Chapter Text
Ranpo can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. But what could it be? His parents are here, walking him to the local bakery for his birthday. He was promised a cake filled with his favourite jam and covered in his favourite icing, as well as some other baked goods. So why does he feel like he shouldn't be here?
A firm hand on his shoulder stops him as he goes to cross the road, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Careful now, look before you cross the road," his father says, not unkindly. Despite this, impatience bubbles up inside Ranpo even as his mother joins him on his left as his father stands at his right. "I know, I know! I was just thinking about my cake, and I know you'll watch out for me so I don't need to look, now let's go!" He whines, walking forward once the road is clear.
He allows his impatience to get the best of him, walking ahead of his parents and doing a little jog over to the other side of the road before spinning on his heel, his lips curling into a pout as he watches his parents rush to cross the road as well to catch up with him.
And.
They.
Get.
Hit.
Ranpo wakes up with a choked gasp, his eyes snapping open as he jerkily sits up and looks around the room in a panic, a hand coming to grip the front of his pyjama shirt.
They're gone, where are they, where is he? His eyes dart around the room, flitting over the furniture and blank wallpaper before finally landing on the black framed glasses resting on his bedside table, recognition swirling in glassy eyes.
Fukuzawa. He's in Fukuzawa's apartment.
A shaky exhale pushes out of Ranpo, fingers gripping the soft blanket pooled in his lap to prevent his hands from trembling. His eyes slip closed as he tries to take a steadying breath. An image of his parent's mangled bodies flashing behind his eyelids – long burned into his psyche – causes his eyes to fly open again, his breath catching in his throat. There's no way he can fall back asleep, not like this.
Ranpo's eyes drag towards the window, the moon filtering through a gap in the curtains, confirming his suspicion that it's nowhere near dawn. Fukuzawa won't be awake, he always goes to bed early like the old man he is. Ranpo certainly doesn't want to stay in his room, he needs to clear his head and calm down.
Which is how Ranpo finds himself tiptoeing to the living room, doing his best to avoid making noise. He knows Fukuzawa is a light sleeper, having discovered so the time he tried to get late night snacks. He clutches his blanket around his shoulders while avoiding the creaky boards on the floor as best he can with shaky legs, treading towards the couch. He settles himself onto it, tucking his legs underneath himself and making himself small.
Ranpo buries his face into his knees, inhaling shakily as he merely tries to breathe for a couple minutes in an attempt to calm down. Turning on the TV could help distract him, or grabbing a tasty snack, but either of these would wake Fukuzawa, so neither are an option.
His thoughts drift to the dream against his will yet again, replaying the dream – no, the memory – over and over and over . He becomes so consumed by his ruminations that he doesn’t even notice Fukuzawa entering the room until the couch dips beside him, startling a gasp out of him as he whips his head up to give Fukuzawa a wide-eyed stare, brilliant green eyes teary when they meet Fukuzawa's, which are slightly crinkled in well-concealed concern. The older man also looks tired, causing Ranpo's heart to twist with guilt.
Sleep-mussed hair whips to the side as he turns his head away from Fukuzawa and roughly rubs at his eyes with the sleeve of his pyjama shirt, hoping to hide any evidence of tears from Fukuzawa's searching gaze.
Please, don't ask , his mind screams. Please, just go back to bed. I'm fine.
Strained silence stretches out between them before Fukuzawa decides to break it, his voice tinged with sleep at the edges yet calm and collected as always. Ranpo expects him to ask a stupid question – ask if he's okay, maybe – but he doesn't. Instead, he asks, “What can I do to help?”
It surprises Ranpo. It shouldn't. Fukuzawa has always been considerate and careful with his words. The older man has proven time and time again that he isn't like other adults – that he understands Ranpo more than anyone else ever will, and, most importantly, that he cares about him.
Which is perhaps why he responds honestly, baring his soul to Fukuzawa and letting his walls down, even if it's just a little.
“I don't know.” He mumbles, staring at the floor as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. “Nothing.. you can't fix what's wrong. And before you ask, no, I'm not going back to sleep.” He almost whines as he tucks his head into his knees again, as if hiding from the admission that he – the world's greatest detective – doesn't know something.
Because, how is a child supposed to know how to cope with the haunting memory of the horrific death of his parents?
Before Ranpo can spiral into such a thought, he feels the weight beside him on the couch lessen for a moment before it returns, the sound of a book opening sparking his curiosity enough to make him tilt his head to the side just so he can see Fukuzawa. In Fukuzawa's hands is indeed a book – one that he recognises as being from the small bookshelf standing in the room beside a single chair where Fukuzawa often reads to wind down from a long day.
“If you do not want to sleep, perhaps a distraction would be welcome.” Fukuzawa suggests, hoping it'll be an agreeable solution for now. Ranpo's response comes in the form of shuffling closer to Fukuzawa, raising his head from his knees and peering over at the book, squinting at it in the dark. Fukuzawa takes the hint, turning on a lamp beside the couch and beginning to read aloud – which is the first thing that throws Ranpo off. The second is Fukuzawa's ever-present monotonous tone as he reads out the first line of the book detailing… cat body language – which, of course, happens to be the third thing that throws him off.
(Fukuzawa grabbed the wrong book and is far too embarrassed to address the mishap.)
The absurdity of the situation is enough to coax him into relaxing as he listens to Fukuzawa read, leaning over to see the book and follow along with the words – limbs loosening as he leans against the older man, resting his cheek against his arm. It's now that he realises he's cold despite the blanket around him – so he does the only smart thing to do in this situation and closes his eyes, smushing his face against Fukuzawa and settling for just listening to him read rather than following along with the words himself.
The soothing vibration of Fukuzawa's voice is enough to lull Ranpo halfway to sleep. He doesn't know how long Fukuzawa has been reading for – he long stopped paying attention to the book – his mind clinging to the sensation of warmth instead.
Sleep comes for him – just for a moment.
A scream rings out.
His mother's voice.
Ranpo wakes up for the second time that night, startling upright with his mother's name on his lips – only for it to choke off into a strangled gasp as he feels something touch his arm. His eyes dart to his arm, where he sees Fukuzawa's hand – that's right; he's with Fukuzawa.
He stubbornly keeps his gaze averted from Fukuzawa’s face, not wanting to see what expression the older man’s face holds – instead staring at the man's hand in an attempt to ground himself – which begins to slowly move back and forth on his arm in a soothing manner. His heart thuds against his chest and he wills himself to calm down, all the while hoping Fukuzawa won't mention what just happened.
Silence stretches between them for a beat, before Ranpo decides to speak, hoping to distract.
“I don’t want to read anymore.” He mutters, despite not being the one reading. Fukuzawa doesn’t point it out though, simply nodding and slipping a bookmark between the pages before putting it down. Ranpo’s eyes wander to their cheap TV and DVD player – the player being a gift from a grateful woman who gave it to them after they had solved a case involving one of her family members. The DVD player came with a disc for it, some stupid cartoon that Ranpo rolled his eyes at despite it being specifically for him.
He hasn’t watched cartoons since he was a small child, why start again now?
Those were his original thoughts, though now a part of him wants to investigate the idea again, just to pass the time. Fukuzawa follows Ranpo’s gaze, seeming to get the same thought as he stands – after ensuring Ranpo will be grounded without his touch – and makes his way over to the TV and DVD player.
Soon, the disc is taken out of its case and inserted into the DVD player, the screen flickering to life. Fukuzawa steps back to sit beside Ranpo again, remote in hand, and starts the movie.
Ranpo watches idly at first as the name of the movie appears on the screen –
Bambi
– not entirely interested, but grateful to both be away from his thoughts and still conscious rather than asleep where his mind can continue to torment him. It seems to be a normal children’s movie.
That is until Bambi’s mother dies.
Fukuzawa’s eyes widen slightly in panic as the scene plays out, as Bambi desperately cries for his mother who isn’t coming back, mercilessly killed by a hunter. Taken from him too soon. Fukuzawa’s gaze switches to Ranpo, dissecting his facial expression and body language.
Ranpo’s only reaction to the scene playing out before him is to curl up tighter into himself, eyes locked on the screen. He makes no move to ask Fukuzawa to watch something else, or to look away. So Fukuzawa does nothing, knowing Ranpo will make it known if he doesn’t want to –
can’t
watch this movie. Perhaps this will be good for him, watching the young deer move on after his mother’s death and thrive despite the loss.
And so they continue watching, despite Fukuzawa’s deep yearning to return to bed. The movie continues playing, the father figure introduced for Bambi seeming to peak Ranpo’s interest, the young detective perking up and uncurling from his protective ball as the movie plays.
As the movie progresses and Bambi grows into a young buck with his father by his side, Ranpo doesn’t seem to be watching anymore, eyes unseeing as he stares at the screen. He abruptly reaches for the remote and pauses the movie, turning to look at Fukuzawa.
“Did that lady choose this movie on purpose?” He asks, his tone accusatory.
Huh?
Ranpo continues before he can respond.
“It's weird! This movie… It’s just showing me the last few years of my life.” He mutters, looking away. “My parents die horribly and
leave me behind
and then I get taken in by a cranky old man. Just like Bambi.” He murmurs, his voice softening toward the end of his sentence, concealed emotion behind his words.
Ah. An unexpected realisation; one Fukuzawa hadn’t had himself.
“Do you want me to turn the movie off?” Fukuzawa offers, pointedly ignoring the
cranky old man
comment.
Ranpo shakes his head as if offended by the notion, frowning at the floor. “I didn’t say it’s… bad. I just didn’t expect it…” He trails off, visibly trying to gather his words. “I… Think this is the best way things could have gone.” He quietly answers, subtly pressing into Fukuzawa’s side once again. “I’m not happy they’re dead, I just… don't mind where I am right now.” He softly admits.
Fukuzawa doesn't push. He can't help the slight smile that graces his face at the meaning behind Ranpo's words. He would be a fool to deny he cares deeply for the boy, the sincere words and implications warming his heart.
“Alright. Do you want to continue watching?”
A nod, and Fukuzawa presses play again.
There are no further interruptions for the duration of the rest of the movie. Ranpo falls asleep during the last ten minutes, punctuated by a head on his shoulder. Fukuzawa merely pauses the movie and waits, hoping Ranpo’s sleep will be peaceful this time. He waits a few minutes to ensure Ranpo is okay and fast asleep before carefully lifting him into his arms, unsurprised when Ranpo's arms wrap around his neck instinctively, and bringing him to his room.
Fukuzawa lays Ranpo down in bed, tucking him in and lingering by his side, watching in case he wakes up. He does not, so Fukuzawa leaves, gently closing the door behind him.
The next morning Ranpo slowly awakens, turning away from the light shining through his curtains and hiding in his sheets. In his half-asleep state, he distantly realises it must be morning. So, he fell asleep. The next realisation he has is that he’s in bed. Ranpo opens his eyes, squinting at the brightness and lazily looking around his room, trying to remember what had happened the night before. He was downstairs with Fukuzawa watching a movie at god knows what hour… Does that mean Fukuzawa brought him to bed? A familiar warmth fills his chest, one that he hasn’t felt in years, one that warms him throughout his whole body and makes him feel safe. Though, he also feels tired. Exhausted, even, despite it being bright enough to be far from early morning now. He’s about to turn back over and doze off again when he remembers–
He has a case today.
Fuck. He must be late. He doesn’t want to go. Why didn’t Fukuzawa wake him? Where is he? He can’t have left after last night–
Ranpo shakes his head, dragging himself away from his own thoughts and sitting up, deciding to find out for himself what happened instead of creating horror stories in his head. Logically, he knows what likely happened, but he needs to see it for himself – he wastes no time in getting out of bed, padding out of his room and toward the kitchen after finding the living room empty, shoulders dropping in relief at the familiar sight of Fukuzawa making tea. Probably his second one of the day at this point. Fukuzawa doesn’t turn around or address him when Ranpo enters the kitchen, though Ranpo knows he heard him.
“Morning. Hey, what happened to my case?” He asks, propping his arms up on the counter beside Fukuzawa.
Fukuzawa lifts the freshly made tea to his lips, hissing when it burns him, before putting it down.
“Seeing as we both had a late night last night, I contacted the police and notified them we can’t make it today, which is also why I did not wake you.” He responds simply.
Ranpo can’t help the smile that blooms on his face. As much as he loves being a detective, he didn’t want to go today – couldn’t stand the thought. He’s exhausted, and would rather stay with Fukuzawa today, at home.
Home.
There’s a moment of hesitation in Ranpo’s movements before he steps forward and presses himself into Fukuzawa’s back, hugging him tightly from behind. He doesn’t linger, giving a tight squeeze before quickly pulling back.
“I want breakfast! Get to work, old man!” He quips, quickly leaving the room to avoid a reprimand as a result of calling Fukuzawa an ‘old man’ yet again or acknowledgement of the hug he just gave the older man.
Fukuzawa sighs at Ranpo’s swift departure after delivering yet another reminder that he is considered old during his 30’s, starting to make breakfast as Ranpo had asked.