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Ranpo likes mysteries.
He complains endlessly about how simple and therefore boring the cases he solves for the Armed Detective Agency are. And yet, it is not uncommon to find him filling in the blanks of newspaper riddles and reading through cheap activity books.
Because, no matter how simple or challenging, Ranpo enjoys mysteries. And he always seems to solve them, in the end.
Poe likes writing.
Mysteries are his forte. His best wasn’t quite able to puzzle Ranpo. In the past, this would’ve made him a dangerous mix of outraged and devastated. Now, he finds that he doesn’t really mind. It’s fun releasing his novels to the public and seeing how painstakingly long it takes for people to start posting correct theories compared to the speed in which Ranpo unravels the entire plot to its core. It’s fun writing for Ranpo under a context much different from revenge.
He’s writing for a friend, he supposes.
Mysteries are his forte. Despite this, another genre has piqued his interest as of late.
It’s February. The air has become cold and sharp, the trees have shed their leaves to make way for blankets of pristine white snow. And - most importantly - shops line their displays with almost sickening amounts of Valentine’s Day memorabilia. Heart shaped truffle boxes tied with pink ribbons, smiling soft teddy bears and glittering rings as far as the eye can see.
Perhaps this is why Poe has taken an interest in the genre of romance.
Poems, novels, and even some music. He had been surrounding himself in them as though he were being crushed in between two of those gaudy storefront displays. Many authors were sure to release works relating to Valentine’s Day. It is the day after tomorrow, after all.
Poe wonders what it would be like to release his own romantic work as he sits at his desk, the words of his latest reading endeavor illuminated by the soft lights emanating from his lamp. Poe writes mysteries, though. The macabre genre, full of murder and fleeting life and the horrors of man, seems as far off as possible from romance, from lovers entwined and cute nicknames and soft, oh-so tenderly whispered “I love you”s.
And yet, Poe begins to think of how a love poem would sound in his tone. He thinks quite a bit about it, the words before him blending together in dark blots of ink as the clock ticks by. Actually, he could make it work. Perhaps a little bit of mystery blended into a romantic theme could prove to be a refreshing difference.
It hits Poe, then. All throughout his time thinking how his poem would go, he never thought to question who it would go to. Because you already know, a part of him whispers.
He thinks suddenly of brown hair stubbornly forming spikes, yet seemingly soft to the touch. He thinks of green eyes shining so bright they’re practically glowing. Of jests that sound quite cruel and a little self-absorbed, but are really just meant as jokes. He thinks of the boy who befriended him, after everything, and has continued to stick around.
He thinks suddenly of Edogawa Ranpo.
It’s not the first time, either. The thought of Ranpo being the subject of Poe’s affections is like the thought of an array of colorful flowers blooming consistently every spring; you don’t question why it is, you merely appreciate it and know it to be true. Poe can’t pinpoint exactly when he started to see Ranpo this way, but once such emotions bloomed, he realized he wouldn’t have it any other way.
But Poe couldn’t just write a love poem for him. What if he thought it was weird? What if he didn’t like it, thought the depictions of him were all wrong and it was super cheesy and-
Well. That’s certainly one way to put an end to that idea.
———
Valentine’s Day is passing by uneventfully. It’s around noon, and Poe has already read many love poems. Some were beautiful, the words dancing in vivid, sweet descriptions and the purest forms of love. Others were cheesy and cliche trying-way-to-hard poems posted online (they were still nice though, if only a little laughable).
And the day is, regrettably, passed alone. Well, not totally; Karl is always there for Poe.
Oh, and Ranpo showed up too, very unexpectedly, later in the afternoon.
“Ranpo!” Poe exclaims, caught off guard as he opens the door for his rival. “What brings you here?”
“Boredom. Everyone at the Agency’s acting all weird and cheesy. It’s so annoying.” He pushes past Poe and flips down on the couch. Poe sort of understands his point, but he doesn’t think it’d be that bad.
“Is that so?” Poe replies.
Ranpo hums. “Yup. Do you have any plans?”
“Um, no,” he replies. Even if he did, he’d swiftly cancel them now that Ranpo has arrived and made himself at home (just as anyone would do for a good friend- no, a rival, they’re rivals!).
“That’s good,” Ranpo smiles that adorable smile of his. “Any new manuscripts for me?”
“Um, nothing complete…” to be utterly honest, he’s been distracted writing and rewriting that damn love poem in his head to really have the motivation to write a good mystery for Ranpo (no, for his audience, his readers! He certainly does not do everything for Ranpo! What is happening to him?).
“Aw, that’s fine. I’ll just have to come back, then.”
Well, when he says it like that, what choice does Poe have? “Of course.” He smiles.
They end up side by side on the couch with Ranpo’s head on Poe’s shoulder (which does not make Poe’s heart flutter. Not at all). They’re watching a crime documentary on serial killers. Despite being the one to suggest it, Ranpo keeps scoffing at the “incompetent” and “stupid” detectives that failed to catch the killers as timely as he would have. Poe has to remind him that not everyone has abilities as incredible as his. And Poe really wishes he hadn’t opened his mouth at all because the smile Ranpo gives him while saying “I know” is enough to blind him. Poe is endlessly grateful for his long bangs, which shield him from the brightness (and maybe hide the color blooming on his face from Ranpo).
Overall, it’s certainly not the worst Valentine’s Day that Poe’s ever had.
———
Roughly a week after Valentine’s Day, Ranpo shows up again. He and Poe pass the time as they typically would, with Poe describing some ideas for future mysteries with Ranpo shooting down the ideas that are “much too simple” so that “even idiots could solve them!”
Now, the sun has dipped beneath the skyline, making way for the shining half moon and millions of brilliant stars. Poe is used to late nights, but it seems that Ranpo is not. That, or he’s just exhausted from work (which seems unlikely; he could solve the majority of the petty cases brought to the Agency’s attention in his sleep).
Poe doesn’t rouse his companion after he falls asleep on the couch. He instead fetches a spare blanket to cover him with. It’s an achingly gentle and domestic action - one that makes Poe’s heart ache with the desire to do this every night. If they ever live together, would Ranpo fall asleep on the couch every now and again, causing Poe to tenderly tuck him in or shake him awake softly to tell him to go to bed?
It’s so easy to stare when you know you can’t be caught. Especially by someone usually very attentive. Ranpo is so pretty that it’s actually quite unfair to others. All of his features individually are eye-catching, but together they create a masterpiece. And when you stare at a masterpiece like an intricate statue in a fancy art museum, it can be rather hard to look away.
And so Poe drinks in the sight. The differences between viewing Ranpo in the light of the sun, out and about and boisterous versus him asleep in the very faint light of Poe’s apartment at night. His hair, his eyes, his lips - Poe loves them all. (Poe loves him.)
There’s something about serene moments like these, moments that you’d never think would happen to you. Something about this point in time is so perfect that Poe, once he’s broken out of his reverent staring, moves almost instinctively to his desk. He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing until he’s seated and about to take pen to paper.
The pesky idea of any sort of romantic poem has been plaguing him for far too long. Clearly, the thought won’t simply vanish. And so, Poe finally just accepts this fact and begins writing.
———
Poe reads over his work one final time.
A Valentine
Reverence, total admiration
Care beyond all rational thought
Consistent, constant, consuming
It’s possibly strange, unprecedented
But love is all I can seem to feel for you
This is probably a bad idea. No, this is definitely a bad idea. Somehow, Ranpo will figure him out, surely!
But there’s no use in worrying so much. Poe has, against his better judgment, written the poem and has his cursed hovering over the button to send an email regarding it to his publisher. (After a long internal struggle, Poe decided to publish the poem. Only showing it to Ranpo seems far too much like an admission.)
Drawing in a breath, Poe hits send.
———
“Really, it’s just wonderful-”
“Easily one of my favorites of his.”
“Oh, it’s just lovely!”
A Valentine had very positive reception, becoming popular quite soon after its release. People spoke of their love for it, how it was rather unusual for the Edgar Allan Poe to release a love poem of all things.
But for every positive, there is a negative. Inevitably, the question Poe had really been dreading is easily the most asked in regard to this poem.
“Yes, it’s very good but… who do you think it’s about?”
In the end, A Valentine did turn out to be a mystery of sorts. Online, people were non-stop speculating about who in the world Poe would write a love poem for.
Of course, there were other questions asked too (such as, “why call a poem A Valentine and not release it on Valentine’s Day?” Poe responded by saying that he hadn’t completed the poem in time for the holiday, but that it should be appropriate to give gifts to loved ones on any day), and the poem’s success helped Poe’s publicity. He hadn’t been receiving as much attention when he took six years to craft what should have been a perfect mystery to stump Ranpo. But now, it seems this new release has brought him back into the limelight. While it is sort of uncomfortable, it’s nice knowing people are frequently buying his novels again (plus, he’s recognized far less in Japan as opposed to America).
Overall, Poe was glad to see the public’s opinion of his latest writing venture. Underneath this gratitude, though, was fear. Fear about releasing such personal thoughts to the world. Fear that Ranpo would, somehow, figure out that the poem was for him, and he’d have to tell Poe he didn’t see him that way. He’d say it’s fine, they can still be friends, but it will be awkward and will never be like it is now and it will be all his fault…
Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. A couple quick, rough hits. A voice (clearly yelling in the halls, but sounding faint through the door) calls, “Poe! Open the door!”
Poe obliges. “Ranpo,” he moves aside. “Come in.”
“Thanks.” He walks in as comfortably as he would if he were walking into his own house. He immediately heads for the kitchen and returns to meet Poe on the couch with an armful of snacks, which he dumps on the coffee table.
Much to Poe’s shock and horror, Ranpo brandishes a printed copy of A Valentine, slamming it on the cousin between them. “Care to explain why I’m just hearing about this now?”
“Oh, well…” Poe hesitates, trying to come with a reason that isn’t because it’s about you! “It’s not a manuscript for a mystery so, um, I just assumed you wouldn’t be interested.”
Ranpo just stares at him. “What’s that expression? Assuming makes an ass of you and me? Well, you’ve just made an ass of yourself. And me. Look at you, you’ve made us asses!”
“Uh, I’m sorry?” Poe apologizes confusedly.
“Poe,” Ranpo says loudly in an exasperated tone, throwing his head back. “Of course I’d be interested, if it’s something you’re writing.”
Oh. Well. This wasn’t exactly what Poe was expecting. But wait, why would Ranpo care in the first place? He voices this thought.
“I love a good mystery,” Ranpo replies, voice a touch mischievous.
“Um. What?” Poe tenses. Oh no, he’s figured me out, he knows, of course he does-
“Did you really expect me not to figure it out?”
“No, I- of course you’d be able to solve anything, but this wasn’t my usual manuscript, how could you…”
Ranpo laughs, evidently pleased by his own intelligence. “Once I determined that you embedded a mystery into this, it really wasn’t hard to figure it out.” Brandishing a pen, Ranpo highlights certain letters of the poem.
Reverence, total admiration
Care beyond all rational thought
Consistent, constant, consuming
It’s possibly strange, unprecedented
But love is all I can seem to feel for you
“The line number corresponds to the place of the letter. The first letter in the first line is the first in the name, the second letter in the second line is the second, et cetera.” Ranpo smiles, a bit more gleefully than usual. Obviously, he’s pleased about solving this mystery.
“Oh, um-” Is it even possible to deny it anymore? Ranpo evidently is aware that the poem was for him, right? Maybe he doesn’t, or he just doesn’t reciprocate Poe’s feelings and is mercifully not talking about it. Well, no use in drawing it out any longer. Poe sighs. “Yes, you’re quite right.”
Ranpo stays uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. “I’m no good at poetry,” he says consideringly, “so I don’t know what to do for you in return.”
“Huh?” Poe asks, aware of how dumbly he spoke but not caring enough to add on.
“This was a pretty grand gesture right? Unless, you never intended for me to solve this mystery? Seriously, Poe, you should know me better than that by now.” He’s smiling, and he’s all Poe’s ever wanted. Unfortunately, Poe’s mind is currently running a mile a minute, and he’s not fully understanding exactly what is happening right now.
“But why?”
“Poe!” Ranpo all but shouts. His tone is awfully fond, though.
Before Poe can utter another questioning statement, Ranpo is pulling him forward and oh, he’s kissing him, he’s kissing him!
Poe understands Ranpo’s sentiment about a reciprocated gesture of affection now. Actions speak louder than words, as they say. Is that what they say? It probably is, but Poe is finding it hard to think about anything other than the boy in his arms at the moment.
Ranpo likes mysteries, and Poe likes writing. It turns out the two go together quite nicely.