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After years of friendship, Poe can confidently say that Ranpo is the most complicated person he’s ever met, if not the most annoying and difficult. Being the boy’s best friend was already difficult, but throwing feelings into the mix had been a mistake, and Poe regrets the day he realized he was in love. It’d been a year, and still, nothing: no indication from Ranpo that he felt the same.
“You should do something,” Loiusa told him sympathetically, patting his arm. They were in the library, joined-- unfortunately-- by Mark and Francis, across the table from the pair and not even pretending to be working on their assignment.
“I’ve been trying,” He admits, “But nothing seems to get through to him. Not in the way I want, at least.” At her look, he tacks on: “He thought I was issuing some kind of challenge when I asked him to be my partner on a writing assignment.”
“You should just give up,” Francis tells him plainly, flipping a page in his economics textbook pointedly, “For a genius, that kid is a fucking idiot.”
“Yeah, you’re like, the most obvious person I’ve ever met.”
“That’s not very helpful, Mark,” Louisa scolds. Poe’s glad to have her on his side, but her stern voice is more of a mouse’s squeak, and so it hardly gets an eyeroll out of Twain, who goes on as if she hadn’t spoken:
“You’re worse than Nakahara and his…” He wrinkles his nose, “...Partner.”
“I tried asking them for help, too, and-
“Why the hell would you ask them for help?” Fitz asked, staring at Poe like he’d never seen anyone stupider, “Those two are like a nuclear bomb in a microwave. A walking how-to on the weirdest relationship you could imagine.”
“They seem happy-”
Mark snorts. “Chuuya tried to kill the other one like two days ago.”
Poe sighs, collapsing forward into his folded arms on the table. There’s a dainty, soothing hand in his hair that can only belong to Louisa, for which he is grateful, but it’s a paltry excuse for comfort, especially after so long. A year of pining was a long time, and it wasn’t as if Poe had much experience with this, seeing as he’d never been interested in the more intimate or romantic aspects of life; most often, he was too wrapped up in Ranpo and his schemes, which, he realizes now, was a tell in and of itself.
Still, he appreciates her effort, and hums so she knows it.
“What’s so great about him?” Mark tries, his own brand of comfort, “If he’s so smart like everyone thinks he is, he’d be well aware that you’re so into him. You aren’t what I’d call subtle. Where is he, anyway? Usually you two are joined at the hip.”
“He had chess club,” Poe groans from the fortress of his forearms, “He’s coming to meet me here when he’s done.”
Francis turns his nose up in disdain, sniffing. “You two are essentially married already. Why does it matter if he’s aware of it or not?”
Poe lets out a pitiful noise into the tabletop. “Because…” He tries, but there’s not really any words to explain it. They do spend almost every waking moment together anyway, aside from Ranpo’s numerous academic investments and the time he spends with his roommate, Mushitaro, they’re always seen together. But there was something about it, about being the only one feeling this way in such a co-dependent relationship… it made him squirm.
“Propose,” Mark offers.
Poe sputters into his arms, feeling his face heat.
“That’d be romantic,” Louisa says dreamily.
“Ranpo doesn’t really seem the marriage type…”
“But it’s true love!”
Twain kicks at Poe under the table. ‘“Stop sulking. Hunching over like that is bad for your back.”
Straightening and glaring half-heartedly at his friend, Poe crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders caving in. “I’m going to die alone.”
Mark shrugs. “True love isn’t real anyway.”
“Hold on a minute,” Fitz starts, pulling his nose from the crease of his book, “That is not true and you know it. Just look at me and Zelda-”
“I still don’t believe that ‘ Zelda ’ is real.”
“She is,” Francis growls, “How many times do I have to tell you, she goes to another school-”
“This isn’t about Zelda, this is about true love,” Louisa interjects before the old argument can get heated.
“True love?”
Poe jolts, turning around to where Ranpo stands, one hand on his hip, squinting at the exchange students.
“How long were you there?” Poe asks, fingers clenching in his sleeves.
Ignoring the question, Ranpo tells him, “Scoot over.”
Obligingly, Poe does, making room on his chair for Ranpo to plant his ass next to him. Ranpo has never been the bulkiest guy, but the chair is admittedly very small, and Poe finds himself half-way off the edge, carefully keeping their thighs and hips from touching lest he combust. A library fire is far from keeping a low profile, which he has diligently dedicated himself to since arriving in Japan. He cannot let all his progress go up in flames now, he reminds himself, prying himself to the very edge of the seat.
Ranpo tilts his head at him curiously. “I’m not going to bite you, Poe.”
Mark snorts. “If only you would.”
“What?”
Louisa coughs loudly. “Hello, Ranpo. I haven’t seen you in a long time, how are you?”
Leaning across Poe, Ranpo looks at her incredulously. They’ve never been close; in fact Ranpo’s never been close to any of Poe’s friends, and has generally treated them as pesky pets Poe keeps. “Fine. Why were you talking about true love?”
“We weren’t!”
Ranpo swivels his head to look at Poe. With the way he’s angled around the other boy to get a look at Louisa, when his head turns they’re awfully close, close enough that Poe can see the smudged fingerprints on Ranpo’s thick-rimmed glasses. “Yes, you were.” He presses closer, narrowed eyes inspecting him, and like this, their legs pressed firmly together with Ranpo’s movements, Poe can feel how warm the other boy is, and smell the bubblegum he’s chewing.
“It’s not important,” He tries, feeling himself flush.
“Boo,” Ranpo says, moving back against the chair and out of Poe’s face. But before he can breathe a sigh of relief, Ranpo’s tacking on: “But I don’t believe you. And I don’t like when people try to keep things from me.”
Guilt wells in Poe, tinged with panic. Does Ranpo know ? Has he known this whole time, and is just trying to goad Poe into admitting it?
“And I’ll figure it out eventually, because I’m the world’s greatest detective,” Ranpo continues, flapping a hand lightly, “So there’s no use in lying to me. So tell me what you’re talking about.”
Tittering nervously, Louisa tries her best to cover: “We were just talking about, uh…” But Louisa is not a good liar, and the excuse falls flat.
Ignoring the girl, Ranpo continues to look at Poe expectantly. When he doesn’t say anything, Ranpo visibly deflates, whining, “Edddddd.”
Poe turns his head resolutely, determined not to look at Ranpo and his pouty face. “It doesn’t matter. How was chess?”
That makes Ranpo perk up, seemingly forgetting his line of questioning. “I won all my matches, of course.”
“Of course,” Poe agrees. While he preferred jigsaw puzzles and strategy games, he’d tried playing chess with Ranpo many times, and every time, he’d lost. Slowly, he was starting to catch up to Ranpo, but that was never quite his goal; he was more content in watching Ranpo get fired up about it, so passionate. Part of him was almost jealous of his chess club mates (all three of them) for getting to see it so often. “Did you play all of them?”
Ranpo shakes his head, leaning his shoulder on Poe’s own. The bubblegum smell wafts over Poe again when he says, “No, only Dazai and Fyodor. Mushi has theater practice or something equally stupid.”
“Nerd,” Mark says eloquently.
“Do we have to stay here?” Ranpo asks, wrinkling his nose, “I don’t like him.”
Poe coughs uncomfortably, eyes darting between Ranpo and his friend. “Er, we can go.”
“Boo,” Mark says, tossing a paper ball at him and grinning when it hits his forehead, bouncing away. Poe lets it fall to the table, certain that it’s Mark’s homework, and he’ll be needing it back.
“Don’t forget the student council meeting tomorrow,” Francis says dismissively, nose buried once again in his econ book, “And don’t be late.” He peers up at Poe pointedly with raised eyebrows. “And don’t bring any critters this time.”
“Karl isn’t a-”
“ No animals .”
Poe sighs. There’s a frail hand patting his arm consolingly, and Louisa whispers, “I’m allergic.”
“Alright,” Poe concedes, gathering his things from the table. He can feel Ranpo spring from the chair beside him, stretching with a dramatic yawn.
“C’mon, hurry uppp .”
“Alright,” Poe repeats, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Farewell.”
“Fuck off,” Mark says affectionately, scribbling something in his notebook.
There’s hardly time for him to properly say goodbye to Louisa before Ranpo’s pulling him towards the library doors, determined. The doors have barely swung shut behind them before he’s whirling on Poe, glaring up at him. “You’re acting strange.”
Poe stiffens. “I’m not.”
“You are . Is it because you’re keeping a secret from me? Something to do with,” He wrinkles his nose, “‘ True love’ ?”
Poe flinches, averting his gaze, which only makes Ranpo lean forward into his space. “That’s it, then. Hm.”
“Ranpo…”
Tossing his nose in the air, Ranpo sniffs haughtily. “Just tell me already; I don’t feel like sleuthing it out… I could, though. I just don’t wanna, that’s all.”
“...Do you like me?”
An emerald eye pops open to stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… Do you like me?”
Ranpo blinks at him. “Of course I like you. Are you stupid?”
“No- I mean.” Stopping, Poe exhales through his nose, hands balling into fists in the hem of his shirt until he notices Ranpo watching the movement carefully. He releases them, folding his arms behind his back. “Romantically,” He says at last, avoiding Ranpo’s gaze.
“Oh.” There’s a pause, and then Ranpo adds, in a more frustrated voice, “You should have just started with that.”
“Sorry.”
“I don’t understand this like and like-like stuff,” Ranpo goes on, crossing his arms over his chest. Without looking at him, Poe can practically hear the pout in his voice, the one he gets when he’s getting heated about a convention he finds stupid. Despite his nerves, he feels the corner of his mouth tug up. “It shouldn’t be so complicated.”
“Yeah,” Poe says, unsure what else to say.
“I mean,” Ranpo goes on, not paying him any mind, “You’re my favorite, and that’s that.”
“Yeah,” Poe says again, and then, “What?”
“It’s stupid.”
Poe squints at him. “Yeah…”
Ranpo falls silent, which is never a good thing, at least not when he’s not occupied. When Poe looks at him properly, he’s leaned in close again, arms still crossed over his chest as he scrutinizes Poe for a long moment. It makes him uneasy, hands clamming up behind his back, and he can feel his face heat the longer Ranpo stares at him. “I like you,” He says at last, just for something to fill the void, “If you couldn’t… tell…”
Ranpo blinks at him, then blinks again. “Of course I could,” He says, but he’s not looking at Poe anymore. He can practically see the gears turning in his head. After a moment, he hums as if he’s made up his mind about something. “Okay,” He says, shrugging.
Ranpo has a penchant, it seems, for making Poe feel stupid, because all he can think to say is, “What?”
Another shrug, and then Ranpo’s grinning up at Poe, toothy and genuine and smelling like bubblegum. “I said okay. That’s alright.”
“...It is?” Poe asks, at a loss.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
That makes him pause, searching Ranpo’s face. There’s nothing but that sunny smile, open and delighted, and it only makes Poe more confused. “Do you… like me?” He finds himself asking without thought, confused.
“We already went over this, Edgar,” Ranpo huffs, “Of course I like you. Are. You. Stupid? ”
“Romantically,” Poe sighs, feeling a little frustrated now, “Do you like me romantically? ”
Face falling slightly, Ranpo, infuriatingly, shrugs again. “...You’re my favorite,” He offers, “Isn’t that enough?”
Now it’s Poe’s turn to blink at him. It’s not necessarily how he would think of things, of Ranpo as his favorite , but it’s not untrue. “...Alright,” He says, wincing at how unsure it comes out, shaky and unsteady, “If that’s what you want.”
Ranpo nods, smile widening again, and it makes relief swell in him. “It is,” Ranpo says easily, clapping his hands, “Now that that’s settled, I’m hungry. Make me dinner.”
“I don’t have any ingredients, and I think Lovecraft’s having John over…”
Unperturbed, Ranpo shrugs, lacing his hands behind his head and starting towards his own dorm. “Fine! Mushi’s not home, so just cook with his things.”
“I don’t know if he’d like that…”
“How will he know? We won’t tell him.”
“His ingredients will be missing,” Poe points out, catching up to him, “Aren’t you supposed to think of those things, great detective?”
Ranpo stops in his tracks, whirling to glare up at him. “Don’t sass me, mister.”
That makes Poe laugh, tossing his head back slightly, feeling carefree in a way that only Ranpo can make him. this is normal, this is familiar; the unease of their previous conversation has all but melted away. What’s un familiar, though, is the admittedly small hand that grabs at his chin, forcing his head down and to the side. He sputters, trying to turn his head to look at the boy, but he’s held fast, and then Ranpo’s leaning up on tiptoe to press his lips to Poe’s cheek, quick and almost shy.
He pulls away fast, spinning on his heel and folding his arms behind his head once again, setting off towards the dorm. Poe can see his red ears sticking out from his messy hair to match his own, and it takes him a moment to snap out of it and run after him, sputtering. He supposes being Ranpo’s favorite can’t be all that bad.