Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There are many things that Edgar Allan Poe, a detective and a writer succeeding in both fields, doesn’t know or, for a lack of better word, doesn’t understand. There’s a certain mystery around some of the stuff that by standards of the society are a norm and yet, Edgar could never quite comprehend.

One of them is and always will be an abandonment of a child and leaving them to fend for themselves. For all the years and all the logical excuses his foster family provided, Edgar’s empty hole in his chest and a feeling of having failed somewhere, could never explain why Edgar’s father had run off as soon as his mother died and Edgar himself never wanted to find out. Perhaps it was the man’s cowardice and insecurity that he could not raise Edgar on his own; perhaps it was the man’s lack of responsibility; and a third option that Edgar tried to not consider was that his father simply didn’t care about him at all.

There’s a feeling that accompanies thinking about his father, one that Edgar tries so hard to bury. The feeling that ruins everything Edgar wants to achieve, because once Edgar gets close to someone; once he lets someone in or is at least close to,  the whispers of “they will leave you” and “you won’t be good enough” start to make him hesitate. Make him withdraw. A lot of it stemmed from Edgar’s own self-doubts, and a lot of it could probably be linked to his most recent defeat and a proof of Edgar’s own incompetence – the day Edogawa Ranpo came into his life.

Now. Edogawa Ranpo, Japan’s—no. World’s greatest detective, came in barreling on Edgar’s door in a form of easy smile and a firm, yet gentle confidence that seemed to clash with Edgar’s low self-esteem that manifested in loud, dramatic announcements of beating Ranpo. For quite a while that’s what it was – the idea of being better; of being worthy of being someone’s opponent. It bordered on obsessive – those six years spent writing a mystery novel that still wasn’t enough.

Edgar thinks that it would never be. Enough, that is. Not with Edogawa Ranpo’s intelligence.

And that is the second mystery of Edgar’s – the man that despite being younger than him by mere two years, the man who took in stride Edgar’s effort and the man who doesn’t think it’s a waste of time to keep talking to Edgar and he—

Edgar doesn’t understand it. Can’t understand it or maybe won’t – because comprehending what Edogawa Ranpo wants is like reading a book filled with plot twists and no real ending; despite seemingly innocent, Edogawa Ranpo is not an open book. Or perhaps, he is, but written in a dead, ancient language Edgar’s not fluent in.

So when Edgar’s being invited over and over again to the Agency’s building, greeted like he’s an old friend and treated – sometimes – to a piece of candy, the first thought is that the man is making fun of him; possibly just hanging out with Edgar for the laughs. Karl, however, who’s been with Edgar for a long, long time now and who is very sensitive to people who mean Edgar harm, doesn’t seem to hiss at Ranpo – in fact, a lot of times he finds Karl hanging out with Ranpo, wrapped around his neck like a scarf. It makes Edgar miss his warmth a lot.

(There are times when Karl is playful, sneaking out and hiding Ranpo’s favorite snacks around the building. Edgar is hesitant to say whether that’s a real bother or an extra exercise since Ranpo never has any problems figuring where the stolen candies are).

It leads to situation like this – when the Agency has a lazy day with barely any cases being brought to their attention – where Edgar is invited over, sat by the table he occupied that one time when he came over for a party (and was left to fend for himself, that stunk), and talked to. It’s those moments where Karl doesn’t stray too far from him, instead he makes himself comfortable in Edgar’s arms as if sensing the man’s anxiety at being so far away from home where he knows he’s safe.

This time, Ranpo joins him almost immediately, instead of hanging around by his desk like he usually does, and nearly throws himself on the couch. Forcing himself to not flinch away, as he usually does since he’s not that used to people being energetic in a good way, he looks over at him and squeezes Karl a bit before saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring any books today.”

Ranpo hums, “It’s fine.” Then, he looks at Karl and smiles, “No hugs from my favorite raccoon?”

Karl blinks at him, before nuzzling Edgar’s collarbone. Ranpo tilts his head at him, before slowly trailing his eyes up to Edgar’s covered eyes and he rests his hand on his palm, “Ah, and I was waiting for my daily dose of Karl. What a shame.”

Edgar strokes Karl’s fur. Perhaps it’s that lazy day that gets to him, that makes him so nervous to be around. In the safety of his house, Edgar never has to worry about making a fool out of himself; he doesn’t have to force himself to speak when his throat closes up on him.

“I’m sure Karl will come to you soon enough. He always does.”

“Mhm. Maybe. It’s possible he won’t leave your side today, though.” There’s a secret smile on Ranpo’s face as he peers at Edgar’s face, “You could have stayed home if you didn’t feel well.”

Face flushing at that, Edgar shakes his head, “I’m feeling alright.”

Not believing him, Ranpo nods, “Right. Of course.”

Wanting to fix the situation despite not having done anything wrong, Edgar continues, “It’s really fine. I wanted to come.”

I wanted to see you, goes unspoken.

Ranpo stills for a second, before sighing and leaning backwards, “It’s a really boring day. There are no real cases and my candy stash is decreasing.”

Karl peeks his head up. Edgar feels Karl’s disappointment at not having anything to steal despite Karl not even making a sound. He pets his head and smiles when Karl leans into contact. Times like these Edgar is envious and he’s envious of other people who are so easy to initiate contact, to hug people. After years and years of not having anyone close, Edgar admits to being a little touch starved and sometimes, Karl’s affections aren’t enough to ease that need.

Glancing back at Ranpo, Edgar says, “Perhaps you could go shopping?”

“Mhm.” He mutters back, not convinced.

A lazy day, huh?

“I—“ he hesitates, then clears his throat and speaks a little louder, “I could come with you. If you want.”

Ranpo looks like he’s actually considering it, before he shakes his head and replies, “Don’t wanna.” Then, he looks at Edgar, and while Edgar doesn’t see his eyes, he knows the man is trying to figure out something. “Hey—“ he starts.

And Edgar feels hopeful. That is, before someone yells Ranpo’s name and Ranpo is sighing, irritated and bored out of his mind. He stands up, brushes his inverness cape and for a moment, Edgar thinks it’s actually quite graceful.

Then, Karl lets out a hiss when Ranpo moves to stalk to his desk and Edgar is ready to apologize when Ranpo actually turns around and levels Karl with a look. There’s a minute of silence before whatever Karl’s been trying to communicate dawns on him and he nods, as if making a decision.

And then he pets Edgar’s hair.

Too shocked to move, Karl’s pleased squeak not going unnoticed, Edgar stares, wide-eyed.

“My shift ends in an hour,” Ranpo says and Edgar tries to blink away his sudden daze, cheeks feeling on fire, “if you wait for me, we can go to your place and go over that new mystery idea you had.”

Then he’s gone just like that, leaving Edgar with a mess in his head and a flaming cheeks and probably a heart that seems to experience a failure, but Karl only nuzzles closer to him. If he weren’t a raccoon, Edgar is sure he’d be purring in self-satisfaction.

Casual touches, Edgar finds, are quite complicated for someone who isolated himself from people for six years then suddenly started going out and meeting very energetic, very touchy-feely people. That was not supposed to be a problem, not after Edgar decided to quit the Guild and rent an apartment in Japan.

However, it is one. A problem, that is.

The Agency likes to be close with each other, he observes. Dazai, the bandaged man Edgar tries to stay away from because he reminds him of things that he’d rather leave buried, is fond of wrapping his arms around his coworkers shoulders; Kyouga, the girl whose party Edgar has been invited to, keeps close to people she trusts and leans on their side; Tanizaki siblings are. Well. Edgar would rather not comment on them. Kunikida, the sensible one, Edgar found out, isn’t one for close relations and he mostly keeps to himself, but he does clap someone on their back when they do a good job; same with Kenji, who is actually always in their space and yet at respectable distance if they uncomfortable.

The president, Edgar is not sure. Doctor Yosano is quite fond of ruffling people’s hair. Edgar knows it from experience.

“Your hair is so fluffy it’s impossible to not mess with it,” she said when Edgar stammered his question the first time it happened. “I’m sure Ranpo would appreciate you clipping it back more, though.”

And that brings Edgar to the man above – Edogawa Ranpo.

Who is everywhere and up in everybody’s space. He leans into their sides, he touches their shoulders, their backs. Ruffles their hair and side hugs them. And more often than not, Edgar realizes that this, too, is reserved; quiet and happens only when nobody is looking.

And lately, it’s begun to happen to Edgar as well. It’s small at first, small enough for Edgar to miss it if he weren’t so attuned to Ranpo in general.

(And he is. Attuned. A lot. So much it honestly scares him.)

Karl knows it’s strange for Edgar and he never leaves his presence when it happens – a touch here and there, a pat on the head that moment and a ruffling of his hair a bit later. Each time the skin contact on Edgar’s body sends tingles and shivers down his spine and he feels hot. Not in a bothered kind of way – just hot. Warm. Those touches aren’t anything big and yet they reassure Edgar that he’s okay, too.

And lately, it’s been weighting on him a lot – that he might not be okay.

The thing is Edgar doesn’t understand casual touch and when he tries to reciprocate he backtracks almost the second those thoughts get into his head. The only touch Edgar remember is scalding and painful – a pull on his hair there, a ruler to his hands here. On occasions, Edgar was slapped. Rarer he got beat up. Kids didn’t like how different he is and threw sand at him. All those interactions and more made Edgar grow up and resent any closer contact.

In fact, the first time someone touched him and he didn’t see it coming, he flinched so hard he almost fell flat on his butt. Another time, he just froze. He likes to think that he’s getting better at that, that he doesn’t feel so alien when the touch isn’t meant to harm but to soothe, but he knows.

Ranpo is not fooled. He never actually is.

He comments on it quite early when they start hanging out, too. But it was so long ago that it totally slipped Edgar’s mind, that off-hand comment about it.

Until he brings it up again.

“Karl is more clingy to you when you’re anxious, isn’t he.”

Startled, Edgar doesn’t register his words at first. Mind focused more on setting the oven right. “Pardon?”

“Karl,” Ranpo repeats and although there’s a slightly irritated edge to his voice at having to say the same thing twice, Edgar doesn’t sense his anger directed at him, “He’s more clingy when you’re anxious.”

And then he sends a pointed look to said raccoon on Edgar’s shoulders, as if pointing to a culprit.

“Oh,” Edgar manages to get out, “I didn’t know.”

Ranpo hums, legs swinging back and forth on Edgar’s kitchen counter, “I figured.”

When Edgar doesn’t make any effort to elaborate on that, Ranpo asks, “Why does he do that?”

“I’m not sure,” Edgar replies slowly, as if considering it himself, “but he’s always been close to me. Perhaps he just senses it.”

Ranpo narrows his eyes – Edgar didn’t know it was possible – and lets out a groan, “Does that mean I make you anxious, Poe-kun?”

Perhaps the question was phrased like this and yet, Edgar could only hear his insecurities yell over and over again that it’s a bother, that Karl is annoying to Ranpo. As if faced with a serious issue, Edgar takes his time answering and when he opens his mouth, it’s to only utter two words, “…no, you don’t?”

“That sounds more like a question to me,” Ranpo states bluntly.

Edgar flushes, “You don’t—make me anxious, that it. I’m just—“

Socially awkward to the point of the slightest interaction making me want to go home and never, ever leave the safety of my bed.

Ranpo tilts his head, waiting. Edgar trails off, unsure.

“I’m just like that.” He ends up saying, “It’s nobody’s fault I’m—like this.”

Ladies and gentleman, Edgar Allan Poe, a writer.

To be completely honest, that could be a lie. But it’s not Ranpo himself that makes Edgar feel so on edge, perhaps it’s just the knowledge that with Ranpo’s intelligence he could use anything Edgar could show him and use it against him; he could take Edgar’s most precious moments, twist them and make them painful.

But that’s not what’s the problem. No. Of course not. Edogawa Ranpo is not like this. Not even Edgar’s doubts could turn him into a monster like this.

It’s the fact that he wouldn’t do that, is what makes Edgar so hesitant, so careful, so anxious. Ranpo is not Edgar’s foster parents. He’s not anything Edgar could pick up apart and figure out on a whim. He’s an open book written in a dead language.

“I see.” Ranpo replies slowly.

Edgar doesn’t face him, but he finally sets the oven and lets Karl jump from his shoulders down on the floor. Ranpo watches him go, before he turns to Edgar, “What cookies did you bake?”

“Chocolate Chip.”

A smile widens on Ranpo’s face and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when he opens them to stare at Edgar. “My favorite.”

And when he rests his head on his palm, tilting it to look at Edgar in that way that makes his breath hitch, Karl claims his spot on Ranpo’s hair. The sight is so silly, so unexpected, that Edgar’s corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Ranpo, for his part, doesn’t even twitch, used to by now to Karl’s affection.

“I hope you’ll like them, Ranpo-san.” Edgar says.

“Why do you keep adding the –san, Poe-kun? Come on. Try saying it without it.”

Edgar is so very glad his hair is in the way and covers at least half of his face, because this way it’s less likely that Ranpo will notice his blush. But Ranpo doesn’t budge on that, that one is clear without the man saying anything, so Edgar takes a deep breath and says, “Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo drops his head and whines, “Without it, Poe-kun! Without it!”

Edgar turns away to fiddle with his cup, a weak excuse just to avoid Ranpo’s watchful eyes, but an excuse nonetheless, “You add the honorific to my name, too. Actually. You don’t even use my name, just my surname.”

“Yes,” Ranpo says patiently, “but that’s because your name is too English and too mouthful.” Edgar doesn’t comment on that, so the man sighs, “Do you want me to use your name?”

Edgar freezes, blush turning into a scarlet from the burning on his cheeks, and Ranpo continues, oblivious to the effect that one suggestion has on him. “Well, do you? If that’s what it will make you drop the honorific then I’m all in for it.”

“No!” he blurts out, turning around suddenly. Ranpo blinks, surprised, “I mean. That’s fine. My last name. It’s fine.”

Then, the surprise turns into something more mischievous and Ranpo grins, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely!” Edgar reassures him.

And Ranpo is still grinning, as if he just learned something interesting, but it seems that he files it away for future purposes because he only shrugs and jumps down from the kitchen counter. “If you say so. Come, Karl, let’s make a mess in the living room.” He only stops in the threshold to look at Edgar and say, “Let us know when the cookies are done!” and he’s gone and with him, obediently following Karl.

Somehow, Edgar thinks he should have expected it.

Edgar is not friendless – is what he’d like to say but is too scared to admit in fear of that knowledge being a part of his imagination. He’s not, however, entirely alone or at least, he doesn’t seem to be.

Louisa May Alcott, the 18 year old girl with  short, light hazel bobcut-like hairstyle, which ends above her shoulders and  green eyes surrounded by round glasses, is Edgar’s I’m-terrified-of-heights and my-anxiety-keeps-me-from-making-friends buddy, so to speak. They both met when Fitzgerald recruited them and after the Guild broken up they both kept contact.

Which usually leads to them meeting at the café, close to the Agency, but far enough that neither Louisa nor Edgar have to worry of meeting the whole group at once.

“You seem to be doing well, Edgar.” Is what Louisa says the day they sit down in the café after not talking to each other for some time.

Edgar, who’s never been the one to share much about himself, nods slightly, but doesn’t elaborate other than to say that, “I’ve been doing okay, thank you.”

Louisa smiles and it’s gentle and kind and Edgar is glad she’s gotten past her previous anxiety to speak to him. Despite her age, she’s very intelligent, capable of holding deep, meaningful conversations and more than content to just sit in silence if the situation calls for it.

For someone so small, so young and fearful, Louisa is braver than many people Edgar has known his whole life.

“You look brighter, too.” Edgar comments after they order their drinks. “Have you found Fitzgerald?”

Louisa’s face falls a little as she shakes her head, “No. But I’m getting close and that’s what matters.”

A door chimes, signalizing that someone else entered the café. Louisa and Edgar ignore that.

“That’s good, then.” Edgar nods.

Louisa tilts her head, “But what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yes.  You look better but—“

“But…?” Edgar encourages.

“But you still look like – excuse my language – shit.” Someone comments from behind them and both of the whirl around to look at them. “No offence to you, Ed. But what’s up with you? And where’s Karl?”

Lucy Maud Montgomery, the 19-year old girl with long, dark red hair with choppy bangs put in two thick braids and green eyes, is their newest addition to the group. Lucy isn’t anxious at all, nervous sometimes, but not to the extent that Edgar and Louisa are, and she’s confident and loud. And rude, although neither Edgar or Louisa blame it on her. The orphanage she grew up at wasn’t the best place to learn manners.

“At home,” Edgar answers, albeit a little slowly, “He was feeling lazy today.”

Or perhaps grumpy, as Edgar hasn’t visited Ranpo in a while.

Lucy narrows her eyes, Louisa leans back on her chair. “What about you?”

“About me?”

“What’s up with you? You have that, I don’t know, look in your eyes. Did something happen?”

Technically, no. It’s been going okay, as he said, it’s just that Edgar can feel the imminent Bad Day – as Edgar started to call them – and he doesn’t quite want to confront it. Not like he ever did. It’s just that ever since he befriended Ranpo and Louisa and even Lucy and the Agency, he didn’t want to be a liability; a burden or someone who just wants attention.

And that’s how he was on Bad Days.

“No.” Edgar gets out, although the words come out kind of choked up, and Louisa sends him a worried look.

They are so easy to fret, he thinks, knowing that Lucy’s narrowed eyes are a clear sign that she doesn’t buy his words, at all. He wonders why they can care so easily about him when Edgar’s foster parents couldn’t even stand his sight.

Louisa seems to catch something in his eyes, because she sighs, “We’re here if you want to talk about it.”

“Thank you.” Edgar mutters out politely.

Lucy still sends him looks and she doesn’t let him move out of her sight when other customers come, but she doesn’t comment. For that, Edgar is grateful.

Changing the subject, Louisa takes her cup of tea and smiles, “How are you doing with your dear Ranpo, then?”

Glad that he didn’t get a full sip of his own drink, Edgar splutters out a undignified, “W-what?”

Louisa’s eyes sparkle like when she finds out a solution to a hard question on her exam, “Your Ranpo, of course. How’s he doing?”

“He’s not—“ Edgar stutters out, “He’s not mine.”

“He’s not?” Louisa feigns surprise.

Edgar shakes his head vigorously, adamant on denying such declaration but even so Louisa doesn’t seem like she’s going to budge on that. She sips on her tea quietly while Edgar tries to compose himself. Finally, he breathes out and says, “No, he’s really not.”

“But you’d like him to be, wouldn’t you, Edgar?”

Edgar looks down onto his cup, “It doesn’t matter. He’s not—He’s worth more.”

The silence that falls on them is heavy and Louisa seems stunned into silence. However, there’s a whisper between them, one that Edgar pretends not to hear as he drinks his own tea.

“You’re worth more, too.”

It loses its meaning in Edgar’s mind as soon as he registers it.

As Edgar said before, the Agency is very, very touchy feely with themselves, whether it’s a touch on the back or a side-hug or a affectionate pat on the head. There are some who are better at it than others, but there are people who look like they’re not used to it. Sometimes, he catches the were-tiger, Nakajima Atsushi, flinching away; sometimes he sees Kyouka standing frozen still at unexpected touch.

There are other, subtle hints that one is not used to receiving kindness like that. Even Dazai, for all his bravado and shifts between seemingly one personality to another, darker, gets this look in his eyes when someone offers him a hug – like he’s being haunted by something.

Yosano, Kenji, Ranpo and the Tanizaki siblings are the most comfortable with it. Like giving out love and care is something that comes naturally to them. Edgar finds himself, often, watching them from his place on the sofa in the Agency, wondering if he would ever be able to get on the same level as them.

Well, no matter that. Edgar is not even sure they will let him stay so long as to find out. He’s not exactly the most interesting person out there.

As if sensing his thought process, Karl from his place on Ranpo’s work desk jumps down from it and runs across the room, earning himself a surprised squeak from Nakajima when he accidentally knocks down his papers. Then, he carefully nestles into the crook of Edgar’s neck, growling.

Ranpo looks up from his desk at that, opening his mouth to complain, before he catches a sight of someone in the doorway and he grins, “President, how was the trip?”

Edgar freezes a little at that, hand automatically reaching out to pet Karl. The growling subdues, replaced by quiet purr.

“It went fine,” the President Edgar had yet to officially meet, Fukuzawa Yukichi, said as he walked into the room, crossing the floor to stand in front of Ranpo’s desk, “and I’m guessing you didn’t do any paperwork while I was gone?”

Ranpo’s grin turns wider, “I did all the paperwork you gave me.”

If Fukuzawa is surprised at that, Edgar doesn’t see it because he stands up to make a swift escape. It doesn’t work as well as Edgar though it would, part of being too tall for his own good and having a pet raccoon on his arm was, he supposes, not really normal around the Agency and thus, he was easily noticed.

Yosano catches his eye and smirks, “It must be because Poe-san was here the whole time you were gone, President.”

“Poe-san?”

Edgar stumbles, clutching Karl close to his chest now and he turns around at the sound of his name. Heart beating too fast, too hard and making him dizzy. If anyone paid attention to that, they didn’t comment, so Edgar thinks he’s going to be fine. Yet, when the President starts to make his way towards Edgar, all attempts to stay calm fly out the window.

Perhaps it’s because the President is almost the same height John Allan, Edgar’s foster father, was.

“T-that’s me,” he mumbles out when he comes face to face with the man, but it’s so quiet that he’s sure it wasn’t even audible.

“So you’re the reason Ranpo did his paperwork?”

“I always do my paperwork!” Ranpo calls out.

“Not when I’m not around to nag you.”

Ranpo puts, “Those are lies and slander and you know it, President.”

Edgar’s head goes back and forth between them, trying to understand before he gives up and just stares helplessly. Karl lets out a whimper at being jostled every time he turns his head, so Edgar decides to stay put and wait it out.

“But I do admit to having an ulterior motive.”

Yosano grins, “If he does his work, he’s allowed to play detective games with Poe-san and that’s that.”

Ranpo opens his mouth to retort, then closes it and shrugs, “Well. They are more fun.”

Despite hearing it from Ranpo’s mouth, Edgar can’t focus on the usual warmth the words bring him. There’s the tell-tale of Edgar totally freaking out, from stress and anxiety both, when he feels his breaths coming out shorter and his hand shakes.

And then, there’s a hand coming towards him, intent on patting his hand most likely and that’s actually what happens as it ruffles Edgar’s mess of hair. However, that’s not Fukuzawa’s hand Edgar sees.

Later on, he will blame it on himself; on his messed up brain and not controlled movements. He will scold himself over and over again for flinching away so hard he almost falls over; for squeezing Karl too hard, desperate for an anchor; for his wide-eyed, fear stricken face at Fukuzawa’s hand that didn’t mean any harm. He will blame it all on himself.

“Poe-san?” Yosano is the one who speaks first as the rest of them are stunned.

Edgar opens his mouth to answer, but he can’t. Words can’t come through. He feels hot wave of shame wash over him, the stinging eyes. And then he catches Ranpo’s own green eyes stare at him. It’s too much to handle.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, humiliated, “I have to go.” He excuses himself lamely.

He’s out the door before anyone can call after him.

Karl sends Edgar judging looks every time Edgar lifts his head to attempt getting out the bed, which is concerning itself when Edgar realizes that animals aren’t exactly supposed to do that. Or at least, it shouldn’t be so obvious to see.

But even so, as soon as Edgar tries, he knows. It’s just one of those days – the Bad Days, where getting out of bed just isn’t appealing enough. When the covers of his bed are so soft and yet suffocating and he doesn’t want to lay in them, but it’s better than choking on air in another room. He thinks that maybe if he did try harder, maybe if he actually got up, that it would be better, somehow.

After all, staying all day in bed isn’t healthy. In fact, it’s the opposite of what Edgar should be doing.

He stands up briefly to make himself some food, but he ends up munching on dry bread and eating peeled cucumber. Using plates seems useless when he glances at the sink and sees it full of dirty dishes he knew he was supposed to clean up yesterday. He ignores it, drags himself though the living room.

Bathroom seems so far that Edgar is surprised he even made it there. He doesn’t do more than washing his face, though. It feels too much even looking at himself in the mirror. “Stupid,” he mumbles to himself the whole time, “it’s not that hard.”

But it is. Hard, that is. Shower seems like a nice thought, but Edgar doesn’t bother with it and crawls back into bed.

He feels like he wants to cry, but he can’t. Like he used up all his supply of tears and is left dry. He supposes it’s fitting – the emptiness in him never seemed as glaring as it was now.

Karl chirps at him from his spot on the nightstand, a question to why Edgar curls up on himself to get warmer, trying to chase away the coldness seeping though his skin and settling in his bones.

“It’s alright—“ his voice is raspy, a reminder that he hasn’t said a word in quite a while, “I’m okay.”

Karl chirps at him, this time sadder and maybe a little angry when Edgar says that. Perhaps he already knows it’s a lie.

It couldn’t be more than two days of my absence around the Agency after the Incident, Edgar thinks, finally having the strength to sit up and look around the room, the messy floor of clothes being thrown around making him wince, I wonder if they’re angry.

If Karl could talk, he’d ask, “why the heck would they be angry?” and Edgar wouldn’t be able to tell him; he wouldn’t be able to find a logical reason for them to hate him other than memories of voice too loud, and hands too heavy and words too sharp for a child to hear. There’s the little voice saying that they could dislike him for the connection to the Guild, but its quickly shut down by Ranpo-like voice saying that, “Lucy also worked for them and yet we don’t throw her out. Get a grip, Poe-kun!”

Maybe the worst part of Edgar panicking in front of the Agency’s members was the humiliation of 28 year old man freaking out over a head pat. Something he shouldn’t have a problem with; something he should have gotten used to already, with Agency being so close to each other.

But all Edgar can remember about the Incident is the stunned silence, Yosano’s voice saying “Poe-san?” and Ranpo’s green eyes staring at Edgar in what Edgar can indentify as mild surprise, and mix of hurt and confusion.

And tiny specks of anger. But he’d rather not think about That.

Sitting up is the hardest part. Checking his phone is the close second. When the screen lights up, Edgar swallows down hard and checks his messages.

At least fifty of them are from Ranpo himself, three from Lucy asking if he died, and one from Louisa reassuring that she’s okay and she hopes he’s too. When he gathers the courage to reply to at least one of them, the new message notification pops up.

 Edogawa Ranpo: im heading over

Then, a second later.

Edogawa Ranpo: and you better have snacks or else I’ll be mad.

There’s  a question of how exactly Ranpo knows where Edgar lives, because Edgar’s mind is obviously not well enough to remember certain details; how he just casually says he’s heading over; and why he’s demanding snacks after—

Well. The Incident.

Actually, the whole situation doesn’t feel real; doesn’t make sense to Edgar’s tired mind. So much that Edgar doesn’t really register anything happened and goes back to bed, if only to prolong the sweet ignorance and pretend that no, Ranpo surely is not going out of his way to actually visit; and no, he doesn’t even care that much for Edgar to consider that. Not after Edgar made fool out of himself.

However, when Karl doesn’t immediately fly to his side, Edgar cracks one eye open to look at him. The raccoon is sitting on top of the nightstand, ears perked up and watching something – and as Edgar trails his eyes over to what he’s staring at, he’s surprised to say it’s the door.

“He won’t come, Karl,” Edgar says, although it should be obvious that Karl doesn’t know what he’s talking about, considering that Karl can’t actually read the text message, “he’s busy with his work.”

Karl growls, as if offended by those words. Edgar sinks back under the covers. “I’m telling you. Surely, Ranpo-kun has—“

Karl lets out a pleased purr, successfully interrupting Edgar’s pathetic excuses and somehow – Edgar doesn’t know how – he does so just before the doorbell rings.

Edgar freezes, hesitating. Karl doesn’t waste any second, he jumps from the nightstand and runs out of the bedroom, crossing the living room in magical speed and stopping only in front of the front door to scratch the wood. Edgar himself, feels as if the covers on him weighted a ton and he considers ignoring the bell. For a split second he thinks it would be for the best.

That is until—

“I know you’re in there, Poe-kun!” Voice of one Edogawa Ranpo echoes in the empty corridors of Edgar’s apartment building, “Better open up before I break in!”

Such lack of manners will never cease to amaze Edgar and he tries, tries really hard to sit up and he manages so after a minute of struggle, perhaps too fatigued to realize he’s still in rumpled, probably sweat soaked pajamas and with messy hair that gets annoyingly into his eyes and that he hasn’t washed in two days. He gets up, well aware of the insistent ringing of the bell and he tries to not cringe when he sees the unwashed dishes in the sink on his way to the door.

And the way to the door is long. If it wasn’t for the fact that his neighbors don’t like the noise, Edgar would just stay in his room and not bother at all. But Karl is scratching on the door still, and Ranpo is impatiently standing outside and all that noise is bringing back the headache Edgar got rid of hours ago.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and unlocks the door, opening it just a little, just to make sure it’s not a dream or a nightmare, but that slight gap is enough for Karl to slip past and Edgar only manages a startled, quiet yelp of protest before Karl climbs up and onto the person tapping their heeled leg onto the—

Wait. Heeled?

“Geez, couldn’t you take any longer, Poe-kun?” Ranpo asks, hands on his hips and Edgar flinches at the sound, lifting his head to properly look at him. “I swear, even Dazai doesn’t take that long and the guy lives to annoy the heck out of people by making them wait.”

Edgar doesn’t bother replying, but his gaze drifts slightly to the left, at the second person in his threshold and the victim of Karl’s demands for petting.

Yosano Akiko, dressed in her usual work attire, hardly even twitches when Karl nuzzles her neck. The action so friendly that Edgar does a double take at that and manages to reel back his surprise from his features by a second too late, judging by Yosano’s smug grin.

It’s only when Ranpo stomps his foot that Edgar focuses back on him, “Yes?”

“Well? Are you going to invite us in or not?”

Karl is even purring—

“Us?” Edgar repeats weakly.

“Yes,” Ranpo confirms slowly, as if speaking to a child, “that’s what I said. Are you deaf?” Edgar shakes his head, “Good. So?”

“So?”

Ranpo gives him an exasperated look and Edgar snaps back to focus, “Oh. Um, no.”

Yosano tilts her head, “No?”

Edgar mentally looks back to his apartment, the smell of dirty clothes thrown in the corner of the bedroom, unwashed dishes, unwashed everything actually, counting himself, and he winces and doesn’t even bother hiding it. He finds it’s too much effort.

“I’m—busy.”

“Liar.” Ranpo calls out.

Edgar throws him a look. “I am.”

“With what?” Ranpo challenges.

Edgar opens his mouth to reply, but memory of the same green eyes that blink at him now looking disappointed, hurt, flashes before his eyes and he gulps. Even now, as Ranpo stands before him, his usual grin in place and Yosano gently stroking Karl’s fur, Edgar can’t help but think that someone like him is just a burden, a liability. Ranpo— The Agency would be better off without him. It’s not like they were friends.

But then, Ranpo’s eyes glint and Yosano’s eyes lit up in recognition. Edgar wants to take a step back at that, and he doesn’t only before it would either mean slamming the door shut in their face and abandoning Karl or opening them and letting them in.

“I just—“ he starts and  his voice gets stuck in his throat.

His grip on the door frame is near painful. Ranpo doesn’t even blink. “Well, I’m coming in, anyways.”

“Wait—!” Edgar tries to stop him, but the door is opened anyways and the younger man walks in as if it were his own home. Following him is Yosano, still having her hand in Karl’s fur and then, only then Edgar is waiting for the judgment, for disgust, or maybe mocking.

It never comes.

Edgar closes the door behind them, the coldness despite the warm air keeps Edgar from speaking out, shame filling his body. There are millions of things Edgar could have done but didn’t; like actually start trying to clean the rooms, open the windows or at least excusing himself to take a shower. But the heaviness in his bones doesn’t cease, and so Edgar musters out strength only to cross the room and stand in the threshold of the living room.

“It’s a lot dirtier than it was when I was here the last time,” Ranpo comments bluntly.

Edgar blinks, “You were here—oh. Right.”

They baked cookies together, couple of times. That explains why Ranpo knew where he lived.

Yosano is nowhere in sight and as Edgar strains to hear where she might be, he realizes there are noises coming from the kitchen, the sound of water running and clinking of dishes enough for Edgar to look alarmed. Ranpo looks that way too, but he’s unbothered.

“Why—“ Edgar’s mouth is like sandpaper and he struggles to speak, “—why are the two of you here?”

Ranpo actually throws him The Look, the one reserved for imbeciles and incompetent police officers and Edgar tries to not let it get to him. Ranpo knows close to nothing about social norms, he may now even intent for The Look to insult him—

“Are you an idiot?”

—oh.

“Excuse me?” Edgar asks weakly.

Ranpo crosses his arms. “You disappear for two, actually, three days and expect us to not worry? What are you? Five?”

“I’m—“

“And when we try to text you, you don’t answer your phone, either,” Ranpo continues, ignoring the protest dying on Edgar’s tongue, “Not even Lucy knew what’s up with you.”

There’s a beat of silence and finally, Edgar sinks to the floor, legs no longer listening to him. He doesn’t bother trying to stand up either. Mess in his head, shaky hands and a gasp, desperate for air, and then Edgar whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Ranpo’s glare doesn’t ease.

“What are you sorry for, huh?”

“Just—“ Edgar stutters, “For—“

“Because we’re not mad.” Ranpo cuts him off. “We’re not,” he repeats when Edgar’s eyes widen, “We’re worried. Not only because you ran off that day, but because you didn’t think of texting us while you hole yourself in your apartment. That’s all. Nothing else is something for you to apologize.”

There’s thickness in Edgar’s throat and so he nods. Ranpo looks satisfied, before he wrinkles his nose. “And you should go and take a bath.”

“Aren’t you straightforward?” Edgar blurts out, the familiar banter easing up some of the tension.

Ranpo looks him dead in the eye, corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a wolfish smile, “That’s probably the only straight thing about me.”

And he waits. And Edgar stares, because what can he actually say to that? It’s as if those words couldn’t register. As If there was a mental block saying that no, Edogawa Ranpo certainly isn’t saying that.

And then, there’s Yosano in the room as well, sleeves of her white dress shirt rolled up and hands slightly wet. Edgar trails his stunned eyes to stare in the direction of the kitchen. “You—“

“Washed, yes.”

“But—“

“And I’m about to clean the whole living room as well,” she decides, then looks at Ranpo, “You’ll help, won’t you? You’ve been here before, you know what things I shouldn’t touch.”

Fully expecting Ranpo to protest and complain, Edgar is shocked once again to see him nod and say: “Yeah, duh.”

Edgar tries very, very hard to hide the way his eyes sting and the way his throat constricts. He can’t even open his mouth and Karl, previously perched on Yosano’s shoulder leaps of off it and quickly finds himself in Edgar’s lap, letting out distressed noises and growls, pawing at Edgar’s face. It brings his focus elsewhere and he’s glad – he’s not sure he could handle looking at Ranpo or Yosano any longer.

“You don’t—“ he tries, only to cut himself off. He clears his throat, “You don’t need to. I will—I will clean. I uh,” he stumbles over his words, mocking sneers of ‘and you call yourself a writer?’ banging at his mind, “I will—just please give me—a minute.”

He expects judgment; a glare. Pity, above all. Perhaps he’s even ready for laughter, because really, could he get even more pathetic than that? Edgar Allan Poe, the famous poet and former Guild member, praised by critics, at loss of words and dirty and depressed in his little apartment in Japan when he has a whole mansion ready somewhere else.

He’s not that weak – he’s not. It’s always—

It’s always just a few days. Only few. He’s not—

If they could just give him—

“Oi, Poe-kun.” There’s a hand waving in front of him and Edgar startles, grips Karl’s fur tighter and murmurs apologies when Karl voices his pain. Ranpo crouches in front of him, with look of— well. Not pity, that’s for sure. There’s something else in his eyes, though and Edgar has a second to realize he can actually see the green orbs, as they are not closed. “I know you’re not stupid. Why are you acting like you are?”

It seems to break through the chaos in his head as Edgar splutters, “I’m not!”

Ranpo levels him with an unimpressed look, “Really?”

“Stop talking to him with riddles,” Yosano sighs, “You’re making him more anxious.”

Karl hisses at her, but Yosano waves her hand. Ranpo reaches out to stroke his fur. Karl quiets down with a look of puzzlement. Then, Ranpo continues his thought, “You’re actually not the first one to freak out over President giving unexpected head pats.”

Edgar’s entire body locks up and he looks from Ranpo and Yosano, and back.

“I didn’t—“

“Dazai used to freeze up all the time,” Yosano said and she takes a step closer, only to sit down in front of Edgar seiza-style, far away if only to make sure Edgar has a room to breathe, “and so did Atsushi-kun and Kyouka-chan. You’re far from the first person to react the way you did.”

Edgar can’t say anything to that, so he settles for staring at her folded hands on her lap – they look delicate and smooth, but Edgar is not fooled, he sees the calluses and scratches.  It’s only when Ranpo snaps his fingers in front of him that he looks back up. “In fact, most of us knew you’d flinch away the second he walked in. It’s something like a, hmm, welcoming head pat.”

Edgar blinks. Then repeats dumbly, “Welcoming… head pats.”

“Yeah,” Ranpo nods, all serious. “And recently we get all those troubled and hurt souls. We were just surprised you didn’t come back the next day.” His eyes sweep around the room, “Which now I see, wasn’t just because you decided to be a loner.”

Edgar narrows his eyes, and immediately feels a wave of tiredness. The whole conversation too much for him to handle. That action, however, is enough to make Yosano grin. “Ah, but look at him, Ranpo-san, he has the nerve to glare at you after we came all this way to visit him.”

Ranpo’s hand stops petting Karl for a moment. Edgar notices that if he’d just move a little lower, he’d touch Edgar’s own hand. He’s somewhat disappointed when Ranpo doesn’t do just that.

“You’re right,” Ranpo cocks his head, “and that means you’re well enough to get up and take a bath. Come on, up you go, Poe-kun. We’re not wasting more of this day for brooding.”

Karl squeaks in agreement. On his way to the bathroom, Edgar sends the raccoon an insulted look that Karl eagerly ignores in favor of demanding more pets.

Edgar’s kitchen is not on fire when he comes back, dressed in the last set of fresh clothes he owns and with still dripping with water hair – because apparently, getting in the shower, washing himself and getting dressed were the only things he had energy for – and instead of burning he notices that it smells suspiciously like eggs and bacon.

As he walks in, he stops just short a step outside, seeing it. Ranpo swinging his legs back and forth, with lollipop in his mouth and humming a song and Yosano carefully placing food on the plate with a content – content! Not bothered or annoyed or irritated – face. It’s only when Karl squeaks at him in greeting, claiming his place on Edgar’s shoulder, that the two of them notice him standing there.

“Hello.” He says, because he may be a writer, but he’s still far from knowing social norms that come with greeting someone who practically barged in without invitation and used his kitchen.

It’s awkward and Edgar hates it and then hates himself when he realizes that he hates it, just to make himself even more miserable, but Yosano only nods, the same smile still on and Ranpo’s eyes snap to him, closed this time, with a grin and a, “Poe-kun!”

Edgar’s eye twitches, “That lollipop—“

“Oh yeah, I allowed myself to go through your snacks cabinet.” Ranpo informs casually.

Edgar opens his mouth to comment, before he decides against it and sighs, “Of course you did.”

The beaming smile Ranpo gives him almost blinds him. Karl nuzzles Edgar’s cheek. Yosano puts the plate full with scrambled eggs, piece of bacon and slice of bread with butter, takes out a fork and nods at it, “Come on. Eat.”

Edgar’s really, really tired, because there’s no way—

“That’s an American dish,” he ends up saying instead, suspicious.

Yosano blinks, “Yes.”

Edgar stares at the plate in puzzlement, “You don’t eat American breakfasts, Yosano-sensei.”

“Obviously,” Yosano starts patiently and he wonders, he really wonders when she will snap at him for being overly paranoid, “but you do. You’re American, right? Ranpo-san, I swear if you mixed American with British again—“

“I didn’t!” Ranpo cries out, “And that was one time!”

Edgar still doesn’t move, “Why?”

“You didn’t eat breakfast, did you?” She asked, leaning on the counter next to Ranpo, “Or dinner. Or actually anything, Poe-san. So we decided—“

Edgar narrows his eyes and cuts her off with unnecessarily sharp, “I don’t need your pity.”

That’s the thing with Bad Days – they start innocently. Sometimes, all Edgar wants to do is lay in bed, think ‘why am I here? What am I doing? What’s the point, what’s the point in all this if everyone leaves?’ and then think that he’s useless and pathetic because there is point. Really. There is. It’s just that Bad Days take the meaning away, they make Edgar think, ‘the world is beautiful, I just don’t want to live in it all alone’.

But sometimes. They’re bad. Edgar doesn’t try to fight them anymore. They come and pass as they please, they end up with Edgar washing after a week, Edgar doing his daily chores after a week; Edgar doing something after a week of not doing probably nothing more than occasionally going to the bathroom. Sometimes, they’re bad but Edgar can pull through and pretend the world isn’t weighting him down and presses him to the ground. Sometimes, Edgar can function, it’s just that he doesn’t really want to – he just goes through the motions.

Other times, they make him angry. There’s emptiness inside, but also irrational fury at people – at Edgar’s father for leaving Edgar and his mother; at his mother for dying; at Edgar’s foster father for treating Edgar like nothing more than a bonus in a family and at Edgar’s foster mother for never standing up to him like she could. There’s irritation and venom clawing at his throat.

Because Edgar is not a good person, he really isn’t.

Yosano’s eyes narrow in that way Edgar started to associate with annoyance and thinks, ah, great. Maybe she will understand that Edgar is no good.

But Ranpo doesn’t even blink, he just sucks on his lollipop, “We’re not pitying you, silly. We’re friends.”

Ready to retort, Edgar opens his mouth, then the word ‘friends’ registers in his mind and he freezes, and the cold in his bones warms up a little bit, just enough for Edgar to feel that it’s covering up the anger.

Something smug flashes before Ranpo’s eyes and Yosano looks between them, then at Edgar with a, “I thought you already knew that.”

“I—“

“Oh yeah, he did.” Ranpo confirms, “But he’s silly.” Then to Edgar, “Are you trying to become stupid? It’s not a good look on you, Poe-kun.”

“Stupid?” Edgar splutters, “I’m not—!”

“Then don’t act like you didn’t know. It’s very insulting to mine and Agency’s efforts. Tell me, would I come into someone’s house to bake cookies, if I didn’t think of them as friends?”

Yosano and Edgar in union, deadpan at him, “Yes.”

Ranpo throws his hands up, “Alright, I get it! Bad example. Different one then,” he hops off the counter and takes a step towards the man, and despite Edgar being a lot taller than him, he feels small, “Would I actually spend my time talking about mystery books I can solve under a minute, with someone I don’t consider a friend?”

The answer is automatic, “We’re rivals.”

“Not this again, Poe-kun.” Ranpo groans. “Yosano-san, please tell him.”

“I’d rather watch you two bicker, it’s amusing.”

“No!” Ranpo complains, “It took me weeks for him to stop mentioning we’re rivals every single time someone asks about our relationship. Don’t ruin it for me! Yosano-san—“

“Ranpo-san. Really.”

“Yes!”

Edgar looks back and forth between them, “Um…”

Yosano and Ranpo look back at him, then both at the same time, “Please just eat the food.”

“But we were—“

“We can talk later, too,” Yosano cuts him off, already moving to the living room, “I have yet to vacuum the floor.”

Edgar’s eyes grow a little bigger and he glances at Ranpo, “You’re staying?”

Unbothered, Ranpo answers, “Yeah.”

A bit distressed, Edgar protests, “But your work—!”

“Can wait.” Ranpo says, oddly stern and then he’s hopping away, “Oi, Yosano-san, careful around the weird, antique black cat vase, it’s porcelain!”

“Got it!” is the answering yell and then Edgar is left alone with scrambled eggs and bacon, with Karl purring against his neck.

Resigned, Edgar sits on the stool and takes a bite of food. Despite being lukewarm, the heat spreads all over Edgar’s body.

Yosano wipes off the imaginary sweat off her forehead, cocking her hip a bit and grins, “All done.”

Ranpo stands next to her, looking oddly proud of the end result. The clothes that were previously thrown carelessly in the corner were now in the washing machine, the dishes were washed and dried and put in the right cupboards, all the commodes and the table were swept off the dust, and the floors have been vacuumed. Even Edgar’s sheets got changed, and bed made. All of it done in record time with half an hour to five o’clock.

And Edgar feels. Well.

How could he even put it in words, when they not only fed him but also cleaned up his entire apartment, without batting an eye in how sorry state Edgar himself was. In fact, they even told him to wait and sit on the balcony with a book and instructed Karl to not let him in.

“Well?” Yosano looks back to awkwardly standing Edgar by the door, “How is it?”

Edgar takes another glance at the living room, and yes it’s clean and shiny, but—

Ranpo suddenly frowns, “Now it just looks empty.”

Unused. Cold. Unwelcome. Edgar flinches at the word, hunching on himself even more. Yosano glances at him, then back at the room, and hums, “That’s true. Say, Poe-san, don’t you have any pictures?”

“Pictures?” Edgar asks, a bit confused.

“You know, of your family? Your friends?” She blinks at him when he stares at her helplessly, “Nothing, really? You must have at least one, surely?”

There are no photos, as far as Edgar knows, of his mother. She died early, leaving him with nothing but a rusty key to the house that was probably sold right after Edgar was picked up by the Allan family. His foster father never liked Edgar, and his foster mother was sickly from the beginning, and Edgar was stuck in the ‘don’t bother them more than you already have’ mindset by the majority of his stay with that family, so he never dared to ask for the picture.

Lucy isn’t fond of being on photographs, either. Louisa is camera shy, and Karl. Well.

Edgar brightens, “I have pictures of Karl on my phone.”

Yosano’s voice seems to die on her and her eyes flip to the raccoon softly crooning at Edgar. Ranpo’s hand holding the gummy bear pauses in front of his mouth and he slowly puts the snack down. Edgar finally lifts his gaze from where he was looking at Karl, and his smile falls a little when he sees them staring at him, “What?”

Yosano opens her mouth to reply, then closes it. Ranpo doesn’t even bother.

Finally, she suggests, “It feels lonely, here, doesn’t it?” Edgar keeps his mouth shut. “Perhaps you could print out some pictures of Karl and frame them?”

“Frame them?”

“And put them on the walls, or on the commodes, yes.” Yosano nods.

Edgar looks around the room again, “I haven’t thought of that.”

Ranpo snaps out of whatever daze he’s been and huffs, “Well, duh. It will actually look like you’re living here.”

A bit offended, Edgar mutters out, “I’m not even living here for that long. Maybe I just didn’t decorate, yet?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you do that in the first place?”

Edgar shrugs, “I didn’t think… that I would stay here, that’s all.”

Yosano frowns, “Would you come back to America?”

Edgar shakes his head, “No. I have a bigger house, actually. Somewhere here.”

“A bigger house.” Ranpo deadpans.

“A mansion, actually.”

“You have a freaking mansion and you’re not living there?” Yosano’s eyes shine and she looks like Edgar hung the moon, “Why? Poe-san, imagine, all the girls would be all over you if they knew you had a mansion. Knowing you, it probably looks like a castle.”

Edgar thinks of the white building standing somewhere Edgar didn’t bother remember the name of; of enormous rooms, the ballroom floors and stairs that look like taken out of the fairy-tale. He thinks of the way his voice echoes in hallways; he thinks of the way Karl looks sadly at the too big table in the dining room. He remembers, above all, how alien it was, to even be in the place that big, all alone.

Ranpo suddenly perks up, “This apartment is closer to the Agency, isn’t it?”

Edgar nods once, slowly, “Yes.”

Yosano quickly catches up to what Ranpo is implying, “Wait. Don’t tell me, Poe-san, that you’re living here, right here, when you have a huge mansion, just because the Agency is near here.”

“No—“ he starts, then pauses. He clears his throat, “Well, yes. That’s part of the reason, but—“

“I told you, Yosano-san,” Ranpo drawls out, “that Poe-kun is a social creature at heart. You are, aren’t you, Poe-kun?”

“Um—“

“But I think a huge mansion doesn’t suit you, at all.” Ranpo finishes up and Edgar blinks. Yosano looks between them. “You don’t have any pictures of your family, so I’m guessing you’d be there all alone. I wouldn’t want that, either,” Ranpo continues, even when Edgar looks ready to protest, “because I don’t like being alone. And because I think being around people is fun. Don’t you think it’s fun, Poe-kun?”

Trying to catch what he’s trying to hint at, and trying to follow the conversation, Edgar nods.

“That Lucy girl likes talking to you, too. She’s a bit—“

“Rude.” Yosano throws in helpfully.

“Ill-mannered,” Ranpo ignores her, “and rude, too. But she’s got wild imagination. Don’t think I didn’t notice you two talking on her lunch break about stories. She likes to write, too?”

“She does. A little.”

“There you have it. The Alcott girl, too. You talk to both of them and they like it—no, hush, Poe-kun,” he glares at him when he tries to speak over him. “I’m talking now. They like it, because you never judge them. Their ideas are weird, over the top. You never mock them for them, though.”

Edgar thinks of his foster father, and nods, “No one deserves to be shunned for being creative.”

“Right.” Ranpo nods. “My point is. You have friends here, don’t you. I wouldn’t want to leave my friends for some stupid, enormous mansion in God knows where in Japan, when I can have a small apartment near the best café in the world.”

Yosano mutters under her breath, “I wouldn’t mind a huge mansion, though.”

“Shut up, Yosano-san.”

“It would be nice! Living alone, however, could cause some problems. Who would carry my shopping bags?”

“Do you think only—“

Edgar clears his throat, thankful for the way Karl wraps himself all over his back. Ranpo cuts himself off, albeit a little irritated at being interrupted. Yosano only huffs, crossing her arms. “I will think about printing the photos.”

“You better.” Yosano mumbles. “Unless you want us to decorate the whole house.”

When Edgar takes too long to answer, her eyes shine, “Do you? It can be easily—“

“No, thank you.”

She grins anyways, “The offer still stands if you need it.”

Ranpo hums, “Your walls look bare. Even if you put some pictures up, it’s still bland and boring.”

Edgar notices the grey walls as well, but he pays them no mind. “Duly noted.”

Ranpo’s eyes snap to him. “You will just ignore all of my advice, won’t you?”

This time, Edgar doesn’t answer him.

Lucy doesn’t waste any time greeting him, if anything – she practically corners him during her lunch break just as Edgar comes into café, makes him sit down at one of the tables and crosses her arms with the angriest frown Edgar has ever seen.

He has just enough time to get a “I’m sorry for…” before she blows up.

“Do you ever think about how others feel, Edgar?” Lucy asks and it’s the scary mix of calm and fury in her voice making Edgar shrink on his seat a little, “A little, stupid text saying ‘I’m sick’ or a dumb ‘Sorry, I’m planning on holing myself in my apartment for no reason’ would be sufficient. Why didn’t you even give me that?”

“I don’t even come here every day—“ he tries to defend himself, but Lucy snarls.

“But your boyfriend detective does.” Before Edgar can correct her, Lucy sits down and nearly slams her hands on the table. “That—that Edogawa guy. You text each other daily, or rather, he blows up your phone with messages. Imagine my surprise when the Agency gets worried because you didn’t even bother replying to him and they come to me, as if I had better luck with your—“

“The Agency?”

Lucy narrows her eyes at the interruption, before she takes note of Edgar’s genuinely confused face and sighs, “Yes.  The Agency. The tabby cat came to me to complain, because your—“

“He’s not mine—“

“Detective friend,” Lucy corrects dryly, “Refuses to do anything and pouts about “Poe-kun leaving him to die of boredom” and asked me if I know anything. That’s the whole mess you made with your sudden disappearance.” Her voice gets darker and darker with every word, the disgust only showing up when she had to talk about Nakajima Atsushi and slowly morphing into something that sounds weirdly like concern. “But that’s not even all. Why didn’t you tell me that you made friends with the rest of those freaks?”

“Why do you call them freaks?” Edgar ask, stalling.

“Because they put chocolate on popcorn.” Lucy answers seriously.

Edgar nods. That’s fair. “I apologize for making things difficult for you.”

“Don’t apologize to me, you idiot.”

“They didn’t want my apology, though.” Edgar muses, leaning backwards, “If anything, they were very much against it.”

“Who? The Agency?”

“Who else?”

“You already went there?”

“No! They came to me.”

The disbelief colors her voice as she whispers, “And you let them? Woah. Edgar, you really are getting it, huh?” Edgar glares at her and she puts her hands in the air, “I’m just surprised. Who visited you, then?”

“Ranpo-san. And his friend, Yosano-sensei.”

Lucy hums, head resting on her head as she stares at him. It seems that her anger died down a little. Edgar feels oddly vulnerable under her knowing grin, but despite Lucy’s want to always, always tease him, she doesn’t comment on that, other than to say, “You have people in your corner now, don’t you?”

It shocks Edgar so much that he slowly nods and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, “Yes.”

“That’s good.” Then, after glancing at her watch, she sighs again, “My break is ending soon, but—“ she nods toward the package on the counter, “Would you mind taking it up to the Agency? They ordered it as a celebration.”

“What celebration?” Edgar asks, already getting up and rearranging his coat when Karl yelps in surprise and in his haste almost rips it off his shoulders.

“Hell if I know,” Lucy calls out walking behind the counter and tying her white apron back with a smile, “maybe one of them has birthday? I’m not friends with them like you.”

Edgar takes the package and murmurs loud enough for her to hear, “The were-tiger has other ideas, I imagine.”

Lucy resists the urge to throw something at him, mouthing curse words under her breath as she busies herself with cleaning up something. Edgar watches her for a moment, notices the change in the way she holds herself and comparing it to the way she held herself back at the Guild. She wasn’t treated badly there, quite the opposite, but she was something like the kid of the organization. She lacked people her age.

As Edgar walks out the door, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, she found something she was looking for right where she is now.

Walking through the Agency’s door always felt intimidating, even now as Edgar got used to being around there. Actually opening the door was a whole another level of fright that Edgar always tried to put away and not think about. Especially now, with the memory of him leaving the place in hurry, gathering courage to come in was a hard task.

In the end, it’s Karl who jumps on the knob and in his panic, Edgar automatically twists it.

The light is blinding, a total opposite of Edgar’s usually dimmed rooms back at his apartment, and he waits a second to get adjusted to it. His grip on the box of, presumably, sweets, tightens for a moment and he takes a deep breath.

“Pardon my intrusion,” he calls out softly, “Lucy asked me to bring this to you.”

A chorus of “Poe-san!”, some a little taken a back, some casual as if nothing ever happened, and then there’s a drawled out “Poe-kunn!” in the back of the room where Ranpo sits sprawled on the desk, as if someone put him there as punishment.

It’s the President, who Edgar didn’t notice before, that speaks over the noise, “Thank you,” he says and Edgar has to swallow a few times, both because he’s nervous and because it’s probably the most exercise he had in a two days and his throat is painfully dry, “Would you be so kind to stay for the celebration, Poe-san?”

Edgar’s brain is still caught in between the disbelief of not being ushered out or yelled at by the older man, so he only manages a weak nod, “A celebration?”

“Kyouka-chan’s first official paycheck, of course!” Tanizaki Naomi gushes over the mentioned girl sitting on Nakajima’s desk.

Kyouka looks at him, apologetically, before her eyes shine that similar light at the sight of Karl draped over his shoulder, part excitement and part hesitant adoration. Edgar has always been weak for that look, something Ranpo liked to call him out on.

“I can stay for… a little while.” He agrees, then leans to whisper to Karl, “You can go.”

Karl watches him, that weird assessing  look in his black eyes, as if deeming if Edgar is really okay being left alone, then he jumps down and runs to the girl. Edgar always found it weird that Karl takes careful steps around people, getting to know their intentions, before warming himself up to them.

It reminds him, in a way, that one cold evening when Edgar met the Allans for the first time, his foster family, and Karl hissed and growled at the man to no end. He wonders, if maybe Karl always knew, if he was so careful because of that one family.

He always shakes the thought away. Karl is a raccoon. He shouldn’t have that much conscience.

(In theory).

“I would also like to apologize,” the President continues in a quieter voice when everyone focused back on Kyouka. Edgar wriggles his hands, hunching on himself. “I seemed to overstep some kind of boundary last time we meet and—“

“No, that’s—“ Edgar clears his throat, eyes still not looking up, an old habit Ranpo is set on fixing. He takes a steadying breath, “I shouldn’t have reacted this way. I should be the one apologizing.”

The President is silent for a moment. Edgar nervously stares at the floor, deeming it interesting enough to pick on any slight and barely there cracks. He considers telling the President that any longer and the tiles will crack. He doesn’t.

“I don’t think you did anything wrong, Poe-san,” he says, slowly as if letting Edgar register those words. And Edgar does, but he can’t really believe it. Not when he knows, he knows that his habits, his jumpiness and shyness are flaws and a liability.

“I—“ he cuts himself off, then starts again, more determined, “I’m still sorry.”

The President nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t really accept the apology. Edgar finally gathers courage to lift his eyes from the floor and it’s just in time to see the President raising his hand. The familiar panic grips at Edgar only for a second this time and the President stops a good distance away from him with a thoughtful look. “May I?” He asks patiently.

Edgar grips at his own wrist to stop himself from flinching away again and breathes out, one time, two times, to calm his nerves, even though it’s such a small, such unimportant thing. That it shouldn’t feel so big is enough proof that there’s something in Edgar that’s clearly not right.

But the President isn’t even annoyed by Edgar’s hesitance. It’s then that Edgar recalls Yosano’s words, the ‘you’re not the only one who reacted this way’ echoing in his mind.

He nods, then remembers his voice and croaks out a near silent, “Yeah.”

The contact is no longer than few seconds, enough to properly ruffle Edgar’s already messy hair and give a gentle pat. When Edgar looks up to look the President in the eye, the older man doesn’t smile, not quite, but there’s a hint of pride in those eyes. Something Edgar is not used to seeing when it’s towards him. It makes him feel warm.

“Thank you,” the President says before joining the rest of the group, “and thank you for looking after Ranpo.”

Edgar snaps back to reality after Karl lands on his head with a squeak, hiding in his hair. Edgar didn’t even realize he’s been smiling, only noticing it after Karl pokes at his cheeks, whining for food.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers to himself, eyes somehow finding Ranpo chatting with Yosano standing by Kyouka’s side, “He’s the one looking after me.”

Chapter Text

“It’s the wife.”

Edgar resists the urge to sigh and bites into a coconut cookie, but the look that passed on his face was long enough for Ranpo to catch it and the man grins.

“You’re insufferable,” is what Edgar ends up saying.

“You’re just saying that because—“

“Because it’s been barely two minutes since this episode started,” Edgar cuts him off, but Ranpo only shrugs in reply. “And you’ve guessed, correctly, every murderer so far. And we’ve watched five episodes.”

“I didn’t guess. I deducted.” Ranpo mumbles, “Besides, you did, too.”

“I was half-sure it was the doctor.”

“She had an alibi.”

“So did the wife.”

Ranpo reaches out for a cookie from the plate in front of him. Karl hisses at him, briefly, before Ranpo gives him a weird look. Ignoring their staring contest, Edgar checks the clock. It’s already half past five, the two of them watching old criminal shows since two PM.  If Edgar didn’t keep such close track to the hour, he wouldn’t even notice how fast the time flies by when he’s with Ranpo.

Then again. When was the last time he had so much fun lazing around?

“The wife was shady from the beginning,” Ranpo says, but his voice sounds distracted, “And she wasn’t wearing her wedding ring, either.”

Edgar hums, “You’re right.”

“Of course, I am. I’m always right, after all.”

Edgar smiles despite himself and he tries to hide it while munching on another cookie, “Obviously.”

Finally, seemingly losing the fight, Ranpo looks back to Edgar. It takes a minute for Edgar to realize that, but when he does lock his eyes with the younger man, he has to hold back a blush when he sees bright, forest green staring back at him.

“You know,” Ranpo starts, “Karl likes to be near you all the time, doesn’t he?”

Edgar blinks, “Yes. Why?”

“I’m just curious,” Ranpo starts, successfully making Edgar’s heart stutter in its beating, “as to why he’s so clingy.”

“He’s a pet, of course he’d be clingy.”

“Don’t be snarky with me.”

Edgar holds back a snort, “I would never be snarky with you, Ranpo-kun.”

“I mean, I can already kind of tell why,” Ranpo continues, although the look in his eyes tells Edgar that he doesn’t believe him, not really, “but it’s no fun when I know everything and you don’t tell me stuff. So I wanted to ask.”

“Why?”

“I told you,” there’s this edge to Ranpo’s voice, something Edgar started to notice more and more when it comes to personal questions, “I’m just curious.”

“Fair point.” Edgar says and it somehow puts Ranpo more at ease.

There are times where Edgar thinks he’s got Ranpo figured out. That he can tell what makes him tick; what he likes and what he dislikes; what he’s scared of and what makes him happy. But when things happen like this, in those moments Edgar knows that he could never, never understand Edogawa Ranpo like he should. That there always will be something to learn and find out.

With people as smart as him, the world gets boring. People don’t see the way he does; people don’t know the stuff he does know. It’s the struggle of living in a world wired differently than an individual. It’s the price one pays at being way above others.

Edgar himself knows that world does not take kindly to those who are different. Setting aside the obvious reasons, like school and bullying at school, there are also incidents that happen in job and outside the job, incidents that ensure you in the mindset that you are just, well. Not like the others.

Edgar’s foster father liked to point it out. That Edgar isn’t normal. Nervous habits he picked up from his relatives, his twitching and hunching on himself, his constantly racing mind and million thoughts, million observations about people around him. The never-ending cycle of information flowing in and out.

It’s not like Edgar controls it; it’s not like he choose to see things that others can’t or won’t. When Edgar told his foster father that the neighbor next door regularly stole from the landlord and he knew, he knew for sure that he did, he just couldn’t explain exactly why, Edgar’s foster father laughed. When local police couldn’t find the killer of Edgar’s favorite teacher, Edgar could tell it was Molly Willson’s hands that choked her, but at the age of seventeen Edgar couldn’t do anything to prove it – telling the police that the handprints were exactly the size of Molly’s, that the nail polish they found in the skin was Molly’s, that the perfume that lingered in the room belonged to Molly, it was all pointless because they would not listen.

How do you know?, they’d ask. And even if you tell them and list down the reasons, they would not believe you.

It’s so obvious, it has always been so obvious, so natural to know things others didn’t. And it was so lonely, so painful, to know that they wouldn’t understand even if you explain.

“He wasn’t always clingy, I guess,” Edgar finally says, breaking the silence, “I remember that when he was younger all he wanted was to get away from me. He always came back for food, though.”

Karl squeaks from his place on the table and Edgar automatically reaches out to pet his head.

“He became like this when,” Karl starts to growl and Edgar gives him a look, “I moved out to live with my foster family. Right after my mother died.”

Ranpo doesn’t blink, but he does lean a little towards Edgar and Edgar tells himself that his rapidly beating heart is normal and he’s not actually freaking out just because Ranpo is a little too close for comfort.

“Foster family?”

“Frances and John,” Karl growls at the name, “They took me in.”

“And?”

Edgar gives him a questioning look, “And, what?”

“Karl doesn’t like them, does he?” Ranpo points out bluntly, “Why?’

“That’s—“ he trails off and Karl takes this as an opportunity to jump at him, “That’s— I don’t actually know.”

“You’re not a good liar, Poe-kun.”

Edgar wants to protest for a second, he’s not technically laying saying that he doesn’t know, after all, Karl can’t tell him, but Ranpo is staring at him with that serious glint in his eyes, as if he was trying to figure him out, as if he was trying so hard to find out everything Edgar tries to cover up. It makes his skin crawl.

Finally, he sighs, “How did you know?”

“I know you.” Is Ranpo’s only answer.

Hand stroking Karl’s fur, Edgar sighs again. “He never liked John. Then again, I never did myself. He was—“ he cuts himself off and leans backwards on the sofa, “he wasn’t, yes. He wasn’t the best person to be around.”

There’s silence, so Edgar takes it as a sign to go on, “He liked to—drink. A lot. He gave praise where he saw fit, when it benefitted him or when Frances scowled at him for not being nice to me. I was— I was always in the way of his happiness, you could say.”

Karl squeaks again, then scratches his arm lightly, just enough to make Edgar look at him. He realizes that once he started talking, the hole in his chest made itself known, the hidden anger at his foster father and the lonely, oh so lonely memories of sitting in the room, trying to pretend that he doesn’t exist. It all hurts in ways Edgar hates the most – it’s not something physical, it’s just there.

“He hurt you.” Ranpo states.

Although he didn’t say it as loudly as he usually  does, and his voice was definitely quiet – not a whisper, no, but something that wasn’t as blunt as it was soft – and his eyes were darker now, as if some emotion clouded them. Edgar didn’t want to know what he was feeling right now.

“Sometimes,” he allows, voice strong and he reminds himself to breathe, “he didn’t like the way I was, and I didn’t like the way he was. I did my best to stay out of his life, but I couldn’t really escape him when I was living under the same roof. I guess that’s why Karl was always so irritated, scratching and hissing at him whenever he could.” Then, whispering with a weak smile, Edgar looks at Karl on his lap, “Maybe he tried to protect me. After John, he used to hiss at certain people and I always did my best to avoid them. It worked better for me than when I didn’t listen to him.”

Ranpo doesn’t say anything for a good minute, as if he was processing it. Then, he snatches another cookie and angrily bites into it. Edgar blinks, surprised, “Ranpo-kun?”

“I don’t like that John.”

Edgar finally lets out a laugh, but it sounds and feels wet and when Ranpo looks at him alarmed, Edgar waves it away, “It’s okay. I heard he’s dead now anyways.”

“And you don’t care?”

Edgar looks at him, then down at Karl, “I don’t think it’s the matter of whether I care or not, but a matter of whether he deserved me caring for him or not. When Frances died, he remarried soon after and forgot all about me. They never officially adopt me, either. It was all as if I was never there.”

Ranpo hums, “That’s rough.”

Karl growls. Edgar strokes his head and smiles, “I guess. I have Karl, so it’s okay.”

Ranpo frowns and Edgar wants to ask, but then Ranpo leans even more into Edgar’s space. “You’re not alone anymore, you know that, right?”

He blinks, then swallows, “Yes—“

“You have me.” Edgar hopes Ranpo didn’t hear the way his breath hitched at that, “You have Yosano. And the Agency. I heard that the President unofficially adopted you, too. And even that red-head at the café, and the Guild Strategist have your back.”

“—Are you trying to reassure me?”

“Is it working?”

“…perhaps. You’re not the best at emotional conversations, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo gives him a look, “Well, now that’s just insulting. I’m the best at emotional conversations. Also,” he moves to stroke Karl’s fur as well, “I think we’re past the –kun thing, Poe-kun. How about we call each other’s names?”

“We already do, though…”

“No. We use honorifics. Come on. Try it. Without it.”

“I don’t see a point of doing that.” Edgar protests and tries to will the color away from his cheeks.

“Tch. Fine,” Ranpo throws himself back and Edgar suddenly feels like he can breathe again. It’s surprisingly refreshing to be able to take a deep breath without being overly self-conscious about being in your crush’s space—

Wait.

Waitwaitwait—

“Anyways, I’m hungry, so make me some food.”

Shaking his head, trying to get rid of unwanted thoughts, Edgar looks back to where Ranpo was sitting, only to find him on his feet already, “Ranpo-kun…”

“Oh. And teach me, too.”

“Teach—you?”

“Yes. Are you deaf, Poe-kun?” Ranpo makes his way into the kitchen, “I want to make food. With you. So teach me, so I don’t burn your kitchen down.”

“With me?” Edgar nearly squeaks. Karl gives him an equivalent of animal pitying look.

Ranpo raises an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“No—“ I’m just having a little crisis here, “No. It’s not.” He swallows, then also stands up, “What do you want to eat?”

For a second he thinks he can see a knowing glint in Ranpo’s eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it appears and Ranpo bounces away to the kitchen, “Anything’s fine.”

In the end, they end up making scrambled eggs, seeing as it was the only thing Ranpo didn’t immediately burn, and the whole time Edgar tries to pretend that it doesn’t feel right, that it doesn’t feel natural to eat dinner together, to banter. It’s not like Ranpo could—that Ranpo could ever feel the same way.

There’s no way Ranpo could ever, ever fall in love with Edgar, is it?

“There’s like, no way, that he isn’t in love with you, Edgar,” Louisa says when Edgar finally gathers the courage to call her and update her on his own situation and find out if things are going well on her end, “And I’m not telling you this biased. It’s really, really obvious.”

From his place on the couch in the quiet of his freshened and aired apartment, Edgar still manages to shrink on himself. The look Karl gives him from his place on table can be called either judging or exasperated, and in both cases it makes Edgar miserable.

“But—“

“No buts. You can’t second-guess yourself like that. No,” she cuts in before he can get another word of protest in, “Don’t you dare finish whatever you have to say. I will not take you belittling yourself.”

“As if you’re one to say,” Edgar says, a little bitterly.

There’s a second of mortification at what he said as it sinks in and he’s about to apologize, but Louisa laughs, a bit awkwardly, but he takes it as a good sign, “This isn’t about me now.”

“But I called to see how you are doing. Not to talk about my love life.”

“There’s not much to say on my side, Ed,” Louisa admits, “I’m still looking for Fitzgerald, but it’s not really that easy. And there are lots of places with lots of people and I’m beginning to think that a small crowd in the supermarket is my social limit, but even so,” Louisa’s voice gets a bit brighter with every sentence, and Edgar wonders, really wonders, who Fitzgerald is to her, and what he’s done for her, to earn Louisa’s loyalty and make her go to such lengths to search for him, “I’m not losing faith. I know he’s there.”

Edgar is quiet for a moment, free hand reaching out for Karl and he watches, a little tired, as Karl steps closer to sniff at it. Then, he says, “What if he doesn’t want to be found?”

He doesn’t take his words back, no matter how much they must sting , how much they can hurt. Louisa is young, but there’s also no need to baby her. That, and Edgar would hate it for her to waste her life looking for someone who simply doesn’t want to bother picking up the pieces.

(He thinks it’s kind of ironic to say that, considering that he—)

“Can I ask you a question, Edgar?” Comes her quiet voice just as he was getting ready to change the subject.

“Of course.”

There’s a beat of silence and then, “Why did you spend six years of your life writing for someone who wouldn’t even remember you at the first glance?”

“I—“

“See. That point in your life, six years ago, when Edogawa-san defeated you, it was a big turning point for you, wasn’t it?” Edgar doesn’t speak; he doesn’t quite trust his own voice, not when Louisa’s is so strong, so full of something Edgar can only muster out in the darkness of his room, hunched over his book, “But for Edogawa that was another small thing. It didn’t matter for him the same way it mattered for you. We’re all different, after all. And yet you spent six years on that book. You challenged him. Look where you are now, you’re friends with him.”

Edgar finally manages to get out one word, “Yeah.”

“My point is—my point is,” she sighs and tries again, “If it weren’t for Fitzgerald I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing right now. Actually, there’s a lot of stuff that I’m able to do now because Fitzgerald didn’t give up on me that day, so,” Louisa’s voice gets quieter, “So I won’t give up on him.”

There’s no proper answer to that, not really, so Edgar lets it register in his mind, lets the words flow in and out. Despite wanting to, desperately wanting to offer comfort, reassurance, anything he knows it’s not what Louisa wants.

In fact, he thinks that she never wanted to be handled with a kid gloves.

“You want to try.”

“Yes.” Comes the firm answer.

Edgar looks at Karl, thinks back to how small he was once upon a time, how fragile and wild he was. He’s old now, perhaps if Edgar didn’t take him in that day, Karl wouldn’t be alive right now – raccoons don’t live that long, after all. He remembers thinking, I want to try. I want to try giving him a good life.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” He asks, and watches as Karl’s eyes fly over to him as if in alarm.

“I will cross that bridge when I get there,” is Louisa’s final answer before she clears her throat and tries to lighten the atmosphere, “Anyways. That got dark pretty quickly. You know how things are on my end, what about you?”

“I’m dealing.”

“A little more detail would be nice.”

Edgar finally uncurls himself from his position and lets Karl settle in the crook of his arm, “Some days—“ his throat feels like sandpaper at the reminder, and the thoughts ‘don’t bother telling anyone, you’ll be a liability’ ring in his mind and he tries to remember how to breathe, tries to remind himself that Louisa is his friend and friends don’t judge, “Some days have been—rough.”

Louisa hums, but doesn’t interrupt him. Edgar lets out a sigh of relief, “And—and it’s gotten better, but—“

“No one has to be okay all the time, Ed.” She whispers.

Edgar closes his eyes. Karl squeaks at him. “I just wish I didn’t— have to feel like that, like there’s something wrong and bad and—“ He takes a deep breath to steady himself, “It’s like an itch you can’t scratch. I’d be glad to get rid of it.”

“It’s part of you, though.”

“I wish it wasn’t,” Edgar comments dryly, “I wish it didn’t make me think like I’m just—“

“A burden?”

Karl nuzzles his face and Edgar tries to relax, realizing with a start that he’s tensed up again, “Yes.”

Louisa is quiet for a moment and Edgar fills in the silence listening to Karl’s steady purr as he strokes his fur, he focuses on the softness on it and the sometimes rough texture and he doesn’t open his eyes, not yet, pretending the world doesn’t demand his attention just yet.

“I think that we never stop feeling this way, Ed,” Louisa speaks up after a while, “I think that it’s part of being human and no one can really take that away, but with the right people? It lessens the weight.”

“Lessens… the weight.” Edgar repeats quietly.

Louisa chuckles sheepishly, “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense. What I mean,” he senses her mouth curling into a shy smile, “is that the right people won’t make you feel bad for being who you are, with your flaws and with your faults.”

Karl “accidentally” scratches Edgar’s chin and makes him open his eyes just a little, just enough to glare at the raccoon, just in time to hear Louisa moving in the background, the sound of papers ruffling in the background.

After a minute, Edgar finally says, “Thank you.”

Somehow it must have carried the meaning Edgar intended to give those words, because Louisa sounds way happier than in the beginning as she answers, “Anytime, Ed.”

Edgar doesn’t usually come over to the Agency unless Ranpo is there, but this time he makes an exception only, and only, because Yosano made sure he couldn’t sulk in his apartment whole weekend doing nothing and forced him out to help her out with her shopping and then she made him carry all the bags to the Agency’s building, used his assistance to fill in the medical cabinets and by the time they finished, both Karl and Edgar were too tired to go back to his apartment.

“It wasn’t that bad,” she says at the end, wiping her gloved hands off on her skirt and sitting at the empty desk. Edgar awkwardly hangs in the back with Karl lightly napping on his head. “Ranpo-san said you need the extra exercise, anyways.”

“Like he does any himself.” Edgar comments.

“That’s true,” Kunikida, the blonde man, pipes in from his own desk, angrily typing on his keyboard, “He eats so much sweets, too. It’s a miracle he’s in the shape he is despite that.”

Kunikida and Yosano are the first people Edgar can tell without hesitance that are not bothered by him dropping by – one because Ranpo works better when Edgar is around, thus Kunikida doesn’t feel the need to yell at him, and two because Edgar is too scared to say ‘no’ to Yosano and always ends up helping her around when Ranpo’s busy. Then, there’s President who Edgar made peace with, and when the older man sometimes comes out of his office, they exchange respective nods. Sometimes, Edgar’s hair gets ruffled and it always makes something warm spread around his body.

“Yes, but at least Ranpo doesn’t have the tendency to hole himself up in his room,” Yosano makes a pointed comeback.

Edgar winces, “It was one time.”

“One time was enough.” Yosano decides and that’s that.

There’s no winning with a women, is what Edgar finds out quickly at the Agency. Naomi and Haruno, the clerks Edgar has met at the beginning, have the same habit of making their opinions known and making sure people know they are not going to change their mind. Their assertiveness is truly something inspiring.

Karl quietly coos in his sleep and Edgar instinctively looks at the clock. It’s not late, not yet, but the sky is getting orange despite it being five PM. The seat at Ranpo’s desk, familiar, tempts Edgar but he makes no move to sit there. The reminder that Ranpo is out of town for the weekend on a case sets something unpleasant in his chest. In the end, he decides to sit at his usual spot on the couch before a movement in the threshold of the open front door catches his eye. He stops.

Yosano looks back at him, “What is it?”

Edgar makes a vague gesture at the door, “It’s just—“ he trails off, then clears his throat, “Excuse me?” he calls out, “Can I help you?”

Yosano blinks at him, then in the direction Edgar is looking at. Kunikida lifts his eyes, too, to check what’s going on, before he decides that his paperwork is more important and he ducks into his files again.

There’s hesitant shuffling on the side and when Edgar sees them, he thinks the person can’t be older than in their eighteens, with too skinny arms, too pale skin and always moving eyes that seem to look for ways out despite not being in yet.

“No! I mean—“ They set a foot in, then another, not trembling, no, but visibly nervous, “Kinda? I uh—“

They stumble on their words again and again, and when they look up, their eyes are desperate. Fighting inside, what, Edgar doesn’t know, but he recognizes that look, has seen that look on himself once, too, so he waits. Yosano gets up from her desk to move, as well.

“I heard from a friends that you solve cases like—like mine,” they finally say and there’s some kind of finality to their words, as if they’ve just decided on something.

“Well,” Yosano says from her place, before she gestures at another, smaller couch in the back of the room, “Let’s hear it out, then, shall we?”

The person steps more into the light, their features becoming more visible and yet they still look barely recognizable under the messy straight black hair. They look like a boy no older than in his eighteens, with elegant clothes that fit him too well for him to be poor. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and follows behind her. Edgar tags behind them, quietly.

As they sit down, Edgar notices the awkward angle the boy’s holding his arm, and the way the hair makes it hard to see the blooming bruise on the side of their forehead. His legs aren’t as steady as Edgar thought, either.

Yosano crosses her legs and sits, “What’s your name?”

“Hiroto.”

“Okay, Hiroto-kun, so what case are we talking about?”

Hiroto’s hands tremble as he tries to hold them together, and he struggles to say it. Whatever courage he mustered out seemed to frizzle out the second he stepped into the building and sat down. Edgar can’t say he doesn’t relate to that.

“My friends said that you—“ he takes a deep breath, Yosano doesn’t try to force him into talking, “you handle stuff like that. Not often, but you— I know you helped my other friend. Her name was Haruka?” Something flickers in Yosano’s eyes and Edgar blinks, “You got her case to the police and stayed with her until her boyfriend—got arrested.”

Yosano nods, “That’s right.”

Hiroto’s shoulder tense up, “Do you—do you do that stuff, still?”

There’s a beat of silence and Yosano sighs, leaning forwards, “We do. How old are you, Hiroto-kun?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen,” Yosano nods, “I’m assuming now, tell me if I’m wrong, but we’re talking about abuse here, right?” Hiroto’s eyes turn wide and he jerks a nod, “What type of abuse are we talking about here?”

“My dad—“ something seems to be stuck in his throat. Edgar forces himself to not react. Hiroto swallows few times, “He hits me. Sometimes. I know he beats up mom, too. I saw it,” he hurries to say when Yosano straightens out, “But my mom is too scared to go to the police, because my dad is kind of, you know, filthy rich? He said that if she ever,” Edgar almost flinches, “tries to escape that he would make sure he’d hurt me, too.”

Yosano frowns, “Why did you come here, then?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Hiroto answers truthfully, “He’s out of town for some business. My mom is with her friend, Haruka, I mean, and Haruka tried to tell her about this place, but.” Hiroto shrugs.  “It didn’t help.”

“So what you’re asking us is…?”

“I want to know if you can make him go away,” Hiroto says and his voice becomes stronger, “It doesn’t have to be jail, I know he could get out of it because of his connections, but I just want him away from my mom, and me.” He looks down on his shaking hands, “I couldn’t do anything to help her when he hit her and I couldn’t do anything when she was crying and panicking, and even now I can’t do anything and he just—“ he laughs wetly, “he just doesn’t give a shit. He thinks it’s funny.”

“Hiroto-kun—“ Yosano starts, carefully, but Hiroto shakes his head and angrily wipes at his eyes.

“He calls her names, too, you know?” He says and it seems that once he started, he can’t stop and Edgar can’t really blame him, “Makes fun of her. She likes those little figurines of ravens, because ravens are like, super cool for her for some reason and once he found out he just—he just smashed them in front of her. And she didn’t do anything, just cried. And he laughed, and laughed and—“ his breath hitches.

Edgar was probably lost in his head, because he didn’t even notice Yosano getting up from her place and he certainly didn’t see her as she stepped slowly to Hiroto’s side and put a hand on his shoulder, bowing a little to him.

He does hear her say, “It’s not your fault, Hiroto-kun,” and he does hear Hiroto breaking down and saying sorry over and over again, a painful sound of someone who feels hopeless and desperate and alone. He can’t hear what Yosano tells him next, though, and he doesn’t stay around to find out either. He goes back to where Kunikida is sitting and occupies the empty seat next to him.

They sit in silence for a while, long enough for Karl to wake up and demand food. Edgar registers the sound of typing stopping when Kunikida suddenly says, “We get a lot of cases like this, Poe-san,” without looking up.

Edgar doesn’t look his way either, “A lot?”

“Way more than we should, actually,” he admits, “It’s horrible and wrong and it makes us all mad, too. I guess it’s better if they reach out, but—“

“It doesn’t always help,” Edgar cuts in and his voice comes out sharper than he intended. He murmurs an apology and exhales shakily. Kunikida eyes him from his seat. “Sometimes it makes it worse.”

“If you go the wrong way about it,” Kunikida agrees, “But we make sure those people are safe. We can’t do anything for them if they go straight to the police, though, that’s out of our hands.”

“It’s not really a detective work.”

“No,” Kunikida sighs, “It’s not. It doesn’t have to be. We don’t solve murders all the time, Poe-san. We’re supposed to help people and it doesn’t matter how we help them and in what case. And abuse is—“ he grimaces, “It’s an ugly thing. I can’t believe some people resort to using violence on their loved ones, it’s—“

Unthinkable. Inhuman. Disgusting.

A small part of Edgar’s mind whispers, scary.

“Yes,” he says instead, looking down on Karl. Kunikida glances at him, “I agree.”

The rest of the day is silent.

Sun comes up next morning and so does Yosano’s insistent knocking at seven in the morning, telling him to hurry up and change clothes so they’re not late for work. Edgar would make an attempt to tell her that he doesn’t actually work at the Agency and he doesn’t have to get up until at least nine AM, but he dismisses the thought as soon as it appears in his mind, because Yosano Akiko doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit.

That, and it’s actually nice to know there are people awake that early who actually bother to come and get Edgar out of his apartment. Yosano is a nice company, despite her specific nature, and Edgar actually likes being with her. It’s surprisingly rewarding being up so early as well, the birds are chirping, the sun isn’t burning your skin the second you go out and the coffee they always buy before coming to the Agency also gives him a chance to say hi to Lucy.

There’s one thing nagging in Edgar’s mind since yesterday and he voices his question soon after they make their way upstairs, “What’s going to happen to that boy?”

Yosano doesn’t stumble, but she does give him a look, “I can’t really tell you that,” Edgar sighs, but she continues, “What I can say is that the case is going smoothly, so there won’t be any problems with helping him and his mother.”

The weight on Edgar’s chest lets up and he relaxes, “That’s good.”

But, Yosano doesn’t stop there, “Why are you asking?”

“I was curious.”

“You’ve never been curious before.”

Edgar pushes the door to the Agency open and smiles at Karl as he races to the fresh cookies on the plate Kenji must have placed when he came to work. He fiddles with something in his pocket and when he fishes it out, he gives it to Yosano and watches as her eyes lit up with something, “Can you give it to that boy when you meet him again?”

“A raven figurine?”

“Karl likes to collect things,” Karl perks up his head when he hears his name, “I thought it’d be better off with someone who will actually take care of it, instead of throwing it out.”

“I see,” Yosano grips the figurine, then pockets it, “I will make sure he receives it.”

“Thank you,” Edgar nods at her.

Most of their conversations are like that, simple and usually one-topic ones, and Edgar doesn’t mind, not really. Despite being friendly, both Yosano and Edgar are not really compatible when it comes to talking. Sometimes, Edgar says something and it causes something to shift in Yosano’s eyes, a dark understanding that Edgar has trouble bearing.

The day goes as normal. But quiet. Without Ranpo keeping him company the office seems empty and dull, incomplete almost. It’s terrifying for Edgar to have gotten used to the constant noise, the crowd of people around him. Even the touches aren’t that much of a problem as they were now.

And yet, despite not being alone, Edgar feels terribly lonely without Ranpo around.

And perhaps it shows on his face more than he thought, because even Nakajima Atsushi – Lucy’s friend, although she will never admit it out loud and would rather stab Edgar for even giving the young boy a title like that – comes up to him to talk.

“And so that old man kind of yelled at us for dropping that box of cereal, but he shut up after Kyouka-chan pulled a knife on him,” he’s saying while Edgar sits on Nakajima’s desk, Karl on his lap, “And I think that was pretty mean of him, but I guess I deserved that. I mean, I did drop it in the first place and it’s a very good brand of cereal.” He laughs, rubbing his neck.

Edgar isn’t looking at him, when he answers, “I don’t think it was your fault.”

“Huh?” Nakajima asks, confused.

Karl squeaks in agreement. Maybe it’s the yesterday getting to him, maybe it’s the hole in his chest and the memories flowing in and out of his mind – the not so good memories, that is – but he does continue his thought, “That man didn’t have to yell at you. We drop things all the time, there’s no need to cause a scene.”

“Yeah, unless he was a Cereal Police…” Tanizaki meaningfully trails off.

Yosano throws him a disgusted look, “A Cereal Police?”

Nakajima laughs it off, of course. Edgar wouldn’t even think of it twice if not for the way Nakajima Atsushi behaves on a daily basis. Focused with Ranpo, Edgar hasn’t noticed it before, but now that Ranpo is not here and Nakajima is this close to him – it’s clear as day. The stuttered apologies, the self-depreciating humor and the way Nakajima flinches away when he doesn’t see someone’s hand coming up to touch him. Anyone can blame it on Nakajima’s shyness or maybe just label it as him being the awkward teenager he still is, but Edgar has seen enough and he knows enough, that it’s really not the case.

He lets it go, though. It’s not really his business. But then Yosano reminds them of Hiroto’s own case and Edgar holds back his comments as they talk it out and carefully watches as Nakajima grows quieter and quieter.

“So his dad abuses him?” Nakajima finally asks and Yosano gives a nod as her eyes slid over the boy with ease. “ That’s terrible.”

The atmosphere turns a bit colder at that and Tanizaki waves his hand, “We will make sure he’s in good hands, so it’s all good.”

“It still doesn’t make it fair.” Nakajima mumbles.

“No,” she sighs, “It doesn’t.”

Edgar doesn’t really think when he blurts out, “Abuse never is, though.” But when he does, it somehow leaves him lightheaded in ways that he didn’t think were possible.

For years, way before Ranpo and way before the Guild, when Edgar was a scrawny teenager like Nakajima, and when his eyes lit up, hesitant, at the smallest acts of kindness, there was this toxic mindset in Edgar’s head. The constant apologizing and taking the blame for the stupidest of things; the belittling his own skills despite seeing the fruits of his work – all done to please his foster father, all done to keep out of his way.

For all the anxiety Edgar holds inside of himself there’s an equal amount of hard work and things he can’t just deny existing. At least, he’s grown to see it that way. Because before there was Edgar Allan Poe who starved for any kind of success and any kind of validation; before was Edgar Allan Poe who let his foster father step on his achievements all to please his own ego and his own ambitions.

Emotional abuse is a thing, too, realized Edgar later on, and it’s not fair.

“Oh,” is what Nakajima ends up saying and he turns to face Edgar, and Edgar himself notices that Dazai in the back of the room sits a bit more tense, his smile looking a bit more forced, light in his eyes dimmed a bit in a way that’s barely noticeable, “Were you—?”

“You could say so. I’m assuming that you haven’t had the best experiences in life.” Edgar says quietly, then adds a bit worried when Nakajima stays frozen under his gaze, “I apologize if I’m overstepping—“

“No!” Nakajima waves his hands, snapping back to focus, “No, it’s okay! I was just wondering, I uh. I guess it’s a common knowledge here at the Agency, so you wouldn’t know that my, uh.” He scratches his head, “My orphanage wasn’t the best place.”

Edgar allows himself for a small, sad smile, “They rarely are,” he agrees.

“And I think it wasn’t my fault for how they treated me. Not really,” Nakajima trails off, embarrassed, “But I wasn’t the best kid to be around.”

Edgar’s mind flashes to John’s displeased frown at Edgar’s writing, at Edgar’s too long hair, the whispered ugly and sharp comments under the man’s breath. He breathes out slowly and shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter whether you were bad or not.”

Tanizaki awkwardly looks between them before mumbling an excuse to get out of the room, something about needing to get groceries, while Yosano leans backwards on her chair and listens, with that kind of expression that makes Edgar think that she’s there to listen, truly listen, and not to observe him and pick him apart to find out what makes him tick. No, she’s there to understand and Edgar grasps at that attention, for some reason, and continues, “There’s never a reason for abuse.”

He can’t explain why the way Nakajima’s eyes widen in surprise hurts him – he’s not even close to that boy, not in a way he’s close to Ranpo, but he blames it on his own, often cursed, ability to relate to people and their emotions.

“I think this is the first time I’ve heard someone say it like that,” he admits after a second of hesitating and Edgar nods, while Karl squeaks – Nakajima’s eyes fly over to the raccoon in a bewilderment, “When I tell people about what happened there,” he picks up his thought again, eyes finding Edgar’s own hidden behind the long bangs, “they say it was barbaric and cruel, but they never say—“ he cuts himself off, helplessly, and shrugs.

Edgar looks away.

There are millions of things one could say and thousands of possibilities and words that could both hurt and relieve someone. Edgar settles for words he  always wanted to hear, “One would say it raises us well,” he starts off whispering, before gradually getting a bit more confident, hands playing with Karl’s fur, “and that it shaped us to be the people we are. But abuse like this, it—it doesn’t help you grow, it stuns you. It makes you fearful, doubtful of yourself and others—I would go as far as to say that it makes you hate yourself, and that’s because we were raised in hate and hate was all we know.” He breathes in an out, and Karl puts his little head on his hand, “If you’re lucky enough; strong enough to pull through and find people who help you move forward, then it’s good—it’s very good, but,” he lifts his eyes to stare at Nakajima, “but I don’t think it was hell that made you so kind.”

“Kind—?” Nakajima splutters.

“I believe,” Edgar pushes on, because he needs to, needs to say it now or else he will never find the courage to do so later, “it was your own will steeled by people who found you.”

Nakajima blinks back and he nods, although his eyes are glassy and his breath hitches ever so slightly, “Yeah. Thanks.”

“And,” Edgar adds, “abuse is abuse. There’s no logical explanation as of yet, for people who use it to educate someone. And if they do,” his voice gets a bit more harsh, “it’s because they don’t know other means to make someone learn.”

Dazai stills. Edgar wouldn’t notice it if he weren’t looking at him – which was mostly an accident, because it’s not like Edgar said what he said purposely to make the man feel bad. It’s not like Edgar really knows Dazai. But it got him a reaction, anyways. He tries not to think about it.

And he, for the first time in his life, just wanted to say it. It leaves him vulnerable and he feels naked in the office, and Nakajima looks close to tears as well, but he got it off his chest. And it felt. It felt almost good.

Yosano’s proud smile makes the whole conversation more rewarding, somehow.

When he comes back home, there are two flowers on his doorstep.

He pretends he doesn’t know who put them there, but the hydrangeas now stand in a vase next to his bed. Even Karl doesn’t try to eat them.

When Ranpo comes back with arms full of candy he stashes right in the safe under his desk, accompanied by Kunikida who’s frowning so hard at the scene that Edgar is really surprised his face isn’t permanently stuck like this, the Agency greets him with smiles and Kenji embraces him as if Ranpo was gone for weeks and not two days.

“The whole case was boring,” Ranpo complains as soon as he sits down and stuffs his mouth with gummy bears, “They insisted I stay so they could gather the evidence and then they insisted I stay even longer, which to me was a whole waste of time.”

“You solved the case and they still didn’t let you leave?” Yosano asks as she steals a bear to which Ranpo sends her a glare and holds the pack protectively closer to his chest.

“No.” He huffs, annoyed, “Apparently, they didn’t trust my ‘gut feeling’ as they called it. Stupid bunch, I tell you. I’m never accepting their requests again, that’s for sure.”

Edgar reaches out for a pack and Ranpo, without even glancing at him, lets him have one gummy bear. Yosano stills, surprised. The Agency goes quiet for a good moment, before Ranpo lifts his eyes and raises an eyebrow, challengingly. They hastily go back to their duties.

Then, Yosano picks up the conversation, although talking a bit slowly, as if distracted, “You and Kunikida were late, though. Did you run into trouble?”

“Nah.”

Edgar munches on the gummy when Ranpo suddenly drops an envelope, at least centimeter thick, and looks at him, expectant. Edgar swallows, and stares at it, “Is it going to blow up, Ranpo-kun?”

“No!” Ranpo straightens out and sighs, “Why would I even want to blow you up?” while Yosano  mumbles under her breath something along the lines, “I bet you’d want to blow him,” to which Ranpo kicks her under the table with a glint in his eyes.

Edgar shrugs and takes the envelope, “I did try to kill you once.”

“Keyword: tried. You didn’t succeed. Nice try, though, Poe-kun.” Once upon the time, those words would have stung a lot more, now though, Edgar lets them wash over him like water and he only rolls his eyes. Ranpo nods at the envelope, “Go on, open it. I didn’t go through all that trouble for nothing.”

Yosano eyes Edgar as he thumps it open and narrows her eyes, “Is that why you were late?”

“Obviously.”

“You could have done it here, why bother?”

“Because it was faster.”

Yosano snorts, “You wanted to annoy Kunikida, didn’t you?”

Ranpo puts a hand on his chest and gasps, dramatically, “Yosano-san, you wound me. I would never.”

“Sure, sure.”

And then, it’s Edgar’s quiet, yet awed voice speaking in nothing louder than a whisper, “Oh.” And both Yosano and Ranpo look back to him and Edgar can’t or won’t say anything just yet. As of now, he just stares at the stack of photos in his hands, first picture being him with Karl hunched over Ranpo’s Switch, trying to figure out which buttons to press. Edgar remembers that day clearly, mainly because Ranpo quite literally threw the device at him when he suddenly saw there was a sale for candies. “Is that—?”

When Ranpo speaks up, it’s in careful, yet enthusiastic manner, “Photos, yeah. I printed them out when I was out for a job.”

“But—why?” Edgar shifts to another picture – of him and Ranpo by the desk, then another, with Karl doing tricks in the air and Kenji laughing in the background, “I don’t understand, I—“

“Your apartment.” Ranpo shrugs, “I told you, it feels cold. I know you didn’t have time to print out your photos so I printed out the ones I have, which is actually kind of a lot, that’s why it took me and Kunikida so long to come back.” Then, he leans forward to tap Edgar on the shoulder and Edgar automatically looks up to him, “You can now hang them up or do a collage or whatever, so you know. It will feel better to have your place decorated, trust me.”

Yosano blinks, “Is that why you told me to send you some of mine?”

Ranpo doesn’t look away from Edgar but he nods, “Yeah. By the way, did you…?”

Yosano nods slowly, then her lips curl in a gentle smile as Edgar’s eyes snap away from Ranpo’s to hers. “You’re already in Agency’s chronicle, Poe-san.” She informs him and there it is, Edgar thinks, that something in her eyes, that understanding that Edgar has yet to grasp.

And then it slowly dawns on him, that warmth spreading all over his body and he sinks into his chair, while Ranpo leans backwards, “I mean, it’s not really surprising. The President adopts literally anyone. You’re already on a Christmas Card, Poe-kun.”

He feels weak, “Christmas Card?”

“Oh, right. We do celebrate Christmas,” Ranpo opens another packet of gummy bears and grins, “Perhaps we will even rope you into dressing up as Santa Claus,” he says, as if the thought of Edgar in the red and white was something delightful and he was already imagining how it would look. Then, there’s the fact that Ranpo stared at Edgar with—with—

Yosano suddenly breaks into a chuckle and Edgar flushes bright red.

“I think you should stop dropping news like that on him, Ranpo-san,” Yosano breathes out to calm down and she waves her hand, “You’re overwhelming him.”

“No, it’s just—“ Edgar clears his throat and stuff the photos back into the envelope, before pocketing the envelope, “That’s the first time I would celebrate Christmas, like…” his mouth goes dry and he hesitates.

Yosano’s eyes are warm as she suggests, “like a real family?” She doesn’t say  just ‘family’ and Edgar immediately notes it down and nods, albeit a bit embarrassed. Then, Ranpo, finally getting fed up with the emotional scene or perhaps just hungry, loudly clears his throat.

“Alright, since we have this over with,” he gets up, picking up his hat and gingerly placing it on his head, “let’s go home, Poe-kun.”

“Home—“ Yosano starts, but Edgar is already standing up, all way too eager after Ranpo’s weekend absence, “Oi, Ranpo-san! What about your paperwork—?”

“Don’t care!” Ranpo cheerfully calls over his shoulder, Edgar trailing behind him with Karl happily chirping at Yosano and giving her a playful scratch on the arm.

“But Kunikida—!”

“See you tomorrow, Yosano-san!”

Yosano watches them go with a fond expression, before she drops her head on her arms and sighs.

“You’re so obvious, Ranpo-san,” she mumbles, “It’s a wonder how Poe-san doesn’t see it.” And then she sighs again.

“All done!” Ranpo claps his hands and steps back, admiring his handiwork, Edgar right next to him, “What do you think?”

On the wall that’s most visible in the living room, bunch of frames neatly hung and showing photos Edgar never knew were taken of situation he admits holding the closest to his heart, like Fukuzawa’s recent head pats, like Yosano’s blushing face after drinking a bit too much, like Kenji and Kyouka cooing at Karl, and even some pictures of Kyouka’s party, the first time Edgar came to the Agency. Bunch of others of Edgar and Ranpo, right in the centre of the wall, are probably the ones he likes the most and around those with Ranpo, there are couple of Karl, as well.

They put some frames up on the commodes, too. And on the nightstand in Edgar’s bedroom. Not counting the frames, Ranpo even bought small figurines and – explaining that the rest was President Fukuzawa’s idea and came out of the older man’s pocket – the pillows with awfully cute cat faces.

When they put all of it together, the effect was… nice.

Nice in a way that made Edgar think the place wasn’t as empty as it was; it wasn’t so cold and unfeeling. Before, it looked like no one lived there. Ranpo said that if Edgar was ever feeling artistic, a bit of more color on the walls could also brighten up the place.

“It’s perfect,” he breathes out, a small smile on his face. Smiling also came easier now, felt more real, more genuine. He liked it. “Thank you, Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo beams at him, then laughs, “Be glad I didn’t take Yosano-san with me. Your place would look far worse.”

“Worse than your taste in sweets?”

“Poe-kun, why do you hurt me like this?”

Edgar snorts, he can’t help it. When he looks back at Ranpo, though, the younger man is staring at him, some kind of weird light in his green – beautiful, mesmerizing – eyes that Edgar has grown to love and admire. It looked like Ranpo was searching for something but couldn’t find it.

“I’m glad,” he says, albeit distracted and he takes a step towards Edgar, probably not knowing how that action makes Edgar’s heart beat ten times faster and five times louder than it should, “Say, Poe-kun, why do you cover up your eyes?”

And Edgar’s mind just. Shuts down. He instinctively takes a step back when he sees the glint in those green eyes and turns his head away. “I just do,” he mumbles as an answer.

He doesn’t say: my foster father hated them. And he doesn’t say: I’ve grown to hate them because of that, too. And he doesn’t open his mouth to explain, either and he doesn’t know why, he just simply lacks the reason to say any of it.

Edgar’s eyes were always tired and dull – that kind of grey people hated to look at because it made them think Edgar was as good as dead. Lifeless and yet, full of hatred, is what the kids used to say. Spiteful, is what John used to say.

And yet, when Ranpo reaches out his hand, Edgar can’t move and he can’t flinch away. He just stills.

Ranpo stops just before Edgar’s forehead and looks at him, voice soft in a way that is never soft and he asks, “Can I?”

And Edgar can only jerk his head in response. Ranpo gently, but also firmly, sweeps the bangs away and then – as if that was some kind of finishing blow – holds his hand on Edgar’s head to keep the hair from getting in the way and steps closer. Edgar wants to, really wants to close his eyes. He doesn’t – and it’s only because he knows Ranpo would immediately tell him to open them.

The staring soon becomes somewhat embarrassing and Edgar flushes all the way down to his neck, “Ah, Ranpo-kun…?”

“Hm?”

“Are you—are you done?”

“No.”

Edgar shudders at that and looks away. Ranpo huffs, as if annoyed, then speaks, “You really are terrible, Poe-kun.”

“Huh?”

Ranpo glares at him with a pout, “Why do you hide your eyes when they’re so pretty?”

Edgar stills, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re not deaf, are you?” Ranpo brings out his other hand to slide his knuckles across the man’s face and Edgar is this, this close to jumping away. Ranpo’s hand is warm against Edgar’s always cold skin, and it sends tingling down where Edgar is very sure he doesn’t want it, “Your eyes are pretty. Violet. A very pale violet, actually.”

Violet—

“They are,” Edgar hesitates, “grey.”

Ranpo tilts his head at him and shakes his head, “No. I’m very positive they’re violet. Besides, didn’t you notice that in the pictures?”

“Pictures?”

“I have bunch of pictures that have your eyes uncovered. And they aren’t grey. Far from it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“So they’re not,” Edgar swallows and watches as Ranpo’s eyes follow the movement, “ugly?”

“Hell no.”

“That’s um—that’s nice, then.”

Edgar Allan Poe. The writer.

The thing was that when faced with someone like Edogawa Ranpo – no, wait. Scratch that. There’s no one else who is just like him. No one who could match him. In fact, if Edgar had to bet, he’d say that even if life presented him with the exact replica of Ranpo’s character, Edgar would still chose the original, a bit rough around the edges, master detective with sweet tooth.

Hands on his cheeks retreat and Edgar immediately misses their warmth. He breathes out, careful. Ranpo is still looking at him,  thoughtful.

Then. Then—

“Say, Poe-kun,” he starts, glancing at Karl for a hot second, “I’m going to be real honest with you right now, because Karl’s been glaring at me for ten minutes now and it’s really unsettling having a pet raccoon sending you looks, alright?”

Edgar tenses up, “Yes?”

And Ranpo picks up on that, too. Of course, he does. How could he not when he reads Edgar like an open book? Ranpo sighs and then places both hands on Edgar’s shoulders, titling his head so he could look in Edgar’s eyes without trouble – the letter didn’t bother shaking his bangs down from where Ranpo’s pinned them – and his eyes are open, sharp, exactly the way Edgar remembered them from his dreams.

“Karl’s been getting impatient with us lately,” Ranpo says and it feels important, so Edgar doesn’t interrupt him and doesn’t glance away when he feels Karl slipping from his perch on Edgar’s back, “Because I’ve been waiting for you to make the first move. You know, being the nice human being I am.”

Edgar’s heart stutters in his chest. His hands turn clammy.

“Ranpo-kun—?”

“And I had a whole weekend to think about it. I lied, by the way. I did finish the case the second I got there and they thanked me and send me on my way,” he raises an eyebrow when Edgar blinks, surprised, “Did you really think I would just let them keep me around? I’m not stupid. But I did want some time alone and I knew that I would most likely end up spilling everything when I saw you, so I stayed.”

Karl coos at him, and Ranpo grins. Edgar swallows hard and asks, “And what did you think about?”

“You, mostly,” Ranpo says, unbothered by the way Edgar twitched at that, as if wanting to move away. The only things keeping him in place were Ranpo’s hands on his shoulders, “and Karl. You know, Poe-kun, for a person so smart, you’re pretty dense. That, or you really think I would do all the things I did because we’re friends.”

“Wait—“

“I mean, I do all those things with my friends, too, obviously,” Ranpo continues, nodding to himself, “But I don’t stare at them the way I do at you. And I don’t even like reading books, so why would I even bother with mysteries I can solve in a span of a minute?” He tightens his grip on Edgar’s shoulders, as if nervous, “And why would I bake cookies with you? Or want to learn how to cook? Or keep a separate folder on my phone with pictures of you being cute with Karl? Like, who does that for a friend?”

“Wait—I don’t—I don’t understand,” Edgar’s hands come up to grip at Ranpo’s arms and they’re shaking so hard he thinks even Karl looks concerned, “What are you trying to say?” he asks, almost pitifully.

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” Ranpo complains, “You’re not dumb, come on!”

“No, please, I need—“ he takes a deep breath and he’s not begging, not quite, but it’s almost as if he were, “I need to hear it. Please don’t tell me I’m over-thinking it now. Please—“ don’t say it’s a joke, please make it real, please—

Ranpo switches his grip from Edgar’s shoulders to his trembling, sweaty hands and he holds them tight against his lips and murmurs, “I can’t believe you’re going to make me say it, Edgar,” the slip of the name makes Edgar’s  eyes widen and his breath hitches, “You’re so cruel.”

“Ranpo—“

“I like you.” He blurts out suddenly and when Edgar tries to flinch away, he holds him closer, so they’re almost standing flush against each other. “I think I’m even in love with you and right now,” he kisses Edgar’s knuckles as if trying to make the insecurities and doubts inside of the man disappear with each kiss, “I think you’re the meanest person ever. Won’t you even give me an answer?”

“Answer?” Edgar squeaks out.

Ranpo looks at him with a smile, probably fully knowing Edgar is mentally freaking out every second of their conversation and secretly enjoying it, “Do you like me, too?”

“You’re the—the cruel one,” Edgar’s voice is no more than a whisper, “You already know, don’t you? Why make me say it?”

“The same reason you wanted me to say it,” Ranpo grins, but it’s a softer version of it, less sharp, “I want to hear you. I want to be sure.”

In  movies, the scene like this usually ends with a kiss – the characters find out they were pinning for each other for years and they get a happy ending. But life is not a movie – and Edgar would never dream of getting such an ending, he’d never dare to crave the safety and love Ranpo carried around himself for his own selfish wishes.

He’d never—

He could never claim it as his own, but—maybe—

Another kiss to his hand. Another quiet hum.

Edgar doesn’t really think when his arms suddenly wrap around Ranpo’s narrow frame and he doesn’t care for the huff that comes out of Ranpo’s mouth as they crumble to the floor, Edgar kneeling over Ranpo, squeezing the life out of him.

Maybe this time, Edgar could have his own warmth.

“I love you,” he whispers, brokenly.

Ranpo’s hands reach out to curl into Edgar’s hair, “Then why do you say it like a goodbye, Poe-kun?”

“Because you will leave anyway,” Edgar breathes out and it almost comes out as a sob, almost, “and you won’t look back and I’ll be alone and the Agency won’t want me there, either and—“

“Oi,” Ranpo twists his hand and Edgar winces at the pain, “Don’t tell me what I will and won’t do, that’s very stupid. I never said I’d leave, in fact, I told you I like you. Don’t put words into my mouth.”

“But—“

“Hush!” He hisses, “We can talk if you stop putting yourself down and hear me out.”

Edgar lifts his head a little to say, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ranpo twists himself out of Edgar’s grasp and stands up. Then he reaches out his hand to Edgar and says, “that we’re going to take a nap together. And when we wake up, we will solve the problem. Like this.”

That sight – Edgar on his knees, Ranpo standing above him – give Edgar a certain sense of déjà vu. But this time, there’s light coming through the window, illuminating both of them, not only Ranpo.

Edgar nods, not even thinking when he takes the offered hand and stands up. “We’re rivals,”  he states dumbly.

Ranpo sighs as he turns around in the direction of the bedroom, still not letting go, “We’ve been over this, Poe-kun.”

“But—“ he insists as they walk in, “But aren’t we?”

“We can be rivals and we can be boyfriends, but not with the attitude you’ve giving me. Now, come on. I’m tired.”

“Oh.”

Ranpo hums, throwing himself on the bed and curling up as Edgar follows his lead, “Yeah.”

“So you won’t leave?” There’s a hopeful edge to his voice, that hesitant eagerness.

It’s when Ranpo turns around to glance at him with his green eyes and a fond smile that Edgar thinks he wants to wake up to every morning, and says, “I never had a reason to leave,” that Edgar finally finds the right word for the sweet smell of candies, a body pressed next to him, warm and safe, and thinks:

Ah. That warmth. It feels like home.