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silvfyre-writings · 1 year

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Tell me a Story, Ranpo-kun Pt. 3 (BSD Fanfic)

Hello, firstly, I'd like to apologize for the obscene length that is this chapter. It uh… ran away from me a bit. Just a bit.

Secondly, I'm adjusting Dazai's age (I will go back and fix that wherever its mentioned in previous chapters). He is a few years older than Ranpo in this fic (honestly, picture him however old you want, really).

Thirdly, I hope you enjoy this chapter and all the fluff I crammed into it! Feel free to like, comment, or reblog if you enjoyed! (Also, this is the first romance I've properly written, so I hope I did okay!)

“Poe-san, how come you’ve never published any of your stories?” Ranpo asks as Poe slowly leads him around his room, helping him to exercise his unused muscles after spending so long lying in bed. It’s only been a few days since the end of the trial, and he’d very much rather be in bed and resting right now—he’d felt drained since the second lap—but Poe had proven to be the more stubborn of the two of them; ignoring Ranpo’s whines and whispering words of encouragement with each successful step that he took.

“Well, um, they aren’t that good?” Poe responds, his words sounding more like he’s asking Ranpo rather than telling him. The nurse ducks his head, but Ranpo’s short enough that it does nothing but show him more of Poe’s slowly reddening face; Poe’s embarrassed, the way he always is whenever he receives praise, almost as if he doesn’t believe he deserves it. It has Ranpo wondering just what kind of life his friend had led if just him commenting on his stories like this is enough to get this kind of reaction.

Ranpo raises an eyebrow and comes to a stop, forcing Poe to do the same. “All the kids that you read to would disagree, as would I. You need to have some more faith in your skills, Poe-san! Your stories are actually worth reading, unlike every other book I’ve tried to read.”

“Uh… thanks? I think.”

“You’re welcome, so, why haven’t you published anything yet?” Ranpo asks again, determined to get to the bottom of this little ‘mystery’ he’s found himself recently involved in. The mystery being that of Poe the writer whose currently studying to be a nurse rather than attempting to put his stories out into the world. Stories that have captured the attention of anyone fortunate enough to hear them. Ranpo firmly believes that if Poe wanted to, he could write for a living, but for some reason he doesn’t and that’s enough to get Ranpo curious about why that is.

Poe sighs, not before tugging Ranpo forwards to coax him into walking again. “I just never gave it much thought. I always enjoyed writing my stories, but I’ve never let anyone read them until I came to Yokohama.”

“How come?”

“N-No reason i-in particular.” Poe says, his voice going quiet, and this time it’s him that stops walking. Ranpo frowns, not liking the way Poe refuses to look at him and hunches in on himself. He can feel the way Poe’s arms tremble underneath his own grip, and Ranpo’s not an idiot to not understand that his friend is getting scared, but he’s not entirely sure why. Ranpo can guess, sure—in fact, he’s pretty confident he’d be able to guess correctly—but does he really want to do that if it ends up making Poe feel worse?

No, he doesn’t.

“Forget it. You don’t need to tell me.” Ranpo squeezes his hands around Poe’s arms gently, and his friend lifts his eyes to look at him, a relieved look on his face. “But if you do ever decide to publish, I want to know, because I’ll be the first one to buy your book! That’s a promise.”

Poe smiles and gives a quiet laugh before he finally takes mercy on Ranpo and guides him back to the bed, helping him get back into it like he always does. “I appreciate the thought, but who knows if I’ll ever do that. But… if you’d like… when I finish writing my next novel, I’ll let you be the first to read it?”

“Really?” Ranpo lights up, excitement filling him at the idea of reading yet another one of Poe’s longer works; stories that don’t often get to see the light of day, or completion.

“Really, Ranpo-san.” A pause. “I’ll take you to lunch when I do and give it to you then.”

“Okay! You better finish it then, because I’m holding you to that promise!”

Both their faces are tinted pink when Poe excuses himself and leaves.

Ranpo’s felt better than he has in months and while there’s still lingering regret clinging to him about dropping out of the trial, he still thinks he’s done the right thing in doing so. The first week after dropping out, he’d done nothing much other than sleep. It had almost been as if his body had realized it didn’t have to fight anymore, and had promptly just… stopped. His joints hadn’t burnt, his stomach hadn’t rolled, and his head had been quiet. The only thing that had remained was the exhaustion, but after sleeping almost nonstop for two days, even that had begun to leave him.

The first week, he hadn’t been left alone either; partially because of the things he’d said during his breakdown, and partially because those closest to him were worried about him. Fukuzawa and Dazai had commandeered the chair and bed respectively, being just the quiet company that Ranpo appreciated. They didn’t speak to him unless he spoke first, which he only did when he knew they’d been sitting there for hours; telling them to get out and actually go outside before they ended up in beds themselves. Yosano and Poe were equally as present as well; Yosano checking in on him every few hours, and Poe coming by every time he was on break, reading his newest story to him, or just telling him something exciting that had happened on his shift. Even Nakahara swung by occasionally, but that was usually to make sure Dazai was actually still alive, or to talk to Ranpo about his feelings.

Yeah, he hadn’t been overly fond of that.

Normally, Ranpo would’ve felt smothered in such a situation—had in previous ones—but this time he didn’t. Sure, having people by his side constantly was a little irritating, but these were people that cared for him, that had dropped everything to make sure he was alright during the times he very much, was not. These were people that had been equally as stressed and scared as he was during these past few months, and if sitting by his bedside was what it took to soothe and reassure them, Ranpo wasn’t going to complain. Audibly at least.

The start of the second week was where the world started turning again.

Of all the things he’d been expecting, Ranpo hadn’t expected Fitzgerald to come into his room and apologize. The man had gone full throttle, kneeling on the ground, and bowing towards Ranpo as he apologized for the way he’d treated him during the trial. Ranpo had been on edge the entire time as the doctor explained himself—all the while saying it was not an excuse for his actions, but the reason why they occurred in the first place… which Ranpo did appreciate, and said as such. In no way, shape, or form, did Ranpo forgive Fitzgerald—he probably never would—but he did accept the apology, and Fitzgerald had left as quick as he’d come.

He hadn’t seen the man since.

“Ranpo? Are you alright?” He’s drawn out of his memories by Fukuzawa’s arrival. His guardian is standing in the doorway, a bag in hand that smells absolutely delicious. Oh, that’s right. Fukuzawa had mentioned something about having lunch together when he’d last visited. Ranpo sits up in the bed and makes space so that Fukuzawa can sit across from him.

“Just thinking.” Ranpo says, patting the space in front of him. Fukuzawa walks over and sits on the bed, placing the bag in between them. Ranpo’s quick to open it, and his eyes light up upon seeing that Fukuzawa’s brought him his favorite dish from the café. He goes to take the container, only to have his hands slapped away.

“Patience.” Fukuzawa says, pulling everything out of the bag before flattening it to use as a makeshift table. Only then, does he let Ranpo take the food and begin eating. “What were you thinking about?”

“Fitzgerald-san’s apology. I still don’t know how to really feel about it.” Ranpo answers as he shovels food into his mouth. It’s been far too long since he’s been allowed to eat something that isn’t hospital food, or sanctioned by Yosano, so to finally be able to taste Fukuzawa’s cooking; he’s going to treasure this moment for the rest of time. “Does Yosano-sensei know you brought me food?”

“Yes, she does. I thought him apologizing was a good thing?” Fukuzawa asks, eating his own meal at a much slower pace. He looks only mildly disgusted with how fast Ranpo is eating.

“Well, yeah, it is, I guess.” Ranpo stops eating to think it over, putting the words together in his head before he says them out loud. “He did something wrong, so he apologized. I just… why didn’t he notice? Yosano-sensei always notices, so why didn’t he?”

“Why didn’t you tell him you weren’t ready in the first place?” Fukuzawa raises a brow at him. From anyone else, the question could be found rude or harsh, but coming from Fukuzawa, it was just a gentle inquiry; his guardian had always been that way, never judging and never getting upset when he fails to understand Ranpo’s thoughts. All he’s ever done was try and understand. “Fitzgerald-sensei has not known you for as long as Yosano-sensei has.”

“I—” Ranpo hesitates, and he picks at his food with his chopsticks to avoid meeting Fukuzawa’s eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You do, you—”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Ranpo interrupts before the conversation can delve into territory he’s not familiar with. He should’ve realized that Fukuzawa would try to question him eventually, that it was inevitable. The man had avoided asking his own questions for weeks now—more focused on being there when Ranpo needed the support—so it had only been a matter of time before they finally broke free of the cage they’d been locked in. That doesn’t mean Ranpo’s going to avoid it for as long as he can.

Which, of course, means that Fukuzawa is also not going to let up on it. Not this time. “We have to talk about it, Ranpo. You’ve avoided the topic for three years now, we need to talk about it. I don’t mind how long it takes, but this is something we should’ve spoken about much sooner, because, Ranpo, you are not a burden on anyone.”

But I am… Ranpo fidgets restlessly, still avoiding eye contact. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t think he can—and hears Fukuzawa sigh into the silence; it’s not a sigh of frustration or anger, it’s one of quiet acceptance, that shows that Fukuzawa understands Ranpo doesn’t believe his words even though he’s heard them said thousands of times.

“Do you remember the day you came into my care?” Fukuzawa asks suddenly, and Ranpo finally looks up, a questioning look on his face. He shakes his head slowly—the only thing he remembers from the day Fukuzawa is talking about, is waking up in hospital to learn his parents had just died and that some random man he didn’t know was going to take care of him—uncertain why his guardian is bringing that day up now of all times. Fukuzawa continues, “I was in the ER for a kitchen mishap when you were rushed past me, barely breathing—dying.”

Ranpo listens carefully. This is something he’s never heard before.

“There was an argument between the doctors because they weren’t sure whether it was worth trying to operate or not considering the condition you were in.” Fukuzawa pauses and frowns, his hands clutched together tightly at the memory. “I didn’t know about your illness beforehand, so I couldn’t understand why they were even arguing in the first place. You, a child, was bleeding out, and no one was doing anything. There should never have been any question about whether you were worth saving or not.”

“What did you do?” Ranpo whispers, his own eyes wide at the story.

Fukuzawa gives him a look as if the answer is obvious—which it is, but still—and answers him anyway. “I couldn’t just sit by and watch. It wasn’t like everyone in the ER wasn’t already listening to them anyway, so I went up to the doctors and asked them what the problem was. They told me you needed surgery, but survival chances were low, so what was the point? You could feel the tension in the room when they said that. I got mad at that point, accused them of being terrible doctors, and that this was a child’s life they were arguing over.

They tried to argue back that the damage was too great, that you’d already been admitted to the hospital the prior week—not good enough reasons to just let someone die if you ask me. Then they brought up your parents, saying that if they operated and you did survive, there would be no one to take care of you because they’d died in the accident. They tried to justify letting you die as a merciful death. I refused. I had no reason to do so, but I told the doctors that you did have someone; you had me, and I’d take responsibility. They weren’t happy, but they did operate.”

“I—what—why?” Ranpo sputters out once Fukuzawa finishes his story. He’d known there’d been a disagreement back then, but no one had ever told him what it was about; he’d thought it’d been about the cost of the surgery that had saved him this whole time. To learn that Fukuzawa, who’d just happened to be in the hospital that day, had seen him, not even known him or his history, and still take responsibility for him was incomprehensible. “Why did you do that? You didn’t even know me.”

“It didn’t matter. You were a boy that needed help, that needed someone to advocate for you, and no one else seemed inclined to do so.” Fukuzawa reached over and gently held one of Ranpo’s hands in his own, bigger ones. “I have never regretted my actions that day, Ranpo.”

“But what about now?” Ranpo asks.

“What do you mean?”

“The—the bills! All these hospital visits and treatments, and—and just the cost of caring for someone like me. All I’ve ever done is take your money and your time, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to give that back.” He can’t stop the tears from forming, but he does scrub at his eyes to prevent them from falling. “All I do is worry and burden the people around me. I don’t understand why they bother, why they care—”

“Because you’re worth it, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa interrupts, moving the remains of their meal off the bed so that he can shift closer and draw Ranpo into a hug. His guardian drops his head to rest on top of Ranpo’s own. “Yes, it is hard at times, when back-to-back visits build up the bills, but they are nothing compared to the utter relief it is when you are being given the care you need and deserve. Seeing you able to smile and be happy brings me more joy than money ever could.”

Ranpo lets out a sob and buries his face into Fukuzawa’s chest.

Fukuzawa draws him closer, and whispers into his hair. “You’ve never been a burden, Ranpo, and you never will be. Just be you, and let the adults worry about everything else.”

“I’ll—I’ll pay you back one day.” Ranpo says through his tears. “For everything.”

“If you feel you must. But know, that I don’t expect you to.”

Ranpo is in a light doze against Fukuzawa’s chest when Yosano comes into the room, tired out from crying. He jerks when his doctor clears her throat, alert and awake as he blinks the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. As he lets out a yawn, he studies Yosano carefully; she’d already been by that morning to check on his condition, so he’s not entirely sure why she’s here. His heart speeds up momentarily, as the thought that his latest test results have caught a problem, crosses his mind.

“Relax, Ranpo, nothings wrong.” Yosano smiles at him as she takes a seat in the chair, glancing down at her clipboard as she thinks over her next words. It’s only a few seconds before she looks up again. “I came to talk to you and Fukuzawa about what the plan is from here on out. Nakahara finally gave me the all clear to actually do that now.”

“You aren’t putting Ranpo back on the trial are you?” Fukuzawa asks, and Ranpo can’t help but reach over to grip at the man’s sleeve at his question; he doesn’t have the words in him to express how much he doesn’t want that. He knows that he’s been promised that his wishes have been listened to, that the hospital cannot force him to continue now that he’s dropped out and signed the paperwork for it, but there’s still the lingering fear that they will.

Yosano’s quick to shake her head, and Ranpo relaxes. “No, no, nothing like that. Ranpo’s already told us no, and that’s that. This is about what we need to do so that we can send get him discharged actually. During the trial, we had to change up his meds at times to work around the drug and his flare ups, and I’ve finally had the chance to read over the results we gathered because of that. I believe that with some different medication, we can manage Ranpo’s condition better and keep him out of the hospital for longer.”

Ranpo lets himself feel a little bit of hope at the idea of going home.

“Why hasn’t this been an option before now?” Fukuzawa asks, accepting the information packet that Yosano hands to him and beginning to flip through it. He sounds hesitant about what he’s being told, which makes sense, since if there was a better treatment all this time, why wasn’t Ranpo being given it in the first place?

“Some of the medications listed are hard to get a hold of—” expensive is unsaid, but it’s obvious what Yosano means “—but mostly it was because of Ranpo’s age. But now that he’s what most other countries consider a ‘legal adult,’ he can access them now.”

Yosano looks a bit upset at saying that; it’s a harsh reminder that because of the trial, specifically, when he’d caught that infection from surgery, that Ranpo had missed his eighteenth birthday. Not that Ranpo had cared too much about it; he’d had much bigger problems to deal with at the time, but everyone around him always looked guilty or sad whenever it was brought up. Sure, Ranpo would’ve liked to have celebrated or done something like he had for his seventeenth birthday, but it wasn’t the end of the world. It was just a birthday; they could do something bigger and better for his next one if it really mattered.

“Okay, so… I get new meds, and if they do the same as the old ones… I go home?” Ranpo asks. “What if they don’t work? Do I not get to leave?”

“You’ll still get to go home regardless of whether the new meds work or not. The new ones have better management qualities in those with chronic illness.” Yosano explains. “For example, whenever you go through those pain flare ups, sometimes the old meds don’t work and you have to be brought in, right?”

Ranpo nods.

“Well, these new ones would work in a way to bring the pain down to a level that you could stay at home and deal with it rather than be brought in. Instead of a week of pain, you’d be dealing with… a few days. That’s the theory at least.”

“Is that all they’d do? Just manage the pain when it comes?” Ranpo would ideally like no problems at all, but he thinks that dealing with a few days of his joints and muscles screaming at him instead of however long the episodes usually last, is still the better option.

“Not just that. They’ll help strengthen your immune system, and combat that fatigue we’ve never really been able to get a handle on.” Yosano leans closer, the smile on her face growing. “You’d still need to be careful, but you’d be able to go outside, Ranpo. You’d be able to do things.”

“I could… do things?” Ranpo says slowly, turning the words over in his mind as well as speaking them aloud. It sounds like a dream come true, and he’d wear all the masks and jackets in the world if what Yosano was offering him was to actually become his new reality. All he’d ever wanted as a chance to live a somewhat normal life; as much as jokes about calling the hospital his second home, he’d really like to not return to it.

“Yes, you could do things. And when the drug we were trialling goes onto the market—which it will, because I know it will; we’ll switch you over to it, and then you wouldn’t have to come back to hospital at all unless you had severe episode.” Yosano says, pushing herself up from the chair and straightening her coat out with a few brushes. “I’ll send Poe by later with the paperwork you’ll need to sign approving the changes, Fukuzawa-san, and if it all goes well, Ranpo should be good to leave in a few days.”

Fukuzawa hums, still reading, so Ranpo takes it upon himself to respond. “Thank you, Yosano-sensei.”

“No need to thank me. Just do your part in staying out of this hospital, okay?” Yosano says. Ranpo nods and Yosano ruffles his hair the way she always has when she’s feeling good about his situation before leaving, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

“Oh.”

“What is it?” Ranpo looks up, and upon seeing Fukuzawa’s wide eyes, he tries to see just what his guardian has read. “What? Is it bad?”

“No, no, it’s not bad. In fact, it’s good.” Fukuzawa folds the paper up and tucks it into his pocket, away from Ranpo’s prying eyes. The man looks down at him and smiles, his eyes going soft. “You have a good friend looking out for you, that’s all.”

The day of Ranpo’s discharge came sooner than he thought it would, and after one final check-up from Yosano, he was free to leave and go home. And while he was glad to finally be leaving, he was also a little sad, and scared. It’d been months since he’d set foot in Fukuzawa’s café, and he was a little worried it wouldn’t be the same as it had been the last time he’d been there; he knew it wouldn’t because he would’ve been told of any changes, but it was still a thought that he couldn’t stop from crossing his mind. It was also hard, to be leaving behind the people that had been a constant presence in his life for those months as well; he’d see Fukuzawa and Dazai obviously, and by extension, Nakahara, but as for Yosano, he’d probably only see her if he needed to come back to hospital. As for Poe… well, Ranpo was a bit unsure on that front.

He wanted to see Poe again; they were friends after all, but would he? Poe had promised him lunch when he finished writing his next story, Ranpo knew that and very much remembered it, but who knew how long that would take. And what if Poe never finished it? Over the past months, Ranpo had born witness to several of Poe’s unfinished works; stories that were never finished because they were scribbled in a quick break between patients, or because their creator had lost inspiration halfway through and gone on to write something else. If that happened, then there was a very good chance that he wouldn’t see Poe for some time.

That couldn’t happen.

“Poe-kun, give me your number!” Ranpo shouts the moment Poe walks into his room, ignoring the stunned look he’s given in exchange for grabbing onto Poe’s hands and dragging him further inside it. “They’re discharging me today, so I have to have a way to make sure you keep your promise of letting me read your next novel!”

Poe stares at him for a moment. Then. “Poe-kun?”

“Ugh, that’s what you’re caught up on? Yes, Poe-kun. Because we’re friends after all!”

“So… Ranpo…k-kun?” Poe stumbles over the honorific, clearly uncertain as to whether or not it’s okay for him to actually be using it in regards to him. Ranpo nods. “And Ranpo-kun… wants my number?”

“Yes, that’s what I said. You took your time getting to that conclusion. You’re slacking” Ranpo rolls his eyes and practically shoves his phone into Poe’s chest, Poe only just managing to prevent himself from dropping the device.

“I am not, I was just surprised.” Poe says defensively, punching in his details into Ranpo’s phone anyway. Once he’s finished, he hands the phone back to Ranpo and suddenly looks nervous. “I was going to give you my number before you left anyway, and uh, ask if you w-wanted to get l-lunch next weekend? If y-you feel well enough that is.” Poe pauses and takes a breathe, some of his nervousness disappearing. “I know I said I’d take you when I finished my novel, but I don’t know when that’ll be, and, well, we’re friends, so we should see each other more often don’t you think?”

Now it’s Ranpo’s turn to be surprised, and he’s pretty sure his face is starting to turn red if the heat in his cheeks is anything to go by. “Yes, of course. Next weekend sounds good. Definitely. It’ll be fun.”

“Only if you feel well enough.”

“Only if I feel well enough.”

An awkward silence follows Ranpo’s words, before Poe coughs. “A-Anyway, I came to let you know that Fukuzawa-san’s on his way, and that once he’s here, you’re free to go home. Do you—do you need help packing your belongings?”

Ranpo gestures towards the bag that’s sitting on his bed, already packed, and ready to go. He’d packed up everything the moment Yosano had come by and told him the news, admittedly, a little excited at the prospect of going home. “I’m ready to go, but you’re welcome to stay if you want. I was just going to play a game while I waited.”

Poe doesn’t say anything, only makes his way over to the bed and sits on the edge of it, patting the spot beside him. Ranpo can’t help but grin as he hops up beside him, console in hand as he starts chattering about the new game he’s just started; Poe looked more and more confused the more Ranpo talked, but still leans over to see the screen and watch him play, asking the occasional question about the plot or one of the characters.

It’s reminiscent of all the times that Ranpo had sat on this very bed and listened as Poe told him a story, only this time, it’s the opposite and it’s Ranpo telling the story—well, part of it at least. There is a bit of a difference between a novel and a video game when it comes to story and the way that books and games tell those stories, but fundamentally, both still end up following the same rules. Ranpo definitely prefers the storytelling of the few games he’s been able to play over books—sans Poe’s books, of course—because he’s always found it easier to follow along when the characters are in front of him doing the actions he needs to visualize himself whenever he reads a book.

As far as he knows, Poe’s the opposite; preferring books over anything else, finding joy in using that amazing mind of his to spin the narrative together with characters and scenes that only he could see. Poe had explained it to him once, that reading a book was much like watching a movie to him; he was able to visualize the characters and the actions they took within the story, in his mind. It was fascinating, and Ranpo was in awe of such a skill; he certainly couldn’t do that. Maybe he’d be more inclined to read books if he could.

The two of them sit in silence until Fukuzawa comes by to collect Ranpo, and then Ranpo is giving Poe a hug, promising that he’ll make sure he’s well enough to meet up the following weekend, and then he’s finally walking out of the hospital to go home.

And hopefully, it’ll be a long time before he sets foot in there.

-----

Ranpo’s excited to be home, and he makes it known by greeting Atsushi and Kyouka with a massive grin on his face, and by also greeting each of the cats—from a respectable distance of course—but he’s mostly feeling excited by his newfound freedom. Already, he’s making internal plans of what he can do and what he wants to do. Lunch with Poe is at the top of the list, but he’d also like to visit the graves of his parents as well. It’s been a long time since he’s made the trip out to his hometown, and it’s never an easy one to make; Fukuzawa has to come with him, since Ranpo has no idea where he’s going otherwise, and they usually have to shut the café for a day longer than it usually is—meaning unhappy customers and lost money.

But he thinks that just this once, it’ll be okay if he asks that of his guardian.

For now though, Ranpo wanders his room, emptying his bags and putting his belongings back where they were supposed to go. It doesn’t take long on account of Ranpo not having had a lot of things with him when he’d entered the hospital, so he ends up occupying some time by just rearranging things, but that doesn’t hold his interest for long, and that’s when he decides to reread Poe’s novel; finding it doesn’t take long to find it, and soon he’s stretched out on his bed with the book in front of him, reading over words he’d already read once before.

He's barely a few pages in when his eyes slip shut and his head falls to pillow against the book, sleep coming for him now that the excitement’s wearing off.

Just before he slips off into slumber, he hears a quiet knock that gets aborted halfway through, followed by equally quiet footsteps. He feels a blanket get pulled over him, and the book is replaced with an actual pillow.

Ranpo lets out a content sigh, and sleeps.

“Is Poe-san coming here, or am I dropping you off at the meeting place?” Fukuzawa asks him when the weekend he’s supposed to meet with Poe comes around after what felt like the longest week in Ranpo’s life.

Ranpo shakes his head from the chair he’s sitting on, next to where Fukuzawa’s busy making coffee for his customers, so that they can converse without needing to shout across the room at each other. Which has happened before. Many times. “Poe-kun’s coming here. Apparently where we’re going is close by, so we’ll just walk.”

Fukuzawa hums, calling out an order; it’s the last one of the rush, and the café falls into a peaceful silence. The man wipes his hands against his apron before facing Ranpo. “The weather’s getting colder now, so make sure you have a jacket. And a mask. And did—”

“I took my meds already at breakfast.” Ranpo interrupts before his guardian can get started on what Ranpo likes to call the ‘worrying parent’ tangent. He holds up the thick jacket that’s almost as big as he is that he’d dug out of his closet that morning as well. “I’ve got this, plus all the other layers I’m wearing, so stop stressing so much, Fukuzawa. It’s just lunch, I’ll be fine. And if, by some chance, I’m not, then Poe-kun will be there.”

Fukuzawa sighs and closes his eyes, thinking hard about something before he opens them again, looking less stressed than before. “I’ll always worry, Ranpo, but you are right—"

“I always am.” Ranpo grins and ignores the unimpressed look he’s given as Fukuzawa continues.

“—just be careful, alright? And have a good time.”

This time, Ranpo lets himself smile gently; it’s his way of showing Fukuzawa that he appreciates what he’s being told, even if he thinks it’s stupid. “I will.”

The bell above the door jingles at the moment, and Ranpo swivels his head towards the noise, along with everyone else that’s been conditioned to do so. Poe stands frozen in the doorway as several sets of eyes land on him, and hunches in on himself in just a few seconds; yet he doesn’t move from the doorway. Ranpo recognizes the behaviour it for what it is—fear, because Poe, despite working in a field where he has to deal with people on a daily basis, fears the spotlight. And Ranpo knows that if he doesn’t do something to make Poe snap out of it, then there’s a very high chance that they wouldn’t be going to lunch at all.

“Poe-kun! You’re letting the cold air in! Come here!” Ranpo waves, and just like that, the eyes disappear as they return to what they were previously doing, and Poe relaxes before striding over to stand beside him; the writer dressed up nicely in denim pants and black jacket. Poe’s hair covers his face like it always does, but he’s taken the time to somewhat tame it so that at least one of his eyes his visible.

Ranpo likes it.

“You look well, Ranpo-kun. Are you ready to go?” Poe asks him with a nervous smile, hands fidgeting within his pockets.

Ranpo nods and pretty much throws himself off the chair, threading his arm through Poe’s own and dragging the older man out the door behind him. “Of course I am! Let’s go! Bye Fukuzawa, see you later!”

A farewell is called after them as the door shuts.

“Ah, R-Ranpo-kun! Wait! This isn’t the way we’re supposed to go!” Poe manages to free his arm and grabs onto Ranpo’s hand instead, pulling the both to a halt in the middle of the street. Ranpo watches as Poe takes a minute to catch his breath, his friend pointing in the opposite direction that they’d been heading. “Lunch is that way.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Ranpo gives a sheepish grin, turning on his heel and walking in the correct direction despite not actually knowing where it was they were going to eat.

“You didn’t give me a chance to.” Poe sighs as he follows along, his long legs allowing him to quickly overtake Ranpo and take the lead. He can feel Poe’s eyes on him as they walk, and it only takes a moment for the writer to say what’s on his mind. “Don’t you have a mask?”

Ranpo groans, reluctantly pulling one from his pocket and placing it over his face. He’s really looking forward to the day where he no longer has to worry about wearing one, and also having people badger him about wearing one. There’s a lot he hates about them, from the material used to the way it feels like there’s a hand covering his mouth. But there’s also things he likes, such as how they are sometimes the only thing that keeps him from catching a cold in the middle of winter when everyone around him has sniffly noses and hacking coughs. There’s also the added bonus of them scaring people away—nobody wants to approach someone that’s sick after all.

“Where are we going, anyway, Poe-kun?” Ranpo asks after they’ve walked down a few streets. “You said it wasn’t far.”

“It’s not.” Poe reassures him, his phone held in front of him with its trusty maps app open and handy. “Just two more streets, promise.”

As it turns out, Poe has an amazing taste in restaurants; he’s picked a quiet place that looks far too fancy for Ranpo to ever be able to afford—he’s starting to think Poe’s rich or something—yet also somehow not. If it weren’t for the menu taped to the front door showing the high prices, Ranpo would’ve just assumed it was like every other food place in this neighbourhood; tacky, with equally as tacky food to go with it. Ranpo had opened his mouth when they’d arrived to say something, only to have Poe cover it with his hand, stopping him from saying.

“Let us get inside before you start judging.” Poe had told him, and had then proceeded to hold the door open for him like the gentleman that he was. Ranpo was just glad that his jacket’s collar was high enough that he could duck his head to hide the growing blush on his face at the gesture, but from the knowing look on Poe’s face, he’d failed spectacularly.

The inside of the restaurant is much more impressive compared to the outside, and Ranpo lets his mouth drop open in surprise. The inside was massive compared to the entrance; a short hallway opening up into a massive room that was already bustling with people. And then Ranpo looked up and saw the extravagant glassware that adorned the ceiling and he just about felt himself pass away on the spot. “Poe-kun, where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Poe says, looking just as surprised as Ranpo. “Nakahara-san recommended it to me when I asked about places for lunch. I didn’t expect something so… fancy.”

“And the menu on the front door gave nothing away?”

“I… did not see a menu.” Poe says just as a staff member approaches them, a welcoming look on their face. Ranpo ducks behind Poe to hide, more than content to let the older deal with conversing with the staff; he’d probably offend them and get them kicked out if he was allowed to speak. He can already see how, despite the smile on the waiter’s face, that they look like they’d rather be anywhere else.

“Hi! Do you have a booking? I’m afraid we’re all booked out if you don’t.” The waiter says, sliding behind the counter and pulling out a ledger that looks heavier than any book he’s seen in his life.

“Uh, y-yes, we do.” Poe stumbles over his words. “Under Poe… I think.”

“You think?” Ranpo whispers harshly. He swears that if Poe’s brought them both to a place neither of them know and didn’t make a booking, he’s going to abandon the man and run home. Well, speed walk, really. He didn’t sign up to do a walk of shame, not today.

Poe frowns at Ranpo’s tone, but doesn’t look at him as he whispers back. “Nakahara-san said he’d deal with it. He just gave me a time, an address, and a vaguely threatening message that I better show up.”

Of course he did, that’s what Nakahara does. Ranpo thinks just as the waiter seems to find what he’s looking for, glancing up from the ledger. “Edgar Poe?”

“Yes?” Poe squeaks, his attention returning to the person in front of them. It only takes a second for him to regain what little composure he had to begin with to stand tall and confident. “That’s me.”

“Right this way then, Poe-san.” The waiter comes to stand in front of them and bows before turning on his heel and walking into the dining room. Poe stands there, frozen, and it’s not until Ranpo gives him a light shove that the man actually begins to move.

Ranpo takes the chance to look around as they follow the waiter, and notices that while he and Poe are dressed nicely, the other people dining are dressed much nicer, and he’s seriously questioning just what kind of place Nakahara’s sent them to if this is the standard. Ranpo vows to hound Dazai about it later; his friend no doubt knowing just what kind of tastes Nakahara has in places he eats out at.

A few of the guests glance up as they walk past, but most of them go right back to their conversations; a couple openly stare at Ranpo specifically with uneasy looks that make him shift a bit closer towards Poe who seems to sense Ranpo’s unease and allows him to walk in front, hiding him from prying eyes with his massive height. Ranpo knows why they are staring of course; he may be in good health now, but there’s never been any hiding the fact he’s sick. Pale skin and thin limbs, and the mask on his face, all point towards signs of him being ill. But, Ranpo stands tall regardless, refusing to let the opinions of strangers bother him. He’s here to have a good time, and that’s what he’ll do.

“Here we are.” The waiter says, and suddenly it makes sense why Nakahara had made the booking on Poe’s behalf. They’ve been led to what Ranpo had first thought was just a decorative wall at the back of the restaurant, but is actually a series of booths hidden behind sliding doors. Privacy, for the two people that dislike being under scrutiny by strangers.

Screw hounding Dazai, Ranpo’s going straight to Nakahara and interrogating him about this place.

“Thank you.” Poe says, and it’s his turn to push at Ranpo’s back to get him to sit down. “Um… how does this place work…?”

“I’ll bring you guys some water and then come around in about ten minutes time to take your orders if you are ready.” The waiter explains. They gesture towards a button against the wall. “If you are ready to order before I get back, then just press the buzzer and someone will come to take care of you.”

“Thank you.” Poe says and the waiter leaves them alone, sliding the door shut behind them.

“Next time,” Ranpo begins as he begins to flick through one of the menus, “we’ll look for somewhere to eat ourselves rather than rely on Nakahara.”

“Agreed.” Poe sighs, and he looks at the menu. “Ah.”

“Is something wrong?” Ranpo looks up and sees his friend frowning at the menu. He looks back down at the menu himself to try and see just what it is that’s got Poe looking the way he is, but can’t see a problem.

“The menu is in Kanji.”

Oh. Now he knew what was bothering Poe. Ranpo grins from behind the menu. “I distinctly remember someone telling me over a year ago about how they had no problems reading Japanese. Was that a lie, Poe-kun?”

Poe glares at him from across the table, although he’s not genuinely mad; it’s merely an automatic response to Ranpo’s teasing tone. “I learnt the basics, Ranpo-kun. Nowhere in my studies did it tell me I’d be eating at a high-end restaurant that has only obscure Kanji on the menu. Everywhere else I’ve been uses Hiragana or Katakana. Or English.”

“Well maybe if you ask the waiter nicely, he’ll find an English menu for you.” Ranpo suggests, only half-joking, but before he’s even finished speaking, Poe’s leaning over and pushing the buzzer, a look of sheer determination on his face. “I was joking.”

“I know, but it’s a good idea. Most places this expensive will have a menu for foreigners, even if they don’t advertise it.” The door slides open at that moment, and the waiter pokes their head into the room. Poe’s determination fades into a sheepish look. “Uh, sorry, but do you have a menu in English? Or uh… something that’s not… Kanji?”

The waiter frowns, thinking hard before their face brightens and they nod. “We do, in fact. I’ll bring one right over.”

“Thank you.” Poe breathes, relieved, and Ranpo lets out a laugh, which gets him a gentle kick in the shin from under the table.

The waiter returns with a new menu, and the water as they’d promised earlier, before leaving again. With a new menu in hand, Poe begins to read, eyes reading at a much faster pace than they had been before. Ranpo stares for just a moment; there’s no way he could ever read that fast, before he drags his gaze back down the menu, finally taking the time to properly read it.

And gawks at the prices.

“Is Nakahara trying to bankrupt us?” Ranpo asks, a little worried on how he’s meant to pay for his lunch. The beef ramen alone—one of the simplest dishes on the menu—easily costs twice as much as the one Fukuzawa makes at his own place. That beef better be from a golden cow for that price.

Poe frowns, leaning over to see what Ranpo’s looking at before finding it on his own menu. “It’s not that bad. It’s probably got some high-quality ingredients. I’ve certainly seen pricier than this.”

“Pricier? Just where are you eating that beef ramen costs over twelve thousand yen?”

“There’s a restaurant in America that has ramen for over twenty thousand yen.” Poe says, as if twenty thousand yen is just pocket change for him, which Ranpo’s starting to think it is. Poe has a confused look on his face, like he can’t quite understand why Ranpo’s so horrified at the cost of what is a simple meal in his home country.

“You know that’s basically robbery right?” Ranpo says. “Most places that sell ramen, don’t sell it for more than two thousand yen. Just how rich are you, Poe-kun?”

Poe’s face begins to turn read, and the man fumbles with his words before he inevitably hides behind the menu, and mumbles around it. “I suppose when you think about it… I could be considered… wealthy.”

“I’ll say, if you’re eating twenty-thousand-yen ramen on a regular basis.” Ranpo says as he continues to find something he’d like to eat. He’s doing his best to ignore the prices, somewhat hoping that Poe will pay for this, and he can pay the man back at a later date. “Next, you’ll be telling me you live in a big mansion back in America with a bunch of servants that take care of everything.”

Poe doesn’t say anything.

“Oh my God, you do.” Ranpo drops his menu and openly stares at Poe in shock; Poe’s shoulders rise up and the menu in his hands moves up to hide his face completely from view. Ranpo can see that Poe’s starting to get embarrassed, but he’s too curious to stop himself from asking, “is it a big mansion? How many servants? What do you do all day? How did you get so rich—”

“Ranpo-kun.”

“—what’s it even like, being that rich? Is it like all those movies with lots of arrogant people and dances? Or is it dinner parties? Oh wait, don’t rich people have—”

“Ranpo-kun!” Poe doesn’t shout—he’s never shouted—but his voice is raised as he interrupts Ranpo’s rambling, strained, and it’s enough to stop Ranpo immediately as he looks over at his friend. “P-Please, stop. I-I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ranpo takes a moment to study Poe, how tense his body is, and the way he his knuckles are white as he grips the menu. He can’t see Poe’s face, but he doesn’t need to, to know that it’ll be red and pinched in distress. It reminds him of that time in the hospital when Ranpo had asked his friend about why he never published anything, and he feels a twinge of guilt at the thought of scaring Poe like that for a second time. Ranpo leans over and taps a finger against the back of Poe’s hand until his friend peeks over at him. “Alright, it’s dropped.”

And just like that, the tension vanishes from Poe’s shoulders and he looks much happier. “Have you d-decided on what you want, y-yet? There’s, uh, lots of choices here.”

“Half of these I’ve never eaten before.” Ranpo says with a frown. There’s plenty of foods on the menu he’d be more than happy to eat, the main issue he’s facing in picking something that his body is going to agree with—and that he likes.

“I’m sure Nakahara-san wouldn’t have recommended this place if you couldn’t eat anything here.” Poe responds as if he’d read Ranpo’s mind. He leans over the table to look at Ranpo’s own menu and points at the ramen that had started their conversation earlier. “Why not just get that if you aren’t sure? It’s something you know, and something you can eat.”

Ranpo hums, considering it. But… “It’s expensive.”

Poe just raises his eyebrows at him, as if Ranpo’s just said something stupid. “Ranpo-kun, I’m paying.”

“Oh, well, okay then!”

This is nice. Ranpo thinks while they eat their respective meals. In the end, he had gone for the ramen as Poe had suggested, while Poe had chosen something Ranpo had never heard of before. He would’ve asked when the dish came out, but he’d taken one look at it and decided it was best he remain ignorant. It looked like a pancake in a bowl to him, and that was as much as he was willing to figure out.

But he would remain curious nonetheless.

They eat in silence, taking the time to enjoy their meals and each other’s company; Ranpo’s never understood why people talk while they eat when there’s plenty of time to do so before and after eating. No one wants to see half-chewed food in someone’s mouth as they chatter at you—even though Ranpo knows that he, himself, is guilty of such an act.

At some point while they are eating, a waiter comes by and asks if they need anything else, and Ranpo’s about to say no, when Poe asks for a glass of something—Ranpo doesn’t recognize the word—and he frowns, his confusion lessening when the waiter asks for some identification. It has to be some sort of alcoholic beverage then, and Ranpo just watches in silence as Poe fishes a card out of his wallet and slides it towards the waiter.

The waiter takes a single look at it and slides it back before promising to return, and he and Poe are left in silence once again. But not for long. Ranpo waits approximately ten seconds before he asks, “What’s Cognac?” The word is foreign on his tongue, since he’s going off the way that Poe had said it, but he thinks he’s said it right.

“Hm?” Poe looks over at him. “Oh, it’s brandy.”

Ranpo just stares blankly.

“Alcohol?”

“Well, duh, I figured that much.” Ranpo huffs. “I didn’t take you for someone who drinks.”

“I don’t.” Poe says before he explains. “Japan’s age requirement is lower than America’s, and I saw they had it on the menu, so I wanted to try it. My family drank it quite often.”

Ranpo blinks as Poe’s words register in his brain. “Wait… how old are you?” He knows Poe’s older than he is, but apparently Ranpo’s sense of time is even more skewed than he thought, because he could’ve sworn that Poe wasn’t yet twenty.

There’s an understanding look on Poe’s face as he answers. “Twenty—almost twenty-one.”

“Wha—when?”

“Uh, um… in a couple of weeks actually.”

Ranpo drops his chopsticks and watches them roll off the table as his eyes widen at this new information. He leans down to pick them up. “A couple of weeks? Poe-kun, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Poe shrugs, not looking all that bothered by the fact his birthday is coming up soon. “I’ve never really celebrated it, to be honest. It’s always just been a day to me.”

“Not good enough! We’re celebrating this time!” Ranpo declares, his mind already running through potential plans and gift ideas were what they can do. He doesn’t say anything out loud, but Poe must recognize the expression on his face, because his friend is quick to become frantic.

“W-Wait, Ranpo-kun! I’m not as fond of big outings as you are.” Poe rushes to say. “I don’t mind not doing anything, really, I’ve alw—”

“Dinner then.” Ranpo interrupts, refusing to let Poe not celebrate his birthday at least once while he’s in Japan. “At Fukuzawa’s place. It’ll be quiet and definitely not extravagant—not like that time you and the others took me to the arcade—it’s perfect for an introvert like you.”

Poe still looks uncertain, but he’s not outright refusing Ranpo now; in fact, he looks a little intrigued by the idea. “Who would be there?”

“Whoever you feel comfortable with having there.” Ranpo says, a grin growing on his face. He just knows that Poe’ll accept his idea in the end; his friend has always had trouble saying no he’s learnt. Sure, it’s probably wrong of him to use that trait against him, but it’s a quiet celebration; what could go wrong? “It can be just you and me, or we can invite some people you work with if you’d like.”

The minutes pass by as Poe sits in his seat and thinks, and Ranpo goes about finishing the remainder of his meal while he waits for Poe to get his thoughts in order. Finally, Poe nods once. “Alright. Promise it’ll be quiet?”

“I promise on my failing health!” Ranpo places a hand over his heart, excitement filling him at actually being allowed to plan a little celebration for his friend, something he hasn’t been able to do before. He’s already got some ideas in mind, and he hopes that Poe will like the end result.

“Ranpo-kun, that’s… uh…”

“Well, I can’t promise on good health now, can I?”

Poe sighs. “No, I suppose not.”

------

The next two weeks become the busiest of Ranpo’s life as he planned Poe’s birthday—not really, but they are the busiest, positive weeks he’s had. First, he goes to Fukuzawa and throws on his best pleading expression as he asks the man if he’d be willing to make a nice dinner for Poe’s birthday. Fukuzawa makes an act of it, leering down at Ranpo with his best emotionless face as Ranpo slowly falls apart the longer he’s stared at; face turning bright red as he tries to justify why it’s a good idea and why he wants to do this for Poe. Fukuzawa lets him suffer for a grand total of four minutes and twenty-one seconds before his face breaks, and he laughs, agreeing to help out; all he asks of Ranpo is a list of acceptable foods.

The next challenge comes in figuring out who to invite since aside from Ranpo himself, he’s never seen or heard of Poe willingly hanging out with another human being. In the end, he asks Yosano when he’s next at the hospital—to get a refill on his meds—and she tells him she’ll let him know what she finds out, which is fine, but until he hears from her, he’ll put down those that came to the arcade as guests until he’s certain; they may have been Ranpo’s friends, and well, family, but Poe hadn’t seemed to mind going out with them, so it seemed like a safe bet. There was still time to change things after all.

The biggest challenge comes in the form of finding Poe an acceptable birthday gift, because Ranpo has no clue what to get his friend, and doesn’t want to get him something mediocre. It’s the first time Poe’s celebrating his birthday, so the gift needs to be special. He’d first considered buying a few books for Poe—writer’s love to read, don’t they?—but then he’d remembered that Poe could probably buy all the books he wanted, and threw that idea into the trash.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Fukuzawa asks as he walks up the stairs and spots Ranpo slouched over the coffee table in the living room. It’s a Sunday, which means that his guardian has just finished his weekly clean of the café.

Ranpo sighs, but doesn’t move. “I don’t know what to get Poe-kun for his birthday…”

“I see. Well, he enjoys writing doesn’t he?” Fukuzawa asks as he comes to sit on the floor across from Ranpo. Ranpo scrunches his nose up at the strong smell of cleaning chemicals that linger on Fukuzawa’s clothes.

“I already thought about buying him books.”

“What about notebooks? I’d imagine with all the writing he does, he’d go through quite a lot of them.”

“Boring.” Ranpo sighs, throwing himself backwards to spread out on the floor. He finds himself staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks that he can see without moving his head. “He doesn’t celebrate his birthday, so I wanted to get him something special. You know, like how he had that book made up for me.”

Fukuzawa nods and glances over at the clock in the kitchen. “There’s still time, so why don’t we go into town and see if we can’t find something for him? Even if we don’t, it might help to give you an idea.”

It’s not a bad idea, and Ranpo wouldn’t mind getting out of the house for a bit, but he’s hesitant. It’s only a few days until the planned dinner, and he doesn’t want to risk making himself sick, not when he’s been good this whole time. He didn’t want to organize all this and not be able to follow through on it; and it would just make Poe feel guilty, something Ranpo refused to let happen. But… it’s just one outing, Ranpo thinks, I can’t keep living in fear. With that thought in mind, he nods. “Okay!”

The shopping district is busy, and the sheer amount of people here leaves Ranpo regretting his decision to leave the comfort of his own home. There are people his age laughing and running around as they spend what money that have on frivolous things, businessmen—and women—lounging around, enjoying the last of their weekend before they have to inevitably return to work. And of course, there are the weekend workers, most of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. It’s those workers, that Ranpo feels the most; he’s only been walking for maybe half an hour, and he already wants to sleep for a week.

It's a comfort though, to see that Fukuzawa looks just as drained as him; his guardian is quite the loner after all, much preferring the company of Ranpo and his cats than other people. Ranpo’s always found it odd that the older had decided to run a café of all things, where talking to people and being friendly was a requirement. But there was a difference, he figured, in talking to the regular customers that came through, and dealing with a massive crowd of strangers.

Yeah, now that Ranpo thought about it, there was quite a big difference between the two.

The crowds were the only bad thing, really, and Ranpo was actually having a good time, moving from shop window to shop window, seeing what kind of goods lay inside the stores, and whether or not anything in them would be acceptable to give as a gift. So far, he hadn’t found anything, but he had seen plenty of interesting places; from antique stores filled with a variety of stuff, to a plant store that also doubled as a café. Then there were the thousands of clothing stores, but Ranpo didn’t care for those, so he just walked past them as if they didn’t even exist.

Of course, in his excitement of being out and about, Ranpo’s forgotten one key detail; his body. While he might be content to roam around and explore for a few hours, his body is very much not keen on doing the same, at least not without breaks to give it a chance to rest, and it’s while he and Fukuzawa are hiking up a set of stairs to an upper street, that Ranpo’s legs give out on him and he falls against the stairs, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Fukuzawa, who’d only been a few steps ahead, turns around and spots him. Quickly, his guardian returns to his side and wraps an arm around him and guides him out of the path of other people using the stairs. Ranpo leans against the wall once Fukuzawa lets him go, and just breathes.

“Are you alright?” Fukuzawa watches with a worried look. Ranpo can see him thinking that this was a bad idea and already forming a plan of getting the two of them home, and quickly nods. He doesn’t want to leave not just yet. He’s fine, he’d just forgotten to take a break, that’s all.

“Yeah, I will be.” Ranpo flashes Fukuzawa a reassuring look. “I just need to rest a moment, that’s all.”

“You’re sure?” Fukuzawa asks, still a little uncertain, but less worried than a few moments ago.

“Positive. Just let me catch my breath and we can go.”

Fukuzawa nods and stands as a barrier between Ranpo and the rest of the population; some glance at the two of them, and one even asks if they need help—Ranpo’s quick to shoo them away because he is fine—and it only takes a few minutes before Ranpo feels like he’s ready to continue and drags himself upright. He can feel Fukuzawa hovering behind him as he slowly climbs the remaining stairs, and doesn’t say anything, but he does bounce away the moment they reach the top, his eye having been caught by the candy store he’s spotted.

“Ranpo!”

“C’mon, Fukuzawa! Let’s get some sweets, that’ll boost my energy!” There’s a sigh from behind him that Ranpo ignores, but he does wait for Fukuzawa to join him before he starts ordering a bunch of sweets from the worker; he’s stopped after ordering only five things, which he pouts and whines about, but Fukuzawa threatens to buy nothing, so he quickly stops. Ranpo munches on his chosen sweets while they walk, eyes still searching for a store that contains the right gift.

Ranpo suddenly stops, his eyes catching on a store he’s never seen before and makes his way over towards the window. It’s a toy store, which isn’t odd in itself—the odd part comes from the fact that the sign on the window says that all the toys are handmade, which isn’t as common in the big city as it would be out in the countryside. In the window are a few stuffed animals; an elephant, a dog, and a bird, along with a few others. But they aren’t what Ranpo’s looking at. He’s looking at the small stuffed raccoon that’s overshadowed by its companions.

It kinda looks like Poe.

“I want to get that.” Ranpo points at the raccoon when Fukuzawa comes to stand beside him.

To his credit, Fukuzawa doesn’t sound surprised in the slightest as he asks, “Why the raccoon?”

“Reminds me of Poe-kun. I think he’ll like it.”

Silence follows his words, but Fukuzawa moves to open the door of the store anyway.

They leave with the raccoon in hand, a pretty violet bow tied around its neck.

The raccoon is a nice gift, but it’s not enough in Ranpo’s mind, not special enough to give to someone who’d quickly wormed his way into Ranpo’s extremely tiny circle of friendship. So, after another break where they both have something for lunch, Ranpo sets off again, trying to find the perfect gift. After nearly an hour of searching though, he finally finds the one; the store that holds all the answers to his gift-giving problems.

It’s a stationary store, but not just any old stationary store.

It’s a personalized stationary store.

Without a word, Ranpo reaches over and grabs Fukuzawa’s hand, dragging the man behind him and into the store. It’s quiet inside, with only a couple of customers browsing, and compared to the other stores that they’d looked in, it’s a little dimmer, easier on the eyes. But it’s filled with pens and notebooks and whatever else one could need in an office—or in this case, everything a writer could possibly need.

A worker approaches them. “Can I help you?”

“I’m trying to find a birthday gift. For a writer.” Ranpo explains. “He, uh, likes… notebooks?”

The worker looks amused, but leads him over to where the notebooks are kept. “We have a wide variety, from your basic ones—” she gestures to where there are notebooks that students would use, “—to your fancier options.” She points at others that are bound in leather or decorated in fancy patterns.

Ranpo’s not really impressed with any of the options.

“Are these all the notebooks you have.” Fukuzawa asks, picking up one of the nicer looking ones and studying it. “The person in question as a fondness for personalized things.”

“We have some leather-style ones that we can personalize, but they tend to be on the more expensive side, and take a few days to get ready.” The worker explains. “I’m more than happy to show you what we have though.”

Fukuzawa looks down at Ranpo, leaving the decision up to him. Ranpo ponders over it; he likes the idea, and he knows Poe would like it too, but the idea of finding the perfect gift is so he can gift to it to Poe on his birthday, not days afterwards. Although… he does have the raccoon he bought, which would make an acceptable gift, and he could always explain to Poe that he had something else coming if the notebook wasn’t finished in time. After all, Poe doesn’t seem like the type of person who’d be mad at being given a late gift.

“Show me.” Ranpo says in the end, and the worker takes him to the other side of the shop and explains how it all works. He can pick a design, and a message to put on the cover of the notebook, and then the worker’ll get it all set up and give him a call when it’s done. She explains that it’ll only take a few days and reassures Ranpo that it should be done by the time he actually needs it.

“Write what you want on this piece of paper and pick a design, and then come find me.” The worker says before ambling away to go help another customer.

Ranpo stares at the paper blankly. He knows what he wants to put on the cover—he wants to put Poe’s name on the cover since it’s nice and simple, and just what Poe would like—but he has no idea how to write his name. Ranpo turns to Fukuzawa. “Can you write in English?”

“I know the basics of the language.” Fukuzawa says. “But I’ve never been fluent in it. Why?”

“I don’t know how to write Poe-kun’s name.”

“Ah, I can do that.” Fukuzawa takes the pen from Ranpo’s hand and makes sure that he’s watching before he begins to write. Ranpo focuses on the way each letter forms underneath the pen and commits them to memory; at this point he really should learn English.

Wait…

“How much English do you know?” Ranpo asks.

“I know enough to get by whenever someone comes through the café.”

“Do you know the characters they use?”

Fukuzawa stops writing and gives Ranpo a suspicious look, like he’s trying to discern just what it is that Ranpo wants from him. Which is stupid really, because isn’t it obvious what it is that he’s asking? “It’s called the alphabet and I do know it. Why?”

“Can you teach it to me?”

“I can, but why me? Why not ask Poe-san to teach you though? He’ll know more than me.”

“Because,” Ranpo stresses on the word, “I want to surprise him.”

“With what?” Fukuzawa finishes writing out Poe’s name on the paper, and pulls the little flipbook of potential designs towards the two of them.

“Well, that defeats the purpose of it being a surprise, doesn’t it?”

The notebook ends up being ready the day of Poe’s birthday, and Fukuzawa goes to pick it up during his lunch break—all that walking had left Ranpo with an ache in his bones that made him unwilling to leave his bed—and when his guardian returns, Ranpo holes up in his room to add the finishing touches to the gift, which, thanks to Fukuzawa’s rapid English lessons about the language, is possible.

The plan is to write a message to Poe, thanking him for his kindness and his friendship, in his native language on the first page of the notebook. Ranpo isn’t sure how it’ll turn out since he’s never done something like this before, but he’s going to do his best. So, he takes the pen, sets the notebook on the floor, and begins to write, going slow and referring to his notes to make sure he’s using the right letters.

He doesn’t realize how much time has passed until a bandaged arm reaches down and snatches the notebook from Ranpo’s hands. “What’s this? Confessing your undying love for Poe-san, are we? Oh, and in English too. How romantic~”

“Shut up, Dazai, I am not!” Ranpo snatches the book back, cheeks burning red at his friends comments. He only as one more sentence to write, and quickly scribbles it down before he closes the book. The words he’s written are for Poe’s eyes alone, and while he doesn’t know if Dazai can read English, he wouldn’t be surprised if he could. “Pass me the paper.”

Dazai does as asked, also grabbing the ribbon that had been sat on top of the paper before passing them over to Ranpo. The bandaged man watches as Ranpo begins to wrap the present. The silence between the two of them lasts for only a minute before Dazai opens his mouth, unable to ever sit in silence. “You know, I was surprised when I heard you were planning a party for Poe-san.”

“It’s not a party, just a dinner.” Ranpo mutters. “Why are you even here?”

“Ouch. And after I went to all that effort to bring your boyfriend here, too.” Dazai collapses dramatically, hands clutching at his heart.

“Poe-kun’s here? Already?” Ranpo brightens, and then blushes completely when the rest of what Dazai had said dawns on him. “Wait, what? He’s my friend, Dazai! Not—not—ugh!”

Dazai gives him a sly look, one that promises nothing but trouble in Ranpo’s future. “Sure, sure, whatever you say, Ranpo. But yes, he’s here. Along with everyone else. Fukuzawa-san sent me up to come get you, so hurry it up!”

“Help me up.” Ranpo says, groaning as Dazai pulls him to his feet; his muscles protesting the movement. He mustn’t’ve moved in longer than he’d originally thought. He leans down to grab the notebook and also the raccoon that’d been carefully wrapped the night before, before heading down the stairs with his friend following close behind.

Poe barely has any time to react for Ranpo practically flies towards him. “R-Ranpo-kun!”

“Poe-kun! Happy birthday!” Ranpo grins up at his friend, and then shoves the gifts he’d bought at him. “Here!”

“Oh, uh, y-you didn’t have to.” Poe says quietly, and Ranpo can see the tips of his ears turning red—he’s certain the rest of Poe’s face is red, but the writer has his hair down so that his bangs are completely obscuring his face from view. “Is it—is it okay if I open them later?”

“Sure!”

As it turns out, Poe had actually invited Dazai to come—along with Yosano and Nakahara—and it’s just like that night they spent at the arcade, but this time, they are all here to celebrate Poe’s birthday. Just like Poe had requested, it’s a quiet affair, with everyone—even Dazai—stay quiet and well out of Poe’s personal space, and Ranpo watches as the writer quietly talks to everyone, accepting the gifts they give him with an unsure smile and thankful words. Unlike with Ranpo’s own gifts, Poe opens the others as they are given to him, and it seems that everyone was just as unaware as he was of what to actually get Poe, because he gets quite a variety of gifts.

Yosano gives Poe a thick jacket—apparently he’d been coming to work in one that was inappropriate for the weather.

Nakahara and Dazai had combined their gifts; and Poe receives some fancy pens to use in his writing adventures.

Even Fukuzawa had gotten Poe a gift, although when he’d done that, Ranpo has no clue. Poe gives Fukuzawa a thankful look as he holds a very old looking mystery novel close to his chest.

Once Poe’s opened his gifts, Fukuzawa disappears to finish off dinner, and brings it out to the tables that have been pushes together just for tonight’s occasion. All day, Ranpo has been able to smell something delicious cooking and had been curious about just what it was that was being cooked; he’d tried to find out in the morning, but Fukuzawa had barred him from the kitchen, not wanting another kitchen accident.

It's not Ranpo’s fault that kitchens are so flammable.

But it’s worth the wait to see Poe’s face light up as Fukuzawa brings out several shareable dishes of American cuisine. They all look delicious, even if Ranpo has absolutely no clue what they are, but he’s more focused on the way Poe’s practically brimming with happiness, telling Fukuzawa that he didn’t need to go to such lengths, but thanking him nonetheless. Ranpo smiles, enjoying the sight. He just knows that he’s succeeded in giving Poe an enjoyable birthday.

Everyone sits around the table and talks quietly while they eat—mostly about hospital gossip since half of them actually work at the hospital, but they do talk about what each of them has been doing in their spare time; Ranpo takes the time to berate Nakahara for sending him and Poe to such a fancy restaurant.

Nakahara just smirks in response.

Eventually, they end up on the topic of America, and begin to ask Poe questions about what it’s like over there; what there is to do, what the weather’s like, what the people are like, those kinds of questions. Poe doesn’t answer all of the questions, and they quickly rush to a different one at the slightest look of discomfort that crosses his face. Poe’s telling them about Thanksgiving right now, and how this little dinner reminds him of the last time he was able to celebrate it.

Which gives Ranpo a brilliant idea.

“Hey, Poe-kun, have you gone to see the cherry blossoms since you’ve been here?” Ranpo asks once Poe’s finished speaking.

“No, I can’t say I have.” Poe frowns. “That’s when the trees all flower, right? Friends and family get together to watch it?”

“It’s been a tradition over here for centuries.” Dazai says, that sly grin of his returning as his eyes meet Ranpo’s own. “Ranpo and I went once before he got really sick. We were going to go this year. You should come with us, Poe-san.”

This is the first Ranpo’s hearing of it and he narrows his eyes at Dazai; his friend is planning something and Ranpo can’t help but be worried about just what it is. But he does want to go see the cherry blossoms—it’s been a while after all—and he certainly would love it if Poe came with them.

“We could all get together and celebrate.” Yosano says before Ranpo can even make the offer. “A bunch of us from the hospital went last year and had a good time, so I know some good spots that aren’t too crowded if we go at the right time.”

“What if we went at night? They’ll have the lanterns strung up at some of the parks.” Dazai suggests, with a grin. He’s still looking at Ranpo, and Ranpo wants to punch his friend in the face, because he understands what it is that Dazai’s getting at now, and he doesn’t want to hear it.

His saviour comes when Nakahara leans over and smacks Dazai across the back of the head. “You idiot, you’ve got people with shitty immune systems here. They’d end up in hospital if we went at night.”

“What a-about sunset then?” It’s Poe that suggests the idea, and an odd silence follows his words. The writer ducks his head as everyone stares at him. “It’d s-still be on the cool side, but I-I think it’d be nice. I’d l-like to go, that is.”

Yosano claps her hands together, and everyone jumps in their seats. “Well, that settles it. We’re going to see the cherry blossoms this year.” She points at Ranpo. “That means you need to keep yourself out of trouble until then, got it?”

Ranpo rolls his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you for tonight, Ranpo-kun. It was nice.” Poe says as he sits on the living room floor with Ranpo’s yet unopened gifts. It’s just him and Poe now, the others having left not long after dinner, all wishing Poe a wonderful night as they filed out. All in all, a quiet, little celebration, just like what Poe had asked for.

“See, I told you it’d be fine! I’m never wrong about these things!” Ranpo grins from where he sits beside Poe. He’s excited to see if Poe likes what he got him, especially since he seemed happy—surprised, but happy—at the other gifts he’d been given.

Poe rolls his eyes and unwraps the first gift, revealing the raccoon toy, and Ranpo watches as Poe’s face softens, his hands feeling over the soft fur. “Did you get me this because I remind you of a raccoon?”

Ranpo smiles sheepishly at being seen through immediately. “Maybe.” And then with a bit of hesitation, “do you… not like it?”

“I think it’s adorable.” Poe says, holding the raccoon close to him. “I shall name him Karl.”

“Karl? Why?” Ranpo asks.

“Well, he just looks like one, don’t you think? And everything deserves to have a name.” Poe places the raccoon—Karl—into Ranpo’s arms, and he looks down at the stuffed toy, giving it a few squeezes. He can’t really see what Poe means, but he nods anyway. If Poe thinks the raccoon looks like a Karl, then it’s a Karl from now on.

“Open the other one now.” Ranpo urges, keeping hold of the stuffed toy so that Poe’s hands remain free to open. He inches closer, his arm brushing against Poe’s from the close proximity. This is the gift he’s hoping Poe will like the most, so he wants to be close so he can see Poe’s reaction.

Poe takes his time in unwrapping the second gift, and Ranpo waits anxiously as the cover of the notebook is revealed to him. Poe’s eyes widen and he lifts the notebook from the paper, one hand running down the cover, fingers feeling over the pattern that Ranpo had gone with in the end. It’s a simple pattern, just a rope-like border with a rose carved into one of the corners, and Poe’s full name on the cover. Poe just stares at the notebook for a while, before he flicks it open and Ranpo suddenly feels self-conscious when it opens to the page that has the message he’d written for Poe.

He watches as Poe reads, watches the way his lips mouth the words he’d reading, and the way his brow furrows at times when he comes across a word he’s not sure on. Ranpo knows that he’s probably misspelled a bunch of words, and probably even used the wrong ones at times, but he’s always been told that people appreciate the effort that goes into handmade things, so he’s hoping that that’s the case right now.

An arm wraps around Ranpo’s shoulder and he’s pulled closer as Poe embraces him, and there’s lips pressed against his hair, “Thank you, Ranpo-kun.” Poe breathes before he lets go and suddenly, Ranpo is missing the warmth that was there when Poe held him. He wants it back, but he sits there, just a little stunned, with a smile on his face.

“You’re welcome, Poe-kun. Next year, I’ll do even better.”

“As long as it’s still quiet, go ahead.”

-----

After Poe’s birthday, it’s like a switch as been flipped, and suddenly, Ranpo is seeing more of his friend than he has before. Not that he’s complaining; it brings a smile to his face whenever Poe stops by the café after his shift at the hospital, or whenever he’s on his lunch break. Most of the time they’ll spend time together upstairs, either in the living room or in Ranpo’s room, or Poe will take him out somewhere and they’ll just enjoy each other’s company.

There are times where they don’t even do anything; Ranpo will work his way through the schoolwork he still has to complete so he can graduate—the trial had put a halt to that part of his life for a bit, so he’s playing the extreme catch up game—and Poe will lay beside him on the floor, studying his own textbooks. Although, it’s not uncommon for Ranpo to look up after finishing his work and find Poe passed out on the floor.

Ranpo always uses that as an excuse that he too, can stop working, and will often go to sleep as well, and he always wakes up to find that blankets have been draped over the two of them—no doubt, by Fukuzawa’s hands.

But Ranpo’s favorite times is when Poe comes and visits him when he’s having a bad day, and reads him the newest story that he’s written. Ranpo’s bad days don’t happen often—Yosano’s new treatment plan working well—but when they do, Ranpo is miserable, and Poe seems to understand that more than anyone; it doesn’t matter if he’s already worked that day, he’ll come the moment he hears Ranpo’s hurting, and sit on the bed with him, allowing Ranpo to use him as a pillow while he reads.

It makes him even happier to see that the stories he’s being read have been written in the notebook he’d gifted Poe.

“You’re growing quite close to Poe-san, aren’t you?” Fukuzawa had asked him once when Poe had come over and fallen asleep on their couch.

Ranpo had frowned. “We’re friends. Are friends not supposed to be close?”

Fukuzawa had merely hummed, leaving the two of them alone; Poe oblivious to the conversation entirely, and Ranpo confused about just what his guardian was talking about.

It’s a week before they are due to meet up to go and see the cherry blossoms together, and Poe’s invited Ranpo out to lunch because he’d finally finished writing that novel he’s been working on for months now; and he’d promised to take Ranpo out to lunch over it before he’d been discharged from the hospital, which Ranpo’s glad hadn’t been forgotten.

It’s also the first time Poe hasn’t come to pick Ranpo up and take him to wherever it is they were meeting, so Ranpo makes Fukuzawa draw him a very elaborate map so that he knows how to get there, because Ranpo’s always been incompetent when it comes to navigation, and he absolutely doesn’t care. Why bother learning where things are when everyone around him knows already? It leaves room in his brain for the information that’s actually interesting to him.

Fukuzawa had offered to drive him, but Ranpo refused; he and Poe are meeting in the middle of what would be the lunch rush, so he doesn’t want to pull his guardian from his work just to be taxied, when he’s more than capable of doing this. He’s technically an adult now, he’s going to have to start doing things on his own more often from now on, although he had appreciated the offer.

So, Ranpo makes his way towards the café that Poe had chosen, conferring with his map on several occasions so that he doesn’t get lost. It doesn’t take all that long for him to find it, on account of Poe choosing a place that’s easy to spot. It’s one of those cafes that has outdoor seating, and it’s at one of those tables that Poe is sitting, hair pulled back into a ponytail, and scribbling into the notebook in his hands. Ranpo can’t help but smile as he approaches, able to see the way his friend is furiously scribbling across the paper with an intense look on his face. He must have gotten an idea. Ranpo thinks, quietly sliding into the seat across from Poe. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as Poe continues to remain oblivious to him, writing away. The manuscript that Poe had intended to give him is sitting on the table, beside a glass of half-drunk water, and held together with a clip. Ranpo reaches over to grab it, and it’s that motion that finally startles Poe out of his focus.

“Ranpo-kun!” Poe says, surprised as he quickly slams his notebook shut, almost crushing the pen—and his fingers—inside of it. “I, uh, I didn’t notice you. My apologies.”

“It’s fine, Poe-kun.” Ranpo waves away the apologies as they come out of Poe’s mouth. He’s not bothered at all by being ignored, but only this once. Being treated to the sight of Poe focusing on what he loves is well worth it in his opinion. “You were focused, and I knew you’d look up eventually. Did ya get hit with an idea or something while you were waiting?”

Poe’s cheeks flush a deeper red. “I did. I wanted to write the idea down before I forgot.” Poe’s eyes land on the manuscript in Ranpo’s hands. “Ah, I see you’ve already started reading?”

“Not yet. I was going to, but then you noticed I was here.” Ranpo says. “It’s a mystery novel, right?”

“Yes, although, it is a first draft, so I, uh, can’t promise it’s any good…”

“Poe-kun, how many times do I need to tell you to have faith in yourself? Your stories are always good to read.” Ranpo rolls his eyes and flips the cover page over so that he can start to read. He won’t read all of it, not while Poe’s taken time out of his packed schedule to spend some time with him; he’ll just read the first couple of pages to get a general idea of the story.

“What do you think?” Poe asks him as he places the manuscript back on the table.

“It’s good. I’ll pick it apart more when I read more, and let you know.” Ranpo says, looking around for a waiter; he’s starting to get hungry and he’s surprised that Poe hasn’t ordered anything yet.

But of course, Poe is one step ahead of him in that regard. “I’ve already ordered, Ranpo-kun.” And before Ranpo can thank him, Poe continues. “How are you feeling, by the way? Fukuzawa-san was worried when you fell ill suddenly like that.”

“Oh, that?” Poe is, of course, talking about the prior week, when Ranpo had woken up feeling like he’d been hit by a truck and left under the blazing sun in the middle of nowhere. It’d been the first time since his time in the hospital that he’d felt that bad, and Fukuzawa hadn’t hesitated to call Yosano about it, who’d come around on her lunch break and diagnosed him with a cold of all things. A cold. “It was just a cold. A bad one because it’s me, but nothing to worry about. Fukuzawa worries a lot, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I have.” Poe sighs. “I am glad that you are alright, though.”

Ranpo hums, and leans against the table, resting his chin on his hand. “And what about you, Poe-kun? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

It’s not a lie, and now that Ranpo’s had the time to sit and study Poe carefully, he can see the tired slouch to his posture and the way his body trembles just barely, with eye bags so heavy he’s actually beginning to look like that raccoon plush he owns. “What, are you sick?”

“I’m fine.” Poe says, and smiles like that’s enough to dissuade Ranpo—it’s not.

“Oh yeah, sure, I know I’m fine when I look like the wind could carry me off.” Ranpo’s frowning now. If Poe wasn’t feeling well, he should’ve stayed home. Sure, Ranpo wanted to read his book, but not at the cost of Poe’s wellbeing.

“Ranpo-kun.” Poe reaches across the table and grabs his hand, squeezing it firmly. “I am fine. Just tired, I promise.”

Ranpo doesn’t believe Poe in the slightest, but he’s distracted by a staff member bringing their drinks out to them; a hot chocolate for Ranpo and some kind of juice for Poe. He scrunches up his nose at the sight of it—it’s green and looks like it shouldn’t be something a human drinks—but he doesn’t say anything when Poe happily sips at it.

He’s further distracted when Poe starts talking to him, updating him on how the trial’s going, well apparently, and tells Ranpo that Yosano thinks the drug should be on the market in a year or two if it continues to go smoothly. It’s good news, and Ranpo’s pleased to hear it; he knows how much being on this trial means to Poe. He listens further, as Poe deviates from the trial to talking about how his work and his studies have been going, and makes sure to speak in the gaps that Poe leaves for him to butt into.

Ranpo knows what Poe’s doing; he’s trying to get Ranpo to forget about his health, his anxious eyes giving everything away despite the joy on his face. It would fool most people, but not Ranpo, who has spent so much time watching Poe and the way everything around him affects him. So, he lets Poe think he’s fooled Ranpo into forgetting, and slowly that anxious look fades, and is soon replaced with a genuine look of calm and joy.

And Ranpo forgets.

Poe’s walking him home when it happens.

One minute Poe’s walking right beside him, listening as Ranpo chatters about the progress he’s made in his newest game, and the next, Poe’s legs give out and Ranpo can do nothing but watch in horror as his friend collapses into a heap beside him. Five seconds pass… fifteen… thirty, and then the switch is flipped inside Ranpo’s mind and he panics.

“Poe-kun? Poe!” Ranpo drops to his knees beside Poe and shakes the man’s shoulder, but Poe does not stir. Not one bit. Still, he continues to call Poe’s name in some vain hope that it’ll be enough to rouse him.

Ranpo’s afraid.

He doesn’t know what to do, not when it’s usually him in need of help.

Breathe, you won’t help Poe by panicking. Ranpo tells himself. There’s no one around them right now, so he can’t ask a stranger for help, so he grabs his phone and calls someone who can help, ignoring the way his hands shake as he pushes the buttons. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, st—

“Ranpo?” Fukuzawa picks up the phone are only a couple of rings, and Ranpo can hear the sounds of the café fading into the background as his guardian steps away to give him his full attention. There must be something that gives away Ranpo’s panicked state, because Fukuzawa’s voice is calm and firm like it always is when there is a crisis. “What’s happened?”

Ranpo just barely stops himself from sobbing into the phone. Tears won’t help anyone right now. He needs to be strong, and help Poe, just like the way that Poe’s always been there to help him. He breathes. “Poe-kun collapsed. I don’t know what to do.”

“Collapsed?” There’s a brief pause. Ranpo’s heart pounds as he waits. “Is he breathing?”

Ranpo scrambles to place his hand in front of Poe’s mouth, and is relieved when he feels faint puffs of hair against his skin. “Yes.”

“Okay. Where—”

“He seemed sick when we met up, but he refused to let me ask him about it.” The words break free from Ranpo before he can stop them. “I thought he was embarrassed when I teased him, but it was probably a fever, I’m not sure. But aside from that, he was pale, but he’s always pale so I didn’t think much of it. He looked tired too, like he does after long nights, and—and he was trembling. Fukuzawa, I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

“Call an ambulance, Ranpo.” The order comes through clear and concise. “See if they’ll let you ride with him and I’ll meet you at the hospital. If they don’t, send me your location.”

“Okay.”

“And wear—”

“I’m already wearing a mask. Poe-kun made sure I was.” Ranpo says hurriedly. “I’ll text you.”

“He’ll be alright, Ranpo. Just keep yourself calm.”

Ranpo says a rapid goodbye before hanging up and dialling the number for emergency services, much calmer now that he has an idea of what it is that he should be doing. The phone call with the operator on the other end is much less panicked, and the lady on the other end promises that help is on the way and soon all Ranpo can do is wait. He sits beside Poe’s head and runs a hand through the writer’s messy hair, much like what Poe used to do for him when he was trapped in the midst of one of his flare ups.

He hopes it brings some comfort to Poe.

The ambulance doesn’t take long to arrive, and paramedics rush towards them, asking a bunch of questions that Ranpo tries his best to answer. Are you family? How old is he? What was he like before he collapsed? Any health problems?

No, I’m a friend. He’s twenty-one. He was tired. I don’t know. Can I go with him? The paramedics had glanced between each other at his question after they’d placed Poe on the stretcher. He saw one of them look over him, taking in Ranpo’s own frail appearance, and the way he was layered when it wasn’t even that cold; Ranpo’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the beginnings of a refusal forming. He begs. “Please. Let me come.”

“Alright.” The second paramedic says. “Hop in. But you’ll have to wait in the waiting room since you aren’t family.”

Ranpo nods. He can deal with that. Fukuzawa’ll be meeting him at the hospital anyway.

The drive to the hospital is fast, but Ranpo barely remembers any of it, far too focused on watching Poe, and watching as one of the paramedics hook him up to machinery that monitor’s his vital signs. Poe’s given an IV, and an oxygen mask as well, and the entire time this is happening, the paramedic talks to Poe, trying to coax him back to consciousness.

Poe doesn’t stir, doesn’t even flinch.

Just as quickly as the ambulance had arrived, it pulls into the hospital, and the paramedics rush Poe out and through the doors, leaving Ranpo behind in the waiting bay with no idea of where it is he needs to go. The hospital may have been his second home, but he’s never been on this side of it, and the last thing he wants to do is wander into an area he’s not supposed to be in—although he’s confident he could talk himself out of trouble if he needed to.

“Edogawa-san.” Ranpo spins around and just about collapses himself as Nakahara approaches him, a confused look on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Poe-kun collapsed.” He says for what feels like the millionth time that day. It’s only three though, he’s been subconsciously counting. “They told me I couldn’t go with him ‘cause I’m not family, but I don’t know where the waiting room is.”

“Does Fukuzawa-san know you’re here?” Nakahara asks, placing a hand on the small of Ranpo’s back and guiding him around the outside of the building.

Ranpo nods. “I called him first. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Alright. I’ll see what I can find out for you. Just be patient a little longer.”

Nakahara takes him straight to the waiting room, and sits beside Ranpo when it turns out that Fukuzawa hadn’t yet arrived. They don’t talk, except for the one-time Ranpo fails to get the man to leave him alone and return to his job, and the silence is just stressful. Ranpo ends up clutching his bag that houses Poe’s precious manuscript in it while his legs bounce as he waits, time ticking by slower than it ever has. Nakahara nudges his leg with his own after a while, and Ranpo looks up to see Fukuzawa walking into the waiting room.

His guardian makes a beeline straight for him, and Ranpo rises to meet him, falling into the embrace that comes for him. It’s then that he lets the tears fall, ones born from the stress of the situation, and Fukuzawa wraps him up in his arms, hiding him from the world and letting him cry. Ranpo doesn’t understand where it all went wrong; he and Poe were having a good time, nothing was wrong, and then suddenly, everything was wrong. Poe-kun said he was tired. He said he was fine. But he’s not. What happened?

“Ranpo,” Fukuzawa’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a blade, “come sit.”

Ranpo’s guided back to his seat, but ends up sitting in Fukuzawa’s lap, soaking up all the comfort he’s being offered. He knows he’s too old to be doing this, and that the other people in the waiting room are staring at him, but he doesn’t care. Fukuzawa gives him strength, and that’s what he needs right now; everyone else can just mind their own business. And if Fukuzawa truly cared, he’d tell Ranpo to get off, but he doesn’t; he just holds Ranpo gently.

He’s coming out of a doze when he hears voices around him, and he tries to tune in to hear what’s being said.

“—sick, sick.” Ranpo recognizes Yosano’s voice, worried and quiet. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about, but it doesn’t sound good.

“Is he awake?” That’s Fukuzawa’s voice, and Ranpo thinks they are talking about him at first—that somehow he must’ve landed himself in the hospital again, and tries to think back to what could’ve caused him to relapse after a few months of surprisingly decent health.

Then it rushes back, and his eyes are flying open, and he just about falls off from Fukuzawa’s lap in his haste in sitting up properly. “Poe-kun!” He turns towards Yosano with frantic eyes. “Is he alright?”

Yosano crouches down and looks up at Ranpo with a soft, but sad smile on her face. Ranpo knows that look, he’s seen it far too many times to not be able to. It’s the look that he’s seen on everyone’s faces when they worry about whether or not he’s going to make it through an infection or illness.

Ranpo stops breathing.

“Poe-san is fine.” Fukuzawa says, drawing Ranpo’s attention to him. The man gives him a look of reassurance and Ranpo feels he can breathe again. “He’s just a little sick right now.”

“A little… sick?” Ranpo says slowly before he turns to look back at Yosano, the sadness gone from her face. “But, you looked sad—”

“Ah, that’s because I, as one of Poe’s supervisors, should’ve seen the signs that he was unwell before it came to this. Poe will be fine, Ranpo, I—I promise. He just needs rest.” Yosano says.

They are lying to you.

They are hiding something from you.

Ranpo may be clueless when it comes to directions or basic life skills at times; things that most other people know and he doesn’t, but he’s not an idiot. He knows when people are keeping things from him and this is one such time. He’s not quite sure what information they’re withholding from him, but he can tell it’s important. He can also tell that the decision isn’t theirs; it’s obvious in the way Yosano and Fukuzawa keep sharing glances when they think he isn’t looking that they want to tell him. The only thing stopping them is that it’s Poe himself that doesn’t want Ranpo to know whatever it is.

And that hurts.

For now, though, Ranpo brushes his hurt aside. There’s time to deal with that later… at least, he hopes so. “Can I see him?”

“Of course, hon, that’s why I came to get you.” Yosano smiles and stands, and waits for Ranpo to stand before leading him through the many hallways of the hospital. He’s glad that he’d never really had the strength to leave his room whenever he stayed here in the past, because there would’ve been no hope of him ever finding his way, especially when they all look the same.

Yosano stops outside a room and gestures for Ranpo to wait while she pokes her head into the room. A second later she pulls back. “He regained consciousness not long after he was brought in, but he’s asleep right now. Try not to disturb him. You know what to do if you need anything while you’re here.”

Ranpo nods and steps into the room while Fukuzawa pulls Yosano aside to talk to her outside the room. He quietly makes his way over towards Poe’s beside and sits in the chair that’s been placed by his bedside. His eyes slide over Poe, taking in the slow beeping of the heart monitor, the IV in his hand, and the cannula on his face; the scene reminds him strongly of the time when his and Poe’s positions were reversed.

It’s not right, to see Poe being the one in the hospital bed.

He’s at a bit of a loss for what to do; it’s the first time he’s had to sit by someone’s bedside instead of having people sit by his own and he’s not sure what’s appropriate. It makes him question how Fukuzawa had done it for all these years, because it’s actually quite boring, sitting in a chair watching someone sleep. But Ranpo doesn’t move, doesn’t tear his eyes away, because he fears that if he does, Poe will simply wither away in front of him.

For a man as tall as Poe is, he looks amazingly small in the hospital bed, and the hospital gown he’s now wearing makes him look even sicker than he had when he and Ranpo had first met up that morning. It makes Ranpo feel guilty, for not pushing the issue when he’d noticed it and let Poe dance around the issue himself. He should’ve pushed; done the one thing he’s been good at, but no, instead he’d let himself be pulled astray and ended up in this mess.

A quiet groan pulls Ranpo from his thoughts, and he looks up, hoping that the sound is a sign that Poe’s waking up, but Poe only shifts a little in the bed and falls still. Ranpo notices that Poe’s brow is furrows—he’s dreaming, and it doesn’t seem like it’s a good one.

Ranpo chews on the inside of his mouth before he stands, kicking off his shoes, and carefully climbing onto the bed, carefully avoiding the important wires that are carefully monitoring his friend. He lays beside Poe, and throws his arm across Poe’s chest as he tries to get comfortable while also not falling off the bed. As it turns out, it’s a little harder to share a bed with someone whose taking up the middle of it, but he manages. It’s still a little awkward, but it’s worth it when the furrow smooths out and Poe relaxes.

Ranpo closes his own eyes, knowing that Poe will wake him when he wakes up, or someone else will wake him if they want him to move.

He’s tired, and wants to pretend that everything’s alright for just a little longer.

“—ake up, Ranpo-kun.” Ranpo’s eyes blink open some time later, and he’s greeted by the sight of tired, violet eyes; Poe’s tired eyes. Poe blinks at him slowly, but doesn’t say anything. He looks like he doesn’t quite know what to say.

“You’re awake.” Ranpo says, also not quite knowing what to say. There are things he wants to say, and ask, but he also doesn’t want to overwhelm Poe when it looks like his friend could fall right back to sleep any second.

Poe hums, closing his eyes again. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and Ranpo begins to think he’s gone back to sleep, when his eyes open again. “Are you alright?” Poe asks him, and Ranpo wants to laugh. Trust Poe to be more worried about Ranpo’s wellbeing rather than his own.

“I’m fine. You—you scared me when you fell.” Ranpo whispers. “Are you alright?”

Silence follows his question, and Ranpo carefully watches the way Poe thinks before answering him, each word calculated and carefully thought out. “It appears that I overworked myself. I will be fine.”

“You’re lying.” Ranpo says before he can stop himself, and he regrets the words immediately when he feels Poe stiffen against him. He can hear the heart monitor pick up speed in the background. “I know you’re keeping something from me, and I want to know, I really do, but… I won’t push. Although it’ll kill me not to.”

The monitor slows back to normal.

“Thank you, Ranpo-kun. I appreciate it.” Poe murmurs, shifting in the bed so that he’s on his side; his arm coming to lay across Ranpo’s waist. Ranpo inches closer in response and Poe moves to bury his face into Ranpo’s chest; Ranpo’s heart beats faster as he does so. “I think I’ll go back to sleep if that’s alright.”

“You’ll tell me one day, though, won’t you?” Ranpo asks, running a hand through Poe’s hair and watching as the man melts into his arms. The motion leaves Ranpo with a strange feeling in his chest, but he continues to do it, only because Poe seems to thoroughly enjoy it.

“One day…” Poe’s voice trails off and he slips back into slumber.

It takes two whole days for Poe to recover enough to stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time, and Ranpo is relieved when he walks into Poe’s room to find him sitting upright and slowly writing away in a notebook—it’s not one of his own, which means Poe’s probably conned one of the staff into getting him one from the gift shop. Poe still looks pale and ready to fall over at any given moment, but he’s alert, which is much better than he’d been previously.

“Poe-kun!” Ranpo greets, plonking himself into the chair. “I bring gifts!”

Poe eyes him and the bag Ranpo’s brought with him suspiciously, eyes narrowing as he slowly asks, “What do you have?”

Ranpo merely grins and shoves his hand into the bag before bring out—

“Karl!” Poe’s suspicion disappears and he reaches over to take the stuffed raccoon out of Ranpo’s hands, holding it tight. It’s like a child on Christmas, Ranpo realizes, never letting go of their favorite present. Poe’s eyes are brighter upon the raccoon’s presence, which is what Ranpo had been going for when he’d badgered Yosano into giving him Poe’s address so he could go and get the toy in the first place. Poe seems to realize this before the earlier suspicion returns.

Ranpo beats Poe to the punch. “I asked Yosano-sensei for your address. She was gonna go anyway and get you some things, so I offered instead.”

“Why did I expect anything different of you?” Poe says, eyeing the bag that’s sitting at Ranpo’s feet. “Did you at least get me everything I asked for? Since you bullied the person I actually asked into not doing it.”

“Duh, of course I did.” Ranpo picks the bag up and places it on the bed where Poe can easily reach it. “I found most of it, but if somethings not right in your apartment when you get out of here, that’s not my fault.”

“You snooped, didn’t you?”

“Do I look like the kind of person that would go snooping?” Ranpo asks, clasping the front of his shirt dramatically in mock offense.

Poe gives him the most unimpressed look. “Yes.”

“I’m wounded, Poe-kun. How could you think so little of me?”

“Ranpo-kun…” Poe raises an eyebrow, and Ranpo realizes he’s walked into whatever Poe’s about to say to him. “I’ve literally watched you bribe Dazai-san into getting information on this hospitals private affairs.”

Ranpo has nothing to say to that—because it’s the truth—so he changes the subject entirely like any smart person would do. Because he’s smart. Definitely smart. “So, Poe-kun, why’d you ask for a change of clothes on that list of yours anyway? Going somewhere?”

He’s given a surprised look in response. “We had plans to go see the cherry blossoms? I need clothes to do that.”

Now it’s Ranpo’s turn to look surprised. “You still want to go? Even though you’re sick?”

“I’m getting better, and I want to go.” Poe blushes, and fidgets with the blankets covering his legs. “I’d like to go with you and the others. You are all the first proper friends I’ve made… and it’d be… nice, to see the flowers with you all.”

“Look at you go, coming out of your turtle shell and admitting that you actually have friends.” Ranpo teases, laughing at the way Poe sputters at him. “Good luck convincing Yosano-sensei to let you leave, though.”

“I convinced her to let you go to the arcade, I think I can do it again.” Poe looks determined, and Ranpo hates to burst his bubble, but he knows—from experience—that it’s not going to be that easy.

“Yeah, and I had a flare up the next day. She’s going to be thinking about that when you ask her.”

“I’ll convince her.” Poe says again, and strangely enough, Ranpo believes him.

The next time Ranpo comes to visit, it’s the day they had all agreed to meet up for the flower viewing, and also, to an argument from within Poe’s room. He stops outside the partially shut door and listens in.

“Absolutely not.” Yosano says with finality. “You are not nearly well enough to be galivanting about outside in the cold. You’ll just make yourself sicker.”

“I’m already sick. It’s not going to get worse because I spend one day outdoors.” Poe argues back, sounding tired yet determined. “I’m not like Ranpo-kun, and I know you know that.”

There’s silence from within the room. Then, “I wish you were. It’d be easier to convince you to stay in bed then.”

Ranpo’s more than confused by this point, and it feels like he’s intruding on something he’s not supposed to be hearing—which, he’s not, and he should probably leave and come back later, but his feet have rooted themselves to the spot. He only hopes that Poe will forgive him for eavesdropping later.

“You all tell Ranpo-kun to stop being afraid of living his own life when he’s at more risk than I am by going to see the cherry blossoms, so why won’t you grant me the same courtesy?”

Yosano sighs. “Fine, you can go. But, you will not be walking anywhere, and you will not refuse our assistance when we offer it. Those are my conditions for letting you leave, understood?”

Ranpo doesn’t hear Poe’s response, if he even gives one, only the sound of Yosano approaching the door, and Ranpo frantically tries to make it look like he’s only just arrived, instead of just standing outside the door, clearly doing something he’s not supposed to be. The door slides fully open just as Ranpo walks away from it and he spins on his heel and gives Yosano a grin. “Yosano-sensei, hi!”

“Do not.” Yosano points at him. Ranpo shuts up quick as his doctor scans him from head to toe. “You’ve taken your meds today?”

“Of course I have.”

“You have the appropriate clothing?”

“Yes? Why are you—”

“A mask?” Yosano pushes through his question like it hadn’t ever existed in the first place.

Ranpo frowns. “I do. Why?”

“Because, so help me, if this fun little event we planned—to have a good time, mind you—ends up with you in the hospital again.”

Ranpo’s frown deepens. He’s not sure why Yosano’s so angsty about this now, when she hasn’t been the other times he’s gone out in public since leaving the hospital, when it dawns on him that she’s probably remembering the last time they all went out and had a good time; when that event had left Ranpo unable to move. “It’s not going to be like the arcade. I’ll be fine. And so will Poe-kun.”

Yosano stares at him with an unreadable look on her face before she nods, and her usual smile adorns her face once again. “You’re a strong one, Ranpo. Don’t ever forget that.” She turns on her heel and disappears down the hallway, and Ranpo quickly ducks into Poe’s room; he’s not quite sure what that interaction as all about, so he’d rather forget it as quickly as possible.

“I see you managed to convince her.” Ranpo says in lieu of a greeting.

Poe sighs from the bed, looking exhausted. Still, he shifts over so that Ranpo can climb up on the bed bedside him; their new routine that neither of them seems to mind. “I asked her about it after you went home last time you were here. And it’s taken till now for her to agree.”

“I heard the conditions she gave you.” Ranpo admits as he curls up as close as he can get, sighing softly when Poe’s arm comes to rest around him.

“I think Yosano-sensei’s being a bit harsh in her requirements, but she’s letting me go which is the main thing.” Poe says, looking towards Ranpo. “Is everyone ready for tonight?”

“Fukuzawa’s going to drive us there, along with Yosano-sensei. Nakahara and Dazai will meet us there. Apparently, Yosano’s already told them where to find the best spot.” Ranpo says, and then waits a minute or so before he continues. “You know, we can always go when you’re feeling better. The flowers bloom for a couple of weeks still.”

Poe shakes his head, a soft smile on his face. “It’s best to see them when they start, don’t you think?”

“Hmm, if you say so. You know what you should do while we wait, though?”

“What?” Poe asks.

“Read me that story you’ve been working on since you’ve been cooped up in here.” Ranpo grins up at his friend.

Poe gives him an incredulous look. “I gave you my manuscript to read—”

“I finished it already. But I haven’t picked it apart yet. Besides, if you’re well enough to go see cherry blossoms, you’re well enough to read me that story.”

“Fine, but you better not interrupt me this time.” Poe sighs as he grabs the notebook from the space between the mattress and bed railing—an interesting and smart place to store a flat object in Ranpo’s opinion. He stores that information away just in case he ever needs it in the future.

“No promises.” He says, settling down to listen to as Poe begins to read.

It’s maybe an hour or so until sunset, when Yosano returns with a wheelchair in hand and Fukuzawa trailing behind. Both Ranpo and Poe stare at the chair distastefully—for different reasons—but a single glare from Yosano is enough to stop either of them complaining as Poe—dressed in as many layers as Ranpo is—moves from the bed to the chair. Poe looks a little upset at literally being pushed around, so Ranpo takes the blanket and bag that Fukuzawa’s carrying and dumps it on Poe’s lap.

“Wha—” The writer looks stunned as he grabs the items so they don’t fall.

“Since you don’t have to walk, you can carry the bags! It’s only fair after all.” Ranpo grins. Poe’s sour expression disappears and the man smiles, which is good enough for Ranpo and he takes the handles of the chair from Yosano and dashes out the door with Poe in tow. “Let’s go! We’ve got flowers to see, and fun to have!”

Yosano goes to say something, with an arm outstretched as if to stop them, only to have Fukuzawa’s hand come to rest on her shoulder. She turns to see the older man looking after Ranpo and Poe with a fond expression on his face. He begins to walk after them. “Let them have their fun.”

Yosano sighs, but acquiesces, quietly following after Fukuzawa.

Ranpo watches Poe carefully as they approach the cherry blossoms, trying to see what Poe’s reaction is while he pushes him up the hill. He wants to curse Yosano for picking a spot that requires him to actually exercise, and he knows he very much could’ve avoided it—both Yosano and Fukuzawa had offered to take over before he’d started climbing—but he wants to do this. It’s a way to prove to himself that he is capable, and even if it leaves him a wheezing mess at the top, he knows he’ll feel accomplished.

And indeed, he is a wheezing mess once he and Poe reach the top of the hill, Ranpo leaning against the back of Poe’s chair as he sucks air into his lungs. He feels a hand gently pat his head a few times and he lifts his eyes to see Poe with relaxed eyes, no sign of stress or anxiety anywhere on his face, and Ranpo is almost certain that underneath the mask that is on Poe’s face, there’s a smile to match.

“It’s beautiful, Ranpo-kun.” Poe says quietly. “I can see why everyone enjoys coming to see them.”

Ranpo’s still doing his best to breathe, so he nods and follows Poe’s gaze so he can see just what it is that his friend is seeing, and, wow, he’s not wrong. It is beautiful. The hill that they’ve chosen to sit on provides them with enough height that they are overlooking the rest of the cherry blossoms trees that have already flowered, the pink and white flowers stretching onwards for days until they blur with the horizon. Below them, it’s easy to see people walk around; friends, families, couples, all enjoying the beauty and tranquillity that the cherry blossoms have to offer. It’s peaceful.

“Ranpo! Poe-san!” Ranpo looks up to see Dazai waving his arms at them as he bounces over, in a not so subtle way, to take control of Poe’s chair. “We’ve already been waiting hours for you all to get here. I feel like I’m about to waste away!”

“Stop being so dramatic.” Ranpo huffs as he follows his friend. “You can’t have been here for longer than two hours.”

“Why do you say that?” Dazai asks, slinking back to his spot on the blanket that’s been spread out. He’s sitting next to Nakahara, who’s leaning against the trunk of a tree, his ever present hat tilted to hide his face from view.

Ranpo studies the man for a moment, trying to figure out if he’s actually sleeping—unlikely—or just trying to avoid talking to Dazai—very likely. “Why? Because you haven’t complained about how cold it is yet.”

“Touché.” Dazai gives both Ranpo and Poe a massive grin, and Ranpo can spot the sparkle in the man’s eyes that promise nothing but teasing to come. He hears Poe sigh from beside him. “I doubt the cold will be a problem for either of you though, all rugged up like little eskimo’s. But don’t worry, we brought extra blankets just in case.” Dazai’s grin grows even wider. “Although, I suppose the two of you—"

“Stop causing trouble, Dazai.” Yosano interrupts as she and Fukuzawa finally make it to the blanket, bringing with them the food that Fukuzawa had cooked for the occasion. Her eyes land on Nakahara’s unmoving form. “Is he actually asleep right now?”

Dazai hums, rolling onto his stomach so he can kick his feet in the air like the overgrown child that he is. “Chibi fell asleep an hour ago. Apparently claiming the perfect spot is such tiring work, even though all he did was put down the blanket. I was supposed to wake him when you all got here, but I think it’ll be fun to see how long it takes him to wake up instead. Don’t you agree?”

“One day, Dazai, he’s going to throw you out of that apartment.” Ranpo says as he steals one of the extra blankets, laying it out so that they all have a bigger area to sit and stretch out on, before helping Poe down to sit beside him.

“Nah, Chuuya loves me too much to do that.”

“I thought the two of you hated each other?” Poe asks, a frown on his face, and Ranpo can’t help but laugh at the sight of the expression; Poe hasn’t known Dazai for nearly as long as Ranpo and everyone else has, yet he’s already grasped the basics of whatever it is that intertwines Dazai and Nakahara with each other.

“That’s the million dollar question, Poe-kun, that we’ll never get an answer for.” Ranpo grins, letting himself fall to the side so that he’s draped over Poe’s lap; the writer does nothing except start playing with Ranpo’s hair like it’s a subconscious habit, which at this point, it might as well be for how often it happens.

He’s not complaining, he loves it every time it happens.

“Like you two are ones to talk, with—hey, Chuuya!” Whatever Dazai had been about to say is abruptly cut off by Nakahara jerking awake suddenly, and putting together the situation in about two seconds flat; he jumps to his feet and shoves Dazai hard.

“You asshole! You were supposed to wake me when everyone got here!”

“Aww, but Chuuya, you looked just like Sleeping Beauty did after she ate the apple—”

“That’s Snow White, you fucking moron, not Sleeping Beauty! If you’re going to compare me to a fairy tale, at least make sure it’s the god damn, right one!”

“Well, now you’re just the Big Bad Wolf! Interrupting my monologue.” Dazai huffs, looking much like a petulant child that’s just been told Christmas has been cancelled.

“You can take your monologue and shove it up your ass.” Nakahara growls, and then, like a switch, all the anger is gone and he greets everyone like he hadn’t just been screeching at the top of his lungs seconds earlier.

Not one of them is surprised.

After Dazai finishes sulking, they truly begin to enjoy the evening. The sun is hanging low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the cherry blossoms, turning pink and white flowers into a beautiful orange colour. It’s almost as if the sun itself resides in each of the flowers, and everyone gets comfortable to watch the sun set, a calm silence emanating from all of them.

Ranpo sits between Poe’s legs, leaning against the elder’s chest; Poe had moved to lean against the blossom tree they’re sitting under when Nakahara had left it open, and Ranpo had been quick to join him. It’s comforting, to feel Poe’s heart beating beneath his head, the way he moves with every breath that Poe takes, and the warmth of his arms as they lay, loosely wrapped around Ranpo’s waist. He can feel Poe’s head resting on top of his own, and in that moment, everything feels as it should. It feels right, to be sitting like this with Poe, just like how it feels right to lay next to each other in the hospital beds talking about stories and other nonsense that their brains conjure up in the middle of the night when neither of them can sleep.

Ranpo doesn’t know what this feeling is.

But it feels right.

The sun sets, and the lanterns turn on, and Fukuzawa brings out the food he’s cooked; simple snacks that everyone can eat and enjoy, and a quiet chatter fills the night. It doesn’t last long though, because Dazai pulls out a bottle of sake from somewhere—which has Nakahara fuming because he swears Dazai hadn’t had it when they left the apartment—and raised noises fill the night once more; thankfully, a little quieter than earlier.

“Ranpo is not of legal age, Dazai.” Fukuzawa grinds out as Dazai tries to give Ranpo a taste of the drink. “And he should not be drinking in the first place!”

“One drink—and it doesn’t even have to be a full shot—Fukuzawa-san, and then I promise on my soul that I won’t give anymore.” Dazai gives Fukuzawa the biggest puppy eyes Ranpo has ever seen on a person, and wonders briefly if this is what he looks like whenever he has to beg Fukuzawa for something.

The two stare at each other, everyone else watching in apprehension. Nakahara and Yosano already have drinks in hand, and Poe had politely declined to try the drink; all of them staying out of the conversation entirely. It’s a well-known fact that it’s best to just butt out of these kinds of conversations, lest they want to be dragged into them and forced to pick a side. Ranpo dutifully avoids making eye contact with either person, content to let the winner of this conversation determine whether is first taste of alcohol is going to be now or when he’s of the legal age to actually do so. He, personally, doesn’t care for the outcome; he’s curious about the taste, but could care less really.

Fukuzawa wavers.

Dazai dials up the puppy eyes.

A sigh. “Ranpo, would you like to try some?”

“I’ll just have a sip.” He may be curious, but he has no desire to drink a full serving of the staff. Dazai lets out a cheer before passing Ranpo just enough of the liquid that he’ll be able to taste it. Ranpo scrunches up his nose at the smell. “People willingly drink this?”

“Just try it already, before Fukuzawa-san changes his mind.” Dazai urges, and Ranpo takes a sip.

And nearly spits it out.

“Blergh, that’s gross. You people actually like this stuff?”

“It’s a bit of an acquired taste, Ranpo.” Yosano says, knocking back her own glass. “But it’s not for everyone.”

“Ranpo-kun, come for a walk with me?” Poe asks after everyone’s eaten and had a few drinks. His words are quiet, meant for Ranpo’s ears only.

“Where to?” Ranpo asks, already climbing to his feet and helping Poe get to his own. He goes to guide Poe to the wheelchair, ready to help, but Poe is quick to stop him, hand gripping Ranpo’s wrist firmly. “Poe-kun—”

“Just to the bottom. There’s a bench we can sit on.”

Ranpo nods, and together, the two of them make their way down the hill, away from the eyes of the others. They walk slow, both of them cautious of where they place their feet, because the last thing either of them wants is to fall. While they walk, Ranpo thinks. Thinks of why Poe wants to take a walk with just him when they’d all planned to walk through the trees together before heading home for the night; the sun is long gone at this point, but the lanterns provide more than enough light and atmosphere for the blossoms to be enjoyed still.

He's still thinking as they reach the bottom of the hill, Poe slowly leaning his weight on Ranpo as his legs tremble, and Ranpo only wheezing a little from the walk. The bench is a welcome relief as they both collapse into it, the silence growing between them as they let themselves recover.

Yeah, they aren’t getting back up that hill without help; Ranpo refuses to make that hike a second time, and he’s positive Poe feels the same.

Ranpo tilts his head back, staring up at the night sky that’s bordered by cherry blossoms and lanterns, and he smiles. It’s been a good night, and he’s grateful that he’s been able to spend it with those in his life that he treasures. He’s hopeful that they’ll be able to do this again next year—wants to do this again next year.

A hand intertwines with his own, long fingers resting beside his own as if they were always meant to. “Ranpo-kun—” He turns towards Poe when he speaks, and—

Poe’s kissing him.

Ranpo’s mind stops working, stops thinking, at the feeling of Poe’s lips against his own. Poe’s lips are rough where he’s chewed at them, but that doesn’t stop Ranpo from enjoying the way they feel, the way they slot naturally against his. Ranpo’s never been kissed before, never really understood the feelings that go into liking someone enough to want to be kissed by them, but like everything else with Poe; it feels right.

The kiss is as short as it is sweet, and as cool air brushes where Poe’s lips had just been, Ranpo’s brain begins to start working and he finds himself sitting there, stunned, and staring at Poe with wide eyes. Poe himself looks a little shocked, despite being the one that initiated the kiss in the first place. His cheeks are bright red, and Ranpo’s quick to turn just as red.

“I, uh, um—” Poe fumbles over his words, and his grip on Ranpo’s hand tightens. “I—I—I—"

“Breathe, Poe-kun.” Ranpo leans over and rests his head against Poe’s shoulder, giving Poe’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I liked it.”

“You—you did?”

“Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” Ranpo tilts his head up, staring into Poe’s violet eyes that are looking so terrified, it tugs at his heartstrings. He’s not sure what Poe’s scared of, and he doesn’t think Poe would tell him outright if he asked, so he settles for pressing himself close to his friend, confident that his presence will show him there’s nothing to be afraid of, that Ranpo isn’t going to up and ditch him just because he kissed him.

He feels Poe relax against him.

“Why did you kiss me?” Ranpo asks after a few moments of silence.

“I’m—I’m not sure.” Poe sighs. “I guess… it just… felt right? Did it feel right to you as well?”

“Yeah,” Ranpo closes his eyes, a soft smile on his face. “It did.”

-----

Neither Ranpo or Poe bring up the kiss in the days that follow the cherry blossoms; although when they’d finally dragged themselves back up the hill, they’d been given knowing looks from the others. In fact, nothing changes between them, and Ranpo’s a little confused. He’s seen it in movies before, where the love interests kiss and then their entire world changes, and all they can think about is each other.

But that doesn’t happen to Ranpo.

They still see each other almost every other day, and Ranpo still climbs into bed with Poe and curls up beside him; sometimes Poe will tell him a story, and others, Poe will look over Ranpo’s shoulder while he plays a game. And, sure, if Poe kissed him again, he wouldn’t complain—in fact, he thinks he’d rather like it—but Poe doesn’t. That could be because he’s still recovering from whatever it is that ails him, but why would he have kissed Ranpo in the first place if he didn’t want to do it again?

Ranpo doesn’t understand.

In the end he goes to Fukuzawa for help, since his guardian always seems to know the answer to every problem that comes Ranpo’s way. He waits for the café to be shut, and for it to just be him and Fukuzawa, before he sits on one of the stools, watching Fukuzawa work as he finds his words.

Eventually, he does.

“Poe-kun kissed me.” He says. He doesn’t say anything more, not that there isn’t much more for him to say really. Poe kissed him, that’s the fact, and nothing more happened afterwards.

Fukuzawa doesn’t look surprised at his statement either, but he pause in wiping down the coffee machine to look at him. “Does it bother you that he did?”

Ranpo shakes his head. “No. I liked it. But I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“It… well…” Ranpo struggles to find his words, glaring at the floor if that’s the cause of his sudden struggle. Eventually, he settles on, “nothing changed.”

Fukuzawa hums and comes to stand beside him. His guardian has a look that somehow manages to be both sympathetic and thoughtful. “Did you want things to change after he kissed you?”

Ranpo shrugs. “I dunno. Isn’t that how it goes in movies?”

“Well, life’s not a movie, so it doesn’t have to follow the script if you don’t want it to.” Fukuzawa returns to closing down the machine. “My advice would be to talk to Poe-san and figure out what it is you both want.”

It’s Ranpo’s turn to hum as he thinks. “He said he kissed me ‘cause it felt right. And it did—it felt right, but so does everything else that we do.”

“Another way you could look at it is this way. Would you kiss Dazai?” Ranpo takes a moment to think about kissing his best friend and it takes not even a second before he’s scrunching up his face at the idea. The last thing he wants to do is kiss Dazai; no offense to Dazai of course, but he’d rather die than lock lips with him. Fukuzawa chuckles at the expression on his face. “If you ask me, you and Poe-san have a special kind of relationship, and it’s okay not to know what that is right now. You don’t have to label it if you don’t want to.”

“But I should still talk to him, is what you’re saying?”

Fukuzawa gives a singular nod. “Talking will help you both.”

Ranpo takes Fukuzawa’s advice to heart and brings it up the next time he visits Poe in the hospital. Poe’s doing a lot better now, no longer hooked up to all the machinery and everything else; apparently Yosano’s keeping him for an extra couple of days just to make sure he’s a hundred percent before discharging him. Ranpo can understand it, on account of having it done to him so many times in the past, but he can tell when he walks into Poe’s room, that Poe is getting frustrated at being bedridden for so long.

“Poe-kun.” Ranpo sits on the edge of Poe’s bed instead of curling up beside the man like he usually does, although he’s still close enough that he can grab Poe’s hand and intertwine their fingers like they had the night under the cherry blossoms. Poe looks at him. “Will you kiss me again?”

There’s a beat of silence before Poe’s leaning forward and capturing Ranpo’s lips in their second kiss. Ranpo’s more prepared this time, and he closes his eyes and kisses back, uncertain, unsure that he’s doing it right. He feels Poe squeeze his hand gently—a reassurance that he is doing it right—and he relaxes, unaware that he’d been tensing up in the first place. Poe’s other hand comes up to cup Ranpo’s cheek, and Ranpo responds by burying his free hand into Poe’s hair and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Poe’s lips are smoother this time—he hasn’t been chewing them lately—and there’s the faint hint of fruit on them. It still feels right to be doing this—kissing Poe that is.

Poe’s thumb brushes over Ranpo’s cheek, and then the two of them pull apart, foreheads resting against each other. “Was that okay?” Poe asks.

“Yeah.” Ranpo breathes. “I wanted to be sure.”

“Of what?”

“That it still felt right.”

Poe nods, understanding what Ranpo means without him needing to elaborate. That’s the thing about Poe; he just gets Ranpo, without Ranpo having to ever explain himself or his choice in words, and it’s an actual relief to have someone like that in his life. It gets tiring, when he has to explain himself because he says something that confuses those around him.

But not Poe.

Never Poe.

Ranpo shifts so that he can lay beside Poe, and pulls the man to do the same, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of something shifting, but it feels like they’re more closely intertwined than usual when they do this, even though nothing has really changed. Their faces are nothing but an inch apart, their legs, tangled underneath the blanket that Poe throws over the both of them, and both of them have at least one hand clutching at the others.

“What are we, Ranpo-kun?” Poe asks before Ranpo can, and it’s just another way that the two are in tune with each other.

“I don’t know.” Ranpo admits. “Definitely friends. Something more? I’m not sure. This is unfamiliar territory. But…” He trails off.

“But what?”

“Fukuzawa said we didn’t have to put a label on it if we didn’t want to, so… we’re… us? We can keep doing what feels right, and we’ll make sure to talk about it if we aren’t sure.”

Poe nods and seems satisfied with Ranpo’s answer. Then the look fades and his replaced with a worried look and Ranpo too, grows worried. “What is it, Poe-kun?”

“If… if you had to wait for me, would you, Ranpo-kun?”

Ranpo’s heart pounds. He doesn’t like the words the moment they fall out of Poe’s mouth. Of course, life couldn’t cut him a break and let him be happy for a change. He can see it, in the way Poe is now tense and afraid, and in the way he’s hesitating when he clearly has something to tell him. Would you wait for me; words only spoken when one has to leave for an indefinite amount of time, and Ranpo closes his eyes. He doesn’t want Poe to leave him, not when they’d finally started to figure things out. But… he also knows that if Poe’s leaving, it’s for a reason, and he finds that, yes, he’s willing to wait.

He'd wait forever if he had to.

“Yes.” He says in the end, and the tension leaves Poe’s body.

It doesn’t leave Ranpo’s.

He feels lips brush against his forehead as Poe whispers to him. “I have to go back to America to finish my studies. I’ll be gone a year, two at the most. But I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.”

Ranpo can’t help but whine. “That’s so long.”

“You have my number.” Poe reassures him. “We won’t be like those people in the movies that lose contact for years or decades and forget each other. We aren’t a movie, Ranpo-kun. We’re us.”

Ranpo’s heart still aches at the idea of being apart from Poe for so long, but Poe’s words reassure him that everything will be fine. Poe’s right; they aren’t a movie. They’ll talk as much as they are able to, send emails, letters, whatever it takes to stay in contact. They’re both stubborn like that. “We’re us.” Ranpo whispers back. Us. We’re us, and nothing will stop us from being us.

“Ranpo-kun.” Poe says suddenly.

Ranpo hums to show he’s listening.

“Will you call me Edgar when I return?”

Ranpo smiles. “Only if you drop the ‘kun’, Poe-kun.”

Poe smiles back at him. “It’s a promise then.”

The day Poe leaves is a quiet day, with only Ranpo and Fukuzawa bidding him farewell. Poe doesn’t seem to mind, and hugs the both of them before repeating his promise to return in two years’ time.

Ranpo doesn’t cry, not as Poe boards his plane.

Ranpo doesn’t cry, not as the plane lifts into the air.

Ranpo does cry, when he gets in the car to go home.

Love truly is a complicated emotion.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fic #bungo stray dogs fic #ranpoe #edogawa ranpo #edgar allan poe #writing #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #fluff #romance #first kiss

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early20sfailingplenty · 2 years

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Danny Johnson fic ideas! He is super meticulous and follows his victims closely for a long time, he's really into stalking to get to know his victims so! I work at a coffee shop and would love it if he got to know me by being a regular my shop. We laugh and talk and flirt, I only know him by his civillian persona, Jen Olson, but he stalks me outside of work as Danny. Totally becomes obsessed with me and gets off on the dichotomy of being the nice regular customer and the cold hearted killer planning my eventual end. He also loves me being so unaware of his true nature. What seals the deal of hooking his interest in me is my Final Girl tattoo on my right forearm that is underlined with a bloody hunting knife. He wants me to be HIS final girl and sees the potential in me. Just something about his thought process and being so into me. Also maybe some breaking and entering and him being a creep going through my undwear drawer and/or watching me sleep (which I tend to do naked 👀) and taking small mementos. I own a lotta chapstick and mugs, he could probably take one without me noticing, or he takes a well loved one because he WANTS me to notice and get confused. General details, I love the color red, like a candy apple red and plaid. I love leggings and skirts and crop tops at home. I wear glasses. I usually have my hair in a bun at work and in a high pontytail at home when I'm cooking or writing, and down the rest if the time, its brown and falls to about midback. He loves to watch me cook and bake which I do often. Can be as NSFW as you want, sexual and violent is encouraged! I like him DARK! He could do something to me while or not, could just watch, (as if he wouldn't jerk off to me, or on me, while I slept.) But use your discretion! I trust you! Thank you again SO much, I love you dude! ❤ ~ @bisexual-horror-fan

Bex!!! My beloved!!!!😭😭😭💖💖💖First of all, a biiiiiig big happy birthday to YOU!!!!😍😍😍😍😍😍You're amazing, I love you so much, and I hope you have a day as wonderful as you!!!😭🫂💖💖💖 Second, I'm more than a little nervous to be posting this because until you sent this in, I had no idea what DBD was, I didn't know who Danny Johnson was, etc. etc. so I went into all the research I did totally blind (I'd be happy to share this with you once you've read this if you wanna know👀, but obviously while this was in the works I had to keep it all quiet), but I hope it all paid off and that you're able to connect with and enjoy this piece! I went in and I'm really excited for you to read it! It was a challenge to go dark but that's what makes it fun! I'll stop talking now and let you read! MWAH ~

Seek and destroy // Danny Johnson x Final Girl!Bex

TW; stalking, swearing, dramatic irony (my beloved💗), predatory behaviour from Danny, Bex is a fly in the web, obsessive behaviour, you're a to-be murder victim and you don't know it until you do, descriptions of physical violence and gore, Danny's a creep, broken boundaries, theft of possessions, NSFW, somnophilia (kind of), non/dub-con (male masturbation; Danny gets off to you while you're sleeping without you knowing and without your consent), panty sniffing, this is the darkest thing I've ever written and that includes the time I wrote about reader trying to kill themselves by sitting in Vincent's chair (yeah I went IN for you with this💕), NOT X READER!!! but you're welcome to read!!! Contains physical descriptions of Bex, personalised with permission (duh, it's your birthday gift), implicit cannibalism references, kind of meta because this references other horror films and other slashers (it fits in with the Scream origins of Danny, okay?), no dialogue, cum eating (Danny). He's a depraved, filthy bastard and you love him for it.

Word count: 3, 353.

Oh, but you are beautiful.

You don't even know it, do you?

You don't know that he's been watching you for weeks already. You don't know that he's watched you working through the window of your workplace, hidden by the darkness within him but also by the shadows afforded to the tall buildings which smother the skyline. You don't know that he knows your work schedule, he knows the particular routine you carry out to settle into a shift, he knows the routine you have to mentally leave the shift as you clock out. You don't know that you're in very grave danger. You don't know any of his plans, you don't know the game he's playing, you don't know that you don't know that he's a vicious, sadistic murderer who has been plotting your violent murder this entire time.

You don't know.

But Danny knows, and he supposes that it's more fun for him if you stay in the dark, where he wants you. Where you have been for the last month while he has stalked you, learned you, studied you, mapped you out, unravelled you for who you are and put you back together in the way he wants you to be... oh, but your potential is divine... the anticipation of what he's going to do to you, of what he is already doing to you, makes the chase, the hunt, the kill, all of it, even sweeter than it already is.

It was Danny Johnson who stepped into the shadows when you began your shift five hours ago, but it is Jed Olson who enters your coffee shop.

It is the beginning of the end, of your end and he is so excited.

Let the shadow games begin.

---

The first part of the game was silly, light-hearted. There was some kind of sick... joy in knowing something that you didn't. His impulsivity came from knowing that he could get away with what he was doing to you, with you; he was leading you down a slowly unwinding path which was of your own making. A joint effort, though only one party was privy to such information. From the very get go, Danny got off on the way he really was and the way you saw him. The way he wanted you to see him. Danny Johnson was sadistic, patient, a man in control who planned murders weeks in advance. The anticipation always made for a greater pay-off when the end was finally delivered. He was careful at crime scenes, a delicious, sick contrast to the way he was light-hearted towards the actual murder. But Jed Olson, oh... he always greeted you with a wide smile and gave modest responses to the flirtations you met him with. There was something about him which drew you towards him; like a moth to a flame. You would be burned, and it would make or break you, though you didn't know that. Yet. The dichotomy between who he really was and who he played for you kept him on his toes, and it only set to lure you further into the trap.

For every drink he ordered (always and deliberately your favourite, for he enjoyed the smile which lit up your gorgeous face like a Christmas tree as you complimented him on his tastes), for every cup you scrawled 'Jed' on, for every smile you gave him as he entered and left your coffee shop, you both turned further and faster down the dark road, tendrils of the achromatic heart he possessed, a withered and shrivelled thing, wrapping tighter and tighter around your own with every exchange.

You didn't suspect it, you couldn't even begin to guess at the severe mortal danger in which you found yourself.

You didn't know.

And so everything was going according to his carefully calculated, carefully arranged ritualistic sadistic game.

It was a game.

One of shadows, of deceit, of violence, of stalking, of his predation and your vulnerability, of broken boundaries... the game had more rounds than Danny had initially planned, but wasn't that what made it the most fun?

When the game surprised him and practically played itself, he knew it was a good one.

There was so much potential in you and he was eager to keep you caught like a fly in his web of lies so that he could reveal to you your truest, darkest self. You were right there, hidden beneath your surface, hidden underneath the underneath. Or so he told himself to begin with. Months to the day he decided to start following you, getting to know you in a very intense, very one-sided relationship, he started to follow you outside of your workplace. He merged your two realities so seamlessly that if he let his control slip for even a moment, he would lose track of whose routine was whose, whose home was whose. You were well and truly in the belly of the beast, swimming in hydrochloric acid waiting to be digested. You were right there, fresh and ready for the taking. For his taking. Wasn't that what you wanted? To go down in a fight? To stand up and take your life for your own, to take it back from the world which sought only to take and take and take; he knew intimately how exhausted you were after your six day work weeks. He knew well what those nine hour shifts did to you, how early you had to be awake to begin your day. You fought every single day and Danny had yet to figure out if you were aware of how strong you truly were. You were destined to be more than what you already were, he just had to get underneath your surface and dig you out of yourself.

You... You were made to be a final girl... no, no, that wasn't right, hang on... You were made to be his final girl. The tattoo on your right forearm told him everything he needed to know, and a part of him longed to launch over the counter top, seize your arm in his and carve his initials into the tattoo, on the bottom right hand side of the bloody hunting knife which underlined the bold 'final girl'. You wore your potential with pride, he had noted that very first day of visiting you in your coffee shop. Much fun was to be had in breaking you down and making you into who you really were... that dark light inside of you was to be his. You were made to be his, with just a bit more time, a lot more patience and persistence, and you would be dragged to your real self, kicking and screaming and soaked in blood – whether your own or someone else's was entirely up to you. Danny wasn't entirely heartless; you got to have a say in the end result, too. You just didn't get a say in how or when or why you got there.

That honour was Danny's.

One afternoon after another, he followed you home. Always at a safe distance, always three people behind you. It didn't matter if you saw his build way off in the crowd or not; Jed was fresh-faced, no mask, no costume, but Danny was masked as Ghost Face and stuck to the shadows; you had no way of knowing that the two were one and the same. Hell, nine times out of ten, you didn't even register the way the door to your living space took a little bit longer to close than it used to, as Danny darted in just before it could slam shut on you.

Danny stuck to the shadows so well that he became your shadow.

He was the slasher to your final girl.

Despite his patient approach to the way he stalked you and lived your life alongside you, with you totally oblivious all the while, unaware of his true nature, unaware that Danny and Jed were the same person (or even that Danny existed; he covered his tracks so well that you never thought to look for them. Why would you, when they were never visible?), Danny grew bored of just sneaking into your home and watching you cook or write, your hair in a ponytail. It was a different style to how you wore it when you were at work – it was interesting to Danny, because he and Jed were different, too, though his work was wholly different and entirely more sinister than your own. It was a bit of a stretch, the comparison, but he made it all the same as he began to think of ways to allude to you that there was something going on.

The solo round of his sadistic game was over and now... oh, now, it was your turn to play.

Every final girl deserved a chance. The fight wasn't fair, the play was rough and dirty, but he liked it like that, and he knew after all this time that you did, too. So much potential, so much raw energy just waiting to be cultivated, so much fun to be had.

It started with going through your underwear drawer while you were busy cooking in the kitchen. You were only rooms away, totally unaware of the violation of your boundaries... not the first and certainly not the last of many which Danny sought to bestow upon you. Like gifts, if you were. Strange, depraved, unwelcomed gifts. For now. But one day, oh... one day, he would cash in those receipts, and the gift of your life essence would run down his gloved hands, crimson rivulets seeping into the seams of the leather he favoured, staining his skin and leaving a metallic taste on his tongue. He hadn't yet had the pleasure of tasting you, but he would soon.

Some slashers chose to consume their victims in the physical sense. Some chose to eat away at their victims' resolve strand by strand until the victim unravelled at the seams and became a shell of themselves. Some chose to strip away at souls until the spirit broke. Some chose other methods, other means, but they all lead to the same sensation being fulfilled, the same cravings being satiated in a primal, predatory manner: taste. Touch. Possession.

Mine.

Was all Danny was thinking as he watched you get ready for bed. You slept naked, he noticed, and it only made it that much easier for him to get off on what he was putting you through. Whether or not you knew about it now, you would eventually, and that level of trauma would be with you for life. Danny would walk beside you, hidden in your shadows, for the rest of your life, and you had no idea. Yet.

He wanted to introduce himself to you. Slowly, slowly. You were a frog in a pot of water, the temperature turning in small increments from a simmer up to the boil, and it would be too late for you to hop out by the time you realised what was happening to you, what had been happening to you for almost a year by the time he decided to take a few momentos from your bedroom. To get you ready to meet him by planting a seed of suspicion in a mind as sharp, as beautiful, as yours. You were a work of art, but every art piece needs the artists' signature, and he would sign you off with a flick of his wrist, the flash of his blade... with a flourish worthy of the final girl you were.

You owned a lot of chapsticks and a lot of mugs; there was no way you would be able to use them all regularly, but Danny knew that you did. You had your favourites, of course, and you had your favourites, but you did use all your mugs, and all your chapsticks. You had such a big heart, plenty of room in your life, and with your love of horror and fantasy, Danny knew that there was plenty of room in you for him. Not that he would or could ever give you a choice. He had taken that away from you the very first day he had strolled into your coffee shop with a disarming smile as he ordered your favourite hot drink; white hot chocolate with cinnamon steamed in the milk. Very creamy, a little spicy, very sweet... like you.

You are what you consume, isn't that what people say?

The image of you spread out in bed, naked, sleeping and dead to the world, combined with famous quotes completely divorced from their original contexts, had Danny palming himself through his leathers. He got off on what he had been doing to you for all of this time, but never before had he been surrounded by you – your body, your scent, your possessions... the hand not palming himself found the collection of your favourite chapsticks and snagged the one you had used that morning. You would notice it wasn't there, you used it a lot of the time as your default option, and he could tell by the way the label was starting to peel off by the lid that it was a well loved chapstick.

You would notice it missing.

And in time, you would notice him, too.

No final girl ever gets away without first confronting her slasher. It's the ritual, the... the formula of any good horror film.

You stretched in bed, your arms over your head, your duvet crept down from your shoulders to just beneath your breasts, your chest rising and falling with every breath. Their numbers limited. Danny wondered what it would be like to climb atop your slumbering form and wrap his deft fingers around the column of your throat as you slept. Your pulse would thunder against his fingers, your body would jerk and writhe due to the oxygen deprivation, your eyes would be blown wide... or maybe you wouldn't wake. Maybe he would only make sure you never woke up, forever lost in a dream made only for you, dredged up from the oceanic depths of your vivid imagination. He would only get to kill you once, and that scenario wasn't how he wanted to do it.

He swatted the thought away like it was nothing more pesky than a fly as he undid his trousers and pulled himself out. He was rock hard, his head bright red and weeping. For you. For the way your walls would welcome him, for the way your back would arch into him but your hips would pull back into the mattress, the pleasure he would gift to you before his own pleasure somehow too much and yet... not enough.

He needed more.

How would your blood spray as he slashed your throat? Or, perhaps he would mimic your favourite slasher and slash you three times up the back, like claws, like... like a wild animal. He certainly wanted to fuck you like you were animals. He wanted you on all fours, your arse up in the air and your face down in a pillow (so easy would it be to smother you while he pounded into you from behind... you would be too lost in pleasure to notice him pressing you down by the nape of your neck, fingers delved into your brown hair, and you would lose consciousness and simply never wake up again). He wanted you under him, above him, but he mostly wanted you at his side. The final girl, the slasher's undoing. But you two would buck that trend, you would be partners in life and in crime. You had the potential and he wanted to make it his.

He wanted to make you his.

Black underwear in his peripheral vision.

Danny contorted his body and snagged them off the floor. He could just smell you through his mask and your sleepy noises, lost were you to the world, only spurred him on as he pressed the dirty panties to his mask as tightly as he could. He wouldn't take his mask off; it would ruin the ambience, make it only too easy for you to win the game before you had really begun to play if you woke up before he could finish, his hand working to get himself off as he thumbed at the beads of pre-cum gathering at his tip. He was red raw and it reminded him briefly of the candy red colour you favoured. You looked so good in red. One day, Danny would make you wear a crimson cape... again, whether it was your own or someone else's blood would be your own choice. But it would happen.

He had you so close to him and yet, so far, and on his legs did he stagger to your bedside, looking down at you as he continued to masturbate over you. Having you even closer to him only fuelled the speed at which he jerked himself off and as he bent over (somewhat awkwardly, but it was doable) to sniff your hair, one hand wrapped around his cock and the other tightly holding the panties he stole off your floor, you moaned in your sleep. He wondered what, who, you were dreaming about. For all his attempts, he couldn't climb into your head, and it enraged him. Still, in time, he would come to possess your mind, your body, your heart, your soul, he would consume you for all that you were as he took from you all that you could be. Life was full of possibilities and he wanted to take them from you, he would take them from you.

Thoughts of feeling you writhing beneath him as he murdered you tipped him over the edge in his mind from which he clung by his fingertips and he came with barely a sound, thick ropes of cum spilling over his head and dripping onto your abdomen. Your face creased lightly at the impact of wet where there shouldn't be and Danny watched as you settled again. You had no idea of how much danger you were in, of how much danger you had always been in, ever since he had decided that you were to be his next passion project, his next game and victim.

But you were to be the one who didn't get away, the one who met him where he was, the one who became his final girl. His, his, his.

His final girl.

Danny's chest heaved as he removed his mask, broke his own boundary while breaking so many of yours that it would be quicker and easier to list the ones he hadn't broken. By far, it was a shorter list.

He bent down some more and flattened his tongue along your abdomen, scooping up his cum with little fuss. You whimpered, shifted under what he was doing, and the taste of you had his eyes rolling back in his head. Fuck, why hadn't he done this sooner? Life was no fun without risks and Danny had put all of his and some of your own onto the table as he cleaned you up, tucked himself away, put your dirty panties in one of his many pockets, and stole out of your bedroom window as quickly as he had climbed through it.

Saliva glistened on your abdomen, exposed to the cool natural air, but you didn't wake. You slept on, unencumbered by the man who was stealing you from yourself, piece by piece by piece, until you would have nothing left. And then he would take more. And more. And more. Until your life left your eyes, your blood cooled on his blade, your body stilled, and he rejoiced.

But not yet.

Tomorrow, Jed would order coffee, Danny would plan, you would work, and all would go well for one of you.

For the other?

Nothing would ever be the same again.

It remained to be seen who would be who, and wasn't that fun?

Danny thought so.

#danny johnson #danny jed olsen johnson #dbd ghostface #bisexual-horror-fan #bex my beloved

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