Work Text:
Ever since he can remember, now, Ranpo's cut his hair by himself. No mirror, no help, no anything — at least, ever since he was on his own. From the rusty pair of scissors the ramen stand guy had given him the night he'd let him work as the vendor for a week or so to the ones Yosano had given him a couple years back to replace them, every haircut had been done messily and erratically, and that had always kind of worked for him. It was signature, at this point, and that was sort of just...trans culture, to lop hair off recklessly until it was good enough.
It had always worked for him, but it becomes clear that maybe it's just him it works for when, one night, one Edgar Allan Poe — his partner of a few months now — keeps eyeing his hair from the other side of the couch. Ranpo's pretty sure Edgar's not even trying to pretend he's not staring at this point, with his face half-hidden in a book, but violet eyes very shamelessly casting a look of concerned judgment.
It's heavy, and it's sharp, despite the softness that's meant to be conveyed. Edgar is pretty intimidating on first glance; he's absurdly tall, with a presence made somewhat imposing with the sheer space his fancy, Victorian-lord-living-in-a-luxurious-Gothic-home clothing demands with each step accentuated by the sound of a heel's clack, and he's known well for being an intellectual giant and, as Ranpo has seen some fans say, "the father of modern mystery novels", or something equally substantial. Then there's the shadow cast upon his face by long curls of dark hair, his generally solemn expressions, and eyes that are quite piercing when visible, but only because of their...dullness, but a very profound dullness, like a splat of maroon (though his eyes are violet) in an abyss of black and white. So, yeah, at first, most people are a little bit...well, it's enough to say Poe's presence is noticeable. And, even when you do know him and that he is actually quite nice, if not a little bit unhinged (as many creatives are), his stare is still very, very easily felt, whether he intends for that or not.
It really starts to bother Ranpo, is the point.
To remedy that, he looks back with an equally piercing stare, because his eyes have always left an impression, framed by dark lashes and the color of solid amber.
Edgar only glances away for a second, before clearing his throat.
"..Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you."
That's half a lie, Ranpo knows, because he can practically hear Edgar thinking Please ask why. Please ask why. I need you to ask why I was staring in his mind, and he knows Edgar knows that he knows, because Edgar is a genius in his own right, too, and the cycle of who knows what is one that goes on forever with them.
"Since you're thinking it so loud, why were you staring at——"
"Your hair."
Ranpo's mouth hangs open for a second. Not out of shock, just...sheer interruption, really. It snaps shut, though, and he resorts to blinking owlishly a few times, because...huh?
"What do you mean, my hair?"
"Your haircut."
"That doesn't help at all. Like, not even a little."
Edgar sighs, putting his book down, and then he takes both of Ranpo's hands, like he's about to drop the biggest truth bomb in the world. He's so good at dramatics that Ranpo almost feels like that's exactly the case, but he can't imagine it is.
"Ranpo."
"Uh-huh?"
"Ranpo. Darling, I- I love you very much. So much. So dearly I can hardly take it sometimes."
"I know that."
"You are lovely and beautiful."
"Yeah. I knew that too."
Edgar frowns, and Ranpo almost snickers because it's funny to watch how disgruntled he gets when all Ranpo has to say to endless compliments is Yup and I know, right on a constant basis. He groans, shaking his head, disturbing his own wavy locks slightly.
"Anyway. Your hair."
"You said that already."
"I'm getting back on the topic-- argh, nevermind it. Anyway, about it, ah.."
"Ah..?"
Edgar's expression grows grim, and Ranpo starts wondering if he sees a giant man-eating caterpillar in his hair or something — anything that would justify this level of theatrics.
"It's awful."
Ranpo is back to the owlish blinking, trying once more to comprehend what the hell that's supposed to mean.
"No," he says, finally, scrunching his nose. "You just got done saying I'm 'lovely and beautiful', you can't change your mind now."
The older of the two frowns deeper, eyebrows knitting together. "The two facts can co-exist."
So, apparently, it is now a fact that Ranpo's hair is awful.
"What's even wrong with it?"
Edgar pales, like he's never heard such an absurd question, and lifts a hand to Ranpo's hair (which, regrettably, in this moment of odd conflict, makes his stupid little chest flutter), combing through it. Or...something like combing.
"It's...choppy. And messy. Does your hairdresser even possess a mirror? It's charming but-"
"Hairdresser? I cut it myself. And I never needed a mirror."
Poe's hand comes out and hovers in the air, and he truly blanches this time, shock and horror written on angular features.
"Pardon me?!"
Ranpo scowls, because he is really not getting what is so scandalous about the fact. "I cut it myself and I don't need a mirror! I mean, you just take a pair of scissors and cut it until it looks fine!"
Poe puts a hand over his own mouth, giving Ranpo a look that only belongs in the category of looks you give puppies in sad commercials, pitiful and horrified. He's silent, before lowering his hand and sighing heavily, as if this is an enormously tiring conversation.
"Ranpo, my sweet morning sun, no. Absolutely not. All these sections of your hair are.."
Poe's hand tussles through Ranpo's hair again, and Ranpo has half a mind to swat it away, but refrains, pouting and waiting.
"..They're all uneven. Different lengths. Different angles of cuts. Different everything. These tufts have nothing in common. It's like a very disastrous group therapy.."
Ranpo's mouth falls open at that one, because that's too specific a description to not be some sort of unintended insult, and it implies his hair is that bad that Poe's on his metaphors bullshit.
"That's half the charm!"
"The other half is..?"
Ranpo falls silent, before wrinkling his nose. "The bravery."
"Bravery, for sure. It takes a strong heart to be seen like this in public."
Sometimes, Poe says things that are not meant to be cruel, but they come out utterly ruthless, despite no real bad intent. They're both this way, so Ranpo has no valid grounds to complain, but he has so many invalid grounds to complain, and he doesn't care about the difference.
"That's mean! You go and compliment me all the time, telling me I'm pretty and beautiful and all your big stupid words, and then you look at my hair and call me unsightly to the public eye!" Ranpo cries, scowling deeper.
Poe panics, waving his hands in front of himself frantically. "Don't say such things, darling! You are beautiful! It's just that you...you have- a dreadful haircut. You aren't unsightly-"
"Ohh, but I'm brave to be seen like this in public," Ranpo mocks, nose wrinkling. "Tough talk from the guy that just walked out of a time machine from the Victorian Era! Like you just got done giving your five year old some nasty and dangerous arsenic-heroin-cocaine-alcohol potion for her cough!"
"That isn't an insult at all. That is quite literally the point of historical fashion. Besides, that medicine works wonders," Poe says, very casually.
Ranpo stops, jaw dropping like a glass bottle from fifty feet in the sky.
"What?"
Suddenly, all at once, he's even more glad that he vehemently refused medicine that looked like it was nasty from Poe whenever he got a cold and was subjected to tender love and care.
Poe looks suddenly distracted, furrowing his brows and looking to the side. "Yes, they don't sell it often anymore, though…I can't fathom why. Perhaps it's less lucrative to sell more effective medicines..?"
Ranpo is a genius with impenetrable intellect and understanding, but, today, right now, he thinks he's never been thrown for so many loops.
"Or maybe arsenic is poison and heroin and cocaine are illegal and bad for you. Just a thought, though," he mutters flatly, unimpressed.
"Bah, nonsense. I've turned out quite fine," says the guy who spent six years plotting a murder because of a contest, and regularly laughs when he succeeds in murder plans.
Ranpo stares at his boyfriend for a really long time before grimacing.
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ed."