Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rotten dog has decided to stop at a bush again, for the fifth time in three minutes. A rose bush this time, though Ranpo can’t exactly admire the red flowers when there’s a dog pissing all over them.

Ranpo groans. “Come on, Shishi.” He tugs at the leash. Rather than the traditional leash one uses for their pets, this one is a thick pink rope meant for horses. The fact it’s used on a dog should be a pretty big red flag. “No one needs to pee this much, let’s go.”

Shishi turns her big white head to the side to look at him. Deeming him unimportant, she looks away and continues with her business. Her leg is even lifted! She’s a female, why on earth is she lifting her leg to pee? There’s only one logical conclusion: she’s proving her dominance to Ranpo, someone she deems to be beneath her.

He tugs at her leash one more time before giving up with a sigh and lets the damn thing sniff the bush once she’s finished.

“Yeah, you’re smelling yourself, dummy. You just marked it.”

Once again, Shishi ignores him. Ranpo sniffs and lifts his foot up to scratch at his calf.

This incident, like most in his life, is to be blamed on Fukuchi, his adoptive father’s unfortunate boyfriend. They started dating around seven years ago when Ranpo moved out of Fukuzawa’s house to attend university. What a surprise that was when Ranpo returned home to find his bedroom consumed by dumbbells and bench presses and protein powder. Once Ranpo graduated, he moved out officially as soon as he could so he wouldn’t have to be in Fukuchi’s constant presence. He was fine with only seeing the guy on New Years and birthdays, and was content that the man stayed away when his father occasionally visited him.

One would think after such a substantial amount of time, Ranpo and Fukuchi’s relationship would have grown but no. Ranpo still hasn’t forgiven him for turning his childhood bedroom into a smelly gym– and the fact Fukuzawa let him? Unforgivable.

Then, last month, Fukuzawa called him with a proposition: house and dog sit for them while they go on a cruise, and Fukuchi would pay him handsomely. Considering he worked with military intelligence operatives, the guy definitely had the money.

Ranpo stood in his tiny city apartment’s kitchen in nothing but his Pokémon boxers, socks, and a tub of ice cream in his hand with a million different things running through his head. The most important being You’re going on a cruise without me?! Alas, he tried keeping his mouth shut by focusing on the money side of the discussion.

“You could use that money,” Fukuchi piped in from somewhere on the other line, “since you don’t have a real job.”

Ranpo shoveled a spoonful of marshmallow coated chocolate into his mouth. “Being a freelance detective means I have a real job,” he muttered around the ice cream. “I make plenty.”

He made enough to keep up maintenance for his shitty apartment, but that was more so thanks to the second job he got. The always leaking faucet gurgled as a reminder of the bills hanging over his head. He walked out of the kitchen so no one else could hear the financial disasters waiting to burst.

“How long do you need me for?” he sighed.

“The cruise lasts for the entirety of August-” Fukuzawa started.

“A month?!” Visions of him drinking deliciously sweet cocktails on a far off beach for an entire month exploded behind his eyes. Sure, maybe he doesn’t like the sand, or the sun, and he can only stand to be out in the summer heat for an hour max, but it’s about the principle! He frowned, and muttered, “That’s a long time.”

“We understand if you can’t,” Fukuzawa said. The line picked up Fukuchi’s muttered, “I doubt he has anything else going on,” in the background.

Ranpo snorted. “Yeah, well. I’ll have to check the calendar, see how busy I’ll be then.” There wasn’t a single job lined up for next month. They didn’t need to know about that. “I’ll give you my answer by the end of the week.”

Considering Ranpo is standing in the nearest park, attempting to walk a bull disguised as a dog, he agreed.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Shishi stops sniffing around the rose bush and starts back on the grassy path, tugging Ranpo with her. He pulls at her leash one more time, but he’s pretty sure if he tugs any harder, he’s going to dislocate his shoulder, so he loosens his grip.

“You win,” he grumbles, and lets her lead him down the path.

The sweltering summer heat quelled today thanks to a cool breeze that rolled through. It’s why Ranpo made the decision to take Shishi to the park, because at least if he was going to get yanked around, he could do so without drowning in his own sweat.

Sunlight streams through the scattered tree tops and ignites the sparkling green grass with its dusty yellow rays. If Ranpo weren’t in such a sour mood, he might consider it a pretty scene. Maybe.

Plenty of other people decided to take advantage of the favorable weather as well. Families laying on picnic blankets, owners tossing tennis balls to well-behaved dogs, and teenagers attempting to feed deer with crackers. Ranpo makes sure to keep away from them. Shishi doesn’t seem too interested either, far more concerned with snorting and sniffing along the ground she’s walking on.

Ranpo glares at her as they walk. Shishi is the most muscular dog he’s ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes on. Her fur is white, her ears are clipped, and her paws are big enough to, probably, puncture Ranpo’s throat if she wanted to. According to Fukuchi, she’s a dogo argentino- Ranpo’s never even heard of that breed before- and a recycled war dog.

Meaning she wasn’t very good at her job.

Considering she’s once again stopping at a bush to sniff and snort, it’s not surprising she’s no good for the military.

Ranpo’s never been the biggest fan of dogs; they’re too smelly and far too loud, a walking overstimulation. He remembers when Fukuzawa sent him a picture of Shishi with the caption, “Gen’ichiro acquired her” a few months ago. Disgusting. At the time, Ranpo wondered what his father’s three cats thought about the new addition, but apparently Shishi loves cats.

Seriously, what kind of war dog likes cats?

Ranpo hunches his shoulders and pulls out his phone as he waits for Shishi to finish sniffing this new bush. He ignores Fukuchi’s recent inquiry about Shishi- does the guy think he’s incapable of taking care of an animal?- swipes right on Yosano pestering him to tell her about how his last date went- that’s just insulting, when will she stop trying to set him up with dumb people?- and is just about to respond to Kunikida asking him to cover a shift tomorrow– he still hasn’t told Fukuzawa about his part time job at a tech store so he can manage the bills without his failing detective job– when Shishi jerks her head up.

Warily, Ranpo lowers his phone to watch her. Her black nose twitches as she loudly sniffs the air, and the tips of her ears flutter. Something has alerted her.

“Shishi,” Ranpo starts, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He fastens the rope around his knuckles, tightening his hold. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, do not.”

Apparently, Shishi thinks “do not” means “go”, because she takes off running. Ranpo yelps, nearly falling flat on his face from the force of Shishi’s sudden jerk. Somehow he rights himself just in time, but is powerless to do anything but run with the dumb dog as she tears across the grass.

“Hey! Stop!” Ranpo shouts, tugging as hard as he can. But Shishi is over one hundred pounds, and she’s fast, so what on earth can he even do? He keeps trying anyway even as a bruising pain tears through his arm. “Shishi, stop!”

The damn thing refuses to listen. Is it Ranpo’s imagination or did she speed up?

Shishi takes a turn off the grassy path and toward a downward slope. Oh no. Ranpo tries digging his heels into the grass to at least make it harder for Shishi’s galloping gait, but all he manages to do is trip and fall forward. It’s useless, he realizes as Shishi descends down the slope, she isn’t going to stop.

And because the universe hates Ranpo, Shishi’s downward momentum causes the leash around his rope-burnt fingers to pull free, and Shishi is gone. Ranpo shouts a curse as he goes too, slamming his chest right into the grassy slope with an oof. His chin smacks against the dirt, and his teeth rattle so hard, he feels it in his skull.

God damn this dog!

For a moment, Ranpo lays on his belly in a daze. This must be fate, he realizes. He was never meant to watch Shishi; in fact, Fukuchi was never meant to own Shishi. She’s free now, and by default, so is he.

Somewhere down the slope, there’s a loud splash followed by a string of high pitched barks from Shishi. They’re different from the barks Ranpo’s heard from her before, when he was dozing on the couch with Fukuzawa’s cats and Shishi suddenly barked so loud and deep at something outside, it startled him into a fit and scattered the cats. These are excited barks bordering on squeals.

Ranpo lifts his head. Shishi is jumping at the trunk of a low hanging tree with her head thrown back and her big paws clawing at the wood. Her tail whips back and forth as she stares at whatever is in the tree. Wait, if she’s by the tree then what made that splashing sound? He scrambles to his feet and looks away from Shishi.

There’s a pond at the base of the slope surrounded by several signs that warn pedestrians to keep away from the water. Despite the warnings, there’s a person sitting in the water, close to the edge. From their bent legs and dripping wet hair covering their face, they probably fell in on accident, or…

“Karl!” the person, a man by the sound of his voice, shouts, lifting himself from the water.

Ranpo’s heart sinks into his stomach. Karl is probably the name of that poor soul’s pet who Shishi chased up the tree after barreling into the guy and knocking him into the water. Great, he’ll be lucky enough to get Shishi to calm down without getting into some kind of legal trouble.
He runs down the rest of the slope while a sharp pain shoots through his jaw and ribs, a sign he’s going to be black and blue tomorrow. He gasps for air through a burning throat as he runs to the tree– he can’t remember the last time he ran this much.

His breath is ragged as he makes it to the tree, hands immediately falling to his knees as he desperately tries to blink past the black spots crowding his vision. “Shishi,” he coughs out, “Shishi, leave it...”

“Is this your dog?” Ranpo cuts a glance at the man pulling up right next to him. His clothes and hair are soaking wet. Before Ranpo can even answer, the man flips his very thick bangs back from his face to reveal dark red cheeks and wide violet-gray eyes. And, weirdly enough, half of his left eyebrow is missing. They must be drawn on. “Control him! He’s chased Karl up there!”

Ranpo winces from the guy’s shout. Even though his lungs are still burning, he manages to pull himself into an upright position. “First,” he wheezes, “she’s a girl. Second, she’s not really my dog. And third, that’s what I’m trying to do!”

The man splays his hands out in a bewildered gesture. “Well, try harder!”

“Alright!” Ranpo snaps. He lunges for Shishi’s rope-leash with lead heavy arms and gives a harsh tug, yelling, “Shishi! Leave it! Sit! Uh, heel!”

“Oh, my-” The man presses his face into his hands momentarily before running closer to the tree and reaching upward. “Karl, it’s okay!” he shouts over Shishi’s continuous barking. “I will not let this brute hurt you, just come down!” Ranpo wants to roll his eyes at the dramatics, but he has a sneaking suspicion this guy would throttle him with those high heels he’s wearing if he saw.

Shishi keeps on barking at Karl, who Ranpo can just barely make out on one of the lower branches. He squints. Originally, he thought this Karl was a cat whose owner took him out on a leash to enjoy the nice day, but upon further inspection, it seems Karl isn’t a domesticated animal at all.

“Is that a raccoon?”

“Does it matter?” the man snaps, flashing Ranpo a glare over his shoulder. “Just- Focus on controlling your dog!”

Ranpo wants to retort that, once again, Shishi isn’t his dog, but the combination of Shishi’s barking and the man’s shouts for Karl are beginning to blur together and become a mishmash of sounds without meaning. His skin begins to itch, and it has nothing to do with the grass he rolled in a few minutes ago.

There’s too much going on. He can’t think between the sharp barks and obnoxious shouts– he has no idea what to do. A genius, that’s what he prides himself on being, he’s even a detective- albeit, one who hasn’t recieved much business yet- and yet here he’s completely duped by a dog. He tries to think back to the detailed notes Fukuchi left him that explain how to properly take care of Shishi. Something must have been under the section titled “When Walking Shishi…”

Ranpo remembers. Whistling sharply gets Shishi’s attention, that’s her commanding sound. While the man continues shouting and Shishi keeps barking, Ranpo purses his lips together and tries for a whistle. Nothing comes out but a puff of air.

“Dammit,” he grumbles. He tries again and nothing happens again. Once more, and this time he manages to make a noise that captures the attention of Karl’s owner, who stares at him as if he’s rolling around on the ground.

“Can you at least help me?” the man cries.

Flushed, Ranpo stares back, lips still awkwardly pursed with his failed attempts. “I’m trying.”

“How are you…” The man trails off, storm-tossed violet eyes flickering to Ranpo’s lips. Before Ranpo can say anything, the man pulls his hands off the tree and lifts one to his mouth. A deafening, sharp shrieking sound erupts from him, and just like that… blissful silence. Shishi stops barking.

The dog whines, tail still thrashing back and forth, but she drops her big paws from the tree and looks mournfully up at it. Ranpo lunges for the mud-covered leash and fists it tight enough that his fingers brush against Shishi’s collar.

“God,” he gasps out, then sticks a finger in her face. “Bad dog!”

Either unaware of her wrongdoings or uncaring of them, Shishi presses her wet nose into Ranpo’s finger and licks it. He cringes.

“If you knew a whistle would stop her, why didn’t you say something?” the man says briskly. Ranpo looks back at the other while keeping his hold on Shishi, watching as he makes a series of clicking noises with his arms outstretched toward the branches.

Ranpo attempts to hide his snicker. Forget being unable to whistle, this sight is far more embarrassing.

A creak, then another, and a second later, a fat raccoon is scrambling down the tree and into the man’s waiting arms. The man makes a series of coos and sighs as he lets the pest press its likely flea-covered body against his face. “Oh, Karl. I’m so happy you’re okay! Do forgive me for letting such a beast chase you up the tree– Oh, are you alright?”

Karl the raccoon makes a squeal-like noise and nuzzles his face right into the man’s cheek, who hums and apologizes again.

Ranpo slowly shakes his head at the sight. On the one hand, he’s never seen anyone canoodle with a raccoon before, but he can hardly believe this is the same man who was yelling and screeching two minutes ago. He seems so calm now. And… maybe… if Ranpo squints… he’s sort of handsome.

Shishi yelps, and immediately Karl jumps onto his owner’s shoulder, further away from Shishi. Clearly, the raccoon is just as dramatic as the man who owns him. Unfortunately, the act pulls the man’s attention back to Ranpo and Shishi. The content expression on his face falls back into a frown, and Ranpo regrets ever giving him a silent compliment.

“What kind of idiot has a dog they can’t even control?” the man hisses. “And let’s them off leash, at that!”

Ranpo frowns. If there’s one thing he hates, it’s being perceived as dumb. He’s nowhere near stupid; he’s a master detective! “Look, pal. I already told you this isn’t even my dog! I’m just watching her for a while.” He narrows his eyes on the raccoon sitting at the man’s shoulder. “And what kind of idiot keeps a pest as a pet? And who would be stupid enough to bring them unleashed to a park? If anyone’s the dumb one here, it’s you!”

The man’s mouth drops open, appearing truly offended. He even presses a hand to his collarbone. “Why! Do not attempt to put the blame on me! Your mutt knocked me into the pond, you should be lucky I don’t press charges!”

“Charges?!” It’s Ranpo’s turn to be aghast. He marches closer to the man, who towers over him, until they’re practically flush together. Beneath the fishy smell of the pond, there’s a layer of thick cologne. It smells just as expensive as the man’s clothes look. “You’re clearly fine enough to accost me, so there’s no reason you need to even think about getting legal stuff involved! I mean.” Ranpo snorts and looks the guy up and down. “You look fine.”

A muffled gasp escapes the man. “How do my clothes look fine to you? They’re ruined!” He sniffles. “They will need to be dry cleaned.”

Ranpo takes a moment to digest the man’s clothes. Albeit, he knows next to nothing about fashion, but the knee high black heels, brown pants, and soft-looking, long sleeve black button up make the man look more like a fancy European equestrian than a regular person standing in a park. The water dripping from his dark curling hair almost gives the illusion his imaginary horse knocked him into the water rather than a dog.

Though, Shishi could certainly be mistaken for a horse.

With a shrug, Ranpo says, “Yeah, like I said. Fine.”

The man makes an affronted noise, stepping back like he’s been slapped. As he attempts to speak through a sudden stutter, cycling through words like, “Well, the nerve-!” and “Just who do you think-”, Shishi seems to grow restless. She lumbers to the side, tugging on the leash and Ranpo’s arm in the process. He stumbles a little, almost rights himself, then decides to just follow after her.

“What- Just where are you going?” the man exclaims.

Ranpo has no idea what facial expression he’s making now since he turned his back to follow after Shishi, though he imagines it’s the most bewildered of all. He calls “I have to get this mutt home before she disturbs anyone else. Oh, and by the way.” He grins as he turns his head to the side to glance at the other over his shoulder, watching a hot red flame burn across the man’s pale face. “She’s not a mutt, she’s a purebred. She even has papers.”

Shishi lunges, pulling at Ranpo’s already exhausted and bruised arm, but he doesn’t mind too much this time as he trots after her and throws up a small wave to the man he’s leaving behind.

Yeah, maybe it’s a jerk move, but he cares little for that right now. He’s itchy, sweaty, bruised and embarrassed, and this isn’t even his dog. Why should he be screamed at by some pompous guy who has the audacity to call Shishi a name when he has a raccoon for a pet? Really, he just wants to get back home– well, back to his father’s place, but it has a working shower and a soft bed, so that’s good enough for him.

“Looks like you finally did something right, Shishi,” he pants out as they make it back to the top of the hill. Shishi, seeming to appreciate the compliment, lets Ranpo lead her out of the park.

Ranpo’s office is on the third floor of a building rented out by a law firm and a therapy center. His space is squeezed into the last room on the floor, snug between the janitor’s closet and the men’s restroom. Every time someone uses any type of plumbing in the building, the pipes behind the walls of his office emit a flushing sound before they shake and moan.

Fukuchi joked that anyone who needed a detective probably needed a lawyer and a therapist too, so really, Ranpo, you shouldn’t complain, this is a pretty good deal!

The old man lives to piss Ranpo off.

Sitting at his desk now, listening to the clock ticking as he tries not to dreadfully count down the minutes to when he has to leave this job to go to his dumb tech one, Ranpo takes in his office.

It’s not a large space, and he hasn’t finished renovating it yet. Boxes are piled up along the walls, and one even sits directly in front of his desk in case a client wishes to sit down. There’s a small window directly above his desk to let in a good amount of light, but it’s too high up for him to actually open it to let out some of the suffocation. An old monitor he hasn’t had the chance to throw out yet takes up space in the corner of his desk, and his laptop sits at the center of it beside a small cat figurine playing with a jar of paperclips Yosano gifted him.

The filing cabinet behind him is an ugly shade of yellow filled with client paperwork– or it will be once he gets some steady foot traffic– and has a calendar hanging from a bright purple magnet. On top of the cabinet is a smiling maneki-neko Fukuzawa gave him when he rented the office. A trinket of good fortune.

Maybe this isn’t the coziest place on earth, but it’s hisplace.

Ranpo stretches his arms over his head and winces from the sudden throbbing. Shishi dragging him across the park yesterday afternoon is still fresh in his body’s memory. When he showered last night, he saw all of the black and blue spots blooming on his arms, stomach, and ribs. Even his chin bruised from when he initially slammed into the ground. Yesterday was just nightmarish. At least Shishi tired herself out, content to just sleep the rest of the day away, not stirring until Ranpo fed her and the three cats dinner.

He looks down at the calendar spread out atop his desk. Four more weeks of Shishi. God, he may not make it.

A knock at the door pulls him from his lamentation. Ranpo glances at his calendar, then refreshes his email, but there’s nothing up. Maybe it’s a potential client? He does allow walk-ins…

He clears his throat and straightens his spine. “Come in!”

The door creaks open slowly, and an upper body peers inside. Dark, disheveled hair hides the person’s face, but Ranpo jolts forward in his chair anyway. There’s absolutely no way.

“Excuse me,” the man says in a voice far too meek to be the same one that shouted and screeched at him yesterday, “but… I believe… it says you’re a detective?”

Ranpo swallows hard. The dumb guy probably can’t see through that mop of air. “Uh. Yeah. I am.”

At the sound of his voice, the guy looks up, quickly enough, and with enough force, for his bangs to slip to the side, revealing one gray-purple eye. There’s a beauty mark at the corner of his mouth. Yeah, there’s no mistaking it.

From the sharp inhale the man makes, he recognizes Ranpo too.

“You-!” the man gasps right as the door slams shut behind him.

“It’s you!” Ranpo points a finger at the man, dramatizing his voice to match the other’s. Then he leans back in his chair and kicks his feet up on the desk. “What? Were you trying to get a detective to sniff me out? Congratulations, you found me without one.”

“Preposterous,” the man seethes, gripping the door handle behind him like his life depends on it. Ranpo rolls his eyes. Seriously, how many noir films has this guy seen to act like this? “I would never get law enforcement involved in such an affair! No, I have other reasons to speak to a detective.” The man stops, chokes, and Ranpo grins. “Please don’t tell me you’re the detective here.”

“That’s right.” Ranpo offers a hand. “Edogawa Ranpo, at your service.”

The man does not take it. From beneath his mop of hair, his face seems to have turned a sickly shade of green. “No. That is quite alright. I believe I will try my hand at another agency instead.”

That’s likely the best idea. There’s no point in working with someone you have a bad history with or else the case can turn messy, Ranpo is aware of that. However, the only clients he’s had ever since he opened up shop a few months ago have been middle-aged housewives wanting to catch their possibly cheating husbands. Those bore him like no other.

His detective instincts peer out from behind his rationale. He is quite curious as to why this man is in need of a private investigator…

Ranpo squints at the man’s hands. No ring, but just to be safe: “You don’t want me to catch your cheating spouse, do you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Alright.” Ranpo leans forward, noting with some delight the way the man plasters his back to the door, like he needs to flee. Ranpo decides he likes having some sense of power over this guy. “Don’t look at me like I’m going to eat you. Tell me what you need a PI for.” He sweeps his hand to the box in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”

“But-” The man’s mouth hangs open. He sounds like he’s choking. “What?”

“Jeez, try to keep up, will you?” Ranpo sighs heavily, already tired. He makes a circular motion with his wrist, still pointing at the box. “You’re asking for a detective, for whatever reason, and I’m a detective who is willing to help you. So you can either sit down and tell me why you need a detective, or you can walk your designer butt out of my office, and I can give my time to someone who wants it.”

Finally, the man closes his mouth, though Ranpo notes the way his lips are shaped like a bow, that they’re a shade too red to be natural. Did he put something on? Not that it matters, these are just things a detective notices.

The red lips curl downward. “It does not appear you receive much business.”

Ranpo’s wrist goes limp. He frowns. “I’m in a new office. Sorry it’s not up to your standards. Now.” He gestures again to the box. “Take a seat, mister..?”

A silence lingers between the two men as they stare each other down. At least, Ranpo assumes the man is looking at him, it’s hard to tell what he’s looking at thanks to that rat nest of bangs covering his eyes. The silence is shattered by the flush of a toilet and the rattling of the pipes. The man’s throat bobs, and then his heels click-clack their way over to the box.

“Edgar Allan Poe,” he says, quite literally sticking up his nose. “You can call me Poe.” He presses his hands to his knees as he slowly sits down, hovers over the box for a moment, and then plants his weight on it. Ranpo kind of wishes the box would, for once, cave under the weight and the guy would embarrass himself by falling into it, but the sturdy box holds. Too bad.

“Alright, Poe. You can call me Ranpo. What brings you in?”

Poe’s reddish lips part, then, again, he pauses. “Shouldn’t you be taking notes?”

Ranpo smirks. “Nah. I’m not that kind of detective.” He’s not at some dumb dog park making a fool out of himself; he’s in a place he considers his domain, and this Poe guy is about to witness that. “I don’t need them.”

He waits for Poe to show a little bit of curiosity to his words, but all Poe does is stare, those weird gray-violet eyes barely visible. Ranpo clears his throat. Whatever, at the very least he has a client. Even if said client is a pompous douche. “So, as I asked before, what brings you in?”

The box crinkles as Poe shifts his legs around. A large but delicate looking hand tucks some dark hair behind his ear. Ranpo resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Well, ah. You see. My request is the most unusual of sorts.” He shifts again, so much so Ranpo’s a bit concerned the box is actually going to fold in on itself. “I am a writer.” Oh god. “A mystery writer, if you will, and I have spent days researching the ins and outs of the works and routines of a private investigator because the narrator of my tale is a private investigator himself. I must be on my third draft but, alas, my work is missing something.”

Ranpo picks a blue pen up and spins it around his fingers. “I’m not a research assistant.”

“No, I know.” Poe takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out slowly. Ranpo wonders if he learned that in therapy. The thought releases a chuckle out of him, but Poe doesn’t seem to even hear it. “I was, well, merely curious if… Ahem. The method I believe will help me the best is unorthodox, but I think-”

“God, just spit it out!” Ranpo snaps, pointing the pen right at a flinching Poe. “I don’t have all day!”

Poe presses a hand to his chest, and that is the first time Ranpo notices what he’s wearing. A dark red shirt with sheer puffy black sleeves. Now, Ranpo knows nothing about fashion, he will always prefer a simple pair of sweats and a hoodie, but from the way the shirt seems to cling to Poe’s waist and juts out a little at the chest… Is… he wearing a corset?

Poe hisses, “Fine.” Another deep breath. “I am asking if I may sit in on a case of yours so I can take notes for my novel.”

The pen slips out of Ranpo’s fingers and clatters on the desk. For once, he can’t seem to wrap his head around the case– Scratch that, this isn’t even a case at all. It’s the whims of an obviously rich man with too much time on his hands. Ranpo purses his lips, sits back in his chair, and crosses his arms. “No.”

Poe’s body does a funny little jerk, and Ranpo hopes his little rich feelings are hurt. He knows the other is going to start whining or throwing a fit, just as he’s routinely done since Ranpo met him at the park. Ranpo waits, almost smug, for the show to start.

Except Poe presses a hand to his mouth, then pushes more hair back behind his ear. It slips back almost immediately. “Ah,” he murmurs, so quiet Ranpo has to lean forward to hear him. “Yes. I expected you to say that.”

Ranpo blinks. “Uh, right.” He notices Poe’s face is growing so red, it’s competing with the shade of his shirt. He’s embarrassed. Maybe even humiliated. “Why even ask then?”

“Because I would do anything for my writing,” Poe says it like Ranpo asked him why he breathes.

And, for a startling moment, Ranpo understands him. It’s why he invited Poe, whom he does not like, to tell him why he needed a detective, because this is his passion. Writing must be Poe’s.

Suddenly, Poe stands up. “Do forgive me for wasting your time. Thank you for hearing me out.”

And then Poe is walking away, smaller than he appeared yesterday at the park, and tinier than he was when he walked in. A creature curling into his own shadow.

The mantra of Don’t feel guilty, don’t feel guilty, don’t feel guilty plays in Ranpo’s head as he watches Poe reach the door. There are several questions on his mind, but none of them need to be asked. Well, except one.

“You know, I feel like this would be the perfect time to try to persuade me to help you by giving me the bill for your dry cleaning, or something.” Poe pauses, hand at the door. Ranpo picks the fallen pen back up and shrugs. “Blackmail me or something.”

“I would never do something so obscene,” Poe mutters. “I am more than capable of paying for my own dry cleaning even if, yes, you’re right, you should pay for it.” Then, strangely enough, he smiles. It’s a small, wobbly smile, unfitting of the red lips it graces, and it kind of makes Ranpo’s heart feel heavy. “Believe it or not, I have standards. Good day, detective.”

Then he’s gone.

The walls rattle and obnoxiously creak again, almost like they’re mocking Ranpo for his rude behavior. He purses his lips tightly before his arms fall to his sides and he presses his forehead against his empty calendar. Great. Wonderful.

He accused a stranger of blackmailing him– no, he basically said he expected said stranger to blackmail, which is arguably worse. Nice going. And, to top it off, he chased a potential client away.

Well, no, Poe isn’t a potential client. What he asked for isn’t a case, it’s more like research or experience, and Ranpo doesn’t offer that kind of service. Poe’s little smile flashes in his mind again, as well as his reasoning: “Because I would do anything for my writing.” Dramatic, but Ranpo understands. He releases a sigh through his teeth.

Yosano and Fukuzawa have said he can be rude, and he knows he can be sometimes, but maybe he did a little too much here. He sighs and rubs his eyes before picking his head back up. He glances at the clock on the wall. He has to get to his tech job.

“-- that’s when I told her she needs to review my bibliography again because, clearly, the correct citations were right there! I’m not sure what else she wanted from me. I tell ya, the anthro department is full of some of the smartest people I’ve met and some of the dumbest.”

“Uh-huh.” Ranpo watches the barbeque sizzle on the grill in front of him. Tiny drops of grease crackle menacingly, bouncing from meat to flame. He winces when some of it gets on his hand as he flips the meat over with a pair of chopsticks.

“Yeahhh, but that was my week. How was yours, Ranpo-san?” asks Iwata from the other side of the grill. Ranpo squints at him through the rising steam.

Iwata Junichi. Twenty-five– Ranpo’s age– graduate student in the anthropology department at the local university, and the current guy Yosano has set him up with. This is their third date and you know what happens on the third date, don’t you, Ranpo? Loosen up! Have fun! Get laid! God, he cannot stand that woman sometimes.

Ranpo reaches for his glass of water, and mutters around the straw, “Fine.”

“Oh that’s good to hear!” Iwata’s smile is in his voice. “But what happened to your chin? It kind of looks bruised.”

Having zero desire to get into the Shishi Incident from yesterday, Ranpo shrugs. “I fell outside.” It’s not like it’s a lie. He’s just omitting the unfortunate lead up.

Iwata nods along like that’s completely understandable, and then proceeds to dive into a story about his childhood home where he used to get into all kinds of trouble outside. As Ranpo takes a bite out of a grilled piece of corn, he lets his mind wander away from Iwata’s blabbering.

The location of this notorious third date is a Korean barbeque place deep in the city, closer to Ranpo’s apartment than Fukuzawa’s house. Ranpo had forgotten all about this dumb date until after he got home from his tech job. While walking Shishi, and having her sniff and snort around the property, Yosano called him.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about it,” she said. The sounds of the hospital she’s working at while she gets her graduate medical degree reminded Ranpo of her success, and his lack of success.

“Can you blame me?” he groaned, tugging Shishi away from the gurgling shishi-odoshi in the garden before she peed on it. “I’ve been busy with this dumb dog.”

“No dog should have the ability to occupy that much of your mind.” There was a beep, a pause from her, then she said briskly, “Look, I’ve gotta go, but Iwata’s a sweet guy! And he likes you! Come on, Ranpo, third time’s the charm!”

“Sorry, Shishi’s eating my phone. It’s breaking up!” She’d hung up at that point.

Ranpo’s known Yosano since middle school where they bonded over being queer and having adopted parents. She is, without a doubt, his best friend, and is clearly doing much better for herself since she’s in medical school and has a “smoking hot girlfriend who knows how to use a sword”. It’s been harder to talk everyday with their busy lives, or rather her busy life, but they still try.

However, the most unfortunate part about Yosano is her belief that Ranpo is “unhappy” with his life because he’s single. For about a year, it has been her life’s mission to set him up with different guys.

There was the musician who wore a leather jacket and rode a motorcycle, followed by the literature major who drank whiskey and wore bandages as a fashion statement (weirdly enough, he heard those two started dating each other). Then there was Kunikida, which was incredibly awkward considering Kunikida is his manager at his tech job, and finally there was the guy who actually wasn’t a guy but a transgender woman with white and purple hair whom Ranpo had to let down because he’s not into women. And a few more here and there, but they all have one thing in common: they don’t last longer than a singular date.

Ranpo isn’t even sure why he humors Yosano. Maybe it’s because he knows she has fun trying to find guys for him. Whatever the case, Iwata Junichi has been the one guy he has had more than one date with, and he’s not sure why he agreed to more. Boredom? Thoughtlessness? Whatever the case, he’s here again. On the infamous third date.

The radio in this place is far too loud for Ranpo’s enjoyment. He sighs to himself as he tosses the fully cooked barbeque on to his plate. Iwata reaches for his own.

There are enough blue LED lights here to give Ranpo a headahce. Booths and tables make up the majority of the restaurant, and in the center of it is a circular bar. Ranpo watches the bartender run around, refilling drinks and smiling at customers. He chews on a piece of meat. He wishes he was back at Fukuzawa’s, tucked in bed, and watching his favorite anime. Not here, entertaining someone he’s not even attracted to.

“Soooo,” Iwata says, shattering his wishes into a million pieces. “I was thinking…” Ranpo spares a glance at the guy. Oversized sweater, shiny short brown hair, perfectly manicured nails– the picture definition of a real good boy. And not his type. “Maybe after this, we could go to my place? I rented that new romance movie. The one with the good looking actor?”

Ranpo despises romance movies. “Sorry,” he says, pressing his cheek into his fist and looking back to the bar. “I’m watching my dad’s dog, so I have to get home after this.”

“Oh?” Iwata sounds interested. “What kind of dog is it?”

“A dogo argentino,” Ranpo says. “She’s a…”

He trails off, eyes widening, because there’s a person sitting at the bar that looks awfully familiar. Dark red, puffy black sleeves, thick bangs hiding half his face…

Ranpo almost can’t believe it. Poe. Edgar Allan Poe, sitting at the bar, with… A guy. A man with carefully combed blond hair, an ugly smirk, and a very expensive looking suit. The man laughs at something.

Ranpo recoils and stops chewing on the meat in his mouth. What the hell? Is he being stalked? No, no, it looks like Poe is with this blond man. Is this blond guy American? European? There’s no telling. More importantly, who wears the exact same thing he was wearing earlier on a date? Even Ranpo put a clean white shirt on (and a tie!). Poe is wearing the same thing, except his lips seem to be much redder than earlier. He reaches for the glass in front of him, filled with a brown, milky looking liquid. There’s a red stain around the rim. Blond guy laughs again.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Iwata says suddenly. “I’ll be back!”

Ranpo is too caught up in the current of Poe to respond. He stares, dumbfounded. It’s not about seeing Poe at a bar with a man– he had a hunch Poe isn’t interested in women– but the fact Poe is in the same place as him in a city as big as this one. The coincidence is slim, a chance meeting is what Yosano would call it.

He watches as Poe smiles and reaches for his drink, sipping it delicately. What are they talking about? The rude guy from the detective agency earlier? The same guy whose dog pushed him into a lake? The mere thought has Ranpo’s stomach curling unpleasantly. For some reason, he doesn’t want Poe mentioning him to other people, especially guys with blond hair and ugly smirks.

He wonders if this guy is Poe’s boyfriend. No, the detective part of his brain tells him, they’re too far apart physically to be in a relationship. A date then? A hookup? He watches Poe nod at something the man says, watches Blond Guy laugh and Poe look into his drink. Poe seems almost melancholic. Ranpo wonders why on earth he cares, why he keeps staring at this scene.

Suddenly, Poe jerks his head to the side of the room where Ranpo’s sitting. Ranpo quickly looks at his food.

Iwata comes back and slides into the booth. “I’m back!” Ranpo resists the urge to tell him he doesn’t need to announce himself, he can clearly see he’s back.

The rest of the dinner passes uneventfully, with Iwata trying to make small talk and Ranpo doing absolutely nothing to entertain it. By the time they’ve finished their plates, and they’ve split the bill, Ranpo has only looked at Poe one other time. Whatever he’s drinking is just about finished; the slow pace tells Ranpo he’s not looking to get drunk, just a bit tipsy. Blond Guy seems far more gone, even going so far as wrapping an arm around Poe’s shoulders. Ranpo makes a note that this gesture definitely doesn’t bother him.

Ranpo is just about to look away from the scene when Poe’s head moves to the side again. For a brief moment, their eyes meet. Ranpo’s trapped under the one visible eye, a criminal under investigation, before he forces himself to stand from the booth and follow Iwata outside without a smile or a wave.

Nature casts the city in darkness, but the bright lights of varying restaurants and clubs, and the headlights of the cars crawling by on the road behind them brighten the world. Ranpo’s just happy to be out of that overstimulating restaurant. He watches the cars go, and tries to fool himself into thinking of things other than Poe, and the blond guy, and lipstick and corsets.

“Okay,” Iwata says, pulling Ranpo from his mind. Iwata is smiling softly. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yeah.” Ranpo shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Have a good night.”

“No.” Iwata shakes his head. “I mean, I think this is goodbye. For good.” Before Ranpo can react or even agree, Iwata is kissing his cheek. “Text me if you change your mind,” he whispers, and then he disappears into the crowd around them.

Ranpo watches him go without much thought. It’s for the best. Iwata isn’t his type, and they’re interests don’t even align. So he heads to the subway, which eventually takes him to the stop closer to Fukuzawa’s house. On the way, he fishes out his phone and texts Yosano: Don’t send me anymore guys. I want to focus on work.

A second later, she replies with, Guess Iwata didn’t work out? :(

He responds: We’re too different.

Ranpo pockets his phone and leans against the pole he’s gripping. If only Yosano knew what he was actually thinking about.

When he finally arrives back at Fukuzawa’s, he indulges in the thoughts plaguing him. He feeds Shishi and the three cats, then plops down on the couch with his laptop and types a name into the search engine: Edgar Allan Poe.

The only thing the Internet produces are a scattering of dark, gloomy poems about ravens and tombs by the sea, and, okay, they’re really good poems, but no novels. Not much of a following either, and zero social media presence. It’s possible Poe writes under a different name, but if that’s the case, why get poems published under one name and novels under a different one?

During Shsihi’s nighttime walk, when she’s just dragged him to the treeline behind Fukuzawa’s house, it dawns on him as he watches a trace of moonlight dance over Shishi’s white coat: Poe could be like him. A dreamer who knows what he wants to be, and yet is having a frustratingly difficult time getting there. The same way Ranpo’s a detective who can’t find any cases to save his life, maybe Poe is a writer who can’t get his work published.

If that’s true, then Ranpo misjudged him. He dresses like he has money, talks like he’s a governor from the 1800s, but he must not be using his money to get published, and that’s admirable. At least to Ranpo who doesn’t have that luxury.

Poe’s earlier words whisper in his head again: “Because I would do anything for my writing.”

The thought haunts Ranpo as he lugs Shishi back into the house.

His mind whirls long after he’s showered and laid out on the bed in the guest room. One cat is tucked between his thighs and another is curled by his head, and Shishi snores loud enough to shake the windows. He stretches his arms behind his head.

He just can’t stop thinking about Poe’s little, self-deprecating smile as he left the office, like he expected Ranpo to say no, like he felt like a fool. There’s something else though, something that goes beyond how Poe reacted to rejection. His words, his passion, Ranpo understands.

The blood, sweat, and tears that goes into something you love, to be so proud of something you want to do nothing but talk about it to anyone who will listen, to convince yourself everyone else will love it, because it’s just that good– only for something to stand in your way. Suddenly you’re lost, frustrated, wondering what on earth you did wrong. You try again, and again, but at some point, you start to wonder what the point even is. The passion gets lost in the process.

Yeah, Ranpo understands that.

He frowns, then groans, and spasms as gently as he can with two cats glued to him.

“God dammit.”

The next day feels like deja vu.

Ranpo wakes up at seven in the morning to Shishi putting her massive paws on the bed, wagging her tail, and panting dog-breath right into his face. He groans and rolls onto his stomach.

“Five more minutes.”

Shishi yelps right in his face. With a sigh, he drags himself out of bed. No point in fighting with a beast nearly half his size when the sun is barely up.

After feeding Shishi and the three cats, he dresses in a pair of athletic shorts and, after glancing at the weather, a t-shirt. It’s far too hot for anything else.

He grabs the lead rope and connects it to Shishi’s collar in the house’s genkan, and leads her outside. Even though it’s early in the morning, the sun’s heat bears down on them heavily enough for Ranpo to finger the collar of his shirt and fling it back and forth. Shishi swings her head around and stares at him with round brown eyes as if she’s asking him, Do we really have to be out in this weather?

How she was even recruited for military work is beyond him.

“We’re going back to the park,” he announces, hauling her down the sidewalk. “And you will not drag me around like last time!”

Half-way to the park, after dodging two different women who made cooing noises at Shishi, his phone rings. There’s a fire in his stomach as he reaches for his phone, like every time it rings, at the idea it’s a potential client. The fire dies quickly when he sees the contact name, and he groans at the heavens above.

The universe has seemed hellbent on fucking him over recently.

He swipes it and clicks the speaker button. “Hey, Dad.”

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa’s deep voice cannot hide the shouts of seagulls’ and crashing waves. “We have arrived at our first island.”

“Ask him about Shishi!” Fukuchi’s voice shouts from some distance away.

Ranpo grimaces. Wherever they are, the heat is probably not nearly as stuffy as it is here, and that makes this humidity even worse. The leash burns against his sweaty palm. “That’s great,” he says, quickening his pace when the park comes into view, “but Shishi and I are heading into the park, so I can’t really talk right now.”

“Ranpo!” Fukuchi’s grating voice is closer now. “How’s my girl?” Oh, please.

“We understand,” Fukuzawa says. Ranpo can just barely make out the voice of a woman asking what drinks they’d like to order. If the heat from the sun wasn’t making him sizzle, he certainly is now! “Take care, and please be careful with any cases you get.”

“Bah! Imagine that,” Fukuchi barks.

Ranpo frowns. Typically, Fukuchi’s insults pass over him like water, but this one sticks. He sniffs, kicks a rock, and purses his lips. “I gotta go. Talk to you guys later.”

“Wait, Ranpo, what about Shishi?”

The call ends without him answering Fukuchi’s question. He slides the phone back into his pocket where it will stay until he’s finished with this task. Imagine him on a case? Ha! He’s basically on one right now. Beat that, Fukuchi.

Ranpo and Shishi walk on the same path they took two days ago. The only other people around are middle aged women laying on yoga mats in the grassy areas, young couples with very young looking babies, and joggers weaving on and off the path. Ranpo and, thankfully, Shishi ignore them all. Shishi barely even sniffs the bushes. It’s like she knows Ranpo has a destination in mind.

That, or the heat has turned her dumb doggy brain into goop, and she’s unable to do anything but listen to Ranpo. He prefers that.

They diverge from the path and walk over to the hill Shishi pulled him down during their first little excursion. There’s a spot of uprooted grass, a clear indication of his embarrassment. That’s not what he’s here for, though. He takes in the low-hanging tree where Shishi trapped the raccoon, and the pond with the signs telling people not to swim in it. The only one there is an old man sitting on an upside down bucket fishing.

Shishi whines like she remembers the thrill of the chase. Ranpo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. No more of that until my bruises are gone, you hear? Come on.”

They walk the entire park until they circle back to the entrance. Clearly, Poe is not here. Ranpo wipes the sweat from his brow and flicks his hand to the side, cringing from the sheer amount of perspiration on his face.

“Let’s walk around again,” Ranpo says out loud, and Shishi whines again. “Oh, come on! You’re literally a vet, this shouldn’t be anything. Well, you’re a discharged vet. A dishonorably discharged vet. Just come on, here.” She looks at him with all of the possible attitude a dog can have. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you a treat when we get home.” That gets her moving.

They start back on the path where there’s a decent amount of shade thanks to the trees scattered throughout the park. Ranpo tries not to think too hard about why he’s walking the park again, or, for that matter, why he even decided to come in the first place.

Instead, he thinks about it like he’s on a case, and he’s trying to find the perpetrator of some crime. Not a man he wants to talk to about, potentially, agreeing to a different case, who may have gone home with a contemptible looking guy with blond hair, and don’t think about that ugly sneer against dark red lips, or a beauty mark right next to said lips, or a corset that looked sinfully tight and who wears something like that to a bar unless they were hooking up with someone–

Ranpo scratches at his head. No. No. He refuses to think like that. Who cares if Poe went home with someone? It’s none of his business. The only reason he thinks he cares is because he’s bored and, in Yosano’s terms, unhappy with his own life. Simple.

So why the hell is he looking for him?

“A genius detective isn’t satisfied until the case is closed,” Ranpo says out loud.

“Do you genius detectives also stalk people they’ve shamed twice?”

Ranpo trips to a halt, skips backward and stumbles into Shishi’s unmoving form, who barks out a squeal. His foot tangles in her long leash. A moment later, Ranpo’s on his butt, legs splayed out and hand rubbing his lower back. At the very least, Shishi is sniffing his face rather than running away or, even worse, dragging him along the ground again.

Or maybe it’d be better if she were dragging him away because the bench next to the path is occupied by Poe. Half of his bangs are pinned back today, revealing the very sharp glare he’s giving Ranpo. Karl the raccoon is on his shoulder with a… Ranpo squints. Karl’s wearing a bright yellow harness.

It looks like Poe took Ranpo’s critique to heart.

“If you’re implying I’m stalking you, get over yourself.” Ranpo climbs to his feet, brushing the dirt from his pants and Shishi’s slobber from his face. He rests his hands on his hips. “It’s a public park. I’m just walking my dad’s dog.” And definitely wasn’t hoping to run into you.

“Splendid.” Poe closes a small notebook in his lap, a pen trapped between the pages. “I believe Karl and I will be leaving then.”

“Wait!”

The word rips itself from Ranpo’s mouth before his mind realizes that’s what he said. Poe is staring at him like he just suggested they go out dancing; he needs to recover quickly. It’s not like he can point out that Poe probably just arrived within the last ten minutes since he wasn’t here the first time he circled the park, as that would imply other things, like “I was actually looking for you.”

But Poe is staring at him, and now that damn Karl is staring at him, and he’s pretty sure he’s about to burst into flames thanks to the sun. Defeated, he falls to the bench right beside Poe. “Can I sit here for a second?”

“You already are,” Poe says slowly, lifting his left arm as if it were in danger of brushing Ranpo’s.

“Great.” He groans and brushes more sweat from his face. “God, how the hell are you not dying in all that?”

By “all that”, he’s referring to Poe’s outfit. A pair of black pants with thin, faint, circular white stripes wrapped around the black fabric. The pants look tight around the thighs before they flare out at the bottom, the looser fabric tucked into a pair of shin-high black boots. His top consists of a white long sleeve shirt with a black vest over it, fat gold buttons fastened together. Is the vest made of satin?

At least Poe’s hair is swept up in a side ponytail, held together by a bow. One glance over his very pale neck shows zero sign of hickeys. Ranpo pretends he wasn’t looking for any.

Poe stares at him, his drawn on eyebrows thin and high. No lipstick today. “Must you continuously insult my very existence?”

“I’m not insulting you, just asking a question. I find it impressive you can leave the house without melting, so I’m actually complimenting you.”

“You could have fooled me.” At his shoulder, Karl makes a bunch of chittering noises and then, suddenly, Shishi squeals like she’s just now noticing Karl, and presses her two front paws on either side of Poe and barks again, right in his face. Karl leaps on to Poe’s head and hisses at Shishi. “Oh, for the love of-!”

“Shishi!” Ranpo snaps, leaping to his feet. This time, he will do better. He gets behind her, wraps his arms around her huge back, and pulls. Shishi whines, but relents. The ground surprisingly doesn’t shake when she drops down on all fours. Ranpo gasps. See, he may not have a gym in his house, but he’s strong enough to deal with Shishi! Sometimes.

“Sorry about her, she’s not really trained,” he says from the ground, which forces him to look up at Poe. His eyes widen.

Tears cling to Poe’s eyelashes. He’s staring at his lap, face just as red as the day Shishi pushed him into the pond, and hands bundled into fists on his thighs.

Ranpo’s expression softens. “Hey, I know she’s big and looks scary, but she’s not capable of hurting a fly. She wants to play, that’s it.”

“I am not afraid of your dog!” Poe jerks his head back, causing Karl to jump onto the bench. Karl is wearing a harness, there’s even a little leash tucked away in one of Poe’s fists. Somehow, that makes Ranpo feel even worse. Poe leashed his pet to prevent another incident from happening, but Ranpo still couldn’t control his own.

A single tear falls from Poe’s eyelash, and trails down his cheek. He brushes at it harshly, like he’s ashamed it fell in the first place. “I just…” He sniffles and shakes his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Poe stands up, gathering his small book and Karl into his arms. “Good day, Ranpo.” He starts to walk away.

For once, Ranpo is at a loss over what to do. He has no idea what happened, what emotions Poe is feeling, but he does know if he lets Poe leave now, he will never see him again. And that hurts Ranpo, for some reason. More importantly, it defeats the purpose of why he’s out here in the first place, sweating his ass off.

He scrambles to his feet. “Poe, wait.” Poe keeps walking. He chews on his bottom lip and tries again, keeping his voice level as he looks down. “I’m really sorry, okay? And I don’t just mean for this. I mean, for how we keep meeting. I shouldn’t have gotten mad when Shishi knocked you in the pond and chased Karl up a tree, and I shouldn’t have been so dismissive of you yesterday. Really, I’m sorry. I was a jerk.”

Ranpo watches a little trail of ants march across the path. He swallows, bracing himself for Poe to either snap some vulgar words his way, or just keep walking, but when he looks up, Poe stands right in front of him. Karl sits on his shoulder again, tail flicking. At Ranpo’s feet, Shishi’s own tail wags.

Poe’s bangs are back in his face, probably having been purposefully unclipped, so Ranpo has to watch his body language to deduce whatever emotion he’s feeling. Poe’s lips are downturned, and his hands clutch the small book at his chest. Hesitant, cautious, but willing to listen.

Poe speaks quietly, “... Even though, yes, your dog pushed me into the pond and, yes, chased Karl up the tree–”

“Yeah, I said all that.”

“--And you were dreadfully rude to me at your agency–”

“Once again, I said that.”

“--I believe I can find it in myself to forgive you.” Faintly, Poe smiles.

Ohhh, this guy is a huge dick. Ranpo purses his lips again, ignoring the weird, never- before-felt fluttering of his heart, and gestures to the bench. “How kind of you. Now, let’s talk about your inquiry yesterday.”

Once Ranpo and Poe are sitting on the bench, Shishi pads closer and sniffs at Karl, who now sits next to Poe on the bench. Their owners hesitate, waiting for disaster to strike again, but all Karl does is lazily paw at Shishi’s snout. Shishi, apparently delighted by this, wags her tail and twitches her clipped ears. Well, look at that. Friends!

Relaxing into the bench, Ranpo points to the little notebook. “Is that your story?”

“Ideas, actually. I always have it with me in case something unexpected inspires me.” Poe caresses the simple black cover with dark red, glossy nails.

“Right. So what’s this detective thing you’re working on?”

Poe’s voice is tight with suspicion when he says, “Why do you want to know?”

Ranpo shrugs. “Cause I’m curious?”

Silence, and then Poe relents. “Very well. Do refrain from jesting.”

Poe tells him about the piece, a macabre story of a nuanced detective named C. Auguste Dupin who can see the crimes of the past when he touches objects belonging to other people. Dupin is working on a particularly tricky case he believes the ghosts of the past have pushed him toward, and ends up uncovering numerous secrets of a small town, and the people within it, he thought he could rely on. Ranpo listens, not really caring about the supernatural element, but intrigued by the story regardless. He loves fantastic tales. He also focuses on how Poe tells it.

As he speaks, he moves his hands and stutters, like his mind is moving at a pace his mouth can’t keep up with, and looks at different points around them, watching a story he can see and Ranpo cannot unfold before them. It’s invigorating.

“A mystery,” Poe describes breathlessly, “one that invokes the imagination.”

Ranpo hums. “If it invokes the imagination, why do you need this Dupin guy to do exactly what real PI’s do?”

“While it’s true, all poets are liars-”

“Plato,” Ranpo interrupts.

Poe pauses, and finally looks back at Ranpo. There’s a sparkle in Poe’s visible eye, a vivid idea, or maybe appreciation, and it makes Ranpo’s belly tighten in a weird way. “Yes, exactly, Plato!”

Huh. Ranpo kind of liked that.

“Anyway,” Poe starts again, the volume of his voice rising again, “yes, all poets are liars, but it’s important for writers to immerse the readers in scenes, to keep them in the “dream”. This “dream” must be there from start to finish, and nothing can pull the reader from it or else the entire work will be ruined.

For example, let’s say I write the book and you pick it up. You’re reading it, enjoying it, immersed in the “dream” until you get to the part where Dupin is going through the actual detective work, and does something that is inaccurate to the actual detective process. Now, the “dream” is ruined for you because you’re reminded this is a novel, and you’re suddenly thinking about yourself reading it and the author writing it. The “dream” can never shatter.”

Ranpo strokes his chin. “Hmm, I guess that makes sense.” No wonder Poe has only published a few things, this process sounds nearly impossible. “Have you asked any other detective agencies about sitting in on cases?”

“Only one other. They never replied to my email, so I thought it best to go to another one in person.” Poe ducks his head, causing a few stray hairs to spill from the bow. “My… my therapist told me it might be a good form of exposure therapy.”

Once again, Ranpo is reminded that he was a complete asshole, only this time his assholery was in the form of a thought when he made fun of Poe by giving him a made-up therapist who gave him breathing exercises to do. Naturally, he actually has a therapist. He files that away in the Things That Will Never Be Mentioned Out Loud folder, and nods along animatedly. Probably too animatedly.

“Okay.” Ranpo strokes his chin again. “I’ve decided to help you, but I have some conditions.”

In a flurry of black and brown, Poe whirls on Ranpo. “Truly?” A wave of some kind of thick amber scented cologne or perfume wafts from Poe, and it momentarily floods Ranpo’s senses. He coughs once, but Poe leans closer, trapping him in a thick, nice smelling cage. “Do you mean it?”

“Yeah. Can you back up a little? I like my space.”

Poe swings himself back around, clutching his book of notes tightly, and smiles again. It looks too big to fit his face, like isn’t used to smiling so widely and isn’t sure how to properly do it. Elated, Ranpo realizes. Poe is elated, overjoyed, and a ton of other synonyms, by this.

“Don’t get too excited,” Ranpo warns, brushing invisible lint from his shirt and trying not to attach the word cute to Poe’s wobbly smile. “There’s a chance the client may not be cool with some random author peering through their files and stuff, so be prepared to be disappointed. Plus, I’ve got some conditions.”

“Conditions. Yes, go ahead.” Ranpo’s not sure how good the reception is from Poe’s spot on cloud nine, but he tries anyway. He crosses his arms.

“My first condition is I want some kind of recognition in your book. Whether you include the name of my agency or dedicate the book to me, I want some kind of recognition.” Anything to get his name as a detective out into the world.

Poe opens his notebook and scribbles something down. “Consider it done.”

“And!” Ranpo has to think for a moment. That had been his only condition because he thought it would take a little longer to convince Poe to agree to it. Hmm, well he can’t really ask for money since, if anything, he should give some money to Poe for that dry cleaning bill. What else, what else…

His eyes stray to Shishi and Karl, still “playing” together. Shishi snorts as she flops on the ground and exposes her belly, and that’s when an idea forms. His ultimate condition.

“And!” he repeats, louder this time. “You’re going to help me take care of Shishi!”

The pen in Poe’s hand ceases its scribbling, followed by a surprised sounding, “I beg your pardon?”

Ranpo lifts a foot and points it in Shishi’s direction as he explains his predicament, that being him stuck dog sitting for the rest of the long month even though he hates dogs and, in particular, Shishi. “You can whistle, and she listens to whistles! I don’t see you being bad at it.”

“Well, I…” Ranpo watches Poe watch Shishi. He drops his gaze down at Shishi too, and wills the ugly thing to do something cute to look more appealing. Still on the ground, she wiggles around like a worm. Okay, even he can admit that was cute! “...I am not the biggest fan of dogs.”

“I could just use some help with walking her,” he pushes. “And, you know, feeding her at night if I have to stay late at the office.” More like so he can pick up some additional late shifts at his tech job so he can make a little extra cash. “You don’t seem too busy, so…”

Poe sends him a glare. “I have a job, you know.” Ranpo stares, unrelenting. Slowly, Poe’s glare fades, and he sighs, “Though it’s a remote job.”

“Ah-ha! See? This won’t get in the way of that, or your dating life.” As soon as the words leave Ranpo’s mouth, he bites his tongue. Why. Why did he say that?! He thought he could get away with not bringing up their awkward run-in last night, but instead he directly referenced it! If Yosano or Fukuchi were here, they’d probably tell him he deserves whatever’s coming.

He blinks owlishly as he watches Poe’s visible eye narrow, practically able to see the cogs moving in his brain. It must click because Poe whirls on him again. “You were stalking me last night!” he shrieks, causing two joggers to glance their way as they pass by.

Ranpo’s mouth drops open. “What?! I was not stalking you– No, first, shh! Don’t say something like that so loud! Second, I was not stalking you! We just so happened to be at the same restaurant last night, that’s all.” Ranpo huffs, and crosses his arms again. “For all I know, you could’ve been stalking me and just pretending to be on a date.”

“A date?” Poe sounds genuinely confused. For some reason, that pisses Ranpo off.

“Don’t play dumb.” Poe only stares at him. He rolls his eyes. “Blond hair? Fancy suit? Looks like he smokes cigars instead of cigarettes?”

And then Poe’s mouth drops open, and Ranpo wants to grin, shout “busted!” right in his face, until Poe exclaims, “My boss?!”

“Oh, god, you’re sleeping with your boss?”

“No!” Poe buries his face in his hands, but it doesn’t hide the red crawling down his neck, or igniting his ears. He drops his hands and sends Ranpo his nastiest glare yet, made worse by the black circles under his eye. “That man is my boss. He took me out for drinks because I wrote a literary review of an up and coming author that gained us an interview with a bigger industry, not because we’re… copulating!” Poe presses a hand to his mouth. “I can see you are just a brilliant detective.”

And the worst part is, Poe’s right. Ranpo is brilliant. He’s known that since grade school when he did better than all of the other kids in every subject without even studying. All the coding classes he took in college to ease his boredom, the criminology classes he took where he cracked cases in one class period when it took his fellow students an entire week… all of that goes down the metaphorical drain when he realizes, for the first time in a while, he was wrong.

“Well,” Ranpo says with a shrug, deciding it safer to play it cool rather than admit his faults. “I didn’t really get a good look.”

“Just enough to remember and accurately describe my boss?” Poe mutters.

“Yep.”

High up in the trees surrounding them, a few songbirds strike up a song. More sweat drips down Ranpo’s face, under his arms, behind his knees, god, he’s going to be the one who melts at this rate. He fans himself. Beside him, Poe fingers some of his hair, seemingly unbothered by the intense heat.

“And why, pray tell, does my imaginary dating life matter to you? If anything, I assumed you were the one on the date last night,” Poe says coolly.

Touche. Ranpo kind of walked into that one. He sighs and presses his elbows on the back rest behind him in an attempt to ignore the sweat accumulating under his arms. “Okay, yes, fine. I was on a date last night, but nothing came from it.” He shrugs. “I’m single.”

He practically hears Poe raise an eyebrow. “As am I.”

“Okay, I didn’t ask.”

“You basically did.”

“I. Did. Not.”

A weird noise comes from Poe. Bewildered, he stares at the expression the other is making and realizes that weird noise was a laugh. A strange little laugh that sounded more like a cough or a wheeze, but a laugh nonetheless.

This guy is weird. The writer slash reviewer slash goth slash whatever else he is is a very weird man, and yet Ranpo is kind of… enjoying this. It makes him feel a little better about seeking him out, knowing that, even if he’s still a pompous ass, he makes for enjoyable company.

“I agree to your conditions,” Poe says softly, momentarily startling Ranpo. He picks Karl up and places him in his lap, right on top of his little notebook. Karl wiggles around, belly exposed, and makes a little clicking noise as Poe’s fingers dance across his round belly.

Ranpo tries not to get stuck on Poe’s gentle smile as he waits for his brain to catch up with his ears. “Oh. Good.” He takes his phone out so he can push the word cute from his head once and for all. “Let’s exchange numbers. I’ll let you know when you can come to my office.”

After numbers have been given, Ranpo peels himself from the bench. “I need to head back and start getting ready for work.” Poe doesn’t need to know the work he’s talking about is his tech job, though Poe probably wouldn’t care since he also has a second job. They’re weirdly alike.

“Yes, I must be heading home as well.” But Poe doesn’t get up, and maybe that’s for the best. Ranpo feels like if they spend any more time together, he’s going to make an even bigger fool of himself. Whatever, now they’re even.

Ranpo tugs Shishi’s leash, and she lumbers over to him. With a wave in Poe’s direction, Ranpo walks away.

What an odd morning, he thinks to himself as he walks out of the park. But, at least, he feels better. He’ll help Poe on his little research quest, get his name or agency put into the book as a form of marketing, and get a little extra time away from Shishi. Not bad, considering how they met. There is, however, one glaring problem.

The last client Ranpo got was over a month ago, on a hot June day when the AC unit in his apartment broke and he was strapped for cash. He practically threw advertisements at anyone who would listen until a housewife wandered into his office and asked him to investigate her possibly cheating husband. Cheating cases are common for private investigators, because the police never look at something like that, but god, do they bore him.

Even though the woman was kind enough to leave him a nice review, there’s been nothing. His email remains empty apart from scams and bill collectors.

Well, he tells himself as they make it back to Fukuzawa’s, he just has to hope Poe doesn’t get antsy and start pestering him about start dates. As long as that doesn’t happen, he should be good. Probably. Hopefully.

At least Fukuchi already paid him for watching his dumb dog. He looks down at said dog and heaves a long, heavy sigh. “You don’t happen to be in need of a detective, huh?”

Shishi looks up at him, and drools.

He cringes. “Yeah, that’s about what I thought.”

Chapter Text

Ranpo’s part time job at the electronic store is never exactly fun on a good day; however, on a bad day, the job is downright miserable. He only ever took up the position because he’s good with computers, not because he gets any joy from it. He stands behind the counter at the front of the store, sweating in his uniform and bored out of his mind without any customers around.

As luck would have it, the doors slide open. He looks up, and immediately ducks behind the counter, pretending to look for some specific tool they keep behind the glass.

From beyond the glass, his eyes catch on bright red heels. Red is the color of danger. It explains the warning bells going off in his ears, growing louder as the heels stop right in front of the counter.

“You’re going to tell me why you decided sweet Iwata wasn’t good enough for you, or so help me.”

So much for hiding. The beast has found him. He rolls his eyes, groans, and stands up. “Welcome in. My name is Ranpo, how can I help you today? Any and all complaints should go to our manager. Do you want me to get him for you?”

Yosano glares at him with enough annoyance to make a lesser man shrivel up on the spot. Ranpo is, clearly, better than most men, and therefore takes it head on. Of course, it has nothing to do with his placement on the male hierarchy and everything to do with how long he’s known Yosano; regardless, he gets how to handle her, even if he still wants to hide.

Yosano clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “My complaints are going to be directed at you, asshat.”

“You’ve never called me that before. Nice.” He waits for her to crack. And she does. Her red lips curl upward, and she rolls her eyes. Ranpo notices she’s wearing mascara too. Make-up, red heels, and a summer dress mean Yosano’s off for the day. Ranpo presses his cheek into his palm. “You’re so bored you decided to come hound me at work? Fun way to spend a day off.”

Yosano lifts a bright pink shopping bag. “Trust me, you weren’t my first stop.” She leans against the counter, mirroring his position. She smells like lilacs and jasmine. His nose wrinkles from the heaviness of it. “You always text me when you’re at your little electronic shop anyway, so I figured there wasn’t any problem in talking to you in person here.”

Ranpo looks over his shoulder, momentarily worried Kunikida, his manager, overheard the jab about him texting on the job, but the door to Kunikida’s office is closed. It’s not that Ranpo’s scared of Kunikida, he just doesn’t want to deal with the headache that always comes with a lecture.

He massages the bridge of his nose. “Aha.” He groans loudly, and siddles closer to the tall fan standing next to him behind the counter. As if this summer couldn’t get any hotter, the AC at the shop broke yesterday. It’s kind of surprising he hasn’t melted yet, especially since their uniform includes a black shirt made of thick cotton. He can feel it melding into his armpits. Disgusting. He’s in too bad of a mood right now to deal with whatever it is Yosano thinks is important enough to bully him on the clock about. At least he’s getting paid.

“Seriously,” Yosano continues, fanning herself with a hand, “what was wrong with Iwata? He’s crazy about you! Plus, he likes those same weird porno books that you do.”

Ranpo’s face flushes. “They’re not weird porno books, they’re erotic fiction! Horror erotic fiction, for your information. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”

Funny, Ranpo didn’t think Iwata read that stuff. They never made it to those conversations, though, he can admit, he’s not sure how that would have even come up. Knowing Iwata has a similar interest as him doesn’t really change anything. He looks back at his phone, the thing that’s been his boredom reliever while he plays dumb games and watches the clock slowly tick by, and ignores a text message from a spam number.

Maybe his phone is failing at staving off his boredom. It’s all he has since he already fixed the only two laptops clients dropped off yesterday. There’s nothing left to do, and he still has a decent amount of time left in his shift. Boredom, the enemy of a genius such as himself.

“It’s the principle of it,” Yosano says flippantly. “The point is, you’re letting a good one go.”

“Akiko.” Ranpo takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and lets it go. It doesn’t work, but he pretends it does. “Like I said, I really want to focus on my job right now.” She gestures around the empty store. “My detective job,” he corrects, before mumbling, “Duh.” Louder, he says, “Unlike you, I feel fulfilled in life without having someone to make goo goo eyes at.”

Yosano barks out a laugh. “I was being honest when I said I wouldn’t set you up with any more guys, but Iwata is someone you’ve already been on a date with. And he likes you. I’m serious.”

Ranpo frowns before he can stop himself.

Here’s the thing with Ranpo and relationships: he’s never actually had one. In high school, he thought relationships were a waste of time. Yosano dragged him out to parties during their undergrad days, but he’d sit in the corner and nurse a cocktail some stoned person made him or escape when she was distracted by bubbly girls wearing too short shorts and laughing too loudly at her bad jokes. No matter what, he always wished he was back in his dorm watching anime, and he certainly never mingled.

Having a boyfriend never interested him, except for maybe a few weak moments during sporadic nights when he wished for a partner to revel in certain activities with. Documentaries of unsolved cases, anime he finds fun or boring, books to engage with, trivial things that he enjoys doing by himself but also thought could be fun with another. Watching Yosano and her girlfriend interact easily made him a little lonely sometimes… and seeing how Fukuzawa and Fukuchi were so happy together was a little disheartening too…

Sometimes, he thinks it’d be nice to be understood on such an intimate level by someone else.

He swallows it down. Maybe he’s lonely, so what? Plenty of people in their twenties are lonely! It’s a time of self-discovery, not dating for the sake of dating.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. He thinks about Iwata, his boyish charm and sweet smile, and tries to imagine himself in a relationship with that. “He’s just kind of… boring.”

“Boring?” Yosano echoes.

“Boring,” Ranpo confirms with a nod. “And considering you think I need to be in a relationship because I’m “unhappy” makes me think I shouldn’t be with a boring guy. Done, end of story.”

“But-”

“BZZT! No! I said end of story!”

At some point during their conversation, Ranpo’s phone turned off, which means when this text comes through, it vibrates against the glass counter, alerting both Ranpo and Yosano. They look at it at the same time.

Ranpo snatches it as soon as he sees the contact name– a simple Poe with a raccoon emoji beside it– and pockets it. Explaining who Poe is to Yosano, who would undoubtedly grin and make a bunch of jokes, is too exhausting for right now. It’s probably too exhausting for any time of day.

Yosano stares at him, a little too suspicious looking for his liking, but eventually shrugs.

“Alright, alright. I promise I’ll stop harassing you.”

Ranpo scowls. “You’re admitting this is harassment?”

“If-”

“No!”

“-you give Iwata one more chance now that you know he really likes you.”

Ranpo presses his head against the cool counter. He wishes another customer would walk through the door so Yosano will have no choice but to leave him alone. Or maybe a giant radioactive monster would suddenly stomp through the street and just so happen to strike the shop. Naturally, neither thing happens.

He turns his face to the side so only one cheek is pressed into the counter. He glares up at her. “Just one more date? And no matter what, you’ll drop it?”

Yosano draws an ‘X’ over her chest. “Cross my heart.”

Ranpo sighs, long and hard. He could say no, and he knows if he does, she will likely drop it after a few more months. If he accepts now, wastes a few more hours of his life on a date, and then tells her nothing comes from it, it’ll be done by next week. He rolls his eyes. He either really hates himself or is actually the genius he has always prided himself on being.

“One more date, and then you leave me alone.”

Yosano crosses her arms and grins. “Perfect. My work here is done.”

Ranpo keeps his face plastered against the counter as Yosano starts heading out, but he picks it up when she says, “Oh, I almost forgot.” She walks back over and digs something out of her pocket, then places it on the counter in front of him. “If you’re not busy this weekend, you should come with me.”

It’s a flyer, small and square, with the words “Old World” printed on the front in bright yellow letters that mimic an 80s neon sign. Ranpo reads the smaller text beneath it under his breath, “‘Join us for drinks, local music, and slam poetry’.” He raises an eyebrow at Yosano. “Sounds like so much fun,” he says sarcastically. “No offense, but I don’t want to third wheel you and Kouyou.”

“Kouyou can’t come, which is why I’m asking you.” Yosano grins. “Duh.”

Ranpo narrows his eyes. “Touché.” He looks back at the flyer. “How’d you even hear about this?”

“Do you remember that one guy I set you up with? Nakahara Chuuya?”

Ranpo resists the urge to gag. “The musician.” They went on one date together, and it only took twenty minutes for Ranpo to realize it would never work between them. The guy definitely wasn’t his type with his tattooed arm, pierced eyebrows, and affinity for an eclectic amount of curse words.

“He’s a bartender there, and has known Kouyou for years. That’s how I heard about it.” Yosano clasps her hands together in front of her, and bows her head. “You need to come! It’s been ages since I’ve actually been able to hang out with you.” Her voice is sincere as she groans, “I miss you.”

The sight makes Ranpo deflate a little. A part of him wants to laugh in Yosano’s face– You’ve got to be crazy for thinking I’d go to something like this!-- but she makes a fair point. They haven’t been able to hang out in a long time. The final nail in the coffin is his realization that if he doesn’t go, he will probably spend the weekend rewatching Gundam Seed and eating too many BBQ potato chips.

“Fine,” he drags out the ‘i’ in the word to show he’s really dragging his feet. “I’ll go.” Yosano cheers. “But no weird dating stuff when we’re there! Got it?”

Yosano laughs. “Don’t worry,” she says as she starts to head out the door. “It’ll be a fun night with just the two of us!”

Ranpo watches her go, squinting. Let’s hope she’s being sincere.

Once she’s gone, the usual noises of the electronic shop take over: the thrumming of the computers lining the walls, the stereo playing rock songs no one has ever heard of before, and the voices drifting through the long windows at the front of the store. People walk down the sidewalk in a never-ending stream, their conversations muffled by the glass. The windows also allow an absurd amount of sunlight to spill in, heating the place up to an uncomfortable degree. He faces the fan in retaliation.

Suddenly, he remembers the text Poe sent him. He pulls his phone out and swipes the message open.

A picture stares back at him. It’s Shishi holding a large stick in her mouth and, somehow, looking like she’s smiling up at the camera with her big white teeth and gums exposed, and her eyes narrowed in the sun. Ranpo tries not to gag. He reads the caption accompanying it.

She’s obtained quite a large stick.

This time, Ranpo does not need to worry about gagging but his stomach flips anyway. They’re definitely not butterflies. It feels a little more violent than that, like a bunch of wasps taking flight and stinging his stomach lining while they’re at it. He digs his teeth into his bottom lip and pulls back a piece of dead skin.

Seriously, he thinks to himself, who texts like that?

He shoots off a message of his own: UGLY

Poe’s response comes a few minutes later: Stop jesting at her expense!

Ranpo snickers loudly. He can’t believe Poe texts the exact way he talks! It’s like he can hear Poe’s voice with every message. He’s about to reply when another message comes his way.

Have you, perchance, acquired a case?

Just like that, Ranpo’s playful mood vanishes. He puts his elbows on the countertop and leans against them, hips sticking out, and weighs his options. Abiding by their deal, Poe has been by Fukuzawa’s twice to walk Shishi when Ranpo was at work. It’s been about four days since they struck their deal, and, suffice to say, Ranpo has gotten zero cases. He’s running out of hope.

If he doesn’t get a case by the end of this month, then Fukuzawa, with a probably sun-burnt, hungover Fukuchi in tow, will come home, and he won’t need to watch Shishi anymore. The deal will be void. Plus, Ranpo has no idea how far Poe lives from his city apartment. Fukuzawa’s house, the park, and Ranpo’s detective office are relatively in the same area; meanwhile, his apartment is quite deep in the city. There’s no telling where Poe lives in relation to that place. Poe said his job is remote, but it may still be a hike from wherever he lives, and who wants to waste their time traveling to an apartment in the city to, what? Talk to a detective who doesn’t even get any cases?

Why does that matter? Ranpo drums his fingers against the counter. Well, maybe it doesn’t. It’s not like they need to meet up outside of the office to talk about a case. Why does he care if Poe lives far from his apartment?

He shakes the worries from his head. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting a case. Slightly inspired by the possibility of losing their deal, he opens a new tab on his phone and goes to a forum post he frequents often. He’s in the midst of scrolling through it when Kunikida speaks to him.

“Ranpo.” Ranpo jumps so fast, he slams his knees against the glass counter. Quickly, he pockets his phone and spins around to face Kunikida, who stands outside of his office with his eyebrows raised.

“Hey, boss,” Ranpo says, giving a two finger salute. “You wouldn’t happen to have any mysteries plaguing you that you need a detective for?”

Kunikida’s inquisitive expression turns into an alarmed one. “Uh… no.”

It was worth a try.

“Sort out the new inventory we received, please.” Kunikida turns back into his office. “And thank you.”

Ranpo waits until the office door shuts before he pulls his phone back out and opens it to the message thread between him and Poe. His cursor blinks back at him. He doesn’t know what to say. Because he and Poe haven’t seen each other since they made their deal, he’s been able to avoid the question, but now that Poe’s asked it, he isn’t sure how to go about this.

He starts to type out, Have to go, work stuff then remembers Poe doesn’t actually know he works a second job. He deletes it and tries again: Talk to you about it soon. Hm, no, because he doesn’t want to talk about it until he has one. That means there’s only one thing left to do.

He puts his phone away and heads for the back of the store to complete the task he was given.

Unfortunately, Ranpo can’t hide from Poe forever. And isn’t that the story of his life? He can’t hide from the bills piling up at his apartment, from Yosano’s constant demands he goes on dates, from Iwata, from his failing detective job. It’s quite ridiculous.

After Ranpo finished sorting out the inventory at his shift yesterday, Kunikida let him go home, and on the way, he begrudgingly sent Iwata a text message asking if he wanted to give it another try. And Ranpo decided he would try a little harder too, especially since it seems Iwata and Yosano actually talk about him. It’s annoying, but whatever will make Yosano’s attack on his lack-of-love-life end.

Iwata responded almost immediately in agreement. They decided on the next evening, which irked Ranpo a little at the fact he didn’t really have much time to plan for it mentally, but he was off tomorrow, so he let it slide.

It’s nearing the afternoon of the next day, their date day, and Ranpo lounges in the living room on one of the couches in nothing but his boxers while he scrolls on his laptop. It’s too hot to put clothes on. He even shut off all the lights and closed the curtains in an attempt to make it cooler. Whether or not he’s succeeded in that endeavor is up for debate. There’s a heat under his skin that’s insistently itching him, and turning his mind into a fiery cesspool.

He’s already stuck his face into the freezer twice, and plugged two fans up into the living room. Because Fukuzawa’s place is a traditional Japanese house, there is no air conditioning, so portable fans will have to do. God, Fukuchi better raise his payment after all of this suffering.

Shishi snores from beside the couch, her stretched out body twitching every so often. The heat sucked the life from her too. At the very least, she’s quiet.

Until the knock at the door has her up and barking. Ranpo yelps from her racket rather than the knock. He resists the urge to tug at his hair. Nothing puts him in a worse mood than Shishi’s sudden, consistent barking.

“Shishi, no!” Ranpo yells as he staggers off the couch and lunges for the t-shirt he discarded on the chair. “Stop barking!”

But she ignores him– typical!-- in favor of barreling through the house and stopping right at the front door. Her tail whips back and forth even while she barks deeply, like she can’t decide whether or not she should be excited or threatened.

With his shirt now on, Ranpo makes it to the door. Keeping Shishi from charging out and scaring whatever poor soul is on the other side will be a challenge. He grips the door handle with one hand and presses his leg against Shishi’s broad chest.

“C’mon,” he groans when she doesn’t budge, “Move!”

Shishi stumbles backward and, by some miracle, starts whining instead. Ranpo may not have much time before she decides she’s more than capable of pile driving through him and the door, so he quickly wrenches the door open and dives through. Immediately, he slams it shut.

Flushed and panting, Ranpo pushes his hands through his hair and straightens his spine. He did it, he beat back the hellhound. Triumphant, he turns his attention to the person who knocked, and immediately freezes.

Poe’s standing in front of him, arms wrapped loosely around himself– bare arms. The shirt he’s wearing matches his black and faintly-white-striped pants, with puffy short-sleeves, small silver buttons that climb up to the top of his chest, and black laces pulled at the sides to form a cinched waist. Ranpo’s tongue tastes of sandpaper for several reasons now.

Cicadas are abuzz around them. Somehow, they make Ranpo feel even hotter, and he’s suddenly aware he’s not wearing any pants, that he’s wearing Minecraft underwear. He has no other choice but to own it now. He crosses his arms and tries very hard not to stare at the alabaster skin right in front of him. “Are you stalking me or something?”

Poe clicks his tongue. “Trust me, if I were a proper stalker, I wouldn’t make my presence known like this.” Ranpo wants to roll his eyes but refrains. “I am here because you have been deliberately avoiding me, Edogawa Ranpo.”

The cicadas grow louder in the silence that settles between them. Across Poe’s chest is the strap of a messenger bag, bulging with a laptop, notebooks, and books, if Ranpo had to guess.

Sweat shimmies down the back of Ranpo’s neck and drips down his spine, making him even itchier than before. He swats at it, and Poe scoffs. Ranpo scoffs back. “When you put it that way, I sound like an asshole.”

“Because you are!” Poe exclaims. “I have upheld my side of the bargain by walking your brute of a dog twice.” He holds himself tighter. “I understand if you cannot control when you receive clients, but answering a simple text to let me know would suffice.”

Poe cuts a glare so cold at Ranpo, the oppressive heat lets up a little. “Because this is starting to feel like a scam. Have you even looked into possible cases?”

The bzzz of cicadas grows louder. Ranpo scratches his burning arm, humming. He doesn’t like being accused of doing something stupid, and he really doesn’t want to think Poe is in the right, because he’s not. Rather than tackle the problem head on, he leans against the door. Behind it, Shishi whimpers. He ignores her.

“So you ran all the way here to tell me this? Kind of stalkerish of you.”

Poe’s visible eye narrows. “I was in the area,” he says stiffly.

“And everything you said could have been a text, and before you start, I’ve only ignored three text messages since yesterday.” Ranpo grins as he watches red spill over Poe’s cheeks. “I think someone’s a little dramatic.”

“I- You- How dare-”

“You’re right, I can’t really control the flow of clients.” Ranpo sighs, beginning to turn around as he grips the door handle. “But you’re wrong about something, sweetheart.” He hopes that name burns through Poe even more, and from the weird groan the other makes, his hope manifests. Ranpo grins roguishly over his shoulder. “I have been looking into potential cases.”

The downright scandalized look on Poe’s face will never leave Ranpo’s psyche for as long as he lives, he’s sure of it.

Ranpo leads the way inside, insistently pushing past Shishi’s bulk, who whines in excitement now, pawing at their guest who mumbles, “Excuse me” as he tries to take his heels off in the genkan with one hand on Shishi’s bobbing head and the other on the wall to steady himself. It’s kind of funny, kind of endearing, and very embarrassing on Poe’s part.

“No Karl today?” Ranpo asks as he walks deeper into the darkened house. One of the cats peaks his head out from a cabinet, probably having run for shelter after hearing Shishi’s obnoxious yelping.

“I never bring him when I come here.” Before today, Poe came by two other times. Ranpo left a key for him under one of Fukuchi’s potted plants on the front porch– the man claims gardening helps his PTSD, but Ranpo thinks he’s too embarrassed to admit he likes gardening just because– so Poe could let himself in, walk Shishi, or feed her if necessary.

Poe has been a huge help, Ranpo admits to himself as he sits down at the small table in the sitting room after snagging his laptop from the couch. It’s part of why he feels rather guilty for not getting a single case. Poe has held up his end of their little bargain. He has not.

Following him, Poe kneels beside him with Shishi in tow. Shishi sniffs at him curiously before she grows bored and lays down beside them. Poe finally continues where he left off: “I wasn’t sure if your cats would mind him.”

Ranpo opens his laptop, and peers at Poe from over the top of it. “I’m pretty sure you keep him away because you like cats.”

Poe flushes. “How..?”

“You’ve got a little cat on your messenger bag.” Ranpo points a crooked finger at the bag still strapped across Poe’s chest. “A one-eyed black cat?”

Immediately, Poe’s hand flies for the bag and covers the acrylic charm. He glares at Ranpo, who grins and quips, “Detective work is pretty easy, when you know what you’re looking for.”

“Oh?” The black cat reveals itself again when Poe folds his hands on the table. His voice is obnoxiously airy, almost songlike as he speaks. “Well, then. I deduce from your disheveled appearance and lack of dress that you were off today, and, from the little Gameboy on the couch and the cool state of the house, you were doing nothing but lazing about and wasting away.” He grins, showing off very white teeth. Ranpo kind of wants to punch him.

Instead, Ranpo throws his hands up. “If you just came to humiliate me, you can go back home!”

“No,” comes the impudent response, “I am quite comfortable right here.”

And boy, he certainly looks comfortable! Taking up space, stretching his long legs out, and scratching a spot on Shishi’s back that makes her lift her back leg and paw at the air. Ranpo’s never found that spot on her before. He almost can’t believe the damn dog has betrayed him like this, until he remembers she’s Fukuchi’s dog. The betrayal makes sense.

He huffs, and looks back at the laptop as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple. Even with the lights cut and the curtains drawn, the heat still lurks. It takes Ranpo less than a minute to come up with an idea, and then he’s climbing back to his feet. Shishi, anticipating whatever it is he’s about to do will involve her, also gets up and wags her tail. For once, the dumb dog’s right.

“Let’s go to that fancy, western breakfast place. We can talk there.”

Poe gives him a flat stare. “I request you put some pants on first.”

Twenty minutes later, Ranpo, Poe, and Shishi are sitting outside the breakfast restaurant in metal chairs that burned Ranpo’s inner thighs when he sat down, and scarfing down pancakes and chicken biscuits. At least, Ranpo is scarfing down the food. Poe has been picking at his biscuit for the past three minutes and scooping globs of jelly out of the little packets with his finger. Every time he sucks some of the dark red stuff off his finger, Ranpo pretends he’s not staring.

It’s hard to look elsewhere. The mere crook of Poe’s long, pale finger is graceful, even when he’s literally licking jelly from it. Now there’s the faintest bit of the spread on his bottom lip. That’s definitely hard to ignore.

Ranpo’s taking a bite of his chicken biscuit when Poe catches him staring and covers his own mouth. His voice is tight as he asks, “Do you have to eat like a ruffian in public?”

Crumbs shower Ranpo’s lap, and he pushes them away for Shishi, who pants at his feet, to lick up. He tosses her half a pancake next. “Anyone who slurps up jelly with their fingers in public does not get to comment on other people’s eating habits.”

“Eating jelly with a finger does not even fall into the same category! And I am not “slurping”.”

“Fine. Let’s say we’re even and keep doing what we were doing,” Ranpo says breezily.

Smug as he watches Poe purse his lips, Ranpo reaches for his iced caramel concoction filled to the brim with cold foam and oat milk. Poe ordered himself a hot black coffee. He’d almost fallen over because hot coffee? In this weather? While they sat outside? Ranpo got close to teasing him about it, but then Poe took out his wallet and paid for both of their meals, and Ranpo didn’t feel like teasing him anymore.

That was then, and now he definitely doesn’t mind teasing him. The way Poe responds to his teasing is interesting too, making him want to do it more and more. Like now, there’s still a faint red blush over Poe’s cheeks and the tip of his nose, and his posture is just a little hunched, like he’s too embarrassed to even sit up straight. It’s funny. Cute, even.

The piece of jelly on his bottom lip is gone now. Ranpo pretends not to be disappointed, and stuffs the rest of his breakfast-slash-lunch into his mouth, wipes the crumbs from his mouth, and fishes his laptop from its bag. “I’d like to clear my name.”

“Is that why we’re here?” Poe sighs, pushing his basically still full plate away from him.

“Partially. I was really hungry, too.”

Ranpo clicks on one of the tabs along the top of the laptop, which opens to a forum with dozens of different entries spelled out on a black screen in small white font. “Just so you know, I have been researching possible cases. Lots of them, actually, but this one stuck out to me.” He opens a second screen, which reveals a post made by the local police department and shrinks it so both windows are side by side. “See here.”

The sun sits directly above them and shines a harsh light on the screen. Poe has to lean closer to the screen to get a better look, and mumbles out loud to himself, “‘The police department is aware of the increase in potential stalkers. Please, do your duty and report anything suspicious’.” He hums. “Potential stalkers?”

“Yep.” Ranpo sucks on his straw. “It’s been a buzzword around here recently, one I’ve been tracking closely.”

Poe sticks his finger into the jelly again. Either Ranpo’s joke didn’t actually upset him or he’s already over it, or this is his way of telling Ranpo he can shove his opinions up his ass. “The polices’ response seems rather lukewarm,” he mumbles around the finger.

Ranpo shrugs. “The police can’t do anything with stalking cases unless there has been direct harm to people or property. Let’s say you have a young woman, because, usually, it is a young woman, and she’s being stalked by some guy who lingers around her door or texts her constantly or even peeps through the window. Legally, nothing can be done. Maybe a restraining order, if she knows who it is, but that’s it on the law’s end.

The definition of stalking is so up in the air, it’s hard to prove too. So there’s been an increase in the area, and the police issued a statement like this which doesn’t do much to put the minds of people at ease. Sometimes it makes things worse because now the public knows the police, their apparent protectors, are basically helpless until the inevitable happens. That’s where private investigators come in.”

“I see,” Poe murmurs. Ranpo is able to see his eyes flicker over to the second window, the one with the forum posts. “I imagine these are people who have experienced some sort of stalking incident in the past few weeks?”

“Kind of.” It’s a part of a crime subreddit in the local area, one Ranpo checks every day. For one, he’s curious to see what’s going on, but more importantly, he wants to know if there are any possible business opportunities buried within the posts. Typically, nothing ever comes up, but this one might be a goldmine. He taps the corner of the screen. “Mentions of stalking happen a lot around here, but there was a sudden surge of them about three weeks ago.”

“Let me see,” Poe says even though the laptop is right in front of him. Together, they duck their heads and take their time combing through the posts. Ranpo notes with delight that Poe is a very fast reader. He even mutters them out loud every time he comes across one that clearly interests him. It’s endearing, in a nerdy kind of way.

“‘I, twenty-three female, noticed a shadow at my bedroom window every night for the past week from eight to ten. Strangely enough, after I installed a camera, it never came back. It’s like it saw me put the camera up and knew it couldn’t watch me anymore. Could it be the same person? I’m starting to think I’m being stalked.’”

Another one Poe reads out loud is, “‘I, twenty male, am being watched in my university’s restroom. I thought I caught someone peeking under the stall once, but that may have just been my imagination. The deep breathing outside of the stall was definitely real, I also saw the tips of his shoes.’”

That one came with a small thread. Someone asked what shoes the alleged stalker was wearing and the original poster claimed they were red converses with white soles that someone drew a little star on in a black marker.

A third individual responded saying they saw the same stalker with the same shoes outside of the gym late at night. Their post ended with, “Same star and everything.”

Ranpo waits, elbows on the table, for Poe to figure it out. He grins as the other pulls away from the laptop and slowly shakes his head. “This seems more like a case of mass hysteria than an insurgence of stalking.”

“Precisely!” His chair rattles as Ranpo scoots closer to Poe, who jumps from Ranpo’s shout. “I think the original commenter genuinely experienced the incident. Maybe one or two other people did too, maybe there really was a creep with red shoes who stood outside a bathroom stall, but it doesn’t really matter anymore because this has delved into pure madness. People are accusing red converse wearers of being stalkers now, all because of one individual’s experience.”

Without asking for permission, Poe scrolls up until he reaches the top of the forum. Dated three weeks ago, the original commenter goes by the name of geist_lila. Ranpo and Poe lean closer to the screen to read it.

I, 25M, am experiencing a very unfortunate episode in my life. I am being stalked. I live with my partner, also 25M, and we have been the victims of very strange occurrences. Typically, I’d claim these occurrences were ones of the occult, but they are clearly done at the hands of a person. The identity of my stalker remains a mystery to me, but I know they are male, or at least they wear clothes meant for men. How do I know this? They have been inside my home! Muddy boot prints left behind all over the floor, and a handprint of dirt left on the bathroom mirror. They have stolen some of my boyfriend’s items as well, even a manuscript of his (he is a mystery writer). Attached are the evidence of this crime. The useless municipal police have done nothing, shock. I am going to set up cameras if I can.

“Funny how he kind of sounds like you,” Ranpo laughs. Too absorbed in the comments, Poe doesn’t reply to him. A little disappointed, Ranpo tries to mimic Poe’s serious expression by frowning and pursing his lips at the screen. Serious mode, he can do that.

Some of the comments under geist_lila’s post call him a liar and claim the pictures could be easily staged. Others demand to know why he hasn’t updated his post. A few wish him well, and one person asks him if his mystery writer boyfriend is famous.

Whether Ranpo fully believes him or not isn’t exactly the point right now. The point is to figure out if there’s actually a stalker, and if there is, how a case can be made against them.

Poe suddenly jerks back and opens his own messenger bag, digging around until he pulls out that little notebook he was writing in on the bench in the park and a pen. Ranpo watches, curious, as Poe scribbles something in the book.

“Fascinating,” he breathes as he writes. Slowly, he turns his head to look at Ranpo. He brings a weight with him, forcing something heavy to press into Ranpo’s shoulders even if he can’t actually see the brunt of Poe’s gaze through all that hair. Something exhilarating pushes into him now. “We need to get in touch with geist_lila.”

Ranpo lifts his brow at the pronunciation. “What language is that?”

“Oh.” Poe reaches for his coffee. “It’s German. It means purple ghost. Well, I believe it means purple ghost.”

Ranpo’s brow climbs higher, and Poe shrugs. “I know a little bit of it, but I’m fluent in English, Japanese, French, and Latin.”

Ranpo shakes his head. That’s the fascinating part, to him at least, how weirdly efficient Poe is in the oddest areas. “Whatever it means, I think you’re right. We can try to get in touch with him.”

Poe writes something in his notebook again, then closes it. It’s small, but it bulges with so many folded papers, sticky notes– their edges at least look like sticky notes– and a fat pen.

“My language ability aside,” Poe says with a faint, satisfied smile on his face, “This is what you do when you look for cases?”

“Sometimes.” Ranpo shrugs. “Maybe it’s a little unconventional, but I keep my eyes peeled for things like this.” And maybe this method never really works, but Poe doesn’t need to know how much of a failure he actually is yet. “I think we have a shot with this one, especially since the police have already said they can’t do anything. Even if someone’s lying, we can still get paid and prove it’s a lie.”

“I see.” Poe sounds satisfied, excited even. “What do we do now? Should we try to message the original poster?”

Ranpo grins. “Watch.”

Taking the laptop back, he creates a new window and types out his own website into the search bar. A pale yellow screen fills the page, fit with an animated maneki-neko beckoning the viewer to click on schedule a consultation. There’s a blurb about the services Ranpo offers, who he is, and why they should choose him as their detective. One of the main things it highlights is how he can help with stalking cases because, as a PI, he’s not tied to the same strict rules as law enforcement.

He copies his website URL, reopens the forum window, pastes it in the text box, and sends it out into the chain of messages.

“Now,” Ranpo says, crossing his arms and leaning back into the chair, “we wait.”

They’ve just left the restaurant with Shishi tugging on the lead rope every so often when Ranpo asks the question that’s been on his mind since Poe pulled out the notebook: “How is your magnum opus?”

“Well enough, I believe.” Ranpo almost snickers from the fact Poe knew exactly what he meant when he said magnum opus. Prideful of his work is an understatement. He watches Poe fiddle with the cat charm on his bag from the corner of his eye. “It took a new direction I did not expect, but I think I will see where it takes me.”

Ranpo tilts his head. “You talk like you’re not in control over what happens in your own story.”

“I suppose I’m not.” The cars and pedestrians who pass them create a symphony of the summer city, threatening to drown out Poe’s quiet words. Ranpo walks a little closer to him to hear him better, and catches a whiff of some sweet smelling cologne. It reminds him of dark manors on stormy nights haunted by lonesome ghosts– a very Poe-like scent.

“Oftentimes, I get caught up with my own imagination,” Poe continues, “and the unexpected happens in my work. I find that far more interesting than planning everything out, especially mysteries. Sometimes, not even I know how my own story will end.”

“Huh.” Ranpo takes a moment to think about it. “Well, what new direction did our story take?”

Poe presses one of his long, graceful fingers to his smiling lips. “That’s a secret. I can’t spoil the mystery for one of my dear readers.”

“Oh please! I’ll be able to figure it out just by reading the official summary!”

“Your pride is a plague.”

Ranpo grins. “It is one of my better qualities, huh?”

The post-noon sun glares down on them harshly, a monster making them sweat for all they’re worth. Ranpo squints past its harsh rays to look up at Poe in the silence that settles between them. This is the first time he’s seeing him with so much exposed skin, from his neck to his arms. Porcelain. Flecks of dark hair line his arms, but it’s so thin Ranpo can barely see it.

What he can better see are the very faint, old looking scars criss-crossing over his arms, so pale they nearly blend into the makeup of his skin.

Poe has a therapist, Ranpo remembers that. He wonders how many years it’s been since Poe started seeing one, if they help him at all, and what else runs through his very fast moving mind. Everything seems to burst from Poe. His passion, his emotions, down to the noises he makes– all of it bubbles over until they threaten to engulf him.

A yearning gapes in Ranpo’s stomach. Ever since he was a child, he loved puzzles. Complex pieces, over a thousand scattered at his knees on the bamboo flooring of Fukuzawa’s house, with the doors and windows open to let in the sun while he spent hours clicking the thousands of colorful segments together, uninterrupted, until it made a brilliant picture. Mysteries are the same way, the evidence acting as the scattered pieces that he must pull together to make the picture come alive.

Poe is like that too, Ranpo realizes. Usually people aren’t puzzles Ranpo is interested in, but this one guy… Yeah. Ranpo wants to put him together.

Now isn’t the time though. They round a corner on to a busier road, causing them to bump their hips together. Neither apologizes. Though the silence is rather comforting, Ranpo breaks it.
“Why do you write?”

“You have so many questions today, detective.” Poe sounds amused, and Ranpo almost, almost, gulps from the way Poe says that last word. “Are you suspecting me to be the stalker?”

“That depends on your answer,” Ranpo answers, purposefully nudging Poe this time.

Are they flirting? Ranpo reddens. No, this isn’t flirting. Right? Oh god, he doesn’t really know. He decides they aren’t as they pull to a stop at a crosswalk behind a group of bikers wearing neon athletic gear. Shishi barks in greeting, and several of them turn around to coo at her. Ranpo and Poe ignore the interaction, Ranpo mainly because Shishi seems content to just wag her tail amidst the shower of love rather than attack their bikes.

Once the crosswalk blinks for them to go, Poe speaks. His voice is soft, his words almost delicate: “To answer your question, I write because I have questions I want answers to. Because it allows me to slip into separate worlds. Because if I didn’t write, I would have no reason to live.” Now there’s a smile in his voice, “Because my parents wanted me to join the military or become a lawyer.”

Ranpo snorts at that last part. Still, he focuses on Poe’s previous reasons as they make it to the other side of the street and take a turn toward the residential area. “And yet you haven’t gotten anything published.” Poe snaps his head to the side, probably ready to exclaim how rude such a thing is, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

“It’s hard.” And Ranpo reveals a piece of himself to Poe, a part of the puzzle that’s himself, as he murmurs, “It’s hard trying to make it by doing what you want to do.”

“Oh.” A whisper, followed by a sigh. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Is that Ranpo-kun? Oh, my it is!” Shishi suddenly strains against her leash at the sound of the new voice.

Ranpo squints through the sun and notices an older woman walking up the hill, empty bags most likely meant for groceries clutched in her hands. Oh, it’s one of Fukuzawa’s neighbors, Uzumaki.

“Auntie, hel-” Ranpo’s greeting is cut off by Uzumaki wrapping her thick arms around him and squishing him into her chest while she hums and hoots like a satisfied owl. Shishi yelps in excitement, pacing around them until Poe, thankfully, lunges for her leash and slips it out of Ranpo’s grip.

When Uzumaki finally lets go of him, Ranpo wheezes a little. He’s quite certain something in his body popped. “How- How have you been?” he coughs out, massaging his lower back.

“Oh, I’ve been just peachy, dear!” Uzumaki exclaims, bending down with her empty bags to scratch behind Shishi’s ears, who eagerly licks her face. Ranpo cringes, and Uzumaki laughs. “Yes, my sweet girl. Yes, yes.” Everything about her has stayed the same since Ranpo last saw her; her thick black hair, her reliable weight, and her big smile. She’s gained a few more wrinkles, but if the hug is anything to go by, she hasn’t lost her strength to age yet.

Uzumaki groans quietly as she stands back up. “Your father told me you’d be dog-sitting while he goes on vacation, but I didn’t want to intrude.” She suddenly grabs his arm. “Have you been eating well? They kept enough food for you?”

Usually, an interaction like this would have the tips of Ranpo’s ears burning red, but Uzumaki and her husband have always held a special place in his heart. Whenever he went over to their house as a kid, her husband made him the most delicious coffee while she made him dinner that still, to this day, makes his mouth water. He bobs his head now, smiling brightly.

“Yes, Auntie. I’ve been good, I’ve got my own business now!” He wonders if Fukuzawa ever told Uzumaki and her husband that, or if he’s kept it a secret out of embarrassment. “How’s the café?”

“Oh just wonderful. We hired a new girl recently, very diligent, but so quiet. And so thin! Really, what is with the young people nowadays? Afraid to put on a little weight?”

Ranpo shakes his head. “You don’t ever need to worry about me, Auntie.” She laughs, and pats his arm.

“Such a charmer!” Her eyes sparkle as she looks at Poe, who, Ranpo notices, looks a little green in the face. “And who is this handsome fellow?” She nudges Ranpo conspiratorially. “A chip off the old block, you are!”

Oh. Oh god. If the sun wasn’t doing such a good job of burning a red hole through him, Uzumaki’s words definitely would have. From the sudden tomato-like coloring on Poe’s face, he’s in a similar state. “Uh.” Now, Ranpo can’t speak. His tongue has shriveled in this heat. “No. It’s not- he’s not- Just a friend.”

He looks at Poe, eyes wide and lips downturned as he tries to articulate with just his expression to save the situation and say something. Poe’s mouth opens, and his lips flap, but not a sound comes out. Ranpo wants to shake him.

Finally, Poe extends a hand, which is not a Japanese custom. He seems to remember where he is, and quickly bows instead. “E-Edgar Allan Poe. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh! A westerner, how exciting!” Uzumaki nods. “I’m Uzumaki, I’ve known Ranpo-kun since he was this tall.” She gestures to her hip, and sighs. “Never in my life have I met such a cute boy. When his father introduced me to him, my heart was just about ready to burst. I nearly asked if I could take him!” She laughs again, then waves her hand. “But, I need to get to the store. You boys take care and drink plenty of fluids. This heat is a killer. Oh, and Ranpo-kun, do come over before you leave for some coffee. Bye Shishi!”

As she walks away, she ironically calls out, “You boys be on the lookout for those stalkers!”

Huh. So this isn’t just something young people have heard about. With a shrug, Ranpo takes the leash back from Poe. “Sorry about her. She lives a few houses down from my dad, and used to cook for us sometimes. She and her husband own a café. You should go there some time, I think you’d like it.”

“She seems nice,” Poe murmurs, swiping some hair from his face. It appears his hair is his own form of defense, what he uses to hide away from people. It’s clever.

When they finally make it back, they get Shishi inside, and she practically bolts to the water bowl. He cringes as he listens to her gross lapping. That dog, every time she drinks water she gets half of it on the floor, and it’s up to him to clean up her nasty mess. Later, he’ll do it later.

He looks to Poe now, who has plastered himself to the side of the wall in the genkan, shoes still on and a hand on the strap of his messenger bag. The sight makes him deflate.

It makes sense that they’d part ways for now. There’s really no reason for Poe to stay, except for the fact Ranpo really doesn’t want him to go yet. By the time his date later today rolls around, his social battery might be completely dead, but he doesn’t care. He wants to keep talking to Poe.

“There are some popsicles in the freezer,” Ranpo says as he kicks his sweat-filled shoes off. “You can have one, if you want to cool down.”

Surprisingly, Poe agrees.

A few minutes later, they’re splayed out on the bamboo floor in front of the rotating fan, sucking on green apple flavored popsicles. Ranpo groans as the fan blows against his sweat-stained face. “My apartment may be shitty, but at least it has air conditioning.”

“How far do you live from here?” Poe asks. He’s kneeling, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible even though the backs of his legs must be sweaty. One of Fukuzawa’s cats rubs against his back.

“Not far, just about an hour.” He shrugs. “It’s a little apartment in the city.” With a leaky faucet and cheap windows that do nothing to insulate the hot or cold, so his electricity bill is always sky high. For some reason, he doesn’t want Poe to know that. He presses his big toe against Poe’s knee. “Now you know where I live and you’ve been here three times, so it’s only fair you tell me where you live.”

Poe pushes his toe away, and takes a moment to suckle on the popsicle before he replies. “I suppose.” He runs a hand over the back of the calico cat– this one’s name is Jiji– and she hops into his lap. “I don’t live far from here. I, too, live in an apartment; it’s about a fifteen minute walk from here.”

“Ah.”

Ranpo presses his flat palms against the ground, popsicle in his mouth, and tries not to freak out as a silence stretches between them. While they were walking, he didn’t mind the silence, but it feels a little awkward now since Ranpo asked Poe to stay. He wanted to engage in the intelligent conversation that seems to come so naturally between them! Briefly, he panics. Maybe the fault is his own, maybe he’s just not interesting. Maybe that’s why nothing ever works out with the people Yosano’s set him up with. No, that’s dumb. He’s the most interesting person he knows!

“Um, do you mind if I… ask something?”

An opening, yes!

Ranpo pulls the popsicle from his mouth and waits for Poe to continue. Poe’s cheek is red, visible even in the darkened room. Then, he says, almost meekly, “What did Uzumaki-san mean when she called you ‘a chip off the old block’?”

“Oh. Oh.” Great. He really didn’t want to have this conversation right now, but alas, it’s better than sitting in silence. He groans and collapses on the floor, wiggling his lower half to get comfortable. “She was comparing me to my dad ‘cause he also likes men.” He hears Poe’s inhale, and knows the other is surprised. “Shishi is actually his boyfriend’s dog, not his, and yes, Shishi is just as obnoxious as him.”

“It was not my intention to pry-”

“Nah. I don’t care, it’s not like it’s some big secret.” He opens his eyes and grins at Poe. “Besides, you wouldn’t be bothered by that, would you?”

Poe’s guffaw sends a shiver down Ranpo’s spine. It’s really an ugly sound, but he’s never heard Poe make it before. “I lucked out when my dad adopted me, though. To be fair, he adopted me before I knew I liked guys, but, y’know, it was nice when I realized.”

“You were adopted?”

The faintest click of claws, and then one of the other cats, Shinpo, emerges. He arches his spine, orange tail curling, and pads over to Ranpo. Shinpo butts his own head against his face, and Ranpo leans into it with his own. “Yep. My dad adopted me when I was seven. I’ve known his boyfriend for that long too, but they didn’t start dating until I went to college, or so they say. Honestly, those liars. They didn’t do a very good job at keeping their relationship hidden before then.”

Strangely, Poe does not comment on anything. When Ranpo peers at him, he seems to be giving all of his attention to the loudly purring Jiji still curled up in his lap. Ranpo sits up on his elbows. “What? Are you about to tell me you’re, like, anti-adoption or something?”

For once, Poe doesn’t fall for the quip. Ranpo squints. It comes to him right before Poe says it, “I was adopted too, around the same age as you, actually.”

His voice sounds so distant, Ranpo can’t help but sit up. For once, he stays silent. He knows he lucked out with Fukuzawa, that not everyone who gets adopted is chosen by a good person.

He remembers sitting in the kitchen and asking Fukuzawa why he couldn’t adopt Yosano too, who said she hated the man who adopted her. The doctor, she called him, even though he wanted her to call him “Father.”

“Legally, she is his daughter now,” Fukuzawa said in that emotionally distant voice of his, deep and baritone, the one that chased the nightmares away. “There is nothing I can do.”

“That’s not fair,” Ranpo had cried. “That’s not fair.”

The idea of Poe being adopted by a person like the doctor makes his stomach twist and his palms sweat. He curls his toes and looks at Shinpo, butting his head against his arm now. He drags his fingers over his orange and white body, so soft and fluffy, and murmurs, “You can tell me about it if you want.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell,” Poe whispers. The fan sounds louder between them now. “My siblings and I were born into a family of artists, thespians to be precise. The three of us were taken from them by the state when I was six.” He chuckles humorlessly. “The cursed artist, always drunks or drug addicts or messed up in the head. Anyway, I was born in Massachusetts- Oh, that’s-”

“I do know a bit of American geography, thank you,” Ranpo cuts in.

“Ah.” For once, Poe sounds amused by his attitude. “Well, the couple who took me in was from Virginia, which is quite far from Massachusetts. I liked it there, I liked the sun and the streets of the city were less crowded and there were far more horses.” Ranpo snorts. Poe likes horses? He does seem like an equestrian. “But,” his voice grows quiet, “as I said earlier, I had two options growing up: join the military or become a lawyer.”

Ranpo wrinkles his nose. “I think you’d make a decent lawyer. A soldier though…”

“Officer, Ranpo,” Poe corrects with a little smile. “Officer. They wanted me to go to an academy up north, where I would graduate as an officer.”

Now, Ranpo knows next to nothing about the military, especially the American military. Fukuchi, though, used to be in the JSDF, and now works in intelligence. Comparing Fukuchi to Poe is like comparing a silverback gorilla to a black cat– pointless and laughable. Ranpo thinks cats are better anyway.

“Okay, Officer Poe,” Ranpo nudges him with his toe again to lighten the mood. He sticks the popsicle back into his mouth and mutters around it, “Unless you’re lying to me about your job, I assume you did neither.”

“Good god, could you imagine me in either position?” Poe exclaims. “No, I always wanted to be a writer.” He takes a deep breath. “I had a collection of short stories in my youth, grand stories of other worlds and dark turns and stunning mysteries. They were my rock, my muse, and I dreamed of writing fascinating tales like those.” His voice shakes. “My adopted father would have none of it. He called me many things when I left at eighteen. I was a waste of their resources and love, he said.” Again, Ranpo’s stomach twists. “He believed because I was a homosexual, I was never to become a true man.”

Poe shrugs. “It was the last time I spoke to my family, but that’s okay.” He smiles gently as Jiji pushes her butt further in the air as Poe scratches at the base of it, right by her tail. “I have Karl and my writings, and that’s all I ever really needed.”

The green apple in Ranpo’s mouth tastes sour now. Poe says that, but he carries with him a sense of melancholy so great, it makes even Ranpo feel lonely. He’s never been good at this stuff. Gentle feelings and empathy– he’s been told he makes it all about himself a lot of the time. He swallows the last of the flavored ice and pulls the stick from his mouth. On the side, it reads WINNER in big, bold letters.

“I don’t really remember anything about my biological parents,” Ranpo says quietly. “They were never home. Then one day, they died, and then poof. I was in an orphanage.” He purses his lips. “No one figured out how they died, no one even really tried. That was when I decided I wanted to become a detective, because I wouldn’t ever let anyone down like that.”

Slowly, Poe says, “That is very noble of you.”

“Not really.” Ranpo looks at Poe, and makes sure to catch his eyes. His bangs have curled from the sweat undoubtedly coating his hair. “I think your adopted parents are idiots. You’re not a waste, you’re brilliant.”

A shudder flickers over Poe’s face, but Ranpo keeps going, a little louder now. “And we’re going to prove to everyone that we’re the best detective and writer in the world. Once we get a case and publish that book, everyone is going to fall at our feet!”

For a moment, Poe stares at him with an expression that is the definition of flabbergasted. Then, he laughs a little, then a little louder, until he’s throwing his head back and full on cackling so loud, Jiji jumps from his lap and scurries away. Ranpo stares, mesmerized by the villainous sound. It’s so genuine, and that makes his heart thud.

“Yes,” Poe eventually sniffles, brushing a tear from his eye. “Yes, I believe you’re right.”

“Yeah.” Ranpo hopes the other can’t hear the gallop of his pulse. “I usually am.”

Unfortunately, the clock strikes, and when Ranpo glances at the time, he’s shocked to see it’s nearing five in the afternoon. Poe must be too, because he quickly finishes his popsicle, stands up, and brushes the cat hair clinging to his pants.

“I do apologize for my sudden haste, but I must be going. I had the day off today, but I promised a colleague I’d look over one of their reviews, and I have to feed Karl soon.”

Disappointed, but not surprised, Ranpo climbs to his feet. “Yeah, I’ve got stuff to do, too.”

They walk to the genkan together. Ranpo hovers, watching Poe slip on his shoes and tighten his messenger bag across his shoulder. And maybe it’s their fresh conversation lingering in Ranpo’s mind, or maybe it’s the way Poe smiles at him as he reaches for the door, or maybe, just maybe, it’s something else that has Ranpo blurting out,

“What are you doing this weekend?”

The smile on Poe’s face freezes before it slowly falls. “Writing, I imagine? My day job does not require me to work on the weekends, though I may have to catch up on what I missed today.”

Ranpo’s heart is literally in his throat as he says, “Do you want to come to this bar with me then? There’s an event that features a bunch of artistic crap you’d probably like, like live music and slam poetry. Maybe you can read one of your poems.”

“Oh, dear. Slam poetry is completely different from what I do.”

Ranpo waves his hands. “Well, whatever! Just come with me.”

If Poe rejects him, he may have to throw himself out of a very high window, or maybe coat himself in steak juice and have Shishi eat him. He waits, tapping his foot, as he stares at Poe’s quickly reddening face. Finally, finally, Poe breathes, “I think I would like that.”

The breath is punched right from Ranpo’s chest, and then it’s stuffing itself back down his throat so fast, he feels like he needs to cough. He tries to grin instead. “I figured you would. I’ll text you the details, and any updates on a possible case.”

Poe’s smile is wide as he says, “I look forward to it, detective,” and opens the front door.

Only to walk right into Iwata Junichi. Ranpo’s eyes widen in surprise.

Rather than stumble backward, Poe straightens his spine. From his place at Poe’s back, Ranpo can’t make out his expression, but he can see Iwata’s, who stares at Poe with wide eyes. He’s wearing a blue button up and khaki pants, his short hair appearing freshly washed. Next to Poe, he looks like a little sparrow about to be eaten by a big corvid.

Ranpo is about to say something to break the silence when Iwata’s mouth curls to the side and his eyes narrow into near slits. It’s a subtle motion, and if it were given to anyone else, Ranpo may have ignored it, but considering he’s looking at Poe that way, even if for a split second… It makes Ranpo feel weird.

“You’re early,” is all Ranpo says, and just like that, Iwata’s expression softens.

“Only by thirty minutes!” He laughs a little. “Looks like I’m early enough that you haven’t started getting ready yet.”

“I’m a procrastinator at heart.” He looks at Poe, whose expression he still cannot see. “Anyway, Poe–”

“I will see you this weekend, Ranpo-kun,” Poe says coolly and then he’s walking away.

Ranpo-kun. Friends. He feels a little faint for some reason. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he watches Poe walk away, his eyes caught on the bell bottoms Poe is wearing. Tight around his thighs and… Oh. He has a very, very nice backside–

“A friend of yours?” Iwata asks nonchalantly, snapping Ranpo from his stupor.

“Something like that.” Ugh, he really does not want to go on this stupid date. Yosano owes him big time, and she deserves to leave him alone with this bullshit, especially now that… No. He won’t think like that. He leads Iwata inside and calls over his shoulder, “Just give me ten minutes. Hope you don’t mind a few animals.”

The date, much like Iwata himself, is boring. Ranpo can’t say he’s surprised, nor is he disappointed since this is more of an ‘I told you so, Akiko’ rather than a ‘let’s see if we click’ thing.

They went to the city’s science museum. Ranpo has decided he likes the museum, especially the interactive sand display and the varying ecosystem exhibits, but the conversation lacks. And he did try, thank you very much. He even brought up their apparent shared interest of erotic fiction:

“My favorite piece is the one where the murderer is the woman who engages in BDSM. She tries controlling her fetish for killing with sadomasochistic play, but goes too far one day and ends up killing her partner for the night.”

Iwata only said, “Oh, how interesting.”

How interesting?! Who says that in response?! Ranpo isn’t a whizz at conversation, but that was the perfect place for Iwata to either give his own favorite or ask questions about the genre! Ranpo rolled his eyes to himself, decided this was a useless endeavor, and slipped off to wander through the rainforest exhibit.

As he wanders around the dark room, running his fingers over the scarily real looking rubber trees and listening to the animal noises over the hidden loudspeakers, he comes across a very real looking orangutan hiding in one of the trees. Its orange fur looks so soft, and its hands are bigger than Ranpo’s own face. From a certain angle, it sort of looks like Fukuzawa’s ugly boyfriend.

He snaps a picture of it, and sends it to Poe, along with a caption of, Thoughts about a killer orangutan in a mystery?

No response. Too bad, Ranpo would’ve liked it if Poe could help relieve his boredom.

Suddenly, a few dots appear, and Ranpo inwardly cheers. Then the dots disappear. Nothing. Ranpo frowns. So Poe read it, started answering him, and stopped? He purses his lips, the tiniest bit annoyed. Being ignored has never sat right with him. No, maybe he’s not being ignored. Poe did say he had other things to do, he’s probably busy with that right now.

He hovers around the orangutan display for a little longer until he ducks away to make room for a family of four.

His feet carry him away from the family and down the marked path. He walks past the audio recordings that must be body-sensory activated, and waits for the sprinkling system they have to replicate a rainforest storm to pass before he wanders over to the end of the exhibit where there’s a display case that reads: Can you find me?

It takes Ranpo less than a second to notice the jaguar. He takes a picture of it and sends it to Fukuzawa, who loves all forms of cats, and reads the text flashing up on screen. A few pieces of information catch his attention: The jaguar uses a stalk-and-ambush strategy when hunting… Their camouflage allows them to hide in plain sight.

It almost makes Ranpo laugh. How ironic, he’s come face-to-face with a stalker! Too bad it’s not the stalker he needs. The humor of the situation quickly dies. There’s almost too much he needs to do now; he needs more shifts at the dumb electronic shop, he needs to get a damn case, and, maybe, above all, he needs money so he doesn’t lose that office he’s renting, or his apartment.

There’s an easy answer: land a case that’s good enough to get his name out there. That likely won’t happen, even with Poe’s additional inclusion of his name and agency in his book, it will take too fucking long to get his name out there.

Ranpo might be screwed. He checks his phone one more time, only to find nothing from Poe. There’s a weird feeling in his chest as he leaves the rainforest. Okay, maybe he actually is upset that Poe hasn’t replied yet. After their talk earlier today, he feels weirdly understood for the first time in his life.

Yes, he has a good relationship with his father, and he and Yosano are thick as thieves, but this is something else. He doesn’t need to explain himself to Poe like he often has to do with everyone else, and he enjoys seeing him. It’s exhilarating, and new, and he likes it. He likes it a lot. His fingers itch with the need to find more pieces to press into the puzzle of Poe. Without having him to talk to after being able to talk to him for the entire day makes him feel empty.

He wanders around the museum for a few more minutes before he meets back up with Iwata, who stands outside the cafeteria holding two slushies. Ranpo almost groans. He wants to go home and see if anyone has gotten back to him about the stalking cases, not slurp slushies with a guy he doesn’t even like.

Yosano owes him more than he initially thought.

Ranpo sits in a sticky chair and pretends to not think about all of the little kids putting their germy hands on the table in front of him as he swirls cheap-tasting, cherry flavored ice around his mouth. It reminds him of green apple popsicles and meaningful conversations and ravenous cackles. Everything here is dull and cheap in comparison.

Ranpo’s foul mood grows the longer he sits here. He stops caring about the stupid agreement he had with Yosano and his promise to play along and be nice. Why should he? This entire thing is dumb, and Iwata isn’t even trying to pique his interest.

“So,” Iwata starts. He must be bouncing his leg up and down because the table shakes. It chips away at Ranpo’s thinning patience. “That friend at your place earlier. You called him Poe?”

Ranpo wants to slam his head into the table, no matter how gross it probably is. He glares at the surrounding empty tables; for some reason, Iwata chose a seat far away from every other patron. “Yeah, that’s his name.”

“Does he not like me?”

Ranpo frowns. That wasn’t what he expected to hear. He presses a palm to his cheek, and mutters, “He doesn’t even know you.”

“Well, I guess not,” Iwata says hesitantly, “but he was glaring at me. When we were at your place.”

Glaring? Could Iwata even see Poe’s eyes through his bangs? Ranpo’s about to ask that exact question when Iwata shrugs and reaches for his own slushie. “Maybe he likes you or something.”

Ranpo grows still. The foul mood that settled over him earlier grows into anger, rolling around his stomach like a ship in a storm-tossed sea. He does not want Iwata to talk about Poe, and he definitely does not like this weird tone he’s using while talking about Poe. The wasps return to his stomach.

“Why do you want to go on these dates with me so badly?” Ranpo asks instead.

Iwata must be surprised, because his body jerks a little to the side, pulling away from his slushie. “I’m- I’m sorry?”

Ranpo sighs, annoyed. “Aki- Yosano told me you said to her you really like me, and want to get to know me better. Well, we’re on our fourth date, and instead of talking about anything interesting, you’re accusing a good friend of mine of, what? Being mean to you? You saw him for five seconds! So there must be some other reason you want to go on these dates with me, because, clearly, we’re not really getting to know each other any better.”

The radio above them playing cheesy pop music seems to grow louder the longer Iwata stays silent. Ranpo goes back to his slushie. Well, he doesn’t really feel any better. There’s still a sour, ugly feeling throbbing in his chest, and it’s making his arms itch like they do when he gets overstimulated. He scratches at one of his arms.

More frustration bubbles up in him as Iwata continues to stay quiet. He swallows a mouthful of gross tasting slushie, and mutters, “You’re starting to waste my time. I think now’s the perfect time to tell you I really have zero interest in pursuing a relationship with you and-”

“I need a detective’s help!”

Ranpo’s own words get tangled up in Iwata’s quickly spoken ones. As a result, even his quick brain needs a second to process what was just said. He raises his brows, mouth still open. “Huh?”

Iwata rocks back and forth in his seat. His pale, freckled face looks nearly swollen with how red it is. He claps his hands together and bows his head. “I’m sorry, Ranpo-san! It’s inappropriate for me to ask this right here, but I really need your help with something that’s been bothering me.”

Slowly, Ranpo rests his elbows on the table. What’s this? An unexpected outcome? No, that’s unlikely. If Iwata only wanted to go on dates with him because he needed to consult with a detective, why tell Yosano he liked Ranpo oh so much? Why drag this out? Ranpo pops the thoughts ballooning in his head and focuses on the important thing: there could be a potential case afoot.

“You see,” Iwata starts, looks around, then lowers his head. Ranpo leans closer instinctively. He whispers, “It’s my neighbor. I don’t think she’s well.” He knocks a knuckle against his temple. “Here, if you know what I mean.”

Ranpo raises a brow, unimpressed now. “Uh-huh.”

“No, you see. She’s been disturbing me and the other neighbors!” Iwata digs a finger into the table, and then another right next to it. “I live in a really small apartment complex, one of those micro-apartment places, while I finish grad school. My neighbor, she’s also in grad school. I think she’s planning something, like,” Iwata lowers his voice again to whisper more insistently, “an attack of some sorts.”

There’s a part of Ranpo that’s intrigued and another part of him that really isn’t. The detective part of his brain– the majority of it– wants to know more. He drums his finger against the table, looking at Iwata’s two still on the table. “Do you mean something like a terrorist attack?”

Iwata’s eyes brighten. “Yes, exactly!”

“And you have no evidence to back up this claim?”

Now Iwata deflates. Every single emotion is out for the world to see, and it’s just the slightest bit annoying. “Conversations and overhearing her through the walls. She brings this guy to her place all the time, and he’s definitely trouble.” He chews on his bottom lip. “Will lack of evidence be a problem?”

“If you were going to the police, then yes.” The plastic he’s sitting on groans as he leans back and crosses his arms. “But considering you’re coming to a PI, that won’t really be a problem.”

Iwata smiles, but Ranpo wags a finger. “Don’t get too excited– I’m not a charity. I don’t work for free.”

“That’s fine,” Iwata says, smile dimming slightly. Ranpo raises a brow again at the expressive nature of this guy. “I can pay, I promise.” His eyes shimmer as he says, “This neighbor used to be close to me before she started acting weird. Isolating herself, taking in that shady guy, and speaking about revenge and scary things like that. Honestly, I really just want her to get the help she needs before she hurts herself or anyone else.”

“How noble of you.” His own words zing through him, bringing him back to earlier that day when Poe said something similar to him: That is very noble of you.

Though he’s desperate for cases, he’s not sure about this one. Even when he gets a little more information from Iwata about the individual and situation, it’s a shot in the dark. Then again, suspicions like this draw in paranoid people who seek the help of PI’s because cops won’t touch anything like it. It may be nothing.

And yet, Poe’s words bounce around his head. That is very noble of you. That is very noble of you. That is very noble of you.

His reason for becoming a detective, Poe found that admirable. No one has ever thought his detective job to be anything but a joke, or at the very least, a dream he will only ever graze with the tips of his fingers. Except for Poe, because Poe knows what it’s like to struggle with a dream, and a passion. And that makes Ranpo’s heart hammer again, makes his blood sing the song he never even realized ceased– it makes him want to work harder again. Revitalizes him.

Ranpo lifts his chin and uncrosses his arms, letting them flop at his side. “Let’s do a consultation right now. Then, I’ll tell you if I accept the case or not.”

In the midst of Iwata thanking him, he swears he can feel Poe leaning behind him, curling lips brushing against his ear as he breathes, That is very noble of you, Ranpo-kun.

“Do you understand I have a job? A life?” That’s Poe’s delightful greeting when he walks into the unlocked house and stands in the hallway the very next morning while Ranpo hops on one foot, attempting to pull his socks up. “You cannot expect me to drop everything simply because you tell me to come over.”

“See,” Ranpo pants as he finally gets his damn socks up, “this is unfair, because when I don’t communicate with you, you get pissy. When I do communicate with you, you still get pissy. Make up your mind.”

Ranpo hurries past Poe, who he can hear firing himself up for whatever clever insult he’s about to throw Ranpo’s way, and grabs his bag laying on the table. He nearly trips over Shishi’s massive form, who didn’t even bark in warning when Poe walked through the door. Some guard dog. He rights himself, and just remembers to check her water bowl before he starts pushing Poe back to the genkan.

“Never mind whatever names you’re about to call me. This is good, Poe, we’ve got a case.”

“What? Truly? Has someone responded regarding the stalking?”

“Nope.” Ranpo puts his shoes on, and waves his hands frantically. “Come on, hurry up! Get your shoes on! We’ve got lots of work to do.”

Poe mutters something under his breath as he straps his boots up– not heels today, Ranpo notices, though they are still quite large. Once they’re both ready, they hurry outside into the blistering morning, and Ranpo gives him the rundown of what Iwata told him last night as they walk into the city.

“Our person of interest is a woman by the name of Nobuko Sasaki, a twenty-three year-old criminology grad student who goes to the local university. Her neighbor is suspicious of her recent behavior, and he thinks she’s planning terrorist attacks in the area.”

“That’s quite a suspicion.” Poe sounds dubious, and a little dull. Almost uninterested. Weird.

“Well, yeah, but this stuff is pretty common when it comes to what private investigators deal with,” Ranpo gasps as they climb uphill, secretly thankful Poe also looks winded. “He doesn’t have any substantial evidence against her because these are just things he’s overheard. Apparently, she has some guy of “shady character” come into her apartment a lot too. Whatever the reason, it’s our job to crack this thing.”

He slaps Poe on the arm when they make it up the hill. “Lucky us, right?”

By the time they make it to Ranpo’s agency office, Ranpo is close to bouncing off the walls. Last night, Iwata promised him he’d send him all the information online as well– Ranpo said it’s better for things to be in the system, but he really just wants to look official– and he wants to make sure half of the payment Iwata made is there too.

He spins around on the chair as he goes about setting up his laptop. Once he’s able to confirm everything was sent to him, he looks up to watch Poe sit on the edge of the box in front of his desk. There’s no excitement radiating from Poe, in fact he’s been quiet and sounded irritated since he answered Ranpo’s phone call earlier this morning.

Poe never even responded to his text message from yesterday either. From the way he’s sitting with his shoulders hunched and his leg bouncing, there’s something clearly on his mind.

Ranpo wants to tear his hair out. Here it comes, the weird, rapid-fire mood swings Poe seems incapable of going a day without. This is supposed to be a good day!

He sighs and rotates his fingers in a circular motion. “What is it?”

The glare Poe cuts him could slice metal. “How did you get this case?”

Ranpo blinks. Is that all? Before he can even open his mouth, Poe snaps, “Because you have yet to tell me who this neighbor is, except for the fact you said he, leading me to believe the person who asked you to take this is the man you went on a date with last night.”

Bewildered, Ranpo tilts his head to the side. “I got us a case. Why does the ‘how’ matter to you?”

Something flashes across Poe’s face. His eyelashes, long and dark, twitch as his eyes flicker from Ranpo’s face to his laptop, and one of his visible eyebrows, thin and arched, furrows, and it’s strange, because Ranpo has no idea what the problem is. Poe should be on his knees thanking him for the case considering this is supposed to benefit the both of them!

Not to mention, this whole ordeal was Poe’s idea to begin with.

He wants to point all of this out, but Poe shakes his head. A cold, exasperated sound comes from him, and then he mutters, “You’re right. It doesn’t matter.”

A memory surfaces, one from not too long ago. He found Poe on the bench in the park, Shishi jumped on him, and he started to cry. Ranpo mistook his tears for ones of fear, but then Poe said he wouldn’t understand. Wouldn’t understand what? Ranpo had chalked him up as a man who was deeply strange, and he still stands by that, but what is he supposed to do about this now?

Ranpo stares at him, confused, and he hates the feeling. Poe is a puzzle that is becoming increasingly difficult to solve. “No, tell me.”

Poe does not look up as he fishes his own laptop from his bag. “We have a case to discuss.”

“If we don’t talk about it now, you’re just going to stay pissy.”

That gets Poe to snap his head up. “Do you degrade everyone in your life like this, or am I just lucky?”

“What the hell are you talking about?!”

“This,” Poe seethes, gesturing between them. “I do not understand you, Ranpo. The way you treat me confuses me. Sometimes you are kind, other times you are cruel.” His lips curl right as he spats, “Do you treat that man the same way you treat me?”

The words dangle between them, suspended on imaginary ropes that swing back and forth. Every creak they make echoes with Poe’s words. Ranpo stares at him, struck for two reasons. The first is because Poe said he doesn’t understand him, after Ranpo convinced himself Poe was the first person to ever actually understand him. That hurts. It hurts more than he expected it to.

The second is this: “That man” must refer to Iwata, which can only lead to one insane conclusion.

And Poe must realize it too because his eyes widen, the fury fades away, and he begins to shake his head before Ranpo even finishes his bewildered accusation.

“Are you jea-”

The knock at the door interrupts him. If it’s someone who got lost in the building and is trying to find their way to either the law firm or the therapy office, he’s going to lose his mind. Loudly, eyes still on Poe, he snaps, “Come in!”

A woman steps inside. Her shimmering, long black hair catches on the fluorescent lighting, and reminds Ranpo he probably needs to wash his own hair tonight. The woman clutches a small purse, one that matches her long blue skirt. She hesitates.

“Oh, I apologize if you’re with a client.”

“He’s not a client,” Ranpo says at the same time Poe says, “By all means.” Ranpo rolls his eyes at Poe, who looks close to snarling at him. What happened to that fear from earlier, huh? Returning his attention back to the woman, he tiredly asks, “How can I help you?”

The door closes behind the woman as she enters. “Excuse my intrusion. I found your agency because someone sent a link in a forum I was frequenting.” Ranpo holds his breath. The woman bows. “My name is Nobuko Sasaki. I believe I am being stalked, and would appreciate your help.”

If Ranpo were standing, he would be on his ass right now. Slowly, he looks at Poe, who looks back with the same shocked expression as him, mouth open and eyes wide. And, as if their argument didn’t even happen, they share smiles. This type of luck should be fictional.

“Yeah.” Ranpo clears his throat. “We can help. Why don’t you take a seat, Nobuko-san, and tell me what’s going on. Oh, you don’t mind if my friend here sits in on this, do you?”