Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I propose,” Ranpo declares, crossing his arms in the most infuriating, arrogant stance Poe’s ever seen in his life, “a horror film.”

On the other side of the room, Ranpo’s classmates in 3-A whistle and cheer for him; Poe can’t tell if it’s scripted or genuine, but when the noise dies down, he clears his throat and mutters, just audible enough for Ranpo to hear, “As if that would work.”

Ranpo’s eye twitches. “I’m thinking of something like someone kidnapping the characters one by one. And at the end, when there’s only one of our protagonists left, there could be an announcement that a sculptor came by the school to present for the art exhibit, and we find out his sculptures are actually the mutilated bodies of the kidnapped victims!” He beams. “How does that sound? Good, right?”

Someone claps enthusiastically. Poe turns to look at which lunatic would support this idea, and is wholly unsurprised to see Dazai Osamu with a big smile on his face. “So what you’re saying,” Poe says, raising his hand, “is that you want to permanently scar the audience? We’re presenting this to the second-years too, you know.”

Ranpo gives him an irritable look. “If they can’t handle a bit of psychological horror, then how are they going to survive the shit fest of their third year?”

He has a point, but Poe isn’t about to admit it. “What about the judges? Besides, this is supposed to be in the context of our school.”

“Kidnappings can totally happen in a school.”

“We’ve never even held an art exhibit that included sculptures before.”

“Then it’s time we do,” Ranpo huffs. “Sculptures are cool, you know.”

Poe doesn’t know if he wants to bother wasting more time arguing with Ranpo and his eroguro nonsense, but thankfully their class presidents, Fitzgerald and Kunikida Doppo, make the choice for him — Fitzgerald claps his hands and says, “Alright, let’s discuss with our classmates which we prefer! We’ll vote on it after a few minutes.”

“Please make sure you think about this wisely,” Kunikida adds, giving Dazai a stern glare. “We will have to collaborate for this to turn out well, and I’m sure we all want to win the film festival for our school.”

Poe stays quiet and lets Twain do most of the talking for their class, even if half of what he’s saying doesn’t make sense and he’s still trying to push for his idea about two boys witnessing a murder, which is even less plausible than Ranpo’s — a tug on his sleeve gets his attention. “What do you think?” Louisa asks. “About Edogawa-san’s idea, I mean.”

“I think he’s being a pain.” Poe tilts his head a little to glance behind him, where 3-A is having some sort of heated discussion. He catches the word “tentacles” and decides that’s a discussion he’s better off not listening to. “It’s also far too hard to do considering our limited time and resources. It’d be hard to make the ‘bodies’ look like pretend-sculptures, for one thing.”

Louisa looks concerned, which Poe isn’t surprised about — she’s not exactly a fan of horror, and as the lead scriptwriter, Poe can’t imagine her being able to stomach writing any of what Ranpo had said. “I do like your idea more… Sorry no one cheered when you talked about it.”

“I-I don’t care about that!”

“You looked like you cared a lo—”

“Anyway,” Poe hastily interrupts, before Louisa giggles any harder, “I’ll do whatever I can to make sure we don’t follow through with his idea. And if we do, I’ll force him to tone the horror down. But I think my idea will win anyway,” he muses, “so don’t worry.”

After Kunikida counts the votes for both proposals, he holds his head in his hands for a second. Then he turns around to face the rest of them, and grumbles, “They’re tied.”

Silence.

“Ah,” Fitzgerald exclaims, sounding perfectly undeterred, “so that just means we’ll have to do both!”

—

As per the schedule Louisa had made, the two head directors from both classes have to meet up at least once a week to discuss the film’s overall plot; afterwards, they’ll help with the scriptwriting, then move on to practices and rehearsals, and eventually actual filming.

Of course, the only thing Poe gets from that is that he’s going to spend the rest of the school year with Ranpo if he wants to win this competition and pass Film class, which is downright hilarious considering how they had first met.

They decide, in the most passive-aggressive online conversation Poe’s ever had, to meet up every Friday afternoon in the library, when both of them are free — predictably enough, Ranpo comes in twenty minutes late for their first meeting. Poe mentally plans to leave after five minutes next time. “So,” Ranpo says, plopping onto his seat, “I was thinking.”

Poe looks down at where Ranpo’s dropped his bag right on top of Poe’s books. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Aw, little baby’s being sarcastic. Are you in a bad mood ‘cause you saw my lovely face?”

Poe massages his forehead and looks back down at the table. “What were you thinking?”

Ranpo beams. Poe feels it more than he sees it. “Let’s follow through with my idea, okay? Okay.”

“What?” Poe looks up, trying not to sound too scandalized. “We decided it’d be a combination of both, didn’t we? We had a voting and everything! Democracy!”

“Ugh, but how are we supposed to combine horror and—” Ranpo’s expression twists into one of absolute disgust, as if the very concept physically pains him. “Romance?”

“Plenty of movies have both,” Poe mumbles.

“Yeah, bad movies. The real good ones are just nice, plain suspense.”

Poe shakes his head. One of them has to do something to make this film work, and it’s not going to be Ranpo, especially since it looks like he hasn’t changed since they’d first met, but Poe doesn’t want to concede either.

It’d feel like losing to him, again. 

Still, he’d only have to suck it up and work with Ranpo for a few months. Then the film will be done, the award will be theirs, and he can graduate and move back to the States and never see Ranpo’s stupid face again. Poe takes a deep breath, and says, “Alright, listen. We can make it a primarily horror-themed film. But we have to tone down on the gore, because this is meant to be for all ages, and I still want a romantic subplot.”

Ranpo pouts. “What’s with you and romantic subplots?”

“Just for this one,” Poe insists. He can back down from everything else but this. Even if he’d really only wanted a romantic film because it was easiest and simplest to do, admitting defeat to Ranpo about anything would truly mean he’d finally lost all dignity. “Trust me, the judges will suck it up. And Louisa’s very good at writing romances.”

“Fine, whatever.” Ranpo leans back against his seat, looking annoyingly satisfied with himself. “As long as my idea gets to have the spotlight, alright?”

“I really don’t like you,” Poe tells him.

Ranpo smiles beatifically. “Whatever you say, Poe-kun.”

Chapter Text

Ranpo’s idea, in excruciating detail, is for the kidnapped victims to be stuck wandering in a labyrinth filled with terrifying paintings — Poe convinces him, after promising to buy him ice cream, to do away with the dismembered limbs scattered around the maze as well. The paintings, though, are both intriguing and doable; Poe makes a mental note to assign Lucy for that task.

Working on the bare bones of the story is the hardest part, though, especially considering Poe has never collaborated with anyone, ever, on any of his works, and Ranpo is just about the last person Poe would pick to work with. “We’re too different,” Poe says, during his regular rant session with Louisa. “He wants one thing and I want the other, I think this addition is good when he thinks it’s entirely unnecessary — it’s an absolute pain!” 

“But it’s a new experience, working with him, isn’t it?” Louisa asks.

“I suppose,” Poe grumbles, “if new experiences always make me want to tear my hair out.”

After talking Ranpo out of adding an unrealistic alien-monster to the story, they move on to sketching the cast — five is a good number for their main characters, which is something they can at least agree on, but it goes downward from there again when they focus on characterization. “Listen,” Ranpo starts. That’s never a good start when it comes from Ranpo. “There are always five main character tropes in a horror movie. The protagonist, the boyfriend, the girlfriend, the loud idiot who gets himself killed first, and the guy who’s convinced there’s a ghost or murderer but is never listened to.”

“Which is why—”

“Which is why we should stay far away from those,” Ranpo interrupts. Poe wants to smash his head into a wall. “It’s way too boring and cliché if we go with those, and I bet the judges will think we were being lazy with their personalities. If we make everyone the total opposite—”

Poe furrows his brow. “That’s just as worse. The contrast between the opposite archetypes will be too obvious, and the judges will think we made a bad effort at looking special.”

“What?” Ranpo yelps. “No! Come on, we can have a protagonist who never wanted to go in the first place, an arguing couple who would let the other die if they could be saved, someone so quiet that nobody even realized they were gone, and a total dumbass who has no idea what’s happening!”

“That is the laziest writing I have ever seen in my life,” Poe says.

Ranpo bristles. “At least there was an effort to change the usual tropes. What about you? What’s your bright idea?”

“If we’re not going to stick to tropes, then we’ll rely on actual, developed characters who are defined by more than one overarching personality trait,” Poe explains. He’s about to continue, already expecting Ranpo’s eyes to have glazed over the moment he spoke the word “developed,” but Ranpo is staring right at him, green eyes just as sharp and piercing as Poe remembers them being. Poe swallows, and mumbles, “We can use real-life people as inspiration. Casting should be considered as well, since it’s not like our classmates are actual actors — I’m sure it’ll be easier if we write characters who are already similar to them.”

“Lame,” Ranpo says, right away. Poe can’t say he hadn’t been expecting that. “So we’re just gonna make characters who already exist… that sounds like lazy writing to me.”

“Plenty of published authors do the same! There’s nothing wrong with taking inspiration — it isn’t like we’re plagiarizing someone’s entire identity down to their cat’s name. You think,” Poe snaps, feeling years’ worth of spite and hatred rising up in him, “you’re so intelligent because you’ve got the highest grades in our year, but this has nothing to do with that—”

Ranpo shoves his chair back when he stands. “You shut up!”

The hushed whispers in the library go silent.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” Ranpo hisses. His eyes are narrowed in fury, the typical cheer and lilt in his voice replaced by cold anger. “You don’t know anything about me, Poe-kun.”

He slams the library door when he leaves.

—

Louisa stares at him. “You brought his things back with you?”

“The librarian told me not to leave them,” Poe grumbles. Ranpo’s bag is a mess of notebooks, pens, and snacks, more on the latter — Poe had shaken it a little to test something, and was wholly unsurprised when candy wrappers fluttered down like confetti. “I didn’t know where else to leave it, and I didn’t want to see his stupid face again yesterday, so I… brought it home.”

Louisa stares at him a little longer, and then shakes her head, looking immensely disappointed in him. “You couldn’t have just given it to Dazai-san? Or Kunikida-san?”

“I’d rather die than talk to Dazai-san,” Poe mutters. She has a point about Kunikida, though.

“You’re being unnecessarily dramatic again. I’ll go with you to Kunikida-san during lunch, alright?”

Poe sighs. “Thanks, Lou.”

She gives him a side-eye. “Why did you two argue anyway? Or at least argue more seriously than usual.”

Poe fiddles with his pen. “He was being… He said my writing was lazy. But — it’s not just that, you know. I think I just got more and more fed up with him and then it all came out right then.” He thinks back on what he had said, the harsh words sounding unnatural now, and feels himself internally wince. Poe hasn’t verbally insulted anyone to their face since… he doesn’t even remember. Even as a child, he’d been praised for being polite and obedient.

Of course Ranpo would be the one to bring out the worst in him.

“I suppose there’s nothing you can do about it now,” Louisa muses. “But the film can’t suffer because of you two. At least try to apologize to him?”

Poe rolls his eyes. “So we can go back to insulting each other?”

“I don’t know,” Louisa says, giving him an indecipherable look. “I think you might prefer that over right now.”

Poe can’t focus in any of his classes, Ranpo’s bag an inexorable presence beside him. During a lull in activity, someone accidentally kicks the open bag, and Poe has to bend down and stuff the notebooks and papers back inside—

And then he pauses, because there’s a sheet of notebook paper with his name on it.

He settles back on his seat, bringing the paper up to his table — it’s probably rude to look at Ranpo’s things without permission, but the paper’s got his name on it, in the bubbliest, loopiest handwriting he’s ever seen, so Poe should have some right to look at it, shouldn’t he? Besides, it’s Ranpo’s fault in the first place for having such a dramatic exit that he had forgotten his things, so it’s probably fine, right?

Will you quit trying to defend your actions and just look at the damn paper already, a voice that sounds like Lucy mutters in his head. Poe decides that’s probably more sensible than worrying any longer, and smoothens the paper out, cringing when he realizes he had been gripping it tight enough to leave a noticeable crease. He hopes Ranpo will assume it had gotten crumpled up in the bag, but knowing Ranpo, he’s smart enough to figure it out.

The paper has scribbles all over it, from random science facts to math equations, but the lower half seems to have been devoted entirely to notes about the film. There are possible character sketches, random personality traits scrawled in the bubbly, loopy handwriting that’s very quickly grating on Poe’s eyesight, plot points and motifs and symbols scattered all over the page and often overlapping with other doodles, even entire set designs complete with blocking and camera angles. The chatter of his classmates around him fades into white noise as Poe traces the words with his finger, uncaring if it smudges on his skin — the details, though messy, are intricate and in-depth, and he’d be an idiot if he couldn’t tell they had been drawn with love.

His mind wanders back to every other meeting they’ve had, and how relaxed Ranpo had been — except now Poe remembers how excited he got over the tiniest things, how he jumped at the chance to give his opinion and add in an idea. Oh, Poe thinks, suddenly feeling very stupid.

He closes his eyes for a second, shaking off the odd pressure on his chest, and searches for his name on the paper. Mixed in among the rest of the scribbles is an incredibly ugly sketch of Poe’s face, his hair looking like an actual mop and his mouth turned down in a frown even more stern than Kunikida’s. Poe-kun, the writing next to his face reads. Sooo annoying.

Poe rolls his eyes, and he’s about to throw the paper back in the bag before small, bubbly handwriting below reads, Sooo cute.

Beside him, Lucy raises a concerned eyebrow. “Poe, what’s with you? You’re all red. Don’t tell me you’re sick?”

“No,” Poe squeaks out, “I’m… f-fine…”

At lunch, Poe tells Louisa he’ll be fine by himself, which nets him a suspicious and clearly disbelieving look, but Poe ignores that and seeks Ranpo out himself. He doesn’t know where the other guy sits, or whom he hangs out with, and Ranpo’s too unpredictable for him to accurately deduce where he would be. Poe asks Dazai, Kunikida, and Yosano, but they all say Ranpo stays wherever he likes with no set pattern or meaning, which is no help whatsoever.

They don’t give him many hints about Ranpo’s possible whereabouts, so Poe looks everywhere by himself, lugging the bag behind him. Eventually he winds up in an abandoned hallway, where some classes had taken place last year before the area was scheduled for demolition and the classes had been relocated. Honestly, Poe doubts he’s going to find anything here aside from layers of dust on the floor, but he’s run out of places to search, so he goes ahead and tries not to sneeze up a storm as he heads further in, peering in each classroom for a sign of telltale messy black hair or sharp green eyes.

Poe gets distracted quick, though, because the classrooms are unexpectedly… he can’t find the right word for it. Creepy, maybe — the tables and chairs inside have all been shoved to the backs of the rooms in big, messy piles, and there are weird drawings and squiggles on the blackboards that look like demonic symbols for rituals or something. The windows have all been closed and the curtains drawn, too, so Poe has to make do with the minimal light from his phone, which really doesn’t help the whole creepy-haunted-hallway vibe the place is giving him.

At the end of the hall is a closed-off staircase that leads to the roof — Poe checks the yellow tape for any sign of disturbance, since Ranpo seems like the kind of person who’d go into closed-off sections for fun, but the dust hasn’t been disturbed. He sighs, adjusts the weight of Ranpo’s bag on his shoulder, and turns to leave — until he hears a foot scuff behind him.

Oh God, he immediately thinks, here we go, I’m about to get possessed, oh my God, if I throw this bag in front of me, will someone find it and be able to connect the dots about my inevitable disappearance—

“Poe-kun?”

Poe turns. “Oh,” he says, tone perfectly colorless, “it’s you.”

Ranpo huffs and crosses his arms. “What’s that mean? Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you. What are you doing here?” Poe returns. He steps forward, but stops when Ranpo visibly backs away from him, the relaxed, arrogant posture immediately tensing into something more defensive. It almost — hurts, but Poe supposes, with a twinge of guilt, that it makes sense.

“Looking for inspiration.” Ranpo makes a vague hand gesture at the hall of classrooms before them. “I can’t very well make a labyrinth out of our classrooms. So I thought I’d explore this place, especially since it’d be nice to get it on camera before it’s demolished forever.”

“That’s sentimental of you,” Poe comments.

Ranpo gives him a dirty look. “Why were you looking for me? Even if you came to apologize, I’m not going to care.”

Poe opts to say nothing, instead thrusting Ranpo’s bag out in front of him — the sudden motion makes Ranpo jerk away in reflex, and that annoying pang of guilt makes Poe’s chest twist uncomfortably again. After a second of hesitation, Ranpo steps just close enough to grab his bag before retreating backwards again. “Thanks,” he finally grinds out, sounding as if the very word physically pains him.

“Sure.” There’s an uncomfortable pause, where Ranpo is just staring at him and Poe doesn’t know if he should leave now — just as he’s about to do so, though, he catches a glimpse of the classroom nearest to him, and sees the chalk scribbles on the board. “Did you do those?” he asks.

Ranpo looks ready to bristle again. “Yeah. Why? Gonna make fun of my artistic skills or something?”

“They’re creepy,” Poe says. “In a good way, I mean. Appropriate for the horror vibe you want in the film.”

Silence. And then, a soft, “Oh,” from Ranpo, who looks taken aback, for once. Poe would be proud of himself for finally surprising Ranpo, who never gets surprised, but the uncomfortable pause has grown even more uncomfortable, and Poe can feel himself sweating in his uniform. “Well,” Ranpo says, “thanks. I guess.”

“Sure,” Poe says, before realizing he’d already said that, and damn it, now Ranpo’s smirking at him like he’s thinking of how dumb Poe sounds, too. “Listen,” Poe blurts out, “I saw, um, one of the papers in there, it happened to fall out, and — I like your ideas.” He can feel his face heating up, but Ranpo’s only looking at him, so Poe hastily continues. “Your plans and drafts and sketches and all. They were nice. I don’t agree with all of them, I think it’d be better if we didn’t have a love confession before they all die—”

Ranpo chokes out a scornful laugh, and the disdainful sound makes the rest of Poe’s words die in his throat. “If you really like my ideas, you’ll show up in the library next week again.”

Poe frowns. “I was worried you wouldn’t show up, actually.”

“I’m not as petty as you, Poe-kun,” Ranpo says, low and provoking. Poe blinks, and feels that familiar hot hatred crawling on his skin again — he’d almost apologized to Ranpo, one more second, one more breath, and he would’ve said he were sorry for blowing up at him. But — Poe grits his teeth and turns away, and he thinks Ranpo must say something else, but he tunes his irritating voice out.

What was I expecting?

“Excuse me,” Poe says, when Ranpo falls silent behind him. “I’ll be going now.”

What was I expecting? When am I ever going to be good enough?

Chapter Text

Louisa is far better at talking to people than Poe is. She stammers her way through the first few minutes of conversation with Yosano, but the moment they get to actually talking about the script, she sinks into what Poe likes to call her zone, where her concentration narrows down into a single line entirely focused on her work.

By the way Yosano looks impressed, Poe supposes they’ll have a good time throughout the rest of these meetings. Good for them — he doesn’t remember the last time he’d been in Ranpo’s general vicinity without feeling laden down by tension so thick it’s almost corporeal.

“I think I really like Yosano-san!” Louisa says, once they’ve parted ways outside the library. She’s smiling brilliantly, practically glowing, and Poe finds himself smiling, too. “She’s nice and easy to talk to and she has such nice ideas for the horror plot… and she doesn’t mind that I’d rather she work on that while I do the romantic subplot…”

“That’s good,” Poe absently replies. Ranpo had been so relaxed, earlier, leaning on Yosano’s shoulder or draping himself over her lap. “I think she likes you too.”

As expected, Louisa flushes pink. “W-What? No! I-I mean, she’s too cool for that, you know?”

“Didn’t she ask you out for coffee this Saturday?”

“Well — yes, but that’s because we’re both free and we can work on the script and get it done quicker then, so it’s purely business, right?”

Poe tries not to shake his head. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“Enough about us,” Louisa mumbles, giving him a suspicious side-eye. “You told me things were fine with Edogawa-san now. Why didn’t he say a word to you all meeting? Actually, why didn’t you say a word to him all meeting?”

“It’s, um… complicated.”

“You mean you never reconciled in the first place, did you?”

Poe sighs. “I tried. I almost apologized. He’s the one who deliberately threw out another insult, and you can’t just expect me to apologize to him, Lou.”

When he looks down at her, Louisa’s giving him an almost pleading look. “Eddie. It’s been years.”

“I—I don’t hate him for just that,” Poe argues. “I mean — it’s a part of it, but — he’s just so difficult to work with that it feels like he’s doing it on purpose, alright? It’s not like I care if he doesn’t like me either or anything, anyway,” he adds, bitterness creeping into his tone before he can stop it. “Once we’re done with this whole thing, we’ll never have to see each other again. I know we’re both just putting up with the other until it’s over.”

Louisa is quiet for a while after that, and they make their way to the school gates in silence. Above them, the sun’s begun to set — their meeting must have gone on longer than Poe had thought, though he supposes that’s largely because of Louisa and Yosano getting more invested than any of them had realized.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” Louisa finally suggests, once they’re out of the school. Poe can’t say he hadn’t been expecting these exact words. “Ask him out this Saturday too or something. You two can’t be like this forever.”

“I told you, it’s not for forever—”

“It’ll impact the film,” Louisa interrupts, something she rarely ever does. Poe blinks down at her in confusion, and Louisa gives him a sad look back. “You know it will. You’re both equally bad at keeping your emotions in check and it’s going to show. No offense, of course.”

“Er… none taken.”

“So — please? Just try. One more time. If he still doesn’t want to—” Louisa shrugs helplessly. “I promise I won’t do this again.”

Poe sighs. Asking Ranpo out on what would essentially be a date is taxing enough in itself, but if, on the off chance, Ranpo actually says yes, then that would be a whole afternoon spent in Ranpo’s presence. Doing date-like things. Having date-like conversations. God, he can feel the dread all over him like ants on his skin. But — Louisa still has her puppy-eyes on, and Poe’s always been bad at saying no to her.

“Fine,” he relents. Louisa breaks into a smile that’s almost contagious. “But if he says no, then that’s the end of it.”

“Don’t worry,” Louisa says, tone far more upbeat now, “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

—

She’s right. It doesn’t.

Poe does his best not to worry too much about it, and he succeeds, sort of — he only spends ten minutes agonizing over his text instead of the usual fifteen. When he finally sends the message — Can we meet up on Saturday? We still haven’t finalized some scenes — and starts worrying over how it seems too formal, even for him, Ranpo replies in under a minute with a simple, ok.

He could have at least typed out two more letters, Poe thinks as irritably as he can, just to tamp down the anxiety making his gut curdle.

He doesn’t bother replying, throwing his phone on his bed instead, then groans into a pillow. Now he has to worry about what to wear. And where to take them. And what to do. God, why did he agree to this again? The pros of just letting Louisa down would have far outweighed this situation he’s gotten himself into. Ranpo seems like — no, is — the sort of person who’d complain about every little thing Poe does wrong, and Poe gets enough of that every week, so he’d really rather not have to put up with it this time.

Then his phone buzzes with another message. i want the cake from the café near school.

Poe massages the bridge of his nose and considers leaving Ranpo on read, but another text pops up before he can decide. quit ghosting me!!!

Okay?

Of course, Ranpo stops responding at that point, which had probably been his plan from the start — Poe grabs a pillow and throws it against his wall as hard as he can, pretending the spot he hits is Ranpo’s face.

It’s hard getting all his thoughts in order on Saturday, and by the time he’s found himself a table for two in the café, he’s already on the verge of hurling himself out the window and making a break for it before Ranpo can show up. He has plenty of time, too, considering Ranpo’s track record for arriving on time, but Poe had already bought a coffee and he doesn’t want to just let it cool if he runs away. And Louisa would be extremely disappointed in him, so.

When Ranpo arrives, Poe’s already finished his coffee, something he wishes he were more surprised about. “You know, you come way too early,” Ranpo starts, before pausing then snickering to himself.

Poe can feel his cheeks flush, and he feels suddenly glad his hair usually covers most of his face. “No, you just arrive way too late.”

“Aw, is that so bad?” Ranpo flips the menu open, closes it immediately, then raises his hand to call a waiter over. “Can you get me the caramel cake with the chocolate-strawberry parfait?”

“Wait — me?”

“Well, yeah.” Ranpo stares at him. “You’re paying, right? Even if you aren’t, you’ll have to, ‘cause I didn’t bring any money.”

“You’re lucky this place is cheap, then,” Poe mutters. Ranpo gives him an incredulous look, but he doesn’t get to speak before the waiter comes by to take his order. The cake and parfait are this month’s special, and Poe winces when he sees how sweet it must be. It has to be acidic, with that much sugar.

Ranpo digs in as soon as his order arrives, and Poe stares blankly at a spot on the table for several minutes until Ranpo finally asks, “What’d you bring me out for, anyway? You’re just sitting there and staring. Don’t tell me you missed my company, Poe-kun?”

Unlike his usual light, teasing tone from before their fight, Ranpo’s voice drips of derision now, and it takes every bit of Poe’s self-control not to stand up and leave. He bites down on his tongue instead and gives himself a second to recollect his thoughts before responding. “I wanted to ask about the ending. We haven’t really decided on a solid one yet.”

“Hmm, I guess.” Ranpo plucks the cherry off the top of his parfait and pops it in his mouth — Poe can feel his neck heating up, oddly enough, and he slides his gaze over to outside the window. “There’ll be the art exhibit thing, right, and then the last living main character will see how the sculptures looks way too life-like to be artificial, and then they’ll have their big realization, and theeen…”

He cocks his head at Poe, and Poe belatedly realizes Ranpo is prompting him to suggest something, which is so new that it’s disconcerting. “Um, I think the easiest way to end that would be showing the antagonist creeping up behind the main character? Or showing their shadow, something like that, then just cutting to a black screen and the credits.”

Ranpo sighs and leans back against his seat — Poe worries that he’d disappointed Ranpo somehow, and then feels irritation in him again when he wonders why that matters so much to him. “There you go again, saying what’s the ‘easiest’ way,” Ranpo says. “Why are you always going for what’s easy? Why not go for what’s interesting?”

Poe furrows his brow. “I’m only doing this to pass Film.”

“So?”

“So what’s easy and predictable,” Poe says, slowly and near-patronizingly, “is what will get me an A. Deep symbolism, intricate plots, those are all well and good, but—”

“You’re scared you won’t be understood?” Ranpo interrupts. His voice has lost its derision, replaced by a sharpness Poe doesn’t know if he wants to understand. “You’re scared people will think different means wrong?”

“Yes,” Poe snaps, “because they do.”

The silence drags on uncomfortably long, and then Ranpo sighs, heavy and tired. “We really aren’t good together, huh?” he asks. There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice, for some reason, and Poe has to look away — he doesn’t know what there is to say to something like that. Ranpo almost sounds like he wants the two of them to get along, which is hilarious, considering he hasn’t shown so much as a hint of that in all the years they’ve known each other.

“I guess not,” Poe replies, after a pause. “But we have to, at least for now. What do you have in mind for the ending?”

Ranpo doesn’t look at him when he speaks. “Dunno. Cannibalism?”

“W-What?”

“Or cropophilia?”

“What?”

“Just kidding.” Mirth dances in Ranpo’s eyes for a moment again, and Poe feels himself relax until Ranpo huffs out a breath and shrugs listlessly. “Nah, whatever. Why don’t you decide.”

It’s not a question, and it’s the second time in five minutes that Ranpo’s bothered giving him any semblance of a choice in the film’s making — most of the time it had been Ranpo suggesting wild ideas left and right and Poe doing his best to keep them PG-13, after all. Being given a choice now is so disorienting that Poe doesn’t even want to do it. “Are you done?” he blurts out.

Ranpo gives him a confused look. “Huh?”

“Um, are you done eating?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” Ranpo scoops up the last bit of parfait in his mouth and lets the spoon clatter noisily back in the glass. “Why?”

“Let’s—” Poe wracks his head for what he knows about Ranpo. “Let’s go to the park or something. Fresh air will help us think.”

Ranpo’s giving him an even more confused look, but Poe hastily waves a waiter over to pay for their bill, generous tip and all, and the money apparently distracts Ranpo enough that he can’t speak.

Poe isn’t overly familiar with Yokohama, even with his fairly good memory, mostly because he tries to avoid traveling anywhere aside from the usual route he takes to get to school — the crowds make him terribly uncomfortable, and there’s so much noise that he gets dizzy just standing still. But for once, he forces all this away and focuses on getting to the nearest (and least inhabited) park; he knows Ranpo likes both small and open areas, something he had found out through observation, but especially areas without a lot of other people.

“A park?” Ranpo asks. He sounds more bewildered than anything, which is new, coming from the all-knowing Edogawa Ranpo. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but why?”

“It’s…” Poe flounders for a suitable excuse. He had suggested a park on impulse, because his first thought had been to go to a library before he realized they spent enough time in the one at school, so a park had been his next choice. “The weather’s nice today?” he tries.

Ranpo just looks at him, then shakes his head.

They wind up in a relatively empty park with several trees and a bunch of stray cats strolling around, which seems to cinch it for Ranpo — instead of heading for one of the sun-warmed benches, he makes a beeline towards the base of a tree, where half a dozen cats are dozing off by, and scares half of them away. “Oh, come on!” he whines.

“If you’re going to just run to them like that—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Ranpo plops down on the grass, already petting one of the cats that had been too lazy to run away from him. After a second to mourn the inevitable grass stains on his nice jeans, Poe takes a seat beside Ranpo and watches the cats clamber onto Ranpo’s lap to soak up body warmth. “What now?” Ranpo asks. He sounds far calmer like this, surrounded by cats beneath the shade of a tree. “You wanted to get some thinking done, didn’t you?”

“Ah, um, right.”

That’s the last thing Poe does, though. He stares out at their surroundings instead, half-listening to Ranpo hum something under his breath. This is far more pleasant than he had thought it would be, considering spending time with Ranpo has always resulted in terrible headaches for him, but Poe thinks he might like it this way. “How about the romantic subplot?”

“Hm? What about it?”

“Will they confess? Or will the love interest die before the survivor gets to tell them how they feel?”

Ranpo cracks an eye open to give Poe an amused look. “Yeah? What do you think?”

Poe blinks. “You’ve never given me much of a choice before.”

“Romance is boring for me,” Ranpo scoffs. “Besides, you can do this on your own, can’t you? What’s the easy way?”

He’s not falling for that this time, even if the mockery in Ranpo’s voice has begun to sneak back. Poe looks up at the tree above them, watching the leaves sway in the breeze for a while before speaking. “There’s never an easy way in romance.”

Ranpo says nothing, but when Poe looks at him, Ranpo’s giving him a sort of curious, go-on look, so Poe continues. “I mean, there’s predictable. But there’s no easy, I think. Frankly, even if there were an easy way, I wouldn’t want to use it for anything, even for this.”

“Really now?”

“It’d be—” Poe sighs. He’d walked into this one. “It’d be boring.”

Ranpo grins, all smug and self-satisfied, and Poe feels a bit of annoyance swelling in him again, but — it’s different, this time. He still definitely wants to smack the grin off Ranpo’s face, but he wants Ranpo to laugh and tease him about his short temper afterwards, and — this is a dangerous train of thought, isn’t it. “I’m surprised it’s romance that has you like this. Aren’t you more of a mystery guy?”

“Well, yes? But this story is more of horror, not mystery and deduction and case-solving.” Poe frowns. “If it were, we’d never be done planning it out.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We’d argue over which character should be the red herring and who found the body first, and then the deadline would have come and gone by the time we decided on a culprit.”

Poe coughs out an involuntary laugh, and he only realizes how foreign it sounds when it leaves his mouth — he hasn’t laughed like that in a while, freely and carelessly, even around Lucy or Louisa. When he turns to look at Ranpo, he looks shocked still, eyes wide open for once. “What?” Poe mumbles. Does his laugh sound that bad?

“Oh,” Ranpo says, immediately looking back down at the cat purring away on his lap, “nothing. So what does the couple do anyway?”

“Ah, right! Well, if one died before the other could tell them their feelings, that’d be a lot more painful, right? Plus, everyone dies at the end, so there’s absolutely zero closure for that. I think it’s more realistic that way — the audience would want them to have closure, would want some form of knowing what one feels for the other, but…” Poe pauses for a moment. “But that’s life, isn’t it? We don’t always get closure. We don’t always get what we want.”

“We don’t always get our crush to like us back,” Ranpo snorts, but he doesn’t sound as scornful as usual.

Poe nods, hardly aware he’s doing it; his chest aches, and he wishes he knew why. “What do you think?”

Ranpo doesn’t say anything for a bit, just goes on petting the cat, and Poe doesn’t push him to reply. Eventually, Ranpo does speak up, his voice softer than Poe’s used to it being. “I think you were right.”

“Wh—” Poe would stagger backward if he weren’t sitting down right now. “What?”

“I think you were right,” Ranpo steadily repeats. He’s not looking at Poe, but his eyes are open, glittering emerald green in the sunlight. “The weather is nice today.”

Chapter Text

“So? How was it?”

Poe picks at his lunch. He hasn’t had much of an appetite since he had seen Ranpo devour both the cake and parfait in one go last Saturday; just watching had already made him feel sick. “It was fine, I guess.”

Louisa pouts. “That’s it?”

It was probably more than just fine, but as much as Poe likes writing, he can’t quite find the right words to describe how he felt about that… outing of theirs. After all, he never thought he would enjoy a conversation with Ranpo, considering he usually wants to get away from the other guy as fast as possible, but… for the first time, they had actually been somewhat friendly with each other. Sort of.

They hadn’t done much after their impromptu trip to the park, though Ranpo had gotten ice cream (using Poe’s money, of course) and talked Poe’s ear off about what other mystery and horror elements they could add to the film — he was terribly, frighteningly adamant about cropophilia, which Poe dearly wished he didn’t know about — and then Poe had walked him back to his apartment.

“Thanks for today,” Ranpo said.

“You, too,” Poe replied.

Then they had stared blankly at each other, a few seconds of awkward silence passing — Poe suddenly wanted to run away and forget that odd, expectant look on Ranpo’s face, because what on Earth was he even expecting? Besides, this wasn’t a date or anything, so it wasn’t as if Poe had to give him a goodbye kiss, right?

Eventually, Ranpo had just huffed in what seemed like disappointment, said, “See you, Poe-kun,” and disappeared into the front doors.

“Well,” Poe finally allows, “it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I guess.”

Louisa beams like this is the best news she’s heard all week, which it might as well be. “I told you! I knew you two would get along somehow. You have such similar personalities—”

“Excuse me?”

“—which might be why you clash so much, but also mesh so well!” Her smile doesn’t dim one bit at the flabbergasted look on Poe’s face. “Anyway, I saw you added a bunch of new ideas to the script doc, so I’m guessing it was a productive meeting, too.”

“Oh. Um, yeah.”

It occurs to Poe, as he watches Louisa check a message notification on her phone, that if he hadn’t told her about his first meeting with Ranpo, she would be a whole lot more insistent on them getting along than she already is, because that’s the kind of friend she is. In fact, if Poe told her that he simply doesn’t want to get along with Ranpo, ever, under any situation, then she’d drop the subject and everything would go back to normal, non-Ranpo-related circumstances. But…

But. Poe frowns. Does he want to get along with Ranpo now?

He doesn’t get the chance to think much more about it before Lucy and Twain sit down at their lunch table, Lucy delicately and Twain chaotically, as per usual. Louisa squeaks and surreptitiously tucks her phone back in her pocket, which honestly just confirms Poe’s vague hunch that she’s texting Yosano. “Hey, gays and gays!” Twain greets.

“God, I hope you choke,” Lucy grumbles.

“Have you heard? Fitz is holding another party tomorrow,” Twain goes on, apparently deaf to anything Lucy says. “Pretty sure he just wants an excuse to show off to that Zelda chick from 3-D, but whatever gets us alcohol and a free pass to raid his fridge, right?”

Lucy and Louisa start discussing the various pros and cons of attending the party, like they do every time Fitzgerald hosts one, and Poe’s long memorized their arguments, so he tunes them out. He never goes to any of them — just the thought of a Fitzgerald Party, chock-full of people all smelling like sweat and beer and who-knows-what-else, makes him want to throw up and hide in his bed — but now he wonders if Ranpo will be going. Not that he’s curious, or that he’ll go if Ranpo does, but Poe does sort of want to know how Ranpo acts in a party. If the both of them are so similar, then maybe—

“Eddie,” Louisa calls, nudging his foot with hers; Poe blinks and slowly lets his mind slide back into reality. “Will you be going?”

Poe frowns. “You know my answer. Are you?”

He’s expecting Louisa to laugh and say You know my answer, too, but Louisa flushes and looks down at her lap instead. “Um… Well, you see…”

Poe stares at her. “Oh,” he says, very slowly. And then, after a beat of silence, “This is because of Yosano-san, isn’t it?”

Louisa goes bright red. “S-She asked me to go with her! She said she’d like my company… and she wanted a friend because Edogawa-san always ends up leaving her for someone else after a while, s-so I felt bad and said yes on impulse and…” She trails off, then clears her throat and concludes with, “I-I won’t do much! I’ll probably just stick to her and go home as soon as she does!”

Lucy raises an eyebrow. “What if she needs help walking home?”

“Oh. Well, I’ll help her there, of course.”

Lucy shakes her head and takes a dispassionate bite of her sandwich. “You’re hopeless.”

“H-Huh? What does that mean?”

Unsurprisingly enough, what catches and holds Poe’s attention is Louisa’s mention of Ranpo — knowing Yosano is the one who had convinced Louisa to go to a party takes out half the surprise, and Poe knows Louisa always helps Fitzgerald the mornings after, so she’s comfortable around him, too. But Ranpo? “What do you mean… leaving her for someone else?” he cautiously ventures.

Louisa frowns thoughtfully. “I hadn’t asked for more details… but I always hear gossip about Edogawa-san and how he’s some kind of heartthrob, but Margaret may have been exaggerating, you know how she is.”

“Heartthrob?” Both Poe and Lucy parrot, Poe weakly and Lucy incredulously.

“I-I don’t know! That’s just what she told me…”

“What about me? What’d Mitchell say about me?” Twain pipes up.

Lucy calls Twain a himbo for possibly the tenth time this week, but Poe can hardly focus — Ranpo, a heartthrob? It’s true he’s got a sort of naturally flirty quality to him, or maybe that’s just because he teases others so often, and he’s always got his eyes narrowed in some sort of sultry look, and… Anyway, a heartthrob? Poe won’t — can’t, really — believe it until he sees it.

“Okay,” he says.

Over Twain’s whines about Lucy bullying him, Lucy asks, “What was that?”

“Okay,” Poe repeats, hoping he won’t regret this just-as-impulsive-as-Louisa’s decision, “I’ll go tomorrow.”

—

He regrets it pretty quickly.

First of all, he has to worry about what to wear, again. Second of all, he has to plan everything down to the tiniest detail with Louisa because if even one thing goes out of step, Poe is going to absolutely lose it. And third of all, he still hasn’t decided on what to wear, and then his worries just loop back to number one.

What do you wear to a party, Poe texts Louisa, for possibly the fifth time within the day. She replies with skirts and dresses, which, while cute, are not exactly what Poe is going for, though he respects the high heels. Actually, can’t he just grab his own heeled boots and just wing it from there? That sounds like the closest thing to an outfit choice he’s had all day, and there’s only a little over an hour left before the meeting time he and Louisa had agreed to, so Poe digs through his closet for something that can go with the boots.

He and Louisa meet up right on time and walk to Fitzgerald’s mansion right on time, and that’s where the plan dissolves. Poe loses track of Louisa in under three minutes flat when they both get swept up in the crowd, and he’s debating texting her right away when he remembers Lou is here for Yosano and that he probably shouldn’t intrude on their date night. If he can call it that, anyway.

Of course, that leaves him with nothing to do in this thrashing crowd of half-naked people, which is far from an ideal situation.

Poe finds himself a corner of the room to hide away in quick, where he can go more or less unseen by everyone else for the rest of the night — what if Louisa has to help Yosano home after all, and Poe won’t have anyone to walk home with? It isn’t as if the plan hasn’t already been dashed to pieces, but walking home alone after spending the night alone too just sounds… well, lonely.

Still. Doing things alone, being alone, staying alone — hasn’t he been doing that for a while? So what’s the point of feeling lonely now?

Lucy, miraculously, finds him after a few minutes of Poe staring blankly into space — she’s happily chattering on about something to Akutagawa Gin and Higuchi Ichiyou from 3-C, but she gasps and runs straight to Poe once she sees him. “Poe!”

“Lucy,” Poe mumbles. Why hasn’t he read more mystery books about the murder taking place in a party? All the action and excitement would make a perfect cover for a crime, after all.

“I can’t believe you really came! I thought you were kidding just to get Twain riled up.” Lucy looks him up and down, and Poe inches away uncomfortably when he recognizes the familiar assessing gleam in her eyes. “Someone helped you with your clothes tonight, right? No way you’d go out wearing this voluntarily.”

“What? N-No! I picked these out on my own,” Poe squeaks. “Does… Does that mean I look bad?” He knows he doesn’t have much of a fashion sense outside of dressing in all black no matter the occasion, but…

Lucy blinks and stares at him in clear shock. “Are you serious?” Before Poe can stammer out an excuse and flee the mansion, Lucy steps closer and smacks him so hard on the shoulder, his arm momentarily goes numb. “You’re dressed to impress tonight, and it shows! Were people looking at you the whole time? Is that why you were hiding away here?”

“Uh.” Poe had been a bit too busy not looking at people to notice if they had been looking at him in turn. “I don’t really—”

Lucy hits him again, so that both of Poe’s arms sting with pain now. “I got it! You’re after that Edogawa guy, right? I saw him in the kitchen a while ago. Go get that dick, Poe!”

Poe’s brain abruptly short-circuits. “What? No, Lucy, why would I even—wait, I don’t even want—Lucy!” he nearly shrieks, but Lucy is already heading elsewhere, dragging Higuchi along with her; Gin raises an eyebrow at him, then follows after them at a more sedate pace. By the time it takes Poe to decide between staying put and going after the girls, they’ve already disappeared into the crowd — the crowd that, Poe realizes, does seem to have been sneaking glances at him for the past several minutes.

He feels his face heat up — because, well, he had tried to dress nicely tonight, or at least acceptably, but to actually have people looking at him? To have Lucy think he’s doing this because he wants to… wants to… with Ranpo, of all people? It isn’t as if his gold-lined boots are that special… and he’d only gotten the leather jacket because he’d realized how cold it would be outside at the last minute and it had been the first thing he saw in his closet… maybe it’s the lace on the hem of his blouse?

He doesn’t get the chance to think about it further because someone knocks into him and nearly spills their foul-smelling drink all over his nice jacket — Poe yelps and twists away, almost hitting his head on the wall. “Oh, sorry,” the guy says, sounding not the least bit apologetic; he leers at Poe, giving him an up-and-down look like Lucy, except Lucy hadn’t looked like she wanted to eat him up. “Say, have we met before? I’m—”

“No I don’t think so,” Poe says, in one breath, and then rushes back into the crowd, for once glad to be surrounded by people — he hears the guy, whoever he is, shout something from behind, but Poe doesn’t risk turning around and letting the guy get a better look at his face.

Poe’s been to Fitzgerald’s place a few times, mostly for class activities and because this is practically Louisa’s second home, so his first thought is to rocket up to the second floor and hide away in one of the guest rooms until it’s an acceptable enough time to leave. Just as he’s about to get to the stairs, though, every bad YA high-school novel he’s ever read hits him hard, and the thought of walking in to people… making use of the bedrooms has him turning on his heel and heading to the opposite direction.

Do people my age even really do that? he frets. Do my classmates really do that!? What if I see someone I know… with someone I know… doing…

“Hey, Poe-kun! You’re here?”

The familiar, aggravating voice snaps Poe back into reality — with a start, he realizes he’s wandered straight into the kitchen, where Ranpo is perched atop the once-pristine marble counter and surrounded by every single conceivable snack in the house. He pops a cookie in his mouth and speaks without bothering to swallow first. “Wow, you really dressed up for this. Who were you hoping to snag, huh?”

Poe wants to smack that shit-eating grin off Ranpo’s face. “No one! Why does everyone think I… dressed…” He can’t even continue the sentence, and feels embarrassment wash over him like a raincloud when Ranpo only looks more amused. Thank goodness no one else appears to be in the kitchen — Ranpo had probably driven them out like a territorial dog or something.

“I mean, have you looked at yourself?” Ranpo makes a vague gesture towards him with a lollipop in hand. “It’s probably ‘cause no one’s ever seen you outside the school uniform before, much less in a party. I bet someone tried to hit on you and that’s why you ran here.” Ranpo gives him a look. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Poe sighs. “Nothing gets by you.”

“Of course. What do you take me for?”

At Ranpo’s invitation, something Poe never thought he’d receive in his life, Poe takes a seat on a convenient chair by the counter, where he can pass Ranpo some snacks from a nearby table. It’s quiet for a while, or as quiet as a mansion can get when there are screaming high-schoolers and ear-pounding music, but the kitchen door helps muffle most of the noise — Poe closes his eyes when Ranpo isn’t looking at him, trying to capture this atmosphere and etch it into memory. He makes a habit of this every time the air feels different around him, like when he’s standing by a vending machine alone at night, or when he’s taking the train back home with only a sparse few passengers along with him — and this, sitting with Ranpo in an overly-lavish kitchen with the sounds of people and music outside muffled, is the sort of feeling he wants to remember.

Ranpo crunches down on some caramel candy. “What’re you spacing out for?”

“Just thinking.” Remembering. Feeling.

“I bet this is one of those writer things, huh.”

Poe shakes his head. “How do you always just know?”

“Trade secrets. What’re you thinking of, Poe-kun?”

Ranpo doesn’t really ask people what they’re thinking of, probably because he already knows without anyone needing to tell him — he’s almost omnipotent that way, which is something that had scared Poe, before. Now it’s almost… friendly. “You already know my answer. Do you just want to hear me talk?”

“Do you want to die? I’ll kill you.”

Poe laughs, and he’s glad to hear that he sounds less like a cat coughing up a hairball this time. He thinks he feels Ranpo look at him, but what emotion he might be wearing on his face, Poe doesn’t bother checking. He’ll keep his hopes that Ranpo is smiling at him just that: a hope, and nothing else. “I was… memorizing this. The atmosphere, I mean. There are emotions in the air around us, and if I could just sort of pull those feelings out and put them in my writing—” He looks up, then, and catches a flicker of something soft in Ranpo’s bright green eyes before they slit shut again. “I think it’d be nice. To put thought into feelings.”

“Hmm.” Ranpo leans back, looking dangerously close to falling off the counter, then straightens after a moment of staring up at the ceiling. “That’s definitely something a pretentious writer would say.”

Poe has no idea what he had been expecting Ranpo to say. “Why am I still talking to you? I’m going to go look for Lou—”

“No, stay!” Ranpo says, almost shouts — the words bounce off the walls, rooting Poe in place before he can even stand. “Sheesh, you — you get offended so easily, it’s not like I was saying it’s a bad thing, ugh, anyway, I was going to ask you to come home with me, but if you’re going to be so uppity—”

“Slow down a little,” Poe hastily interrupts. “Go home with you? Why?”

Ranpo gives him a flabbergasted look, which is hilarious, considering Poe is probably mirroring him. “Is it not obvious?”

“I can’t always keep up with you,” Poe grumbles. Ranpo goes oddly silent at that, giving Poe time to think about the possibilities. Maybe… “Oh, of course!”

“Wh… uh… what?”

Poe smiles. “You want to work on the script. Right? It’s nearly done, and I bet we could finish it all by tonight if we work together, and then we can finally start on rehearsals with the actors.”

Ranpo gives him a long, tired look. Then, just as Poe’s wondering if he’s said the wrong thing after all, even if that’s the only idea he can think of, Ranpo just sighs and hops off the counter. “Yeah. Right… Totally.”

They carry as many snacks as they can in their arms to bring back home, which makes their lives a lot harder than it already is when they have to get to the train — thankfully there are less people around this late at night, and Poe only irritates one tired-looking businessman for holding up the line. It’s at Ranpo’s apartment that Poe freezes in place, because when Ranpo steps into the entryway with a cry of, “I’m home, President!” the last person Poe expects to see is their math teacher.

“Um,” Poe, having paused halfway through taking his boots off, eventually squeaks, “g-good… evening… Fukuzawa-sensei…”

Fukuzawa-sensei, also known as the math teacher everyone both fears (because his tests show no mercy) and respects (because he always ends up curving their final grades to a passing mark anyway), stares down at Poe. Even outside the teacher’s uniform and in a comfortable-looking yukata, and with a calico cat curled up in his arms, he still has that soul-piercing glare that makes everyone think he can see straight through their bones. “Poe,” he says, at length. “Good evening. What brings you here?”

“Er. We have to… the film script…” Oh, God, he’s forgotten how to form words entirely. Since when had Ranpo and Fukuzawa-sensei been family? Hold on, isn’t Fukuzawa-sensei 3-A’s homeroom teacher? That explains a lot… wait, no it doesn’t! Also, President? Is that just a nickname, or has Fukuzawa-sensei been the school principal this whole time and Poe somehow hadn’t noticed!?

Fukuzawa-sensei nods exactly once, then looks at Ranpo, his eyebrows raised. Ranpo huffs. “What? Don’t you trust Poe-kun? We really are working on the film script tonight!”

“If you say so. Don’t stay up too late.” Fukuzawa-sensei gives the snacks in their arms a withering look. “Don’t eat too much either, or it’s another dentist appointment.”

“Ugh.”

As soon as they get to Ranpo’s room, a soft carpet serving as their seats, Poe whirls on him and nearly screams, “Fukuzawa-sensei is your dad?”

Ranpo’s nose wrinkles. “Ew, no. I mean, not biologically, but he took me in.”

Poe blinks, and he almost presses with more questions — Biologically? Took you in? — but Ranpo has a guarded look on his face, and Poe decides his curiosity isn’t as important as the script right now. “Well, um, alright. But at least tell me something like this instead of letting me stand there and…”

“Look like an idiot?” Ranpo innocently supplies.

Poe throws a granola bar at the back of his head, and Ranpo yelps in surprise. He turns around and makes to throw it back, but after a moment of intense glaring and contemplation, he unwraps the granola bar and starts vehemently eating it instead.

They work on the script in intervals — Ranpo flops on the floor and plays some video game called Fire Emblem on his Nintendo Switch half the time, but Poe can’t even get mad at him for it because most of what the script is missing is related to the romantic subplot. Eventually, Poe gets comfortable enough to lie on the floor too, and he pretends he doesn’t notice Ranpo looking at him when he stretches his legs. “What do you think about this one?”

“Mm, what?”

“Quit playing for one second and look here,” Poe scolds. Ranpo rolls his eyes so hard, Poe expects them to end up in another dimension entirely, but he eventually puts his Switch down and shuffles up to sit beside Poe, practically pressing up to his side. “This part. Where they’re trying to confess but are both too shy.”

“Ooh, I already know it’s dramatic yet completely unnecessary.” Ranpo plucks his laptop off of Poe’s lap, and Poe lets him — the warmth from Ranpo’s arm and thigh are terribly distracting, for some reason. “Let’s see. Oh, they’re in the dude’s bedroom? That’s so risqué. Hmm… blah blah blah…”

“Pretty sure that’s not in the dialogue.”

“What will it take to make you shut up once and for all, I wonder.” Ranpo scrolls a little further down the script, then raises his eyebrows so high up they disappear beneath his messy hair. “Wow, did you write this just now? It’s just you and me tonight, so why don’t you figure my heart out?”

Poe colors. “D-Don’t read it out loud.”

“Why not? I mean, whoever’s playing this guy is gonna have to do it too, right? It’s like you’re in your head all the time. Whatever you’re thinking… why don’t you say it aloud? Just this once?” Ranpo shakes his head. There’s a teasing sort of condescension in his expression, something Poe’s used to, but there’s also… something else Poe can’t quite name. “You’re such a—”

“Pretentious writer? I know.”

“Well, I was going to say romantic, but if you say so.” Ranpo pushes the laptop back to Poe, then shifts around to make himself more comfortable, now leaning his full weight on Poe’s side. “It’s not like it’s bad writing.”

Poe blinks, and feels a hesitant smile spread across his face. “Really?”

Ranpo gives him a disgusted look, but doesn’t move away. “Why do you look so happy? It isn’t even that big a compliment, silly! And it’s very, what do you call it, audience impact centered. The judges and second-years will suck it up.”

“Oh.” Poe finds he can’t quite get the smile off his face, and he doesn’t mind at all. “Thank you. I-I like it too. I mean…” He shrugs. “It’s just you and me tonight, why don’t you figure my heart out… it’s cute, right? It could make you go really warm in your chest, or you could get frustrated that the couple doesn’t end up together and the loose ends don’t get tied up.”

“Mm.” Ranpo reaches for his Switch and reopens the game. It looks like he’s in the middle of a battle, though Poe can’t really tell. “Figure my heart out, Poe-kun.”

“I’ll pass,” Poe says, without thinking. “That sounds too hard a task for me.”

There’s a pause where Ranpo is quiet, and Poe looks down at him in worry — did he offend Ranpo by saying that? He’d meant it in a joking manner, but he still doesn’t really know what Ranpo doesn’t like to talk about, and hurting him by accident is the last thing Poe wants to do right now. Especially if, well.

Especially if being the person to figure Ranpo’s heart out doesn’t sound so bad to him.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Ranpo finally says. His eyes are fixed on the game. “I guess I’ll find someone else to be my star-crossed lover who gets killed by a homicidal sculptor. Hey, if you’re staying the night, we gotta be asleep by twelve or else the President will beat me up, okay?”

Chapter Text

It’s a bad day.

It’s not anyone’s fault. It just is. Poe had woken up this morning already aware that today would be a bad day, and so far it has yet to prove him otherwise — he had bumped into someone while getting on the train and had been given a dirty look and a highly unnecessary shove back, and on the way to school he had passed by a gaggle of first-years who giggled behind his back, and then during Japanese Language class he had stuttered on one of their new vocabulary words and the teacher had rolled her eyes at him…

It’s just been a bad day, overall, and the worst part is that they still have rehearsals and filming after class, so Poe can’t even go home right away.

“A little to the left, like you’re hiding behind Lucy,” Poe says, trying to keep his eyes open as Atsushi does so, clearly unsure about being so near the other girl. “And look a bit scared. There, that’s better. Lucy, try to make it obvious that your brave facade is a facade.”

Ranpo watches him as he sits back down and lets Twain restart filming; Poe angles his head away and pretends he doesn’t feel those eyes boring into him. “What’s wrong with you today?” Ranpo finally asks, voice low enough that it won’t be picked up by the camera. “You look dead on your feet.”

Poe sighs. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“You didn’t even tell Atsushi-kun and Montgomery-san that they didn’t have enough chemistry in here, so clearly something has to be wrong.”

Poe grits his teeth and turns to face Ranpo, meeting narrowed green eyes head-on with his own glare. “I said I’m fine!”

It takes both of them a minute to realize Atsushi, Lucy, and Twain have stopped, and only because Twain clears his throat. “If you two are going to go at it, do you mind bringing it somewhere else?” Twain asks, making a vague gesture at the battered camera in his hand.

Lucy is giving him a worried look, but Poe can’t bring himself to meet her eyes — instead he bites back the words he wishes he could spit in Ranpo’s face and turns to walk out of the hallway they’re filming in, already cycling through the list of places he can hide away in before the next train comes around.

No one follows. He wishes he were more surprised.

The library is nearest and emptiest, especially after classes, so Poe heads there half on pure instinct. The librarian barely spares him a second glance, which he’s glad for, because his legs can’t hold him up for another second longer — he collapses onto an armchair hidden away behind a bookshelf and buries his face in his hands. Why did I do that? What was I expecting?

He’s just had a bad day, and logically he should be able to push his emotions away and focus on the film — logically he shouldn’t even be in such a terrible mood, because all the inconveniences of today were just that, inconveniences, and they shouldn’t bother him as much as they do, but — but he still can’t breathe right, and the library feels too small around him, and maybe they’re right, that he can’t be fixed, that there’s something wrong with him after all.

“Hey.”

God, how had Poe not heard him approaching? “Please leave.”

He can almost hear Ranpo raising an eyebrow. “I went all the way here and now you’re going to tell me to leave? I don’t think so.” There’s the sound of clothes shuffling, and Poe assumes that’s Ranpo flopping onto the armchair next to him. “Besides, I know you want me to stay.”

“You don’t—” Know me well enough, Poe almost says, but he bites it back at the last second; he doesn’t want to make things worse than he already has. He thinks Ranpo knows what he had been about to say anyway. “Just leave me alone,” he mumbles. “It’s better that way.”

“For who?” Ranpo snaps; the heat in his voice makes Poe look up from his hands, and he regrets it immediately. Ranpo’s eyes are a dark, gleaming green, like the depths of a forest or the scales of a snake — mysterious, dangerous, threatening. Beautiful, almost. “It doesn’t feel good for me, and it’s definitely not good for you, is it?”

“Don’t you ever feel that way?” Poe mutters. “That everything would be better if you were just alone for a second?”

Ranpo doesn’t answer immediately, which is how Poe knows he’s right. Ranpo may be intelligent beyond human comprehension, but Poe writes, and that means he knows people, knows how their minds work and how they have to work for them to be the way they are, and — he thinks Ranpo’s mind may be indecipherable, like trying to understand something foreign, but Poe likes to believe he’s always been good with languages.

“Before,” Ranpo finally answers. There’s no anger or irritation in his voice now, only resignation laced with exhaustion. “I used to feel that way before. But—” He sucks in a sharp inhale and turns away from Poe. “That was when my parents died. The academy I was enrolled in kicked me out too. So then I was alone, more alone than I could handle, and if the President hadn’t found me…”

He trails off, though Poe doesn’t need him to continue — he had assumed Fukuzawa-sensei and Ranpo had some form of history, but to have it confirmed this way… “I’m sorry,” Poe offers. He doubts there’s anything else he can say, right now.

Ranpo shrugs. “It’s fine. I mean, whatever.” It’s obviously not just whatever, and though Poe aches to point it out, he knows Ranpo isn’t one for emotional displays — or emotions, in general. “Just, being alone — really alone — it made me never want that again. If I’m not with someone—” He shakes his head, and Poe can see his hands shaking atop his knees. “If I’m left alone… by myself… anyway,” he huffs, “I just don’t like it. It never worked out for me. And I don’t think it’ll always work out for you either.”

They let the silence hang in the air for a while — Poe takes the chance to hide his face away again, unconsciously reaching up to flatten his bangs over his eyes when he catches Ranpo glancing at him. “Why do you care?” Poe eventually asks.

“What?”

“Why do you care? I mean—”

“I don’t think I can hear you with all that hair in your face,” Ranpo singsongs. Poe can feel himself this close to smacking the guy upside the head. “Look me in the eye, why don’t you?”

With a low growl, Poe looks back at Ranpo, trying to inject as much murderous intent as he can in his glare — Ranpo, all bold green eyes and languid posture, whistles lowly. “Wow, you could really pass for one of those tall-dark-and-handsome guys they post pictures of online. I bet if I posted one of you, I could rake in some real cash—”

“Why do you care?”

Ranpo sighs. “You’re no fun.”

“And you’re not answering the question.”

“Is it so wrong of me to care, Poe-kun?” He cocks his head a little. Ranpo’s neck is pale under the library lights, and he almost looks like he’s angling himself that way on purpose — for what reason, Poe doesn’t even want to think about. “Maybe I’m just worried you’ll set the school on fire out of pure spite or something. And I can’t have you doing that without me.”

Poe snorts, both amused and annoyed. It’s such a typical, Ranpo-esque answer that he’s not sure what he had expected. “You should leave. No doubt Kunikida-san is trying to control two classes by himself after both head directors suddenly left.”

“You keep saying I should leave, I should leave.” Ranpo rolls his eyes and seems to settle even further back in his armchair. “Come on. I want to stay. And I know you want me to stay.”

Poe says nothing, but doesn’t dispute him either — Ranpo probably notices that, because he kicks his feet up on a nearby desk and makes himself comfortable.

—

Poe is getting more and more used to seeing Fukuzawa-sensei outside a school context, which is sort of frightening, but not that bad. For one thing, Fukuzawa-sensei makes really good tea, and for another, their calico cat Natsume likes him.

Because of all their classmates’ conflicting schedules, Poe rarely gets to see all of them in the same rehearsal, which means he ends up having to text each actor individually for notes and critique — Ranpo somehow convinces Poe, every time, to do so at his apartment, claiming he’ll help even when they both know he’s just going to end up playing Fire Emblem again. These days, Poe doesn’t even really mind anymore, especially once Ranpo had started asking him for help during battles. The strategy and tactical thinking is a nice break from trying to properly communicate with Dazai, who appears to text exclusively in emojis.

“What do you think?” Poe asks, in the middle of going through the scenes they’ve filmed. Twain’s camera work is impeccable, for such a usually fidgety person. “We only have two months left before the deadline. Think we’ll make it?”

“Oh, really? Two months?” Ranpo cuts himself off with a sharp swear when an enemy unit KOs one of his characters, and he doesn’t speak until he sends in a pink-haired girl with an axe to finish them off. “I didn’t know it was so near already. I told you we shouldn’t have spent so much time on the script.”

“We only spent so much time there because I kept having to convince you the judges would throttle us for including cannibalism.”

“They wouldn’t throttle us,” Ranpo says, mashing the A button when some storyline dialogue appears on his screen. Absolutely no taste, Poe thinks. “They’d be too in shock to move, really, and then by the time they remember they should be throttling us, we’d already have won first place in this stupid competition and gotten an A in Film.”

“Mm. How’s the ending for you?”

Ranpo pauses, apparently in actual contemplation this time, before speaking again. “It’s okay.”

“Oh.” Poe frowns. There’s an odd tugging sensation in his chest, like something’s pulling his heart down. “Just okay?”

Another bit of quiet again — Poe doesn’t push it, instead rereading the script again and going over what parts the actors need to improve on, while he listens to the sound effects coming from Ranpo’s game. Finally, after nearly two minutes of silence, Ranpo says, “No. I like it.”

“Oh,” Poe says again, but even to him his voice sounds different. How it’s different he can’t describe, but by the way Ranpo stops playing just to look back at him, he thinks Ranpo hears it too. “Really?”

“Why are you so surprised? You wrote it.” But Ranpo’s smiling, not smirking or grinning, just smiling. His eyes are near-shut, the sunshine from the window framing his profile like some saintly glow. “Anyway, I think I’d like it even more if I’m the one who actually came up with it. But I was tired that day, so I have an excuse.”

“Whatever you say.” Poe looks away — there’s an odd, twisting feeling in his chest at seeing Ranpo smile at him, and he doesn’t know if he likes it or not. “Oh, it’s getting late — I should leave soon, there’s still that Literature test tomorrow—”

“No,” Ranpo cuts him off, somehow sounding both hesitant and forceful. Poe pauses in the middle of getting his bag, and gives Ranpo a confused look, but Ranpo isn’t even looking at him, entirely focused on his video game. Or… is he? There’s a certain jittery quality to Ranpo that Poe can just barely see, like the promise of a storm brewing on the horizon. “Stay for dinner, won’t you?”

“Fukuzawa-sensei—”

“Likes you,” Ranpo interrupts again, rolling his eyes. “Or at least likes your math grades more than mine. So stay.”

Poe does. Vaguely, he thinks he had been planning to from the start — and anyway, in addition to tea, Fukuzawa-sensei is also awfully good at making zenzai.

Chapter Text

The hallway is as dark, dusty, and decrepit as the last time he had come here. Honestly, he doubts he’s going to find anything of note in this place — one step on the creaky floorboards and he’d be hurrying up its scheduled demolishment. But he’d already searched everywhere else in the school, and frankly this abandoned hallway is the first thing that had come to mind when he had thought of murder locations; he just hadn’t wanted to, you know, visit it.

Still, he’s got no choice if he wants to find out if his hunch is right. He really hopes he’s wrong.

He takes a tentative step forward, then another, when the floor doesn’t immediately crumble before him. The hallway seems to stretch on endlessly, and the lack of light isn’t helping. Damn it, why couldn’t it have been sunny today? Even with the windows along the wall, the angry gray clouds in the sky block out whatever light could have lit his path up, only adding to the curdling horror in his gut. To his right, the cluttered classrooms are completely dark as well, the curtains inside them drawn closed.

What if…?

Everything inside him is screaming at him not to do it, but if he doesn’t, he’ll miss his chance to find out what’s happened to… to… He swallows. He doesn’t even want to think about them. To think about her. He steps forward and turns the doorknob of the first classroom, inching the door open when he finds it unlocked…

At first he finds nothing of note inside the classroom — it’s too dark to see much else except the pile of tables and chairs all pushed to the back of the room, but everything seems normal. Then he opens the door wider, letting a little more light inside, and sees it.

Eyes. Eyes everywhere.

He stumbles back, his hand flying up to muffle the shriek from his mouth, and takes several deep breaths when he realizes they’re just scratchy scribbles of eyes on the blackboard in powdery chalk — they’re disturbing and grotesque and seriously creepy, but they’re just that. Drawings. Nothing more. In fact, they’re probably just sketches someone from the art club had decided to do in this specific classroom. Yeah, that’s it.

But — as he steps back out of the room and shuts the door behind him — he swears he feels those eyes following his every move.

The rest of the classrooms he checks are just like the first one, but the drawings in each of them are different — arms, legs, hands, tongues, even breasts. He doesn’t know if they’re supposed to mean something, or if they really are just the art club studying different body parts, but he does notice the lines get messier and messier with each classroom he peers in. It had taken him a while to realize the bizarre images scrawled on the board were tongues at first — the details are careless, exaggerated, rushed, as if the artist had been in a hurry.

Or they had been growing less and less in touch with reality, his mind suggests. He pushes the thought away.

He finally reaches the end of the hallway, along with the last classroom — the stairs leading to the roof are still closed-off by yellow tape, though he supposes that wouldn’t serve as a big deterrent for a serial killer. Before heading up there, he opens the door to the last classroom, though he’s not expecting much except maybe drawings of feet on the board, or maybe—

Or maybe. Or maybe her dead body on the floor.

Her name falls from his mouth, heavy as a corpse going in the grave — he’s tripping over himself to get to her, falling to his knees beside her cold arms, but no, no, this can’t be happening, she can’t be dead, not her, her vibrant voice and bright eyes and blinding smile, she can’t—

He freezes. Even through the wet tears going down his face, he can see it: her arm is missing, cut clean off. There’s no blood.

That sculpture from a while ago… It can’t be—

“Okay, cut!”

Ranpo snorts when Atsushi flops onto the floor bonelessly, apparently uncaring of all the dust that’ll get on his uniform — Lucy, on the other hand, pushes herself off the floor and starts dusting herself off with pure disgust. Behind Atsushi, Hawthorne, their unwilling actor for the serial killer, sighs heavily and massages his forehead as if to fend off a headache. “Nice one, guys,” Twain chirps, fiddling with his camera. Poe is genuinely worried about that thing’s battery life. “Ooh, check it out, I got a good shot of Nate being all creepy behind Atsushi-kun! How sexy of me, if I do say so myself.”

“Never call me that again,” Hawthorne grunts. “And would you stop calling everything you do sexy?”

Lucy shakes her head. “He can’t. Like, he physically can’t. That’s just how himbos work.”

“Um, anyway, good job, everyone,” Poe says, smiling when everyone turns to face him. For once, he doesn’t feel ready to melt into a puddle of anxiety when he feels people’s eyes on him — instead there’s a warm feeling of accomplishment in his chest from the knowledge that they had all worked together to do this, and now they’re only a few edits away from finally finishing the film. “That’s our last one for today, so you can go home now. Ah, Nakajima-san, your acting was very good.”

Atsushi picks himself up off the floor with a bright grin. “Really? Thanks, Poe-san!”

“What about me?” Lucy pouts.

Poe gives her a look. “All you had to do was lie there.”

“Yeah, well, it was real hard of me not to burst into tears thinking about how dusty my clothes are now!”

As the two head directors, Ranpo and Poe have to stay behind and clean up after everyone else, because apparently the hallway can’t be demolished if it isn’t free of candy wrappers and stray pages from scripts. Well, Poe’s the only one who does any real work, of course; Ranpo perches atop a table and contributes to the candy wrappers. “Wanna come over later?” Ranpo asks, watching in obvious amusement as Poe painstakingly picks up his mess. “If you do, the President will make us dinner instead of getting takeout again.”

“Hmm, if you want to.” Poe waits for when Ranpo grins to himself, kicking his feet back and forth in the air, before he crumples up one of the wrappers and throws it at Ranpo’s face. Ranpo yelps and nearly falls off the table. “But clean up after yourself first, you barbarian.”

“Ugh! Do you want me to die or something, Poe-kun? Seriously, just tell me the truth!” Ranpo pouts, snatching the next candy wrapper Poe throws at him with admirable speed. “I bet the past few months have just been you trying to get me to let my guard down until I present you with the perfect opportunity to murder me. Well, joke’s on you, ‘cause I never let my guard down! Especially around you!”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Ranpo’s words make Poe pause in the middle of picking a juice box (undoubtedly left behind by Twain) off the floor, though — have they really been friends for months now? It feels like it’s only been a week since they had started this… whatever this is. What do you call it when you’re constantly going to his house, having dinner with him and his father figure, sometimes going out on the weekends to visit cafes and lounge in parks with the stray cats, and send each other memes during class despite the risk of the aforementioned father figure confiscating your cellphone?

Poe mulls over it for a few more moments. Well… is that friendship? Does that count as friendship? He can’t really tell.

But it’s definitely better than what they had been six years ago — Poe still remembers that day with frighteningly vivid memory, down to the exact way the sunlight had shone on Ranpo’s face and reflected off his grin after being announced winner. Poe remembers how the floor tiles of the school restroom had felt beneath his knees, when he’d crumpled to the ground after the competition and felt like his sobs would rip straight through his chest.

He lifts a hand to his chest now, feels his heartbeat pulsing strong. Alive. That day he had wanted to reach inside himself and tear this same inconvenient organ right out of his rib cage and flush it down the toilet.

“Poe-kun?”

Poe blinks; he hadn’t noticed Ranpo hopping off his table and walking up to stand in front of him. “Sorry, I was, um, thinking. Did you say something?”

“Just asked what you wanted for dinner.” Ranpo tugs on his wrist to pull him out of the classroom. “Come on, I’m hungry and I wanna go home! The President is probably waiting for us too.”

At home, Ranpo beats up some enemies with his favorite character, that same pink-haired girl who’s reached level 50 while everyone else is middling at the 20s, while Poe texts Katai from 3-A about the necessary edits for the film. After Katai sends him a single thumbs-up emoji, as he’s done for the past five messages, Poe sighs and watches Ranpo play. Ranpo seems to sense he’s done, because he leans sideways and rests his head on Poe’s shoulder, keeping his eyes on the screen. He’s been opting to play on the television more often, and Poe likes to think it’s because Ranpo wants Poe to watch. “What else needs to be done?”

“For the film?” Poe thinks about it for a second. “Just the edits. After that, we’ll need to make the playbook, but that’s still due at the end of the year. Louisa’s good at layout designing, too, so it shouldn’t be a huge problem.”

“Hmm.” Ranpo yawns. The pink-haired girl axes yet another enemy unit on the screen. “We’ve come a long way, huh.”

“I suppose.”

Ranpo doesn’t speak again after that, focusing on his game, and Poe takes the chance to let his thoughts drift off as well. We’ve come a long way — it’s true. Six years ago, Poe would have laughed in the face of anyone who tried to tell him he’d be spending time at Edogawa Ranpo’s apartment, watching him play video games and eating dinner Fukuzawa-sensei made them.

Six years ago…

Poe sighs. He’d only been twelve years old, fresh from the States and stuttering whenever the teacher called on him and asked him to speak in stilted Japanese, and then they’d asked him to represent his middle school for a storywriting contest? He wanted to spit in his Literature teacher’s face, but if winning made the rest of the school respect him, then he would do it.

Besides — he flinches — he had been confident he would win.

And then Edogawa Ranpo, representing some practically unheard-of school, had come out of nowhere to whip up a mystery story in half the time Poe took but with twice the quality Poe’s had. Poe remembers everything: his shock when the judges had announced the results, the way his hands began to shake and refused to steady, Ranpo grinning to himself and giving Poe the most condescending, sorry I’m better than you smirk Poe had ever seen in his life, the heat in his eyes as tears threatened to spill—

He remembers it: the burning, seething hatred in his heart, the claws of spite sinking deep into his blood.

But now — Poe does his best to look down at Ranpo, who’s still resting his head on Poe’s shoulder. Now Poe comes over to his apartment near-daily, now Poe eats dinner with him and Fukuzawa-sensei, now they talk and laugh and roll their eyes at each other without malice, now Poe can’t remember what it had been before Ranpo came into his life. Now Poe wants to reach out and sweep Ranpo’s hair out of his eyes, if only to touch his face for the briefest of moments and see his dazzling green eyes just a little clearer…

Wait — what?

Poe must tense up at that, because Ranpo looks up at him in mild confusion. “What is it?”

“Huh? Oh, um, nothing.”

Ranpo narrows his eyes at him, but returns to his game, and swears colorfully when an enemy unit knocks the pink-haired girl down to 2 HP. Ranpo’s comically put-out expression draws a laugh out of Poe, and when Ranpo fixes him with a glare, Poe only laughs harder. “Come on, you deserve it. You didn’t even level up any healers.”

“Oh, so you know how to play this game now, huh!”

“If I were you, I would’ve leveled up that other girl with the blue hair.”

“Who? Oh, Marianne? I bet that’s ‘cause she reminds you of yourself. Shy, quiet, huge eye bags, cute…”

Poe sputters. “What?”

Ranpo grins crookedly. “Yeah, don’t you know everyone loves her? Just like you, I guess.”

“Very funny.” Poe jerks a thumb at the screen. “You realize you’re about to lose this battle, don’t you?”

“Ah, shit!”

Poe turns away as soon as Ranpo starts playing again, under the pretense of looking out the window — his cheeks are burning in embarrassment and something else he doesn’t want to put a name to. Because, well, had Ranpo just called him… cute? He had. He definitely had. Poe hadn’t imagined that, had he? And Ranpo hadn’t even tried to deny it or anything. Which means…

Or, no, maybe Poe’s just looking too deep into this. Ranpo probably doesn’t even mean anything by it — in fact, he probably didn’t even mean it period, and he’d only wanted to tease Poe. That sounds more plausible.

And yet… Poe swallows. And yet they’re still pressed up to each other on the bed, Ranpo’s head on Poe’s shoulder, the warmth seeping all the way into Poe’s heart.

The heat there — Poe doesn’t think it’s from spite, this time.

Chapter Text

The backstage of the auditorium is big enough for Poe to get lost in, which is just fine with him.

It’s only a few more days before the competition, and the administration had decided on using their school’s auditorium as the venue for the film showing, so their two classes had decided to explore the place — Poe had last seen Yosano and Louisa giggling with each other before he had peered backstage and realized exactly why everyone from the drama club loved this place so much.

It’s fairly empty, with most everyone else talking to their friends outside, and completely dark as well — Poe tries to feel along the walls for a light switch, but when the wall abruptly ends and he has no idea where it continues (if it continues), he gives up on that and lets his eyes adjust to the dark instead. At the back of his mind, he wonders if this would have made a better horror labyrinth for the film.

He wanders around mindlessly for a while, looking in the dressing room upstairs (pure white, two long mirrors, a million different make-up products scattered across the tables) and tripping over the props the drama club left lying around in the dark, before he finally hears a second pair of footsteps just behind him. There’s a familiar trickle of fear, one he had felt in an abandoned hallway scheduled for demolition while he’d been carrying someone else’s bag around—

Poe turns around, and doesn’t bother hiding the smile on his lips when he sees a glint of green. “You know it’s polite to announce yourself, right?”

Ranpo huffs and steps closer — there’s a bit of light coming from beneath the curtain, illuminating enough of his face that Poe can see his pout. “I wanted to surprise you! Thanks for ruining my fun.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I hate you. What are you doing back here, though? You really are acting like an emo goth boy.”

Poe frowns. “I wanted to look around. What about you?”

“I wanted to look around,” Ranpo says, deepening his voice in a bad attempt to copy Poe’s — Poe laughs, and he hears Ranpo join him after a second, accompanied by soft footsteps until Poe can feel Ranpo standing just in front of him, close enough that he can see every shade of green in Ranpo’s eyes despite the minimal light. “Are you scared?” he asks; there’s an odd quality to his voice, making him sound lower and more serious than he usually does.

Something about that voice makes Poe’s heart jump to his throat, so he does what he’s best at and turns away from Ranpo, walking blindly through the dark. “For what?” he asks back, pretending the waver in his words isn’t as obvious as he knows it is.

He hears Ranpo huff softly behind him before the now-familiar patter of his footsteps starts up, first echoing behind him and then slowing to match his pace beside him. “You know, the contest. Duh. Would I be asking you if you were scared of the dark?”

“Are you?”

“No way,” Ranpo scoffs.

Poe rolls his eyes. “Of both the contest and the dark?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

There’s a lie in that tone, so obvious that Poe glances down beside him. Though he can’t see much, Ranpo’s expression looks perfectly neutral, giving nothing away — and somehow, that’s what gives everything away, because Ranpo’s always worn his emotions on his sleeve. Poe slows his walk until they both stop by the edge of the stage, where there’s enough light for the both of them to see by. “Which one is it?” Poe asks, when Ranpo just stares up at him. “The contest or the dark?”

Ranpo sighs irritably. “I’m not a fan of the dark.”

“Oh,” Poe says. And then, after a pause, “Me neither.”

“Don’t lie! I know you love how creepy and scary it is back here. I bet you were thinking it’s the perfect place to commit a murder or hide a body, and then the protagonist would be someone from the drama club who accidentally stumbled over the corpse and they thought it was a prop until they turned on the flashlight on their phone.”

Poe blinks. “That’s a good one. I got as far as the murder part, but I did think about how this place would have been a better site for the horror labyrinth.”

“Then that means you need a better imagination.” Ranpo shifts closer, and Poe can feel small fingers clutching onto his sweater, as if for reassurance. It’s light enough that Poe wouldn’t have felt it if he were distracted, but — he realizes with a surge of embarrassment — he’s always been terribly attuned to Ranpo, whether his heart had pulsed with spite or something else. “But I can’t blame you. There’s only one of me in the world, after all!”

Poe laughs under his breath, and sees Ranpo smile back — smile, not grin or smirk or sneer, and though he knows Ranpo’s been doing that more often around him and it really shouldn’t be anything special by this point, Poe’s chest warms with affection anyway. “I know. But you have to admit, it would be a good labyrinth.”

“Hmm, I guess. And Atsushi-kun stumbling over everything would have given the scene a very authentic feel. And anyway,” Ranpo irritably adds, “you didn’t answer my question. Are you scared?”

Poe doesn’t pretend to not understand him this time, instead turning away to look out at the rows of seats before them. They’re pretty much empty right now, of course, with only a few of their classmates dotting the chairs, but in a few days they’ll be packed with second-years with a row of judges sitting in front. He can almost see it already, the bored expression on the judges’ faces, most of them middle-aged and looking ready to go home, maybe one of them tapping their foot while waiting for the different school representatives to set up their film…

“Poe-kun.” Ranpo tugs on his sleeve; he’s suddenly a lot closer than he had been just seconds ago, Poe notes. “Are you there?”

“I’m here.” Poe tilts his head a little, getting a better angle for the light to catch Ranpo’s face. He’s close again, as close as he had been earlier, when he had first asked the question — surely it can’t be a coincidence, right, that he keeps getting so close like this, near enough for their noses to touch with one wrong move? “Um, I’m not scared. But I am nervous.”

“Hmm,” Ranpo mumbles, leaning closer. His bright green eyes are fixed on Poe’s face, and Poe has to resist the urge to squirm away from him. They’re not touching, per se, which Poe is grateful for — if even an inch of his skin were against Ranpo’s right now, he’s sure he would’ve bolted out of the auditorium. Instead, Ranpo is as close as close can get without their bodies touching, and really, Poe’s not sure if he wants Ranpo to back off… or not.

“U-Um,” Poe stammers, lifting his hands to raise over his chest — Ranpo blinks, as if snapping out of a trance. He doesn’t lean in closer, but he isn’t backing off either. “I’m nervous, but I know we’re going to win. We’ve put a l-lot of effort in the film, after all, and Lucy told me she’s seen snippets of the other schools’ films through her connections and they’re nowhere near as good as ours.”

Ranpo stares at him. “Okay?” He sounds like he’s barely refraining from saying, Why on Earth are you telling me this now, because I really don’t care?

“So, er—” Why isn’t he moving back? Do I want him to move back? Why was he coming closer in the first place? Do I want him to come closer? “It’ll be great to finally get this over with, right?”

Poe seems to have hit something with those words, because Ranpo abruptly pulls away — it’s only a few inches of distance between them, but suddenly it feels like an entire six years’ worth of hate and spite separating them again, and Poe has to tamp down the need to reach out for Ranpo and pull him closer. “Why?” Ranpo asks. He sounds childishly petulant, as he always does when he loses a battle or doesn’t get his favorite sweet, but somehow Poe has a feeling this isn’t as shallow as that. “Are you tired of me already?”

Oh.

“No,” Poe says, “it’s nothing like that. I could never.”

The words are out before he can think them through, and only in the next second does he realize how embarrassing they are — he flushes and hopes his hair and the lack of light obscures his face enough. Red blotches are always so ugly on his pale skin. “You know I didn’t mean it that way,” Poe continues, practically directing his words to the floor. “I just meant… well, it’d be a relief to finally know I’m passing Film.”

Ranpo makes a low huh sound at that — not entirely appeased but not entirely upset. Poe decides he’ll take it as a win for now. “Speaking of which,” Ranpo muses, “where are you going for college, Poe-kun? We’ll be graduating pretty soon after this.”

“Oh. Um, well, my parents—” Poe swallows at that phrase. He hasn’t had to say it in a while. “They want me to go back to America for university.”

Silence.

The quiet drags on uncomfortably long, and Poe gets fidgety enough to look back at Ranpo. He’s still not saying anything, or even giving any indication that he plans on speaking, because all he’s doing is staring at the floor with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Ranpo-kun?” Poe calls — the words fall off his tongue both smooth as a river and heavy as a landslide.

Ranpo’s head snaps up to look at him at that, his eyes wide in, for the first time, genuine surprise. “That’s…”

“What?”

“That’s the first time,” he says, voice low, “you’ve… called me by name.”

Poe blinks, and tries to pretend something like ice-cold water doesn’t run down his back at those words. “W-What? That’s… It can’t be.” It isn’t like he can just immediately remember the last time he had called Ranpo by name, but they’ve known each other for so long now, spent time with each other, argued with each other, stayed over and eaten dinner with each other, so there’s no way Poe hadn’t said Ranpo’s name once — right?

And yet, and yet — he knows it, deep in his bones, that there’s a reason Ranpo’s name feels unfamiliar on his tongue — but at the same time, it feels like saying welcome home after six years of hating and hating and waiting.

Ranpo’s still watching him, and he seems to notice the exact moment Poe reaches that conclusion, because he shakes his head. “Trust me. First time. I was listening. Waiting.” Then, softly, “I always have been.”

“You…” You can’t, Poe wants to tell him. You can’t, because all this time I’ve hated you and now suddenly I like you but both times I’ve never felt worthy to call you by name, because… because… “Why?” he asks, pathetically.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ranpo steps closer, closing the distance between them again — his hands are trembling, just slightly, when he cups Poe’s warm face in them. “I wanted to.”

Poe’s never kissed anyone before, more out of a lack of want than anything else — it looked boring in movies, felt bland in books. But Ranpo’s lips are soft, a little dry, tasting faintly of peppermint, and Poe only hesitates for one, bewildered second before his mind catches up to his somersaulting heart and he does his best to kiss back, lifting his own hands and shakily placing them on Ranpo’s waist. Ranpo shivers at that and backs away, his eyes wide, and Poe immediately pulls his hands off — but Ranpo shakes his head again, his lilting grin screaming amusement. “No,” he says, already leaning closer again, “keep doing that—” So Poe does, pulling Ranpo flush against him as they kiss again, their shared heat and Ranpo’s mouth pushing all rational thought out of his head.

When they separate, Poe feels completely and utterly dazed; Ranpo looks flushed and breathless, his lips slightly swollen, and the sight has Poe wanting to kiss him all over again. “Don’t go,” Ranpo murmurs, resting his forehead in the crook of Poe’s neck. “Stay here. Stay with me.”

“I…” Poe licks his lips, tastes peppermint on himself and feels that swoop in his stomach when he catches Ranpo looking up at him. “I can’t. My parents.”

They had already wanted to pull him back to Richmond as soon as they had heard about the competition six years ago — only Poe’s stubborn determination to get better and their own desire for a multilingual child kept them from buying the nearest plane ticket back. But they wanted him to study in America for university, for the so-called prestige Poe had never thought much of; it’s only hitting him now that he will have to fly back within the year as soon as he graduates. And that means… that means.

Ranpo wraps his arms around Poe in a loose hug. Knowing him, it’s probably his version of keeping Poe in place. “But I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’ll visit.”

“Not often enough.”

“We can call, if you like.” Though Poe hates talking on the phone — his voice sounds bad enough in person, and a hundred times worse in recordings.

Ranpo snorts. “No, I know you hate calls. It’s… It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you to cancel the rest of your future for me.” He pulls away a bit, just enough for them to make eye contact — Poe looks away at first, out of pure reflex at being faced with those sharp green eyes, but he swallows and looks back at Ranpo again. “I like you,” Ranpo says, very plainly.

Poe squeaks. “D-Do you have to say it so bluntly?”

“How do you want me to say it? I can’t just wax poetic on the spot!”

“I don’t know! But…” Poe coughs out a laugh. “I… like you too. Ranpo-kun.”

Ranpo doesn’t say anything at first, and Poe realizes his cheeks are growing pink. “Do you like it when I call you by name?” he asks.

“No. Shut up.”

“You do.” Poe smiles. “What else would you like? My darling?”

Ranpo flushes an admirable shade of red. “Ugh! No! Shut up!”

“But you like it, don’t you—”

Ranpo growls and kisses him again, almost brutally, which shuts Poe up much more effectively — Poe lets out an involuntary sound at Ranpo’s lips on his, and he can feel Ranpo smiling in satisfaction against him. “Ranpo-kun,” he breathes, his hand coming up to brush Ranpo’s hair out of his eyes and caress his cheek. “I… I…”

“You what?” Ranpo prompts, drawing away enough to give Poe space. “You need to stop getting so distracted when I kiss you. Or you’re going to be dazed for the rest of the time you’re here!”

“Ugh.” Poe smiles when he cards a hand through Ranpo’s hair, though, even as his fingers encounter several expected knots and snarls. “I… don’t want to leave you.”

Ranpo gives him a look. “You’re not.”

“But—”

“You’ll just be in another country,” Ranpo says. He holds onto Poe’s sleeve as he speaks, as if reassuring himself that he’s still there. “Even if you’re far away, it doesn’t matter. That’s not leaving. As long as you’re still in this world… that’s not leaving.”

“Still, I—” Poe inhales, exhales. “I want to stay.”

“Then stay,” Ranpo tells him, like that’s at all helpful. Poe’s about to point that out when Ranpo kisses him again, and the words die in his throat. “Stay,” Ranpo sighs, “even if just for now.”

And, well — that sounds good enough for Poe.