Chapter Text
Being honest, Ranpo’s quest to fix whatever was wrong with him, making him incapable of having a soulmate, had taken priority over his ‘soulmate detective agency’.
Being honest, Ranpo never wanted to see a godforsaken soulmate mark again unless it was on his body.
He ignored anyone around him for the sake of trying to determine what was wrong with him.
He tried looking up aromanticism, but what he found after a precursory glance made him feel sick enough that he hadn’t looked since.
He wanted a relationship. I wasn’t that he didn’t want it, he was sure he could love people, and aromantic people did have soulmates anyway. He wasn’t aromantic, and he wasn’t any closer to finding out what was wrong.
He was trying to remain as calm as he could, he was fine, nothing was wrong, and seeing his siblings with their partners didn’t make him sick. He pretended that he hadn’t noticed that they each seemed to make an effort to be less coupley when they were around him.
He felt like they were preparing for something, reacting to a breakdown that hadn’t happened, that wouldn’t happen.
And he was clearly proving that while he was listening to an anxious and frustrated Tachihara speak, repeating the same thing in multiple different ways over and over again.
“I swear, I didn’t know. I don’t even like her like that, I really don’t. I– I mean I might, but I don’t, and I certainly wouldn’t knowing how Gin feels about it now!”
“How did you even find out?” Chuuya asked, wrinkling his nose. “She must have been doing a damn good job at hiding it.”
Tachihara sighed, and he sat on a rock, and Ranpo was suddenly hit with how odd many of the places he’d ended up while pursuing these cases had been. Apparently Tachihara had gone to try and sit where he normally would for lunch, but Gin hadn’t looked at him and Akutagawa was also unhappy with him, for Gin’s sake, and so had glared at him quite impressively when he went over.
So now they were here. Hiding. In the small wooded area in the corner of the school grounds. At least it was dry.
“I know which cafe she works at,” Tachihara said miserably. “I thought it’d be nice to go in and see her, and when she handed me the drink I ordered her coworker knocked into her and I burned my hand.”
“She’s been hiding it since May?” Chuuya asked, whistling lowly. “That’s impressive.”
“Dazai hid his for two months,” Ranpo pointed out, and he sighed, furrowing his eyebrows. “So you don’t have your soulmate mark yet, but Gin and Higuchi both have theirs, and both correspond with your injuries?” he asked to clarify.
Tachihara nodded.
“And now Gin’s not speaking to me, and Higuchi is avoiding me, and I have nothing and nobody and I’m going to die alone,” he said, his head in his hands.
“I think you’re exaggerating,” Chuuya said, not sounding very impressed. “Just talk to them. It won’t be a pleasant conversation, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“I’d rather do all my exams again tomorrow in one day,” Tachihara moaned.
“Do you know if Higuchi and Gin are soulmates?” Ranpo asked suddenly. “That happens, more than one person is someone’s soulmate. That’s what it was with Fyodor and Nikolai, Sigma was both of their soulmates.”
Tachihara paused, and he thought for a moment, before shaking his head.
“I don’t think so. I mean… I don’t know. But Gin’s had their mark since February, and that’s a long time to go without getting injured.” He hesitated. “Unless… they do have one, but haven't told me?”
Chuuya frowned, and looked to Ranpo.
Ranpo looked away, the eyes on him a little overwhelming as he tried to think.
“I mean, it’s possible. People are weird, and frustrating. Maybe they wouldn’t have told you because they were scared that this would happen. Now that you have another soulmate, they might be concerned that things will change.”
Chuuya hummed.
“That would make sense. Akutagawa is like that. He gets all cagey when things change, I swear he thinks if he doesn’t cling onto everything like a cat clings to the edge of a bathtub he’s going to blink and it’ll disappear from sight.”
Tachihara stood up, beginning to pace, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, yeah, that makes sense.” He sighed. “I don’t know if I can talk to them yet. I don’t want to make anything worse.” He stopped, glaring at a tree.
“Feelings are stupid, we should just not have them.”
He was staring at the tree in a way that made Ranpo feel like he should start shuffling back the way they came, the watery look in Tachihara’s eyes making him uncomfortable.
God, he was going to have to comfort someone. He was notoriously bad at that.
He exchanged looks with Chuuya, both hyper aware of the impending tears.
“This is so stupid, I shouldn’t have gone to the cafe, I didn’t want to know.” Tachihara sniffled slightly. “This is so stupid! And now nobody’s talking to me, I just want my friends back.”
Chuuya pulled a face, one that said ‘you have a friend right here, dumbass,’ and ‘I don’t know what to do here,’ at the same time. After a moment, he hesitantly went over to Tachihara, patting his shoulder.
“It’s fine, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Ranpo can speak to Gin.”
“We were going to go to prom together.”
“You can still go to prom, it’ll be fine by then,” Chuuya said, and he gestured for Ranpo to go.
Ranpo didn’t need to be told twice, knowing all that he needed to by now.
He quickly turned to leave, hearing Chuuya speaking more softly behind him.
“How’s your brother doing? Is he back home yet?”
Ranpo was happy to let that conversation fade out behind him as he left their hiding place, instead walking out across the field to begin looking for Gin.
As he walked, he pulled out his notebook, beginning to note down what he knew, summarizing the conversation.
- Higuchi and Gin are both Tachihara’s soulmate
- Gin and Tachihara have been together since before either of them got their marks
- Higuchi was likely intentionally hiding her marks since her birthday, given she lied about their appearance
- Tachihara found out on Sunday
- It’s Tuesday and since Monday after lunch both Higuchi and Gin have been avoiding him
- Tachihara believes Higuchi told Gin
Then, he began his list of questions.
- Are Higuchi and Gin soulmates?
- Did Gin know about Higuchi?
- Why avoid Tachihara?
As he walked, looking down and writing, he bumped into somebody.
He stumbled, dropping his notebook and practically jumping backwards, before realising who it was.
“Poe!” he said, surprised.
“Ah, Ranpo,” Poe responded slightly nervously, kneeling down to pick up Ranpo’s notebook for him, wincing as he straightened up again.
His eyes landed on the front page, the one that the book had naturally fallen to when he dropped it.
“‘The casebook of Edogawa Ranpo’?” Poe asked, and Ranpo felt his face go slightly red.
He snatched the book back, and scoffed.
“Yeah. Every master detective needs an account of their investigations. Where’s your casebook?”
Poe laughed a little awkwardly, looking away.
“I don’t have one. I have nothing to investigate.”
“Oh.” Ranpo frowned, before shrugging. “That sucks.”
They both went quiet for a moment, before Ranpo looked around.
“Where’s your normal lot?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not usually out here alone.”
Poe cleared his throat, and nodded.
“Yes, but my friends are all otherwise occupied this afternoon. I was… just wondering if I’d run into someone I knew. Simply wandering to see what I would find.”
Ranpo grinned.
“And you found me. How lucky for you.”
“I suppose it was indeed.” Poe peered at his notebook. “What were you investigating, may I ask?”
Ranpo looked at his notebook, and then back at Poe, noting that he had almost completely forgotten about almost everything that had been on his mind recently when Poe started speaking with him.
“Soulmates,” he answered, a little stupidly. “Uh, my friends are… it’s just relationship stuff. It’s not really actually investigating…”
He suddenly felt really, really stupid. He could feel his face heating up, and he wanted to die on the spot. Let lightning come and strike him down now. May the earth swallow him whole.
“It’s stupid.”
Poe blinked at him, and seemed a little surprised by the way he responded.
Ranpo was kicking himself mentally– every single time he spoke to Poe he seemed to trip over himself to seem cool or smart in his eyes, and he’d blown that by being so insistent about the fact that he thought Poe was his soulmate, and now he was talking to him again about soulmate stuff.
He couldn’t possibly think of a dumber person on earth.
“It doesn’t sound stupid,” Poe mused. “I think that’s nice, helping your friends with their relationship issues. I’m sure it’s still investigative work in some way. A good way to fill the time, at least.”
He averted his gaze for a moment, before smiling a little weakly.
“Would you like… help?”
Ranpo was struck even dumber.
He stared at Poe with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth, not expecting an offer for help of all things. He was expecting to be made fun of, or ridiculed, or called a freak or something, not for Poe to accept it so readily like that and offer to help him.
He struggled to speak for a moment.
“Pft. I don’t need help. I never need help, I’m fine,” he said, a little defensively.
At the rejection, Poe looked surprisingly downcast, frowning and nodding.
“...I see.”
Ranpo hesitated, immediately feeling an odd sense of guilt welling in his chest. He wasn’t used to that.
He glanced over at where he could see Gin sitting with their brother, and then he looked back at Poe.
He took a deep breath, and then shook his head.
“Nevermind. You could be useful,” he said, straightening up and speaking decisively. “Do you know any sign language?”
Poe seemed to almost immediately brighten up, and even if he was a little confused, nodded yes.
—
Convincing Akutagawa to leave them alone had been harder than Ranpo anticipated, but after convincing him to go with Atsushi for a while, he was finally left alone with Gin.
And Poe.
Not that he was thinking about Poe’s proximity. He wasn’t.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He certainly didn’t mind it. As Poe shifted to be able to sit facing Gin, his knee brushed against Ranpo’s own and he had to take a moment to consider the way he didn’t have an immediate urge to push him away like he might with anyone else.
Anyway.
He had a task at hand.
And his current interrogation suspect was glaring at him quite unhappily. They didn’t seem very pleased, and Ranpo was surprised they had even let them sit down.
Poe was only here because having one person to write while the other translated any signs Ranpo missed would be a lot more efficient than having to ask Gin to slow down and it meant he could avoid the discomfort of having to make more direct eye contact than he was happy with.
And so, Ranpo got straight into his first question.
“Do you have a mark for both Tachihara and Higuchi?” he asked, rather bluntly.
Immediately, Poe tensed and gave him a wide-eyed look.
“Ranpo, I fear that’s rather forward,” he protested on Gin’s behalf, who looked a little alarmed themself, if also defensive.
“It's a question,” Ranpo huffed sulkily in response, fidgeting with his pen. “Clarity is crucial when asking questions in an investigation.”
Poe seemed a little perplexed, struggling for a response.
“Y–yes, but still…” he wilted a little. He worried at his lower lip before sighing. “Perhaps allow me to ask some questions?’
Ranpo scowled.
“It's my investigation. I ask the questions.”
Poe looked at him with an odd expression, like if a deer was caught in headlights, and distinctly annoyed by it.
Ranpo relented surprisingly quickly.
“Fine. You can ask the first question or two,” he muttered, preparing to write even as he sulked.
Poe smiled, and he looked at Gin before speaking nervously.
“Hello.” Gin nodded in response.
“Your soulmate mark is for your boyfriend, you're both sure of it,” Poe started, speaking like he was thinking aloud. “But have you considered that some of the marks weren't from him?” he asked.
Gin hesitated, and they signed something. Ranpo caught a few words, but looked to Poe with a tilted head.
“They said that they want to know why we're asking,” Poe explained on their behalf.
Ranpo rolled his eyes.
“Isn't it obvious?” He addressed Gin. “We’re investigating, and then we’ll make sure everything between you and your boyfriend and Higuchi is fine again.” He shrugged. “You just need to tell us some stuff.
Gin looked more than a little unconvinced, but Poe tried to smile at them in a way that was probably intended to be reassuring but just looked extremely nervous, and they seemed to, for whatever reason, be a little more inclined towards answering his questions.
She began signing, and Poe translated for Ranpo so he could summarise their answers.
“‘I did have a mark for Higuchi. It didn’t show up until about a month after my birthday…’”
Ranpo glanced at Poe, the expression of slight concentration as he focused on reading and speaking at the same time, watching as he moved his hair from over his eyes to be able to see clearer.
He was a little annoyed about how Gin was willing to answer Poe but not him.
What was it that Poe had that he didn’t?
He frowned, studying Poe as he asked Gin questions and narrated their responses.
The simplest answer would just be that Poe didn’t have the reputation that he did. He was known to be stand-offish and rude, freak was a word he had heard more than he would ever admit to anyone other than himself.
But to see it laid out so plainly before him, with one of the things that he was truly exceptional at, investigating and drawing conclusions based on the evidence presented, it made something odd curl in his chest, feeling almost like nausea.
It was awful.
He hated it, watching Poe easily lead Gin in the direction that he needed to get the answers he wanted from them, mixing in his gentle prodding at the issue with more casual conversation, easing into it as he got over his nerves.
Awful has two definitions.
Awful (adj.); something unpleasant, undesirable; invoking negative feelings or reactions.
Awful (adj. Archaic, no longer used); full of awe. Inspiring. Admirable.
He couldn’t determine which one he meant. But he was sure it made him feel sick, and he never wanted to see Poe again.
He didn’t care about any of his previous attempts to be Poe’s friend, the friendly competition they used to have, bonding over trying to determine murders and plot twists in mystery novels before they happened, a game Ranpo would always win.
Poe simply appeared to be better at being a person than he was.
Which was stupid, because he knew that being sociable made Poe at the best of times mildly anxious, when not downright paranoid and overwhelmed.
He was still thinking about it when they were getting up to leave, and he realised that at some point he had stopped writing, and had trailed off in the middle of his last sentence.
“Well that was interesting,” Poe remarked as they walked away. “I believe that it would be most effective to ask Higuchi some questions next. I don’t believe talking with Tachihara would be useful as he has yet to get a soulmate mark, as far as I am aware, so that would most likely–”
“I can do it myself.” Ranpo stared at the mostly empty page. “...What did Gin say?”
Poe paused, looking at Ranpo and blinking in surprise.
“Were you not writing?” he asked. When Ranpo didn’t respond, he awkwardly held his hand out. “I can summarise, if you wish. I can write it up and find you before you leave to return your notebook.”
Ranpo looked at Poe, meeting his gaze.
He didn’t like looking people in the eyes, not often. He was one of those people that when referring to ‘abnormal eye contact’, he tended to stare rather than avoid it. But it didn’t mean that the conscious act of doing so didn’t make him uncomfortable.
Eyes were the window to the soul and he didn’t know what people would find when they looked back at him. Maybe that was why he squinted all the time, on some subconscious level. People had commented on it before.
Poe’s eyes were a dark grey colour that seemed to have an odd purple tone to them, which Ranpo attributed to the fading purple dye in his hair.
In them, all Ranpo could find was a kind of sincerity and an odd hint of something that might have been concern as Ranpo stayed silent.
So, before he could think twice, he shoved his notebook and pen in Poe’s hand and stormed off.
He wasn’t sure why he was angry, he didn’t get angry. He didn’t get angry, or even really upset. He was either happy or just unimpressed with whatever was going on around him. It was rare to get upset, that only happened when someone he cared about was in trouble, and he couldn’t do anything.
He hated not being able to do anything.
The last time he cried it was when he was pleading with Dazai to admit that Mori had been hurting him. When he had looked at Dazai, depressed and apathetic and sitting bleeding in the stall of a forgotten bathroom on the top floor, and all he had seen was himself and it had made him sick.
Had he cried after that? The night that they had shown up to help Dazai and Elise run away, when everything had been chaos and disarray?
He didn’t remember.
He had a habit of zoning out, his vision blurring and going weird, like it was overlaid with static from a tv until he could focus on something again, only for his brain to stay wherever it had floated off to.
He’d think and think and think until it was the only thing he could do, and until he couldn’t anymore, and then he’d keep thinking until he’d scratch his wrists so hard that they’d bleed and he’d find somewhere to hide.
And here he was, thinking and thinking and blindly walking and his vision was blurring and he wasn’t sure what exactly it was from, tears or the thing he refused to name as what it was, because he wasn’t broken, and he wasn’t a freak, no matter what anyone said.
Why was he so upset?
Was it because Poe was so clearly uncomfortable with him when he had been pursuing the soulmate stuff, and now he had suddenly come back and decided to show him up on the one thing he was reliably good at?
He didn’t know, he just wanted to go home, and go to his bed.
He didn’t really know where he was going until he walked into someone, and he stepped back, blinking rapidly before realising he was in the office/reception area, and he had just ran into his father.
Fukuzawa steadied him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, expression mostly impassive as he studied Ranpo’s expression for a moment, taking in the watery eyes and slightly shaky bottom lip, and simply sighed softly before turning back to his office and gently shepherded Ranpo into his office.
Ranpo stared into space, quietly sitting in a chair, more proper and polite than he ever normally would, feet on the floor and hands in his lap as he picked at his nails, working his way down until he was scratching at the sides of his wrists.
Fukuzawa entered the room again a moment later and took his wrists, gently prying him away from scratching before replacing the itch to hurt with a cup of tea warm enough that it could be felt through the cup, but not hot enough that it hurt to hold.
Ranpo was almost frustrated with the lack of reaction to the behaviour, just the simple and silent acknowledgement before being made to stop, but he decided to not make a big deal of it and just looked down at the tea that was probably more milk and sugar than anything else.
Fukuzawa offered him a sweet from the glass bowl on his desk, and Ranpo shook his head.
He looked around.
“Where’s Dazai?” he asked, hating how small his voice sounded.
“He’s been getting restless. He determined he was well enough to return to his classes.” Fukuzawa frowned slightly. “I disagree, as he was here not long ago. He said that his head hurt, but he was acting rather strangely. He went back when Chuuya came looking for him, but I expect that something is bothering him.”
Fukuzawa looked at him with a patient expression.
“Do you have any ideas?”
Ranpo knew what was happening, he was trying to get him to think something through, put pieces together and pull himself out of the hazy and distant place his mind was in. He didn’t want to, shaking his head.
But the seed of thought was planted, and after a few moments, he sighed.
“His hands and arm are still bothering him,” Ranpo said with a shrug. “He holds it gingerly, it’s probably not healing as well or as quickly as he expected. The vibrancy of the mark on Chuuya’s arm keeps changing. I wonder if he’s aggravating it intentionally or not.”
“Hm… I was wondering if that could be a factor,” Fukuzawa said, sipping on his own cup of tea. “Any other ideas?”
Ranpo frowned, thinking.
“...It could be that he’s beginning to process things? I’d keep the lock on the medicine cabinet, at least,” he said dryly. He paused, adopting a more genuine tone. “Tachihara’s brother is supposed to be returning from service this month or the next, but he hasn’t heard from him in a while. He’s really worried, and maybe that’s playing into it. Dazai will know from Chuuya, and then end up thinking about Oda.”
“And what has been bothering you recently?” Fukuzawa asked, as though he was still inquiring about Dazai.
Ranpo raised an eyebrow, and huffed childishly.
“Nothing bothers me. I’m too perfect and intelligent for that,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “I’m just experimenting with teenage angst to better understand the current generation.”
Fukuzawa chuckled under his breath, and smiled slightly.
“Ranpo, you can be serious, you know. I am here to listen if something is wrong,” he said, and Ranpo hated the way his concern seeped into his voice slightly, the way his eyes watered a little bit in response.
“...Nothing’s wrong.” His voice wavered slightly, and he swallowed it down. “I’m fine.”
Fukuzawa clearly didn’t believe him, but he didn’t push the issue any further, even as Ranpo couldn’t quite blink back the tears that had been threatening to fall and angrily wiped away the first one.
He quickly collected himself, and Fukuzawa let him sit for a while and finish his tea, while he worked on some paperwork set out on the desk.
Ranpo shifted, pulling his legs up onto the chair and curling up with his tea, and only after he had completely finished it did Fukuzawa speak again.
“Would you like to go gather your siblings and their entourage and we can go home a little early?” Fukuzawa offered, his impassive tone making Ranpo feel like he wasn’t being babied for once at such an offer, and after a moment of thought, he nodded.
He got up, heading for the door, and was stopped by his father saying his name.
Then a moment later he was being carefully pulled into a tight hug, and immediately he felt his eyes begin to water again, and he was sure this time he would start properly sobbing. He hid his face in his Dad’s shoulder and when he pulled away after a long moment, didn’t wait before practically darting out the door and wiping his face to dry it.
He found Dazai, Yosano, and by association Chuuya and Kunikida rather quickly, and he ignored the concern that his tear-stained cheeks and slightly red eyes garnered, brushing it off in his usual disinterested manner until they got home and he could hide in his room.
It was only after he got home that he realised he forgot to get his notebook from Poe.
—
“But… Ranpo dear, my hands are covered in papercuts, there’s very little possibility that you wouldn’t have known,” Poe protested, more than a little flustered, visibly uncomfortable.
Ranpo felt like the world might as well have been caving in under him.
“W-Well…” He stammered slightly, completely thrown off by suddenly being incapable of forming thoughts or words. “What’s your favourite colour then?”
“Purple,” Poe responded.
Ranpo looked down at his hands, spreading his fingers and searching them like he’d find something to match Poe’s papercuts, even the slightest hint of purple.
But of course he would find nothing, just like the countless other times he’d searched and searched for a mark.
“What’s yours?” Poe asked, in a voice so soft that Ranpo almost didn’t hear it.
Ranpo swallowed, feeling unbelievably ill, struggling to pick a colour he liked for a moment.
“...Green. Like, a dark kind of green. Like moss.”
“Kind of like your eyes,” Poe said with a small smile, before he averted his gaze and his expression dropped again. “...But I don’t have anything in that colour. I assume you have no injuries to check regardless…”
Ranpo looked down at his hands again, his gaze flicking to his wrists, often red and raw from being scratched. But for once, the one time it would have been convenient for him to have been scratching, he hadn’t.
He’d been happy enough with his friend that it had been easy to drop the bad habit while around him.
He shook his head, and his voice was slightly strained.
“No. I don’t.”
Poe nodded, a slightly pained expression on his face.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not your soulmate Ranpo,” he said, clearing his throat a little awkwardly. “...As much as I would have been the furthest thing from upset to find out otherwise.”
Ranpo looked up again sharply, eyes widening slightly.
“We don’t– Plenty of people have relationships with people who aren’t their soulmates. If you like me we could just…” He had to take a moment to resist the urge to grimace before continuing. “We could date, or something. I know you like me.”
“But you don’t like me,” Poe responded, furrowing his eyebrows. “You clearly don’t. I am perfectly fine with that but–” He seemed to struggle for what to say. “Please do not use the fact that I like you more than platonically simply because you can’t find your soulmate. I know that’s the reason you began to spend time with me.”
Ranpo faltered.
“I… I mean, yeah, but I believed you were my soulmate. Even if you’re not, you’re my friend. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Poe’s expression was a strange one, pained and thoughtful at the same time, and after a moment he shook his head.
“I don’t know, Ranpo. I apologise, but… do you like me, or do you simply like the concept of liking someone?”
Ranpo recoiled like he’d been hit with a physical blow.
He didn’t have a response, eyes wide and lips parted in shock as he just stared at Poe. He only blinked to try and fight back the sudden urge to cry. He could swear he wasn't always this much of a crybaby.
Poe swallowed, and took a breath.
“When you can answer that question, I’ll consider it. Perhaps… in a little while I might be able to spend time with you again.” He stepped back. “I think I may need… just a little space for a while. Sorry, my dearest Ranpo.”
Ranpo could do nothing but watch as Poe walked away, the scene of the quiet corner of the library melting away for Ranpo to be greeted with his ceiling, dimly lit by street lights outside.
The sting of Poe’s rejection had very quickly been glossed over by everything that had happened with Dazai and Chuuya.
Which was stupid, that wasn’t how relationships worked, if they liked each other, then they dated. And Poe liked him, he knew he did. So why was Poe so caught up with the nuances of exactly how he liked him?
It was so stupid.
…Maybe he really wasn’t capable of loving anyone.
.
…
He pushed his covers away, standing up and scooping up Niila, who had been sleeping on his bed, into his arms.
She yawned and stretched as he carried him down the hall and towards the living room. It was late, but not especially so.
A sulking Dazai sat on the couch, visibly upset as bandages were wrapped around his right arm, around his wrist and arm where the burns were the worst. Fukuzawa was saying something about not scratching or aggravating it any more, and Ranpo’s own nails subconsciously made it to his wrist.
As he scratched, Dazai’s gaze wandered to him, catching what he was doing and raising an eyebrow, and he promptly stopped, focusing on holding the cat properly instead.
The moment he was freed, Dazai scurried away, his own cat shifting out from the darkness to follow him as he ran to his room.
Ranpo watched him go with something that might have been amusement if he wasn’t so tired.
Fukuchi was on the couch, and as Dazai left Ranpo went to sit next to him. A moment later, his other father joined him, and Niila remained purring contentedly in his arms.
He didn’t know when he made it to bed, but he woke up the next morning tucked in with a lamp still on in the corner of the room, like he was still 14 and an insomniac who was scared of the dark.
He stared at the ceiling for much longer than he meant to.
—
Being without his notebook made him surprisingly antsy.
It wasn’t necessarily that he was missing writing in it, or even that he was worried about Poe snooping – he was sure he wouldn’t do that – but he was floating a little listlessly through the day, and the proof of his determination to figure out what was wrong with him was hidden in that book.
He needed it back, and he needed to finish up his current case.
First thing at lunch, he hunted Poe down.
Sitting in a hidden part of the maze of the backstage rooms in the theatre department, Poe was reading, his lunch mostly untouched in its box next to him.
He looked the picture of peace, sat on the floor against the wall, bag on one side and his walking stick on the other side of him.
Ranpo absently realised he must be having a bad pain day, sitting back here alone and with his stick at school, knowing he hated the attention it brought.
But he was a little too preoccupied with getting his notebook back to pay much attention to it.
When Ranpo stood in front of Poe, hands on his hips, he quickly looked up, and his eyes widened.
Without saying a word, Poe sat up to reach for his bag, and pulled out the notebook to return it.
“I wrote everything up as neatly and clearly as I could last night,” Poe said, and Ranpo nodded, if a little stiffly.
“Thanks,” he muttered begrudgingly, flipping through a few of the pages just to make sure everything looked the same.
Poe cleared his throat, and awkwardly attempted to start a conversation.
“Prom is on Friday,” he started, and Ranpo hummed in absentminded acknowledgement, skimming over the notes from his conversation with Gin the day before, if he could call it that– it was more Poe’s conversation.
“Are you planning to go?” Poe asked, sounding slightly hopeful.
Ranpo wrinkled his nose, but nodded.
“Yosano said something about ‘vital teenage experiences’,” he muttered. “So I’m going. Is it really even a ‘prom’ if all the upper years can attend?”
Poe shrugged.
“I’m unsure. But that means your friends can go as well, which surely makes up for it simply really being an end of year dance?”
Ranpo hummed dubiously. If it weren’t for his friends going, he wouldn’t have to go, so he really didn’t care.
He flipped the page, opening his eyes a little more to read the writing in the slightly dim light. This wasn’t his conversation with Gin.
“Well, I was wondering if you had anyone to go with?” Poe was quiet for a moment, waiting for a response. “...I mean, if you don’t, then–”
“Did you speak to Higuchi without me?” Ranpo asked suddenly, voice sharper than he meant it to be.
That’s what it was. It was notes from a conversation with Higuchi the previous night.
Poe seemed taken aback by Ranpo’s reaction, and fumbled for a response in his mild panic.
“I mean, yes, I did. I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal, so I asked Gin where she worked so I could speak with her; you were there when she told me.” He hesitated. “You seemed to have a lot on your mind, so I thought that it would be helpful to have something less to do, and–”
“I didn’t need your help!” Ranpo once again found himself irrationally upset.
“I could have done it, you didn’t need to take over my investigation for me. I don’t need your help, you were just useful yesterday!”
Poe stared at him, a little alarmed and surprised. Ranpo hated himself for his reaction, he hated the way Poe was looking at him, but in that moment he hated Poe more for messing with his feelings so much that he reacted like this in the first place.
“I just thought–”
“I don’t need you to. I don’t need anyone’s help. So fuck off,” Ranpo snapped.
He didn’t wait for Poe to say anything else before leaving, practically running away and hurriedly reading the notes from Poe’s conversation.
‘Worried about Tachihara and Gin… Didn’t want to ruin their relationship… Not sure she likes Tachihara, but knows she likes Gin… Hid it to try and keep Gin and Tachihara together…’
People were so stupid and complicated and he hated how their feelings worked and didn’t work, and that he couldn’t figure it out like other people could.
There was a part of him missing. Different. Wrong.
Tachihara was with Chuuya, smiling and distinctly happier than he had been.
When Ranpo came over, he quickly ran up to meet him, immediately talking.
“We talked things out last night. Your friend talked to Higuchi and she asked both me and Gin out for a walk and we sorted our shit. Thanks man.”
Ranpo was a little taken aback by the thanks, but he just frowned.
“I’m sure Poe did most of the work,” he said, and if Tachihara caught the bitter edge, he didn’t let it show.
“Well, we’re going to prom all three of us together,” Tachihara said somewhat proudly, practically boasting about it. “Thanks, again.”
The interaction left Ranpo reeling as Tachihara ran back to Chuuya, who was gesturing over at a football match happening on the field, a clear indication of wanting to join in.
Ranpo just watched them go.
He stood, cold even in the sunlight, with a hollow feeling in his chest. He looked around, trying to find someone. He wasn’t sure who.
But as he looked, he saw… people. And their relationships.
Yosano and Kunikida sitting at their usual lunch spot. Atsushi talking while Akutagawa listened. Tachihara and Chuuya weren’t quiet, and devolved into chasing each other quickly, and Dazai was getting up from bothering Kunikida to chase after Chuuya, and when he stumbled and tripped over his still sore ankle, Chuuya was beside him in moments.
Nikolai, Fyodor, and Sigma were sitting outside, at a bench in the shade, and Jouno sat in the sun while Tetchou looked at ants.
And the person who he didn’t have any of that with, but that he might have been able to go to anyway, he had just told to fuck off and then ran away from.
He walked home alone without telling anyone.
—
Friday evening came too quickly.
He sat in a semi-formal suit, uncomfortable with his tie and top button done up, but he could admit that he did look somewhat nice.
He could hear Dazai and Chuuya bickering through open doors, the arguing dissolving into an unnerving quiet before they both burst out laughing.
Yosano was wandering around somewhat anxiously, having never had a date for a dance before, at least not a date where she was the one being picked up and taken out.
He had nothing to do.
There had been a moment… thinking back…
Poe had asked about who he was going to the dance with.
He was kicking himself over the knowledge that Poe could have been about to ask him to go together.
He didn't know if Poe was going to go. He'd probably end up stuck at by a wall, overwhelmed and abandoned, and then go home and sleep the overstimulation off and say it was fine when asked how it went.
It wasn't much to get excited over.
But watching the way that Yosano kept adjusting the butterfly clip in her hair impatiently, and Dazai was being bullied into finally getting ready made him a little more enthusiastic than he might have been otherwise.
He wandered in the direction of Dazai's room, following Yosano, who began fussing over Chuuya's hair for the sake of something to do.
Dazai was buttoning up his shirt.
His shirt sleeves were long and covering his bandages, Ranpo didn't have to stop and wonder if it was intentional as he watched the way Dazai smoothed down the collar only to stare at the scar on the left side of his neck.
It was red and very clearly from a deep wound, and while it wasn't the first time that Ranpo had seen it— sometimes Dazai ran out of bandages because he still wouldn't just tell people if he needed something, and so most of them had seen more of Dazai's scars than he probably wanted them to.
But it was the first time he had seen Dazai look at any of his scars with the kind of expression that he did now.
It was hard to pin down whether it was regret or hurt or frustration, but Ranpo had no doubt that of everything that everyone else could see about he'd changed since leaving Mori, the scar would be one of the few Dazai saw as well.
Chuuya pulled away from Yosano’s attention to grab bandages from a drawer and gently touch Dazai's shoulder to pull him out of whatever state he was in.
Dazai flinched and caught his wrist, but relaxed immediately upon seeing it was Chuuya.
Yosano slipped past Ranpo to leave, getting some unspoken hint that it was time to leave, and Ranpo watched the way that Dazai and Chuuya didn't need to say anything for them to understand and try to fix what was wrong.
He left.
Yosano was waiting for him, and regarded him with an odd expression.
He raised an eyebrow in response, putting on his best unbothered reaction. Yosano looked at him for a few more moments, before she just sighed and took his hand, squeezing it a little.
He made a face at the contact, and she laughed a little, before messing up his hair.
He yelped, darting away and considering doing the same, but he knew she had spent a lot of time on it so he settled for sticking his tongue out at her like they were little kids again.
Yosano only laughed more, and Ranpo let himself genuinely smile.
He could have a good time. He could at least make an effort to try.
—
For the record, he did have a good time.
When he got to the school, and the hall where most of the people they knew were congregated, he found himself having fun, scouring food tables for sweet snacks and enjoying the atmosphere before it would get too loud and he’d have to step outside.
He had predicted that he would end up hiding outside or in a corner of the hall and wishing someone would turn the lights and music off and announce that the party was over, but he had expected it to happen much quicker than it did.
All his friends seemed to be having fun, and he refused to be the one that brought the mood down, so he made sure any creeping sense of discontent was squashed deep down where he could bury it until he got home.
And it would have worked. It would have.
As he stood outside, a figure slipped out of the shadows, someone he hadn’t noticed.
He blinked, recognising them almost instantly, and shifting just a little awkwardly.
I was a boy, just a little taller than him with dark blonde hair that framed his face well. He was objectively pretty. He had a pretty name too, one Ranpo refused to recall.
He looked just as uncomfortable as Ranpo was, and he walked by without looking at him, hands in his pocket and gaze trained on the ground. Ranpo was more than willing to just let him go back inside.
So willing, actually. In fact, he would have encouraged it if given the opportunity to.
Really, he had no clue why he did it. Ruined his evening.
His own eyes were fixated on the ground, and he swallowed, fighting back the rising words and the sudden surge of emotion. It wasn’t worth it.
Where had all of his rational thinking gone? He was supposed to be the person who thought out his actions, the one confident in what he did, who didn’t care, and yet…
“Hey,” he tried, turning to the quickly retreating boy.
The other stopped in his tracks, and took a moment before turning and fixing Ranpo with a quite impressive glare.
“What?”
The lack of emotion in his voice was expected, but still unpleasant to hear.
Ranpo was quiet for a moment, trying to think how he should phrase the question he wanted to ask. The words seemed to rattle in his head, fluttering around like butterflies, making him a little lightheaded and unable to speak the way he wanted to.
The blonde boy scoffed, and shook his head when Ranpo didn’t say anything, turning to leave again.
Ranpo blurted out what he was thinking before he could leave.
“What did it feel like? To love me.”
He watched the immediate shift in his ex’s demeanour, the way he tensed up and turned to look at him like he was insane.
“The fuck?” he asked, bewildered.
Ranpo cleared his throat, standing up straighter and trying to appear more casual.
“When you dated me. How did you feel? How did you define it, what made it love?” he asked, ignoring the slight strain to his voice. “You asked me out. There had to have been something there. What was it?”
“It was utter bullshit, that’s what,” he got in response. “God, I don’t know why I ever liked you. You’re pretty damn hard to love.”
“I’m not asking so you can insult me,” Ranpo retorted. “I’m more than aware I’m not exactly likeable.”
“You like to pretend you are.”
Ranpo shrugged it off. He pretended that the words weren’t acting as dirt shoved inside an infected wound inside his chest.
“So what?”
He was met with a frown, and he levelled it with his own controlled expression, keeping a firm lid on any of his emotions.
“So you should stop. Stop pretending you’re someone worth liking, stop pretending you’re the greatest person on earth, stop pretending you can feel anything at all other than pride and whatever brand of selfishness you’re constantly flaunting. Stop pretending you’re capable of loving people.”
Ranpo was quiet for a moment.
“What does it feel like to love someone?” he asked, his tone more polite this time around.
His ex narrowed his eyes at him, and thought for a moment.
“...I doubt you’ll ever know. You’re too self-obsessed. A narcissistic asshole who can’t care for anyone else.”
Ranpo shifted slightly, and cleared his throat.
“Actually, I’m not a narcissist, and it’s unfair to use a mental disorder as a negative term for people you don’t like as it demonises the perfectly normal and already stigmatised people who actually have it–”
“Narcissist or not, there’s something wrong with you.” The other boy audibly swallowed. “I don’t know if it was just me, but I’m told it’s not. You just can’t love anyone. You don’t have a soulmate. Nobody ‘doesn’t have’ a soulmate.”
“You should stop pretending you can love people normally. You’re just going to hurt them.”
Ranpo hummed, and nodded.
“Excellent point, but you haven’t answered my question.”
“You don’t deserve to know.”
Okay. He would admit. That stung.
He nodded again, and didn’t say anything this time.
There was awkward silence for a minute.
Then, quietly.
“Did you like me? At all. Even slightly more than you would a friend?” his ex-boyfriend asked, something strange in his tone.
Ranpo winced.
He looked at the ground, and swallowed thickly.
“I tried to. I did try.”
He heard the other scoff, and he looked up again to watch him wipe tears from his cheeks.
“...How’s your soulmate?” Ranpo asked quietly.
The other boy sniffled, and cleared his throat before answering.
“She’s fine. She loves me.”
Ranpo could hear the soft clicks of someone approaching.
“Hm. I’m glad,” he said, and he watched as the painful reminder of what he tried and failed to have turned his back and walked away.
He shuddered slightly, shaking himself off a little and straightening up as Poe stopped a few steps away, leaning heavily against his walking stick. He had his mullet pulled back into a ponytail, and for once Ranpo could see both of his eyes clearly.
He watched as Poe scrutinised his expression, glancing back after the person Ranpo had just been speaking to.
“...Are you alright, Ranpo?” Poe asked after a moment, a hint of concern in his voice.
“I should really be asking you, Ed,” Ranpo answered, avoiding the question. “Bad pain day?”
Poe shifted, and cleared his throat.
“It’s been a little cold for this time of year, I fear I got too used to the comfort that warmth brings.” He paused, his eyes searching Ranpo’s for something.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
Ranpo blinked back sudden tears.
“I’m fine. I’m going to be the greatest detective in the world. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
Poe hesitated.
“...I was at the doorway. I heard some of what he said to you. Not a lot… but he raised his voice some.”
Ranpo shrugged.
“It doesn’t bother me. It’s hardly the first time anyone has accused me of anything like that. They don’t know that I don’t care.”
The lump in his throat and the emptiness in his chest said otherwise. He wondered if the emptiness was felt because he truly didn’t have a heart.
Poe’s expression was somewhat pained, and he took a breath.
“You know that when… I said to you those things about loving people… I never meant it to hurt you. I’m sorry that it did. I apologise. You’re my friend, and it wasn’t fair to insinuate you weren’t.”
The certainty Poe displayed in his belief that it had hurt him made his stomach twist.
“It didn’t hurt. You made a good point,” Ranpo muttered.
He rocked back and forth on his feet for a moment, before smiling and tilting his head.
“I’ve had more than enough of this stupid dance. I’m going home.” He started walking, turning back to wave at Poe as he went back into the school. “Have fun!”
Poe probably protested, probably tried to follow him, but Ranpo was quicker and slipped through crowds of people easier than Poe could.
So within a minute Ranpo had made his way through the building and out the other side, stepping into the cool night air once again.
He picked a direction without thinking, and he started walking.
He was always bad at knowing where he was, and when he ended up on a bus he didn’t even question how. He wasn’t sure if he was even still in Yokohama by the time he got off, walking some more and finding his phone dead in his pocket.
Time seemed to blur and street lights flickered in the edge of his vision. The sky seemed too dark, and some idiot left their empty lighter on the ground at the corner of a street.
He ripped the pages of his soulmate investigation out of the notebook, alongside the title page. He sat in a dark field somewhere he didn’t recognise, phone dead and stars blinking at him coldly as he watched the words ‘casebook of Edogawa Ranpo’ blacken and burn with the rest of the pages he’d ripped out.
Someone probably reported the fire, or the teenager with a distant and dazed look walking around the streets like he was lost, because eventually a policeman was asking who he was and his partner put out the smouldering remains of the paper he’d burned before she started coaxing him back to the car.
She spoke to him softly and they charged his phone while stopped at the side of the road. They called his Dad and took him home. He didn’t say a word, his face wet and sticky from crying.
The way Fukuzawa hugged him when he was brought back was almost enough to pull him out of the state he was in. Bone-crushing and so full of genuine worry, Ranpo zoned out of the panicked lecture on going out and getting lost until Fukuchi was wiping ash off his face and Fukuzawa spoke with the police.
Yosano hugged him just as tightly as Fukuzawa had when she got the chance, and Dazai lingered anxiously at the edge of whatever room they were in the whole time.
Ranpo didn’t say anything, and just shrugged when he was asked what was wrong, or why he left, or what he was doing or what he burned and if he was okay, until Dazai and Yosano were ushered back to bed as it was long past midnight.
He slept on the couch with the blankets from his bed, and Fukuzawa sat in the armchair nearby and didn’t sleep until long after Ranpo did.
At some point in the night, his siblings joined him on the cramped couch.
Still, he felt completely and utterly alone.