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The voicemail is two minutes and fifty-two seconds long.
“Poe?” It starts, static ripping the single syllable into several pieces. “Ugh, was really hoping you would pick up- but that’s okay! Really- don’t uh- sorry-“
The voice inside of his phone is cutoff by something in the background, something that he cannot hear or see. Seven seconds elapse into the inherent clicking of the cellphone microphone collecting feedback between the silence.
“I already told you!” The voice says, clearly displeased, to whoever is on the other side, interrupting its business. “I swear-“ It returns its observations to the future ‘him’ for whom the missed call was intended. “There’s a reason you’re the only person I can bear to actually solve cases with. The cops just can’t keep up! I’ve had to repeat myself a million times already! It’s such a bore.”
A fit of incomprehensible bickering floats through the speaker like white noise, and the voice on the other end scoffs and giggles to itself.
If the circumstances were different, he might have laughed at the tactlessness of it all, too. It’s endearing, something that he has BECOME endeared to, so much so that he practically seeks it out, by now. But there is sweat, collecting in the palm that holds his phone up to his ear, and a faint buzz building up behind his forehead, when his fingers twitch and he wonders, for the first time in his entire life, if he’s ever going to hear this voice so eager for his attention ever again after these three minutes are up.
“Anyway.” The voice comes back to its purpose for having dialed him. “I’m just calling to tell you that my da- that the President is all okay now, so that’s another crisis averted!” He imagines the voice grinning, as clear as the sun shines through the gaps in the trees above his head. “There’s a lotta other stuff we gotta sort out- Kunikida is way out of it so I gotta help him- but thanks to the novel you gave me, Fukuzawa is still kicking! I owe you big time for that, really. And he wants to say thanks, too. So make sure you come to the Agency on time on Monday, like usual!”
He grips the phone tighter between his fingers, staring up at the bright blue sky, prickling through the leaves, the light smattering of clouds barely doing anything in contention with the midday sun warming his dark head of hair under the relentlessness of a Yokohama summer afternoon. Sometimes, he misses the milder temperaments of Baltimore, and Boston.
“Oh, and I might be in a little bit of trouble- not the danger kind, the disobeyed-dad’s-orders kind, so if I’m not at the office, ask Atsushi what happened to me. And then pray for me!” The voice laughs at its own joke. “I’ll get that novel that I borrowed back to you when you come on Monday, okay? There was someone else in there, but he popped out again a few hours ago. Way after me, of course.”
“Of course,” he can’t help but murmur to himself, and to the raccoon situated around his shoulders, dripping with fondness.
Static invades the voicemail for the umpteenth time. “Okay gotta go bye!” The voice tells him, abrupt and rushed and already moving away from the microphone and-
And that’s it. His phone goes quiet in his hand.
Edgar Allan Poe drops his arm away from his ear, allowing it to fall limp at his side, flipping his cellphone shut at the same time. He heaves a sigh, and Karl shifts along with the sway of his heavy shoulders, gray fur rustled by the breeze, sticking onto Edgar’s coat, caking the back of his neck in fuzz, snoring into his opposite ear, but does not stir from his nap otherwise. He tucks his phone into his pocket and stares straight ahead at the brick and mortar office building looming over his existence from across the street, where he’s planted his feet firmly into the grass beneath an aging oak tree, seeking refuge in the shade as he gathers his courage to march along the crosswalk and, at the very LEAST, make it to the familiar café taking up residence on the offices’ first floor.
Most days, he’s come to love the peace and purpose of café Uzumaki, but there is a foreboding air of reluctance clouding the front door, this morning, that Edgar knows subconsciously exists onto to obstruct his path. Because, on most days, passing through the café on his way to the fourth floor of the office is a part of a now-comfortable routine that he practically relishes, if only for the twinge of natural anxiety always nipping at the nape of his neck. It’s one of the few public places, he’s recently discovered, that actually keeps his mind clear enough to function among the crowd without becoming nervous of the stifling, or the exposure, like he usually does in wide, open spaces.
Today, however, Edgar is here on a mission for which he does not feel fully prepared.
Today, he swears it-
On his mother’s grave.
-he is going to finally-
And maybe Frances’, as well.
-get his act together-
Oh, and dear, sweet Maria’s! For the good luck he so desperately needs!
-and ask Ranpo Edogawa to go out on a date with him.
It is, in theory, a very simple idea. Edgar has been in love with Ranpo for years, years longer than they had ever been in any real contact, and while Edgar had never been any manner of a romantic expert, Ranpo has proven to be utterly and irrevocably irresistible time and again since Edgar managed to find him. He possesses a charm, a wit, unlike any other, a beautiful mind brimming with a genius that cannot possibly be of this earth and Edgar? Edgar is hopelessly head over heels for everything he knows the Detective is capable of. Because even if he has been infatuated with his mind for half of a decade already, the more recent friendship that he’s managed to kindle with Ranpo has introduced him to a world so much bigger and brighter than he ever could have imagined for himself.
In a word, Edgar finds him enchanting. He can’t help but think, the poet that he is, that his childish affinity for sweets must be some outer demonstration of Ranpo’s inner existence. For all that he’s loud and excitable, for all his brutal honesty, and the long list of blunt ideas he carries around that often put people off, Edgar had quickly discovered that Ranpo actually has a heart of gold. He’s honest because he means it, he says exactly what he’s thinking because he cares that everyone else knows the truth, he tells the truth because the truth is important to him, and he’s only as open as he is because it matters to him that his relationships exist in a realm of total and complete faith. He can be critical, and a tad (okay; very, incredibly) judgmental, but Edgar knows better than to assume malicious intentions, even when he borders on rude and accidentally picks fights with the cops he’s meant to cooperate with.
Edgar has long since concluded that he might not even be aware of the fact that others don’t appreciate honesty the way that he does.
Yes, Edgar Allan Poe is fascinated by Ranpo, but it doesn’t stop there. The truth is, that he has never met anyone whom Edgar feels understands him as thoroughly as Ranpo does. Nobody else has ever been able to appreciate his stories, the way that Ranpo does. Nobody else has ever been able to comprehend the fact that sometimes, Poe just gets a little flustered when there’s too much going on, the way that Ranpo does. Nobody else has ever accepted Karl’s constant, looming presence at Edgar’s back so readily, the way that Ranpo did. Edgar doesn’t need to explain anything to him, because Ranpo always seems to just… KNOW, before he’s even thought about brining it up. Ranpo fawns over his mysteries and takes over talking for him when there are too many questions (always with the right answers, he might add) and pats Karl on the top of the head while funneling him treats from under his shirt sleeves and Edgar never needs to ask for any of it. He is selfless. Caring. And Edgar doesn’t think he even realizes how deep his own kindness actually goes.
But Edgar has.
And oh, Edgar is so taken by it all.
If Ranpo makes his heart beat any faster, it’s going to crack his ribcage wide open.
Thus, he has resolved to do something about it, for the sake of his health and the fatal lovesickness eating away at him from beneath his flesh, yes! Edgar Allan Poe is going to declare his love for Ranpo Edogawa aloud for the entire world to see, offer the Detective dinner and dancing and dessert, and woo him into their own little world wherein Edgar intends to offer his life, if that’s what Ranpo desires, to promise him happiness and comfort for the rest of all of their days-
If, of course, he can manage to pick his feet up from where they’re rooted to the dirt by the sheer force of his anxiety.
And if, of course, Ranpo even wants any of that; even wants Edgar.
Karl chitters quietly in his sleep, breathing against Edgar’s ear, and Edgar can’t help but sigh himself, clenching his hands into tight fists at his sides.
He had made it almost all the way to the Armed Detective Agency this morning, before stopping, suddenly, in his tracks just across the street from their building. It’s not like he WANTED to stop and stand and stare at their front door all day, or something stupid like that, it’s just, Ranpo’s had a really rough week with President Fukuzawa falling ill to some ability user, and he had been panicked and stressed, and Edgar had leant him a novel for emergencies, but he hadn’t wanted to get in his way whilst his father had been in such grave danger. Then it had occurred to him, not without some degree of reluctance, that the conflict the Agency had been wrapped up in with the Port Mafia over the issue had put Ranpo in just as much danger as any of them had been; common, in their line of work, certainly, but no less frightening when there was hardly anything Edgar could do to help.
So he had spiraled, perhaps, over the thought of losing Ranpo to the next big thing that came crashing down on top of Yokohama, thrown on his shoes, scooped up Karl, and been out the door marching into the downtown before he’d ever stopped to consider what exactly his subconscious intentions were, this afternoon. Ranpo HAD invited him in the voicemail he’d left the other day, and they’d formed a habit of hanging out together several times a week, already, but it dawned on Edgar, just as he was able to see the Agency up ahead of him a few minutes prior, that he didn’t know what the first words out of his mouth would be when he finally made it there. Nor did he stop to wonder at the rapid thrumming inside of his chest that drove him there so ardently.
He shouldn’t have been so startled, given how long he’s been pining after Ranpo now, when his first thought was ‘I’m going to tell him that I love him before it’s too late’. But he was anyway.
So he froze, listened to the voicemail for what is probably the hundredth time in the last few days, and then froze again, unable to push himself into the crosswalk to finish his trek from home.
“Oh Karl, what am I doing?” he mutters, dipping his chin towards his chest. “I have no way of knowing if Ranpo feels the same. What if I’m being foolish in assuming that he might? I could… I could ruin everything if my delusions go too far!” Edgar throws his head back dramatically, bumping up against Karl’s backside. “I couldn’t bear to lose him to some horrid tragedy, never mind to my own mistakes!”
Karl, unsurprisingly, says nothing, unperturbed by his master’s moaning and flailing.
“I can’t as well turn around and go home!” he laments, despite his lack of any reception. “Ranpo expects me here today! Perhaps I ought to forget any such foolish declarations and simply visit him as I always do,” he suggests, entirely to himself. Karl snuffles in his sleep. “Oh, but he’ll know that something is off, won’t he? He always does- I won’t be able to lie to him. Curses, Karl! Why must love be so complicated!”
Karl’s tail twitches, and the pair of them descend into silence.
Edgar takes a huge breath in through his nose, and turns his eyes down to his shoes. Still, regrettably, seemingly, stuck to the grass. If only he could do anything other than stand around the street corner looking odd-
Oh!
“Yes, that’s what I’ll do! I’ll take a walk!” he declares, to his very uninterested, one-raccoon audience. Edgar whips his head down towards the street moving away from the Agency, ahead of him, rather than the way he’d come. It’s hardly busy at this hour, but he can see the traffic lights at the other end; a short go-around, there and back… that couldn’t hurt. “I’ll go for a walk around the block, compose myself, and then make my way back to the Agency! I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner, but I must commend myself for my own genius- if I simply don’t think about it, then Ranpo will never be able to tell that anything is off! He won’t be any the wiser to-“
“Poe-kun!”
Oh.
Edgar has a history of rotten luck, he thinks, when it comes to his best laid plans. Not that this - whatever this actually is - could be counted among such, but there is quite a novelty to be had in a day that goes well for him; a plan, of any kind, no matter how abrupt and nonsensical, that does not fall victim to his nasty streak of being caught off-guard at the wrong time. He had been getting somewhere, really he had, but the timing is just so… so…
So much like his Ranpo.
Turning his head back to find the voice across the street, Edgar’s heart falls into his stomach. Ranpo is on the opposite curb, right outside of the front door of the café, grinning and waving both of his hands wildly above his head. His hair is a tousled mess beneath his cap, haphazard on one side, his cloak bunching up around his waist in contention with the summer breeze and the leftover wind blowing behind a car that passes on the adjacent street. He’s the picture of excitement, though for what in particular, Edgar doesn’t hazard a guess. One way or another, it’s clear that Poe has his full and complete attention, and he can only imagine that Ranpo may have come down from the Agency LOOKING for him specifically, if the satisfaction painted into the flush of his cheeks is anything to go by.
Ranpo does not look both ways before he’s leaping forward, bounding across the crosswalk painted into the black asphalt, much to Edgar’s dismay. His eyes widen underneath his bangs; the light is green in their direction, and Ranpo is running out into the street like a child after his getaway ball. Edgar has half the mind to surge forward, grab him, push him out of the street because God so help him, Ranpo is going to get hit by a car, or a truck, or worse, and he’ll be flattened onto the pavement like a day-old pastry, and why the hell didn’t he check his sides first before crossing the street like everyone is taught to do when they’re young? He’s practically asking to be mowed down, not with his meager one-sixty-eight centimeters that Edgar is sure cannot be seen by any such driver over the hood of a bus.
Finally, FINALLY, his feet are moving, and he takes one step in Ranpo’s direction, toward the curb, lifting a hand up to reach, or yell, or SOMETHING, and-
Ranpo is already in front of him, smiling, BEAMING, intercepting his interception and pulling Edgar up to yet another short stop.
A city bus blows by, clearly above the speed limit, right behind Ranpo, who is narrowly out of range by now on their shared sidewalk.
Poe stops. And blinks. And swallows.
Good God.
“Hey Ed!” Ranpo greets him, chipper as he always is, apparently unaware of the panic ripping a tear in Edgar’s gut right now as he skids to a halt inches away from Poe’s chest.
“I was waiting for you all morning, you know! I saw you out the window upstairs but you were on the phone and I just couldn’t wait!” The words are leaving Ranpo’s mouth at a mile a minute, and Edgar might feel dizzy from the mix of shock and momentary terror if he weren’t used to keeping up with it by now. “Was the call important? You almost never get phone calls! Unless it’s me, of course, and I didn’t call you so-“
Karl startles awake then, seemingly alerted to Ranpo’s added presence, and perks his head up and around the side of Edgar’s face to sniff the air between them.
“Karl!” Ranpo grins impossibly wider, holding a hand out at the palm to pat his raccoon on the head. Karl nuzzles into the gesture, cooing in Edgar’s ear. “Bet you’re happy to see me, huh? It’s been days already! I don’t have any treats for you though- darn-“
Karl doesn’t seem to have a reaction, as Ranpo goes about scratching around his ears.
Poe takes a deep breath, forcing the panic down his throat, staring at the yammering proof that Ranpo did not, in fact, get run over by a car, and trying for a smile that he hopes won’t betray his lingering turmoil. “Good morning, Ranpo-kun. I was just on my way up to see you, I was running a bit slow this morning,” he replies, tilting his head to one side. Oh, how it truly is EASIER for him to smile and MEAN IT whenever Ranpo is around. “But you’ve spoiled Karl plenty, mind you, so don’t you worry about him. He’ll survive without an extra treat or two today. He could use the humility, I’m sure of that.”
“If you say so!” Ranpo snickers, pulling his hand back to fix the brim of his cap against the wind. “So, you ready to go? I don’t have a case for us because we’ve got other stuff to handle with Fukuzawa and all that right now-“ Edgar doesn’t miss how he purses his lips together at the idea, but he doesn’t mention it, either (Edgar knows that Ranpo will be the one to say something, if he needs to address the disaster with the virus. Edgar refuses to push him). He perks up again, easily enough. “Unless YOU have a case for me?”
“Me?” Edgar asks, before he can stop the confusion from rearing its head. “I’m afraid I don’t. All of my detective work is done with you these days, as you know- unless you know something that I’m not yet aware of-“
Ranpo giggles, and it sends a warmth up the back of Edgar’s neck. Thank the Lord for his long hair covering most of his face where he knows, for certain, he’s probably tickled pink. “I’m talking about your phone call, silly. Was it fun and exciting?”
Oh, right. That.
Well, he can’t very well have Ranpo knowing that he was listening to his voicemail, again, just for the sake of hearing him speak.
Karl settles back down like a scarf, and he decides to blame him for the sweat running down his temple.
“I’m afraid not. Quite boring, actually,” Edgar says, shrugging. “Some business with my publisher, is all. I- I dropped off a draft, just the other day!” Technically, that is not a lie, he thinks. “He was just- letting me know that it reached his desk. Semantics and such nonsense.”
Ranpo leans forward, and if he doesn’t believe the little white lie, then Edgar can’t tell by the intrigue taking over his face. “Oh? Have I read that one yet?”
Okay. This he can handle. He can talk about his mysteries, and they’ll get lost in the conversation, and his feelings will never come up because Ranpo beat him to the punch and saved his day even if he didn’t have the chance to compose himself and… and things will go exactly as they always do. Nothing will change.
Nothing will change at all, because there won’t be an opportunity for Edgar to jeopardize them.
Goodness, things were so much less complicated when they were simply rivals.
“You have, actually,” his smile feels a little light. “The detective character that I’ve recently begun experimenting with? I’ve submitted my second draft of his that you enjoyed so much. I’m not sure how the Ourang-Outang will fare with the public, but I’m hopeful that a new kind of killer might be enough to draw intrigue elsewhere.” He thinks back, fondly, to how ecstatic Ranpo had been over the prospect of an animal culprit to give him a more appropriate challenge, when Edgar had first given him the manuscript. It had filled him with a sense of pride that he can still feel settled in his chest. “Hopefully he won’t think it too… convoluted. I do feel a little silly about it, admittedly.”
“Are you kidding? Anybody who doesn’t love that monkey is an idiot,” Ranpo scoffs, standing up a little straighter.
Edgar can’t help but chuckle himself. “Well, you know that not everyone is as smart as you are, my dear Ranpo.”
“Too true,” Ranpo agrees, nodding sagely. “Except for you, obviously. So then you should already know that your story will totally take off because it’s already awesome, and even dumb little babies can appreciate a good book.”
If Edgar hadn’t already been flushed, then he surely would be blowing steam out his ears now.
Compliments from Ranpo - from Ranpo! - are like water, to Edgar; they keep him alive, in some sense that he feels almost invigorated when he manages to impress someone so scarcely impressed by anything (the territory, he supposes, that comes with observation as keen as his. It’s difficult to be surprised. Edgar is not wholly unfamiliar with the feeling himself). That is, of course, not accounting for the fact that Edgar doesn’t often know how to take them, too flustered by the praise to do much of anything other than thank him. And oh, how thankful he is, to be made to feel as though his work, his passion for his writing, is being recognized at all. Even Ranpo’s criticisms, earnest as they are, make him feel… good. Really good.
Few have ever bothered to give him the time of day for it, but Ranpo… Ranpo actively seeks him out. It makes Edgar feel seen.
“You’re too kind, Ranpo-kun,” he murmurs, clearing his throat.
Ranpo crosses his arms over his chest. “Only to the people who deserve it!”
“Well then, I feel honored.”
“Good! You should!”
Edgar huffs a laugh, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down over his hands just to do something with them. The city around them is quiet, unimposing, despite standing on the street corner in the middle of the daylight. The nature of a summer’s Monday, perhaps, when everyone is off at work, and those not busy with work are off on a holiday. The shade of the trees over his head likewise keeps the sun away from his face. The lull feels good, honestly, after the attack on the President that’s still barely two days old. It was stressful for him, and all he did was lend Ranpo a novel; he can’t imagine how stressed Ranpo was, so he’s glad to see him in high spirits. It all feels uncharacteristically peaceful in light of… everything else, that’s happened since he first arrived in Yokohama.
The pit in his stomach fills some, as he manages to wrangle his heartbeat to something less like thrashing and more like… fidgeting. Which, he decides, is better than the panic attack that had been teasing his sanity a few minutes ago. It feels good to have control over himself again, tampered down by the comfort of Ranpo’s good-naturedness that he’s become so accustomed to being around. He can hardly remember what life was like before they became real friends, rivalry and banter and all.
He should be happy with this. He shouldn’t want more. He shouldn’t be so selfish, so greedy, as to dream the thought of romance with Ranpo, who has already given him more than he ever could have known to ask for. Yet, he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to intertwine their fingers, to hold Ranpo’s hand while they take walks in the park, to run his fingers through his hair and tuck it behind his ear, to hold him close to his chest and snuggle on the sofa. He can’t help but long for the taste, the feeling, of Ranpo’s lips pressed against his own, the closeness of the thing, something soft and careful and gentle, the way that Ranpo deserves to be treated, with tenderness and love and attention, and Edgar longs to hold his face between his hands and whisper sweet nothings against his mouth and-
“Hey! If I don’t have any cases, and YOU didn’t bring me any, then what the heck’re we gonna do now?”
-And Ranpo is standing right in front of him. Expectant. And innocent. With a slight pout on his face, a glint in his eyes, a furrow to his brow that is just so- so-
Amusing? Yes. Beautiful? Also yes.
Edgar wants to scream something incomprehensible.
Karl kneads his claws into Edgar’s shoulder as he settles back into a nap, keeping Edgar firmly in the present again. “I- well- I suppose-“ he stutters, lamely, in an attempt to gather himself, not for the first time today. “Why don’t we go find lunch? It’s practically noon already. Unless you have other work to be getting to at the Agency, then I would be happy to pickup something for the both of us to take back-“
“It’s boring there right now,” Ranpo insists, glancing back towards the office behind him. “Fukuzawa gave us all an unofficial leave while the police figure out all that junk that happened with Dostoyevsky and the Rats. We’re technically just supposed to lay low and wait to hear back right now,” he shrugs, meeting Edgar’s tentative gaze through his bangs. “But some of us are hanging around anyways, just in case. So it’s boring. We’ll bore you to death.”
Edgar opens his mouth to argue that Ranpo could never bore him, but Ranpo holds a hand up, several steps ahead of him.
“Yes, it’s ACTUALLY boring. And kind of depressing. Not normal boring,” he adds, picking at the edge of his cape with his thumb and forefinger absentmindedly. “And also, I’m still in trouble for not listening and kind of staging a mutiny. So anytime I go back I could be handed my sentence. It would be safer for me to let Fukuzawa decide to be merciful first. He won’t be able to resist me if he’s in a good mood, trust me, I know from experience.”
Edgar laughs, fixing Ranpo with a crooked smile. “Of course, my dear. I’d hate for you to be sent to the gallows,” he teases, unable to help himself from playing into Ranpo’s dramatics. “Lunch out, then? There’s a fantastic little soba shop a few blocks away that I’ve become quite fond of since moving to the area. Whet Soba? I’m sure you know the area much better than I do, but I’m friendly with the owner and his son, so consider it my treat.”
Ranpo practically jumps. “Well I can’t say no to that! You’re just too sweet, Ed! Soba sounds great right about now!”
Edgar can feel the firm grip on his heart slipping, minutely.
‘You’re just too sweet, Ed!’
If only he were so confident as Ranpo, he might have seized the opportunity to flirt. ‘Only for you’, he thinks, without really needing to THINK about it at all. But he isn’t. So he doesn’t.
“Wonderful,” he says instead, brushing his bangs away from one eye, pressing his palm to his cheek and keeping it there. He gestures vaguely in the direction of the restaurant with his other hand, down the western avenue. “Off we go, then, my dear?”
“Off we go!” Ranpo parrots, triumphant.
Ranpo is spinning on his heel towards the street before he has the moment to catch a breath. He waves his arms around, his cloak sweeps a flourish behind him; Edgar is hastened, he finds, to keep up, moving quickly to keep in step with the detective before he can get too far ahead and, inevitably, lead them down the wrong road by mistake (his sense of direction, or lack thereof, is alarming to Edgar, really). Karl chitters on his shoulders, and Edgar smiles fondly against his palm as he catches Ranpo’s stride in time and-
And Ranpo reaches over abruptly, yanking Edgar’s arm towards him, before taking his hand into his own - much smaller, much warmer, much softer, than Edgar’s long, large, cold, calloused fingers - to pull Edgar along with him as they turn the street corner.
Edgar had imagined, often and with little restraint, what it might feel like to hold Ranpo’s hands. He could already tell they were small, - much smaller than his are, in any case - but the fleeting touches they had shared - hands on the shoulder, pats on the back, tugging at sleeves, passing off snacks - offered little else to go by. He always imagined they would be warm, maybe even a bit clammy, but there’s a real warmth to Ranpo’s hands, something natural, that he hadn’t yet accounted for. He had wondered if, for how much time Ranpo spends with candy, they might be sticky, too, but his hands are almost pristine. Baby smooth, even. Does he use lotion? Edgar thinks he must. He’s never felt hands so gentle as this.
“R-Ranpo-kun!” he exclaims, struggling to keep himself from tripping over his own two feet - and Ranpo’s - as he’s pulled along by the shock, the pleasantry, of the contact. “Slow down!” A laugh escapes him, all the same. Endeared to Ranpo’s enthusiasm; he can’t help himself. “There’s no rush!”
“No rush?! They call it the LUNCH RUSH, Ed!” Ranpo giggles in return and Edgar feels his hand squeezed in Ranpo’s palm. “If you don’t rush, are you really doing it right?”
The pair of them skid over the sidewalk, laughing in tandem, as the cover of the trees and the natural shade of the city fades away, giving leave to the sunshine and the full beating of the summer heat over their heads. Edgar doesn’t find that he minds it, the strength of the sun warming the top of his head. He squints against the light, and he doesn’t care when it strains his eyes, nor when sweat collects in between their hands bunched together.
Oh, right. THIS is why he’s in love with Ranpo. This is why he finds it so hard to keep the cork in the fragile glass bottle that is his psyche, lest the bottom shatter under the weight of his feelings pleading for release.
Because Ranpo makes him feel alive. Invincible. Like nothing in the world could harm him, a carefree, floating sort of ideal that Edgar isn’t sure he’s ever felt, not since he was an infant, when his mother was still alive, clueless in his happiness; when nothing in the world mattered enough to effect someone so small, so unassuming, before Edgar grew up and the cruelty of the world began to make sense to him. Edgar doesn’t ever remember having a skip in his step, nor being comfortable enough, not even alone with Karl, to simply BE like he does when Ranpo is glued to his side, showing him a world. Smiling. Laughing.
It’s as addicting as Ranpo is stunning. Captivating. Edgar never wants him to let go.
“Turn up ahead, my dear,” Edgar tells him, grinning when Karl perks up at his side, digging his claws deeper into his back as if clinging on for dear life. “Left across the street, then it’s down just two more blocks from there.”
“Roger that!” Ranpo smiles, turning his head back just enough to throw Edgar a nod and an affirmative.
Warmth blooms ever hotter in Edgar’s chest.
“How do you take your soba?” he asks, if only to keep Ranpo talking. If only to hear his voice.
“Kake for me! That’s the only way!” Ranpo replies, and Edgar is hardly surprised. “But I bet you like zaru, don’t you?”
Edgar chuckles. Of course. “I’m partial to zaru myself, yes. But a good kake broth is a blessing during the winter.”
“I bet you like it with onions, too!”
“I do. But I’m sure you don’t. Not unless they’re on the sweeter side.”
“Nope! Broth and seasoning only!”
“No egg?”
“Only if Fukuzawa makes it! He’s the only one who can make the egg right!”
Ranpo tugs him along to the end of the street, stopping at the crosswalk with a spring in his heels, this time. Edgar looks both ways over the red light, because Ranpo does not, before nudging him forward with the hand still intertwined between Ranpo’s fingers. Edgar takes the lead, setting a slower pace to cross the street without the added risk of being rundown, and Ranpo seems content to be lead, now. He swings their arms back and forth, side to side, up and over, clacking his shoes against the asphalt. Karl sniffs at Ranpo’s cap level with his nose, and Ranpo reaches around his neck to scratch Karl on the top of the head.
The adjacent sidewalk is just as quiet as the rest of the city seems to be. There’s chatter across the way, a group of teenagers on their bikes flying by, a mother and her daughter walking a large white dog on a tangled leash, a man in a fitted gray suit on his cellphone, brushing past the dog with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to the closeness of the city. Their side of the street is clear, but Edgar keeps Ranpo tethered down to something less than running, if only to keep him from tripping over a catch in the sidewalk or the like.
Ranpo tilts his head thoughtfully. “Man, I am so excited for lunch,” he sighs, something wistful. “I didn’t get to eat much during while Fukuzawa was sick. A hot, normal meal sounds soooo good right now.”
“You deserve it,” Edgar agrees. “I can hardly imagine how difficult it’s been for you, but I’m relieved that Fukuzawa-san is alright. Besides, you’ll need your strength to handle the rest of that business you mentioned, won’t you. I think a break will do you some good, my dear.”
“That I do!” Ranpo grins, flashing his teeth. “But you helped us out, don’t forget about that!” he adds, still swinging their hands. “I mean, seriously, we never coulda done it without you! It really is awesome having another great detective around who gets what I’m thinkin’, ya know?” Edgar’s heart leaps back into his throat. “And now you’re taking me to lunch? I mean, c’mon, Ed! You’re like a mind reader! I hope you know that you’re the best! Because you are! And hey!” He throws his chin up, staring pointedly into Edgar’s bangs. “We should totally go to the bakery after this for dessert! They have this apple scone that I think you’ll love! And probably Karl too! I’ve wanted you to try it for ages! Then we can take it to the arcade around the block and I’ll kick your butt at Street Fighter! I’ve gotten really good with Guile ‘cuz I thought it would be super funny to beat you with an American!”
Ranpo stares at him expectantly, his smile irresistible. “Whaddya think?”
Edgar stops walking, suddenly, his hand slipping away from the comfort of Ranpo’s touch, grounding him to the earth.
His heart stops beating.
‘We never coulda done it without you!’
‘It really is awesome having another great detective around!’
‘I hope you know that you’re the best!’
‘I’ve wanted you to try it for ages!’
Ranpo… was thinking of him? His father almost died. He’s been fighting with the Port Mafia for days. And Ranpo is here, thinking of… Edgar?
“Uhhh, Ed? Hello?”
Ranpo is stopped now, too, a foot away from Edgar, hands hanging limply at his side. His brows are furrowed, head titled toward, clearly waiting for an answer. Waiting for Edgar.
“…Sorry, what?” Edgar asks, lamely.
Ranpo grimaces, opening one bright green eye all the way. “I asked you what you think about my plans?”
Edgar inhales sharply.
He can hardly more than mumble, then. “I think… I think that…”
Ranpo’s frown deepens. “Huh?”
“I think that I’m in love with you.”
He says, before he has the chance to stop himself.
Time seems to stop, in the moment that Ranpo opens BOTH of his eyes all the way, wide, pooled with a shock unlike anything he knew the detective was ever capable of feeling, and Edgar realizes what he’s said. A none too familiar dread settles in his stomach, and Edgar can’t fight the nervous bile building in his throat, forced to divert his gaze to his shoes if only to keep it down. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He wasn’t- he didn’t mean- no, he DID mean- but he wasn’t ready- he- it- he’d had a plan. At some point, at some time, there had been a plan. Edgar had a plan, an idea, because he didn’t know what he was supposed to do WITHOUT one. He’s an architect and an author, for God’s sake. His entire career has been nothing but plans. Blueprints. Outlines. And sure, he hadn’t gotten all too far with it; he’d struggled and he’s delayed and he’d tucked away, because he didn’t KNOW yet, how to do this right. What he does know is that this isn’t how it was supposed to go.
Ranpo wasn’t supposed to look at him like that. Like Edgar has shattered something valuable, something perfect, into one million tiny, illegible pieces. Shards of something that used to be, a balanced scale that has been overthrown, now, by one weight too heavy to compare; Edgar’s feelings too deep and too complicated to have been earned. He always knew this, that telling Ranpo would likely ruin the friendship that they’d built, when Ranpo didn’t feel the same. And he had tried, tried to convince himself to be honest, marched to the Agency this morning with only honest intentions, because he hates it, that idea of keeping things from Ranpo, who so valiantly values the truth. But now he has become absorbed within his feelings, selfish in the idea that Ranpo… CARES about him. Because he’s weak under Ranpo’s generosity, his glowing eyes, his gentle hands, foolish under the weight of love. Foolish to think he deserves-
“I know.”
Edgar dares to look back to Ranpo’s face when he speaks up, his shoulders squared, his eyes softened into something almost knowing. He fixes Edgar with a stare that Edgar can’t decipher, and his mind goes completely blank.
“You… what do you mean?” he murmurs, afraid of the sound, afraid of the silence, afraid of an answer he’s not even sure he wants to hear; could he handle the humiliation? “You knew?”
Ranpo scratches awkwardly at the back of his head. “Well I- yeah. Kinda,” he replies, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. “I mean, I’m a great detective and all so I sorta just… figured it out. You were kinda obvious about it. Not that I’ve ever had a crush before this or anything like that, but I mean, I’ve seen people in love before. For cases and stuff,” he shrugs noncommittally. “And you always acted that way around me. So I guess I just… recognized it. From that.”
‘Obvious’? Edgar is certain he’s never felt so embarrassed in his life. No- embarrassed isn’t word enough. Of COURSE Ranpo noticed; Ranpo notices everything. To think, all this time he’s been acting like a lovesick puppy, fawning over his goddamned rival, looking like an idiot, failing to keep his cool the way that he had hoped, BEYOND hope, that he would, and Ranpo just… let him. He sat by, and watched, and never said a word. Never called him out on it. Spared his feelings, spared him the indignity. What, out of kindness? Pity?
God knows Edgar needs it.
And here he’s been, trailing after the detective for months, forfeiting hours and hours of sleep to his writing, drowning in coffee, plowing through drafts of manuscripts that had sat on his desk for months untouched in a matter of days, for the plain and simple purpose of offering Ranpo the challenges he so eagerly sought out. His reward? The smile on his face when he solves the mystery, the pride rolling off of him like crashing waves as he explains, animatedly, his process of the deduction, laced with praises for Poe’s elegance of the tongue. Edgar knows it must have painted him a dope, listening so intently to Ranpo’s ever word, clinging onto the time they spent together, the mornings over pastries and the evenings on a park bench, handling ice cream and talking. Talking talking talking, about everything, and nothing. Just to be there, beside him. And Ranpo knew it, knew that Edgar harbored stronger feelings, let him believe that he didn’t know.
Let him have the bliss, the simplicity of what they’d built. The routine.
The perfection. Contained. Unblemished. All after Edgar had once tried to kill him.
Still. Still… why didn’t he?
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Edgar sighs, rubbing his hand up and down his arm, tugging at his sleeve. “Surely it made you uncomfortable. You should have… you should have told me you knew. I would have stopped, if only you had asked me to.” And it’s true: he would do anything, so long as Ranpo asked him to, so long as it made him happy, no matter how terribly it would pain Edgar to let go. “Why didn’t you?”
Ranpo doesn’t even blink. “Because I didn’t want to.”
There’s a split second, where Edgar sucks a breath in through parted lips, before Ranpo takes a step closer, closing the gaping distance between them on the pavement. He’s practically nose to nose with Edgar, if only he were a little taller, and Karl, oblivious to all of… everything, really, sniffs mindlessly at the brim of his cap.
“I don’t want to… deduce you, the way I do with everyone else,” he goes on, brushing his hand against Edgar’s still buried in his sleeve. “I want to learn about you on my own. I want you to tell me stuff, and let me know stuff. The right way. The way that people do when they… when they care. Ya know?” He curls his fingers around Edgar’s wrist, prying his hand away from his sleeve, taking it into his palm. The tension bleeds from Edgar’s white knuckles like sand inside of an hourglass. “I wanted you to tell me how you felt.”
Ranpo weaves their fingers together. It’s careful, hesitant, intimate. Everything that Ranpo, usually, is not. Edgar lets him.
“Are you going to ask why?” he murmurs. Ranpo is never quiet, either.
Edgar’s heart stutters. He rubs his thumb over the side of Ranpo’s hand.
“Why?”
“Because I think I’m in love with you, too.”
Oh.
Poe opens his mouth. Why? He hasn’t decided. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’ sits on the tip of his tongue, and yet, it cannot escape him. There’s a part of him that wants to beg, to plead for more, wanting to go all the way; the yearning part of him, that has so long been starved of Ranpo’s closeness, a closeness he’s been chasing from afar. The closeness he’s been too afraid to ASK for. And Ranpo is giving this to him. He can hardly believe that, that he might be so lucky that Ranpo is GIVING it to him; holding his hand, walking him through it, and Edgar doesn’t feel so nervous, anymore. Happiness, it doesn’t feel so foreign. He’s entirely breathless, under Ranpo’s gentle scrutiny, demanding nothing, and offering him EVERYTHING, thread together loosely. It’s the honesty that Edgar cherishes.
Edgar feels ALIVE.
Ranpo squeezes his hand, and suddenly Edgar can’t think of anything to say that would be right; that would be enough. “I’m not used to this, okay?” The ‘being vulnerable’ goes unsaid. Edgar understands. “Just let me finish.”
Edgar swallows, and nods. It’s all he can manage.
“I mean, people are hard for me, too,” he deadpans, looking Edgar directly in his eye uncovered by his bangs. “And weird. Weird and hard. And it’s so frustrating and I- don’t like it. It- it used to be really hard for me when I was a kid so I’ve never really made friends outside of the Agency and- blah blah blah. Not that it matters! It’s not a big deal!” His cheeks burn with a flush of pink that is entirely adorable, but his gaze hardens, serious and steady, at the same time. Reliable, Edgar thinks. “But- But you’re not. I mean, hard. You’re not hard to get. I get you. You’re still weird- but- but it’s the good weird!” He puffs his cheeks out. “You’re… you’re the same kind of weird as me! Not that I’m weird! I’m not- I’m a great detective! But you’re… you’re also a great detective so- so I just…”
Edgar chuckles besides himself, besides the pounding of his heart and the fact that Ranpo is granting all of his greatest wishes, and Ranpo throws him a glare with none of the usual fire behind it.
He sighs, blowing the air out of his cheeks. “I understand you. And it… feels really good, ‘cuz I feel like you understand me, too. I don’t need to explain stuff to you, I know I can be like… a lot. But you’re so patient, way more than anyone else has ever been with me,” he pulls Edgar’s hand into his chest, pressing it over his heart. “Going out on cases with you is the most fun I’ve ever had and I never want it to end. You’re the only other detective who’s ever given me chills, don’t forget that!” He offers a sheepish grin so unlike him. “So… yeah, I think you’re amazing, Ed. Maybe I knew that you had a thing for me or whatever, but I-“
Ranpo cups Edgar’s hand in both of his own, handling it like something precious. “I’m in love with you, Ed. I’m sorry it took me so long to say something about it I just-“ Edgar leans in closer, so he can feel Ranpo’s breath on his throat. “Usually I don’t care what people think about me, But I care about you. I didn’t want to put you on the spot and scare you away, I know you hate that. I wanted you to be able to make the decision.”
Karl squeaks and sits up, retracting his claws from Edgar’s shoulders to hop out of the hood of his cloak. He lands on all four feet, graceful and unbothered, to circle their legs.
A car flies by in the street, and Karl sits up straight in between Edgar’s feet, his tail twitching against Edgar’s ankle.
Truth be told, Edgar had forgotten where they are, in the heat of the moment; the middle of the sidewalk, the shady city block, the heavy midday sun, are props, backdrops, in a world that falls away into something imperceptible when Ranpo holds his hand and says ‘I’m in love with you’. God, Edgar would give up everything to hear that one more time, or forever. Preferably forever. A bus keens at the end of the road and the fussing of the engine that would usually bother him is white noise, compared to the ringing in his ears. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you, Ed’, like a siren song meant only for him, pulling him further into an ocean he’s already been wading through, too afraid to do much else than dip his toes in.
He’s awestruck. Ranpo’s eyes may as well be stars.
“So, now whaddya think?” Ranpo asks him, lilted with a sense of hope that Edgar feels inside of his own chest.
There’s a newfound confidence churning Edgar’s entire being. Ranpo is in love with him. Ranpo Edogawa, is IN LOVE, with HIM. With Edgar Allan Poe.
So he pulls his hand away from Ranpo’s.
Immediately, the warmth is missed. Ranpo blinks, eyes going wide, flashing with something nervous that Edgar has only ever seen once or twice before. But he doesn’t waste his time, replacing his empty palms instead with the sides of Ranpo’s jaw, cupping his cheeks, tilting his chin up to level with Edgar’s. Ranpo gasps, and he pushes loose strands of dark hair away from the detective’s eyes with his thumbs.
He’s beautiful. So beautiful.
Edgar smiles, big and dopey and kind, all pursed lips and anticipation.
“I think I would like to kiss you, my dear,” he says, steady and oh-so sure of himself. And then - because he’s a gentleman, “May I?”
Ranpo’s affirmative comes in an instant. “Please,” he all but gasps, nodding vigorously into Edgar’s palms, a burning in his gaze that Edgar imagines is mirrored in his own. He sounds breathy, almost desperate. “God, Ed, yes. Please.”
That’s all that Edgar needs to hear.
Edgar is taller than Ranpo. Not by a whole head, not enough to tower over him, per se, but enough that he needs to lean down to reach him. His hands never leave Ranpo’s face when he tilts his head and cranes his neck to close the distance. Ranpo pushes up on the tips of his toes at the same time, eager and impatient and prepared, reaching up to grab at the collar of Edgar’s over-shirt, and PULL.
Their lips come crashing together at once, Ranpo’s nose colliding with his upper lip, before melting instantaneously into something much more gentle. Ranpo’s eyelids flutter closed and Edgar follows. Edgar’s lips are dry, perhaps a bit chapped, and Ranpo’s are not. Ranpo’s lips are soft, much like his hands, damp with the remnants of something sugary that Edgar relishes the taste of; it’s sweet, like strawberries and raspberries, like sticky, hard candy and ramune soda. It feels right. It feels perfect. And Ranpo, despite his obvious passion as he clutches onto Edgar’s shirt and deepens the kiss, pushing into his chest, is nothing short of tender. Edgar allows himself that same greed, pinching his cheek minutely, brushing the tips of his fingers over his jawline.
It’s a dream from which Edgar never hopes to wake up.
Still, he’s the first to pull away, slowly and just barely; just enough for them to come up for air. They breathe heavily in the tiny space between them, Edgar slowly opening his eyes to stare back at his beloved, to observe his lips swollen pink and face burning a deep red. His own blush warms his face comfortably. Ranpo’s eyes are hooded as they tend to be, settled with a contentment that makes Edgar feel proud of himself.
Ranpo unfurls one fist to bring his hand up to Edgar’s face and brush his bangs out of his eyes. There is nothing in his mind to stop him, and Edgar allows him to run his fingers through the front of his hair. He doesn’t push them back all the way, just enough to look Edgar fully in the eye and smile, so soft and pretty, something only for them; for him. A beat passes like this, the silence and the city stillness like a blanket wrapped around their shoulders.
Karl sits dutifully between the two of them, licking his paw.
“Uh so-“ Ranpo giggles, looking positively giddy. Edgar’s heart stutters, and he can’t help but giggle, too.
“Yes, it appears so,” he murmurs, catching Ranpo’s hand still in front of his face in one of his own to bring it up to his lips. His presses a kiss to Ranpo’s knuckles, and Ranpo glances away, growing ever-redder. “I love you very much, my dear. I want nothing more than to continue loving you, every day, if you’d let me.”
Ranpo snorts, intertwining their fingers again. “We just made out in the street. Of course I’d let you,” he grins when Edgar squeaks, involuntarily, blush flooding to the tips of his fingers. “I love you, too. I want to KEEP loving you, too.”
Oh, to hell with it. Edgar can’t possibly feel embarrassed. Not when Ranpo is so… so…
Ranpo.
And then Ranpo’s stomach growls.
“Goodness!” Edgar exclaims, startling Ranpo, who jumps where he’s standing. “Lunch! I’d nearly forgotten about lunch!” He cranes his head to stare down the sidewalk, across the street, suddenly unable to remember how far they’d even made it to the soba shop. “Oh, you must be starving, my dear.”
Not that he thinks lunch matters very much anymore, not after THAT, but Ranpo is always hungry- oh, and he’d had plans for them this afternoon! Plans that - belatedly, he realizes - Edgar had never actually given Ranpo an answer about! He tries to think back to it all: lunch, he’d said, then dessert at the bakery, and the arcade back by the Agency and- yes, yes that’s all of it, he thinks. It sounds lovely. Perfect, even, an afternoon with his Ranpo. In fact, it almost sounds like it could be a date…
Oh!
Ranpo shrugs, glancing over his shoulder toward the next crosswalk. “I could eat! But I wouldn’t say I’m starving after getting to kiss you like that,” he says, sporting a sly smile that Edgar is too elated to get flustered over. Especially when he feels the same. “Actually, I could also kiss you for the rest of the afternoon and that would also be great-“
“Then let’s make it a date,” Edgar interrupts him eagerly, grinning so wide the it hurts. Yes, kissing for the rest of the afternoon sounds wonderful. Beyond wonderful. Otherworldly, even. So why not have both? “I’ll take you out around the city, just the two of us. We’ll go to lunch, just like we had planned, and you may order however much your heart desires, and I’ll kiss you silly when you ask for a bite of my own,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind Ranpo’s ear. “You can show me the bakery, and we’ll share pastries, all of your favorite selections, and I’ll kiss the crumbs and the icing away from the sides of your mouth.” Ranpo is positively beaming. “And then once you’re satisfied with your sweets, we’ll go to the arcade, and your prize, if you manage to beat me as you say you will, shall be another kiss. Perhaps two.”
Ranpo tugs at his arm. “What if you win?”
Edgar tries to look thoughtful, though he’s sure his excitement betrays him. “Then I suppose I’d like my prize to be a kiss, as well.”
“One or two?”
“Two, preferably.”
The detective hums to himself. “Mm, you won’t beat me though,” he insists, waving his free hand around aimlessly. “So those prize kisses will be mine! And I want more than just two!”
There’s a hammering in Edgar’s chest that makes him dizzy. Oh, Ranpo is going to be the death of him.
“Is that a yes?” he asks, tentative when a shock of sudden anxiety tweaks at his ear. “To the date, that is?”
Ranpo rolls his eyes, but his smile never breaks. He’s sparkling with affection. “Duh. Of course I wanna go out with you. I said I love you, and I don’t say anything I don’t mean. Ever,” he insists, poking Edgar’s chest lightly, playfully, right above his heart. “But in case I need to be one-hundred-percent clear, yes, I, the great detective Ranpo Edogawa, or great detective for short, would be delighted if you, the also-great detective Edgar Allan Poe-kun, or Ed for short, took me out on a date,” he says, trailing his finger up, up, up, to tangle in the ends of Edgar’s hair. “And I would also like to kiss him some more.”
Hardly waiting for him to stop talking, Edgar dips down a second time to press another kiss to Ranpo’s lips. It’s quick, chaste, and careful; more a peck at first than it is a proper kiss, but it’s very real. And Ranpo? Ranpo chases after him as he tries to pull away, tries to tease him, and captures Edgar’s lips properly again. He curls his finger through the wisps of Edgar’s longer hairs around his shoulder whilst Edgar holds their hands up between their chests, licking the sweetness off of Ranpo’s lips as if to commit the taste, the feeling of him, to his memory. Ranpo loops his arm around Edgar’s neck, fingers thread fully through his hair, and he simply fits. THEY fit.
And Edgar can’t remember what it was he was ever actually worried about.
It’s Ranpo’s turn to break for air first. He sighs against Edgar’s mouth, massaging the back of his head, swinging their hands interlocked like magnets gently back and forth. “Lead the way?” he whispers. “You know I’m not great at directions, but I trust you to get us there alive and all that.”
Edgar chuckles, bumping their foreheads together. “Of course, my dear- my love, Ranpo.” He says it like a prayer, satisfied when he feels Ranpo shudder beneath him.
The sun is beating mercilessly over Edgar’s head, and he thinks that such warmth isn’t warmth enough to compare to how he feels on the inside, boiling over with a gentle passion. He untangles himself from Ranpo’s arm limp around his shoulders, and, never once letting go of his lover’s hand, pulls him down the city sidewalk at an even pace, the pair of them giggling and grinning like sweethearts. Karl weaves happily between their feet, and time fades away into something incomprehensible; now, he has all the time in the world so long as Ranpo is beside him.
“You’re the very first person in the world to take THE great detective out on a date, you know!”
“Well then, I’ll have to be certain to show him a good time, won’t I?”
Bright and early this morning, Edgar Allan Poe had dressed in a haste and rushed down to the Armed Detective Agency with an ideal; the ever-beating heart begging to be released from the confines of his ribcage had forced his hand. He was lovesick and foolish, and hell, if he hadn’t been every manner of silly over it all, in hindsight. He had been so desperate to confess his truth to Ranpo, so afraid of what would happen if he actually did, so worried at the idea of a loss he could never regain, that he hadn’t really had the mind to think it over. To say that he had panicked, would not be fair enough to the circus he’s put his mind through, but he had never once stopped to consider that Ranpo may very well love him, too; that he may be worthy of such affections.
This is better than anything he could have ever dreamed of, anything he ever thought he would have deserved. Edgar is sure he’s never felt this happy, not once, but now that he has it, he never wants to let it go.
Sitting at the soba shop watching Ranpo slurp his noodles, talking through his mouth full of food about anything and everything, Edgar smiles fondly, and favorites Ranpo’s last voicemail in his cellphone. For safe keeping.