Work Text:
Poe entered one of the rooms in the far back of the Guild’s headquarters (this one being a small study), quickly shutting the door behind him. He let out a sigh of relief, knowing he’d finally escaped from the grasps of social interaction at work- one of the many things he rather disliked about the Guild was that everyone was constantly trying to get his attention, or involve him in conversations, or gather his opinions on various subjects… some might consider it a mere “friendly work environment”, but it was pure horror for someone as socially anxious as himself.
From here, he would have approximately two and a half hours to work on his most valuable possession of the time: A mystery novel designed specifically to stump the terrifyingly intelligent Edogawa Ranpo, whom Poe proclaimed his arch-nemesis. He moved to the back of the room without turning the lights on (it was early afternoon, so the lightly shuttered windows provided a soothing natural light instead of a harsh man-made one) and found a nice oak desk to sit behind.
Poe sat cross-legged on the floor, hidden from the doorway in case anyone were to enter unexpectedly, and pulled out his laptop. He found the document that contained the draft of his precious novel and began scrolling to where he had left off- a little over 300 pages in. Luckily, the settings on this particular document allowed him to do this very quickly, to waste less time. The Guild would be meeting with the Armed Detective Agency in less than a week- that meant the Agency would likely start trying to do something about the Guild’s sudden appearance the week after that, which meant conflict would start arising within the following few days, which meant Poe would see Edogawa again in… two weeks.
He needed this novel done to make an astounding first- well, second- impression. Edogawa’s six years of believing he was more skilled in the arts of crime-solving than Poe would soon come to an end, for this novel would devastate his entire detective career. Poe would create a case nearly impossible for any person to solve, even if said person happened to be gifted with a scarily accurate deduction ability- yes, that’s right! He would go down in history as the inventor of the one case Edogawa couldn’t solve! He would be admired citywide, nationwide, worldwide, even!- He could practically hear his fellow Guild members’ praise as his fingers flew across the keyboard, shaping word after word, line after line, paragraph after paragraph-
A soft thud, and suddenly there was a weight upon Poe’s shoulder. The novelist jumped, fumbling with his laptop and nearly dropping it, before desperately closing it and clutching it to his chest. He whirled around to face whatever had just snapped him out of his concentration.
A tall, angular figure sat next to him, bathed in soft curls that looked as though they were made of the night sky itself. He loomed over Poe, eyes fixated on the laptop, as if he were admiring the writer’s work.
It took Poe a moment to process that this was not, in fact, a kind of soul-devouring monstrosity (for this monstrosity in particular was not a fan of devouring souls), but merely a fellow Guild member of his- Lovecraft, he recognized. Poe let out a lengthy exhale, cursing his anxiety for making a fool out of him in front of his co-workers yet again. Lovecraft tried his best to give a polite wave in attempt to ease the poor man, but his hand seemed to flop around unsteadily rather than perform the desired action.
“Hello there, Lovecraft.” Poe greeted the man with unease, desperately trying to hide his work from the man’s view. “How long have you been sitting there, might I ask?”
Lovecraft was silent. His eyes gently lifted to the ceiling, and he brought an unsteady finger to his chin, as if he were making an incredibly important decision. After a moment, he rested his eyes again and exhaled. “…Lots of hours. Before you entered,” he replied, at last.
Poe’s cheeks flushed at this statement. Had he been so concentrated on his novel that failed to notice the creature spectating his work?
“I see,” Poe replied, anxiety tapping insistently on his shoulder yet again. “If I may ask, why are you hiding back here by yourself? I am here to make progress in my writing, as you may have observed, but you do not seem to be occupying yourself with anything other than watching me do so.”
Lovecraft took in a long, deep breath, as if this conversation were to require every ounce of his energy (and it certainly could, for all Poe knew).
“This room is… calm. It is quiet… and sleepy… like home…” By this, Poe understood he was referring to the vast ocean beneath the port of Yokohama. It occasionally puzzled the novelist how the two could speak with such different qualities, yet still communicate so clearly- Poe tended to use elaborate, often “fancy” language in his speech (a habit picked up from years of practicing lengthy description), while Lovecraft was a man of very few, simple words, and often, none at all. This, as Poe would soon realize, made him delightful company. His mere presence seemed to soothe the atmosphere, while not actually drawing much attention to the man himself.
“I’m sorry for startling you.” Lovecraft apologized suddenly, bowing his head in Poe’s direction. “I did not mean to. I was sleepy… my head…” he appeared lost, as if searching for the right words to use. “...Fell.”
Poe’s eyes widened slightly in understanding as he smiled slightly and nodded in return. From what he could gather, Lovecraft was watching him work, grew drousy, and eventually involuntarily rested his head upon Poe’s shoulder.
“Well, ah…” Poe started, trying desperately not to dip the conversation into awkwardness, “Shall I leave you to rest alone, then?”
To his surprise, Lovecraft shook his head. “…Stay. You are… a good writer. I want to have a watch of you.”
And then there were the times that Lovecraft misused English in the slightest ways. Many of the other Guild members deemed his common miscommunication as irritable, but Poe found it rather adorable, as odd as it was. That reminded him of the time the man had declared Poe’s raccoon, Karl, to be a large cat. He had seemed so happy (at least, as happy as he could’ve expressed), Poe didn’t have the heart to correct him. He smiled slightly, relishing in the memory, before releasing it again and returning his focus to the world around him.
He nodded again, opening his laptop and navigating back to the document from before. The novelist began to type again, easily picking up where he left off. Of course, it was difficult to devote the entirety of his concentration to his work when currently aware of his spectator’s presence, yet at the same time, Poe seemed to lack the sense of judgement that washed over him whenever anyone else viewed his unfinalized work. It was replaced instead with a feeling of ease, knowing Lovecraft was not there to critique his work, rather to simply witness its creation.
Neither of the two spoke while the writer worked, except for Poe’s occasional sigh as he hit the backspace key or Lovecraft’s various yawns. As their time spent in silence grew, so did the frequency of these yawns, and eventually Poe asked if the man would rather return to his resting position on Poe’s shoulder than continue forcing himself awake. Lovecraft opted for the former without a trace of hesitation, laying his head onto the novelist’s shoulder and, this time, wrapping an arm around Poe’s as well.
This, he did not mind, as the only part of his arm he really needed in the moment was one that was not being occupied by the strange creature. In fact, it was rather comforting having the man by his side- Lovecraft seemed to bask in Poe’s warmth as well, and was soon asleep within minutes.
About an hour or two later, Poe’s fingers made the last of their movements along the delicate keys. The final sentence of his precious novel had been ended, and, after proofreading everything for the last time, Poe decided he was finished- until professional editing could be done, of course.
Lovecraft, however, was still deep in slumber, his pleasantly damp locks long tangled in the fabrics of Poe’s cloak. The novelist did not want to wake the man at this point, but there was work the two had to attend to… Poe sighed. He ran one hand gently through the midnight curls resting at his side, and, although hesitantly, bent his head down to plant a soft kiss upon Lovecraft’s forehead.
He immediately retreated his gaze to a corner across the room from the sleeping man at his side, covering his mouth with his free hand. By now the writer’s cheeks seemed to resemble those of a perfectly ripe cherry, and all the elegant words stored in his brain had been traded in for complete gibberish, as if a child were mashing its hands against the keyboard of Poe’s thoughts.
He prayed Lovecraft would not somehow be able to telepathically determine what he had done and kill him as soon as he would awaken. Soon, though, these anxious thoughts were overcome by a sudden drowsiness on his own part.
Poe turned back to the slumbering creature at his side, resting his head upon the other’s and leaning into him slightly more than he had been already. It was only about 3:00 PM- work could wait, he decided.
Soon, Poe, too, had drifted off, leaving his cursor flashing over the last line in his precious document. He had not gotten a healthy amount of sleep in a very long time now, often staying up until 3 or 4 in the morning just to make progress on his writing. Usually, his work sessions were stress-filled, yet rewarding, but this one seemed to have been pure reward, no stress involved. Having Lovecraft at his side seemed to miraculously soothe Poe’s doubts and clear his mind of self-criticism.
Perhaps having a bit of company while he worked was not so terrible after all.