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Your life flashes before your eyes as they say.
Edgar had always wondered why such a phrase was so common to hear. It’s not like he was suddenly given a glimpse of what the future would’ve had in store for him as he bled out painfully slow beside a garbage bin in some random alleyway.
Of course, there’s only so much someone can do when they’ve got broken ribs and mangled legs to work with. But, he was lucky enough that he’d be able to take the more peaceful way out in privacy, having dragged himself away from the street and out of view as opposed to being eaten whole by the raging devil just beyond the relative safety of the concrete walls surrounding him.
There was no future to be observed and no past for him to dwell on. He could only see the small cracks jutting through the ground and the trash scattered about near the far back of the alley.
One of the trash bags piled up suddenly shifts, as something falls from the top of the wall separating the alleyway into two.
He’s not sure if delirium has finally kicked in from sheer pain alone or not as a much larger than normal raccoon pokes its head up from behind a bag and stares right at him, taking wobbly steps as red spills onto the ground beneath its feet.
Unnaturally black eyes catch the nearby street lamp and meet his own when the creature bares a mouth full of too many teeth and foamy white spit. But it doesn't come any closer.
Edgar shudders but he can’t quite place why.
When he makes no move towards it, it turns away and slumps pitifully onto its side, ignoring his presence entirely.
There could be worse places to die, he thought to himself, a bitter laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation coming from his throat. Only for it to turn into choked gasps for air as blood bubbles past his lips and further stains the collar of his shirt red.
At least there’s something else here to see the light leave his eyes. Bear testament to the fact he was ever alive in the first place. Same goes for it, they're identical in that aspect. Each other's final witness.
It’s a peaceful idea to go out with once and for all— not dying completely alone, so he allows his eyelids to eventually flutter closed and lets the sounds of cars being crushed and perpetual screaming wrap around him like a blanket, becoming a grotesque lullaby that fades to nothing more than static noise.
That is, until it all grinds to a silent halt. For just a minute, Edgar can’t even hear his own stuttered rasps for air, even the rise and fall of his chest pauses. Time appears to stop entirely.
Is this what death truly is?
No— he can still see the moon shining far above and the distant stars floating in the inky sunset when he opens his eyes and chances a look at the sky above so that must be— he doesn’t get a chance to finish that line of thought before a thunderous roar rips right through the silence. A furious flash of black and white fur streaks past the entrance to the alley causing him to let out a strangled gasp.
Taking care to keep himself out of sight, Edgar watches as figures rush after it, his vision too blurry for him to distinguish who or what they are but… none of that really matters anyway, does it? He listens as what he can only assume to be the devil finally crashes down, hitting the pavement somewhere far down the street soon after.
A sigh of relief rattles in his chest as he slumps against cold, rusty metal and turns his head to the night sky for the final time. The stars seem to glitter far from his reach.
Coarse fur brushes against the hand pressing onto his wound, and something sharp like claws digs into his arm, nearly breaking through skin.
With the last of his remaining strength he looks down, the raccoon’s eyes meeting his own once more, a glimmer of something else, something otherworldly entirely in their depths.
———————
Ranpo had grown used to the way Poe would sometimes go silent for a few days, usually stuck in his own head or busy with his work, and how he generally preferred to be left alone during that time. He didn’t really get a say of course, no matter how much he protested to the author’s time being spent away from him.
So he had to get used to it at some point, whether he really wanted to or not.
It’d been a while since he’d even had the chance to talk to him; however, nearly a week had passed and there was… nothing. No calls, not a single message he’d sent even being read, or seen for that matter, there was nothing. He'd never been silent for this long.
“Why don’t you just call him?” Dazai pipes up suddenly, snapping him from his thoughts, just a little louder than the usual busy chatter that always filled the agency’s air after a devil attack. They were close to packing up for the night though, one by one filtering out the door as the usual routine check-ups finished and whatever else needed to be done got completed.
“Hm?” He simply hums in response, not ready to give Dazai the satisfaction of guessing what he was thinking about that accurately.
“You know, that writer friend of yours that always stops by? The American?” He rests his head on his hand, arm propped up on his desk. There's piles of paperwork he should by all means be doing but Ranpo knows him well enough that'll eventually fall onto Atsushi’s desk at some point or another. He almost feels bad for the kid. Almost. He'd be a hypocrite if he actually called Dazai out on it though.
“I've tried. Got absolutely nothing in return.” Ranpo sighs into his empty bottle of ramune, tossing it into the mini trash can beside his own desk.
“Have you tried visiting his house? You've been there before, right?” There's something about the way he says it, strangely, that has Ranpo wondering what he’s really implying by that.
“Obviously?” Ranpo shoots him a weird look. “But I've tried that too and he's not there either, no sign of where he went. I even had to feed his cat for him.”
Dazai snorts, leaning back in his office chair. “You're telling me great detective Ranpo Edogawa can't figure out a simple missing persons case?”
“Oh shut up.” He snaps defensively, much to Dazai’s seeming amusement. “For once I'm… worried.” The irony of it all isn’t lost on him. There must be something for him to go off that he's simply missed somehow. Poe couldn't have vanished completely, no person could. Not from his eyes anyway. So what the hell was he missing here? What piece did he need?
The phone in Dazai’s pocket buzzes as he starts to say something more, stopping mid-breath to check it before he does. He lets the conversation end abruptly, getting up from his chair and swiping the jacket resting on the back of it in one smooth motion.
“That's my ride” he says, pointing at the door with his thumb. When Ranpo doesn't respond, lost somewhere deep in thought, he drops the playful act, something akin to genuine concern on his face.
“Can't believe I'm the one that's telling you this…” Dazai mutters under his breath as he walks over and places his hands on top of Ranpo's desk to make sure he's got his full attention. “I'd suggest you pack up for the night, okay? Get some sleep. Unless you think your writer is gonna randomly show up here of all places.”
With another sigh, Ranpo finally relents, reluctant to let it go, even if temporarily.
“Fine.” He dismisses Dazai with the wave of his hand, sending the other detective off with a rushed “Goodnight!” as he closes the agency's office door behind him in a hurry.
That leaves Ranpo to make sure everything is cleaned up for tomorrow, the chore that usually befell whoever was last to leave the agency. Kunikida handled it most of the time, always the last to go and one of the first to show up in the morning.
He hadn't stayed behind today though, having exhausted himself in the devil hunt they had to deal with earlier in the evening. The rest of the agency was forced to pressure him into even considering the idea of leaving early before he'd gone back to his dorm to get some rest.
Ranpo was tempted to leave the task to whoever shows up first in the morning, wanting to get some well-needed rest himself. He does a quick scan around the main office area, checking over the desks before skimming through the file room to make sure everything was back where it needed to be.
Good enough, he quickly decides with a shrug when he doesn't feel like putting any more effort in.
The door’s barely closed behind him before he hears the sound of a window sliding up from inside the agency's office. Ranpo flings it wide open, eyes darting around to see exactly what's made its way inside. Half of him hopes the sudden noise will scare it off, be it some stray animal or something, save him the trouble of having to deal with whatever it is. He hesitates turning the lights back on, using the dim overhead light from the hall outside to see instead but leaving most of the room shrouded in the dark in the process. A caution he has to take to give himself any sort of advantage.
Scrapes of something against the floor echo in the desolate office as a human-sized blur darts behind Ranpo's desk the second he takes a hesitant step past the door’s threshold.
The silence feels suffocating as Ranpo inches towards the back of the office, glancing around for something to defend himself with should it come to that. He wasn't incapable of defending himself from a normal person but if it turned out to be a devil that was something entirely different to deal with. Ranpo happened to be the only one in the agency that hadn't formed a contract of some kind with a devil, a normal human amongst those who'd sacrificed various things just to keep the peace for yokohama.
An iron-tinged smell floods his senses as he moves closer; the unmistakable scent of blood hanging heavily in the air.
Whatever it is, it clearly doesn't want to be found as it shuffles closer to Ranpo’s desk when he grows nearer, forcing him to have to look behind it to see what's broken into the agency's office.
Shiny, large black eyes meet his own through the space between their bangs before the person— it looked decidedly more human-like than most devils he'd had to deal with previously— hunched over in front of him scrambles back, an arm put up in front of their face defensively like they expect Ranpo to strike them. He barely gets a good look at them before they move away from him.
The strong stench of blood, rot, and trash seemingly clings onto the person, much more overbearing now that there's very little distance put between the two.
Lanky limbs covered by dark-colored clothing make the blood splattered on their upper half blend into the fabric. Ranpo’s eyes trace the thin frame of their body, trying to will away the sinking sense of dread that comes when he recognizes those exact clothes, the style, the mess of dark curls on their head.
“Poe?” He chokes out, voice shaking, quiet but deafening in his ears, afraid that acknowledging that he knows who he is means he won't have any room to deny the glaring truth of the situation here. But there's no mistaking it, is there? He's never been wrong before.
Ranpo waits for any sign that he remembers who he is, hoping for the spark of realization to light up his eyes.
But there's absolutely nothing there. A look of pure horror greets him instead, wild, panicked, devoid of anything but an animalistic terror of the unrecognizable and utterly unfamiliar. More like a creature backed into a corner. He's a complete stranger to him.
What little hope he’d had is snuffed out swiftly.
Poe relaxes just a little, lowering his arm from his face when Ranpo takes a step back in pure disbelief, giving him a clearer view of the crimson smeared across his lower jaw. Fresh, dark red blood coats the area around his mouth and flows down his skin in thin lines that follow the curves of his chin to his neck.
The sound of low growling grows louder the longer Ranpo looks at him, a warning he foolishly doesn’t heed as he searches for something that seemingly isn’t there anymore.
He barely has any time to react before Poe lunges at him, teeth bared, flashing sharp fangs. Only he's immediately met with a swift kick to the side on pure instinct, crashing into Ranpo’s desk unceremoniously with the sickening crack of something breaking. As quick as the fight had started, it was over. Poe’s body slumps against the cold floor, breathing shallow but still very much alive. Ranpo knew it took much more to kill fiends than just a simple kick to the ribs, he hadn't intended for it to be lethal anyway, just to get Poe away from him so he had some time to think.
How much of him was still alive in there? The detective wonders to himself, not daring to speak those thoughts aloud as he watches the slow rise and fall of Poe’s chest. Better question, was there anything left of him at all? If there wasn't, then he'd have to kill him.
Could he handle that?
Could he even handle the idea?
Hesitantly, he crouches next to Poe’s knocked out body, gingerly moving aside the bangs from his face, skin brushing against his knuckles. Other than the blood painted around his mouth, Poe looked almost exactly the same as the last time he'd seen him.
Distantly, his heart aches at the sight, well aware that despite being the same physically it's not the same person anymore. And it won't ever be.
He probably doesn't even remember who he once was.
Shakily letting out a sigh, Ranpo stands up. Since Poe tried to attack him there's only one thing he can do. Kill him before Poe ever gets another chance to. He'll have to kill him now, while he's not moving, lest he get away or get the upper hand somehow. It'll have to take something quick and quiet. Something he's sure will finish the job.
Ranpo finds his feet dragging him away from Poe, into the separate room that Yosano had made into her office long ago. A part of him hopes that when he returns, Poe will be long gone into Yokohama’s night, never to be seen again. His own secret never to be shared. Leaving Ranpo with the smallest sliver of hope that he might live on much longer than he would if he just stays slumped on the floor here.
Before he realizes it, he's looking through the drawers of her office for one thing, and one thing only. Her box of scalpels.
The longer it takes to find what he's looking for, the more he hopes he'll be gone by the time he gets back and he'll be able to go home, leaving this all behind. Or try to at least. Wipe his mind of Poe entirely and pretend he never existed at all to spare himself from the grief. All too soon, he opens the one of the lower drawers and finds a lone tin sitting alone, labeled “sharps” in neat scrawl.
He suppresses a snort, when did Yosano start being the type to actually label her things?
The metal of the handle feels chilling against his skin as he picks it up and inspects the blade's edge. It's sharp enough, he decides after a moment.
He's stalling.
This he knows.
He's only delaying the inevitable.
It's only a few steps between rooms but the walk feels like a mile long, dread in every footfall. Ranpo almost wants to close his eyes and pretend none of this is happening, deny what's right in front of him instead of facing the truth; that one of the only people in the world that he could confidently call his friend— his only equal was now no more than a husk wearing human skin. Heart in his throat he crosses the threshold into the main office, hoping. Praying.
Yet there he is, still passed out on the floor.
Steeling his nerves with a deep breath, Ranpo resolves to put him down before he causes any further damage. This is it. Leaving him be like this— more animal than man— would mean dishonoring the person he once was.
With Yosano’s scalpel held in his grasp he tenderly places it next to Poe’s exposed neck. Desperate to try and ignore the slight tremble of his hand as he tightens his grip on the handle. Poe’s pulse thrums against the blade as it stays there, unmoving but just barely poking into his skin. He still feels all too human beneath the sharp edge.
He…
He can't do it.
God damn it he can't do it.
Not like this anyway.
With a muttered swear he removes the scalpel, tossing it away from the both of them in irritation. It lands with a clatter, deafening in the otherwise dead silence of the agency's office.
He can't do this.
Ranpo hastily backs up from Poe’s body, suddenly hyper aware of the possibility he could decide to wake up now and kill Ranpo before he has the chance to defend himself. He moves farther away until his back hits the wall behind his desk with a dull thump. His hands still shake despite being nowhere near him now, and his heart pounds painfully in his chest at the realization of what he just tried to do. He tried to kill him. And he almost succeeded too.
Wide eyes stare at the barely moving body on the floor in mute horror.
He’d hesitated, right?
That had to count for something, right?
Pulling his knees up to his chest, Ranpo lets out a shuddering sigh to try and soothe his nerves. He can't just let him escape as much as he wants to, but he can't kill him. But he can't help but feel a strange sort of responsibility like he owes it to Poe to stop him before anything else can happen because that's certainly not his blood on his face, is it? He has to be the one to do it. No one else. It has to be him and him alone.
Maybe a scalpel is too intimate? Maybe being able to see his face is what prevents him from going through with it?
Why is this so difficult?
Taking a moment to mentally prepare himself, he moves to retrieve the scalpel from the other side of the room, to try again.
Only he's stopped by the soft rustling of clothing followed by a groan of pain just seconds later. Ranpo freezes in place mid-movement and he can only watch as Poe sits up, hunched over with one of his hands held against his side.
He can almost pinpoint the moment Poe recognizes the agency's office as he looks around, focusing on Ranpo’s desk in particular.
Poe turns to look at the space behind him, unintentionally meeting Ranpo's stare. The detective’s face is filled with pure apprehension while Poe is merely confused. He's still human. He was right to hesitate.
(But you still tried to kill him anyway, an itching voice in the back of Ranpo's head whispers.)
“Wh… Why am I here?” Poe asks after a moment of completely still silence shared between them. His voice is raspy and dry from apparent disuse and he coughs a second later, deep lung-rattling coughs.
Ranpo stays quiet, not answering as he carefully weighs the options of what to say. He must know he's dead right?
“You— attacked me,” He starts to say slowly, giving Poe the time to truly process his words. “You crawled through the agency's fire escape window, hid behind my desk and tried to attack me when I went to check what got in.”
The look of utter bafflement is clear on Poe’s face as he glances around the office for a second time, like he can’t quite believe what he's hearing. “But I was just…” His head moves down, looking in quickly growing worry at the hands sitting uselessly in his lap, sharp dark claws grow out from where previously short trimmed nails once were, the skin of his hands colored a near pitch black that disappears into the rest of his darkly colored clothes.
“I don't remember anything from the last few days why would I—? I-I don't —” Ranpo can see the second it clicks together for him, the spinning gears in his head coming to a full stop all at once. He lets out a strangled breath, like he's been punched squarely in the chest, forcing the air from his lungs.
Suddenly, Poe moves towards him but with no intent to attack him this time. His hands latch desperately onto Ranpo’s shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his clothes and subsequently his skin. He flinches at the feeling but says nothing more as Poe stares at him directly, piercing pitch black eyes meeting green through his bangs. The smell of blood that follows him is almost overwhelming. He can nearly hear his heartbeat, like something being struck against his bones, pounding a furious tempo.
“There has to be a way to fix this, right?” He begs Ranpo, a crazed, terrified look on his face that's not all that different from earlier. It hurts— to see him act this way, a far departure from the man he'd known before. The man that once had an answer for almost everything, the one that swore him as his rival now begging him for help.
For once, he didn't have an answer either.
“Please Ranpo” Poe cries, voice cracking into a choked sob as his grip loosens on Ranpo’s shoulders, body slumping against his in defeat. “Please…”
“I'm sorry I— I don't know how. I don't even know if you can. If it's even a possibility.”
He's shaking. Poe is shaking as he presses his face into Ranpo's shoulder and tries unsuccessfully to hold back tears.
———
“Let's get you cleaned up at least, okay?” Ranpo murmurs after a couple minutes spent in silence letting him cycle through his feelings. All he gets in response is a small nod before Edgar pulls away and stands up, wiping his face on his sleeve. Pointedly, he keeps his head turned away from Ranpo’s sight, ashamed.
Horrifically vulnerable, is what he is. Crying on the shoulder of his supposed rival of all people makes everything feel that much worse. He's laid his heart bare before him and stripped himself of whatever respect Ranpo might've had for him at one point.
Hesitantly, as if Ranpo believes he might try to run away, he leads him to the agency's tiny bathroom by the hand, gesturing for him to take a seat on the toilet lid. Edgar complies, wincing and gritting his teeth at the injury somewhere on his ribcage. His eyes follow Ranpo as he wets a paper towel from under the sink. When did he get injured he briefly wonders before being drawn away from his thoughts as the detective gently touches his cheek, guiding him to look at him.
He's close, just a few inches away from Edgar as he looks over every bit of his face for reasons he can't exactly tell. Perhaps it's due to the smell of blood? Surely he's noticed as well?
“What exactly did you do…” Ranpo mutters under his breath, titling Edgar’s head with his hand to get a better view of his neck.
“W-what are you doing?” Edgar stammers, entirely unused to another person's touch, much less being this close to someone like him.
Ranpo suddenly pulls back, removing his hand from the side of Edgar’s face, who does his best to ignore the feeling of loss somewhere in his chest.
“Checking to see how much blood I have to clean off your face.” He holds up the wet paper towel in his other hand as if the answer was obvious from the start.
His answer does nothing to soothe Edgar’s nerves, realizing exactly what he's done.
“I- I didn't —” Edgar scrambles to try and explain it away, knowing he's got no excuse beyond instinct, but a part of him still blames himself for being taken over in mind and body when he and the raccoon devil became one.
“It's fine, don't worry about it” Ranpo doesn't hesitate to cut him off before he gets lost in his own frantic thoughts like he usually does when he's nervous.
“But-”
“Really.” He places his hand under Edgar’s chin to tilt his head up and force him to face him directly. ”It’s fine, some fiends have a taste for humans, that's… just how it is.”
Still, he blames himself for whatever he's done, guilt amplified tenfold by the fact he can't even seem to remember what sins he's committed. But if Ranpo can look upon him with his steady gaze, eyes steely with absolute resolution in his beliefs, perhaps he can start to forgive himself, if only temporarily.
Something cold and damp touches his cheek as Ranpo starts to clean the blood from his face, lightly scrubbing at his skin in the places it refuses to come off. Edgar can nearly fool himself into thinking it's done out of fondness rather than an obligation, the almost gentle way he does it— silent as he keeps his mind on the task at hand. His uncharacteristic lack of words give Edgar plenty of room to think, to watch.
He notices the subtle furrow of Ranpo’s features from how little proximity there is between them, a detail he'd never noticed before now. Of course, he'd never been this close either. His face scrunches up when he's focused, cute. As quickly as the thought comes, he dismisses the idea entirely, deliberately denying it. The wet paper towel lands with a thunk in the bathroom trash but Ranpo has yet to let go of his face. Emerald green eyes bore into his own as Edgar fights the urge to shrink away.
“Poe.”
“Y-yes?”
“Open your mouth for me?”
“Wh—”
Before he has time to react Ranpo shoves his fingers in Edgar’s mouth, opening it wide enough to look at his teeth.
“You do have fangs.” His eyes glitter in amusement as he runs a finger pad against the sharpened canines in his mouth, watching Edgar squirm under his touch. He lets go after a moment but it doesn’t feel nearly soon enough, regarding him with a sudden renewed interest.
“Wh- what was the purpose of that?”
“I'm trying to deduce what type of fiend you are. Tanuki maybe?”
“Raccoon.” He corrects immediately.
Ranpo nods once but otherwise stays silent, gaze trailing up from his face to his hair, he notices something else clearly as he moves to touch Edgar again.
“You have raccoon ears too— how did I not notice before—”
Edgar shifts away this time, inadvertently putting pressure on the damaged side of his ribs. The writer sucks in a breath through his teeth, hissing in pain as he places a hand against the injury.
“Ah…” His rival pointedly looks away, almost ashamed of himself, a unique expression Edgar barely ever got to see and one that didn't fit his face at all. “Sorry about that” What exactly did he do? Ranpo rarely apologized for anything.
“I um— might've kicked you too hard. Again, sorry.”
“You kicked me? Wh- why?” His head whips towards Ranpo as he winces in pain again.
“Because you attacked me okay? I didn't have any — look, for once, I'm apologizing. If- if you really want, I could make it up to you.”
The way he says it makes Edgar uneasy, but he's got no reason to lead him astray, in fact he's the one who's got all the reason more to trust what Ranpo’s offering.
“Do you want to eat me?
At the mere suggestion of it, his throat goes dry as Ranpo rolls up the sleeve of his dress shirt to his elbow. Clearly, he knows the answer already. Edgar’s eyes follow the veins of his arm until they disappear under his skin, some sort of want that he can't exactly place stirring deep within. The idea of it disgusts him, pokes at the guilt festering underneath, but he doesn't deny it outright because that would be a lie. And Ranpo would know he was lying. He always knew.
“Drink then.” Ranpo says firmly as he offers his wrist to him, who takes it hesitantly. “This should heal you.”
His pulse twitches in Edgar’s grasp, skin warm beneath the tips of his fingers as his nails dig in ever so slightly. He’s alive, while Edgar is undeniably dead, but he's made himself just as vulnerable as Edgar, offering him help at his own detriment. Trust. That's what this is. Full and utter trust. Teeth just barely graze against flesh as he casts one final glance towards Ranpo, a silent request for permission and an offer for him to stop. Yet the detective nods, fine with allowing him to continue.
Edgar’s fangs break skin and blood begins to flow from his wrist. Ranpo stiffens in surprise, but makes no other sudden movements, staying silent, his vision shifted elsewhere.
How easy it would be, to eat him whole.
Start from the wrist and devour him entirely.
The thought spurs Edgar on as he laps at the blood from the bite mark on his wrist. That same envy from all those years ago flaring up to the surface. He could so easily do it. Betray that trust Ranpo has with him and kill him like he'd wanted, has always wanted, deep down he's hated the man for years upon end after all. Yet, this strange idea isn't born from hate. He's known the feeling long enough to tell the difference, a familiar friend of his by now. No, this is something else— something dangerous. This is more.
At that stark realization, he stops himself short from doing anything further. To be able to exercise some sort of self-control however was proof enough he still cared about Ranpo, that he didn't truly hate the man like he once thought he did. Ranpo wordlessly retracts his wrist away as he goes to find a bandage for his newly earned wound, Edgar letting him without any resistance whatsoever, near stunned at the idea of his rival no longer being what he believed he was.
He was not untouchable, no, he was the opposite of that, he was entirely within Edgar’s grasp. So close in fact he could hold him and never let go. He wasn't the object of his hatred any more, though Edgar wasn't exactly aware of when that change had occurred but he knew it to be a truer fact than anything else. Knew the feeling as well as he knew the sensation of his bones within his body, the muscle fibers keeping him strung together and the flesh of his skin.
Ranpo wraps the bandage securely around his wrist, muttering something about making sure to see Yosano in the morning about the bite as he does so. Edgar’s head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton as his mind spins, torn between wanting to deny the fact looking him in the face and embracing it with open arms. It's not until Ranpo’s thumb brushes lightly against the side of his mouth does he finally snap back to reality however.
“I’ll have to clean your face off again.” He murmurs, glancing down at the smudges of red on his finger before looking back at Edgar, eyes lingering just a little too long on his features. The way he says it though, phrased as one of his usual many complaints about having to do anything but lacking that genuine unwillingness. He cares, but he's too stubborn to say it outright.
The idea blooms in his heart, stirring up a feeling similar to his want to consume, but distinctly different.
Within an instant, it seems to click neatly into place. This isn't some cat and mouse or wolf and sheep relationship. This is… desire. To become one with the person he's been chasing after all this time. Live selfishly, for once.
Ranpo places his hand underneath Edgar's jaw to tilt his head upwards gently. “You know, I believe there might possibly be some way to turn you back.”
There it is, that unyielding gaze turned upon him once more in absolute resolution. Complete confidence that Edgar can't help but admire and envy at the same time. “I will find a way.”
For a moment, he can believe it's true, that Ranpo will find a solution no matter what. Why?
The answer is simple.
“I promise, I will fix this.”
Because this is love.
It feels like the bathroom floor is falling beneath his feet the second he figures it out. Oh god, this is love.