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Poe pours every scrap of energy he can onto the page in front of him. His hands are as frantic and fast as his heartbeat. His lungs struggle to offer air to his ailing heart. His sobs break him. His chest hurts. His throat is sore from days screaming and pleading. He has tried to move on but he can't. It's too difficult. It's too painful to even attempt. The world is stubbornly dull. Poe feels as though his voice has been stolen from him now that the only ears that his words were ever for are gone.
He remembers them. He painfully recalls every bittersweet moment. Every smile, flash of emerald and evergreen, every harsh insult and every egotistical win that burns his chest from the inside out.
He can't see past his hysterical tears but his hand recognizes the words he traces onto the page. It's messy. It's the messiest thing he's ever written. Ranpo would laugh at him if he were here.
Poe gasps and forces himself to breathe deeply. He holds the book in his shaking hands.
He wipes his eyes away with the back of his sleeve. He attempts to read and he fails. The letters shake and the words lack coherence. He's too anxious. There's too much going on, the words mean nothing to him. His frantic, grieving mind won't stop its spiral of horrible memories of blood and death. He can't see past the vague curse of an image of dull green eyes. Poe yells in frustration as he throws the book across the room. He ducks under the table and covers his face with his hands.
They used to be so intelligent, those eyes. It's horrifying how fast a force of nature, a god, can be reduced to its vessel.
Poe is haunted by the loss. Where did it go? How could something so important, so beautiful, so magnificent disappear into nothing. He can't just be nothing now. He was so much more than that. That can't be his legacy, that uninspired, predictable corpse. That terrible gentle loss of pressure against his palm as the only soul worthy of existence escapes into the afterlife. That can't be the end. It can't be. Not like that.
A man like that had been the type of protagonist to rise to every challenge and defeat every foe. His end promised to be glorious and astonishing. He should have left smiling, shining like the paragon of hope down on the generations of lives he saved. He was supposed to change everything for the better. Poe was supposed to give him that ending.
Poe was supposed to be his final victory. The final foe that promises that brilliant ending. It was supposed to be him. He wanted that so badly. To be tied to his success for all of eternity. The story of the rise of a king always explains the fall of a dictator. They would have been together forever.
That disgusting man took that from them. There was no joy or glory in striking down that enemy of art. It was boring, barbarically impulsive. It wasn't planned out. It had no significance besides revenge. It was sickening. He should have waited to torment him. He should have ruined him. Slowly picked apart every layer of character that made him human and then exposed him raw and vulnerable to the salt of his failures. He should have kept him alive just to skin him and boil him in acid.
Poe feels tiny claws scratch at his cape. He lifts his head, panting, hot tears making it hard to see.
It's Karl. It's blurry but he could recognize that gray and black face anywhere. He picks up the sweet creature and holds him gently in his arms.
A sharp edge prods his bicep. He hisses.
He looks down to see Karl have the book in his mouth. He looks up expectant and concerned. He knows Poe is miserable, he wants to help.
Poe frowns, "It's poorly written, Karl," he says through hitching breaths, "It would never be him. It could never be him."
Karl makes a protesting noise and presses the book to his chest.
Poe's frown deepens. Insecurity and desperation fighting a gruesome battle in the fragile walls of his heart. He was to break apart. He wants those brilliant intelligent green eyes back.
With a sigh he takes the book and opens it
•°♡°•
It's soft against his fingers. Soft against his cheek, soft against thighs and soft under his chin.
It's warm. Sunlight is streaming from the windows and shining onto his eyelids. His skin is warm and comfortable. Sheets are fluffy and protective over his body.
Something moves into him. A nose buries itself into the junction between his neck and his chin. Arms curl further along his back and pull him closer. Lips gently kiss his shoulder and exhale happily.
Poe keeps his eyes closed and pretends to sleep.
A hand pinches his back, "I know you're awake so don't even try."
Poe chuckles as he holds the body closer, "I wouldn't dream of trying to trick you, my dear."
It's his turn to laugh, "As if I would believe that." He pulls away much to Poe's protesting arms attempting to pull him back in. A hand slaps the arms away, "Stop that, it's annoying."
Poe opens his eyes to see the sun rise. It stretches its arms over its head and groans. He's a vision like this.
In a shirt three sizes too big from him that he stole from Poe, that falls off his shoulders. Usually untidy hair, even more undone by a restful sleep. He is silhouetted by the sunshine that bleeds through his thin shirt and shows off his figure. He almost certainly knows how attractive Poe finds this and is doing it intentionally.
He groans as his muscles release tension. He finally lets his arms down and opens his eyes. Green, the most brilliant green to ever exist. How could the truth not reveal itself to eyes that beautiful? Poe would flay himself open to be witnessed by them.
Ranpo laughs as he leans forward to kiss Poe gently, "You're extra happy this morning, aren't you?"
Ranpo's lips taste like heaven. So soft and sweet. Poe feels like he's drowning, "Nhm." He tries to answer
Ranpo pulls away grinning down at Poe. Poe tries to grin back.
The younger man starts frowning, "Did you have a nightmare?" A gentle hand comes up to hold his cheek gently. The frown deepens almost immediately.
Poe is quick to deny, "No, I'm just tired is all." He tries to pull Ranpo in for another distracting kiss but he gets pushed away.
Ranpo holds his hand firmly, "You're grieving. Why? What happened? Who died?"
Poe stills, "What?"
Ranpo pulls away from him suddenly. He rushes off the bed and stares at the walls with alarm and then at his hands, "What did you do?"
"What do you mean?"
Ranpo looks up at him in shock. He's realizing everything. The loss, the death, the horror. Poe can see it on his face.
Ranpo’s breath shakes, his eyes fill with tears, "I died. Oh god, I died, didn't i?"
Poe rushes to stand, "No! No. No. No. No. No. Of course not. What are you talking about?" He crawls across the bed trying to reach him.
Ranpo pulls away shaking his head, "You're sad that I'm dead. I died. I'm dead and you held me. Oh, Poe-" he looks up. Green eyes suddenly sullen and horrified. This is going horribly wrong. Ranpo is figuring this out, that shouldn't be possible.
"Ranpo, what are you talking abou-"
"Stop lying!" Ranpo yells furiously. His eyes are like embers. Just as fast as the fury gets sparked to life it dies. Ranpo fails to stop himself from crying, he hides his face in his hands, "I failed. Oh lord, I failed! It all went wrong!"
Poe gets up from the bed and stands over Ranpo, hands reluctantly over his shaking shoulders, "No, of course not. You're alive, you're here! We're safe! Everyone is-"
Ranpo leans into Poe's chest and cries, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
"I'm so sorry, Poe. Protect them for me?" The hands in Poe's slowly fall limp and the awareness in his eyes fade until he is looking at nothing in particular. He too has faded.
"Don't say that!" Poe demands a little too loudly, "You have nothing to apologize for." He holds Ranpo tightly. It's so close to feeling real, it's so close to what he would feel like. The difference hurts, it hurts so much.
Ranpo pushes against his chest and tears himself from Poe's grip, "You can't do this." He says through tears, "You have to move on. I won't let you do this. I won't let you hurt yourself this way."
"What?"
"You have to move on." He forces a smile in an attempt to make them both believe in the nonexistent confidence he has. Ranpo shakes violently as he raises a hand to Poe's cheek and says, "I never told you, but I love you."
A spear pierces through his already ailing heart, a sob breaks through his composure and his lies, "No. Don't say goodbye, Ranpo, not again." He holds the hand pressed against his cheek tightly.
Ranpo leans forward on his toes and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, "I love you, Edgar Allan Poe and I have solved your mystery." He holds him and leans his weight into his bigger frame, "I have died, and I let you go."
°•♡•°
Poe appears back in his torn apart writing room. The book in his hands, looks at him.
He just stares back. The silence of the room is oppressive and it burns where Ranpo’s laugh should be. The sound that should be there. The eyes, ears and lips that should be here. They arent and they reject him.
He shakes as violently as Ranpo had. His body struggles to keep him upright. He holds the book close to his chest. It stings. Like a poisoned needle that pierced his heart it is acid to him. It boils him alive and kills any hope he might have had.
He sinks to the floor, holding it as tightly as he can. The closest thing to his lost lover is the bastardized poorly stitched together mesh of clumsy memories put to paper. Memories that have faded and are not as clear as he needs them to be. Just vague sounds of laughter and the reminder of how good Ranpo had made him feel.
Just the emptiness of everything that he made shine with his brilliant reflection.
Poe's shoulders shake more as a scream rips through his body. It storms from the depths of his soul and sears the flesh of his throat as it forces its way out. It's deafening. He fills that horrible silence with his misery. The emptiness he fills with grief and fury and hatred. Desire for revenge against the world, against the man who did this, and against Ranpo himself for using himself as a sacrifice. Revenge against Ranpo choosing the world over Poe himself. What good was this filthy dying planet without him in it? What use was the wonder if the only person who could see it was gone?
The scream dies away and Poe is left utterly alone.
There's nothing surrounding him but the yearning and aching misery of needing a person he loved. Past tenses haunt him and pierce him over and over when he dares to recall a comforting memory.
He sobs into his hands. What does he do now?