#also short reply bc my laptop is about to crap out on me

[ol-razzle-dazazzle]

A shitty old drabble that’s been laying around on my laptop forever, it’s also RanAki/Ranposano? whatever y’all call it, bc I love them and the Poe ep- which the ficcy drabble takes place in

You miss me, don't you?

I can see it in the slits of your eyes, and I know that ever since that day with that horrifying story that you have suffered what I have gone through with your own body.

'The murderer was me.' You said that so confidently, and I knew there was no worry in placing my trust in you. But I couldn't figure that out, and by the time I lay myself on the line it was too late. Oh it makes my arteries quiver to know you saw me like that, dead on the floor.

Oh how I missed you. Even in that phantasmagoric story that felt more like a nightmare, it was the fairytale of my dreams. To think that such things as vile as death would bring us closer again, but I hate it. I hate not doing anything, but deep in my cold heart that bleeds all kind of blood, I was feeling some sadistic pleasure of you suffering with me, with me.

Oh how I miss the caw of your crow-like voice. Your ruffled hair splayed out like the stranded petals of spider lillies. But work made us unable to meet, much like the legend of the leaves and flower. I was busy bringing people to life, leaves raised- basic beauty of life. You were busy with your split-second whims and deduction, figuring and preventing death.

The green fields of your eyes, in the rare occurence that you would open them in front of me, a rarity that a flower of death is every fully alive, the leaves and nectar touching. Just one drink, just one moment, just one chance to hear you scream as you splay yourself on the examination table.

Okay that was a bit sadistic, but I can't help it. I can't help but feel a sullen fascination of grim with you, the occasions where you scream for me as I fix your wounds up. But you shouldn't be that loud, I give you a lollipop after, anyway.

I want to toss it aside, I want to disregard this as a strange occurrence, that will never happen again. We slipped apart, after those years of a meek Agency, lead by a snickering crow. If you were to die, if I were to die- would any of this matter? I don't need you to save me, you don't need to be saved- we're all relative monarchs here, so scrap all the middleschooler crap and let's navigate a train and sometimes intersect with each other.

I miss that. That casual feeling, that ease that came with being with you. I don't care if it's a fuck or a kiss or a hug, I just want you to be beside me. To chatter away, coffee in my hand, some sugary limited edition shake in yours. I want to see your eyes again, I want to feel your hand on mine as you keep telling me that coffee is worse than bleach if you don't have at least 4 spoons of sugar. Where we could just talk shit and shoot the breeze so much the sky has bullet holes.

One, especially a doctor should maintain a professional relationship after all. But...the truth is I already envy you so harshly. The carefree way you hold yourself, that shit-eating grin you get on your face when you 'win' over the most miniscule things. How you can seem so content to be alone yet so cheery and chipper to other people.

Do you feel the need to take people on the train so you feel less alone? I mean, how pathetic! How honest can a man be? But you're one step above me, once again. Whatever, I can still reach things from the top shelf, shithead. A detective like you probably can't even lie anyway.

The problem with that though, is that you know when to hide things. And you do so often.

Fuck it, that's my goal. I want to wipe that smartass smirk off your face, and I want you to look at me, I want to be beside you again, even if it's to shed some reality on that superiority complex.

But you came to me first. Am I that much of a mastermind seductress? You say it's some trivial thing, you  needed to pick up something. Well that's a lie, unless you're picking me up- you brought your bag home with you and oh for heck's sake a half-empty bottle of boiled candy. Congrats. I can only provide a slow, deadpan clap- which in retrospective I should've taken my gloves off for. It's hard to give the same effect.

But then you catch me off guard worse than any murderer satisfied with their delusion of a perfect crime. With a perfectly reasonable sentence, and one that in a perfect world you would ask. The world is by no means perfect nor hopeless, so perhaps this balance was in my favour. "We should talk about what happened."

"What's there to talk about?" I raise an eyebrow, and I see you back off slightly, like really? A shift in the weight of your shoulders, a tiny detail no one who hasn't seen you react in front of a cleaver would notice. You're more like a cat that way.

"Nothing, then." You wave a dismissive hand, and I so desperately want to call you out on your bullshit.

"Don't give me that, I've known you for years, doesn't take deduction." And so I do.

"Well that's it, isn't it?" Cryptic fucker.

"It isn't?" The solution to clear mist away is to add more mist.

"I give up." He shrugs. "I get confused on multiple-negatives and rhetoric questions."

"..." I pout, how ignorant can you get? That is, before I say, "What was it like to watch me die in your arms?" We can't help but laugh, and laugh we do.

"Absolutely terrifying." You snicker, and we know we're both serious. Laughter is genuine, and grim sorrow is as well. "I never expected that I'd care about you so much."

"Ah, is that right?" Inquisitive eyes, and your own open as well. It was only for a second, but I caught it, that fading forest of green.

"Well, of course." A glimmer opens, just one eye.

"You see death all the time." I point out, twisting the fate of your words, to what I want to hear.

"Not with you." The answer comes almost all too instantly, almost indignant of me dying. "Don't ever do that to me again."

"Don't plan on it."

Ah, damn. Too short a reply. We sit in silence once more, and with a heavy heart I feel that distance again with your eye slipping shut.

"You know, it's...strange." You smile again, and I don't play my cards too soon again. "Hmm?"

"Even with everything...I still felt at ease with you. Almost like-" Screw it, this is where I want it. "Old times, huh?" Your eyes flicker open in surprise.  "...Yeah."

"That's why you wanted to talk...right?" Got you. Another smirk. "Of course, but that's not all it." You nod to yourself, psh, as if you ever second-guessed yourself anyway. "I don't want things to go back to the way they used to, and I don't want them to go back to the way they were before Poe came along."

You stand up, and you shrug. "Is this 'love'? I don't know, don't really care, but I just want to be with you." I can't help but look down, and stifle a chuckle. Finally, but I can't help but savour the moment.

"Oh, what happened to 'all's well that's well for me'?"

"Well, I would be well, if you were well with me." A self-assured smirk and a poke on the shoulder.

"You know, I'm pissed." I can't help but sigh. "I wanted to try wiping that smirk off your face. Pity."

"What about a kiss then?" We both say at the same time, and both laugh. "Come on, am I really that predictable?" You put a hand to your head, so overly afraid of the mere notion that you are 'normal'.

Well, I guess it was easier than I thought to do so.

"One problem, your heels, I am not going to stretch myself for a kiss, that's beneath me." "You know what's beneath me?" "Shut up."

A hand settles on my tie, pulling me down slightly. "Better?" I raise an eyebrow.

Your lips press against mine, and when you pull away you have that grin that I adore. "Better."