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For six years, Poe lived a life where he had nothing to lose. Well. Maybe lived was an exaggeration. Where he lived, it was in darkness. After Ranpo had humiliated him, Poe was submerged, lost in murky water he couldn’t tread if he tried.
Not that he wanted to try.
It was easier to let the current sweep him along, a rush of hatred that scraped him against serrated stones and tangled him in the algae-coated weeds. He would come out stronger, Poe told himself. He would become something sharpened by knowledge and suffering. If he sacrificed enough, hurt enough, he would come out on top.
For six years he let that feeling flood him completely. He’d already lost everything that mattered—his reputation, his confidence, his will to see others, let alone connect with them. Why not join a terrorist organization if it meant the water’s currents would carry him straight to Ranpo?
Karl was the exception, of course. Poe was terrified to lose the one he considered his only friend. Everything else, though? He’d burn it as collateral damage if he had to. Anything if it meant bringing the high-and-mighty Edogawa Ranpo down. The Guild, his finances, his belongings, his home, none of it mattered. Not really. Nothing mattered.
How wrong he’d been.
Poe slouched on a park bench, watching as Karl and Ranpo kicked their feet in a shallow creek, dappled sunlight reflecting off its surface. As Ranpo splashed him with water, Karl nipped at his fingers and flicked his tail playfully. The detective only laughed. He scratched him behind the ears and lay back in the grass.
Ranpo tipped his head back to catch Poe’s eyes. That dazzling green was too much for him—far brighter than either the grass or the leaves dancing in the trees. Poe’s gaze slid back to the water. Yes, the light was skimming the river like something alive. It wasn’t nearly so hard to look at.
“Poe,” Ranpo said, and the writer slumped further into himself. He could only hum in acknowledgement.
Ranpo was quiet for a moment. Poe could feel the way his eyes burned into him.
He wasn’t used to this feeling. In the six years he’d obsessed over revenge, he’d been consumed by shame, but not like this—guilt bubbled in his gut and burned into his chest. No matter how much he curled up, he couldn’t seem to quell the awful feeling.
“Poe,” Ranpo repeated, and this time he flinched.
“Yes, Ranpo?” It took all his strength to turn back to the detective, and even then he couldn’t look straight into his eyes. This is awful. Ranpo hated to be ignored. After everything, Poe couldn’t even seem to grant him this.
“Where are you?”
Poe blinked.
“You’re lost in your head again. Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“Ah. It’s…” He couldn’t tell him. “It’s just this story I’m working on. I can’t quite figure it out.”
Ranpo frowned. The pout admittedly looked a bit silly like this, with his black hair tumbling down into the grass, expression upside-down as he studied Poe.
“You’re lying.”
The guilt was acidic. He felt sick.
“I don’t like being lied to, Poe.”
He had to look away again.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sincerely.”
“Tell me?” Ranpo asked. His voice was softer than Poe’d expected. It was unusual for him to ask for what he wanted. No, usually he would just take it. Somehow, Ranpo asking made things worse. Poe didn’t deserve this kind of thoughtfulness. Not after trying to tear his life apart.
“I don’t know if I can,” Poe admitted. “Can’t you deduce it?”
“I don’t want to.”
Karl washed himself in the water, pawing at his whiskers. The trickling of the river was far too peaceful a sound for how the thoughts twisted inside of him, a knife in his stomach, one intended for the very man showing him such concern.
“I just…” Poe sucked a breath through his teeth. How could he put this? All the plans of revenge that’d been brewing in his mind for years suddenly reshaped into self-hatred. Maybe that’s what it always had been.
The hatred was deserved, though. That he knew.
“It’s okay,” Ranpo said. No, it wasn’t. The river ran clear.
“I want…” Poe swallowed. “I just want to be fresh water for you.”
For six years, the chasm between Poe and Ranpo was immeasurable. They were separated by oceans, by continents, by motivations, by ideals. Where Ranpo saved lives with the Agency, Poe destroyed them with the Guild. He was quite literally a terrorist. And oh, the years he spent trying madly to tear Ranpo down… His plan to entrap Ranpo in the hellscape he’d tailored for him, the attempted murder of his closest friend? Yes, he was as monstrous as any of the villains in his novels.
“Poe, you know I like your poetry, but I don’t really get it,” Ranpo said, frowning up at him. Poe worried his chapped lips between his teeth.
“I’m not good, Ranpo.” The words were rough in his throat. They came out too quiet. But if he spoke them any louder, he might just start to cry. Talk about selfish—as if he had any right to cry after what he’d done.
“Well, duh. No one is good,” Ranpo said, making air quotes. “Not totally, at least. Everyone’s done bad stuff.”
“I mean-” Poe straightened, fingers clutching the fabric of his pants. “You treat me too kindly for someone who so single-mindedly tried to destroy you.”
“So? You didn’t destroy me. You never could.”
So, he said, as if it was an honest mistake instead of a carefully-crafted pet project designed to end him. It didn’t make sense. How could Ranpo forgive him so quickly? How could he smile at Poe and acknowledge him with such excitement, such joy? How could he invite him to parties with the family he’d made for himself that Poe’d wanted nothing more than to decimate?
“I’m afraid that isn’t my point,” Poe murmured.
“Then what is your point?”
“I’ve bloodied my hands trying to hurt you. I want… You deserve fresh water, Ranpo. Something clear and beautiful and clean that won’t tarnish your reputation, that won’t hurt you. Something better than me.”
“Oookay…” Ranpo drawled. “Are you calling yourself muddy water?”
“I’m calling myself wrong for you!” he cried, then winced at the rawness of the words. Karl looked over to him, trilling. Poe held up a hand and let him return to the task of washing his ears. Everything was coming out wrong.
Ranpo turned onto his stomach and glared.
“So you don’t want to see me anymore?”
Oh, Poe’s heart dropped. He could just die.
“No,” he said. “I want to see you. I just… You deserve better than me. I followed you for six years. Six hateful years. I let you down countless times. The words I wrote for you must have hurt terribly. I wanted to torture you!”
Ranpo was silent. The blank expression over his face was more terrifying than if he were mad. God, why couldn’t he just be mad?
“You should be upset with me. You should be furious. Not asking me to the park.”
“Don’t tell me how I should feel, Poe,” Ranpo said. He got to his feet, water slipping down his shins and ankles as he approached the bench. He gripped the side with one hand and wrapped the other around Poe’s, leaning forward as Poe craned back, gulping as his mouth went dry.
“I-”
“No, you listen to me. You think you’re the first person who’s tried to defeat me? The first person who’s tried to kill me?”
“Well, I didn’t try to kill you, per say…”
“Ah-ah! I’m not done!” he held a finger to Poe’s lips and the writer nodded, swallowing his words immediately. “Plenty of people have wanted to hurt me. And plenty of those so-called enemies are my friends now.”
“Like who? Dazai-san?”
“Yeah, for one. He was a real pain in my ass for a while. Until he joined the Agency, that is.”
Poe tried to ignore the jealousy surging through him. Of course, as a former member of the Mafia, Dazai was directly opposed to the Agency, but now they spent so much time together—
Not really the point. He shook his head, training his focus back on Ranpo, who smirked as if he knew exactly what Poe was thinking. He probably did. No. He certainly did.
How humiliating.
“The only enemies I have are people who I decide are my enemies,” Ranpo explained. “And you are not my enemy.”
“But-”
“No ‘but’s. You’re my rival, Poe-kun. Not my enemy.”
Something sparked in Poe’s chest and Ranpo grinned.
“Your rival,” he repeated. His body froze in the light of Ranpo’s smile. “Yes. Of course I am.”
Ranpo laughed and ruffled his hair.
“You’re so easy to please,” he teased. He stood up again, hands propped on his hips, and Poe clenched his teeth, fingers tangling into his pants. His face was hot. He shook his head to let his bangs fall over his cheeks. There was no hiding how he felt though, not from Ranpo.
“You flatter me too much,” Poe muttered, and Ranpo only snickered as he turned back to Karl.
“What are you—Karl, hey!” Ranpo cried, rushing over to the raccoon. Poe tilted his head to see him dunking a pair of glasses into the river, washing the frame with little paws. “When did you get those?!”
Ranpo knelt and tried to pull them back, but Karl was too quick for him, picking them up by the teeth and scampering away to continue his work. Ranpo stumbled as he began pursuit.
Poe buried a laugh into the palm of his hand, earning a glare from Ranpo.
“This is so not funny!” he whined. “Watch yourself before you do turn into an enemy! Tell him to bring them back!”
“Karl,” Poe said, but the raccoon wasn’t having it. He hopped across the creek and started to lick the lenses. Ranpo’s nose wrinkled.
Poe couldn’t help it—he threw his head back and cackled. The picture in front of him was just too silly. Of course Ranpo would be bested by a raccoon before Poe. The detective pouted, ears turning red as Poe tried to control his laughter. His stomach ached. All of this was just so surreal.
For six years, Poe believed he had nothing to lose. How terrifying it was to love, to suddenly be plunged into warm, clear water after years of despair, to finally see what he held, what truly mattered.
Poe had a lot to lose. And that was far more horrifying than resignation.
He’d known nothing but darkness for all that time. But now, with the clouds parting and scattering into sun-speckled wisps, he saw the sky above for what it truly was—a beautiful starlit blue.
“Ranpo,” he called, and his rival looked back. He was already halfway across the river, pulling his pants up to keep them dry, still red-eared as ever.
“What?”
“I hope that in time, I can be more than your rival.”
Ranpo’s lips parted. It was an inscrutable expression, one that glowed golden in the sunlight, eyes glimmering.
“I’d like to learn to be your friend.”
His rival whipped back to the other side of the creek, water splashing as he waded through it. Karl set the frames down. He seemed satisfied with his work.
“Friends,” Ranpo muttered. “Or maybe even something more.”
Yes. Maybe even something more.