Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ranpo Edogawa prided himself on knowing everything about everyone. His Ultra Deduction ability, natural curiosity, and razor-sharp observational skills meant that very few secrets escaped his notice. So when he stumbled upon a piece of information about Edgar Allan Poe that he hadn't known before, well, it was like Christmas had come early, wrapped in a bow of mystery and tied with ribbons of intrigue.

It all started on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, the kind of day where the sun seemed to hang lazily in the sky, casting long shadows across Yokohama. Ranpo had convinced Poe to let him visit his apartment to borrow a rare detective novel. In reality, Ranpo's fingers itched with the desire to snoop around the reclusive writer's living space, certain he'd uncover some tantalizing tidbits about his enigmatic colleague. And who doesn't love a bit of blackmail material?

"Make yourself at home," Poe had said, his voice soft and slightly nervous as always. "I'll prepare some tea. Sweet, if I remember correctly?"

Ranpo nodded, flashing a bright smile. "You know me so well, Poe-kun!" He watched as Poe shuffled off to the kitchen, his tall, lanky frame disappearing around the corner. The moment Poe was out of sight, Ranpo's eyes gleamed with mischievous intent.

He began his exploration, padding quietly from room to room on cat-like feet. The apartment was a labyrinth of books and papers, each space telling its own story about its occupant. The living room was dominated by towering bookshelves that seemed to bend under the weight of countless novels. Ranpo's keen eyes noted the organization system - or lack thereof. Books were stacked in precarious towers, shoved into gaps, and even piled on the floor. It was chaos, but a beautiful, literary chaos that suited Poe perfectly.

The air was thick with the musty scent of old paper and ink, mingled with a hint of something Ranpo couldn't quite place—perhaps the lingering aroma of Poe's favorite coffee blend or that cologne Fitzgerald gifted him once a few years ago. It was a heady mixture that made Ranpo feel as if he'd stepped into the pages of one of Poe's gothic tales.

As he moved deeper into the apartment, Ranpo's attention was caught by the scattered papers covering nearly every flat surface. They were filled with Poe's spidery handwriting, a delicate dance of ink across paper. Ranpo resisted the urge to read them, reminding himself that he was here to uncover secrets, not invade his friend's privacy. Of course, they were completely different things. If he wanted to invade his friend's privacy, he would've looked in his bedroom first--in the closet or under the bed. But he didn't. He wanted to uncover whatever secrets the author had been keeping from him--not like Poe ever kept secrets from Ranpo on purpose, but it could have been information that never came up during a conversation. Because even though they were friends, and Ranpo had his Ultra Deduction ability, Ranpo was almost uncomfortable saying he didn't know much about Poe. He was his closest friend; how could he not know him well? It's why he decided to take matters into his own hands.

Ranpo made his earth-shattering discovery in Poe's study. The room was smaller than the others and crammed with even more books, if that was possible. A heavy wooden desk dominated the space, its surface barely visible beneath stacks of papers, open books, and what looked like the beginnings of Poe's latest manuscript.

Ranpo's eyes roved over the room, taking in every detail. The curtains were drawn, allowing only a sliver of sunlight to penetrate the gloom. In that dim light, something caught his eye - a glint of glossy material peeking out from behind a row of dusty books on a high shelf.

Curiosity piqued, Ranpo stretched up on his tiptoes, his fingers grasping at the air just inches from his prize. He waved his hand back and forth, trying to get at least a slight bit of his index finger to touch the material. With a small grunt of effort, he managed to snag the edge of the mysterious object and pull it free.

As it fell into his hands, his eyes widened in delight. It was a high school yearbook, dated nearly a decade earlier. The cover proudly proclaimed "Richmond High School" in bold, gothic letters, with a raven emblem beneath that seemed to stare at Ranpo with knowing eyes.

"Oh, Poe-kun," Ranpo murmured, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "what delicious secrets have you been hiding?"

With the glee of a child on Christmas morning, Ranpo quickly flipped through the pages, his sharp eyes scanning for any mention of Edgar Allan Poe. The musty scent of the old book filled his nostrils as he searched, adding to the sense of uncovering something long buried.

And then, there it was. Spread across two full pages was a feature on the school's drama club. Now, Ranpo was rarely and hardly ever surprised about anything. But this was like having ice water poured over you while you were still asleep. His jaw dropped as he took in the images, each one more surprising than the last.

The first photo that caught his eye showed Poe in full Phantom of the Opera regalia. Ranpo's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the image. This Poe was almost unrecognizable from the man he knew. The typically disheveled deep violet hair was slicked back with precision, revealing a high forehead and accentuating cheekbones that Ranpo had never noticed before. A white mask covered half of Poe's face, lending him an air of mystery and allure. But it was the pose that truly captivated Ranpo. Poe stood with one hand outstretched dramatically, the other clutching his cape. His visible eye smoldered with intensity, making Ranpo's cheeks flush inexplicably.

"My god," Ranpo whispered, his fingers tracing the outline of Poe in the photo. "Who are you, Poe-kun?"

He tore his gaze away from the Phantom photo, only to have it immediately captured by another. This one showed Poe as Romeo, and if Ranpo thought he'd been surprised before, he was utterly flabbergasted now. Poe's lean frame was accentuated by period-appropriate tights and a flowing shirt that exposed a hint of collarbone. He gazed soulfully at an unseen Juliet, one hand pressed to his heart, the other reaching out longingly. The passion in his expression was palpable, and Ranpo found himself swallowing hard.

He felt a strange mix of admiration and something he couldn't quite name. He'd always known Poe was attractive in his own, unique way, but this? This was on another level entirely.

But it was the third photo that truly took Ranpo's breath away. It was a candid shot, clearly taken during a rehearsal. Poe was mid-laugh, his head thrown back, exposing the long line of his throat. A genuine smile lit up his face, transforming his features entirely. He looked so different from the brooding, anxious writer Ranpo knew - more alive, more confident, almost radiant. His eyes sparkled with joy and crinkled at the corners in a way that simultaneously made him look both younger and more mature.

Ranpo found himself staring at this photo longer than the others. He'd never seen Poe laugh like that, never seen him so unguarded and free. It stirred something in Ranpo's chest, a mix of longing and regret. What had happened to change the vibrant young man in these photos into the reclusive, anxious writer he knew today?

As he continued to flip through the pages, Ranpo discovered more treasures. There was Poe in full Shakespearean garb, delivering what looked like an impassioned soliloquy. Another showed him in modern dress, locked in an intense scene with a fellow actress. Each photo revealed a new facet of Poe that Ranpo had never imagined existed.

He was so engrossed in his discovery that he almost didn't hear Poe's voice calling from the other room. "Ranpo-kun? The tea is ready. Where did you go?"

Panic fluttered in Ranpo's chest. He quickly shoved the yearbook back onto the shelf, wincing at the loud thud it made. "Coming, Poe-kun!" he called back, his voice slightly higher than usual. He took a moment to school his features into innocence, trying to will away the flush he could feel on his cheeks.

As he made his way back to the living room, Ranpo's mind was racing. The Poe he'd seen in those photos was so different from the man he knew. It was like discovering that a familiar landscape had been hiding an entire secret garden. He felt off-balance, his usual confidence shaken by this new knowledge.

Poe was waiting for him, two glasses of tea set out on the cluttered coffee table. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost in the stacks," Poe said with a small smile, gesturing for Ranpo to sit.

Ranpo plopped down onto the worn sofa, accepting the cup of tea with a murmured thanks. As he sipped the familiar refreshing sugary drink, he studied Poe over the rim of his glass. Could this nervous, soft-spoken man really be the same person he'd seen in those photos? The same person who had commanded the stage with such presence and passion?

"Is everything alright, Ranpo-kun?" Poe asked, a note of concern in his voice. "You seem... distracted."

Ranpo blinked, realizing he'd been staring. "Oh, just thinking about a case," he lied smoothly. "Say, Poe-kun, did you ever do any acting? You have quite the flair for the dramatic when you use your ability."

He watched carefully for Poe's reaction. The writer stiffened almost imperceptibly, his fingers tightening around his teacup. "I... may have been in a school play or two," Poe admitted, his eyes darting away. "Nothing serious."

Ranpo bit back a laugh. Nothing serious indeed! But he could see the discomfort in Poe's posture, the way he seemed to curl in on himself as if trying to hide. Whatever had led Poe to abandon his theatrical pursuits, it was clearly a sensitive topic.

Deciding to let the matter drop for now, Ranpo steered the conversation towards the book he'd come to borrow. But even as they discussed the finer points of locked-room mysteries, Ranpo's mind kept drifting back to those photos. The confident set of Poe's shoulders as the Phantom, the passion in his eyes as Romeo, the uninhibited joy in his laugh during rehearsal.

As he left Poe's apartment that evening, the borrowed book tucked under his arm, Ranpo felt as if he'd gained far more than just reading material. He'd uncovered a mystery more intriguing than any case he'd solved before - the mystery of Edgar Allan Poe's hidden past.

Over the next few weeks, Ranpo found himself watching Poe more closely than ever. He noticed little things he'd overlooked before—the way Poe's hands sometimes moved as if conducting an invisible orchestra when he was deep in thought, the theatrical flair he brought to his ability activations, and the way his voice could modulate from a whisper to a boom when he was particularly excited about a book.

And sometimes, when Poe thought no one was looking, Ranpo caught glimpses of that theatrical teenager in the photos—a graceful turn here, a dramatic gesture there. It was like watching a butterfly emerge from a long-dormant chrysalis, tentative but beautiful.

These observations only served to deepen Ranpo's fascination. He found himself concocting increasingly elaborate scenarios to spend more time with Poe, always hoping to catch another glimpse of the passionate young actor hidden beneath the writer's reserved exterior.

One evening, as they worked late at the Agency office, Ranpo decided to test the waters. "You know, Poe-kun," he said casually, twirling a pen between his fingers, "I've been thinking of taking up a new hobby. Maybe something in the performing arts. Do you have any experience with that sort of thing?"

Poe, who had been bent over a case file, looked up sharply. For a moment, Ranpo thought he saw a flicker of that old passion in Poe's eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by Poe's usual nervous expression.

"I... I'm not sure I'd be much help with that, Ranpo-kun," Poe said, his voice carefully neutral. "Perhaps Dazai-san would be a better person to ask? He has a certain... theatrical flair."

Ranpo bit back a sigh of frustration. He was tempted to confront Poe directly, to mention the yearbook and demand answers. But something held him back. The vulnerability he'd seen in those candid photos, the joy that seemed so absent from Poe's life now - it felt too precious, too fragile to risk shattering with blunt questions.

Instead, Ranpo found himself nurturing a new goal. He wanted to see that carefree smile again, to hear that uninhibited laugh. He wanted to coax the passionate, confident Poe out of hiding, to see him shine as brightly in reality as he had in those old photographs.

It wouldn't be easy, Ranpo knew. Whatever had driven Poe to bury that part of himself deeply would not be easily overcome. But Ranpo Edogawa never backed down from a challenge, especially one as intriguing as this.

As he watched Poe return to his work, hunched over the desk as if trying to make himself smaller, Ranpo made a silent vow. He would solve Edgar Allan Poe's mystery, unravel the story behind those photos and the transformation they represented, and maybe, just maybe, help Poe rediscover the confident, passionate person he had once been.

After all, Ranpo mused with a small smile, every great detective story needed a dramatic reveal. And he had a feeling that the reveal of Poe's hidden talents would be his greatest performance yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks had passed since Ranpo's discovery of Poe's high school yearbook, and the mystery of his friend's hidden theatrical talents continued to gnaw at him. Despite his best efforts to coax out that long-buried side of Poe, the writer remained stubbornly reserved, offering only nervous smiles and evasive answers to Ranpo's probing questions.

But Ranpo Edogawa was nothing if not persistent. His fascination with Poe's past had blossomed into a full-blown obsession, driving him to dig deeper into the writer's history. Late nights at the Agency were spent poring over old newspapers and school records, searching for any clue that might shed light on Poe's transformation from confident thespian to reclusive author.

On one such night, as Ranpo sat surrounded by stacks of dusty archives, he stumbled upon a crucial piece of the puzzle. A small article in a local American newspaper caught his eye:

"RICHMOND HIGH DRAMA CLUB PERFORMANCE ENDS IN CHAOS: Unexplained Events Disrupt Opening Night of 'The Tempest'"

Ranpo's heart raced as he read on, his eyes widening with each sentence. The article described a series of bizarre occurrences during the play – props materializing out of thin air, sudden weather changes that matched the script, and most intriguingly, unscripted lines spoken by the lead actor (unnamed, but Ranpo had a pretty good guess) that seemed to alter reality itself.

"It can't be," Ranpo murmured, his mind whirling with possibilities. Could this be connected to Poe's ability? The timing certainly fit – this performance would have occurred right around when Poe's talent for altering reality through writing had first manifested.

But wasn't Poe's ability limited to writing only? There is no way that him speaking words aloud from a pre-existing script would have manifested anything. Not unless Poe made revisions to the script, perhaps.

Ranpo leaned back in his chair, mind racing. He wanted nothing more than to confront Poe with this information, to demand answers about that night and everything that followed. But something held him back. The vulnerability he'd seen in those yearbook photos and the way Poe seemed to flinch at any mention of his past suggested a deep, unhealed wound.

No, Ranpo decided.

A direct confrontation wasn't the way. He needed to be more subtle--to create an environment where Poe might feel safe enough to open up on his own.

Over the next few weeks, Ranpo intensified his casual inquiries and "coincidental" conversations about theater and performance. He left books about acting techniques lying around the office, struck up discussions about famous plays within Poe's earshot, and even convinced Kunikida to organize a team-building exercise involving improv games.

Through it all, Ranpo watched Poe carefully, noting every flinch, every flicker of emotion that crossed the writer's face at the mention of anything theatrical. He saw how Poe's hands would sometimes move in graceful, practiced gestures before the writer caught himself and forced them still, how his voice would occasionally take on a rich, resonant quality when reading case files aloud, only to revert to its usual soft tones quickly.

These observations only served to deepen Ranpo's fascination. He found himself concocting increasingly elaborate scenarios to spend more time with Poe, always hoping to catch another glimpse of the passionate young actor hidden beneath the writer's reserved exterior.

However, Ranpo's persistent focus on performance-related topics didn't go unnoticed. One evening, as they worked late at the Agency office, Poe finally broached the subject.

"Ranpo-kun," Poe began hesitantly, setting down the file he'd been reading. "I... I couldn't help but notice that you've been bringing up acting and theater quite frequently lately. Is there... is there a reason for that?"

Ranpo looked up, momentarily caught off guard by the direct question. He saw a mix of emotions in Poe's eyes – curiosity, certainly, but also a hint of fear and something that looked almost like hope.

Thinking quickly, Ranpo decided to use this opening to his advantage. "Well," he said, affecting a casual tone, "I've been thinking of taking up a new hobby. Maybe something in the performing arts. I thought you might have some insight, given your... flair for the dramatic when using your ability."

He observed Poe's reaction. The writer stiffened almost imperceptibly, his fingers tightening around the edge of his desk. "I... I'm not sure I'd be much help with that, Ranpo-kun," Poe said, his voice carefully neutral. "Perhaps Dazai-san would be a better person to ask? He has a certain... theatrical flair." He forced an awkward laugh.

Ranpo leaned forward, his gaze intense. "But I'm not asking Dazai, Poe-kun. I'm asking you. You seem to know more about this than you let on. Why is that?"

For a long moment, Poe was silent, his gaze fixed on the desk between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and filled with a pain that made Ranpo's heart ache.

"I... I used to be involved in theater a long time ago," Poe admitted. "But that was another life. Things... changed."

Ranpo's mind raced, connecting the dots between the yearbook photos, the newspaper article, and Poe's current behavior. "What happened, Poe-kun?" he asked. "What changed?"

Poe's fingers traced abstract patterns on the desktop as he debated with himself. Finally, he took a deep breath and began to speak.

"It was during a performance of 'The Tempest' – my first leading role. I was so excited, so ready to prove myself. But on opening night, something... strange happened." Poe's eyebrows seemed to furrow at the memory.

Ranpo listened, spellbound, as Poe described how real wind and rain had suddenly lashed the stage and how props had appeared out of nowhere, exactly as he described them in his improvised lines. At first, the audience thought it was all part of the show, marveling at the special effects. But panic had set in as the night wore on and the impossible events continued to unfold.

"I didn't understand what was happening," Poe said, his voice trembling. "I tried to stick to the script, but in moments of nervousness, I'd improvise – and every time I did, reality seemed to bend to my words. It was terrifying."

Ranpo reached out, placing a comforting hand on Poe's arm. "That's when your ability manifested," he stated. It wasn't a question.

Poe nodded, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "Yes. Though I didn't know what to call it then. I just knew that somehow, my words had power – power I couldn't control."

"What happened after that night?" Ranpo prompted.

Poe's gaze grew distant, lost in memory. "I was a mess. Terrified of speaking, of accidentally changing reality again. I withdrew from the drama club and my friends. I threw myself into writing instead – at least on paper, my words seemed harmless."

A shadow crossed Poe's face. "But then... they found me."

"The Guild?" Ranpo questioned, the final piece falling into place.

Poe nodded. "They'd heard about what happened that night. They approached me, offering to help me understand and control my ability. And I... I was so desperate, so afraid. I agreed."

The pain in Poe's voice was palpable as he described his early days with the Guild. They had helped him harness his power, teaching him to channel it through his writing rather than speech. But the price had been high.

"They wanted me to use my ability for their benefit," Poe explained. "To write realities that suited their goals. I felt trapped, Ranpo-kun. The confident, passionate person I'd been on stage... he got buried deeper and deeper until sometimes I wondered if he had ever really existed at all." He spoke more strained near the end of his sentence like someone had a firm grasp on his throat.

Ranpo's mind raced, processing this flood of information. So many things made sense now – Poe's nervousness, reluctance to speak about his past, the way he sometimes flinched when reading his own work aloud.

"But you're not with the Guild anymore," Ranpo pointed out.

A small, genuine smile touched Poe's lips. "I realized that my words could be used for good, too. That I could write stories that helped people, that solved mysteries. And when I lost to you again, during that battle of wits, and got to know you a little better... for the first time in years, I felt like I might have found a place where I could belong."

Ranpo felt an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, warmth bloom in his chest at Poe's words. "I think... I think it's time for that passionate, confident part of you to take the stage again," he blurted out to avoid the warmth from visibly showing on his face.

Poe looked up, surprise and a hint of fear in his eyes. "I don't know if I can, Ranpo-kun. It's been so long..."

"Then we'll take it slow," Ranpo said firmly. "Baby steps. Maybe we start with you reading your stories aloud to me – no pressure, no audience. Just two friends sharing tales."

For a moment, Poe hesitated. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face – a smile that reminded Ranpo of that candid photo from the yearbook, full of joy and possibility.

"I... I think I'd like that," Poe said softly.

As they left the office that night, Ranpo felt like a weight had been lifted. The mystery of Poe's past had been solved, but a new chapter began. He looked forward to helping his friend rediscover the confidence and passion he'd lost, to seeing Poe shine once again.

And who knew? Ranpo mused with a grin.

Maybe one day, they'd even convince Poe to participate in one of the Agency's famously chaotic Christmas parties. Now, that would be a performance worth seeing.