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"Why do you hide your eyes?"
The question is sudden, surprising. Like most of the things Ranpo do. It catches Edgar off guard, and his hand pauses from where he's hunched over his wooden desk and over his papers, working on his latest novel. Karl looks up at him, then continues chewing on one of his pencils.
"No reason, My dear."
It's a lie. And he knows Ranpo can tell from a mile away.
Ranpo hums, and twirls the lollipop in his mouth. In front of him, there's a very large selection of snacks that Edgar keeps just for the detective whenever he visits. On days such as this one, Ranpo shows up at his doorstep unannounced, claiming to be bored out of his mind and just waltzing through the house. It was a rare sight at first; seeing the world's greatest detective lounging on his couch? Never in his whole life did Edgar dream of this. The first few times, Edgar was sure that Ranpo would get tired and stop his visits soon; after all, the detective tended to get bored with things easily. On those days, Edgar didn't have much to offer to Ranpo, since he wasn't much of an eater. He would've stood idly around, not knowing what to do as Karl made himself comfortable on Ranpo's lap.
But when Ranpo visited him for the fourth time with a bag of his favorite snacks (and surprisingly, few of them belonged to Edgar) he started getting used to having Ranpo around. He stacked up Ranpo's favorite drinks and snacks, got him his favorite puzzles and movies, and while the younger man snoozed on his somewhat uncomfortable couch, he would've continued with his writings. Sometimes Ranpo would sit on his desk, watching over him silently. At first, this too was nerve-racking, and Edgar found himself at a loss for words, staring blankly at the papers in front of him. But as time passed, he grew comfortable with having Ranpo right by his side as he wrote. The detective never interfered with his work, and Edgar knew that Ranpo liked his writings more than anything. He'd never questioned anything, and while humming a word or two, his words were never discouraging. If anything, his mere presence brought more joy in writing for him.
Ranpo has never asked anything personal. He has never pried into his past, or his life before joining the Guild.
And honestly, Edgar didn't mind. He liked the way things were between them; quiet, comfortable.
Because nothing good would ever come from talking about his past.
Ranpo rests his cheek on the armrest of the couch and stares at him with half-lidded emerald eyes. Edgar swallows and looks down at his writings through his bangs. Staring at the detective's eyes is dangerous; he knows he would drown in those green jewels and knowing him, he won't even try to save himself. Instead, he clears his throat and pats Karl lightly on the head.
"Can I ask what got your curiosity?"
Ranpo doesn't answer right away; instead, he busies himself with the small, shining marble that Edgar managed to get out of one of his Ramune drinks earlier that day. The detective holds the marble in front of the light, and cracks open one eye. He hums, and twirls the glass between his fingers.
"Because you have beautiful eyes. It's a waste to not show them, don't you agree?"
Ranpo says those words so easily; so matter-of-factly that Edgar has a hard time understanding who he's talking about.
Because he doesn't have beautiful eyes. Anyone who's ever known him would agree on that. What's so great about his lifeless eyes, with dark bags decorating them?
"I'm afraid I can't agree on that with you, Dear Ranpo." He smiles bitterly and starts writing again, "I think you must've mistaken them for your own. Your eyes are the real beauty here."
It's quiet between them once again; he doesn't look up to see what Ranpo is doing mostly because he's scared of how he'd react. He didn't mean to make things awkward, he'd simply stated the fact. After all, his adoptive family never really gave him any reason to like them;he remembers how his adoptive father would call them "ghostly" and "weird to look at". And although his eye color wasn't something unusual, he must agree they weren't the most popular shade.
But Ranpo's eyes? Edgar could probably write ten pages of poems about them.
"Hey, Ed?" Ranpo's voice snaps him out of his trance. He looks up and finds Ranpo gesturing for him from where he's currently sprawled out on the couch, "come here for a sec."
Edgar's immediately to his feet, walking over the detective within seconds.
"What do you need, my dear?" He looks around and finds the snack filled table almost empty, "are you hungry? We can order something -"
"No." Ranpo reaches out, and tugs at the sleeve of his shirt childishly; the sight is so endearing that Edgar can't help but to smile fondly, "I'm bored. Take a break with me."
And who's Edgar to deny his beloved anything? The man could ask for his heart, and he would rip open his chest with bare hands and offer it to him.
"Of course, dearest."
Edgar sits down with a small groan; although the chair in his writing room isn't too bad perse, nothing beats the couch. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back; he's exhausted from pulling all nighters these past few days. If Ranpo wasn't here with him, he would've passed out right there and then.
He isn't even half asleep when a sudden weight on his left thigh, has his eyes fluttering open.
Ranpo's emerald green eyes stare back at him and Edgar sucks in a harsh breath; because seeing the detective's wide eyes is a rare sight itself, let alone having his whole focus on him.
Edgar tries to clear his throat and look anywhere but the detective laying on his lap.
"W-what's wrong, Ranpo?"
Ranpo only hums, and reaches a hand out. His fingers are oddly gentle as he pushes the bangs away from Edgar's eyes; his fingers lingering perhaps longer than necessary on his skin. When he pulls his hand away, Edgar tries to not show the disappointment at the loss.
"You really do have pretty eyes, Ed."
Edgar knows his face and ears are burning.
But something in his heart tightens. Something he can't even understand himself; but he knows if they continue this talk, he'll either runaway from his own home or have a full breakdown.
"I..." His lips twitch into an uncomfortable smile, "I appreciate you saying that. But they're nothing compared to yours."
Ranpo stares at him again. His brows twitch—not a frown, but something close to it. The corner of his lips turns slightly downward, and Edgar has never hated himself more in his life. He was supposed to make Ranpo smile—to make him laugh and feel excited. Not… make this face.
He feels like he might throw up.
But Ranpo only closes his eyes and gets up abruptly. He doesn't say anything as he puts on his cape and pats Karl on the head. Edgar stands up hurriedly, bumping to the couch as he follows after the detective.
"Ranpo? Dear, where are you going?"
"Back home."
Edgar can feel his stomach churning.
"Won't you stay for dinner? I'll prepare your favorite."
Ranpo only shakes his head and fixes his hat. Just as Edgar's about to spout some apologies, Ranpo straightens up from when he's putting on his shoes and shoots Edgar a grin.
"Raincheck on that dinner, Ed."
Then he's gone before Edgar can offer to walk him home.
He doesn’t sleep that night either—haunted by the white pages of his empty manuscript, his past, and Ranpo’s frown.
-
He doesn't hear from Ranpo for few days.
He lost count of how many times he picked up the phone to call him, but freaked out. He's pretty sure that he ruined whatever relationship he had with the detective; that Ranpo doesn't even want to see his face let alone reading his manuscripts.
He sighs and, not so gently, bangs his forehead against the empty pages on his desk; ever since the night Ranpo walked out the doors of his mansion, Edgar hasn’t been able to write a single word. He’d never hit writer’s block this hard; even on his worst days, he could at least write a page or two. But these past few days have been a blur of sleepless nights and skipped meals. He was lucky to have Karl; if his faithful friend hadn’t scratched at his hands and tried to rip out his hair for food, he wouldn’t have even gotten out of bed. A life without Ranpo in it, simply wasn't worth living.
Which is why when his phone rings, he just groans and turns his face away; letting the machine get it.
And it might've been the stupidest thing he's done so far.
"Hello? Poe-kunnn?"
Edgar falls right off his chair.
"Ed? You're not home?"
"I'm home!" Edgar exclaims as he answers the phone. Then, he clears his throat, trying to calm his racing heart, "Ranpo dear...you called."
It's not a question so much of a statement.
And god, does he sound pathetic.
"Hey, Ed!" Ranpo sounds like usual; cheerful and nonchalant, "I kinda need your help."
"You need my help? With what, my dear?"
He hears Ranpo humming on the other side.
"I'm kinda lost."
"Kinda??"
"Hmm," Ranpo clicks his tongue, "Okay I'm definitely lost."
Edgar pinches the bridge of his nose and pulls out his phone, ready to call a cab "where were you going?"
"Your house, duh."
There's a moment of silence before Edgar sighing.
"I'll be right there."
"Hurry up." He can hear the Ranpo's childish pout, "I'm freezing here."
And he does; Because no matter how many times Ranpo has come to his house, there's only one street he keeps getting lost in.
And just as he guessed, he finds Ranpo on the street, just one block away from his mansion. He takes a deep breath, trying not to look like he’d run all the way there. (He totally had.)
"Dear!" Edgar rushes forward and without a second thought, places his hands on Ranpo's cheeks.
Cold, freezing cheeks.
Ranpo crosses his arms and huffs through his reddened nose.
"Stop fussing; I'm not a kid."
But the pout on his lips says otherwise.
Edgar merely smiles fondly; brushing his thumbs over the younger man's cheekbones.
“Of course not, dear.” He unwraps the dark brown scarf from around his neck and drapes it around Ranpo’s, making sure it covers the lower half of the detective’s face. “Shall we go to my home and get you a hot beverage?”
Ranpo huffs again, but clings to Edgar's arm as soon as he starts walking. Edgar casts a glance toward him, and clears his throat.
"I was surprised to hear from you."
"Yeah, I thought I'd find my way, but your neighborhood is ridiculously huge."
"No," Edgar searches for the right words; for an author he always finds himself at a loss of words when he's with the detective, "I meant...i didn't expect you to visit... again."
Reluctantly, he has to let go of Ranpo's hand as he searches for his keys and struggles with the lock as the other man leans forward to catch his eyes under his bangs.
"Why? I always drop by, don't I?"
The door of his mansion opens, and Karl rushes forward. Ranpo lets out a happy yelp as the raccoon tries to climb up his leg.
"Karl! Happy to see you too!"
Edgar smiles and opens the door wider, letting Ranpo stumble inside with a very happy, squeaky Karl in his arms. He gently takes the cape from Ranpo’s shoulders and picks up the hat Karl had knocked to the ground. He watches the two of them for a moment longer before making his way to the kitchen. He knows Ranpo will ask for his snack and hot cocoa soon, so he might as well start on that.
The snacks are still in the pantry where he left them for Ranpo; untouched and more than before (he picked up more in Ranpo's absence; hoping to see the detective soon). Just as he turns around to place the snacks on the tray, he almost jumps out of his skin and drops the box of chocolate chip cookies on the ground.
Thank god he wasn't holding the hot cocoa mug.
He places a shaky hand on his chest and stares at Ranpo who's quietly staring at him from where he's perched on the kitchen counter.
"Ranpo dear," Edgar breaths, "since when were you sitting there?"
"A while now."
Edgar nods, because he can't really understand why. He looks around, searching for Karl.
"He fell asleep on the couch."
Edgar smiles and starts placing the cookies next to the mug, giving Ranpo time; from the way he's so quiet and just sitting there, he knows he wants to say something. And as Edgar makes his way to the fireplace, he hears Ranpo following behind him.
Quietly. Like he's inspecting him.
Like he's deducting something Edgar isn't even aware of.
When Edgar sets the tray down on the small table in front of the fireplace and sits down on the sofa by its side, he's surprised to see Ranpo already not sprawled out on it.
"Dear? Why aren't you sitting down?"
"Why did you think I wouldn't visit anymore?"
Edgar's hand trembles slightly as he takes his own mug of tea from the tray. He stares at the dark liquid inside, not knowing what to say.
Because how can he tell Ranpo about years and years of self doubt and hatred built up inside?
"Poe?"
"Because how we left things the last time you were here."
"How we left things?” Ranpo raises a brow, plopping down beside him. He bumps his shoulder against Edgar’s and reaches for a cookie, "nothing happened though."
"You were mad.” Edgar whispers, his eyes never leaving the fire. It trembles, casting dark shadows wherever the flames can’t reach. “I made you mad.”
A hand rests on top of his, and takes the mug out of his hands rather harshly.
"Ed," Ranpo’s voice turns frighteningly serious, "look at me."
With a shaky breath, Edgar turns his way.
His breath is knocked out of his chest when he sees Ranpo's open eyes staring right back at him.
He always believed Ranpo's eyes were mesmerizing; the depth of emerald green that changes shade slightly depending on the lighting. And if you squint, there are small gold and brown freckles scattered across the field of green. He remembers when he was a small child and founded a beautiful piece of emerald in his father's antique room; it was the most breathtaking jewel he'd ever seen in his whole life. His adoptive father had grew furious when he found him with the priceless stone; kicking him out of the room and grounding him for a whole week. But even as he starved in his room, alone and with only a few books to keep him company, and as he grew up, he never forgot about it.
And now, he's watching those same jewels staring at him intently. The light from the fireplace dances in Ranpo's irises; setting his gaze on fire.
Edgar finds himself drawn to them, like a moth to a flame. And it’s then that he understands why the moth doesn’t mind dying in the fire.
“Your eyes are mesmerizing, my dear.” His voice comes out in a whisper, a silent prayer. “I could watch them for hours- no, for decades and never grow tired.”
Ranpo's eyes widen slightly, his lips parting. Edgar smiles; proud of himself for making the famous detective speechless. But as Ranpo lets go of his hands, he tries to not show how he immediately misses their warmth.
Ranpo's hands don't wander far; they reach for the bangs covering his forehead and eyes, and pushes them out of the way. Ranpo rummages in his pocket and pulls out a bobby pin. He smirks when he fixes his bangs on top his head with it, and stares at Edgar in the eyes.
His fully visible eyes.
And the first thing Edgar does, is to hide his face in his hands, embarrassed. A tug on his hands has him peaking from between his fingers.
"C'mon Ed," Ranpo urges, his lips twisting downwards, "lemme see your eyes."
After a bit more tugging, Edgar finally complies, lowering his hands— and his eyes. He’s too afraid to see the look on Ranpo’s face.
"Whoa," Edgar looks up, "you really have two eyes, Ed!"
Edgar huffs, his lips twitching but he can't help the nervous biting of his lip.
"What did you think I was exactly? A Cyclops?"
Ranpo snorts, "at first, yeah, kinda. But again, you're too handsome to be a Cyclops."
Edgar really hopes the darkness of the room and the orange shade the fire's casting on his face, are covering his reddening skin.
From the smirk on the detective's face, he highly doubts it.
"Stop teasing me, dear."
Ranpo shifts closer, leaning just slightly down to catch his eyes with his.
"You deserve it for hiding those marbles from me."
Edgar's brows shoot up.
"Marbles?"
“Yeah!” Ranpo grins. “Your eyes are just like the marbles in Ramune.” He hums when Edgar rests his hands on top of his, a small smile gracing the novelist’s lips. “I just can’t deduce why you would hate showing your eyes.”
"You really can't?"
"Hmmm," Ranpo smiles, "I can. But i want to hear it from you."
The fire catches Edgar’s eyes, and if it weren’t for Ranpo’s hands in his, he could close his eyes and see himself back home in America.
He can hear his adoptive father grumbling about the weather being too cold even though he's sitting almost in the fireplace itself. He can hear him telling him to bring more wood for the fire. When he goes outside, the wind is brutal but watching the snow fall around him, stifling all the sounds and his father's yelling for a while is worth it. He takes more time than necessary to gather the wood from the small shack behind their mansion; instead he sticks his tongue out and tries to catch a small snowflake. It's cold, awfully so but it excites him so much that he can't help but to jump around, trying to catch more. And it's not until his father yells out his name that he rushes inside.
He remembers how he’d tried to carry as much wood as his small hands would allow; after all, it was his first Christmas with his new family, and he wanted to please his adoptive father as much as possible. He remembers the way the fire burned his fingertips, but he bit his lip and smiled instead.
“You’re a good boy.”
It was the only compliment that man had ever given him.
“It’s a shame you have such frightening eyes. They look hunted. Cursed.”
"Ed?" Edgar tears his eyes from the fire. He smiles when Ranpo's brows furrow further, "where are you, Ed?"
"I'm here with you, of course."
"No," Ranpo huffs, "you're not. You're lost. In something I can't see."
"Just… reminiscing about some old memories.”
"Good ones?"
"No," Edgar smiles, "awful ones."
The fire cracks, but they sound like the cries of a child from his past. They sound alone, devastated.
They sound like the child is asking for help. For someone to save him.
"My father..." His mouth is awfully bitter. He shakes his head, "my adoptive father, to be precise, never really liked me."
"Then why did he adopt you?"
"For fame, for prestige in high society. He was a very wealthy man with endless connections, and taking in an orphan child served him nothing more than a display of status. It’s quite common among high-society families to do such things—adopting children, helping the homeless.” He sighs. “It was alright at first. My adoptive father paraded me around like a trophy. As a child, it was exciting—joyful—to have that man act as if he actually cared about me.”
Karl stirs awake, and paddles to where they're sitting. He jumps on Edgar's lap, and he smiles; burying his fingers in Karl's soft furr.
"But by the time of my first Christmas in that household, he was already sick of me." Edgar points to his eyes as he continues, "I guess the thing he hated the most about me, were my eyes. For a man who's whole family had dark eye color, my eyes were 'cursed' and 'ghostly'. And with each passing day, he couldn't stand to look at them."
"So you grew your hair out. To stop him from seeing your eyes."
Edgar nods and watches as Karl jumps off his lap and sits in front of the fireplace, starting to lick his paws and using them to clean his furr.
"After a while, it became a habit. And old habits die hard. Some words, once they take root in your mind, never fade, no matter how wrong they are." Edgar smiles at Ranpo's solemn expression and squeezes his hands gently, "to be completely fair, no one ever bothered to tell me otherwise." He brings Ranpo's hands to his lips and presses his cold lips to his knuckles, "no one except you, my dearest."
"Yeah well," but even in the dark of the room, he can see the faint dusting of pink across Ranpo's skin, "I'm not the world's greatest detective for nothing! I can see things others are blind to."
Ranpo’s eyes never leave Edgar’s. When he speaks again, his voice drops an octave.
"Beside Super Deduction, I have an eye for beauty, you see."
Edgar smiles, eyes softening.
"Is that so, my dear?"
Ranpo nods, his gaze flickering down to Edgar's lips, before snapping back up.
"Yeah,” he says with so much confidence that Edgar, like with all the other words the detective says, believes him. “I can spot something I like from a mile away!”
When Edgar seems unable to take his eyes off his lips, he twitches them into a smug smirk. “Or rather, someone I like. And you know perfectly well I have high standards.”
As when their lips are only inches apart, Edgar closes his eyes.
"Glad I could meet your standards, my love."
Ranpo’s lips are just as Edgar expected—soft and sweet. They taste like the hot cocoa he just had, though he doubts his own sweetness is anything less. They move confidently against his own clumsy ones, but he hadn’t expected anything else from the world’s greatest detective.
He hates to admit it, but ever since their rivalry shifted into something else, he’d been dreaming of kissing Ranpo for months. And every time he dreamed of it, it was just like this—warm and… home.
When Ranpo places his hands on his shoulders and Edgar’s find their way to the detective’s waist, he knows he’s already addicted to Ranpo’s lips. He has no idea how he’d gone all these years without the other man’s lips on his own.
He doesn't know how much time has passed, but when they finally part, Edgar rests his forehead against Ranpo's and lets out a shaky breath.
"For people as smart as us, it took us an idiotically long time to do that."
Ranpo breathes heavily but chuckles nevertheless.
"You couldn't be more right."
They spend a few minutes basking in comfortable silence before Ranpo pokes him in the cheek slightly.
"So, do you believe me now?"
"Believe what, my love?"
Ranpo clears his throat at the new nickname, trying—and failing—to hide the redness creeping across his cheeks. For the world’s greatest detective, he’s certainly weak to pet names.
“That your eyes are beautiful.”
Edgar stares at the man in front of him—the man he was once obsessed with destroying for six whole years. The man who not only held no grudges, but befriended him instead. The man who he fell in love without even realizing it himself.
He knows Ranpo never lies. Especially not to him.
Edgar hears the fireplace crackling in the background, but nothing else—just the gentle sound of wood breaking. No one is crying. No one is yelling. Karl is happily chirping nearby, and the man he loves more than anything in the world is staring at him patiently with those mesmerizing eyes.
Edgar smiles softly and kisses Ranpo once more.
“I believe you with my whole heart, my love.”