-hard cock. And the view… “I’ve got to admit I see the appeal of doing it this way.” He grips Poe’s ass and pulls him apart and smirks, both at Poe’s shaky moan and the sight he’s greeted with. “You’re beautiful, Edgar. And perfect. So perfect.”

“If I’m so perfect, then stop staring and start fingering me.”

“You think fingers are all I’m giving you tonight?” Ranpo chuckles, withdrawing to loosen his own belt.

Poe turns back at him with a wide-eyed look. “Don’t just skip right to your cock, Ranpo-kun. It’s nice, but it’ll hurt.”

“I’m not,” Ranpo states, setting the lube and condom on the desk. “The pressure’s just getting to me. I’m happy to get a little rough like you asked and like I’ve deduced you want, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

Poe seems to accept that answer, given he drops his head a little.

“Edgar, my lovely raven…”

Poe whimpers as Ranpo smooths a hand over the writer’s ass.

“Have you ever been rimmed before?”

“Huh?” The noise comes out shrill, and Ranpo chuckles.

“If you ask me nicely, I’ll do it.” He grinds against Poe again and shudders. “But if you say no, I’ll just finger you open like I’m planning to do anyway.”

“Ranpo-kun, I can’t ask you for that!”

Ranpo slips his arms under Poe’s stomach and hugs him, continuing to rut against the writer. “Why not, my lovely raven?”

“Because that sort of pleasure is too good for me!”

Ranpo hisses as he backs off, then sighs and skims Poe’s hips with his fingers. “You’re shaking. Are you scared I’m going to force you?”

“N… no,” Poe murmurs.

“Then what, Poe-kun?” Ranpo smiles as his hands venture further up Poe’s sides, listening to the restrained sounds slipping out of the writer beneath him. “Want me to deduce it?”

“No.”

Ranpo drops and hugs him again. “Can I ask you what’s wrong?”

“I… just…”

Ranpo listens to the man beneath him draw a long breath.

“Something that intimate… it’s… I don’t know. I’ve never even thought about it. Have you?”

“I’ve done it,” Ranpo states, resting his forehead between Poe’s shoulder blades, shutting his eyes at how shy he suddenly feels. “I don’t do it often, and I only offer when I’ve built up a certain level of trust with a person. You’re maybe the second or third. The other people said it felt nice, so I must be pretty good at it.” Brushing that feeling off, Ranpo chuckles and hugs Poe a little tighter. “We don’t have to do any of this, Poe-kun. If you’re uncomfortable, we can go finish in the shower or on the sofa. The bed’s occupied, or else I’d throw that in as an option, too.”

“I don’t know,” Poe admits. “You flew all this way. Shouldn’t I be doing this for you?”

“Maybe some other time if you want,” Ranpo murmurs. “But it’s not something I’ll ever need you to do for me. It’s just something I like to do for other people.” He sighs into Poe’s shoulders again. “Or if you’re really put off, we can stop. But I’ll have to borrow your bathroom if we do that.” To emphasizes his point, he shifts his hips, smiling as Poe lets out a breathy sigh, letting out a quiet sigh of his own. Ranpo knows it’s because Poe feels his erection pushing against his skin through the only remaining fabric holding it back. “I know I came on strong, but I can give you all the time you need to think.”

In response, Poe wiggles against him and lets out a low moan. “If you… do this—”

Ranpo latches on to Poe’s shoulder again, catching a glimpse of the mark he already left as he dips his head.

“Ah…”

This time, the kiss he delivers is gentle.

“Ranpo-kun, if one of us wants to stop, we stop. If… you can agree to that, then I… I’ll try it.”

“Of course, Poe-kun,” Ranpo murmurs into the crook of Poe’s neck. “What’s that you’re always saying? Forced pleasure isn’t pleasure at all?” He pecks Poe’s shoulder one more time. “If you tell me to stop, I will. I always will. I promise. Because even if I’m a little impatient and childish, and even though I’m practically mad with wanting to fuck you against this desk, I don’t ever want to make you regret that we’re dating or having sex.”

“Ranpo-kun…”

“Yes, my lovely raven?” Beneath him, Poe draws a breath.

“You can do it. I’ll tell you if I want to stop.”

“Your wish is my command,” he murmurs, sliding down to his knees, gripping Poe’s ass, and dipping without hesitation to taste him.

Poe has never made a noise like that before, at least not around Ranpo. It’s shrill, pleasured, and almost unhinged with want. Ranpo reaches down to pull his own cock out of his boxers because the pressure’s getting to be too much and continues to work Poe open with his tongue. He wants more. Wants to hear Poe more. But Poe is already screaming his name. Or sobbing it; he’s not sure which. And doing this… as always, it gets him going, mostly because he knows how people view it. He doesn’t do it often. He knows it’s more than jetlag that’s making him want to do this with Poe. Still, he stops with an unsteady breath.

“You still okay?” Ranpo calls.

“Don’t stop!” Poe begs. Beneath his fingers, Ranpo feels the writer shaking. “Don’t stop now. It’s so good, Ranpo.”

The praise goes right to his dick, and he leans again, working his tongue in ways he hopes bring Poe more pleasure. It’s a challenge because of the noises Poe is letting out, wrecked and needy. Interspersed with them is praise that goes straight to Ranpo’s dick and urges him to continue. He hardly registers the growing ache in his knees, knowing how good Poe is feeling by the loud, unsteady noises of pleasure pouring out of him one after another.

Fortunately, when he’s nearing his own limit, he hears Poe shout, “Ranpo-kun, please!”

Ranpo pulls away again, gasping. “Please what?”

“It’s incredible, but I need more. Please. I can’t think. I can’t…”

“I can see that,” Ranpo murmurs, wiping his spit-slick lips and brushing his fingertips along the fronts of Poe’s thighs. “Are you hard, Edgar?”

“So hard,” Poe answers.

“Yet you won’t touch yourself.”

“Because it’s not as good as you doing it.”

“You should work on that if that’s the case, Poe-kun.”

“I can’t stand it,” the writer continues. “I need you. Now.”

“Poe-kun—”

“Please…” There’s a long silence, a broken sound, an unsteady, “Please, Ranpo.”

Ranpo chuckles and reaches for the lube. After tearing it open, he coats two of his fingers. “I know it’s hard to handle, Edgar, but I don’t want it to hurt.”

Poe whimpers and sinks a little lower on the desk.

“You’re doing so well. I’m moving on to fingers. Just relax. I’ll take care of you.” Ranpo smiles. “If it’s too much, why don’t you touch yourself?”

“No,” Poe whines. “No. I’ll wait. I want you to.”

Ranpo frowns. “Poe-kun, you sound uncomfortable.” He slips his lubed fingers along Poe’s entrance and chuckles at the way Poe shudders. “One or two?”

“Either.”

Ranpo smooths Poe’s hip with his free hand. “I thought there was nothing I could do to make you as desperate as I was that night you fucked me into your mattress.”

“I was wrong,” Poe murmurs. “I was so wrong, Ranpo. Please… I’m sorry, I…”

“Edgar, you don’t need to apologize.” He sweeps his thumb along Poe’s V-line. “I can touch you instead.”

“Fingers!” he manages. “Fingers, then you! Please!”

Considering how desperate Poe’s voice is, Ranpo finds himself in a position where he doesn’t want to deny the writer any longer. So, he starts with one, and he’s glad he does, because Poe is still a little tight. As he slides his finger deeper into Poe’s body, he hears the writer keen. “There,” Ranpo sighs. “That’s one. Have you not done it recently, Poe-kun?”

“I was waiting for you,” he admits.

Smiling, Ranpo curls the finger he has buried inside of Poe and smirks when an ear-splitting moan fills the room.

“Fuck… Ranpo, don’t work me up too much, or I’ll come early.”

“You can come,” Ranpo murmurs. “We’ve had more than one orgasm together before. If you come too soon, I’ll just work you up again.” He sees Poe shake his head in blatant refusal and smiles as he pushes another finger in. “There you go. How’s that?”

Poe makes another incoherent noise.

“Can I move them?”

“Yes! Please!”

So much for not getting as worked up as me, he thinks as he continues to open Poe up. Ranpo knows he’s fully hard now. He suspects Poe is likely more desperate than he is given the treatment he’s getting. “Can I hit your prostate one more time?”

After a ragged gasp, Poe nods again.

“Alright. Here I go.”

Poe reacts beautifully to it, arching his back and moaning before Ranpo withdraws his fingers. “Ranpo-kun.”

“Yes, my lovely raven?”

“Just you.” Apparently, Poe still has the composure and strength to lift his head. He turns to face Ranpo, and Ranpo sees how blown his pupils are, making his eyes look darker than they usually to. He’s flushed. He’s sweating. There are tears in his eyes. “Just you. Please.”

“You want me to come inside?”

“Please,” Poe begs, smirking despite his state. “Or I’ll have to haul you somewhere and ride you again.”

Ranpo reaches for the lube and smiles. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Poe-kun, since I’m happy to give you exactly what you want.” He can’t believe how much his head spins when he slicks himself up. “You still want me to be a little rough?”

“Yes, Ranpo-kun, please.”

After wiping his hand off on his own shirt, he grabs Poe’s hips again, this time squeezing them a little tighter, and slides his cock between Poe’s cheeks.

“Stop teasing and fuck me.”

“But it’s so fun, and your reactions are delicious.”

“Ranpo-kun, please…”

Ranpo shifts his hands back to Poe’s ass, spreads him apart, and pushes in. If the sights before were beautiful, this one is entirely unreal. And the feeling… his skin against Poe’s with nothing between them… it’s enough to make him regret the times they’ve had sex with a condom. Poe is a mess, and Ranpo knows he’s not much better, especially when his hips rest against Poe’s ass and he bottoms out. “Holy fucking shit,” Ranpo breathes.

Gasping, Poe answers, “I know. Isn’t this wonderful?”

“Fuck,” Ranpo says again. “I’m not sure I can hold back.”

“Don’t. I want to be walking off the aches at least until Wednesday.”

Ranpo slides almost entirely out and snaps his hips forward, smirking as Poe whines and moans in time with his thrusts. He’s surprised he doesn’t come the moment he’s inside Poe. Even after a few more frantic thrusts, still controlled enough not to hurt but also sharp enough to leave a satisfied ache behind,  “Want me to touch you, Edgar?”

Poe makes a noise he guesses is affirmative, and he slides a hand around Poe’s hips, working his cock from the base to the head. He does it fast in time with his thrusts, which he’s now aiming directly at Poe’s prostate. When Poe’s moans become louder and shriller, he knows the writer is close.

“Come for me, Edgar,” Ranpo manages, raising his voice so Poe can hear him. “My beautiful, perfect, stunning…” The rest of his words careen out of his head as Poe screams his name, as the writer’s muscles clamp down on him and he chokes. His orgasm slams into him, flattening him against Poe’s back, turning him into putty. He works Poe through his aftershocks, gives a few more lazy thrusts as he comes back down, and exhales. Having sex with Poe like this… it’s something. Something… he can’t name. He can’t put into words. He can’t…

Out of nowhere, he starts crying.

“Ranpo-kun?” Poe asks.

“I just really, really missed you!” He buries himself against Poe’s back and clings. “And it was really intense, and I’m still really tired, and—” So many words crowd his mind and his mouth, but none of them make it out. What comes out instead is a quiet sob. Then another. It passes quickly to his relief. As soon as the haze of his orgasm wears off, he finds himself able to think again.

He has no idea what he was about to say, but whatever it was scares him almost as much as not knowing.

“Pull out,” Poe manages. “I’ll hold you until you’re better, and then, we can take a shower together.”

Ranpo feels more tears coming as he pulls out. The instant he’s in Poe’s arms, he just clings as emotions that are too intense, too many, too… everything, wash over him again. He presses against Poe’s shoulder, sighing as the writer’s fingers move through his hair, as reassurance—quiet in comparison to the noises Poe let out while they were having sex—pepper his ear. It takes a minute or two of sitting in Poe’s lap on the floor, but eventually, he calms down.

“There,” Poe breathes. “You’re alright, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo wishes he was. He can blame the jetlag. But what it really is… maybe that feeling, that intense and aching feeling… doesn’t have a name. He withdraws from Poe’s shoulder, wipes his eyes, and peers up at the writer to find him smiling.

“There you are, Ranpo-kun.” The writer smooths his hair. “Beautiful as always.”

He rememvbers something his mother said to him once, more out of frustration than anything, but the words still sting. “It’s not beautiful to cry.”

Poe frowns like he knows where those words are coming from. After drying one more stray tear, he cups Ranpo’s face and leans forward.

“I just—”

“Shh… I trust my own body,” Poe murmurs, catching Ranpo’s lips. “And it’s been too long since I kissed you, anyway.”

Ranpo chases Poe’s mouth, kisses him like he’s the only thing that matters in the world… he hopes Poe can deduce that’s what he means. Asking to make sure would be too forward, so he deduces it. Just to make sure.

As Poe’s lips return to his, he isn’t really sure why he doubted Poe in the first place. “Let’s clean up, Ranpo. Then, I just want to hold you.”

They don’t talk while they clean up the mess. They don’t talk while they strip the rest of the way. But once they’re under the hot stream of water and the raven on Poe’s shoulder is staring at Ranpo, Poe drags him into a kiss that he gathers his energy to lean into.

It’s not words, Ranpo thinks, winding his arms around Poe’s neck, savoring the press of Poe’s bare body against his more out of affection than sex. But we don’t need those right now.

Chapter Text

The handful of days Ranpo and Poe spend together are, predictably, marked more by affection than by lust or physical need, especially after a jet-lagged Ranpo got it into his head to fuck Poe against his desk. Poe doesn’t really say much about it other than commenting, “You must have needed me pretty badly.” Occasionally, he will pause before going into the office, as if thinking back on that moment. Ranpo pretends he doesn’t notice, but he smiles once he’s alone.

On Saturday night, Ranpo listens to Poe read to him, wrapped in an extra bathrobe the writer has with Karl on his lap. Of course, he knows the culprit three or four minutes in, but Poe’s voice is so lovely, he winds up falling asleep before the story is finished. In the morning, he’s relieved to find himself nestled in Poe’s arms when he wakes up. He’s treated to the sight of Poe’s sleeping face, to the clear bloom of lavender as Poe’s eyes open, to a sleepy smile that can only be pure contentment, to a soft kiss that tastes of morning break and that flavor without name that is inexplicably Poe. They don’t get up right away. Instead, they snuggle closer. Karl joins them. Once Poe wakes up, it’s a late breakfast in bed and a long walk in the woods while they hold hands. It’s cooking dinner together and gazing into Poe’s eyes when, out of nowhere, Ranpo is seized with the need to push Poe’s hair back. It’s gentle kisses as they shower as they scrub each other’s skin. And after on their way back to Poe’s bed. And until Ranpo slips into a doze. The last one he feels lands on his forehead.

On Monday, it’s kissing Poe good-bye as he heads to work, then spending half the day lost in Poe’s house. Most of the rest, he spends skimming over case files Gil sent him, nibbling on snacks (Poe bought him a bag of lollipops in anticipation of his arrival), and cuddling with Karl. His jet lag, thankfully, is wearing off, and with Poe around, he hasn’t had any nightmares about the plane ride. He takes a break in the afternoon, sipping on a cup of earl grey rose and stroking Karl’s fur.

“Hey, Karl,” Ranpo murmurs. “Can you keep a secret?”

The raccoon stares up at him, and out of the pages of his book, he pulls the sketch Akutagawa gave him, carefully folded so the creases don’t go through the sketch itself. “I’m getting this tomorrow.”

Karl examines him with beady eyes, and Ranpo sets his glasses on his head.

“I didn’t think too long about it, honestly. Some people would call me impulsive, but I just… really want one.” Ranpo smiles. “I’m not just getting it to think of Poe-kun. I’m not a fan of pain, but I… need to feel some things physically that I’ve been feeling over and over emotionally.” He draws a breath. “I’m really nervous. I know it’s going to hurt. I just… don’t think that’s going to stop me.” He nibbles on another chip, then offers Karl a blueberry. The raccoon rolls over onto his back and takes it. “That song… means more to me now than it did before he came to Japan. So…” He smiles and reaches for another blueberry. “I don’t know if I’m ready to explain to Poe-kun what ‘Moonlight’ means beyond playing it with him, but I probably will if he asks. Maybe for practice, I’ll tell you now.”

Karl licks his paws clean, then rolls onto his side and starts drifting off again.

And Ranpo talks.

He winds up nodding off before he finishes. When he wakes up, he wipes the spit off his chin and picks up the smell of dinner cooking.

“You’re meeting with Gil tomorrow, right?” Poe asks while they’re eating the roasted bone-in pork chops and roasted vegetables Poe cooked.

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “I took a look at some of the files alone. Apparently, Gil’s trying to link a bunch of cold cases to someone who has already been arrested and charged with murder. They’re old cases, but they think I can help.”

Poe smiles and sets his hand on top of Ranpo’s. “I’m sure you will do spectacularly, my dear.”

“Only if I get enough good-luck kisses. At least, that’s what my horoscope said.”

“Ranpo-kun, you don’t care about horoscopes, and I guarantee you yours did not say that.”

“Of course it did! It’s on the second page of the Edogawa Times!”

By now, Poe is chuckling behind his hand.

“Want to know what yours said?”

“Let me get a drink of water first.” Poe lifts his glass. “Alright,” he murmurs, setting it down.

“It said you’d make someone you care about a nice dinner and get something nice in return.”

Poe laughs harder this time. The sound fills the whole dining room, and Ranpo feels that warmth in his chest again. He winds up joining Poe while Karl glances at them, then continues to his water bowl in the kitchen. When Poe and Ranpo exchange glances, they start up all over again.

“Ranpo-kun,” Poe says, wiping his eye. “I believe you missed your calling. I never knew you had a hidden talent for astrology.”

“How is it a talent?”

“Because,” Poe murmurs, kissing Poe’s hand. “You were right on both accounts.”

After dinner, Ranpo gives Poe a kiss, and they wind up going to Starbucks just because they can. It’s chilly, so Ranpo wears a jean jacket Poe loaned him. “Ah, I see the PSL is back earlier than ever.”

“The what?” Ranpo asks.

Poe hums. “Pumpkin spice latte. It’s too sweet for my taste, but I think you’d like it.”

Ranpo winds up ordering one, and they sit at a table outside to drink their coffee. They spell his name wrong, not that he cares. He still snaps a picture of the cup with its tower of whipped cream. Poe is right: he does like it. Unfortunately, it just makes him miss Dazai’s criminally sweet mochas. Poe gets a cup of whipped cream for Karl. “I’ll give it to him when we get back. Do you enjoy it?”

“Yeah, it’s not bad. It’s just not Café Lupin.”

“Well,” Poe says, “the next time I come to Japan, we’ll have to make sure we go.”

The thought of Poe coming back makes his heart hammer a little faster.

They return to Poe’s house, and after Karl eats his whipped cream, Ranpo says, “Hey. Speaking of Café Lupin, it’s their one-year in Japan now.”

“Oh?” Poe asks.

Ranpo smiles at him. “Can we take a picture? I kind of want to send it to Dazai-kun.”

“Alright.”

Karl makes the task far harder than it has to be. Ranpo thinks they’re situated as the timer ticks down, but out of nowhere, Karl jumps on his head. They both wind up laughing, and Ranpo manages to spot the moment where the picture takes. Ranpo studies it for a long moment. The way Poe is looking at him, hair still mostly tied back for work, makes him feel warm again.

“I’m terribly sorry Karl ruined the photo. We can try again if you—”

Ranpo chuckles. “Karl improved it. I like it.” He shows Poe, and the writer smiles.

“Be sure to tell Dazai-san that Karl and I also wish him good luck today.”

“You got it.” After sending a line of texts to Dazai, including the far inferior PSL, Poe’s well-wishes and his own, and the photo he just took of them, he writes, As you can see, Karl is very supportive of our relationship. He doesn’t suspect Dazai will see the texts anytime soon given that he deduced the café was going to be slammed before he left.

“Ranpo-kun.”

“Hmm?” he asks.

“Do I get something else nice for buying your coffee?”

Ranpo snickers and pulls Poe up after him towards the piano, where they both play a little before settling into the familiar notes of “Moonlight.” At least, until Poe stops to kiss Ranpo. In place of the notes, Ranpo feels some melody of feeling in his chest he hasn’t named yet. Poe breaks away and drags him towards the shower, where they pull each other’s clothes off and trade more kisses. Ranpo puts another hickey on the back of Poe’s shoulder, but that’s as far as they go.

Sleeping in Poe’s arms is even nicer that night. Despite the coffee, Ranpo dozes off quickly, and his sleep is peaceful and deep.

In the parking garage the next day, they spend longer than usual saying good-bye. Ranpo slides his arms around Poe’s waist. Poe’s tangle around his shoulders. And for a long moment, there on the filthy stairwell of a New York City parking garage with the blare of morning rush hour traffic in the background, they fall into each other’s eyes.

“Have a good day,” Ranpo says in English.

Poe hugs him close, and he catches the smell of Poe’s cologne again. “Yeah,” Poe answers in Japanese, smoothing the back of Ranpo’s hair. “You, too, Ranpo-kun.”

They separate, and Ranpo turns to leave, but Poe’s fingers close in his arm.

“I know you’re going to do incredible things today. Go solve another case for Gil.”

Ranpo smiles. “Go design some kick-ass documents.”

Poe smiles. “Let’s get dinner. There’s a nice place I want to take you.”

“Sure. See you later.”

Ranpo wants Poe to say something, but he isn’t sure what. Well, that mystery will solve itself in time, he tells himself.

Ranpo gets a warm greeting when he arrives at Gil’s office. Most people shake his hand and congratulate him on his latest case, thank him for coming. Gil thanks him several times, and that’s just on their way to the evidence room.

“Did you have a chance to look at the files I sent you?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “I’m pretty sure there’s a connection there. I’m just not sure what yet.”

“I feel the same,” Gil answers, opening the door. There’s a table in the middle of the room full of boxes. “You nervous about your appointment?”

“Nah,” he answers as he approaches the table and pulls out one of the files. “I’m sure I want it. Even if I’ve been sure for only a couple of weeks, there’s so much meaning in it, I don’t want to back out now.”

Gil stands on the other side of the table and pulls out a folder. “It’s okay to back out. You didn’t come here to get your first tattoo.

“No,” Ranpo agrees. “I came here to solve a case and see my boyfriend.”

“And you’re all out of boyfriends?”

“Huh?”

Gil smiles and says, “Sorry. It’s a play on an American joke. Something like, ‘I’m here to kick ass and chew gum, and I’m all out of gum.’”

“Ah,” Ranpo answers, nodding. “I think I get it.” In truth he doesn’t quite, but he chalks it up to language differences.

“How are things between you, by the way? I’m still kind of in awe Edgar said anything during that interview, considering how shy he tends to be on television. But I can tell at a glance that makes you really happy.”

“It does,” Ranpo admits, skimming the file. “He’s not the only thing that makes me happy, but—”

“I get it.” Gil glances into the file again and sighs. “I’ve been through these boxes four or five times. I can’t find any connections. All the victims are demographically different.”

Ranpo hums. “What’s the time of death?”

“About three am. Why?”

Ranpo checks his own file. “Three am.”

Gil tosses the file aside and pulls another one. Ranpo does the same. It takes the rest of the morning, but by the time they’re done, there’s only six or seven files that don’t fit the pattern. “I doubt just the similarity in time of day will hold up, but it’s a start.” Gil folds their arms. “You want to grab an early lunch? It’s good to eat before you go.”

“Yeah. I’m a little nervous, but I could go for something.”

They eat at a sandwich shop right around the corner. Ranpo doesn’t expect the sandwich to have as much pastrami as it does, but he still eats it all while Gil fills most of the silence. “You’re getting nervous,” they observe.

Ranpo nods. After he cleans his hands, he takes out Akutagawa’s sketch and sets it down.

“What is it?”

“The first three notes of ‘Moonlight’ by Yiruma,” Ranpo states.

Gil hums and stares at it. “I don’t know anything about the song or your reasons for wanting it, but somehow, I think it fits. And the style is nice.”

“I commissioned it from a friend of a friend, kind of.” He wonders if he can call Atsushi his friend, given their only encounter outside of Café Lupin has been sitting in his office while Akutagawa explains his creative process. “Why? You in the market for another one?”

Gil rolls their sleeve up and reveals the clock on their wrist. “I think I’m good for now. But I might change my mind. I’ll take their contact info if you have it.”

“Sure thing.” Ranpo texts Gil Akutagawa’s number. “Tell him I sent you. He’s in his final year of university, but he also does interior design.”

“Now that, I might have some use for.”

They make small talk on their way to the tattoo parlor. The windows are dark and a little unsettling. Worse still, when he steps inside, the sound of drums and bass mixes with the constant hum of the needle. His skin crawls, but he remembers why he’s there and what it means to him.

“Gil! Good to see you!”

It’s pretty clear to Ranpo that they know each other well given that their greeting is a hug.

“And you…”

Scary, Ranpo thinks, trying to count the number of piercings they have. Their face is the only place he can really judge their skin tone; their arms are covered in ink.

“You must be the famous Ranpo Edogawa. Welcome to America.”

Wait… He tips his head.

The tattoo artist blinks. “What’s the matter?”

Ranpo grins. “You live in a little apartment with three other people. The apartment cat has adopted you. And when you’re not here, you’re selling cutesy prints online and baking. Are you working on cheesecake right now?”

The artist laughs and turns to Gil. “How much did you tell him about me?”

“Nothing,” Gil answers, folding their arms. “He deduced all of that himself.”

“Well, you really are something. Come on. Let’s take a look at what I’m working with.”

Now that he’s more at ease, he has no problem following the artist to a chair, handing over the print, and saying, “I want it on my side above my right hip.”

“Damn, this is nice. Good size for a first tattoo, and all black should be pretty easy. Be right back, detectives.”

Ranpo doesn’t say anything in the interim. His heart is racing a little too quickly. Gil sits down in an empty chair and passes him occasional smiles.

The artist comes back with the print and a film with a mirror image that they set down. “Are you uncomfortable opening your shirt? I need to shave the area and clean it.”

Ranpo tolerates that treatment. Having his stomach exposed makes him a little anxious, since the only people who tend to see that are people he plans to sleep with. Which is now exclusively Poe-kun, he reminds himself, fidgeting as the razor skims over his skin. A moment later, there’s a spray and a press. “There we go. Take a look. If the placement’s good, we’ll get started.”

Ranpo sits up and glances at himself in the mirror. The bottom half of his shirt is unbuttoned, and the black lines are on his skin. They’re not permanent. Yet. But they’re so… captivating. He knows this is his last chance to back out. With his heart in his throat, he says, “Yeah. Looks good.”

“Alright. Lie down for me, then. Make sure you’re comfortable.”

Ranpo rests his head in the crook of his arm and takes a few deep breaths while the artist gets the ink ready.

His heart lurches when the artist’s chair scrapes across the floor. He passes Gil a look and gets a thumbs up.

“A couple of things before I start since this is your first tattoo. This one’s small enough to take ten or fifteen minutes. I’m going to start with the edge of the moon since it’s textured, then move to more solid lines. If you need a breather, say the word.”

Ranpo manages a nod.

“Here.” Gil offers Ranpo their hand.

Ranpo takes it, the buzz fills his ears. Then, it starts. It’s uncomfortable. Unpleasant. He doesn’t flinch when the needle hits his skin for the first time. Instead, he sighs and grips Gil’s hand a little tighter. “Doing good,” the artist says when the buzzing cuts off. Then, the pain comes back. His eyes start to water. The needle stops before he expects it to.

“Keep going. I’m fine. It’s not the needle. It’s the memories.” He wipes his eyes and passes the artist a look. “Keep going.”

After that, to Ranpo’s relief, the buzz is almost continuous. He’ll never admit he was only mostly telling the truth. Without meaning to, he tenses when a spike of pain shoots along his hip. The needle backs off for a moment, and he exhales.

“Sorry. That hurt more.”

“Almost done with that bit.”

The longer it goes on, the more his head starts to buzz along with the needle. Adrenaline, he realizes once the sting moves farther from his hip bone. He knows it’s also the memories: the good, the bad. Eventually, he locks in on the night he and Poe played “Moonlight” in a love hotel room. He tries to recall the exact warmth he felt and realizes he’s been feeling that same warmth since he arrived. Magic isn’t real, Ranpo tells himself, letting out a slow breath. But the way he makes me feel… half makes me believe it can be.

As quickly as it started, it’s over. The constant hum falls silent. Ranpo lets out a breath and uncoils his fingers from Gil’s. Something settles over his hip. He shifts his eyes to see the artist holding masking tape.

“Just covering it up. You did good for your first time,” the artist states. “Stay there for a bit. I’m going to get you something to drink.”

“A criminally sweet mocha?”

Laughing, the artist says, “Yeah, even if you just ate, you probably need the sugar.”

While the artist is gone, Ranpo asks Gil, “How does it look?”

“Good,” Gil answers.

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

“He doesn’t seem like the type, but maybe.”

Ranpo snickers. Your secret is safe another day, Poe-kun.

Once Ranpo feels steady, he sits up and takes a look. It’s unbelievable, the black marks on his skin beneath the plastic, the red skin around them signifying that they’re far more permanent than the decal before. It’s flawless work; the ink is black, and the lines are clean.

“Leave the wrapping on for twenty-four hours,” the artist calls as they clean the tools. “After that, soap and water twice a day. Pat it dry, then apply a layer of Vaseline or balm. Don’t swim or take a bath; showers are fine.” He receives a bag from the artist and the sketch he handed over earlier. “It’ll get itchy in a couple of days. Don’t scratch it. Any problems while you’re out of the country, call Gil and they’ll call me.”

Ranpo hops down and hands two hundred-dollar bills over. “Keep the change.”

The artist laughs. “You didn’t tell me your friend was loaded, Gil.”

“He didn’t tell me, either,” Gil states, slipping their hands in their pockets. “You coherent enough to keep working?”

“Hell, yeah,” Ranpo answers.

That day, they identify other similarities: all the crimes took place within a few blocks over the span of seven or eight years, usually one a month. At night, Ranpo sleeps on his back. Poe sleeps with his nose pressed to Ranpo’s cheek, arm stretched across his chest. Karl sleeps above their heads. Ranpo smiles at the ceiling before drifting off.

The next couple of days are challenging. The wrapping comes off, and Ranpo manages to complete the necessary aftercare without arousing Poe’s suspicions, as they continue to shower separately.

It happens on Friday night, when they’re lounging in Poe’s bed just facing each other, talking about what sort of trouble to get into over the weekend. It’s too early for apple orchards, but they haven’t been to Poe’s favorite diner yet, and the option to just drive is there. Ranpo isn’t even thinking as Poe’s hand trails down his side. A spike of pain works through him. A hiss slips through his teeth.

“Ranpo-kun, what—”

“Nothing. It’s a bruise. Just… don’t touch it.”

“A bruise.” Poe moves his hand back to Ranpo’s ribcage. “Exactly when and how did you get this bruise, Ranpo-kun?”

Ranpo frowns. He wishes he could roll over and face the other direction to make his refusal even more obvious, but that would hurt even worse, and it’s starting to flake and itch.

“Shall I deduce—”

“No.”

Poe’s one visible eye blinks. “Ranpo-kun, I’m sorry to press the issue, but I’m worried. If it’s that sensitive, maybe I should get you some ice.” Poe’s hand smooths his cheek, and Ranpo shakes his head. “Is that why you’ve been insisting we shower separately? Because it’s ugly and you don’t want me to see it?”

Ranpo nods, but the guilt sticks him like a thorn.

“And why you’ve been sleeping on your back?”

He nods again, clutching Poe’s pajama shirt and huddling closer.

After a moment, the hand on his face slips into his hair. “Let me see it, Ranpo-kun.”

He shakes his head.

“Ranpo-kun—”

“It’s not a bruise,” he finally admits, because more than worrying Poe, he hates that he lied.

Poe hums as if he already knows and says, “Let me see it.”

Ranpo had no choice but to concede with a nod, to shudder as Poe’s hand slips beneath his shirt and pulls the fabric up. He feels the air hit his bare skin and shudders as Poe’s fingers land far enough above the black lines not to cause him pain or discomfort. He waits for Poe to say something. When the writer remains silent, he glances up to find Poe still staring at the ink beneath his skin, smiling.

“Tell me what it means to you.”

Ranpo’s fingers loosen. “You know what it is.”

“I do,” Poe states. “But I’m not asking what it is. I’m asking what it means.”

So, with a breath, Ranpo starts. He talks about hearing that song for the first time while his mother cried over his father’s declining health. He remembers hearing it as she led him to the English conversation school for his first lesson, where he would “solve the mystery of the English language,” as she put it. He heard it at school the day he met Fukuzawa, trying to find his way home because he didn’t know how to navigate Yokohama and still doesn’t. He hummed it while preparing for his entrance exams and heard it the day he learned he got accepted to Yokohama National. It was playing the first time he kissed someone in his apartment near campus, low on an old CD player. He just happened remember it the day he opened his detective agency. On October 26, when Dazai almost killed himself, he woke up to the sound of “Moonlight” echoing in his mind. And, most recently, he played it with Poe in a love hotel before climbing into the writer’s lap and having sex with him.

“When something important happens, good or bad, that song is always there,” Ranpo concludes. “You just happen to be the most recent in a long list of people and events connected to that song. That’s why it had to be ‘Moonlight.’ Because even if it’s a coincidence, that song’s been with me for a long time. Almost my whole life. And I want a piece of it to be with me always, so when I look at it, I can feel all those things, good and bad.”

Poe listens without looking away. The smile on his face wavers, and he draws a breath. Only instead of words, something wordless and melodic comes out. He’s singing the notes of “Moonlight” in perfect pitch, and it’s so beautiful that all Ranpo can do is smile and join him, seeking out that same harmony they found on a piano bench in a Yokohama love hotel but never quite finding it.

That doesn’t make the moment any less perfect, though.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you just want to stay here?” Poe asks that morning.

It’s Thursday. Ranpo got up early to see Poe off to work. Originally, he was planning on doing some sightseeing, but they have the weekend for that. For some reason, though, when he woke up in the morning, he felt… sluggish. Not sick. Just tired. Unsurprising, considering he and Gil solved the case and identified the culprit in so short a time. He thinks maybe he’s burnt out. A little homesick… he misses Dazai’s criminally sweet mochas more than he deduced he would. He’s already sad that his two-week stay in America is coming to an end.

“Ranpo-kun?”

Ranpo glances up at Poe and hugs Karl, who is in his lap, a little closer.

“Ranpo-kun, are you alright? You look upset. Are you not feeling well?”

“Just sad I have to leave again.” He watches a little smile appear on Poe’s face.

“Ah… truly, that makes me a little sad, too.” When Poe lifts a hand to caress the side of his face, he doesn’t resist. “Having you on the same side of the world is truly a wondrous thing. The time I spend with you never feels wasted, even if we’re doing nothing.”

“You’re not just saying that because you get to hold me while you fall asleep, are you?”

“Of course not.” Poe kisses his head. “Although I confess that is a benefit.” He dips and does the same to Karl before rising with a long sigh. When Ranpo reaches for his face and draws him forward, Poe leans, and their lips meet again. “I’ll try to be back a little early tonight.” He smooths Ranpo’s hair before drawing away. “Maybe we can take a drive.”

“Sure.” Ranpo does his best to seem excited, but the shadow of his departure looms.

“Ranpo-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“Remember, whatever side of the world you’re on, whether it’s yours or mine, my feelings for you are the same.”

Ranpo does his best to hold onto those words, but the thought of going back to Yokohama still makes him a little sad. Still, he nods and tries to smile. “I’ll just… miss you so much.”

“And I, you, Ranpo-kun.” Poe pulls him into another kiss and murmurs, “You’re so irresistible, you’re going to make me late.”

“One more.”

Of course, Poe obliges, this time with the slightest traces of passion before smoothing Ranpo’s face and patting Karl’s head. “Take good care of Ranpo-kun for me today, Karl. If he’s sad, give him extra cuddles.”

The raccoon lets out a high-pitched chirp in response.

“Don’t work too hard today,” Ranpo calls, watching Poe disappear through the living room doorframe. He hears the front door open and shut, hears the engine of Poe’s Mercedes Benz come to life. The sound of the car drifts off, and he sighs.

As if detecting Ranpo’s mixed feelings, Karl twists to face him and stands on his kind legs, digging at Ranpo’s pajama shirt with his paws until Ranpo starts petting his back. “Can I tell you something, Karl?” Karl’s ears perk up, and he lifts his head. “I… really like Poe-kun. I miss Yokohama, but when I’m there, I miss him. And I’ve gone through all sorts of hard things.” He continues smoothing the raccoon’s fur. “I watched my father succumb to long-term health effects from sarin exposure. I listened to my mom’s stories about how he wasn’t always like that. I was just a kid, so of course I believed her. I watched what losing my dad did to my mom. I struggled to adapt to city life. I still haven’t, but Yokohama is… was… the only place I called home until I started falling for with Poe-kun.” He lifts his hand to scratch Karl’s ear. “But now with him, I… feel that same sense take over me, and I can’t deduce what it is about him that makes me feel that way.”

Perhaps he has one more mystery to solve before he goes back to Yokohama after all.

He spends the morning drinking copious amounts of coffee and going through old messages from Poe. Facebook, texts. Several snacks and six cups of coffee later, and he’s no closer to solving it than he was before. Now more than ever, he needs a wall covered in post-it notes. But he doesn’t want to borrow any from Poe. Besides, he’s not in the habit of sneaking through other people’s things unless he’s on a case that requires it.

With the morning gone, Ranpo eats lunch. His caffeine and sugar fizzle out. He finds himself overcome with the desire to nap. Having no reason to resist it, he marches upstairs to Poe’s bed and flops down among the pillows. His eyes drift shut. At some point, he feels Karl scramble across the comforter and curl up under his arm. The whole world disappears until Ranpo catches the sound of the front door opening. Deducing he’s under no threat given that Karl doesn’t stir, he lets out a quiet hum and starts pursuing sleep again. Still, he hears footsteps on the stairs—they’re lighter and quicker than Poe’s—and, still deducing he’s in no real danger, continues to chase that warm corner of his head where he can nap.

At least until the footsteps stop in Poe’s bedroom doorway. He opens an eye, convinced he’s in no real danger, but the person in the doorway—a teenager—is staring at him like he shouldn’t be there. I can’t be bothered, he tells himself, shutting his eye again as Karl huddles closer.

But it seems he should be, given the shout that rings through the house. “Mom! Dad! Come look! There’s a weird man in Uncle Edgar’s bed!” The pitch of that voice is juvenile, obviously the child who was just in the doorway. But the promise of someone else coming to find him finally convinces him to sit up and rub the sleep from his eye.

When a new set of feet appear in the doorway, he covers a yawn and glances towards it. This time, there’s an adult there, far older than the child. A parent, he guesses, given the way that person’s arms fold and the critical way he’s being studied.

“See, mom?” The child appears from behind. “I told you—”

“What time is it?” The words tumble out of his mouth, and he wonders why he’s getting a weird stare like he’s speaking in tongues. Oh. I said it in Japanese.

“Ah! You speak Japanese!”

The child’s words are accented, but in his native language. “And English,” he answers, this time mindful of where he is. “Sorry. Who are you again? Wait, rhetorical questions are rude… you’re obviously his family.”

“Impressive.” The woman in the doorway clears her throat. “Introductions can wait. We so rudely interrupted your nap. Gini here—” She pats the child’s shoulders. “—was just looking for Karl. They’re so fond of him.”

Oh. He thinks of Gil. So ‘they’…

“We’ll leave you alone for another hour or so. Edgar should be home in a few more hours. Come on, Gini.”

“But mom—”

As they walk away, he catches something about practicing Japanese and tries to smooth his unruly hair.

Karl gives a malcontent chatter and covers his nose with his tail again. Since there are now people in the house—strangers to him but not to Poe, apparently—Ranpo feels less inclined to sleep. Sighing, he rises, pulls out something more suitable than pajamas to wear, and slips into the ensuite to get dressed. He pulls on a medium blue button down he was planning to put on this morning. A pair of jeans and socks, and a moment in the mirror smoothing his unruly hair, and he’s ready enough to go downstairs and face Poe’s family.

A quarter of the way down, a thought occurs. Wait… do they not know? Did Poe-kun not tell them? No, that can’t be. There’s been so much speculation—and the interview—

He tenses as someone passes the stairs. Not the woman from before or her child. Sighing with relief, he prepares to keep going, but the person appears again, startling a yell out of him.

“Jumpy, aren’t you?”

It’s a man this time. At least, he thinks.

“Sorry I startled you. Give me a hand?”

Ranpo realizes his arms are full of grocery bags, so he creeps down the stairs the rest of the way and takes a couple from him.

“Seems we’re only good at startling you, but honestly, it’s as surprising to us that someone besides Edgar is here.”

“Ah.”

Smiling, he starts towards the kitchen, and Ranpo follows.

“I’m William Clemm. I’m Edgar’s uncle, but when both his parents died, Maria and I took him in.”

Ranpo barely has to get out of the way before a pair of feet race around the corner, and the child from earlier darts by.

“Of course,” he continues, smiling, “we never planned to have a child of our own, but then, Gini came along. Hard to believe they’re turning fifteen this year.”

“Are you really reminiscing again?”

Maria—at least, that’s who Ranpo guesses this woman is—is already in the kitchen, tying an apron around her waist. Ranpo sets the bags down and tries to pinpoint some way to introduce himself that isn’t incriminating.

“So.” The woman whirls around. “Will the defendant state his name?”

“Defendant?” Ranpo echoes. “What am I being charged for?”

“Breaking and entering.” It’s the teenager from before, approaching with an armload of bags they shouldn’t logically be able to carry.

“Trespassing?” John suggests.

“The crime has yet to be determined.”

“There’s no crime here. I’d know. I’m a detective.”

“And I’m a lawyer.” The woman sets her arms on her hips with a certain bravado that reminds him vaguely of Poe. “Maria Poe, the greatest attorney in Virginia!”

“I’m Ranpo Edogawa, the world’s greatest detective. It’s nice to meet you. I asked Poe-kun about you once. He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Our Edgar is so private about his upbringing,” William mumbles, shaking his head.

Maria feigns tears. “A crying shame. However!” She whips to Ranpo again. “Is ‘detective’ all Edgar calls you?”

“Huh?” Ranpo asks.

“Come on…” He winces when a bony elbow digs into his side. Gini grins at him. “You were in Uncle Poe’s bed.”

“I was just napping with Karl—”

“Objection! Improper characterization of evidence!”

Ranpo stares at Gini. “I’m sorry?”

“It means you’re using a fact in a way that doesn’t answer the question.”

“I thought objections were used against other lawyers,” Ranpo states. “But that’s way too logical. Fine. I’ll play along if you can deduce who I am.”

The kitchen falls silent for a moment until Maria breaks out in a laugh that is definitely a little too much like Poe’s. William smiles and shakes his head.

“‘To my esteemed rival,’” is all she says once she recovers.

Ranpo presses his lips shut. “I will neither confirm nor deny—”

“Your ears are red,” Gini murmurs in Japanese.

He swallows the rest of his denial.

“I hope you’re not too mad we figured it out,” William reassures him. “Knowing you’re from Japan, I understand why you’re a little reluctant about it. To be honest, Edgar hasn’t told us.”

“Yeah,” Gini grumbles. “I figured Uncle Edgar was still single until his book came out and he did that interview.”

“In short,” Maria concludes, “if you’re someone Edgar is dating, then you’re family to us, regardless of whether you’re a man or woman.”

“Or something else.”

“Yes, thank you, dear.” She pats William’s arm and pulls a drawer open. “How about it? Are you up to helping us with dinner, great detective?”

Ranpo accepts the knife from her. “You’re pretty good at deducing.”

“Where do you think Edgar got it from?” William asks.

The rest of the afternoon is small talk and chopping vegetables while the smells in the kitchen grow increasingly delicious. Gini asks a lot of questions about Japan. He teachers her a few words. Finally, he says, “I thought your mom and dad were Poe-kun’s aunt and uncle.”

“They are,” Gini answers.

“Doesn’t that make you his cousin?”

“They call Edgar ‘uncle’ because of the age gap,” William explains.

“Yep. Uncle Edgar is thirteen years older than me.” They sigh. “I’m so jealous that he got to go to Japan. Did you meet him there?”

“We were pen pals for a long time before that,” Ranpo explains, running the knife through some walnuts on the cutting board. William is busy making cookies. “Poe-kun came to Japan to write. Meeting me was just an added benefit.”

“Wow…” Gini’s eyes grow big. “So romantic…”

“Gini, it’s rude to pry.”

“They’re okay,” Ranpo says.

“Uncle Poe said he went to a Japanese Inn.”

“Yep.” It’s Ranpo’s time to sigh. “He kept being dead. Wrapping the yukata the wrong way.”

Gini snickers. “I’ll bet I can guess why. It’s so you’d help him.”

“Correct.” The memory makes Ranpo smile. “We went all sorts of places. Kamakura… do you know of it?”

“No.”

“They have a daibutsu.”

“Like the one in Nara?”

“Nah, this one’s way smaller.” Ranpo grins. “We went to fancy restaurants and Chinatown a lot. And Café Lupin.”

“A café?” William asks. “If I hadn’t gone into factory management, that’s what I would have done.”

“Sorry, but you’ll never be as good as Dazai-kun. However!” Ranpo grins. “I’ve deduced you can be second best if you ever try.”

He also explains he came to America this time because Gillian Flynn invited him. Gini lights up at the name and gushes for close to three full minutes before stopping and saying, “But you’re better than them, you say?”

“As a detective,” Ranpo admits. “It’s fine if you like them better. What matters is I’m Poe-kun’s number one. And maybe Karl’s.” As if on command, the raccoon clambers up his leg and onto his shoulder. Since he’s finished cutting food, he scratches the raccoon behind his ears. “Gini.”

“Hmm?”

“You should ask your uncle what the real reason we’re dating is.”

“Why?”

Ranpo snickers. “It’s a really good story. Besides, I’ll bet he’ll make a really cute face.”

As expected, he secures a nod and a smile.

They’re just finishing up, and still conversing about their home and other mundane things when the sound of the front door opening cuts in. Karl abandons Ranpo’s shoulder to greet the owner of the house. The conversation picks up again until a disheveled Poe appears in the doorway with his mouth hanging open. He spends a full minute looking from face to face before his eyes land on Ranpo.

“Welcome home, Poe-kun,” he states in Japanese.

“Ranpo-kun, are you okay?”

“Why would I not be okay?”

“Because my family is here!” Switching to English, Poe stares at them. “Mom, dad, why—”

“Surprised?” Maria asks. “We came a week early.”

“Yeah, we’ve got back to school shopping next week,” Gini explains.

William nods to verify, and Poe drops into a bow.

“Ranpo-kun, please forgive me for my grave oversight!”

“Huh?” Ranpo tips his head. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I didn’t plan on them being here, and you wanted to relax today after solving that case for Gil, and they likely startled you coming into the house!”

Ranpo starts forward as Poe continues to ramble all sorts of apologies in Japanese about how taxing his family is and how nerve-wracking it must have been, but Ranpo grabs his face and pulls their lips together to stop him. In the span of a few hours, he’s already so comfortable with Poe’s parents that the thought of kissing him in their presence doesn’t faze him. Plus, it’s not like he’s planning to draw it out or go way further than a little peck on the lips.

“Edgar, my lovely raven,” he murmurs, smoothing Poe’s burning face. “They’re not bothering me. In fact, I’m glad I got the chance to meet them.”

Poe’s one visible eye disappears for a moment, and he breaks into a smile. “I’m convinced you’re far too good for me, Ranpo.”

“Impossible!” Ranpo states, letting go and grinning. “I’ve deduced we’re just the right amount of good for each other. Now go say hi to your family so we can eat.” It’s touching to see Poe welcome them with open arms, hug them for way too long while thanking them for coming and asking them what’s for dinner. Ranpo gets some of the credit for helping them cook, but he returns it all to them, insisting all he did was what anyone would have done.

Dinner is incredibly filling: prime rib, roasted vegetables (Poe’s favorite combination), salad with homemade dressing, a nice loaf of bread from a bakery in town, cookies and a pie the Allen brought with them. And if the meal wasn’t nice enough on its own, the conversation never stops. Someone is always laughing.

The highlight is when out of nowhere, Gini says, “Uncle Poe, how did you and Ranpo start dating?”

Poe passes Ranpo a knowing look that he meets with an innocent smile before saying, “Would you believe me if I said it was all Karl’s fault?”

The raccoon, who is near the table noshing on blueberries, glances up at the sound of his name.

“Wait, really?” Maria says. “Back up, Edgar… how exactly is it Karl’s fault?”

Poe launches into the story, and he tells it so well, Ranpo doesn’t even realize he’s smiling.

That’s when he realizes something. Wait. He blinks. Maybe the reason Poe-kun feels like home isn’t in him. Maybe… it’s in me.

Poe smiles at him, and his heart beats a little faster. But it’s not unpleasant. He doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t retreat from whatever he’s feeling. He leans into it, smiles a little wider, falls into Poe’s eyes.

“Are you two going to kiss again?” Gini asks.

“Nope,” Poe answers, pushing his chair back. “At least not now. It would scandalize you.”

They scoff before dissolving into laughter, and Ranpo grows a little warmer at the promise of a kiss later.

After some light songs on the piano and a short Japanese lesson for Gini, they head to separate guest rooms. Poe puts his arm around Ranpo’s shoulders as they walk towards the main bedroom. The instant the door is closed, they exchange a glance. Poe passes him a little smirk, then catches him and kisses him so deeply, he staggers. They wind up on a heap in the bed, laughing and exchanging kisses that, fortunately, grow less frantic. Eventually, they lay side-by-side with Karl between them.

“I’m really glad your family took it well,” Ranpo says. “In fact, I’m kind of jealous. I doubt mine would.”

“Really?” Poe asks. “That’s a shame.”

Ranpo feels a hand rest on his and glances up to Poe’s face.

“Are you sure you aren’t worn out or bothered by them?”

“Nah. Your cousin’s cool. I taught them some Japanese. Your parents are, too. I see where you get both sides of your personality from now.”

“Sides?”

“You know,” he says. “The shy Poe-kun comes from your dad. He’s kind of reserved. The loud and confident Poe-kun comes from your mom.”

“Huh.” Poe blinks and rests his head on the pillow. “I never really thought of that.”

Ranpo lays down beside him. They still aren’t in pajamas yet. He doubts they will be for a while yet. “Poe-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“You know my dad died of complications caused by his exposure to sarin, but… can I ask how your parents died?”

Poe’s smile grows a little. “My aunt and uncle told me they died of illness, but I know the real reason they died is because they were murdered.”

Ranpo’s breath catches.

“It’s funny that I would become obsessed with writing mystery novels, given the circumstances of their death.”

“How… do you know they were murdered?”

“Newspapers,” Poe says. “I know they were trying to protect me. In fact, I don’t begrudge them that. And I don’t plan to tell them I know.”

Ranpo scooches a little closer and presses his forehead against Poe’s chest. “You could have been murdered, too, and then, we never would have met each other. We wouldn’t be together.”

“But I wasn’t,” Poe states. “I’ll never know why I was spared.”

“I can find the killer.”

“No need. He received the death penalty. They executed him the year I graduated high school.”

“It took that long?”

Poe nods. “I’ve read everything available on that case: court records, interviews, media reports. I’ve watched newsclips. His lawyers kept delaying the execution because they thought he was innocent.”

Ranpo swallows. “You’re sure… that was the person who did it?”

“I’m positive,” Poe says. “But if you want to, I won’t stop you from looking. David Poe, Jr. was my father’s name, Elizabeth Arnold Poe my mother’s.”

“I believe you.” Ranpo glances up at Poe. “I’m just… really grateful that person didn’t kill you, too.”

Poe’s lips touch his again, and this time, he prolongs their soft kiss. When the part again, Poe murmurs, “I’ve always considered myself lucky that I lived. Maybe the reason I did was so I could meet you.”

Ranpo feels Poe’s fingers slip under his shirt and trace the tattoo on his hip.

“I… know this is difficult, Ranpo-kun. This relationship we have. Because we can’t be together all the time. But perhaps someday, there will come a time where it isn’t that way.”

They finally get up to pull pajamas on. The light goes out. Karl shifts to being curled around their heads as they hug each other beneath the covers.

Ranpo can’t bring himself to believe Poe’s words. He wants to, but his departure looms in his mind. Still, that doesn’t stop him from hoping one day, they’re true.

Chapter Text

Ranpo doesn’t know what to say.

He came back to Yokohama a few days ago after bidding Poe farewell at the airport, but for some reason, the instant he watched Poe’s car drive away, he felt hollow and unspeakably sad. His souvenir, beyond that feeling, is the ink on his hip: a crescent moon and the first three notes of “Moonlight.” It’s been days, and he still can’t figure out why it was so difficult to leave Poe behind this time.

Not that he can now. He has problems bigger than jet lag and loneliness. The uncomfortable silence he’s facing, especially.

Because not two minutes ago, in the middle of meeting with a client, his office door swung open, the familiar click of heels drew his gaze, and before he could even ask for a minute to finish up, the woman who just walked into his agency—his mother—looked him dead in the eye and said, “You’re dating him?”

Of course, he wants to say he is, indeed, dating Edgar Allan Poe. Proudly. That Karl’s approval is the only one that really matters to him. But the words jam up in his throat as he catches the customer swiveling from her to him, then back again.

“You fly to America twice to see some man, yet you won’t come home for one weekend?”

Finally, he finds his words. “I’m with a client.” Flimsy. He can hear the tremor in his own voice. He tries to say they can talk about it later. He wants to bark that he doesn’t want to talk about it at all.

Before he can, she says, “I’m disappointed, Ranpo.”

It’s not the first time she has said that to him. Or the fifth. Or even the fiftieth. Sixty-four times in his memory, and he has long since deduced she has said it more to other people. It never hurts any less. His tongue goes numb and his mind blank except for one thought. I miss Poe-kun.

He feels equal parts relief and chagrin when she whips away and marches right back the way she came. The door flies open, and her clicking heels disappear. The room, at least on the surface, is still perfectly put together, but the atmosphere is totally obliterated.

“Um…”

He glances at his client.

“Should I… come back?”

“No,” he answers, sitting back down in his chair and scrounging up enough focus to finish. Failing, he sighs. “Yes.”

“Ah. Of course. Shall we say Friday?”

Ranpo swallows as bitterness floods his mind and his mouth. “Yes. Two o’clock.”

“I understand. That works fine for me.” The client rises and bows. “I appreciate your flexibility. Please take all the time you need to—”

“It’s just jet lag,” he retorts. But even his client is probably smart enough to know that that’s a lie. The client leaves his office with bows and apologies for pushing him. He responds with bows and apologies of his own, mostly for being unwell. The minute he loses that person in the crowd, he shuts the door, locks it, and flips the sign to closed. He considers a snack. His stomach says that isn’t a good idea. Realizing he’s shaking, he sits down in his chair and listens to its familiar creak. He should be hungry for lunch. He isn’t. He feels cold. Alone.

He can’t be alone.

Ranpo leaves without even thinking, grabbing his keys and wallet and boarding the train. He gets off at Ishikawacho station, passing two redheads arguing about some video game on the way to his destination. A sigh of relief escapes him when Café Lupin comes into view. He marches up to the door and pushes just as Atsushi emerges from the back.

“Welcome to Café Lupin,” Dazai calls.

What he appreciates most about this situation is it doesn’t need words, that the silence filling the space is comfortable and friendly, not hostile and sharp. The only thing Dazai says after Ranpo sits down at the counter, folds his hands, and stares at them, is, “Atsushi-kun, get him a pastry, will you?” He catches Atsushi’s affirmative, listens to the hum of the espresso grinder, and before he knows it, he’s sitting with a pastry and his usual criminal sweet mocha. Though the most criminal thing of all is that he can’t enjoy either, because Dazai asks, “What happened?” He lowers his head to the counter, fighting this need to confront the events that are so recent.

“My mother,” he mumbles.

“Hmm?” Dazai asks.

Titling his head, he clarifies. “My mom came by the office.”

“I wasn’t aware she was in town.”

“She wasn’t.” He rises and stares at the pastry, which is starting to look more appetizing. “She came here just to tell me off for dating Poe-kun.”

Atsushi speaks next. Softly, of course. Ranpo has long since deduced he always does when he’s trying to be reassuring. “Ranpo-san, it’s okay to not be okay.”

He reaches for his pastry. “I don’t care what she thinks.” After swallowing an angrily chewed bite, he continues. “She nags me to date for years, and when I finally start, she’s not happy with who I’m dating? That’s her problem, not mine.” He lets out a slow breath, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes. “Whatever. It’s not like I haven’t disappointed her every moment I’ve been alive. But did she really have to do it in front of a client?”

“Ranpo-kun—”

“Fine,” he snaps behind Dazai’s obvious concern. The stinging in his eyes grows worse. “I’m fine. I’ll call Poe-kun tonight and tell him what happened and—”

“Ranpo-kun, you’re crying.”

He hides his face in his arms and tries to pull himself together.

“Come on,” Dazai calls. “Do you need a minute in my office, or—”

A very real fear spikes in him, and with it comes a realization. “I don’t want to be alone. I want Poe-kun to be here. I’d be okay if I had him, but he’s in New York, and I’m here, and—” Ranpo feels Dazai pat his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I get what it’s like to miss someone who can’t be there.”

“Mr. Fancy Hat will be back in two days.”

“I was talking about Odasaku.”

Ah, yes, Ranpo thinks. The guy he was dating in high school.

“Come on. My office might be a better space for you right now.”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Ranpo insists. He’s about to say it again, but Dazai is already moving.

“Okay. Then I’ll sit with you. Atsushi-kun, can you watch the front?”

“Of course, Dazai-san,” Atsushi answers. “I’ll get some tissues, too.”

Ranpo registers Dazai coaxing him out of his stool and starts walking towards the office, wiping his face with his arm. Dazai’s desk chair proves to be a more comfortable place to sulk; he sits down in it and draws up his knees, trying to rein in his tremors. He hears Dazai set the plate and mug down. Once Dazai’s hands are empty, he goes right back to patting Ranpo’s shoulder. It’s such a warm gesture, it only makes him cry more.

“Do you want me to call Yosano-sensei?”

He shakes his head and doesn’t bother to explain why. He doesn’t need to know Yosano has her own problems. Maybe he already does. He sniffles, winds up missing her as much as he misses Poe, but as painful as that is, he knows she needs space to deal with… whatever it is.

“Alright,” Dazai answers, twisting towards the door when Atsushi knocks. He comes back with tissues, which Ranpo takes. “Chuuya is in France. We’re not at the point where we have a spare room, but you can stay there if you want tonight.”

He can take Dazai’s gentle reassurances, but that is something he doesn’t deserve.

“Are you sure? I’ll cook you dinner.”

Ranpo remembers a different dinner he had recently. With Poe and his family. The warm atmosphere. The way they laughed. Poe shyly telling the story of how they started dating. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how she feels about it.” he decides, absorbing the polarity in Poe’s dining room and the rushed, cold feeling of his office. “I love him. I…”

For the second time that day, Ranpo is blindsided by shock, not at his mother’s audacity. No. At the blindsiding force of that realization. It would explain why, when Poe left him at the airport, he felt so empty and alone. Because the last time he left America, he left nothing unsaid. He only wishes he could say the same for this time.

“I really… really love him.”

“Good.”

That word draws Ranpo’s gaze.

“It shouldn’t matter what your mother or anyone else tells you about loving him. I’d know better than anyone it’s hard to believe that some days, but…”

“I’m waiting for him to say it.”

He watches Dazai blink. “Am I the first one you—”

Ranpo dives back into his knees and nods, flushing to his ears.

“Ranpo-kun…”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he mumbles from behind them.

“I would never. But…” He catches the smile in Dazai’s voice as he continues. “I did show Chuuya that picture you sent me.”

Ranpo glances over his knees. “The PSL?”

“The one with the raccoon.”

Karl, Ranpo thinks, holding on to the joy that brings him. “What did he say?”

“He demanded to know why there was a raccoon. But he also thought you two looked happy.”

“We are.” His smile slips. “I’d just be happier if he was here.”

“I know,” Dazai reassures him. “For what it’s worth, I don’t judge you at all for feeling that way. If you’re not fine, I’m here. I’m sure Yosano-sensei and Kunikida-kun are, too.”

Finally feeling comfortable enough to uncurl, Ranpo sighs and sets his feet on the floor. “She didn’t even raise her voice, Dazai. She just… looked me dead in the face and said she was disappointed. I wish she’d at least yelled. It would’ve hurt less.”

Eyes on the floor, Dazai answers, “I know. Sometimes, I have that same wish.”

Ranpo dries his eyes again, frustrated that Dazai, like him, has suffered something bordering on too painful to articulate.

“Are you feeling a little better?”

“Yeah.”

“Offer to sleep over still stands if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” Remembering his pastry, he swivels in Dazai’s chair and grabs it. “I can get an overnight bag if you really don’t mind. I’ll help you with dinner. I’ll still have to call Poe-kun.”

“That’s fine. I’m calling Chuuya tonight anyway. Can I mention the situation?”

“Yeah,” he answers, because it’s not like he has anything to hide from Chuuya. Grabbing his cup, he murmurs, “You can tell him everything. He’s a pretty good guy.”

“Alright. I need to go help Atsushi. You can leave the door open.”

He’s strangely okay with being alone, so he doesn’t object when Dazai leaves. He finishes his coffee and his pastry. While he does, he grapples with what to say to Poe. In the end, all he writes is, Can I call you today? There’s something I want to talk to you about.

By the time he has packed an overnight bag and is on his way back to Café Lupin to accompany Dazai, Poe has texted back. Sure. Six am my time?

It’s early, but Ranpo agrees. On the train, he and Dazai chat about the sorts of things they used to: the books they’re reading, how they’ve been filling their free time. Only this time, there’s the addition of Café Lupin and Ranpo’s agency. And they talk very briefly of their relationships while cooking a simple dinner before the conversation swivels back to work. They part ways, Ranpo to call Poe on Dazai’s balcony, Dazai to shower.

Poe picks up on the second ring. “Ranpo-kun.”

He sounds excited. Ranpo only wishes he could mirror it in his voice. Instead, he murmurs, “Poe-kun.”

After a moment of silence, Poe says, “Ah. It’s… not good.”

“It’s not.” He swallows, sighs and says, “My mom found out about us. She ambushed me at my office and outed me in front of a client.”

“Ranpo-kun—”

“She’s disappointed,” he continues, “and I don’t give a flying fuck. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.” He waits for Poe to speak. Deducing the man has nothing to say, he says, “I… thought about how different it was, eating dinner with you and your family and her in my office. It was so warm with you. And with her, it was so cold.”

“Ranpo.”

Ranpo’s skin prickles. He knows that tone. It’s the one he uses with Karl when the racoon gets into mischief.

“What exactly did she say?”

“That she was disappointed.”

Poe emits a long sigh. “I am so sorry.”

“Why?” he asks. “It’s not your fault.”

“I was the one who got excited and said something in that interview. If I hadn’t, maybe… you wouldn’t be hurting right now.”

“I’d be hurting anyway,” Ranpo admits. “I… miss you.” His mind adds, I love you.

“If I were there,” Poe murmurs, “I would hold you until you stopped feeling that way.”

Smiling, Ranpo says, “Well, hold me next time. Until then, I’ll manage.”

“You’re not okay, Ranpo-kun.”

A statement, not a question.

“Please tell me what I can do.”

The answer is a resounding “nothing.” Especially since Poe is on the other side of the world. Still, he snickers and says, “You can mail Karl to me, and I’ll hug him instead.”

“Ranpo-kun! You really do like him more than me!”

Ranpo laughs. Poe joins him. He forgets they’re half a world apart for that moment. When it passes, he murmurs, “I really, really miss you, Poe-kun.”

“I know, my dear Ranpo-kun.” Poe sighs. “I miss you, too.”

“A lot a lot?”

“Of course,” Poe answers, a smile ringing clear in his voice. “A lot a lot.”

They exchange snippets of their past few days, then Ranpo hangs up. When he’s back inside, he hugs a throw pillow to his chest and reflects on another missed opportunity to tell Poe how deeply he feels. But I want to say it to his face, Ranpo tells himself. And I’m… scared. This feeling is so deep. So warm. It’s…

“Are you alright?”

Ranpo glances up at Dazai. “Yeah. I just really miss him.”

Dropping down beside him, Dazai answers, “I understand that. I miss Chuuya, too.”

“But he’s coming back in a couple of days.”

Dazai rests his hands on his knees. “It doesn’t matter. He could be coming back in two hours, and I’d probably miss him. That’s just how love is sometimes.”

Ranpo tilts his head and says, “You don’t always miss him?”

“No. But when things like this happen, I just really wish he was here. I may know you better, but he’d know what to say.”

Uncurling again, Ranpo folds his legs. “It’s almost eight,” he sighs.

“Yeah.”

A pause. “I’ll be borrowing your shower then.”

“Please help yourself. I left a clean towel and cloth in the bathroom for you.”

“Thanks, Dazai-kun,” he says, rising.

On his way to Dazai’s shower, Ranpo deduces that their phone call will take thirty-seven minutes. So he decides to spend an even forty beneath the hot stream of water, scrubbing his hair and his skin several times, trying to wash the day away. But it lingers. So does his realization that the thing he asked for in June has happened: he fell in love. With Edgar Allan Poe. And like learning the name of a color or how to count to ten, there’s no going back from it.

When he’s done showering, he hears Dazai ask him from the kitchen if he wants a glass of water. “Yeah, sure! Give me a second!” Ranpo dips into Dazai’s office to put his dirty clothes in his suitcase. Returning to the living room, he sits down and reaches for the glass.

“You got back from America a few days ago?”

“Yeah.” He sips his water. “Sorry about earlier. I just… really miss Poe-kun. It wasn’t this hard last time I went.”

“Do you know why?”

“Of course I do.” He sets his water down and reaches for the pillow. “Last time I went, I said everything that needed to be said, so when I left, I had no regrets.”

“But you didn’t this time.”

“I deduced it wasn’t a good time. His family was there, and I… didn’t want him to think I was moving too fast.” He goes back to drinking his water and catches Dazai looking at his phone.

“Ranpo-kun.”

“Hmm?”

Grinning, Dazai says, “Chuuya sent some pictures of France. Do you want to see them?”

With a grin of his own, Ranpo leans closer.

“This is the café he went to for lunch. And look at this, a slice of Tarte Tatin.”

“Oh! Looks tasty. Maybe Café Lupin’s next seasonal special?”

Dazai laughs, and Ranpo joins him. An hour later, while laying on the couch and waiting to fall asleep, he remembers that photo and wonders if Poe has ever tried it. Or better yet: made it.

In the morning, he feels well-rested for the situation and resolves to return to his office and his cases. “You’re sure?”

“Dazai-kun, I’m fine. Is Atsushi-kun rubbing off on you? You’re worrying so much.”

“You’re my friend. Of course I’ll worry.”

They exchange a smile as they reach the station. “Really, Dazai-kun. I’m okay. Thanks for last night.”

“Well, call me if you’re not.”

Ranpo shakes his head. “Definitely just like Atsushi-kun,” he murmurs.

“What was that?”

Ranpo didn’t even realize he said it in English, so he answers, “Nothing. Go open the café.”

He sleeps for another few hours at home before a text awakens him. It’s from Poe. I’ve been thinking about you today, Ranpo-kun. I hope you’re doing okay.

Ranpo knows he told Dazai he would call if he wasn’t okay, but the café is probably having its first rush of the morning. So instead, he calls Poe.

“Ranpo-kun—”

“I miss you so much,” he grumbles, wiping his eyes. “Why do we have to live on different sides of the world? I just want you to hold me.”

“I’m sorry, Ranpo-kun.”

“It’s not your fault.” He draws a breath. “But if you want to make it up to me, tell me all the good parts of your day and recite a poem for me.”

From the sound of Poe’s voice, he can deduce the writer is more than happy to oblige.

Chapter Text

“Ah, it’s really nice to get out for lunch, Yosano-sensei.”

The doctor laughs. “Ranpo, just call me Yosano like old times.”

“No way! You earned that title. I’m going to call you that every day!”

They’re at a café. For lunch, not coffee. Ranpo wouldn’t dare drink coffee anywhere in Yokohama but Café Lupin now. He suspects Yosano wouldn’t either, for fear that Dazai would give them that terrifying smirk he’s capable of. “We were just talking about Dazai earlier,” Yosano says as if reading his mind. “Have you seen him lately?”

“Ah.” Ranpo lowers his eyes to the table.

Immediately, she asks, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

Yosano folds her arms. He deduces instantly that she knows it’s something.

With a heavy sigh, he says, “It’s… my mom.”

“Your mom?” Her brow arches. “Is she ill?”

“Worse.” Ranpo lays his head down on the table. How many times has he woken up after a nightmare about Dazai’s estranged father joining forces with her to make both their lives hell? He can deduce those away once he’s awake, but his dreams, sadly, don’t listen to reason. Instead, they run amok. Every single time, he texts Poe. Every single time, Poe reassures him to the best of his ability. Having to recount this bullshit for the third time… well, Ranpo manages, but he still falls quiet for five seconds thinking he’s going to break down about it again.

“God,” Yosano murmurs when he finishes. “Just… shit.”

Of course, Ranpo has already deduced that because of the gravity of the situation, she can’t think of anything else to say. He really can’t, either, so he just adds, “It sucked, I admit, but Dazai-kun really helped me out. I couldn’t think of anything else to do since Poe-kun was sleeping. I still called him about the whole thing, and he’s been nothing but supportive. Still…” Ranpo sighs. “On the heels of meeting his family—”

“You met his family?” Yosano asks, smiling. “Sounds serious.”

“Poe-kun flew all the way here to write a book and meet me.” Ranpo sucks on his melon soda again. “He’s really nice, and he treats me well, and when I’m upset, he recites his poetry for me.”

“Are we actually talking about Poe?”

Ranpo folds his arms. “I don’t want to talk about him too much.”

“Talk about him,” Yosano says, stirring her iced oolong tea with her straw and smiling at him. “You sound really happy with him.”

Something in Yosano’s tone… Ranpo skirts around a deeduction. He’s not entirely sure why he can’t get his mind to… whatever it is. Still, he shows Yosano a few of his photos from America. “That PSL thing was something,” Ranpo says. “Dazai-kun’s coffee is way better.”

“Of course it is,” Yosano says. “You can almost taste how much he loves making coffee in every cup. I haven’t been there in a while. I should go.”

Ranpo grins. “I took Poe-kun on Valentine’s Day.”

She smiles and takes a sip of her tea.

“We both got mochas. Dazai-kun thought something was going on between us, but really, we were just friends at that point.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“Mmm… I mean, I’ve always liked Poe-kun,” he confesses. “But the way I liked him was starting to change. And I was starting to pick up on the fact that he liked me in a different way, too.”

“That probably came as a shock,” Yosano comments.

“It did! Especially since all my other relationships were nothing but casual sex.” Ranpo grins. “But you know, because of that, things with Poe-kun are especially good.”

“Are they?” Yosano asks.

Ranpo stares at her. “Are you actually asking, or are you just making that comment to be polite?”

“You already told me about the piano bench.”

“Then I probably shouldn’t tell you about bending him over his desk and—”

She busts out laughing. “Oh, my… who knew you were so adventurous?”

“He was okay with it,” Ranpo says, shrugging. “So was I. That’s the only way we do things.”

“That’s the only way to do things,” Yosano insists.

Ranpo nods and agrees. He’s about to deduce that thing again, but the food arrives, and his attention immediately shifts to his omelet rice. And how deep his feelings for Poe go. “So how’s work? I talked a lot about Poe-kun. I want to make sure you’re doing alright, too.”

“Better,” Yosano says. “I can’t say much, but I took on a patient in June.”

“Oh?” Ranpo asks.

“Yeah. Pretty high profile case. The patient is pretty notorious around the hospital for being sarcastic.”

That’s all it takes for him to deduce it’s Akutagawa. Still, he smiles and says, “Are they, now?”

“Yeah,” Yosano continues, sighing. “I kind of like the attitude, though. It makes my day a little more interesting. I don’t interact with them much, but… I think we’ll get along. Of course, all of my colleagues are stunned when I say, ‘That patient you’re all scared of isn’t really that bad.’ Honestly, my colleagues can be far worse.” She eats another bite of her doria, chews it, and continues, “‘Yosano-sensei, are you sure you’re alright after all that blood?’ Please. I bleed more than any man. I’m just fine.”

Ranpo snickers. “They sound like pieces of work.” He taps the table. “Want me to extort them?”

“I’ll get back to you. But if we go this route, I’m paying you like it’s a case.”

“That eliminates your plausible deniability.”

“Yeah, because if you’re extorting them, I want them to know I’m the reason.”

They both laugh at that remark. “Your boss?”

“Still fine,” Yosano says. “She’s honestly really impressed with my work, especially with that patient. I told her that's because no one else is young enough to have the energy or smart enough to return what the patient dishes out.”

Definitely Akutagawa, he thinks, but he’d never tell a soul he knows. He doesn’t want Yosano to get in trouble. Not that Akutagawa-kun wouldn’t tell people that himself. And it’s not like I’ve deduced any of the details…

Yosano swallows and says, “Excuse me,” then pulls her phone out of her pocket. First, she smiles. Then, she blinks. Then, she announces, “Fuck.”

“What happened?”

She sets her phone down and draws a deep breath. “Search for the name ‘Mori Ougai.”

Ranpo pulls his own phone out. And he’s met with a list of headlines a mile long about how, at a certain gala, he tossed a glass of wine on a politician who reportedly spoke badly about people like… well, like Ranpo. And Dazai. And Atsushi. 

And Poe.

“Fuck,” he says, setting his phone down. 

He can already see Yosano staring at her food. That tells him something he’s known for years: the people that politician talked shit about… it includes her. But that’s not the thing he was skirting around deducing. Neither is this whole thing.

His mind pivots. “Shit. The old man.”

“The old man?” Yosano echoes.

“Never mind,” Ranpo says, scooping up another spoonful of rice and eating it even though he no longer feels hungry. “I’ll deal with it later.”

Yosano hums. As he swallows his bite, she says “You know I’m—”

“I know.” Ranpo sets his spoon down and sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because this world’s hard enough for you as it is,” Ranpo murmurs. He glances up to find Yosano staring at her oolong tea.

“Do you… think I’ll get fired if the hospital finds out?”

Ranpo stares at her.

“For you… I mean, people know about you and Poe. But your caseload didn’t change afterward, right?”

“Mmm… not really,” he says. “Even if it did, I got paid really well by Sakaguchi-kun when I handled something for the Public Security Intelligence Agency back in February. But no, no one besides my mother has said anything about it.” He tries to calculate his caseload compared to last year. Instead, he winds up thinking about how much things between him and Poe have changed. I met him. I deduced he liked me. We had sex on a piano bench, in a love hotel, in his bed… He lowers his head. I fucked him on a desk, met his family. I… fell in love with him. He draws a slow breath and sends Poe a text with a link to what he considers the most humanely worded story (although he noticing a fairly even divide). 

He wonders if Fukuzawa is noticing the same thing.

Yosano pulls his attention again. She doesn’t often look fragile, but right now… she could break any minute. “Yosano-sensei…”

The instant she lifts her eyes, Ranpo deduces the thing that his mind has been circling.

“You’re scared.”

“I know I complain about my job sometimes, but I always wanted to be a doctor. I’ve spent my whole life pursuing that.” She shuts her eyes. “I… don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.”

“Yosano.”

Her eyes lift.

“I deduced something just now.” He draws a slow breath. “It’s not just you you’re scared for.”

When they part ways, Yosano hugs him. It’s not something they do often as friends. In fact, they reserve that gesture for truly devastating moments like this and nothing else.

“You’re going to be okay,” Ranpo says, patting her back

Yosano’s unsteady voice fills his hear. “How do you know?”

“Of course, I deduced it.” Ranpo grins as she pulls away. “If they find out and fire you for it, I’ll hire you as my secretary. I’ll pay you way too much, too. I can’t match your current salary, but just until you find other work—”

“Thank you.”

“What is there to thank me for?” Ranpo shoots her another smile. “We’re friends, right? So we have to help each other in tough times like this.” He tucks his hands in his pockets. “If you’re really scared, call me, alright? I’ll go out to drink with you.”

“You don’t really drink, Ranpo.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Ranpo shrugs. “Still, I’d go with you. It sounds nice.”

Yosano smiles. “Yeah,” she admits. “We’ll probably get a chance to soon.”

“September 25.”

“If it still happens.”

“I don’t think anything can stop it,” Ranpo states. Because he already knows the intent Chuuya had in choosing that date. Chuuya, the poet who told all of Japan he was bisexual in an interview, and whose book continues to sell well not despite that but because of it.

“Yeah,” Yosano sighs, smiling and shrugging. “I don’t know Nakahara well, but he seems like a stubborn guy.”

“If anyone said something about his preferences, he’d roundhouse kick the bastard through a wall.”

Yosano, thankfully, laughs. “That’s honestly something to imagine.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo answers. “Anyway, offer stands. I’m pretty sure Dazai-kun is going to be busy dealing with Nakahara-sensei, but I don’t really have much to worry about besides the old man.”

“The old man again,” Yosano comments.

“Yep. He’s expecting me.” He waves. “See you around, sensei. And I’m serious: call me.”

He says it knowing full well Yosano will probably text him in a couple of days. They’ll go out for a drink or two, then part ways. And she’ll lean on someone else, someone who she calls a friend, but who is really becoming something more.

Well, in time, he tells himself, heading for the train station.

Or at least, what he thinks is towards the train station. He winds up not finding it, then getting lost twice on the way back. By the time he does, his anxieties about Fukuzawa cloud his ability to hear.

Worse still, he struggles to figure out the route from where he currently is. He only has the route memorized from his apartment. Getting to it from the restaurant is impossible.

He remembers once, Yosano told him to check his phone in those situations. It turns out, it’s a straight shot. He still almost misses the stop.

With the feeling of disaster looming over him, he half runs to Fukuzawa’s house, past the apartment building where he used to live with his mother. Disappointed. That word echoes in his head, chasing him alongside his bitterness.

Thankfully, he gets there with no further navigational mishaps and knocks on the door. “Old man!” he calls. He waits for an answer, but he gets none. He repeats the gesture again. Then again. I deduced he wouldn’t go to Mori-san until at least Monday, he tells himself. Maybe he’s not expecting me? No… I can’t be wrong about that. I’ve never been wrong. He’s not sure what compels him to try the door, but he tugs. It slides open. “Old man, it’s me!” Ranpo wiggles his shoes off and setting them beside Fukuzawa’s. He creeps deeper into the house, the quiet eerie and unforgivingly desolate.

Disappointed.

He winds up finding Fukuzawa on the engawa, facing his garden. Today, it’s sake that accompanies him instead of tea. There’s still a cup on the tray. The other is in his hand.

“Old man?”

Fukuzawa’s gaze strikes him with a force he didn’t expect. Disappointed.

“Hey…”

“Not the company I was hoping for.” Sighing, Fukuzawa turns around again. “Well, you’re here now, anyway.”

Ranpo creeps through the dining room through the open sliding door and sits down beside Fukuzawa, hanging his feet over the engawa. Fukuzawa passes him sake without a word. He takes a sip, then sighs.

“Kagatobi ‘Sennichi Kakoi’,” Fukuzawa murmurs. “He and I drank this many years ago on the night he confessed.”

“Old man, are you okay?”

Fukuzawa scoffs. “Why would I be anything but?”

“Well, for starters, you’re drinking alone, so that tells me you’re not.” Ranpo grins at Fukuzawa’s obvious displeasure, then turns back to the garden. “I saw the news.”

“The news.”

“You know, what he did.”

Fukuzawa’s free hand tightens on his knee. “What are you doing here, Ranpo?”

“Checking up on you, of course! Not the same thing, but something like this happened to me recently.”

Fukuzawa stares at him.

“I don’t really want to talk about it anymore, but—”

“No one knows I’m the one except Mori, Elise, and you.”

“Elise? Ah, yeah, his kid.” Nodding, Ranpo takes another sip of the sake. It’s a little too dry for his taste, but he isn’t about to complain.

“He didn’t do it for himself.”

Ranpo glances up at Fukuzawa again.

“If anything, he did it for all the people in his life who share his propensity in one form or another.” A long sigh escapes Fukuzawa. “I know without asking him… the reason he lost his temper was for them—for me—not for himself.”

Ranpo watches Fukuzawa’s fist tighten again. This time, it starts to shake.

“We were always living on borrowed time like this, in secret. I knew one day, we would be caught, that the happiness we found with each other would be discovered and thus destabilized.”

“I’m going to ask you a rhetorical question, old man. I want you to answer honestly, okay?”

Fukuzawa passes him a glance.

“Are you okay?”

“No.” He drains his sake cup. Ranpo grabs the bottle and refills it. “But him?” Fukuzawa adds. “I’m certain he is far more devastated than I can be over this, that he shoulders the full blame and is consequently punishing himself.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He won’t answer his damn phone for starters.”

Ranpo empties his own sake cup. Fukuzawa fills it without being prompted.

“Don’t give me too much, old man. I’m a lightweight, and I need to get home.”

Fukuzawa sets the bottle down and, in an uncharacteristic moment that almost lacks his usual dignity, flops down on his back beside Ranpo. His face is red from the sake, but his eyes have lost none of their sharpness. They sink shut, but Ranpo can tell he’s thinking, not sleeping. When his own cup is empty, he sprawls out beside Fukuzawa, his feet hanging off the walkway they’re sitting on. Staring at the awning overhead, Ranpo draws a slow breath and starts deducing what he can even say in response to all of this. But there’s nothing. He knows that better than anyone.

“Hey,” he finally murmurs. He’s not really sure why he speaks that word, given he has nothing to follow it up with. He’s not even sure Fukuzawa is waiting for him to, but he talks anyway. “I know it’s not the same thing that happened with me, but… I’ve already deduced you’ll be okay.”

“How can you know that?”

Ranpo glances to Fukuzawa, whose hands are folded and resting on his stomach.

“How can you know with such unshakable certainty—”

“Easy. I deduced it.” Ranpo smiles. “I wish I could say it was always easier after, but I can’t. I don’t want to lie to you. Plus, it’s been pretty hard for me today, too. And for Yosano-sensei.”

“Who?”

“My best friend. We were at lunch. Someone texted her, she told me.” He exhales. “I relived my own recent encounter with this kind of thing. I didn’t exactly tell Poe-kun to keep it a secret, but you know… he told the media in America, and it got here, and someone figured out I was the one he mentioned in the dedication of his recent book.”

“So it spiraled from there?”

“No. My mom came to my office and outed me in front of a client.” Ranpo laughs, mostly because the sake is going to his head like this. “I still half wish she’d hit me instead. It would’ve hurt a lot less than what she said.”

“What did she say?”

“That she was disappointed,” Ranpo retorts. “You know her. But!” He rocks and sits up again to finish his sake. “It barely took me an hour to decide I don’t give a fuck what she or anyone else says. Even if it still hurts me sometimes, it’s worth the pain because Poe-kun is just that good.”

Fukuzawa sits up and smooths his hair out of his face. He drinks the rest of his sake. Ranpo pours him another. Fukuzawa takes the bottle and refills his.

“Slow,” he instructs. “And drink water after. You would not be the first person to get hungover here, but you said you needed to get home.”

“Yeah. Poe-kun and I are video chatting tomorrow. We haven’t really had a chance to lately because he’s been busy.” Ranpo sips his sake again. “What about you?”

“I have papers to grade and an article to work on.”

“What bout Mori-san?”

“He will tell me when he needs me. Until then…”

“Old man, don’t take this the wrong way.”

Fukuzawa glances at him.

“It’s okay to say you need him, too.”

“I do not—”

“You totally do!” Ranpo throws his head back and laughs, but when it dies off, he murmurs, “You know, I have a hard time admitting when I need people, too. Especially Poe-kun. I’ve needed him a lot over the past couple of weeks.”

“Now?”

“Mmm…” Ranpo shakes his head. “I think I’m okay because I had Yosano-sensei around earlier and I have you around now.” He passes Fukuzawa a smile. “Besides, I’m here to help you out, which today apparently means drinking with you.”

“There is no need.”

Ranpo scoffs. “My old man’s not okay. Of course I’d come.”

“That isn’t my meaning at all.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees Fukuzawa lift his hand to his eyes.

“It is… shameful for a parent to cry in front of their child.”

For the second time that day, Ranpo hugs someone he normally doesn’t. Yosano, first. Now, Fukuzawa… it’s not something he does because he misses hugging Poe and Karl. But it’s something he wants to do, something he feels like he should. Fukuzawa doesn’t hug him back. At least, not until he dries his face. Then, it’s more tipping towards him than actually hugging him. He seems to know exactly how much weight to support himself. Unsurprising, since he’s a master of iaido, he thinks, patting the back of Fukuzawa’s shoulders.

“I… apologize. For this state. It is the sake.”

“If the sake’s making you honest, drink more. Besides, I’ve cried in front of you plenty.” Ranpo smiles at the awning. “You always did your best to make me feel better back then, even though it was hard or awkward for you.”

“Isn’t it the same for you now?”

“Nope.” Ranpo grins. “My old man’s hurting. Sure, it’s hard to see you this way, but you’re missing someone you love and know he’s hurting.”

Fukuzawa dries his face again. It doesn’t last long. Ranpo suspects it never does, that over the years, Fukuzawa has become an expert at holding himself together.

“I know it’ll be okay,” Ranpo says. “Because I already deduced something.” He waits until Fukuzawa is looking in his direction. “This whole thing with Mori? I know it feels like shit. But in actuality, it feels way worse than it really is.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Yeah, some fuckers in the media—”

“Language,” Fukuzawa reprimands him.

“—are talking shit,” Ranpo continues, grinning at the obvious displeasure on Fukuzawa’s face. “But they can’t do a damn thing to change how he feels about you or vice versa. They can distract him from it, yeah, but they can’t hurt him more than he’s already hurt himself over it.” He pats Fukuzawa’s back again. “The next few days are probably going to be really rough for you, but I know when he calls you, you’ll be ready to go.”

Fukuzawa sighs. “It is not simply that. My work—”

“They’d be stupid to fire you,” Ranpo states.

“That doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“If they do, that means you were too good for them.” Ranpo grins, Fukuzawa leans again. “If it happens,” he murmurs, “I’ll just have to hire you as my secretary.”

“I would be terrible at it,” Fukuzawa states.

“Then I’ll hire you as my boss.”

Fukuzawa actually chuckles at that.

“Can you imagine that? You telling me to solve my cases just because I hired you to?”

“Entertaining, to be sure.”

“You would be really hard to work for,” Ranpo admits. “But I think… I’d learn to like it, once you stopped complaining about my irregular rhythms and my continuous snacking.”

“I don’t believe I would ever get accustomed to that.”

Ranpo chuckles. “Probably not.”

Ranpo takes an hour to sober up before going back to his apartment. Most of that, he spends with Fukuzawa in peaceable silence, or talking about matters surrounding Mori. From those conversations, Ranpo makes three deductions: Fukuzawa is worried, Mori is a mess, and they’ll work it out before the middle of next week. But not without additional encouragement, Ranpo thinks. Maybe that beneficiary of his? Akutagawa? Wait, isn’t he also Yosano’s patient? It wasn’t Akutagawa that told her, though. Maybe… that other person she’s worried about?

Back in his own apartment, Ranpo eats dinner, works through a case, has a snack, and gets ready for bed. Before he goes to sleep, he sends a message to Poe.

I really missed you today.

When he falls asleep, he dreams he’s in Poe’s arms again.

When he wakes up, he has a link in response, a video on YouTube very clearly depicting Poe’s face. Perhaps this will help a little.

Chapter Text

The chime of Ranpo’s phone wakes him up. It’s almost noon. He has vague recollections of waking up with the sun, watching Poe speak for three full minutes, throwing the covers back. He spent hours poring over the internet on his sofa, determined to find more evidence to corroborate his deduction that things will be fine. The headlines today are leaning positive. And there are some he missed yesterday. From America, England, Germany… all three are countries he knows Mori has done business with frequently. All three are messages of resounding support.

So even if Japan scowls at the fact that Mori Ougai dates a man, the world as a whole seems to care a little less.

The first thing he does is check his phone to find a long message from Poe in Japanese. Read this over and see if it makes sense. Then, please pass it along to Dazai-san if you would.

Ranpo hammers a quick message. We had the same deduction. I’ll explain later. He skims the message. Really, all it needs is a few particular changes, but it’s an otherwise near perfect translation of Poe’s interview. He sends it to Dazai as soon as he’s done.

Ranpo then studies his coffee table. It turns out he fell asleep beside a half-eaten bag of takoyaki-flavored chips, still in his pajamas. He goes to the bathroom to wash his face and tame his bedhead.

In the kitchen, he microwaves a few meat buns from the grocery store nearby and gnaws through them pretty quickly, then goes back to the bathroom to brush his teeth. His hair is still a mess. Not that Poe minds.

He returns to his keyboard and covers a yawn as he plugs in his headphones. Once they’re connected, he goes to the kitchen and grabs a seasonal carton of Lipton tea. By the time he comes back, he has a message from Poe.

I already deduced you’d run a few minutes late. Call when you want. I’m ready.

It seems like forever since they’ve done this. It seems like even longer since he was in America. Still remembering the feeling of being in Poe’s arms, he initiates the video call. Poe answers a few rings later. “Ranpo-kun, your hair…”

“Yeah, I kind of fell asleep while I was working.” He rubs his sore neck and chuckles. “I woke up at four in the morning and decided to take stock. Your boss made a statement?”

“Yeah,” Poe murmurs.

“Well, yours was better.”

Poe starts to answer, but a gray body immediately covers the camera. “Karl, no, you’ll hang up on Ranpo.” Poe plucks the racoon out of view and sets Karl down in his lap. Karl reaches for the screen, chattering.

“Hey, Karl,” Ranpo says. “You must really miss me, huh?”

Immediately, the raccoon scampers off.

“I think he’s still mad at you,” Poe confesses. “For leaving.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo sighs, tipping back in his chair. “I really wish I could make him understand. But he’s not human, so there’s really no way, I guess.”

“Karl is really intelligent, but yes… I’m afraid in his mind, you should never have to leave.”

“Did you want me to stay?” Ranpo asks.

“Deduce it.”

“I don’t want to deduce it. I want you to tell me.”

Poe exhales and fidgets a bit. “Ranpo-kun, I miss you dearly.”

“I know,” he answers.

“But I… understand right now, you staying is impossible.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Poe sighs. “Ranpo-kun…”

“Yes, my lovely raven?”

Poe flushes and glances away. “Of… course I wanted you to stay. But it does no good to wish for something that’s impossible.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo sighs, setting his head on the coffee table and pouting at its surface. “I really miss you, Poe-kun. A lot a lot.”

“I miss you, too, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo sits up. “We should talk about happy things. Are you enjoying your job?”

“Yes,” Poe confesses. “I am a fan of it. Although, with Ms. Mitchell out…”

“Ah, she had the baby?”

“Indeed. Although… I hear Hawthorne fainted at the hospital when he saw her.”

“Why’s that?”

Poe shrugs. “Not to poke fun of him, but the man is delicate in his sensibilities. He probably couldn’t handle the more visceral side of childbirth.”

“You know about that?”

“Only through research,” Poe states. “It seems unpleasant. Even when I was with women, I wasn’t really interested in children.” He shrugs. “Besides, Hawthorne, while a good friend of mine, doesn’t strike me as the adventurous type. He wouldn’t do half the stuff we’ve done.”

“You mean have sex on a piano bench?”

“I was more thinking of my desk, but that, too.”

They both chuckle. Ranpo takes another long drink of his tea. “What else?”

“Mark and John are menaces,” Poe sighs. “But they’ve gotten good at keeping each other on track so I don’t have to. Fitzgerald is… well, Fitzgerald. He bought another yacht.”

“Another one?”

Poe nods. “He claims he bought this one for his wife, but I’m pretty sure she would prefer an hour or two of his time over such things.”

Ranpo smiles. “Yeah, I know that feeling. The stuff you left me when you went back to America was really nice, but I wished you were here.”

Nodding again, Poe murmurs, “This morning, you said we both had the same deduction?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “I deduced your interview would be helpful to Dazai-kun, but I didn’t really have the means or knowledge to translate it.”

“You speak English well, Ranpo-kun. I’m sure you could have managed.”

“Yeah, but I don’t speak it like you do.”

“Nor do I speak Japanese quite like you,” Poe says. “But it’s true, I have an easier time than you moving words and ideas from one language to the other.”

Nodding, Ranpo finishes off his carton of tea.

“What else is going on in your life?”

“Well…” Ranpo trails off. “September 25.”

“September 25?” Poe echoes. “It’s a Sunday, I think.”

“Yeah, there’s a big gathering in Kamakura to celebrate Dazai-kun’s anniversary. Everyone’s going to be there.”

“Everyone?” Poe echoes.

“Yosano-sensei, Kunikida-kun, Sakaguchi-kun… Dazai-kun invited all his coworkers, so Atsushi-kun and the guy he’s dating will also be there. Oh, that guy also designed my tattoo, by the way.”

Poe smiles.

“A couple of Mr. Fancy Hat’s colleagues will be there, too. Including Mori.”

“Ah, I’m glad you’ve deduced he’ll be better,” Poe sighs. “I’m not fond of him or his inefficiency, but still, I am worried about him. He has a child himself, so…”

“Yeah,” Ranpo states. “She’s his in everything but blood, apparently.”

Poe folds his hands and hums. Ranpo thinks about Fukuzawa.

“Can I tell you something else I deduced?” he asks.

Poe nods.

“But promise not to tell anyone.”

“Of course not. I might tell Karl, but—”

“Dazai-kun is going to propose.”

Poe stops speaking. His one visible eye widens.

“I’ve known for a long time it was going to be September, since the first time I went to America. But really, I think it was in my head long before that.”

“That’s… really great for them,” Poe murmurs. “I almost wish I could be there.”

Ranpo glances at Poe. From that angle, he sees Poe’s face is turning red. “Poe-kun.”

“Ah, I’m alright. I’m not crying. I promise. I’m happy for them, but…”

“Then what?” His phone chimes. “Ah, hang on a sec.” He glances at the screen and reads the text from Dazai. Chuuya wants to know if you’re good with him sharing this translation. Glancing up, he murmurs, “Poe-kun?”

Poe sighs. “Yes?”

Ranpo’s brow arches as he deduces what’s going on. The color of Poe’s face, the rhythm of his breathing, the way his one visible lilac eye is blazing… it’s not like Poe is being subtle, and he’s not going to lie: Poe’s state is already starting to affect him. “I’m going to ask you two questions, Poe-kun. First one: are you good with Dazai-kun and Mr. Fancy Hat circulating your translation?”

“Sure. Let… Dazai know I hope they’re alright.”

He’s surprised he can focus enough to type a response. All he can think of is that characteristic look on Poe’s face, the one that gives him away. As soon as he does, he shuts his phone off and tosses it.

“Next question.” Ranpo folds his hands. “Are you hard right now, Poe-kun?”

“Ranpo-kun!”

“Tell me to deduce it. I dare you.”

“De… deduce it,” Poe murmurs.

Ranpo’s lips split into a grin. “I already have, my lovely raven. Why are you hard on a video call with me?”

“I… just really missed your voice. I didn’t realize how much until you started speaking.” Poe lowers his head. “I’m… really sorry for being in this state at an inopportune time, but—”

“Poe-kun,” Ranpo cuts in, leaning closer to the camera. “How about we try something new, hmm?”

Poe flushes. “What… would we try?”

“Well, for starters, you can go get the vibrator I know you bought after I left last time.”

“But it’s not you.”

“Poe-kun,” Ranpo murmurs. “I know it’s not me, but right now, I want you to feel good instead of miserably horny.” He smiles. “You don’t need my permission to feel good, Edgar. Go get the vibrator.”

In a sudden show of confidence, Poe says, “Are you getting yours, too?”

Ranpo snickers. “Of course! But only if you’re comfortable with that.”

“I’ll be back in three minutes.”

“That gives me time. Mine’s still in the package.” He watches Poe leave, zoning in on the writer’s ass before rising himself, half giddy at the thought of doing this. With Poe. Online.

The thought occurred to him a few days after the incident with his mother, part pettiness, part loneliness, part fantasy that he didn’t anticipate fulfilling this soon. I can’t have Poe-kun, he thinks, standing outside of a certain shop in Yokohama, but I can buy something that will fill the gaps in the meantime. The vibrator has, since, lived in his nightstand drawer. He’s thought about it once or twice, but he usually just finishes himself off with his hand instead. It looks far more appealing with the prospect of using it with Poe on the phone looming close. He opens the box, washes the silicone toy, tests the batteries that came with it.

At the push of a button, it whirs to life. Ranpo isn’t sure he’ll be able to handle the toy now that it’s in his hands; it’s smaller than Poe, sure, but the intensity makes him anxious. Before Poe-kun, he thinks, I had never even fingered myself. And I still really don’t, but… He exhales and grabs the bottle of lube on the way back to his living room. He wonders if he should sit on the sofa to give Poe a better view, but he decides the floor is just fine. That way, he’s not in danger of bumping his head against the wall when he comes.

In an oddly uncertain moment, Ranpo wonders if he should remove his pants yet. He decides to wait for Poe to come back. He slips his earbuds back in and smooths his hand over his stomach, tipping his head back, letting out a low sigh as his arousal kicks fully into gear.

“You look like you’re feeling good, Ranpo-kun.”

He smirks at the camera. “It could have taken you three seconds, and it would have been too long. You good with the camera here?”

“Are you offering to show me that perfect cock of yours?”

“I’ll show you anything you want, Poe-kun,” Ranpo breathes.

“Your face will do,” Poe states, leaning on his hand and smirking, “but I want to see what you’re using to open yourself up.”

Ranpo loves it when Poe gets blunt. He loves it when Poe is subtle and shy, too, but the needy edge in Poe’s voice goes straight to his dick. He sighs, letting it push his arousal all the way to his toes, and murmurs, “Why don’t you deduce what I bought instead?”

Poe folds his hands. “It’s your first one, so something simple.” He rubs his chin. “It’s black.”

“Correct.”

“Three settings.”

“Yeah.”

Poe shrugs. “It’s smaller than me.”

“Of course,” Ranpo says. “Only you get the privilege of stretching me out to your size, Edgar.”

Smiling, Poe says, “Your turn.”

Ranpo hums and studies Poe’s steady smirk. “Clear.”

“Clear?”

“It’s glass,” Ranpo states. “You like the temperature and texture.” He files that away. “So no vibrations, although you have one that does. You just went for this one because you’re in a certain mood.”

“What mood is that?”

“Horny and missing me, of course.”

Poe throws his head back and lets out one of those irresistible loud laughs. “Ah, Ranpo-kun, it’s almost like you walked into my bedroom with me.”

Ranpo leans against his hand. “Poe-kun.”

“Hmm?”

“Are your pants undone yet?”

“Of course not, Ranpo-kun. I was waiting on you.”

“Then…” He shifts his own hips and slides them down just far enough for his cock to spring out, sighing as he does. He’s treated to Poe doing the same, although it takes him a little more work since he’s still dressed. “How… are we doing this?”

“I figure we could trade directions.”

“That works,” Poe exhales. “Your turn.”

Ranpo thinks. “Touch your thighs for me.”

“Thighs?” Poe asks.

“Yeah,” Ranpo says. “There’s no rule that says we have to skip straight to the main event. Besides, I like your thighs. They’re really soft, unlike your cock at the moment.”

“Ranpo…”

Ranpo watches the writer’s arms move, scratching his chin and trying to come up with something else to ask for. Poe interrupts him by murmuring, “Your chest, Ranpo. Directly.”

“Whatever you want, my lovely raven,” Ranpo answers. He pushes his hand beneath the bottom hem of his pajama shirt and traces the planes of his chest and stomach. The whole time, he imagines Poe’s hands, not his. He can’t quite manage to fully divorce himself from the knowledge that his hands aren’t Poe’s at first. Poe’s are larger, usually a little cooler… but he does his best not to think about that. It happens as he trails his hands downward: he forgets he’s in his apartment, imagines he’s on one of Poe’s luxuriant sofas with the writer over him. “Poe-kun,” he sighs.

“Hmm?”

Ranpo’s eyes snap open. “Ah… I got a little too into it. For a minute, I completely forgot it wasn’t you touching me.”

“You’re not touching your cock yet, are you?”

“No.” He flushes. “No. I’m not.” I’m not, he tells himself, but I was going to. He draws a breath. “But you can drizzle a little lube on yours and touch yourself for me.”

“Impatient,” Poe murmurs, snickering.

“Moan my name when you do.”

“What else would I—ah…” Poe’s visible eye sinks shut, and his shoulder moves. “Ran… Ranpo…”

“God, that was perfect,” Ranpo sighs.

“Your turn,” Poe says. “But I don’t want you to touch yourself just yet. Instead, I want you to tease your rim a bit with your finger and some lube.”

Ranpo flushes.

“What?”

“I still haven’t fingered myself.”

With a smirk, Poe murmurs, “I know.”

It’s embarrassing, not to mention strange, but he slicks one of his fingers up and bends his knees a bit more to get access, then trails his finger downward until the tip of hit sits against his rim.

“Slowly,” Poe murmurs.

Ranpo winds up biting his lip as he traces his own entrance. Part of him imagines Poe’s finger. The other part of him imagines Poe’s tongue.

“There. I think… ah… that will do.”

“Are you still touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” Poe breathes.

“Faster.”

“Ranpo, if I go faster, I’m going to come…”

“I’ll make sure you don’t,” Ranpo breathes. “Not until you’re filled with that glass toy of yours and thoughts of only me.”

Poe whimpers, but he complies.

“Poe-kun—”

“That… hah… finger of yours.” His eye flickers open. “Push it in.”

“I’m… scared it’s going to hurt.”

“If it hurts, then stop and wait until you’re used to it.”

Ranpo catches the slick sound of Poe’s hand sliding down his shaft and eases the tip of his own finger inside. Somehow, this isn’t as strange as teasing himself. “Poe-kun…”

“That’s it,” he breathes. “That’s—”

“Stop… touching yourself and put a finger in.”

“Let me put two in.”

 Ranpo’s brow arches. His own is in to the second knuckle. “Do you want two?”

“Yes,” Poe breathes.

“Then… if it won’t hurt you too much, sure.”

Ranpo gets his first finger all the way in and focuses on the screen just in them to watch Poe throw his head back and moan. The volume of his voice is almost startlingly loud. He knows by the way one of Poe’s bare knees slips into view that he’s taking two fingers just fine. As if to confirm his suspicions, Poe’s whole body jerks, and he says, “Ranpo, yes…”

“You need another direction, or—”

“Move your finger until you find your prostate.”

Ranpo blinks. “You think I can find it?”

“I found it, didn’t I?” Poe smiles. “I’ll bet I can help you find it, too.”

“Alright.” Still torn between thinking the sensation of finger himself is odd and thinking it’s delightful, Ranpo slowly drags his finger out before pushing it back in.

“Get more lube if you need it.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo sighs, settling into a rhythm.

“Besides,” Poe murmurs, “I deduced you could find it. You just… ah… haven’t yet.” He pauses to sigh, then continues, “You were… ah… waiting for the right person.”

“Are you really moving your fingers, Poe-kun?”

“I can’t help it, Ranpo-kun. Your expression right now is—”

“Fuck!” Pleasure shoots up Ranpo’s spine, and his head snaps back. He has to take a minute to process that motion, commit its aim to his memory. “Poe-kun—”

“Again,” Poe demands. “Again…”

“If I do it again, we’re not going to get to the toys.”

“Then put another finger in.”

Ranpo forgets to worry about how uncomfortable it might be, about how much it might hurt. After he lubes up his second finger, he slips them both in without a moment’s notice. “Edgar…” It’s a whisper. “Edgar…” A moan.

The rest, he holds back. Because now isn’t the time.

“Put…” Ranpo breaks off with a ragged gasp. “Put…”

“The toy in?” Poe sighs. “I thought you’d never ask.

Ranpo catches a glimpse of it, something that’s not as big as him, but textured differently. Poe makes a show of slathering it in lube. He watches, hungry, as it dips out of view, and as Poe’s face contorts in pleasure, as he lets out one of those beautiful, wrecked noises. “Delicious,” Ranpo murmurs, licking his lips. “You sound so beautiful, Poe-kun…”

Gasping, Poe murmurs, “My turn,” and smirks. “Your prostate again. With both fingers this time.”

“You’re driving me crazy,” Ranpo manages.

Poe just laughs and says, “Well, you’re dating a writer. You should have deduced this would be part of it.”

Swallowing, Ranpo jams his fingers at that spot and misses.

“Try again, my dear detective,” Poe murmurs. “You’re doing amazing.”

Drawing a breath, Ranpo thrusts again, but he’s immediately an incoherent mess. He feels like putty already beneath Poe’s praise. When he manages to line his eyes up with the monitor again, he sees Poe is watching him intently.

“Ranpo.” His voice is a low growl. “I am impossibly hard and in desperate need of release. So I’m requesting that I give you another direction.”

“Yeah?” he manages.

“Put that toy in and turn it on.”

Ranpo doesn’t need to be told twice. Like Poe, he makes a show of lubing it up. And at this point, he’s hard enough that he doesn’t think much before lining it up with his rim and pushing, gently at first, then harder. It slips past the ring of muscle, loosened from his fingers, deeper and deeper until the flared base disappears inside of him.

He turns the button on. Instantly, every thought flies from his mind except pleasure.

“How is it, Ranpo-kun? Is it intense enough?”

Gasping, Ranpo passes the author a look.

“One more. For me, Ranpo-kun.”

Click. The vibrations pull a noise out of him he didn’t even know he could make. His toes curl. He tips back, seeking more, and gives the toy inside of him an experimental thrust.

“Ranpo-kun…”

Ranpo manages to line his eyes up with the screen.

“Touch yourself.”

His breath catches at how low Poe’s voice has gotten. It’s not cruel or authoritative; in fact, it somehow manages to remain a request. It’s confident. Fully confident. The same way he scolds Karl, but instead of disciplinary, it’s brimming with kindness, overlaid with a wish for Ranpo’s pleasure and underpinned by Poe’s own. I love you, he thinks, stroking himself. I love you… Out loud, he says, “You, too.”

“I thought you’d never…ask… ah…”

“Don’t you hold back a single one of those noises, Poe-kun,” Ranpo says. And that is a demand, a high-pitched whine that breaks into a moan as his hand descends his shaft. “I want my ears to be ringing tomorrow because of how loud you are.”

“Ranpo!”

“That’s it,” he breathes, picking up his pace. “That’s it, my lovely raven.”

“Ranpo, please…”

“Edgar…” He tries not to shut his eyes, but he shifts in a way that pushes the vibrator deeper, until its humming tip is nestled against his prostate, until the button on its base clicks to high.

He comes, his toes digging into the carpet, his eyes watering from how good it feels to let go. But the pleasure keeps coming as he rocks to press that toy against his prostate again and shouts Poe’s first name so loudly, his throat hurts. Poe shouting his name as he climaxes shoves him deeper in. The loud bang as his knee whacks the coffee table brings him back out. Reaching down and turning off the vibrations, he leans back and slings his arm over his eyes. I love you, he thinks. So much…

“Ranpo-kun, is your knee okay?”

He blinks and glances down to see the red knot forming where he bumped it. “It’s a fatal wound,” Ranpo laments, laughing. “Come over here and kiss it, Edgar.”

“You know I would if I were there, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

“I know.” Ranpo wipes his eyes. “Not crying because you’re not here, by the way. I do miss you, Edgar, but that was… something else.”

“Yeah,” Poe sighs.

There’s a clink of glass out of his view, a long sigh from the writer.

“If you’re not finished, you can turn it back on. I’ll watch.”

Snickering, Ranpo says, “I’ll bet you’d like that, but I overdid it the first time.”

“Because you turned the vibrations to high.”

“Hey, I rocked against the floor, and the button hit itself… ah…” Ranpo shudders as the toy slips out of him and he closes around nothing. Setting it aside to clean later, he takes stock of how bad the mess is. At least I didn’t get any on my keyboard, he thinks, using his shirt to wipe himself off. He’ll change it after he’s done talking to Poe. For now, he shimmies his pajama pants and boxers back up with a satisfied sigh and says, “That was something.”

“Yes,” Poe agrees, smiling. “Still not as good as you coming inside of me three times in one night, but I will take it.”

Ranpo snickers. “You know the next time I see you, that’s the first thing I’m going to do, right?”

“Mmm…” Poe folds his hands. “I don’t mean to doubt your stamina, Ranpo-kun, but I think I’ve deduced you’re incorrect.”

“Huh?” He tips his head.

“I’m coming inside of you first.”

They laugh and talk about a few more everyday occurrences in their lives. Ranpo tries to ignore his sore knee and hips. He asks Poe to recite a poem to distract him. “Annabel Lee,” of course, just so he can hear Poe say the word “love” three times in one line. When they disconnect the call, he lets out a long sigh before rising to finish his clean up. After a shower, he ices his knee and thinks about flipping through the book Poe gave him in June.

He remembers Atsushi still has it, so he picks a different one and tries not to miss the inscription Poe wrote specifically for him.

He winds up missing it anyway, winds up missing Poe. I love him, Ranpo thinks. I should tell him. That thought, he pushes aside. No. I’ve already deduced now isn’t the right time. He hugs Poe’s novel close and curls up, recalling the exact tenor of Poe’s voice as he murmured that line in “Annabel Lee.”

He murmurs it to his empty living room. “We loved with a love that was more than love…” His hand trails to his hip, where the moon and piano is inked into his skin.

He knows the hand on his skin can’t be Poe’s. That is an impossibility plain and simple.

But that doesn’t stop him from wishing for it.

Chapter Text

“I already got it,” Ranpo says, cutting his client off.

The man blinks at him.

“It’s your cat taking your keys. Check under the couch.”

“Wait, really?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Ranpo tips his chair back. “You say your keys disappear from your desk drawer every night. There are never signs of breaking and entering, and usually the door is still open. You live alone and work at a flower shop, so there’s no reason anyone would have a grudge against you or want to play tricks.” He spins in his chair and stares at the ceiling as he continues. “The kind of ghost you’re talking about… well, I won’t comment on whether they’re real or not, but you say your door’s always locked in the morning. There’s no sign of forced entry, and there would be if you forgot to lock it before bed consistently, but you remember every night.” He sticks his foot out and makes his chair stop. “Meaning! The culprit is your cat!”

“Why would Maguro do that?”

“That, I can’t deduce,” Ranpo states. “The mind of a cat is a completely unsolvable mystery. Although I’m getting better with racoons.”

“I’m sorry?” the man asks.

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Ranpo’s smile wanes a bit as that feeling of missing Karl especially sweeps over him. “Anyway, check underneath the couch and between the cushions. I’ve deduced maybe three or four of your missing spare sets are under the sofa, but your cat sounds a little fickle.” Ranpo hums and folds his legs. “That’s all.”

The man rubs his head. “Well, now I feel like a fool, coming here up in arms, thinking I’m being haunted.”

“Maybe it’s a bit unreasonable, but I don’t think you need to be ashamed of it. We’re all haunted by one thing or another.” Ranpo shrugs.

“Of course.” The man rises and bows, then hands Ranpo an envelope full of money. “Your fee.”

“Thank you very much.” He counts the money, makes change from what’s the safe, and the man goes on his way. He goes to get another snack and is working through a cream puff when he hears his office door open. Weird… I deduced I wouldn’t have any more clients today. Ah, well… He rises from his chair and turns, wiping the cream from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Welcome! The great detective Edogawa Ranpo will be with you in just a—” He stops when he sees it’s Fukuzawa. “Old man?”

Fukuzawa folds his arms and bows slightly. “May I?”

“Sure.”

He sits down where his last client was moment ago. Ranpo finishes his pastry and tosses the wrapper.

“I… apologize. For coming here when you should be working.”

“You’re not here for a case, are you?”

“Sort of.” Fukuzawa sets his hands on his knees and exhales. “I… need you to deduce something.”

“What’s that?”

“Mori-dono has agreed to interview about the wine incident.”

Ranpo nods. “Yeah, I was wondering why the media got quiet about him all of a sudden. But you’re not here to ask about him.”

“He wants me to do them, too.”

Blinking, Ranpo hums and rubs his chin. “What’s your reservation? You told your coworkers, right?”

Fukuzawa winces like he’s remembering something undignified. “If by that, you mean breaking down the door of a meeting, bowing so low that my head nearly touches the floor, and apologizing for whatever trouble it causes…”

Ranpo laughs. “I really can’t picture you doing anything like that. He must really be important to you.”

“You know he is.” Fukzuawa’s blue eyes drift away. “I just… don’t know if I should or shouldn’t.”

“Come on.” Ranpo hops out of his chair. “I can get you some oolong tea. It’s from a bottle, but you look like you need it.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

Fukuzawa follows him to his kitchenette, where he pulls a bottle of oolong tea out of the fridge and pours Fukuzawa a glass. “Here. Just be careful. Your hands are shaking.”

He scoffs and presses a hand over his face. “These are the most damnable circumstances I have ever found myself in. Worse than March 20.”

Ranpo lowers his eyes at the mention of that date, remembers his own perpetually irate father. He was probably frustrated by not being able to work the way he used to. Sighing, Ranpo sets the cup down and folds his arms. “Did you see him?”

“I chased the media off.”

“With your sword?”

Fukuzawa’s hand falls, and Ranpo reads the glint in his eye.

Whistling, Ranpo leans against the counter. “You’re a silver wolf just like people say, old man: a little aloof, but when it comes to protecting your people, you can be downright vicious.”

“It’s my fault he has to interview in the first place. I offered it in exchange giving him peace. I didn’t think he would actually be willing to uphold his end of that bargain.” He sighs.

“He’s a businessman. Of course he’s upholding it.”

“It’s a bad deal.”

“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” Ranpo says, offering Fukuzawa the glass again.

This time, he takes it with steady hands. “I’m not going to do them.”

“Why not?” Ranpo asks.

“Because I don’t feel like causing further problems for my employers.”

Ranpo stares at the linoleum beneath his feet.

“You deduced something.”

“You lied to me.” Ranpo slips his glasses off of his head and sets them on his face. “Just now. It’s not your work you’re concerned about. It’s you. The reason you’re hesitant to do them… it’s because you’ll be in the public eye in a way you haven’t been since your university iaido tournaments.” He continues staring at Fukuzawa, reading the fury in his eyes as clearly as words on a page. With a long breath, he murmurs, “I’m not judging you for that, old man.”

“Then what?”

“You’re mad at yourself because in this case, you didn’t think of him first. Because he thought of you first, and you don’t think it’s fair to him.”

Fukuzawa’s eyes drop to the cup, his frown deepening.

“Do them.”

“I refuse.”

“Then don’t,” Ranpo states, pulling a lollipop out of one of his drawers and unwrapping it. “Whether you do or don’t, there’s something else I deduced.” Once Fukuzawa is looking at him, he pushes his glasses back on his head. “You’re going to be fine. He won’t leave you over it. If anything, he’ll understand better than you think. Because he always thinks of others first.”

“I am selfish.”

“I don’t think you are.” Ranpo pulls the candy out of his mouth. “You came here to ask me for advice. That means even if you were scared for yourself, you still thought about it.”

Fukuzawa exhales. “Do you know of his beneficiary, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke?”

“I do.”

“He chewed me out in my office.” Fukuzawa walks to the counter and leans beside Ranpo, lifting the glass to his lips again. “Nakajima, an old student of mine, did something similar in March when he caught us in a… compromising position. Ah, make no mistake…”

“I already deduced it,” Ranpo states, biting down on the sucker in his mouth and chewing on the stick. “He was talking about Aristotle, which you think is sexy. You were so swept up, you forgot where you were. You leaned. He leaned back. Atsushi-kun walked in because your office door was open.”

Fukuzawa stares at him, blinking, and says, “Do you by chance have a camera in my office?”

“That’d be an invasion of privacy and a violation of the laws protecting student confidentiality.” Ranpo pulls the bare stick out of his mouth.

“Remarkable.” Fukuzawa chuckles. “You deduced all of that from what exactly?”

“It wasn’t hard,” Ranpo answers, laughing. “I always knew you were romantic.”

“Even when you thought I was alone?”

Ranpo shrugs. “You can be alone and romantic.” He fishes another sucker out of his drawer and offers one to Fukuzawa. For once, he takes it. “Go back to him. Do the interviews. Or don’t. You’re my old man either way.”

Fukuzawa finishes his tea and sighs. “Saturday.”

“Saturday?”

Fukuzawa looks at him, then slips his hands into his sleeve. “Seven o’clock. I’ll write down an address if you have a post-it note.”

“Sure.” Ranpo smiles. “Is he okay with that?”

“You are my family,” Fukuzawa states, walking forward to exit the kitchen. “In… a sense, at least.”

“Don’t hedge it now, old man.” Ranpo grins at the way Fukuzawa blinks.

“As such, I… doubt he would ever begrudge me asking you to be there.”

Ranpo spends hours staring at the paper. He knows what it is, just like he knows what Fukuzawa will eventually decide. When he calls Poe that night to talk before Poe heads to work, he talks through the situation and finally says, “It’s… I don’t know.”

“It’s rare for you…” Poe pauses to yawn. “Not to know, my dear Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo stares at the kanji again. “I just… deduced something bad is going to happen.”

Poe hums into the phone.

“I don’t know what,” he murmurs, “but this isn’t going to be as clean as either of them want it.”

“Well,” Poe murmurs, “you can call me after. Whatever it is, I’ll be there for you however I can.”

“But you write late on Fridays.”

“Call, my dear Ranpo-kun,” Poe insists. “I will answer. I promise you that.”

The following day, Yosano stops by his office. “Ranpo—”

“Yeah, I’m going,” he says without turning around. He’s working on another case Ango sent him, this one not quite as urgent, but it’s one he’s been trying to get done. “I already know your patient with an attitude is Mori’s beneficiary. You’re going because it might affect your work.”

“Why are you going, then?”

“To support the old man.”

Yosano folds her arms.

“Let’s get dinner before we go. My treat. I’m finishing up another case for the Public Security Intelligence Agency.”

“People might think we’re on a date.”

“I don’t really care what people think,” Ranpo states, slinging his arm over his desk chair. “Do you have a reason to?”

Yosano doesn’t answer. Instead, she says, “Five-thirty.”

“Sure.”

“Wear a suit.”

Ranpo snickers. “Alright.”

That dinner is easily one of the most awkward Ranpo can recall. Yosano, wearing a blue dress and playing with the butterfly clip in her hair, keeps staring out the window. Ranpo just keeps eating, but he never really feels full. What’s on his mind is the impending crisis he deduced, the one he still hasn’t figured out the exact nature of.

It slips through his grasp when he arrives to find they aren’t the first ones there. Mori is nowhere in sight. The vice president of his company let them in by the door. The secretary, he thinks, studying the blond. His child. Ranpo’s eyes fall to Elise. One of his beneficiaries, he finishes, moving his eyes to the final person, who is already approaching them.

“Are you Yosano-sensei?” she asks.

“I am,” Yosano answers.

“My name is Akutagawa Gin. I’m Ryuunosuke’s younger sister.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” She says. “You’re listed on his emergency contact list.”

“Yes. I just want to thank you again for treating my brother.” She adds a bow. “I know he’s not easy to deal with…”

Ranpo, still focused on his deductions, zones out until Gin says his name.

“Edogawa-san?”

He glances at her.

“I’d like to thank you, too.”

“Ah. For the commission, right?” He smiles and thinks of the notes inked onto is hip. “He’s got a temper, but he’s really easy to work with in a professional capacity. I’ve already deduced he’ll go far.” He still can’t quite picture Akutagawa telling Fukuzawa off, but if Fukuzawa mentioned it, he knows it happened.

The child calls for Gin, then speaks a language Ranpo isn’t familiar with.

A redheaded woman enters. The owner of the Golden Demon Inn. It’s subtle, but Ranpo notices the slight nod she gives Yosano before going to speak to the secretary.

He gets close to deducing something, but it all falls apart when Akutagawa and Atsushi enter, followed by Dazai and Chuuya. Ranpo already knew they were all coming, but he didn’t anticipate this… inexpiable level of tension.

“Ranpo,” Yosano murmurs, touching his shoulder.

“Yeah, I know.” He sticks his hands in his suit jacket pockets.

“What? Was dinner not enough for you?” She asks the question loudly enough so others can hear it and catches the way the redheaded woman glares at him.

“This meeting has already taken too long.”

“Ranpo,” Yosano murmurs, laughing.

“I’m just saying, if we all have to be here, he should have at least fed us,” Ranpo retorts. He stops complaining long enough to wave. “Dazai-kun.” He turns his eyes to Chuuya, and a chill runs through him. “Mr. Fancy Hat.”

“Quit fucking calling me that!”

Is that more of a reaction than usual or less? He misses Dazai asking Yosano about being there, clearly, because Akutagawa approaches and explains her role as his physician. Folding his arms, he murmurs, “If Kunikida-kun and Sakaguchi-kun were here and we had food, we could have a repeat of your birthday. It’s past my after-dinner snack time. I hope this goes quick, though I’ve already deduced it’ll likely be an hour at least.”

“I wasn’t aware you knew my boss,” Chuuya remarks.

“Hmm…” It’s close. “I really don’t.”

“What—then why the fuck are you here?”

Closer. Splitting his attention, he remarks, “To support the old man.”

“Old man?” Chuuya and Dazai say those words together.

“The old man who gave me the glasses.” He catches Dazai sending Yosano a questioning glance, but she only shrugs and shakes her head. “I told you before!” he insists. “Did you really forget?”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind. Remind me.”

“No need,” Ranpo states, turning. “The old man’s right there.”

The change in the atmosphere is palpable. As Mori calls for them to sit, his deduction slams into him. Fukuzawa’s remarkable calm is what makes him more certain. “Fukuzawa-dono,” Mori states.

“Mori-dono.” He shuffles, and his hands disappear into his sleeves. His eyes meet Ranpo’s for a moment.

“Did you ever in all our years together imagine we would have to do anything like this?”

Humming, Fukazawa murmurs, “Certainly not.”

As Mori begins stating his gratitude for everyone’s presence there, Ranpo realizes what’s about to happen. Contrition, he thinks, looking at Mori. Calm… his eyes move to Fukuzawa, then continue around the table. Innocence. He glances from Elise to Higuchi and Gin. Anxiety, shared. Ranpo decides the vice president feels resolve and some odd sort of pride, Kouyou an inexplicable sense of duty that in some ways matches Yosano’s, but it goes deeper. She even smiles when she says, “A little media harassment is nothing to be concerned about.” Probably because it has lasted longer. Probably because she has known for years, because when Mori Ougai and Fukuzawa Yukichi want to go somewhere together, away from the public eye, the Golden Demon Inn and their second best room has always been an open haven.

Dazai and Atsushi are both there to be supportive. For their partners, not their old professor. But Chuuya…

His anger burns.

He knows what’s about to happen. Trying to stop it would be as futile as trying to stop gravity itself. But Hirotsu tries. Mori tries. Dazai tries. The futility stings. He folds his hands and watches as Akutagawa stands between Chuuya and his benefactor, as the delinquent roll of Chuuya’s accusations fill the air in a volume that makes his ears ring that end with an insult that makes him brace himself as if he’s the target of the punch that’s about to be thrown.

The one thing he didn’t deduce was Akutagawa would catch Chuuya’s fist and land a punch of his own.

Time has an odd way of standing still in that moment. But Elise darts out of the room, Gin covers her mouth. Most notably, beside him, Kouyou reaches out to grab Yosano’s arm in a way that’s… oddly not as aggressive as one might think. Atsushi stands and pulls Akutagawa’s arm down. “Ryuu.” It’s more the gentle growl of a beast, but he can tell by thew ay Akutagawa blinks that he finds some reassurance in that. “Ryuu.” Ranpo watches Atsushi’s hands find Akutagawa’s face. He’s reminded of Poe’s hands. He’s also reminded of something else. “That’s enough.”

Akutagawa hurls one last word over his shoulder as he leaves to get some air. In a language Ranpo can’t understand. Still, the last insult Chuuya threw sticks in his mind. He called Akutagawa a mafia dog. He sets his hands in his lap. Is that… true?

“Elise-chan,” Mori begins, apparently the first of them to regain their sense.

“I’ll get her.” Fukuzawa rises. “Go check on Akutagawa.”

“Very well, Fukuzawa-dono. Gin-kun—”

“I’m fine,” she murmurs, “but he didn’t know.”

It is true. Ranpo swallows, only half listening to Mori lecturing Chuuya, only following with his eyes as Dazai helps Chuuya up and leads him down the hall and Hirotsu leaves to smoke a cigarette.

“Ranpo-kun.”

He lets a laugh slip out, then covers his face. What sort of irony is this? Someone with yakuza ties designed me a tattoo…