Work Text:
It is eerily calm, Karl's soft snoring and the faint classical music being the only noise filling the dark room except for Poe's grunts of satisfaction here and there. He's been writing this novel for over 2 weeks, and he still hasn't finished. How pathetic.
He sighs, feeling an intense wave of irritability and tiredness wash over him. It was 2PM, yet his surroundings were so, so dark. Even glancing at the slim streak of light that emerged through the gap between his window curtains seemed to eat him alive. He despised the thought of getting up to move them so more light could enter the room. He could feel himself gaining a headache just thinking about it.
He glances more around his room. The uneven bedsheets, small piles of clothes, even the dust piling on that book he had sworn to read weeks ago only implemented dread into his already exhausted being. He felt angry at himself. Not only because he had failed at the seemingly simple task of basic human existence, but he had neglected as much self-care as possible, and he STILL hadn't gotten this damn novel finished.
Closing his eyes, he self-reflects for a moment before reverting his gaze back to his writing. Now, where was he? Right, he had gotten distracted after forgetting how to spell a word. Ah, but he didn't want to ruin the paper by misspelling the word. Thinking about a solution to this problem feels like a chore.
Finally, after thinking of a solution, he brings the fountain pen he had been using to his hand, lightly writing with feather-like movements different variations of spelling for the word. The feeling was actually quite soothing until Karl made a loud speak noise after stirring in his sleep. He must have been having a dream, which would have been quite cute if it weren't for the fact that the noise had startled Poe, causing him to accidentally cut his hand on the tip of the pen.
Almost immediately, he grabbed a tissue and soaked up as much of the ink he could from the cut, since ink poisoning definitely wasn't something he wanted to deal with. After he presumed all of it was gone, he lifted the tissue, only to see the black ink soaked into it along another substance. Blood. He felt a sick satisfaction from the sight claw at his stomach. Pausing, he stared at the red liquid as it slowly dried into the tissue. He hadn't felt this relief in a long time. He knew it was a bad- no, downright horrible idea, but he desired to see more. He desired to get the same satisfaction that was now lingering in his chest.
He stood up from his chair, stumbling a bit. That came as no surprise to him, as he hadn't left the seat in 6 hours. Or more? He couldn't tell, his sense of time had long since spiraled. He slowly walks his way to the bathroom, and he feels like he's sinking with each step. The same sense of dread he had felt earlier was seeping back into his soul, and he was desperate for a release.
He finally makes it to the bathroom, after treading a distance that felt horribly long for just being a few steps. Opening the door, he walks over to the sink, looking up and into the mirror. He looked terrible. His hair was unkept and it was obvious he hadn't showered in a prolonged amount of days. He didn't even want to imagine how bad his eyebags were by now. After so many all-nighters, they couldn't be anything less then horrid. He looks over to the small cabinet that was on the wall left to the mirror. Reaching for the knob, he feels a tingling sensation in his fingertips, like he was being drawn to it. Upon opening it, he is greeted by a tube of toothpaste, a tooth brush, a small empty container of floss that he'd meant to replace ages ago, and finally, two razors.
He felt his heart jump at the sight, and he was too dazed to figure out if it was a good or bad feeling. Pushing every coherent thought to the back of his mind, he grabs the razors, walking back to his desk while avoiding some of the clothes piles that he still hadn't cleaned up yet. As he sat down, he placed the razors in front of him, pushing in his chair after fully sitting.
And then he placed his left arm onto the table, the arm of which he had cut the hand of earlier. He pulled up the sleeve of the white button up he was wearing, not caring if the blood eventually seeped its way into the light fabric. He picks up a razor with the other hand, slowly bringing it to touch the skin of his wrist. He paused.
And then once, twice, thrice.
Small beads of blood start to form, and it's too slow for his liking. He repeats the action another three times, this time being a bit deeper then the latter.
Eventually he loses himself even more, and every three attempts get deeper and deeper until he's made it up to about an inch away from the inside of his elbow. It's then when he realizes the mess hes made. The blood he was unsatisfied with earlier only needed time before it bled like hell, and the other ones were one, two, three times worse.
He almost starts up again, but his eyes widen when he realizes the blood was quickly making its way to the paper of the novel, and had already started soaking into it. Panic sets in as he goes to grab the book, but his mistake is using his left arm, blood trickling off and dripping onto the novel. He wants to cry, this was nothing but a bad idea. A terrible, stupid, good-for-nothing idea that he never should have went through with in the first place. He felt ashamed.
Oh, but it only gets worse.
His heart drops when he hears a knock on his bedroom door. He first thought, "who the hell got into my house?" but soon realized that was a stupid question, and there was only one person that would be knocking on his door at 2:30 PM slightly uninvited.
"Poooeee! I know you're in there! Do you understand how annoying it is to have to pick a lock every time I come here? How rude!"
And Poe truly believes for a moment that this- this is where he will die.
Sitting at his desk that is covered in his own blood, his arm littered with self-hatred, and the novel he worked so hard on, ruined.
What an unfortunate turn of events for the man that is Edgar Allan Poe.
His mind is scattered, unknowing of what to do next. Should he hide himself and hope that Ranpo doesn't come inside? Should he play pretend and act like Ranpo is just seeing things? Maybe he could-
"Poooooeeee! Don't think I won't force myself into this room too!"
Fuck. He stays frozen, not only in thought but in genuine fear, until his demise finally sets in. Ranpo eventually opens the door, saying some words that Poe can't understand because he's too caught up in throwing both the book and the razors in the trash and pulling down his sleeve.
"See? I knew you were in here. Nothing a master detective can't sol-"
Poe slowly turns around in his chair, not able to look Ranpo in the eyes. "A-ah, hello again Ranpo, I'm sorry to say that I've misplaced the novel, but I promise I'll find it soon-..." The silence finally catches his attention, "...Ranpo?" He looks up to face Ranpo, and if he hadn't had enough scares already, Ranpo is staring directly at the one place Poe didn't want him to look. There's an emotionless expression on his face, but it's laced with genuine concern. That's when Poe knew he had been found out, but he didn't understand. How?
Poe then looks down at his own wrist, realizing his simple mistake.
He was wearing a white button up, meaning the sleeves were also... well, now one was a deep red.
Fuck.
"I- ah, uh..." He tries, but no words come out. He's done for. Ranpo is going to laugh at him any second now and then he will never speak to him again. Or maybe he'll be grossed out, and insult Poe on how disgusting he is and leave.
But even then... why did Ranpo's face look so sad?
Ranpo suddenly started walking over towards him and Poe instinctively flinched, leaning back to try to get further away from him. Ranpo then took a sharp turn into the bathroom, Poe hearing noises of things falling and clinking together. What was he looking for?
Eventually Ranpo walks out, carrying a med kit that Poe didn't even know he had. Ranpo walked up to Poe, who looked down in shame. His eyes were then met with Ranpo's hand, in which he held out for Poe to take. Poe, not understanding what he was going to do, took his hand, and Ranpo led him to his bed, sitting himself down and patting the spot in front of him as a signal for Poe to sit there. Poe hesitantly obliged
He then let go of Poe's hand and held out his own again, this time wanting Poe to give him his left arm. Poe hesitated, too scared to even look up from the bedsheets. But when he looked up and into Ranpo's eyes, he felt a sense of security and safety take over his once shaken being. This was probably the wrong time to notice, but Ranpo had the prettiest eyes Poe had ever seen.
He gave Ranpo his arm, and Ranpo slowly rolled up the sleeve. Pausing for only a second, he reached over to the med kit, opening it and taking out what seemed to be band-aids and a few antiseptic wipes. He immediately got to work, cleaning the now dried blood off of the wounds and placing one band-aid on each of the cuts, which seemed like a waste, but Poe didn't say anything.
The silence between the two would have been comforting to Poe if it wasn't for the situation. It was awkward, embarrassing even, and yet he felt so safe. Suddenly, Ranpo speaks, "...This isn't the first time I've seen someone like this." Poe looks up once more at him, and Ranpo looks so focused that it's honestly endearing. He looks back down and he wants to speak, but he doesn't know if he should. That is, until Ranpo says, "You're allowed to ask about it, y'know." Damn him and his incredible way of reading people minds.
Poe still doesn't know if he should speak, but despite that he mutters, "...When...when was the first time?" His voice is low and raspy, obvious that he hadn't drank water in quite some time.
Ranpo answers, "About 7 months ago. It was Dazai. Not much of a surprise, huh? I had walked into his dorm at the agency to deliver some reports Kunikida had put together, and I should have already been suspicious by the fact that it wasn't locked. He has a habit of locking doors." Poe hums, a sign that he's listening. Ranpo continues, "But, as you know, I don't really run errands at the ADA, so I didn't know that was already a bad sign. And so there I was, just waltzing into his hell hole. I remember I stopped dead in my tracks- he was sitting on the floor, a small pool of blood forming, and it was coming from his wrists." Poe can hear him swallow as he paused, slowly uncovering the bad memory.
"Most weren't that deep, but there- there was one that..." Another pause. "...It was really bad. I kinda just stood there, and he looked up at me with these dead eyes. Like he was a walking corpse. I didn't know what to do, so I dropped the papers and went and got Yosano." Ranpo sighs, grabbing some of the wipes away before turning back to finish cleaning up Poe's wrist.
"...I really care about my friends." Poe is confused by this sudden statement. Gazing back up at him, Ranpo looks angry- no, conflicted. "I really care about my friends, but that shook me up a lot. I remember that after the incident, Dazai went to apologize to me, but I told him there was no need. That was because I should have been the one to apologize... I did nothing to help him. I'm still kinda not over it." Ranpo puts on the last Band-aid, sitting back to admire his work. It was a bit sloppy, but he smiled.
"Well, there ya go! All patched up." He grinned, but there was off vibe to his demeanor. Poe faces his arm towards himself, and he's almost brought to tears by the kind act. "...Thank you." Ranpo tilts his head. "Any time. Hey, why don't we go to the bakery downtown? I haven't been there in weeks!" Poe smiles. he has always admired Ranpo's optimism, but wow... Ranpo really, truly was as perfect as perfect could be.
"That sounds good. But allow me to get ready first." Ranpo nods, laying back on the bed. "Okay, but don't take too long!" Poe nods, grabbing a new set of clothes from his closet. He goes to grab a black coat to put on, but he hears Ranpo speak, "Hey, choose that brown one." Poe turns to see that Ranpo is now sitting up, pointing to the coat two over from the one he was going to originally choose. He pauses, but gives in, grabbing the brown coat instead. "I'll be right out." He says, before heading off into the bathroom to take a much needed and deserved shower.
He stops in the doorway of the bathroom, though, and Ranpo looks at him with a confused gaze. "Did you forget something?" No response. Poe only turns and looks at him before saying, "...You're a really good person, Ranpo. He gives no time for Ranpo to respond, turning back to the doorway and walking inside. Ranpo is a bit shocked, but somehow Poe knew exactly what to say. He smiles, muttering in almost a whisper, "Thank you."
Eventually Poe steps out, spotting Ranpo over by the trash can. "Ranpo, what are you-" His eyes widen when he sees what Ranpo is holding- his novel that he did a poor job of hiding. 'W-Wait, you weren't supposed to-!" Ranpo turns towards him, closing the book.
He grins, putting the book on the now clean desk. "I've already figured it out anyways, I was only bored." Alas, Poe had been beat once again. He sighed, slight disappointment now washing over him. "...I will admit though..." Ranpo looks away, and as if sensing Poe's sadness, he speaks, "...it was definitely one of your best works." He walks past Poe and to the door, opening it. During this, Poe is still processing the words, his face now becoming flushed from the sudden compliment. "W-wait, really?!" He turns around and walks out the door, Ranpo already halfway out into the hallway.
"Yeah yeah, now c'mon, I'm hungry!" He yells back, and Poe rushes to his side. He suddenly feels a familiar warmth on his neck- the raise of his voice moments ago must have woken the sleeping raccoon. "Ah- hello, Karl..." he says, smiling softly and petting behind one of Karl's ears, earning a cute squeak from him. Ranpo had snuck a look at Poe, and he would be lying if he said didn't find the interaction between the two adorable. He feels his chest fill with a weird warmth, and he quickly looks away.
On the way to the bakery, Poe breaks the silence, "Hey, Ranpo..." Ranpo looks up at him, "Yeah?"
Poe gulps, adverting his gaze, "This, uh- this might be a bit insensitive of me, but..." Ranpo raises an eyebrow in curiosity, "Why... why did you help me? I mean, you said you didn't know what to do last time, so why-"
"Well, that's an easy question. Because, like I said, I really care about my friends." He looks down at the concrete of the sidewalk they're walking on. "With that being said, I didn't exactly answer your question... can I be honest with you, Poe?" Poe feels a twinge of nervousness, but he nods. Ranpo doesn't speak again for a moment, and Poe can feel his stomach twist into knots with anxiety and anticipation. "...I wasn't really, thinking, when I acted. I just did what felt right. Seeing you like that- I... I guess the desire to help you kinda overrided any other emotion I had at the time." Ranpo then looks back up at Poe, locking eyes with him, "I, well, I don't think I've ever felt like this with anyone else before."
Poe's eyes widen, mouth suddenly becoming dry. "I... W-What are you saying...?" Ranpo's face suddenly becomes slightly red, and he stops walking. Poe stops too, but only after he's a few steps in front of Ranpo.
"Hey," Ranpo speaks, "why don't we call this a date?" Poe swore he could've exploded right then and there. He wouldn't have believed Ranpo for a second if it wasn't for the genuine wavering in his voice, the nervousness that's rarely ever heard from the greatest detective himself.
Even so, Poe was still incredibly shocked. "A-A date!?" Ranpo smiled, looking up at him, "That's what I said, isn't it? Unless, you aren't up to-" "Of course I am!" Poe shouts, earning a shocked look from Ranpo. The expression quickly dissipates, though, before it goes back to his usual, slightly-arrogant grin that Poe had grown to adore.
"Then it's a date." Ranpo walks back to Poe's side, this time much closer than before. "By the way, it's really cute how flustered you get from the simplest things." Poe is, ironically, very flustered from this. "I- You-" He stutters out, but ultimately fails to provide a sentence. Ranpo laughs, and that makes up for the embarrassment he just put Poe through.
Ranpo's laugh... he wanted to hear it so much more. He wanted to spend every second with him, and he's known this for a while, but he never would have thought that Ranpo reciprocated those feelings.
Ah, damn Ranpo, and his utter and absolute perfection.