Work Text:
A knock on Mushitarou's door came at 7 am.
Mushitarou froze in his morning ritual, pulling his kettle up enough to stop the water from pouring into his cup as he listened. There wasn’t another knock, but that didn’t change the fact that he had clearly heard it.
7 am was simply too early for visitors, however, so Mushitarou shook his head and continued to make his tea. It didn’t matter if he was awake. It was the principle of the thing. People shouldn’t come so early without a prior appointment, and even then it 7 am was an odd time. Of course, it was especially odd for Mushitarou, who had no reason to expect any visitors (except for, on occasion, Ango who always came promptly at 9 in the evening).
They knocked again.
Mushitarou's hand slipped and spilled water all over the counter. Biting his tongue, he let out an exhausted sigh.
Hushed voices came through the door as Mushitarou approached. “Should we just break it down?” someone mused.
"You'll give him a heart attack." Mushitarou paused with his hand on the doorknob, recognizing that voice. It was Ango.
Mushitarou pulled open the door to find a veritable crowd outside his apartment—Poe, Ranpo, and Ango—staring him down. He narrowed his eyes at all of them, surveying them in such a way that he hoped would make his disapproval obvious.
If it was, Ranpo elected to ignore it. He latched onto Mushitarou's arm immediately, much to his dismay. He scowled, trying to escape the grasp, but it was no use without hurting the man.
"Let go of me," Mushitarou objected as he was slowly but surely pulled from his apartment. "I'm barely dressed."
"You've got a shirt and pants. And a tie," Ranpo pointed out.
"I haven't got my jacket or—"
"You're coming with us," Ranpo said definitively.
Musitaro sent a desperate glance to Poe and Ango, but both of them avoided his gaze entirely, following Ranpo with guilty looks on their faces as he was tugged towards a car.
"Where are we—?" Mushitarou's heart was racing, looking back to his apartment hopelessly. So much for a peaceful morning.
Ranpo shoved him into the backseat unceremoniously, seeming much too pleased with himself. I'm being kidnapped, Mushitarou thought with a sigh of resignation.
Ranpo and Poe sat on either side of him, blocking his escape, while Ango sat in the passenger's seat upfront. He muttered something to the driver, who nodded and pulled out of the parking lot.
"Am I being arrested or something?" Mushitarou asked, picking at the lint on his pants.
"You've been given the highly sought after job of assisting me in shopping," Ranpo declared.
Mushitarou stared at him, blinking to try and make sense of the scenario he'd been unwittingly thrown into a 7 in the morning. "'Shopping'?" he echoed.
"Shopping," Ango repeated, sounding at least half as grim as Mushitarou felt.
Ango and Mushitarou shared a glance, communicating that Ango had been dragged just as unwillingly into this whole thing, and Mushitarou sat back in his seat, defeated.
Mushitarou swallowed, keeping on a flat, glacial expression as the walls of the sleek government slowly but surely closed in on him. He didn’t know this car, and he didn’t like it. Didn’t know where it’d been, didn’t know when it’d last ben cleaned… Although if it was Ango’s work car, he had to assume it’d been kept in tip-top shape.
However, Ranpo happily chatting away (mostly to hear his own voice, as the rest of the car didn’t seem too happy to be there) was what really bothered him. It wasn’t even entirely for a reason Mushitarou could explain, but something about the cheer to Ranpo’s voice, the way it delighted in his company, that made Mushitarou want to sink into the presumably clean leather seats.
The car came to a halt, but Mushitarou didn't notice at first, too focused on calming his racing pulse. It wasn't until Ranpo attempted to climb over him that Mushitarou realized he could at least escape the confines of the accursed car. He stumbled out, breathing in the fresh air with relish.
"Oguri." Mushitarou dimly heard Ango's voice, but he didn't get to linger on it as Ranpo grabbed onto his wrist and dragged him towards the door of the mall they'd arrived at.
"Have you ever wanted to make your own sweets, Mushitarou?" Ranpo asked.
The use of his given name made Mushitarou freeze up, to the point that Ranpo was forced to come to a halt.
"I'll take that as a 'no', then," Ranpo said. He sighed with what seemed like annoyance. “I suppose I’ll have to get Ango or Poe to do my portion for me.”
"I—I don't want—"
Of course, Mushitarou didn't get much of a chance to get his objection in and he continued to be dragged along helplessly while Poe and Ango followed behind. The two exchanged some sort of joke, making a smile show on Ango's face that only caused Mushitarou further panic for no reason in particular.
"Here we are!" Ranpo said, gesturing grandly to the shop they'd stopped in front of. "Kurumicco is so heavenly, don't you think, Mushitarou?"
Mushitarou's breath caught again and this time, he truly struggled to catch it. He felt like a fish on land, gasping for air. "Stop calling me—"
“Ango,” Ranpo completely ignored Mushitarou’s further objections, but, sweet relief, he did let go of Mushitarou’s arm to attach himself to Ango instead. “You’ll make it for me.”
Mushitarou swayed where he stood, limbs unnaturally heavy as his chest heaved with effort. Blessedly, no one in their little group seemed to notice as Ango and Ranpo disappeared into the store, with Poe following behind after studying the shop window.
The moment he could force his feet to move, Mushitarou found a corner to shove himself in to, ignoring dust bunnies and other various grime that would normally give him pause.
This was a better spot for Mushitarou to try and calm himself down, the only interruption to his world now being the people who occasionally passed by his hiding spot, completely oblivious to his presence. He held onto his wrist, squeezing it so tight that his fingers started to tingle.
Ranpo’s easy smile and joyful voice stuck in Mushitarou’s mind like glue, no matter how much he tried to chase it out. He could still feel Ranpo’s hand around his wrist, pulling him this way and that. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t forget it, and a part of him couldn’t understand why. Another part of him didn’t want to.
“Mushitarou. Thank you.”
Even though he asked, even though he didn't struggle, at one point Yokomizo's hands moved on their own, wrapped around Mushitarou's wrist even as he smiled. "Don't cry," Yokomizo's thumb rubbed at the skin exposed under Mushitarou's sleeves, "Thank you."
Mushitarou’s memories twisted in his skull, wondered what it’d be like if Ranpo was beneath his hands instead. Would he struggle? Would the great detective beg?
Would Mushitarou cry? Or would he enjoy it? Had he wanted to murder Ranpo all along?
Mushitarou’s breath shuddered as he shook his head, trying to chase the thought of his head. He was mortified, the horror filling his chest so much that it choked him. Normal people didn’t wonder about killing their friends, surely. Did that mean he wanted to? He had to want to.
"Mushitarou?"
"Who's there?" Mushitarou snapped.
His hand lashed out by reflex but only hit empty air as Ranpo leaped out of reach of his strike with ease. He gave Mushitarou a neutral glance. "You missed the best part," Ranpo said, extending a small, packaged kurumicco to him, "But it's okay because you have a friend like me."
Mushitarou's blood ran cold at the word 'friend'. "I'm not…"
Without warning, Ranpo shoved the kurumicco into his mouth, stopping Mushitarou from speaking again. Mushitarou stiffened, his brain remembering that this was something that his companions had made, probably by hand, and the sweet turned sour in his mouth.
Ranpo read his thoughts, however, making a show of stripping off latex gloves. "Damn, those things are so hard to work with," Ranpo said, looking over his shoulder at Mushitarou, "So you'd better say thank you.”
Mushitarou chewed, still hesitant but easily pacified by the sweetness of the caramel. "Thank you," he said quietly.
"Now then!" Ranpo said, "Next is Ariake Harbour cake, Mushitarou, so stay close."
Even though Ranpo didn’t cling to him, Mushitarou didn’t feel he had any choice but to follow Ranpo out of his hiding spot. He put another piece of kurumicco in his mouth to focus his complete attention on, following Ranpo in silence.
"Sorry we didn't let you watch your show.”
Mushitarou jumped, not realizing Poe had come up to his side. He stared at the detective in shock for a moment, trying to digest what he’d just said. “What show?” he finally asked.
"Um, the daily horoscope reading," Poe said, his cheeks turning a little red from what Mushitarou assumed was shyness. He didn’t seem half as outgoing as Ranpo.
There wasn’t any reason for Poe to know he watched that program in the morning (more out of habit and less because of the information offered). But, he supposed, Poe was a detective on the caliber of Ranpo, so his surprise was foolish.
“I tried to tell Ranpo that this whole thing was a bad idea, especially so early in the morning, but…” Poe shrugged.
“Why’d you come along?” Mushitarou asked, putting that last piece of kurumicco in his mouth.
"Ah, Ranpo knew my partner was out of town, so I couldn't use that excuse, and I'm afraid there's little else I do with my life other than read." Poe gave a long sigh. "And he's my rival, so I can't deny his whims of course.”
Mushitarou considered following that line of conversation, learning about the history of Poe and Ranpo’s rivalry, but he quickly realized that would be a long one of little interest to him. “What’s your sign?” Mushitarou asked instead, for a lack of better questions to ask.
Poe was taken aback by the question, but he answered anyway. “Capricorn, I think…”
Mushitarou smiles, despite himself. “Of course you are.” He looked ahead. “Capricorn’s can be known for their pessimism, you know.”
“I'm not a pessimist…” Poe said, but it was a half-hearted objection as if he knew Mushitarou had him pegged.
“I could’ve guessed that you were Capricorn.” Mushitarou waved his hand dismissively.
Poe seemed to take that as somewhat of a challenge because after a moment he made a guess. “Are you a Virgo?”
Mushitarou laughed, unable to help himself. Poe had a smile on the corner of his lips, too, looking amused by Mushitarou's reaction. "That's a 'no' then…"
"I'm a Pisces," Mushitarou said, puffing his chest out a little. "The complete opposite of a Virgo, you see."
"Ah," Poe said.
"So even a great detective can be wrong, without the use of my flawless ability."
Poe sighed. “I am better suited to writing mysteries than solving them.”
Mushitarou froze again, the sentence ringing in his ears and making the smile slide off his face instantly.
Poe seemed too oblivious to Mushitarou’s change in mood as Ranpo called to him. Like a loyal dog, he returned to Ranpo’s side as they entered another sweets shop.
If Ango followed or was even still with them, Mushitarou didn’t notice. He stared at the store entrance, trying to keep the memories out and focus on anything else.
"My specialty is writing mystery novels, not solving them, Mushitarou, dear."
Mushitarou stumbled around the corner, just to be out of sight of the group so they would, hopefully, not come looking for him. He leaned against the wall.
Yokomizo's pen flourished as he finished a line. "But even I know that this mystery is unsolvable, as long as you help me."
Yokomizo’s face rarely showed in his memories now. Mushitarou was instead staring at a blank canvas, wanting to scream. Had he forgotten Yokomizo’s face already? If he’d forgotten, had he ever really cared for him?
Despite Yokomizo reassuring Mushitarou that this was what he wanted, the strain showed on his face as Mushitarou pushed harder and harder on his windpipe. He could remember that, could remember closing his eye so he didn’t have to watch, only to open them again, scared to miss a second more in his very last moments together with his best friend. His only friend. His…
Mushitarou told himself the whole time that it was for the best. It was to create the unsolvable mystery. It was for the best. It was what Yokomizo wanted. To write the perfect mystery novel.
But he'd still killed him. He'd killed him. He'd killed a so-called friend. No one else would do that. No one in their right mind would kill their 'friend'. No. Mushitarou was lying. He was a cruel, cruel man who'd done worse. He'd killed that man who smiled at him so fondly and spoke to him as someone who cared for him. So he couldn’t call himself a friend. Couldn’t begin to claim he felt a thing for his friends.
"Oguri?"
Mushitarou jumped, terrified of Poe's interruption and looking, irrationally, for any injuries he might've caused to the man. "Are you alright?" Mushitarou asked as he stood up straight. “What happened?”
“We made cake,” Poe said, holding up a package, “Are you alright?”
“I—“ Mushitarou swallowed, his mouth completely dry. “I’m…”
When he failed to come up for an answer, Poe didn’t press. “You’re not fond of sweets, are you?”
"Not… fond of people," Mushitarou amended, glad for a much easier question, "And even less so of people who prepare food where I can't watch them and make sure they're not spitting in my food.”
Poe looked at his cake with dubiousness. "What an unpleasant thought."
"When—when do we get to go?" Mushitarou asked.
Poe sighed. "When Ranpo gets bored."
"Is that possible?"
"When sweets are involved? Never." Poe smiled at him, very gently.
His softness did little to calm Mushitarou's nerves. "I want to go—"
“Oguri, Poe,” Ango called to them from across the hall, drawing their attention to him, "Ranpo says one more store."
One more. He could probably take that. Mushitarou nodded and he and Poe joined Ango and Ranpo. Poe fell into conversation with Ranpo about something or other when Ango spoke up. "You look good today," Ango said.
Mushitarou blinked once, twice and turned to Ango.
"You've been eating better, haven't you?"
With a sigh, Mushitarou looked away. "Thank you for the groceries the other day."
"I wasn't fishing for a compliment."
The conversation was cut short by Mushitarou's distraction. He came skidding to a halt in front of the book store, a beautifully displayed occult book catching his eye. The fact that Ango stopped the group to go inside was almost completely lost on Mushitarou. He was completely unconcerned with losing the group as he made his way into the used bookstore's back corner, following the display. He picked his way among the precarious stack of novels on the floor, breathing in their scent with some relief. This was comforting and warm and familiar and… isolating.
Poe, Ango, and Ranpo’s voices were gone, but Mushitarou didn't allow himself a moment to miss them, picking up the nearest book to forge his way into the contents.
It was a subconscious move for him to move toward the front of the store as he continued to pick up stray books that grabbed his fancy. He had garnered quite a stack by the time that his companions were back in hearing distance, the collection weighing down his arms.
Ranpo and Ango seemed to be squabbling over something meaningless while Poe watched on with some amusement, and Mushitarou feared his fondness might be clear on his face. It was such an easy dynamic, one he almost felt included in as he and Ango locked eyes and Ango rolled his, much to Ranpo's annoyance.
Mushitarou chuckled for the first time in ages. He set down the stack, ready to start on the next aisle and find yet another stack to add to his collection.
A different display caught his eyes instead.
In memory of beloved mystery author: Yokomizo Seishi
Mushitarou’s heart stopped dead in his chest. A choir of 'no' started a mantra in his head and he was out of the store without even a second's thought. He stumbled outside, only because it was the nearest out available to him, and collapsed next to a fountain, glad for the chilly weather as it allowed him to be alone.
In memory… In memory of a man he killed, a man he loved, a man he killed…
Mushitarou brushed loose bits of Yokomizo's hair from his face, uncertain of what else to do. Yokomizo didn't react, dead as he was, staring blankly into space with a quirk to his lips that might've resembled a smile. Mushitarou squeezed his eyes shut, realizing with horror that this was gonna be the last memory of Yokomizo, that it might be the very face he thinks of whenever he thinks of his friend. Pale, lifeless, his mouth contorted into a mocking grin at his expense.
The ability to cry had left Mushitarou some time ago. He didn't have any more water to give, but his whole body heaved with a dry sob that had him kneeling over Yokomizo's body, their hair brushing as he lost the ability to do anything but shake with unshed tears.
"Can I sit here?"
Ango looked down at Mushitarou, his eyes softer than Mushitarou deserved.
Mushitarou’s lungs burned as he tried to get his breathing back to normal, even though it’d long been a lost cause. He wasn't even sure when he started crying, but when he touched a hand to his cheek, there was saltwater there.
Could it be called crying when there weren’t any tears left? It certainly felt like Mushitarou hadn’t ver stopped crying as he went through the motions. He tried to remain detached as he did everything asked, stringing Yokomizo's body up in a ghoulish position and then…
"Oguri." Ango had sat without asking further permission but sat far enough away that they wouldn't touch.
Mushitarou almost did want him to touch him, almost wanted to feel more grounded, but Ango was instead achingly polite, and Mushitarou didn’t begrudge him for that.
"You left your books."
...then Mushitarou had gripped a knife in his hands and stared at Yokomizo, wishing he could close his eyes again and make this go away. But it was too late. And this is what Yokomizo had wanted, the very last thing he'd asked of him. It was the last thing he would ever do for his friend.
God, he didn't want to. He didn't want to.
The knife fell to the floor at least three times before Mushitarou got up the courage to use it. The fourth only happened cause he forced his arm into motion before he could stop himself.
With an ease that scared him—that convinced him that he had wanted to do this from the start—Mushitarou made the first cut.
“Oguri, please look at me.”
It took a lot of effort to do as he was asked, more effort than Mushitarou wanted it to, but he still managed it. Ango’s face was comforting. His presence itself was comforting.
And it scared him.
No matter how often Mushitarou washed his hands, the blood wouldn’t go away. Even after they cracked and blistered and burst and scabbed, he still found himself scrubbing, wishing somehow they'd get purified. But they would never be clean.
He saw Yokomizo in everyone he spoke to. He saw him in the cashier, in the overly friendly neighbor at his hotel, everyone who wanted to get close to him. In his mind's eye, he found himself wondering if he wanted to kill them like he had killed Yokomizo.
Because no normal person would agree to kill their friend, even if that was what their friend had asked. There must've been a part of him that wanted him to do it. He'd imagined it before Yokomizo, had seen himself smacking a hammer into the back of his father's skull for no reason other than he had a hammer and his father was there. The thought might've made him sick with worry, but that didn't change the fact he'd thought of it, and no normal person would do that.
And he still felt the blood on his hands.
Mushitarou wrung his hands. The cracking had gone away, as he'd gotten his compulsive washing under control, but they were still just a little too dry, a little wrong. And still covered with blood.
He could feel Ango watching him. "Did I ever tell you that I killed my friend, too?" He asked after some time.
Mushitarou was successfully drawn from his thoughts, shocked by this revelation.
Ango was smiling, very, very softly, and in such a way that it was more a sad ghost than an actual smile. He sighed and looked toward the horizon. "I can't say that we're the same, Oguri. I can't compare what you've been through to my own experiences. I should be blunt that our experiences aren't the same. And I can’t you closure on something I haven't figured out myself.”
Mushitarou nodded, watching Ango’s profile with some confusion.
"You may think of me as a government employee, Oguri, but you know better than anyone that that doesn't make my hands clean."
Instinctively, Mushitarou's hands clenched together.
"I've done things for the government that I regret, that I will always regret, and one of those things was agreeing to be a spy in a powerful organization." Ango wasn't hesitating to say any of these things, Mushitarou noticed. He'd had this speech many times, although Mushitarou wasn't sure if it was with someone else, or only to himself. "I made friends and the very fact that I was who I was caused them to die. I betrayed him multiple times, and yet I fooled myself into thinking that maybe it would be okay, that they would be unaffected. It was me, after all, doing those things, so maybe I would be the one to die instead if it was to come to that."
“But it wasn’t.”
Ango looked at Mushitarou, not seeming the least bit surprised at the interruption. His eyes were more full of emotion than Mushitarou had ever seen them, but it wasn't necessarily a sad look. It was regret, boundless fields of regret growing in his eyes.
“No…” Ango said, looking away, “It wasn’t me. And if I hadn’t been there, if I hadn’t taken that job, then he would’ve lived.”
"You don't know that," Mushitarou said, more on instinct than anything. In a movie scene, it's what he would say, try to cheer up the person sitting next to him.
"At the very least," Ango said, "if I had not been his friend, he would be sitting here with us today."
Mushitarou looked away. "If you hadn't been his friend…"
"I may not have put the bullet in his chest, but I may as well have for all the bad I did to him, Oguri."
Mushitarou looked at his hands, the hands that had killed Yokomizo. "Did he ever tell you he regretted being your friend?" he asked.
There was a long pause. "No. And I don't think he did, even after everything."
"But you caused his death."
"I did."
"So wouldn't he chase you away?"
"Mushitarou."
He very nearly jumped at the use of his given name, although Ango put no malice behind it.
"I don't believe you would’ve been capable of murder unless he had asked you and… Even if you were, I'm glad we're sitting here together. I wouldn't wish for anything different."
Mushitarou looked to Ango, his mind and chest buzzing with so many emotions he wasn't sure he would be able to name. Ango looked back, his expression far more certain, and Mushitarou couldn't argue with that face. It was the sort of face that Mushitarou knew would only be countered with 'you're wrong' and, against all logic, he would believe him.
Ango held out his hand. "Let's be friends, Mushitarou, no matter what happens."
Mushitarou took a deep breath, staring at Ango's hand for several seconds. His mind yelled at him that it wasn't safe, but when he glanced back up to Ango's soft eyes… Mushitarou couldn't stop himself. He grasped Ango's hand, his trembling more than a little, and gave it a solid shake. "Alright, Sakaguchi."
Surprise crossed Sakaguchi’s at the sound of his name, but it only lasted a few seconds before the sound of approaching voice drew their attention away.
"Oguri," Ranpo said, sucking on a lollipop, "You're so irresponsible. Even I know how to use a bookstore."
Mushitarou opened his mouth to say something when a bag came down hard near his side, causing him to jump. It was a heavy thing, filled to the brim with books, the books he'd been carrying earlier. He blinked, eyes wide.
Poe, who had been carrying the bag, rubbed his pale hands together. "Did we really have to stop at that sweet-shop in between?" he asked.
Ranpo, in response, handed him a small candy, which only made Poe sigh.
Mushitarou stood, trying not to shiver at the feeling of grit on his hands as he pushed himself up. He patted the spot where his wallet would usually be, only to remember he'd left it at home thanks to his sudden kidnapping.
"I'll pay you back when we get home, Poe, if you don't mind."
"It's fine," Poe said without missing a beat, "It was only about ¥55,000."
Mushitarou let out a squeak by reflex. "'Only' ‽ "
"I have a strange request," Sakaguchi suddenly said. All eyes turned to the man, who was pulling a camera from his bag. "Let's take a picture."
Expecting someone else to protest, Mushitarou held his tongue, only to notice Ranpo and Poe immediately moving to pose. By the time Mushitarou opened his mouth, it was practically too late. "Ah, Ranpo, don't you think taking pictures is, um, childish. Or something?" He asked in a voice quiet enough so that Sakaguchi wouldn't hear.
Ranpo raised an eyebrow. "I am childish for many reasons, but having friends is not one of them."
His voice was surprisingly honest and sincere, almost scarily so, and once again Mushitarou couldn't argue, couldn't try and say that they weren't friends. Because they were, and he hoped they were, in the deeper recesses of his heart. Damn the consequences, Mushitarou hoped they were his friends.
And he wanted to take a picture.
Sakaguchi handed his camera over to a woman on the landing and took his place among them. "I told her to take a few, so hold still for a little while.”
For the first time in a very long time, Mushitarou’s hand brushed against Poe’s and he didn’t recoil from the human touch.
Mushitarou took a deep breath and smiled.
