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"Hello hello! How's everyone this fine evening? Your favourite host is back!" A noisy slurp crackles through the air, mixing with the sizzling and clattering sounds of cooking and dishes and utensils. "This boba tea is fire! I will have Byako buy me more tomorrow. Anyway, my Abstract Algebra professor really made a fool of himself today, you know. Like, stupid with a capital S. I reluctantly graced him and the class with my immense erudition, but sadly, he still didn't admit his defeat. So I had to come up to the board, and-"
Chuuya rolls his eyes, can't help letting out a snort. Seems like everyone is stupid in the Great Detective's eyes, he muses.
As he keeps seasoning his salmon, Chuuya absently listens to the Great Detective's stories, letting the undermodulated and innocent voice echo throughout the quiet apartment.
It was a boring Saturday evening.
Chuuya dragged his feet into the dark and empty apartment. One of his two roommates went home to visit his family that weekend, the other always disappears from Saturday afternoon to late Sunday night. To God knows where, Chuuya didn't care. So he had all the apartment to himself for two whole days.
His inside churned with disappointment. A bit lonely. A bit lost. Don't get him wrong, Chuuya couldn't stand the noise, but he had never liked silence, neither. The kind of silence that is so deafening: quiet to the point that you can hear your own swallowing, the buzzing sound of electric current moving, the even tick tock tick tock, nonstop and maddening, from the second hand of the cheap clock.
He cursed himself. Maybe he was too used to Kunikida's mumbles when studying. Maybe he was too used to those weird ass songs leaking out of Dazai's junk headphones. Maybe he was too used to the complaints about how much of a mess this shared space was, to all the drunken bad-mouthing professors conversations, to the unrelenting pranks and teases.
Chuuya checked his phone and cursed again. Out of battery. Apparently his Lady Luck has decided that a day off sounds nice. Looking left and right, he saw it: the small radio covered in dust, sitting innocently in the corner of the kitchen pantry. Dazai bought it on a whim from… somewhere, and never touched it again. He shrugged, cleaned it off with a tissue, and picked a random frequency. Better than nothing, he guessed.
He was tired. He'd just finished ten continuous periods. He had midterms next week. Shit, he didn't even finish all his papers. He wanted to sleep. But one cannot function on an empty stomach. So he grabbed a pack of instant noodle and started boiling water.
"And then and then, he gave her a yellow carnation. A freaking yellow carnation! Oh this oblivious poor unfortunate soul! I mean, who doesn't know that yellow carnation means disdain and rejection? So she slapped him like 'Bam!', I bet you could even hear it from here."
Chuuya laughed, pleasantly surprised. What an idiot. He turned the volume up.
"After doing a bit of investigate, I found out that they had a kinda big fight three days ago. So he bought the flower from a shop where one of his classmate is working at to make up with his girlfriend. But I swear, that chick, the classmate, I mean, is in love with him. Why else would someone sell a yellow carnation to a dude with girlfriend, right? Nonetheless, why the heck didn't you do your homework before you purchased something!? Tch tch, not even an ounce of effort. A playboy, that one. Personally, I think the girl should also slap his other cheek. For balance, of course."
The radio guy jumped from one topic to another, from this to that gossip. It's like there wasn't anything that he didn't know, no matter how small or big they were. What's the best bakery in town? Ask him. Which part of the library is the most quiet and suitable for studying? Great Detective to the rescue. What do your professors do outside of school hours? He's your guy (but he would leave their names out of those sections).
They were just your everyday stories, really, unassuming and insignificant and random. But there was something in the way he told them, in the staticky but undoubtedly full of childlike excitement voice, in how he strung people along with his flow. As if he was right here, beside Chuuya, like two close friends sharing about their days, natural and familiar.
Chuuya ate dinner, then cleaned up, then completed his assignments, all the while the radio guy talked his ear off in the background.
"Well would you look at that. It's eight already. My time's up, guys!"
Chuuya blinked. And blinked again.
He'd been listening to this guy's nonsense for an hour and a half already?
"I still have a lot to tell you, but gotta pass the mic to someone else. See you again next Saturday night at six, okay? Great Detective's out!"
Chuuya usually spends his free time imagining what kind of a person the Great Detective could be.
Based on his stories, Chuuya's pretty sure he's also an university student. He himself is a third year. Is that guy tall, or short? Younger, older, or same age as him? Do they even go to the same university? Even if they do, do they share any class? What is his hair like? What's the color of his eyes?
Turning on the radio when he steps into the apartment every Saturday night has become Chuuya's new routine. The Great Detective never seems to run out of stories to tell, some are painfully normal, some are just straight up weird and unreal, some even toe the line of uncanny valley, but they're always fascinating. There are days he doesn't say much, and lets the music run its course from jazz to rock to original soundtrack to classical. Each radio session is different, and Chuuya always looks forward to them. They've become something novel yet familiar in his life.
Every time he listens, he pretends there's someone sitting here, talking with him. Someone faceless.
Chuuya sometimes wonders: how can you know someone so well just from the stories they tell.
He likes sweet. He's exceptionally intelligent. Nothing gets past him. He doesn't know how to use the bus or the train or any public transportation in general because according to him, they are unnecessary knowledge. His arrogance makes Chuuya questions whether it's simply ignorance of the outside world or sheer self-confidence. He's so straightforward it borders cruelty and apathy, as if others' feelings don't matter at all, and the truth is the only thing real.
But Chuuya also knows that in reality, he knows nothing about him.
Chuuya is on his merry way to Graphic Design class when he hears that conversation.
"Come on Ranpo-san!" A white hair kid wails, showing off the best puppy eyes he can make, practically glued to the arm of the person he's begging. "Help us with Calculus, please!"
"We will even buy you that milkshake you like from Uzumaki!" His companion, a ginger, Chuuya notes, hugs the person's other arm, the tear that rolls down his cheek looks almost convincing. Almost.
Those two are definitely freshers, he thinks. Calculus is one of the compulsory classes for newcomers here. All in all, they make quite a comical sight. Chuuya wouldn't mind staying to watch this theatrical performance a bit more if he himself weren't in such a hurry. So he turns his head and-
"Yes, yes, your resolve moves me to the core. You are lucky I'm so kind and amazing!"
Something in that voice stops him. Chuuya turns his head back again and looks, truly looks, at the person the boys are attaching themselves to.
Narrow and blunt shoulders, but poised and full of self assurance. Glossy black hair that looks like it lost a fight with the pillow this morning. Even though his eyes are squinted in amusement, Chuuya can still make out the striking color of emerald and spring leaves.
An arrogant smile on his lips.
…Has Chuuya seen this guy somewhere?
"Nakahara Chuuya and Edogawa Ranpo." Hirotsu-sensei reads their name from the attendance sheet. "Since you two are the only ones left, and this group assignment - GROUP, may I repeat - is worth fifty percent of your final grade, so…" A heavy exhale, followed by a tired smile. "…Just, try not bite each other's head off, okay?"
Now Chuuya knows why the guy seems familiar: they share Data Analysis class.
He also kinda gets why Hirotsu-sensei paired them up. Mainly, no one wants to work with Edogawa. He criticises almost everyone and calls them stupid. But he has top score in this class and allegedly every other class he takes, so no one is really in any position to shit talking about him.
And for Chuuya, well, let's just say it's personal experience. No point in having teammates and sharing grades with them when he was the one who did all the work. And that happened twice already, when he was just a naive fresher, heart filled with hope and ambition. He has declined any kind of group invitations and attempts at approaching him since the last time.
When the class ends, Chuuya comes over to the guy's desk.
…Is that a freaking lollipop in his mouth?
"Nakahara Chuuya." He offers his hand. "Looking forward to cooperation."
Edogawa stares at him, eyes indifferent yet so piercing and vivid, even more so with their vibrant green shade, to the point that Chuuya wonders if they can break him apart and reveal his deepest secrets. Then he examines his offered hand, head tilts a bit to the left like a cat, curious and unblinking, the lollipop stick is still poking out of his mouth. The dissonance between two images is so great that Chuuya almost gets a whiplash.
Thirty seconds.
Taking the candy out with his left hand, Edogawa licks his lips, then dainty right hand shakes Chuuya's own.
"Edogawa Ranpo, but just Ranpo is fine. Edogawa sounds so old!" His voice, high and bell-like and childish and sharp. Chuuya's breath hitches momentarily. "I have high expectations of you, Mr. Fancy Hat."
Ranpo seems to know almost everything.
Whenever they have a meet up, he will drag Chuuya to whichever café that will have sales that day. Given the way all customers and employees talk to him, Ranpo's apparently is a regular - a favourite one, even - at every single confectionery shop in this city. Other times, he will show Chuuya a quiet and secluded corner of the library, where they can work on their project and discuss for hours without interruption.
When on breaks, he tells Chuuya about everything and anything, from his enormous mystery novels collection to the drug transaction that happened in that alley (?!) last Thursday. It's like he has eyes everywhere, nothing gets past him, and Chuuya goes home everytime with new knowledges to apply and new stories to remember.
Ranpo is exceptionally intelligent, and surprisingly responsible for someone who looks so carefree and cocky all the time. There're endless ideas in that big head of his, and he always completes his task in time. Chuuya thinks he has every right to be arrogant.
On the down side, Ranpo's sweet tooth does numbers on his wallet. The guy doesn't even know how to use any kind of public transportations.
But then he looks at Ranpo: Ranpo who happily drinks the Ramune Chuuya bought him and play with the marble inside; Ranpo whose eyes lighten up eating the mochi that Chuuya also bought him; Ranpo who tells Chuuya about everything and anything, with a toothy grin on his lips…
Chuuya thinks it's worth it.
"Hey Mr. Fancy Hat."
"What?" Chuuya looks up from his report. Ranpo is absently twirling the mechanical pencil that he stole from him, a smile in his squinted eyes and chocolate cookie crumbs on his lips. Chuuya waits.
"It's not so bad. Working with you, I mean."
Distantly, Chuuya registers the white noise around them: students mumbling, pages turning, wooden shelves creaking. And here they are, in this quiet and secluded corner of the library, Ranpo's voice small and hushed and clear and lilting, echoes through every nook and wall and his ribcage. Outside, birds chirping, leaves rustling, golden crispy light streams through glass panes, warming up the table they're sitting at, and Chuuya feels the sun in his veins.
"…You're not so bad yourself."
"Hey Kunikida, tune the radio to 110Hz for me, will you?" Chuuya asks his roommate, the book Ranpo recommended him last week already bookmarked and closed when he noticed the time.
"Already did it." He can hear the sound of Kunikida cooking in the kitchen, Katsudon, judging by the smell. Dazai cranes his head up from where he is splaying across the floor like an useless starfish that he is to look at him quizzically. One of the rare times this annoying bastard's home.
"Since when did you listen to the radio?"
"Since forever, idiot. You would know if you weren't frolicking around." Kunikida grumbles, as a happy go lucky voice fills the space their apartment.
"…Didn't know you like listening to the Great Detective." Dazai murmurs, a touch of curiosity in his comment. Chuuya stills.
"…You know him?"
"Duh. Well acquainted, even!"
"…What is he like?"
"Hmmmmm." Dazai rubs his chin, seemingly struggling to find the right words. That serious action looks ridiculous, what with his position on the floor. Kunikida kicks him in the shin when he walks by. "A black sheep?" A snap of his fingers. "Yeah, that! A black sheep."
"I don't understand people sometimes."
"What?"
"They say something, but have hidden meanings contradict what they said. Or they say so little, but want others to read between the lines. So what do they want: what they say or what they hide? Why don't they just say it then?"
"…"
"And they don't like it when I point out all those hidden things. But aren't those things what they really want? Even if they don't say it, it's still crystal clear anyway, right?"
"…Not everyone can see things the way you do, you know."
"But it's right there? Wouldn't life be easier if we were all straightforward?"
"Hi guys. This is-" Something sounds like a yawn. "This is supposed to be Bandage's session, as you guys already know. But he's wasted. So-" A decisive clap, followed by breathless giggles. "Here's your favourite host!"
Pure chance. That's what this is.
Three in the morning finds Chuuya in a fist fight with his assignments. Kunikida, the role model that he is, was already deep asleep. He always follows his schedule to a T. Chuuya doesn't comprehend how that guy manages his 4.0 GPA without panda eyes.
And Dazai is… God knows where. Again. He is not awake enough to give a damn.
Chuuya always keeps the radio at 110Hz, considering he's the only one who uses it, anyway. He turned it on around two and a half, when the silence of the night was loud enough to make him go mad.
"Dunno who's crazy enough to be awake at this hour. Dunno what Bandage's usual content is, too. Ahhhhh what to do what to do~"
Great Detective sounds tired. Which is relatable. No sane person is not tired at this time of the day.
"Guess I'm just gonna play some songs I like. It's late- Or is it soon? Nevermind that! Something gentle, maybe? I'm not surprised if there's no one up, anyway."
I'm surprised too, Chuuya thinks to himself. He turns the volume up just a little, doesn't want to disturb his roommate.
"But if there is someone, anyone, listening, then we have until five. Just you and me, yeah?"
Soft and private, like a late night confession. The pen rolls out of Chuuya's palm, forgotten.
Still your everyday stories, mundane and ordinary, about sweets, about his friends, about university life, about little things around him. That how peaceful and beautiful the lake deep inside campus is when the last light fades. That how warm the library's West wing can be when it's winter because the bookshelves there shield wind from blowing in. That the pretty stray cat lives near building C gave birth to three adorable kittens just this Tuesday. In the background, melodic guitar and poetic lyrics harmonize nicely with Great Detective's voice and his stories, gentle and unconditional like a warm embrace.
I am, awake, the only one awake
I see the sun, break out
It slows
No clouds, no crows, no one out, too
Only that you
"It's four and a half already?" Another yawn. "Half an hour left. I've already talked too much to myself. Let's do something different, yeah?"
"…"
"I'm gonna read my number, and yes, I trust whoever is listening to me right now with this information. I bet my life on the belief that no criminal has time to tuning in to a random radio session at this forsaken hour!" Chuuya snorts. "So just call, if you have anything to ask or to share. Not guaranteed to answer all of your questions, but guaranteed to listen. I'm all ears."
Phone already in hand, Chuuya waits for the Great Detective. And when he starts reading his number, Chuuya tracks each digit of the familiar contact on his screen, saved for weeks, remembered and named.
He hesitates.
Then presses call.
One.
Two.
Thre-
"Hi there lovely stranger whom I've never met before. How can I help you?"
"Nothing big, really." Chuuya clears his throat. "Just, one question."
"Go on, then."
What is he like? - A black sheep.
I don't understand people sometimes.
"Have you ever feel lost?"
…
"…"
"Well yeah. I mean, I'm even lost in my own city." Chuuya snorts again. This guy truly is a natural at dry humor. "But I have friends. Quality friends. I always find people hard to understand, but they're really patient with me. Doc helps me with busses and trains. She likes bloody things, dunno why. Byako and Demon Snow buy me sweets, sometimes to bribe me to tutor them, sometimes just because. We will eat them together, anyway. Bandage plays chess with me all the time. He's cool. They're cool. Weird, but cool. I can't imagine if they are different, you know what I mean?" A beat, as if the Great Detective is choosing carefully what he wants to say. "So I think that, if I'm fine with them being weird, then maybe I don't have to change who I am, too."
"…Those are some good friends you have there."
"Right? Besides, I met someone new a while ago. He's cool, too. Good listener. Sharper than a lot of people I've interacted with. I think I've made his wallet thinner, still haven't heard him complain yet. He's also weird, but good weird. Not many people can stand me like that." At this, Chuuya huffs a small laugh, fond and helpless. His chest feels light, and the silence is not so overwhelming anymore.
"Maybe he wants to get to know you better."
"Is that so?"
"…I think he likes you, you know."
"…Maybe."
Chuuya can't see it, but he knows that the Great Detective is smiling, too.
"And it's eight! It's my last session this semester, guys, so a week off for me and all of us. Of course you will have the pleasure to see me again in two weeks. I know, I know. 'How can we survive that long without you, tell us oh the Greatest Detective in the world!'. Well too bad, so sad, you will just have to endure it."
Chuuya has to hold back a snicker. Arrogant brat, like always.
"Before passing the mic to the next host, I have something to say."
Not really paying much attention, thinking that it'll just be his usual nonsensical jokes, Chuuya continues gliding his pen on the notebook. He belatedly realises that Great Detective has been strangely silent for ten seconds.
"Mr. Fancy Hat."
He stops, then turns his head slightly to look at the radio.
"…I hope that next semester, you can keep buying sweets for me."
The pen clatters and rolls on the desk. Head titled back and a hand comes up to rub his reddening face, Chuuya groans loudly, pretending he can't hear Kunikida's exasperated sigh from behind the couch. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Dazai smirking at him. Chuuya groans louder.
This brat just loves to fluster him.