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Light rays of the sun bounced their golden hue through the faint speckles of dust that kept Ranpo’s room in its typical messy state. Weaving her fair hand through the forgotten takeout boxes that littered the floor, the sun’s hand found Ranpo’s face and promptly, without any remorse, smacked him in the face. His eyes opened slowly, a gentle groan stifled by his bedsheets as he fought vainly against the amber rays that had found their place through the slit in the blinds. The sun had travelled a countless number of meters, he couldn’t help but think, simply to land in his eyes this morning.
A long time ago, perhaps he would have called out “Go away, Miss Sun!” when he couldn’t hear his alarm. Now, simply out of spite, he waited for his alarm to go off. One of these days, he swore he’d smash that god awful chime with his own two hands; each time, he took a raincheck on that idea - that took effort, and effort was not a thing he was willing to give out liberally.
Burying his head further into his pillows, finally, those sour chimes of his alarm met his ears. If he hadn’t hated the sound so much, he might have just let them play for all he cared. Which, as it turned out, wasn’t much. Warm tendrils of light wrapped around his bare legs as his feet hit the floor, eyes squeezed shut to block out the sun as he felt around for his alarm. It chimed under his hand and he squeezed that, too, only stopping once he heard a pitiful “ding” and the room fell silent.
For a summer’s day, a small part of him said, it was awfully nice. He’d have to agree, opening his eyes a little as he leaned out of his window to feel the breeze on his skin. The sky was a deep, shimmering blue, speckled with only a few white clouds; It looked like one of his marbles, if he really squinted. Bikes and cars flew past on the road beside him, a few faces that he probably should remember waving at him as they passed. Ranpo couldn’t be bothered to raise his hand in greeting, but offered a grin instead.
Once he was sure that they were gone, the grin vanished again, replaced with a subservient smile as he tousled his hair.
“ Ah~ ” He mused, “ what a miserable start to the day~ ”
And with that, he turned to get dressed and get his things ready.
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Ranpo patted himself down as he stepped out of his room, shifting his hat on his head so that it protected him from the ever harsh sun that wanted to seemingly destroy his corneas. His messenger bag was strung messily to his side, vacant of most things sans a bottle of ramune (strawberry flavour; infallible and perfect) and a lollipop. Oh, and around three little gifts, though the people they were for likely would never get them. If he had the courage, maybe they would. It was always a game of maybe, when it came down to it.
His fingers finally found his pockets, carrying his house keys. With a satisfied hum, Ranpo turned around and locked his door, taking a few steps outside and promptly dropping the keys into a drain. And with that, he started walking, kicking a few rocks along with him as tiny companions. Those, too, he got bored of within a minute and his mind was left to wonder.
Constantly turning, well-oiled gears; sometimes the Agency joked you could hear them tick as they turned over and over again in Ranpo’s head. He’d laughed along, but never really found it funny. Ranpo found that more often than not, they didn’t really even move. It was just recycled lines that he tweaked every so often so it didn’t sound as weird. Talking with people had never been his forté, but the more he observed Dazai do it, the more he found himself picking things up. A silent mentor, if you will.
Ranpo’s thoughts were broken as the traffic lights flashed red, allowing him to cross. He went back to his thoughts, the clambering of the road far behind him in a matter of minutes. Perhaps he’d drink his ramune now. It was hot.
Ranpo paused in the street, being knocked a little by a few passersby. He suddenly wondered if he should go back and get his keys - he could even call Fukuzawa, like Fukuzawa had instructed him to do when he did things like that.
Gazing to the side, he watched the world whistle by like a bullet train, and the malaise settled on his shoulders again. So many busy people; academics, artists, people in positions of power and shopkeepers. A sigh stung his throat. He’d keep on walking; he didn’t need his keys. And with his hands shaking like they were, perhaps it was smart to wait for the ramune.
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Ranpo could have quite happily recorded the ambient noise of the Agency’s floor and listened to it forever. Have it playing in his ears, the warmth seeping into his heart a little by little, pushing the gears in his head to turn again. Pushing things to happen again. Every few minutes, he was always asked a question that kept him on his toes, or someone would make sure he was listening to the conversation happening by including him. Sat back in his chair, listening to the chatter; it might have been his favourite activity.
Today seemed just as cold as his bedroom. The chatter was lower and people seemed to just be within themselves - like he was, he guessed. Sometimes, Ranpo’s ears burned with the idea that perhaps the low chatter was about him, and he forced himself to tune out for just a little bit. Someone would ask him if they needed his opinion. Someone always asked for him if they needed him.
Ranpo wasn’t sure how long he’d been sat there, staring at the ceiling. A few minutes? A few hours? The summer heat had long since baked his sense, right from the start of the month, and the sun showed no signs of slowing down its crawl down the window he was sat behind. The anticipation of a question, any question at all, gnawed at the back of his head as he struggled to sit still. It was so quiet.
A chime of a clock calling for midday caught Ranpo’s attention, and his body turned on an automatic swivel to pick up the ramune from his bag. His ears caught something, though, as he picked up the bottle; a lack of something. The low drone hadn’t changed. There wasn’t a rush for lunch break, as there sometimes was, nor was there even a sigh of relief from a few of the clerks.
His eyes cracked open and he glanced out over the empty office. There had definitely been people when he walked in - he’d said hello to them and received a response - and some chairs were even pushed out like they’d gotten up to go somewhere. In the glass of the ramune bottle, Ranpo couldn’t help but notice his warped reflection. He looked tired. He always looked tired.
His grip tightened on the neck of the bottle, threatening to give way as he placed it on his desk. Ranpo stared at his own reflection for longer than he ever would have cared to admit, the stillness of the liquid inside taunting him. He didn’t feel like drinking it anymore. He stood up sharply, hands shaking a little more violently as he opened the office door and stepped out, thrusting them into his pockets as soon as he could. He needed to walk.
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Ranpo’s thoughts tumbled over each other as he tried to make sense of where his legs were taking him. Along the seaside, listening to the seagulls screech and caw as they flew overhead; it was almost idyllic, if not for the mental fog that strangled him and staggered his breathing. He had been right. This was a miserable day, and it wasn’t even over yet.
The beeping of a crosswalk next to him pierced through the clouds as he turned his head, watching the red turn to green as cars started moving again. Suddenly, the din of the traffic grew louder in his ears, and with a calm face, he turned and stepped out.
He waited.
Though he was sure he didn’t wait all that long.
The traffic became loud in his ears once again: honking of car horns stinging his eyes with tears uncried as he stood his ground. Tarmac stared up at him through his blurring vision, sobs caught in his throat as he fought his growing urge to move. Through the horns, he could have sworn he heard Yosano’s voice from somewhere, though his neck was too stiff with fear to move.
His heart started to beat again, full under the summer sun.
He needed his keys, though it was almost certainly too late to get them.