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The burlap sack over Ranpo’s head was a bit overkill, he thought, scowling as he was thrown bodily onto the floor. A moment later he was forced to his knees—the burlap sack was taken off, making him squint in the sudden light.
He was kneeling on a cold stone floor, the wooden walls around him oppressive and tall. Someone was gripping his shoulders, their fingers tight enough around him to leave bruises. In front of him was the last person he wanted to see; the face that haunted his nightmares and every waking moment.
Fukuzawa. The man was tall and slender, his black suit fitted and expensive. He was carrying a gun in one hand, the other placed on his hip. He glared at Ranpo, sending shivers down his spine.
“Ranpo,” Fukuzawa spat, taking a step closer. Ranpo glared back, spiteful even as he knew these could be his very last moments.
“Fukuzawa,” he responded, voice even. “It’s been a while.”
“Not nearly long enough,” the man scowled. His grip around the gun tightened as he crouched until he was eye-level with Ranpo.
“Do you know,” he said, voice dangerously quiet, “just how much of a mess you’ve put me and my men in?”
Ranpo did know. He’d been working for weeks to intercept Fukuzawa, and the plan had finally gone off without a hitch. Well, except for one small hitch. His own capture. Ranpo didn’t get attached to people. If it had been any of his men, even Tanizaki, his right-hand-man, he would have trusted their training—wouldn’t have expected to ever see him again. They all knew what was at stake if they let anything slip. That was why Ranpo had trained them to die before facing torture.
But with himself, Ranpo couldn’t sacrifice his emotions. He wanted to go back, escape, lead his men, be the mafia leader he was born to be. And now, Fukuzawa, crouching in front of him, was between him and freedom.
“Nothing you didn’t deserve,” Ranpo said. Fukuzawa’s eyes darkened. He pressed the gun to Ranpo’s head, the metal ice against his warm skin.
“I could shoot you right now,” Fukuzawa growled, “and you wouldn’t live to see another day. Just one bullet… one pull of the trigger…”
“You wouldn’t,” Ranpo said. “You can’t.”
“Beg,” Fukuzawa said. “Grovel. At my feet. I want you to beg for me to spare your life.”
Ranpo glared willfully up. Fukuzawa knew just as much as Ranpo that this was impossible for him. He would never let himself sink that low. Fukuzawa’s lips parted into an easy smile. He clicked the safety off the gun.
“Boss,” a voice, a familiar voice, called out. Ranpo froze. Fukuzawa must have seen the look in his eyes as he stood up, his grin pulling wider at his lips. He stepped back, allowing Ranpo to see who had entered the room. It was Jono.
“You rat ,” Ranpo hissed. “I trusted you.” If Jono was here, and not on his knees next to Ranpo, it could only mean one thing. He had sold him out. Jono was a dirty, filthy traitor.
“Sorry, Ranpo,” Jono said. He didn’t sound very sorry. “Fukuzawa gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse. And a better place in his mafia. You didn’t think I would want to stay as your loyal secretary, did you?”
“You were never a secretary,” Ranpo said, struggling against the rope digging at his wrists. The hands on his shoulders squeezed tighter, making him wince. “You- you were-”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Jono interrupted him, pacing forward until he was right next to Fukuzawa. This was even worse than Ranpo’s nightmares, to see his mortal enemy next to his-
“I was in love with you.” This made Jono stiffen, his eyes uncertain for the first time. His mouth opened and closed. Even Fukuzawa looked incredulous.
“You- you what?” Jono’s voice was faint. Ranpo shook his head.
“I can’t believe you would do this to us. To me .”
“Enough of this,” Fukuzawa said. He looked past Ranpo, at the person gripping his shoulders. “Mark Twain, knock him out.”
The last thing Ranpo saw was Jono’s face, pale and drawn, his eyes filled with horror. Then everything went black as something hit his head with a thump .
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Ranpo blinked his eyes open. He wasn’t in the same room as before; this one was fully made from stone, the door heavy and metal. The room was barely seven feet across both ways, the only furniture a small cot.
Ranpo was splayed on the floor. He groaned, moving to sit up and wincing as pain in his head flared. He rubbed it, grimacing at the bump he felt crusted with dry blood. Nothing he hadn’t been through before, though. He would survive this.
That is, as long as he could get through whatever questioning Fukuzawa was undoubtedly going to put him through. Ranpo wasn’t stupid. He knew why Fukuzawa had captured him. As the leader of the On’na No Akachan Mafia, the information he had could put Fukuzawa and the Waru Mafia in complete control of the entire city. No—the entire country.
He wouldn’t give anything up. He wouldn’t let down his men like that. But… he couldn’t bring himself to die. No, he would do everything to escape, while keeping his lips sealed.
Jono was another reason Ranpo couldn’t die. He needed to question the man himself, figure out why— why —he would betray them. How Ranpo had failed him.
He thought back to the day he’d first met Jono, back when he was young and gullible. He’d stumbled into a trap set by the Waru; a simple one, one that even his newest lackeys now would be able to avoid. But back then, he had been so sure he would die. Jono saved him, and in return Ranpo made him a part of the On’na No Akachan much to the chagrin of his father. Ranpo didn’t regret it—couldn’t make himself regret it, even now. The betrayal was fresh, but his love for Jono was ingrained deeply in his heart.
The door creaked open and Ranpo pushed himself as far back as he could go, pressing his back to the wall. He watched, warily, as a man entered, looking unsure of himself.
“I-I’m here to bring you to Fukuzawa,” the man said tentatively, twisting his hands together. Ranpo wondered how he had survived being in the mafia this long. He rose to his feet, unsteady for only a moment before he steeled himself. He followed the man out of the door.
“What’s your name?” He asked. The man jumped, his eyes darting to Ranpo.
“I don’t think I’m s-supposed to tell you that,” he replied.
“I’m no better than a dead man here,” Ranpo said. “What danger can me knowing your name pose?”
The man was silent for a moment as they walked through the halls. “D-Dazai. Osamu Dazai.” He glanced at Ranpo again.
“Dazai,” Ranpo repeated, testing the way the name felt rolling off his tongue. He hummed, satisfied. “Dazai. How many ways do you know to kill a man?”
Dazai jumped, his steps faltering. “U-uh. I’m not- What do you-”
Ranpo chuckled. “I know at least three hundred. Tell me, Dazai, why are you here?”
Dazai picked up his pace again. Ranpo couldn’t help but notice how empty the halls were. It was strange, them only sending one person to fetch him. He thought Fukuzawa knew him better than that.
“T-to bring you to Fukuzawa,” Dazai said. Ranpo felt a trickle of annoyance.
“No, I’m asking you why you’re here . With Fukuzawa. With the Waru.”
Dazai hesitated for a long time again and Ranpo felt his annoyance grow. Finally, he spoke. “Fukuzawa gave me a place here. I-I didn’t have a place anywhere else.”
“It doesn’t seem to suit you,” Ranpo said. Dazai cleared his throat.
“We’re here. Fukuzawa is in here.” He waved at the door he was standing next to. Ranpo eyed it with disdain.
“You’re going to make me go in?”
“Y-yes,” Dazai said, standing up straighter. “I brought you here. Now you have to go in.”
Ranpo gave Dazai a sharp grin. “Sorry about this,” he said, feeling genuinely apologetic. The mafia was no place for a man like Dazai. Fukuzawa had given him a suicide mission. Perhaps Ranpo could at least spare his life.
“Ranpo, no -” The door shot open with a bang, someone calling out just a moment too late as Ranpo grabbed Dazai’s head, smashing it into the wall before the other man could react. Dazai fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Ranpo looked up.
It wasn’t Fukuzawa. Of course, Ranpo knew that as soon as he heard the voice. It was Jono, standing in the doorway with his chest heaving. He looked back and forth between Ranpo and Dazai.
“You- you-”
“Jono?” Ranpo asked, incredulous. “Where’s Fukuzawa?”
“It- it was a ploy,” Jono said. “I’m trying to get you out.”
“And you sent him ?” Ranpo pointed down at Dazai. Jono followed his finger, frowning.
“I didn’t think you would knock him out.”
“You know me better than that,” Ranpo said.
“I do.”
“I feel like I don’t know you.”
Jono looked back at Ranpo, his eyes filled with desperation. He reached out and Ranpo let him grasp his hands. Purely out of the kindness of his heart, nothing else. It had nothing to do with the way his heart fluttered when Jono moved closer.
“I was trying to protect you,” he said. “I became a double agent. I moved through Fukuzawa’s ranks. He was going to- to kill you, and the only way to stop him was for you to see me, to think that I-”
“You didn’t tell me,” Ranpo murmured. “You were a double agent and I didn’t- that wasn’t assigned, Jono.”
“I knew you would never let me.” Jono’s voice was soft. “You always protect me. It was time for me to protect you.”
Ranpo desperately searched for something in Jono’s face that could tell him this was all real. Jono stared back at him, his eyes open, earnest. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Ranpo threw himself into Jono’s arms.
“I should have never doubted you,” he said.
“I would have done the same.”
Ranpo drew back. “Jono,” he said, “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I have always- I know I can trust you.”
“You can,” Jono breathed, “trust me.”
Ranpo leaned forward, his eyes falling shut as his lips met Jono’s. The kiss was short and soft, gone in a moment. Ranpo opened his eyes.
“Ranpo,” Jono said. Ranpo’s name was reverent on his lips.
“Do you have an escape plan from here?” Ranpo asked.
“I- yes.” Jono’s eyes were still on Ranpo’s lips. Ranpo wanted to give in, to kiss him again. They would have all the time in the world for that once they escaped.
“Let’s go.”
“I want to take him,” Jono said, motioning at Dazai’s still body. “He’s not safe here.”
Ranpo gave Dazai an appraising look. He’d spared his life—that must have been reason enough for Jono to ask Ranpo to take him with them. And, Ranpo had to admit, Dazai had grown on him in the short time they had talked. The other man was soft, gentle and timid in a way that didn’t fit mafia life. Especially not life in the Waru. Jono was right—it was a miracle Dazai had survived this long.
“You’re carrying him,” Ranpo said.
“Of course.”
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Someone knocked on Ranpo’s door. “Come in,” he called, looking up from his paperwork. The door opened, Tachihara walking in.
“Tachihara,” Ranpo said, pushing his chair back and standing up. “Are they back?” Tachihara grinned, nodding. Ranpo walked out from behind his desk, clapping his hand on the other man’s shoulder before walking out the door. Tachihara followed behind him.
“They’re all safe,” Tachihara continued as he shut the door behind him. “Injury-free, even Dazai.”
It had become a joke within the On’na No Akachan of just how accident-prone Dazai was. Ranpo laughed. It felt good to be so carefree, in a way he never had allowed himself to feel before they’d taken down the Waru. He turned the corner. Dazai and Jono immediately stood up from their seats, grinning at Ranpo. Ranpo smiled back, walking to his husband and giving him a peck on the lips.
“I missed you,” he said. Jono chuckled, pulling Ranpo into a deeper kiss.
“You always miss me,” he said. Ranpo pouted.
“You could stop leaving.”
“I stay safe, you know that,” Jono said. “I’ll always come back to you.”
“I know,” Ranpo whispered. He kissed his husband on the cheek before turning to Dazai, who stood up straighter. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face and Ranpo felt his heart warm.
“You stayed safe too?” He asked, waiting until Dazai nodded to let his worry dissipate. He reached for Dazai, pulling him into a hug.
In the year since his capture by the Waru and his escape, Ranpo’s affection towards Dazai had grown. He felt like something of a father to Dazai, whose innocent, childlike nature endeared him to everyone he met.
“It went well,” Dazai said. “Jono says my aim is improving.”
Ranpo chuckled. “I believe him. I’ve seen you practice.” He grew more serious. “While you clean up, I need to go pay someone a visit.”
Dazai and Jono both nodded, eyes filled with understanding. Ranpo walked out of the room, heading down hallways and stairs until he reached a heavy metal door, much like the one that had imprisoned him in the Waru base. Ozaki and Taneda were standing on either side of it. They came to attention as Ranpo stopped in front of the door.
“I’ll only be here for a moment,” he said. They nodded, Ozaki reaching to unlock the door for him. Ranpo pushed it open.
Fukuzawa sat on the cot, staring down at his hands. He looked up as Ranpo walked in, eyeing him reproachfully.
“What do you want?” He spat. Ranpo crouched in front of him so he was eye-level with the man. He pulled his gun out of his holster.
“To tell you I’m happy,” Ranpo said. “You failed. The last of your men are dead. You are nothing.” He held his gun to Fukuzawa’s forehead.
“You won’t shoot me,” Fukuzawa said.
“Wouldn’t I?” Ranpo pulled the trigger. Fukuzawa slumped back on the cot, blood splattered on the wall behind him. Ranpo stood and walked out.
“You won’t need to stand guard anymore,” he told Ozaki and Taneda. “Get someone to clean that up.” He turned and walked back down the hallway. He needed to go kiss his husband.