No introduction. No context. And above all, not even a hi or other greeting as a starter.
Not that Ranpo needed any of that. If that assassin boy made the effort to find him here, in yet another random alleyway of Yokohama – where Ranpo would probably spend the night, given it didn’t rain until then – it certainly wasn’t to shoot the breeze.
As for the greetings, they would be rather outlandish considering their respective situations. Two orphans, one unemployed and roaming the streets like a stray, the other killing for living? Not exactly the general picture that came to mind when talking about teenagers’ meetings.
“Straight to the point as always, Oda,” Ranpo sneered, albeit with a hint of genuine amusement. “Tell me, whose trap did the so-called genius assassin fall into again, hm?”
Seemingly unfazed by the taunt, Oda shrugged carelessly.
“My skill has its limits. I barely saw what would happen that the trap had already started to close on me… Though, unlike last time, I could kill the guy just in time.”
“But that wasn’t a ‘clean’ kill because it was done on the spur of the moment, and now you need help to clean your mess or the police will easily trace it back to you. Correct?”
“Exactly.”
Ranpo snorted. “And so, you thought of me? Aw. I’m touched.”
Oda answered with another shrug.
“You’ve helped me last time. And it’s only thanks to you and your intervention that I’m not rotting in prison today.”
Ranpo’s smirk faded. With his arms crossed, he leaned against the alleyway wall, and took in the scent of the upcoming rain lingering in the air.
It had also rained the night which had followed that event. The strong wind blowing that day, which Ranpo had let in inside the office, had also carried that moist scent that reeked of misery. Though the smell of blood that had filled in the air two shots later was no better, Ranpo reckoned.
The raven-haired boy wondered why that redhead was showing gratitude towards what he did, back then. As far as he was concerned, getting that paper that would assure him the government’s financial aid for yet another month had been his sole reason for coming into that office. That fact he had to counter every single nonsense this grown-up in a white cloak was trying to feed him, or that he had eventually exposed all of his lies and how and why he had tricked Oda, was merely a chain of events that had nothing to do with him.
As for helping the assassin boy to untie his bounds, assure him he wouldn’t call the police, and tell him how to escape so they wouldn’t find him… Ranpo couldn’t tell. It came naturally. After all, the assassin boy had seemed convinced he would get caught… which wasn’t true. It had been clear as day to Ranpo, and yet that stupid redhead had been desperately blind to it. Ranpo couldn’t possibly let that slide, now, could he?
“Heh. I wouldn’t have thought it’d be so easy to earn your trust, mister assassin. Have I become your favorite accomplice yet?”
Oda tilted his head. Though his expression didn’t change, his voice conveyed his puzzlement.
“I’ve never had accomplices. I’m not trusting enough for that.”
“Yet you’re asking for my help? Just because I’ve helped you once?” Ranpo pointed out, narrowing his eyes.
“You’re smart. I can tell you see things clearer than I do. Where I see a dead end, you see a way out.” The boy’s blue gaze suddenly became sharper. “Which also means you’re smart enough to know what will happen if you happen to betray or fool me.”
Not impressed by the underlying threat, Ranpo grinned wryly.
“Just to be sure, does refusing to help you bury a body count as betraying you?”
Oda crossed his arms. Judging by the light frown wrinkling his forehead, he was taking the question seriously.
“… No. I can’t count it as such. I can understand you wouldn’t want to mingle with that stuff again…”
“Jeez, I was joking, you numbskull…!”
Ranpo cackled, but his voice sounded hollow – hollow like the pit that had formed inside his core after the death of his parents. A black hole that had sucked away all the colors of the world, leaving it bleached and dreary like an endless rainy day.
“… I don’t care about mingling with your assassin stuff,” Ranpo eventually said in a whisper. “Whether I do good or bad, the adults will always find a way to scold me, anyway…”
He shook his head, painfully aware he was starting to get dangerously close to a point where the dike sealing away his feelings would start to leak.
“So yeah, I’ll help you. I don’t have anything better to do anyway. Besides…”
“… Besides?”
Ranpo shuffled with his feet. His next words were standing at the tip of his tongue, hot and burning like the weird feeling creeping under his skin when he thought about uttering them out loud.
“… Well, I… I’d kinda miss you if you were to get caught and sent to prison – which will likely happen given your lack of imagination to clean up your mess. So I can't let that happen, y’see?”
Oda’s eyes widened, and for the first time, an emotion – surprise – made his lifeless irises twinkle.
“You’d miss me?”
His astonishment wasn’t fake. And it didn’t reek of some stupid hopefulness that screamed a craving long repressed. It was genuine bewilderment; as if the idea of someone missing him was an unknown concept, which had never crossed his mind even once.
For some reason, it made Ranpo unbearably pissed.
“Don’t look at me like that!! Of course I’d miss you!! I know we’ve spent like only one night together, sharing a meek meal that the gulls eventually snatched from us, and having nothing more than a couple of card boxes to sleep in, but…!”
The dike was starting to crack; Ranpo could feel it. Gritting his teeth until his gums hurt, he thoroughly pushed back the flood, only allowing a few words to leak through:
“… But that was the first time in ages I didn’t feel alone… So…”
He trailed off, more unable than unwilling to say more.
For a moment, no one said a word.
Then, Oda took a step forward. It took all of Ranpo’s willpower to not cringe back when the redhead leaned in, as if to tell a secret:
“Does that mean that, if I ever get caught and get sent to prison… You would help me escape?”
It was Ranpo’s turn to stare at him wide-eyed. He raked the words over and over in his mind, searching for a trace of deceit, something that would awake his defiance.
All he found was a genuine question which, this time, seemed to hold a hint of hopefulness.
“… Heh. Now you really sound like I’m your accomplice.”
“I never said you weren’t.”
Something inside Ranpo fluttered upon hearing those words. A gentle, healing warmth smoothened the coldness born from the hollow pit rotting him from the inside, if only a little.
Fidgeting with his hands like he didn’t know where to put them, Ranpo eventually settled for a nervous scratch behind his head.
“… W-well… If I’m going to be your accomplice, then…”
The young boy was aware how the word ‘accomplice’ had started to sound, to taste more and more like the word ‘friend’ on his tongue.
It didn’t feel that bad.
“… Then, there won’t be any need to think of an escape plan, since you’d never get caught with me by your side. If I have to have a reputation to uphold, I gotta keep it clean…!” “Sounds good to me,” Oda responded; and for the first time since they’d met, Ranpo saw his usually pursed lips curl into a small smile.
Hiii lena!! So, this has gotten, hum, LONG, haha. But I couldn't help but being inspired by your prompt (I love Ranpo and Fukuzawa's family bond so much, I could spend hours babbling about it sjsksjk). Thanks for submitting it <3
You may find the fic(let) either under the cut or here on ao3. Enjoy :)
Tell me a lie, so I can hear the truth
I know we're family + Ranpo & Fukuzawa
“Dorms?”
Ranpo left out the game he was playing for a second to fully focus on Fukuzawa, his eyebrows knitted in a puzzled frown. Part of him was hoping he had misheard the word.
But Fukuzawa nodded in confirmation as he stared back at him.
“Yes. Now that I have found premises to settle the agency’s headquarters, I’d like to move on to the next step. I am unable to tell what kind of people will join us in the future, nor how many there will be… However, there’s one thing that’s certain: not everyone will have a home, and probably not even the means to afford one.”
Ranpo blinked, then eyed the screen of his console. His avatar was waiting idly for instructions – should it be opening the menu or keeping on walking towards the next destination. For now, they were standing in a building. Ranpo pressed the direction cross, and made the character exit the house.
“Which is why,” Fukuzawa went on, “I would like to place dorms at the recruits’ disposal. The goal is not necessarily to attract many candidates; but rather to not indispose those who were selected. They would only have a small fee to pay each month, one that will be chosen accordingly to their income once they’ve joined. At least, I’ll try to tend towards that objective…”
The avatar quickly reached a grassy landscape, where no soul was to be seen. Ranpo made them run aimlessly through the tall grass.
“You’ve certainly guessed it yet, but as a member of the detective agency, you will have to live in said dorms as well. That is, until you’ve grown up and gathered enough money to get a home of your own…”
Suddenly, a monster spawned out of the grass, and attacked the avatar.
Ranpo switched off the game.
“I see you’ve quickly adapted to your new role, President.”
Fukuzawa pursed his lips. The boy’s biting tone had taken him aback.
Ever since the swordsman had told him he wanted to build a detective agency along with him, Ranpo had ceaselessly been calling him by that title. A title he would often use with tease, and sometimes even with pride.
But just now, it had sounded like an insult.
Throwing his console beside him, Ranpo slouched on the couch, his hands buried into the pockets of his pants.
“So, this is why you’ve been teaching me all these boring and useless tasks lately.”
It was more an affirmation than a question. No – in fact, it sounded more like an accusation.
“Ranpo. We’ve discussed this before.” The thirty-year-old tried to choose his words carefully. Though he didn’t exactly know why, he sensed that he was walking on thin ice. “You may find them boring, but being able to cook simple meals, do the laundry, and so on, are far from being useless tasks. It’s about making you able to live on your own, someday.”
“’Someday’, huh…”
“I understand that it may sound scary. After all, you’re still a child… But you’re also growing up every day; before we both realize it, you’ll have reached an age when you’ll need to leave the nest and live your own life.”
“… You make it sound like it’s my decision to make.”
Before Fukuzawa could take in his words, Ranpo sat up, and added:
“Don’t make a fool of me. We both know that’s not the case. Because the real issue here is that I’m a member of this detective agency – your detective agency. And as such, I can’t live under the same roof as the boss.”
Fukuzawa couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at Ranpo. As usual, the boy had grasped the situation in a matter of seconds, with a maturity that contrasted with his young age.
“Indeed, you are right. Even as a founding member, you can’t have privileges… And yes, it does give a kick-start to your going compared to if we had just remained partners. But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you face it unprepared. I will still play the role… of an educator… to you…”
Fukuzawa’s voice gradually trailed off, until he didn’t know what he wanted to say anymore. As he spoke, he realized that his words were not reaching Ranpo. Not because the boy wasn’t listening – he was, as suggested by his hazelnut eyes intently fixing Fukuzawa’s face, steady like those of a bird of prey – but because he had already withdrawn himself from the conversation. It was as if Fukuzawa was speaking to himself, and Ranpo was a mere bystander listening to his speech for the sole sake of judgment. Although, was it only judgment? From Fukuzawa’s perspective, it rather felt as if this piercing gaze was searching for something beyond the words he uttered, something that lied deep within the very depths of his soul.
Then, the verdict came:
“… You really don’t get anything, do you?”
Though it was definitely a question this time, Ranpo wasn’t waiting for an answer. Averting his gaze, the boy jumped to his feet, and strode away to the entrance door.
“H-hold on, where are you going?” Fukuzawa called him out.
“In town.”
“In… in town? By yourself?”
Ranpo’s sense of direction was terrible, not to say inexistent. Fukuzawa had ceased to count the times he had to search through the whole city because the lad had gotten lost after wandering off to get candy on his own, or because there was “something interesting over there”. Saying Fukuzawa had learnt the map of Yokohama’s town center by heart by dint of having to find a lost Ranpo would barely count as an exaggeration.
“What about it? I’ll have to be able to fend for myself, someday, right?” Ranpo snapped, as if he had read through the man’s mind. “Might as well start now.”
Fukuzawa opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut instantly. The young boy had a point. No matter how sudden it was, why would Fukuzawa stop Ranpo from pursuing his wish of independence? Like he had stated, he could only be a tutor to him. All the swordsman could do was to fulfill the role the boy’s late parents couldn’t carry out until the end, as they had gone too soon from Ranpo’s life. Like birds teach their chicks how to fly so they can leave the nest, all Fukuzawa had to do was to teach Ranpo the basis required to live a decent and correct life on his own. Nothing more, nothing less. And if worry had taken root in Fukuzawa’s heart, it was because he was still unsure Ranpo was completely ready to take flight by himself, considering his lack of success in his aforementioned previous attempts.
Nothing more.
Nothing less…
“… Don’t go too far, alright?”
Ranpo had already closed the door.
*~*~*
It was past 8 p.m. when Fukuzawa received a message from Ranpo. The notification sound had barely finished ringing that the swordsman already had his phone in hands, and was fighting with the keys to try to unlock it and open the textbox without dropping the whole thing.
I’m lost. Mind to pick me up?
Somehow, the familiar situation – and also quite comical, in a sense – managed to make Fukuzawa’s mix of worry and seething anger evaporate to the point he almost forgot about their source.
‘Almost’ being the key word.
“…”
Without dwelling on his thoughts, Fukuzawa took his coat and proceeded to text Ranpo so as to ask for hints indicating his current position.
*~*~*
Sitting on a bench by the shore, Ranpo was idly gazing at the ferries about to set off. The sky was bleeding out shades of deep and bright crimson as the sun sank into the dark horizon line. Sometimes, seagulls would lazily drift with the wind, letting out plaintive squawks every so often.
The shrill squeaks of a young child forcefully grabbed Ranpo’s attention. A toddler wearing a bright yellow oilskin and assorted rain boots was rushing along the shore, his small hand waving at the boats, or the gulls – maybe both.
Ranpo tried to ignore them; ignore the voices of the snot’s parents calling out to them; ignore the way the father playfully chased the child; ignore the warm smile etching on the mother’s face; ignore the child’s gleeful cries as their father lift them up to place them on his shoulders. However, laughing at his desperate efforts, the voices filled his ears, seeped through his skull, invaded his mind. The grip tightened around his heart, crushing it as it tore apart Ranpo’s quiet state of mind, forcing him to focus on the happy voices, the happy faces… that were too similar, too painfully similar to those of his memories – memories which had once been happy, too, but were now tainted with bitterness.
The sound of someone rushing towards him eventually shattered the illusion – much to Ranpo’s relief.
“Why the heavy breathing? There was no rush.”
“… You usually do not say that every time you ask me to pick you up after you got lost.”
“Is that so? Oh, well. I guess I don’t.”
Fukuzawa exhaled slowly. The rush throughout the city had left him disheveled and out of breath. But at least, his previous irritation had also gone just enough for him to let relief take the upper hand in the bundle of emotions that had ravaged his heart while he was counting the hours following Ranpo’s departure.
Ranpo, on the other hand, remained quite apathetic. His eyes, glued to the sea, had not looked at Fukuzawa even once. His legs were moving as if he intended to sway them. But they were too long, and the bench too low, so his heels were always getting in the way and breaking the move. He had grown up yet again, Fukuzawa couldn’t help but notice.
Then, Fukuzawa spotted a little package resting on the bench, next to the boy. It looked like something wrapped in a furoshiki – a fabric commonly used in Japan to wrap gifts.
“What’s this?”
“Hm? Oh, this?” Ranpo shrugged. “It’s a gift. For you.”
“For me?” Fukuzawa looked puzzled. “Did you go out in town in order to purchase it…?”
“Eh, sure. The first thing I do whenever I get mad at someone is certainly buying them a gift.”
Sarcasm was oozing from Ranpo’s words. However, his voice softened a bit as he went on:
“No, I went outside to blow thoughts off my mind. I happened to see something you’d like in a store, at some point. I bought it on an impulse.” Another shrug. “You can have it if you want.”
Fukuzawa hesitantly obliged. The package was flat, light and limp. Based on this, he could only assume it was folded clothing.
Fukuzawa looked at Ranpo, then at the gift in his hands, then at Ranpo again. Then, without a word, he sat down next to the boy, and followed his gaze. The package remained unopen on his lap.
Silence lasted between them. Only the laments of the seagulls and the lapping of the waves could be heard. Even the ferries seemed to hold back their siren horns in anticipation, as if they were anxiously waiting for either of them to speak first.
“… Does the idea of living on your own upset you?”
Fukuzawa had chosen his words with caution.
“… I’d be lying if I said I don’t mind it,” Ranpo answered after a moment of thought. His expression was tense. “To be honest, the sheer idea of living in a place where no one is here to tell you “good morning” when you wake up, or “welcome back” when you get home… it… it unnerves me.”
He paused, letting this moment of vulnerability last – probably longer than he would have liked.
Fukuzawa nodded silently in response. It was to be expected that Ranpo, who had grown up surrounded by protective and caring parents, was still suffering from the void left by their death.
“But I know I’ll have to go through it eventually,” the boy then went on, a bit harshly. “It goes with becoming an adult, right? I can’t–”
He abruptly interrupted himself. With his gaze stubbornly cast downwards, it didn’t look like he was searching for his words; rather than he didn’t want to utter them aloud.
“… you can’t what?” Fukuzawa calmly prompted him to continue.
Ranpo shot a sidelong glare at him. His hazel eyes shone a bit too bright.
“You really can’t tell, huh? You really don’t get anything!!”
Fukuzawa recognized this behavior. It was the same that Ranpo had adopted when he had exposed his fear and distress and loneliness during that theatre play, on the day the two of them had met, around a year ago. After more than a year spent together, Fukuzawa could tell that Ranpo wasn’t good at expressing his feelings with words – not that he was the best to judge… Whenever they would swell inside him to the point he could not hide them any longer, his reaction was to overreact and have sudden bursts of anger.
It was also his way of sending out an SOS, Fukuzawa remembered.
“Ranpo. Remember that I cannot see things the way you do,” he explained as patiently as he could. “I do not possess your… skill. If you want me to understand what is bothering you, you’ll have to phrase it aloud, with your own words.”
The mention of his “skill” seemed to alleviate Ranpo’s grief, even if a little. His face twisted in a thoughtful pout.
“… Because… you, and everyone in this world… are merely ignorant newborns who can’t see further than their own nose… right?”
“Exactly.”
Fukuzawa repressed the urge to purse his lips upon hearing the lie he had told Ranpo that day, about a year ago. Well, not exactly a lie. More like a twisted description of reality to mask the actual lie: that Ranpo’s “difference” was due to a supernatural ability.
“Besides, voicing out your own feelings might actually help you out.” By adding this, Fukuzawa didn’t know if he was trying to convince Ranpo, or if he was hiding from his own regret that he had no better idea than lying to an innocent child, back then. “Even if I could guess exactly how you feel, it wouldn’t help you to get these heavy feelings off your chest as much as if you put words to them.”
“Uh… If you say so…”
Ranpo didn’t appear much convinced. Fukuzawa couldn’t blame him – he himself would have never believed such shallow words if it had been someone else saying them.
“… But I don’t have my glasses with me…”
“It’s fine. You can still call out for your skill. It may be messier than if you had your glasses on, but I believe it’s worth a try.”
What am I even saying? Fukuzawa hated that he always had to lie to Ranpo to help him. Even though he knew that kid was too stubborn to be convinced otherwise, the thirty-year-old couldn’t help but think someone else – someone with better social skills, and greater eloquence – would have been able to find the right words to comfort and help Ranpo, without having to lie to him.
Ranpo fidgeted nervously. His hand was twitching as if he was suppressing the urge to lift it up to his face, up to the bridge of his nose.
“Well, I… uh… What… what bothers me with that dorms thing is not the idea of living on my own. It’s just that I…”
Ranpo repeatedly opened and closed his mouth, to no avail. Even when a sound would come out of his throat, it sounded like he was choking on his own tongue.
“I, uh… I-I… Ugh, do I really have to do this?!”
“Take your time,” Fukuzawa tried to reassure him.
“But it’s annoying! And… and it hurts! I don’t like it!!”
“If it’s really something that gnaws at you so much, we can even wait the night long for you to find a way to voice it.”
“Eh. As if…”
Ranpo was sulking. Despite what he had told him, Fukuzawa couldn’t help but wonder what he would do if Ranpo couldn’t find his words or, worst case scenario, chose to clam up himself for good and not speak of that matter ever again.
But then, Ranpo spoke again, in a voice so faint Fukuzawa almost failed to catch it.
“I really don’t understand you sometimes… One moment you talk to me like I were a subordinate like another, and the next you try to help me like you actually… cared… I don’t get it. What’s your deal?”
Fukuzawa wished he knew the answer to that question.
Without waiting for it, Ranpo went on:
“… When I agreed to come with you… and even when I agreed to start this detective agency thingy with you… I did it because… well, first because I had nowhere else to go, of course. But also because… I trusted you.”
He kicked a speck of dust with his heel.
“Trust?” Fukuzawa echoed, encouraging him to go on. “What did you trust me for?”
“… To… help me find…what I was looking for. I guess.”
“… And what would that be?”
Beyond his wish to help Ranpo, Fukuzawa had grown curious to hear his answer to this question.
The boy slowly inhaled the sea breeze. Then, for the first time ever since they sat on the bench, he turned his head to look at Fukuzawa in the eye.
“… A home. And also… a sense of family.”
A waved splashed loudly on the shore beneath the quay. A couple of gulls squawked loudly as they passed by. Time was still flowing around them, and yet it felt like it had frozen for the two people sitting on this bench.
“… Ranpo… I am not your–”
“My dad?” Ranpo scoffed. “Duh. Of course you’re not. And I never asked you to be, either.”
A hue of sadness then veiled the boy’s eyes.
“… My dad’s dead. My mom, too. I loved them more than anything and no one can ever, ever replace them. Especially not an old man that came out of nowhere and probably killed me a hundred times in his mind when he met me.”
“I–” Fukuzawa scratched his head. “So you noticed…”
Ranpo snickered briefly. “I admit you’re good at hiding your emotions, but honestly, even someone completely deaf and blind would have sensed how mad you were while being with me. But hey, like I’ve said that day, you’re one patient old man.”
Fukuzawa couldn’t help but snicker as well, going as far as cracking a small smile. However, as soon as he noticed this subtle gesture, Ranpo’s expression darkened, and he averted his gaze.
“… See? I like when we’re interacting like this. I wasn’t so prone to use irony with my parents – I mean, they were too cool and too amazing and too understanding for that. Yet it still gives me… I don’t know, a sense of… Ugh, what’s the word for that again?”
“… Familiarity?” Fukuzawa suggested.
“Hm. Yeah. I guess it works.”
Giving up on trying to sway them, Ranpo folded his legs so that his feet rested on the bench, and hugged his knees.
“If I go to those dorms, I won’t see you as often. I will be left alone – of course, you’ll tell me that we’ll see each other at work. Or that you’ll go check on me from time to time. Except that then, to me, you won’t be ‘Mr Fukuzawa’, but ‘the President’.”
Ranpo paused a brief instant to glance at a young gull snuggled against a mooring cock. Its dark beak was barely moving as it called out its mother with plaintive, shrill squeaks that none of the adult specimens seemed to notice – or care about.
“I don’t like this idea,” the boy went on. “The more I imagine it, the more I feel like I’m about to lose something important… again.”
Then he fell silent again, leaving Fukuzawa with an unsettling burden in his chest. The swordsman felt like he had to say something to comfort his protégé; but what could he even say? Whether they held truth or lie, the words escaped his grasp before they could get the luxury of getting blocked in his throat.
Fukuzawa had not even intended to take Ranpo under his wing to begin with. Yet, being the kind-hearted soul that he was, he had grown attached to that lonesome, lost boy in spite of himself. And saying the feeling was mutual would have been an understatement.
Fukuzawa had wanted to help Ranpo. To give him a chance to make full use of his abilities as a detective without endangering himself. In the end, this wish had turned into the foolish project of building a place for Ranpo. A place where he could be himself, where he could find shelter and find people who would accept him as he was. This was the very reason why the agency had been built, and yet Fukuzawa only seemed to realize it now, as he looked into those eyes that shone both with the innocence of youth and the disarray of someone who knew too much.
Yes, perhaps Fukuzawa had been able to help Ranpo find the “home” he had been looking for by building the agency.
But what about “family”, then? The very concept was unfamiliar to Fukuzawa. He had no siblings nor cousins; and even if his parents had acknowledged him because he had succeeded in the swordsman path they had chosen for him, they had always remained so distant that they were nothing more than a blurry memory in Fukuzawa’s mind. The closest thing to family bonds he had ever experienced was his friendship with Gen’Ichiro – even though Fukuzawa wasn’t completely sure it would really fit.
Needless to say, the lone swordsman was certainly not the best suited to offer a ‘sense of family’ to an orphan.
And yet, Ranpo had chosen him. Whether it had been intentional or not, he had appointed the role of a ‘parent’ to him, and before Fukuzawa realized it, he had fallen into the trap. Part of him hated the young boy for it.
But at the same time, the swordsman felt that it could be worth the try. Maybe he could try and become this person Ranpo had put his trust in.
Not the person he wanted him to be, but the one he had seen in him.
“Ranpo. You’re not losing anything.”
He took a deep breath. The next words he was about to utter would probably sound like a lie.
“The agency is your home. There, you will never have to feel lonely again.”
And yet, as they left his lips, they had a faint aftertaste of truth.
“And if a ‘home’ alone is not enough, then… You may think of me as the ‘family’ you can turn to when things go south or when you don’t feel good. I am not only ‘the President’. I can also simply be ‘Mr Fukuzawa’, your caretaker… if you wish for it.”
Ranpo’s eyes widened, just enough to catch the last rays of the setting sun. The golden-brown shades of his irises twinkled as his eyes suddenly got watery. But before he could shed a tear, his eyelids closed tight, creased both by a growing emotion, and an increasingly beaming smile.
“Pff– Heh heh… You could at least try to look or sound convinced when you say that kind of things, Prez’.”
A gull squawked loudly nearby. The young specimen stood up and hopped towards their parent, then followed them as they took flight.
“… Say, Mr Fukuzawa. I’m getting hungry.”
Distracted by the gulls, Fukuzawa confusedly reported his attention to Ranpo. The boy jumped to his feet offhand, and casually stretched his sore back.
“This walk has left me starving and out of energy… Should we go back home already? I’m gonna pass out from exhaustion!”
“… Huh?”
Wait. Did I miss something…? There was no way Ranpo could have been satisfied with Fukuzawa’s answer… Or was there?
“What are you dawdling for, sir? Didn’t you hear what I said? C’mon, let’s go back already!!”
For someone who pretended to be exhausted, Ranpo was being quite energetic in his way of motioning Fukuzawa to follow him…
Holding back a sigh, Fukuzawa pondered about what to say to the already leaving boy to rekindle the conversation the latter had cut short. Then, as he was standing up to follow Ranpo, he was reminded of the furoshiki lying on his lap.
“Ah…! By the way,” the swordsman called out to the boy. “What is this?”
Arms crossed behind his head, Ranpo turned on his heels to see what Fukuzawa was talking about. He shrugged nonchalantly.
“Well, just open it. You’ll see.”
Fukuzawa didn’t need to be told twice.
Then, after he opened the gift, a gust of embarrassment and sheer glee mixed together hit him head on.
“… A-an apron…”
“With cute silly cats on it!” Ranpo grinned knowingly. “Heh heh. You should see your face. Well, I knew you’d like it.”
‘Like’ was an euphemism. Fukuzawa couldn’t help it: his heart would always melt when seeing any kind of object that had cats on it. Of course, Ranpo was well aware of it…
“… Hum. Th-thank you, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa cleared his throat. “I… appreciate your gift.”
“Pfft. Bet you do. I’m the one who bought it, after all,” the boy boasted cheekily.
Then, his expression suddenly darkened once more.
“… Isn’t it funny? It’s easy for me to gift something to someone. With my skill, I know with one look what they like or don’t like. And yet…” A pause. “… It’s still hard… to truly thank someone I owe a lot.”
Fukuzawa quietly observed the boy as he fidgeted restlessly, like his own words were ants galling him.
“Hey, Mr Fukuzawa. Tell me… how do you thank someone for simply… caring? It sounds stupid to me, and yet… I don’t know, I feel like… I must do something.”
“… I don’t think you need to.”
For the first time ever since they met, Fukuzawa felt like he knew what to say to Ranpo.
Without lying, this time.
“I believe this is why you’ve mentioned the ‘sense of family’, earlier. Does one thank their parents for giving life to them? For loving them? They don’t – at least, not with material things. They live, grow up, learn… And when the time comes, they leave the nest to live their own life. However, this doesn’t mean the ‘nest’ ceases to exist. Nor does the parents’ love and care. It’s always there, and will remain until their last breath.”
Fukuzawa briefly paused to breathe, unaware until then he had held his breath while words flowed out of his mouth like a torrent.
“If we go by this, then I know we’re family. Or, at least, we can be family. Again, if you wish for it.”
There was a lasting silence. Then…
“… Wow. Who would’ve thought you could be so poetic, Prez’?”
“What…!?”
Ranpo’s comment made Fukuzawa so flustered he didn’t immediately notice how the boy’s face went red with overwhelming emotion.
He only heard the ensuing tears when Ranpo giggled, albeit heartily.
“… Thanks, Fukuzawa, sir.”
A ferry’s siren horn honked in the distance, like a greeting to their reconciliation – or an amused snicker at Fukuzawa’s embarrassment, the swordsman couldn’t help but think…
Ranpo quickly wiped the tears watering his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, he had managed to regain his composure, though a hint of emotion was still making his voice faintly waver.
“… By the way, sir. You’ll cook diner, tonight, yes?”
Ranpo was just like the first time he and Fukuzawa had met.
All smiles. Radiating of arrogance and pesky straightforwardness.
Fukuzawa felt the beginning of a migraine creep inside his skull.
“… Or, we could also order something if you don’t feel like it. I don’t mind either.”
“That is not the issue here, Ranpo.”
“Ughhhhh, there you go again! Wanting me to act responsible and independent!! You really didn’t hear me?! I’m too tired for this!”
Walking his talk, the boy plummeted to the floor – in a rather dramatical move, Fukuzawa noticed.
“Look!! I can’t even walk anymore!! Can’t I wait tomorrow to be responsible and independent? Ah, yes. Of course, you’ll have to give me a piggy-back ride on the way home, tonight! …Hey, don’t give me that look! I can’t help it if I’m tired! Hey, Mr Fukuzawa!! Are you listening?! Hey!!”
Deaf to the boy’s protests, the swordsman folded the apron so as to tuck it in his coat, then proceeded to leave.
And as he stopped in his tracks when Ranpo tugged – or should he say, pulled – at his sleeves, a thought crossed his mind.
Perhaps this was also what family was. Caring for someone and loving them just enough to not give in to the temptation of strangling them at the slightest inconvenience…
“You’re thinking about yet another way of tossing me into the ocean again, aren’t you, old man?” Ranpo said accusingly.
Fukuzawa stared back at the boy for some time.
Then, for the first time in ages, he cracked a small laugh.
The unexpected, unknown sound took Ranpo by surprise. At first, it sounded weird, almost unreal.
But it had also a warmer touch to it. A token of comfort, as subtle as the sound of a knot being tightened.
A knot sealing their bond… regardless of how they chose to name it.
"what will i do without you? thank you-" + kunikidazai 👀
"What will I do without you? Thank you-" + kunikidazai
Dazai didn’t flinch when he saw his broken leg, darkened and swollen from his ankle up to his knee.
Neither did he flinch when Yosano palpated it, her touch feeling like the caress of a thousand glass shards on his skin, despite all the care she put in her moves.
Dazai’s face didn’t show much more emotion when he was laid on the operation table, nor when the anesthetic was injected into his veins.
Even after he woke up and felt the pain crawling back under his skin as the product wore off, his expression remained unchanged.
Then, a few hours after he came to his senses, Yosano came to deliver him food – and her diagnosis.
“The bones were a total wreck… I did what I could, but it won’t reweld properly. I’m afraid you will limp for the rest of your life.”
Dazai’s next mouthful of his meal felt like a boulder when he swallowed it. That’s how he knew the news actually affected him.
How strange it was. Getting sick or having broken limbs was something he had been used to for his entire life. And should his injuries be permanent, he could never had cared less.
Until now, at least. For to his own surprise, Dazai found himself feeling a sting in his heart at the sheer idea he would never walk like before ever again. Since when did he get attached to this sack of flesh and bones binding his wistful soul to this dreary world?
“In addition to the meds, I’ll prescribe you a week of complete rest,” Yosano declared while preparing him a wheelchair and crutches. “During that time, you should never lean on your bad leg or try to move it on any account. Got it?”
“You mean I get to do nothing and get assisted for an entire week?!” Dazai chimed cheekily. “I should break my limbs more ofte- I’m kidding!!” he quickly added when he met the doctor’s icy glare. “I’m kidding, don’t look at me like that!!”
Yosano sighed and came over to help him sit in the wheelchair – but not before flicking his forehead first.
“I’ve called Kunikida to tell him you’re awake and ready to go,” she informed him, blatantly ignoring his yelp of protestation. “He should come pick you up in a minute…”
As if summoned by this affirmation, three knocks were given on the infirmary’s door. A “Come on in!” later, Kunikida entered the room, a mask of anguish darkening his face.
“… How are you feeling?” he managed to croak after taking in the sight of Dazai sitting in a wheelchair, a gown barely hiding the slimness of his bony stature, and a thick splint wrapped around his leg.
The answer to his question was: “Like shit.”
Dazai’s answer was: “Way better now that you’re here, my dear Kunikida~!”
The brunette’s eye twitched upon hearing his own voice. His tone sounded too dissonant. Too fake. He wanted to put the blame on the drugs, but part of him knew it would only be self-deceit. And that same part of him hated it.
Regardless, if Kunikida heard the lie behind those words, he chose to ignore it.
“I’ll take you home. For the upcoming week, I will be taking care of you. You shall resume work eight days from now. I… I will make sure of it.”
Dazai chuckled softly.
“Pragmatic as always, aren’t you, Kunikida? Ah, what will I do without you? Thank you-”
His carefree reply got cut short by the unfamiliar, always troubling sensation of two arms being wrapped around his torso. It was as if Dazai’s usually sharp brain got short-circuited, unable to process the simple fact that Kunikida had fallen to his knees to pull him into a hug.
“That should be my… the agency’s line.” His partner’s voice was barely a whisper. “What will we do without you? What will I do?”
The last line had been uttered so faintly Dazai wouldn’t have caught it if they weren’t so close.
“We are all very grateful to everything you’ve done for us. However, you’ll have to stop being so reckless. You could have had way worse than a broken leg…”
He trailed off in his sentence. Dazai was still unable to budge even a muscle.
But before the silence – and the hug – could last any longer, someone cleared their throat.
“Please do absolutely not mind me, boys,” Yosano snickered – though the twinkle in her eyes betrayed a token of genuine fondness as she watched her juniors.
Kunikida instantly got up and bowed as he apologized profusely. As for Dazai, his gaze remained blank, and his expression frozen. However, somewhere deep within his chest, he felt that something was starting to thaw.
A thaw that manifested as a lone tear rolling from his eye down to his chin.
Going to the Uzumaki Café at closing time should have been a good idea. Chuuya had made a detour after completing his latest mission precisely because he didn’t want to miss a certain person, who should have been at the café at this hour.
A person who definitely should not have been this unkempt-haired detective, who was now staring at him through narrowed eyelids like he was looking at some curious lifeform in an aquarium, the gargling sound of the orange juice he was sipping with a straw filling in the awkward silence that had followed the door bell’s carillon.
“…What the fuck are you doing here at closing time?!”
“Good evening to you too, Fancy Hat,” Ranpo snickered back, albeit with a hint of amusement. Eyeing the redhead’s leather jacket and gloves, he added in a cheerful laugh: “Hey, great timing! I was just about to get back home; it’s so nice of you to offer me the ride!”
Chuuya snorted. “Like hell I would let you do so much as touch my bike.”
While keeping the detective in check from the corner of his eye, the ginger head quickly looked around the place. No one else was in sight, except for the owner – who was cleaning a few glasses behind the counter with his usual phlegm.
“If you’re looking for Kunikida, he’s left a bit earlier together with Dazai. You just missed them.”
Chuuya brought his attention back to Ranpo.
“What? With Dazai? And they didn’t…? Don’t tell me they had a mission?”
Though he tried his best to hide it, he clearly sounded annoyed. Ranpo obviously didn’t fail to catch it; and neither did he fail to catch that unfinished sentence the mafioso had muttered under his breath.
“Did you have something planned with Kunikida for tonight?” he asked with clearly faked innocence. “That would explain why he was so reluctant to go… And also why Dazai look so proud of himself. He basically stole a march on you~”
A red glimmer flashed in Chuuya’s eyes; the next second, the wooden floor beneath his feet began to creak painfully, as if it was being pressed by an increasing force.
“… I’m not gonna fall into your stupid trap a second time, detective. Take back what you said or I’ll turn this place into your grave before you get the chance to pull out your friend’s book.”
“Woah, it’s really like in fairy tales, with the magical words that unlock things.” Not impressed by Chuuya’s threats for the least, Ranpo crossed his legs and leaned on the counter. “You really get riled up easily when it’s about Dazai, hm?”
The wood broke under Chuuya’s feet.
“That’s it, now you– !!”
But before the gravity could expand any further, before Chuuya could carry out his threats, a clear tinkling echoed within the café. The ginger head stopped in his tracks, somehow called out by the sound.
Behind the counter, the owner had left his initial place to approach Chuuya. Like a poker player sliding their tokens, he pushed a single glass towards him; the purplish liquid inside it swirled gently as it lapped against the glass’ rim.
“Sir, please refrain from fighting in our establishment. Accept this in compensation; it’s on the house.”
“Uh. Oh. Hum. S-sure.” Chuuya took off his hat, bowed his head politely, then took the glass. “My apologies.”
What am I doing? The mafioso had already taken a sip when the question popped up in his mind, and the delicate, exquisite plum-flavored savor that diffused in his palate instantly made it go away. Thought he was more into fortified wines and more heady alcohols, Chuuya had to admit this umeshu-like cocktail was a delectable drink.
A chuckle then tore him out of his trance.
“What’s so funny?” Chuuya hissed at Ranpo.
“Oh, nothing.” Though he was still wearing that cheeky smirk, there was a hint of softness in his voice that reminded Chuuya of Kôyô. “I was just thinking that you’ve reacted exactly like Kunikida does each time he receives this drink.”
Reading the untold question in Chuuya’s quizzical gaze, the detective went on: “You know Dazai loves to tease Kunikida on the daily; every time he does it in this café, Kunikida’s offered this very drink, and instantly calms down like you did. Our dear owner’s umeshu has almost become legendary because of it.” Another chuckle. “And now, you’re adding to the legend!”
“Uh. You tell me.”
What’s in this thing…?! Chuuya tried to meet the owner’s gaze, but the man had gone back to his former place behind the counter, and was cleaning glasses as if nothing ever happened. Although nothing about it indicated that man was someone to be wary of, Chuuya mentally noted that he should never underestimate neither any member of the agency, nor any of their acquaintances…
“I didn’t know Doppo was into plum alcohol,” he eventually mumbled as if to himself.
“To be fair, I think he didn’t know either until he tasted this drink,” Ranpo answered conversationally.
Chuuya didn’t reply. Sadly for him, the detective seemed eager to tease him, tonight.
“What’s with the glum look, Fancy Hat? Are you jealous?”
“… No.”
“Ha! You hesitated just now!”
“Leave me alone!” the ginger head barked. “They’re work partners. I can’t be jealous every time something happens between them at your office or when they go on a mission together!”
“Hm. Smells like jealousy to me.”
Chuuya glared at him and, with a furious gesture, slammed the now empty glass on the counter.
“… Thanks for the drink, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave before someone forces you to sacrifice your stock to calm me down…”
“Hey, wait! You don’t even want to know where they’ve gone?” Ranpo called him out as he strode towards the entrance.
Chuuya stopped and glanced at him from above his shoulder. “Why would I? It’s their mission; I have no reason to interfere.”
“… Who said they were on a mission?”
There was a lasting pause. Then, swift like a gust of wind, Chuuya strode back to Ranpo’s side and grabbed him by the collar.
“What. Do you. Mean. By that?!”
Still not scared or impressed whatsoever, Ranpo sighed wearily.
“You’re not a fast catcher, are you? Do I really have to explain everything? Kunikida does think they went on a mission – otherwise he’d never dropped his plans with you for the evening – but Dazai tricked him. He’s taken him for a surprise date.” He paused briefly, like he was hesitating. Then: “After all, Dazai anticipated that you two would have something planned for Valentine’s. He wanted to piss you off, I guess.”
Ranpo almost fell off his chair when Chuuya let go of him, fuming with rage.
“That bastard…!! He really thinks he can leave me aside like that?! That’s not what he had agreed on!! Dammit, and you, Doppo… how can you still fall for his tricks…?! Ugh, I knew letting him come back was a bad idea for both of us…!!”
He suddenly spun on his heels, and pointed at Ranpo.
“Tell me where they went! Now!!”
Ranpo obliged as casually as if he were giving directions to a stranger in the street. Chuuya almost choked on his tongue when he recognized the name of the place, which was – rather unsurprisingly for anyone who knew Dazai’s wicked and perverse mind – a love hotel.
Silence fell as lightly as a feather once the raging engine roar of Chuuya’s motorcycle vanished in the distance. After some time, Ranpo leaned on the counter again.
“Say, chief. What did you get from what that guy just said before leaving?”
“… Can you precise your thoughts?”
“When he got riled up after I told him Dazai tricked him and Kunikida. What he said right after. What do you think he meant by that?”
“Ah!” The owner’s eyes creased as a smile lifted his cheekbones ever-so-slightly. “I see. Well, I believe the three are supposed to be in a relationship together, but he got left aside because Mr Dazai went alone with Mr Kunikida? At least, that’s what he seemed to be implying.”
A grin spread on Ranpo’s face.
“Heh heh. Thanks for your testimony, my good friend. You, at least, catch things quickly…”
That being said, Ranpo jumped off his seat, paid his drink and, after exiting the café, took his phone and sent a message to Yosano:
"Isn't it exhausting, keeping up all these lies?" + tachigin?
Omg yessss. I love them and I love the angst potential that they have </3
"Isn't it exhausting, keeping up all these lies?" + tachigin
Maybe it was because he knew the silent sound of their footsteps like no one else. Or maybe it was because Michizou himself was a master at moving as silently as a shadow. At any rate, he knew someone was approaching – and he knew who that someone was.
“Gin? Is that you?”
It had to be them. No one in the Port Mafia walked that unnoticeably. And to be honest, who else would visit him there, in the depths of the Port Mafia’s underground prison? But being blind was something new to Michizou, and the irritating fact he was unable to confirm his hunch unless he got a vocal answer still disturbed him.
However, even if the person who had joined him remained silent, it actually strengthened Michizou’s intuition. After all, Gin wasn’t a person of words. Even when they were teammates and trusted each other with their life, she would rather silently communicate with him by using their eyes. Subtle gestures. Wordless codes that only them could understand. That was the kind of bond they shared.
Used to share.
“… The council will decide of your fate tomorrow at dawn.”
Gin’s voice didn’t show any trace of emotion. Oh, what Michizou would have given to see their face! Even for a brief second… But on second thought, he didn’t think he wanted to see the disappointment in his former teammate’s eyes. The pain born from his betrayal.
“I see…” The redhead initially didn’t intend to say anything more, but the cruelly comical sense of his words tore a broken laughter out of his dry throat. “Well, not really, since I can’t see anything anymore! Ha-ha-haha-haha-haha!!”
His laugh echoed eerily between the walls of his cell.
“… Sorry,” Michizou cawed once he had calmed down. “That was lame, even for me.”
Gin didn’t reply.
Michizou spoke again:
“Did they send you to inform me? That’s unusual.”
“… You’re right. They didn’t. I came on my own.” A pause. “I shouldn’t even possess that information to begin with…”
Michizou merely nodded, taking in the implications of that confession much more coolly than he probably should have.
His ears picked up the sound of creasing clothes. When Gin spoke again, their voice appeared closer, clearer – had they taken off their mask?
“Tell me, Tachihara. Wasn’t it exhausting… keeping up all these lies?”
Despite being fully aware that opening his eyes would only result in “seeing” an abyssal void, Michizou couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed at where Gin was supposedly standing.
He had betrayed her. Betrayed all the Port Mafia. He had betrayed everyone, and instead of asking the expected “why did you lie to us?”, they were inquiring if it had been hard for him.
The thought should have moved him. Perhaps even stirred something in him. But all Michizou could offer in response was a scornful snort.
“Exhausting? Heh, can’t say it was. I’ve been lying ever since I was born anyway. It’s something natural to me.”
The more he talked, the more the venom oozed from his words.
“That’s right. I’ve spent all my life pretending. Pretending that I didn’t care that my family hated my guts since my birth. Pretending that them wanting me dead instead of my brother didn’t affect me. Pretending I was your ally until I betrayed y’all. Pretending I was the Hunting Dogs’ ally until I betrayed them.”
And the more he talked, the more he realized he was hurling about every secret he had held for so long. Not that Michizou cared, though. He didn’t care anymore.
“Was it hard? Was it exhausting? Not really. That’s just how my life is. I've never known anything else, and I’ll certainly die without knowing anything else.”
Suddenly, all of Michizou’s gall vanished. Unable to tell if it was due to his entire monologue or simply his last sentence, the young man felt like all his energy had been sapped, leaving nothing but an empty core inside of him. Had this core ever been not empty, though?
“… But that would be another lie if I said it didn’t feel lonely,” he whispered, so faintly even he ended up doubting he ever uttered the words aloud.
Nothing but silence answered his confession. Michizou wondered if Gin had left while he was rambling carelessly about his life. He didn’t possess Jôno’s enhanced senses, after all. And if Gin was good at being silent when they moved, they were even better at hiding their presence when they were still. Michizou couldn’t tell if the faint sound he heard was their breathing or the faint murmur of the wind howling in the distance.
Then, Gin’s crystal voice broke the heavy silence.
“… Hirotsu and I will try to stand up for you during your judgment. I don’t believe it will change anything, but… I wanted you to know.”
Without waiting for an answer – which she knew would not come anyway – Gin turned around and left. This time, she didn’t bother masking the sound of her footsteps.
It was only once silence fell again on his cell that Michizou realized he had been clenching his fists so hard blood – which he recognized by the scent and the feeling of a warm and thick liquid – was oozing from the halfmoons dug by his nails.
No, keeping up all these lies hadn’t felt exhausting.
ranposano + kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking
Seeing all the various versions of "kunichuu + spiderman kiss" on my dash gave me a boost to write my own haha. I won't complain about it tho <3
The ranposano one will take a bit longer so I'll post them separately 👀
---
kunichuu + upside-down "spider-man" kiss
“Well, well. She didn’t go easy on you.”
Kunikida flinched. For a split second, he thought he had imagined this scoffing voice. But even after he turned off the tap, he could still hear it giggling in his back. The blonde man searched for his glasses – a reflex he had when he was embarrassed – only to remember he had lost them during his confrontation with Katsura. Resigned, he turned around, and tried sounding as natural as possible.
“… Since when are you here?”
“You mean in the station, or in the men’s restroom, watching you wash your bloodied nose after a literal toddler punched you in the face?”
Standing upside down, his feet casually resting on the ceiling, Chuuya was holding Kunikida’s stare with an amused look on his face. Thanks to his skill, which manifested as a reddish glow surrounding his unmistakable silhouette, the mafioso’s hat and coat didn’t suffer the force of natural gravity. Add to this the frustrating fact his blood was rushing to his temples and pressuring his skull, and it almost seemed like Kunikida was the one who had been turned upside down.
“So, you saw everything?” he sighed, massaging his aching temples.
“The Mafia has eyes and ears everywhere, you should know that.”
Chuuya approached him, without bothering to go back to the natural sense of gravity. When he was close enough – at least when their heads were – he lowered his voice.
“That was a risky move back there.”
Kunikida didn’t need to ask him to precise his thoughts; he knew what the ginger head was referring to.
“I knew Miss Yosano was in the station. I trusted her capacity to read the signal I sent her and to quickly understand the situation.”
“Ah, so that’s what that weird bang sound was about…” Chuuya snorted. “Well, I suppose you’re not a first-timer with this, are you?”
Kunikida dried his hands, tilting his head to dart a quizzical look at one who was supposed to be his enemy – yet who, behind the scenes, was so much more.
“Were you perhaps worried about me?”
“Pfft. Like I’d be worried about some thug having beef with you. Though it’s kinda worrying this one was ready to bomb an entire station just to prove you wrong.”
“Katsura is stubborn. Too anchored in reality.” A veil of sorrow briefly clouded Kunikida’s eyes. “Just like I used to be too anchored to my ideals…”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Spare the confessions for later…” A smirk curled the ginger head lips. “We can talk it off at the usual place... you ‘ideal-obsessed idiot’.”
“Hmph. You even heard that…”
“I told you, I saw and heard everything!”
Chuuya let out a roaring laugh. Apparently, he didn’t care about being heard. Knowing him, he certainly had more than one way of getting out of the station unnoticed if the situation asked for it. He was part of the Port Mafia, after all.
“Good grief, Doppo. You go and save a little girl with the most heroic move – though it was pretty stupid if you ask me – and the next second you dump her when she was about to propose to you? You’re such a heartless man, Mr Idealist.”
Kunikida grumbled and pinched his nose, which caused him to wince in pain.
“You deserved that one, honestly.” Though it still held a hint of amusement, Chuuya’s voice had gone down an octave. It sounded deeper. Softer.
Closer, too.
Kunikida barely had the time to open his eyes that Chuuya’s lips were on his. Though startled at first – both by the unexpected move and the fact it was a kiss given upside down, a first for him – Kunikida quickly melted into it. Because his position allowed him to reach it, Chuuya trailed another round of kisses up – or down, from his perspective – to the bruised nose. And though it was still sensitive, the move felt like a soothing balm to Kunikida.
And not just to his nose.
“What did I deserve?” the taller man asked once they pulled away. “The punch or the kiss?”
Chuuya chuckled and stroked his cheek. “Both, you moron.”
Nine hundred ninety-five... Nine hundred ninety-six... Nine hundred ninety-seven...
Sweat dripping from all pores of his body, muscles rolling under his skin, Tetchô diligently counted the push-ups. Mentally. Indeed, he had to take care to not say any number aloud. Even the “thousand” milestone did not receive if only the honor of punctuating his regular breathing with a louder, heavier expiration. Jôno had made it clear: he would agree to stay on Tetchô's back during his workout session, only if the latter didn't make any noise other than the mandatory “inhale-exhale” rhythming his respiration. And since his mate had an ideally balanced weight, Tetchô definitely didn’t want to do anything that would put him off.
"... Hm. You smell nice."
A shudder surged through Tetchô's muscles, prompting him to stop between two push-ups for more than one second. And though he immediately resumed as if nothing had happened, the break in his rhythm didn't go unnoticed by Jôno.
"What? That was a simple observation."
The push-ups went on. After letting a few seconds go by, the blind man eventually sighed.
“Tetchô, when I said ‘no sound during the work out session’, it meant no sound to disturb me while I am having my lunch break on your back. If I am speaking to you, you are to answer me.”
Tetchô didn’t need to be told twice.
“Teruko had enough of the smell of my sweat invading the corridors after my training, so she offered me some shampoo and this deodorant to put on before and after every session.”
“Ah, bless our vice-captain…” Jôno muttered with a smile, while freeing two of the fingers holding the pear he was eating to mimic the move of joining his hands in a prayer.
“Do you like it?”
“Hm. What I like is the delight of not having to suffer that horrendous body smell coming from you during your training sessions – and after, for that matter… At least I can savor my nashi pear in peace without having to systematically go outside.”
As if intending to stress his words, he took a bite of the fruit.
“…Keep it up, and I might actually appreciate sharing some training sessions with you,” he added after a short hesitation. “Even if that means I have to play the weightlifting for you during my break.”
Tetchô’s head immediately perked up at the end of his next push-up.
“That means you’ll agree to do it again?” he asked, full of hope.
“Why do you sound so enthusiastic about it?!” Jôno angrily retorted, knocking the back of his mate’s head his with foot. “You disgusting muscular freak… Do you think I am some bee you can attract with a nice, flowery smell?”
Jôno bit his lower lip, a second too late. The words couldn’t be stopped anymore. And now, everything, from the slower pace of Tetchô’s push-ups to the vital signs he could sense from him, were indicating the same thing: he was lost in his thoughts. And because he knew his mate better than anyone else – much to his dismay – it wasn’t hard for Jôno to guess what could occupy his thoughts at the moment. There was a ninety percent chance it had to do with bees and flowers, with some weird correlation with Jôno himself and his personal tastes.
Jôno sighed. Teruko would die of laughter if he were to explain the situation and ask for help. Perhaps Michizou would be more benevolent? At any rate, this whole situation and thinking of how he could get out of it was already giving Jôno a bad headache, that even the nice smell coming from under him couldn’t appease…
"You shouldn't have seen that" + kunichuu
Dim lights. Smell of cigarette and gingerbread. Jazzy, melancholic music playing in the background.
The place hadn’t changed at all.
It used to be their place. It was the place where they first bonded. Where they had their first heart-to-heart talk. Their first shared laughter. Their first silly argument. Their first drunken confession. Their first kiss.
Because it held so many memories, coming there had been like a reflex after the appalling events that had occurred the past few days. A reflex they had shared – unsurprisingly.
Except for the distance between their seats, everything was just like the first time they stumbled upon each other in this bar. The atmosphere was tense. Heavy. Full of unspoken words.
And just like the first time, it was Kunikida who broke the silence first.
“You shouldn’t have seen that.”
Chuuya’s grip tightened on his glass. A flash of red later, it splintered into the palm of his gloved hand. The whiskey spilled on the counter started to drip on the floor, each droplet pounding slowly. Frustratingly slowly. Too slowly compared to the frenzy beating of Chuuya’s aching heart.
“No one should have seen that,” the ginger head finally hissed. “Yet there was four of us in that damn helicopter and all of us had eyes to witness your stupid shit of a move.”
A shard had flown towards Kunikida’s hand, lightly slashing the skin between his knuckles. Nevertheless, the young man hadn’t flinched. Not even when spots of blood had formed around the gash. The pain pulsating from it was nothing compared to the one that stung at his heart.
“What were you thinking?!” If the stool hadn’t been anchored to the floor, Chuuya would have knocked it over when he stood up, rage making each fiber of his being vibrate. “What was that deal about ‘fueling your ideals with your life’, or whatever bullshit you’ve said back then?!”
Kunikida remained silent. Slowly but surely losing the grip on the last straw holding his composure together, Chuuya grabbed him by the collar.
“Answer me, Doppo. Is your life nothing but a disposable consumable to you? Have you even thought of the consequences of your stupid sacrifice? Do you have any idea how your oh-so-heroic move affected your colleagues?”
Chuuya pulled harder at the collar, forcing Kunikida to bend over until they were on eye level.
“Do you have any idea how hard it was to see my own despair in their eyes? To grit my teeth and keep my cool when my boss asked me to go to fucking France to help Dazai? To hide what had happened to him, only to learn you were alive and well from him because that asshole always has to know everything?!”
The wooden floor under Chuuya’s feet began to crack under the growing pressure of increasing gravity. Meanwhile, Kunikida’s eyes remained steady. They were not looking at Chuuya; they were fixed on something else, something farther, that no one but him could see. Something no one, let alone Chuuya, could ever comprehend.
The ginger head clenched his jaw, so hard the joints could be heard cracking. The glasses behind the counter clinked harder as the gravity force kept on expanding throughout the room.
And then, suddenly, it stopped. All the pressure plummeted; the wood stopped creaking; the glasses stopped tinkling. Silence literally fell on the bar, as if the very molecules of air had fallen like lifeless marbles after vibrating for so long.
The grip on Kunikida’s collar loosened. And before he knew it, Chuuya had his face buried in the crook of his shoulder.
“Don’t you dare do that ever again.” Chuuya’s voice was low. Loaded with emotion. “Never again, you hear?”
Two large hands held him, one on his back, the other entangled with his hair. It seemed to Chuuya those hands were trembling. Spasmodically.
“I’m sorry,” Kunikida whispered against his ear.
Sorry for what? For sacrificing himself? Or for not being able to promise he won’t do it again?
Chuuya sighed through his nostrils. He knew the answer to that question.
And he hated it.
Without a word, he fully embraced his lover, digging his fingers in his large, so large back – a back which could never be large enough for the burdens it had to bear.
The music kept on playing in the background, its wistful melody filling in the gap that no physical proximity could ever erase.
"i suffer from anxiety and dread." + the perfect crime trio? 👀 shippy or not, however you like it best
I see them more as a chaotic and weird friend group than a ship, tbh. Regardless, I've tried to make it neutral enough for everyone to make their own interpretation.
Please enjoy~
"I suffer from anxiety and dread" + perfect crime trio
“Ughhhhhhh…”
A guttural, nearly inhuman moan echoed within the walls of the vast mansion. Too organic to be put down to the distant howling of the wind, it sounded like the laments of a ghost haunting the place.
However, this wailing voice belonged to no ghost. Rather to a melancholic soul haunted by one.
Slumped on a desk face first, his long arms hanging down listlessly, was Ôguri Mushitarô. Surrounding him like balls without the chains were a dozen of crumpled paper sheets, some dotted with spilled ink. And facing him with the same stillness as judges in a tribunal were an inkpot, a few books of all sizes and thickness, and a pile of draft paper, on top of which rested an opened envelope.
A picture that an inspired painter would probably have entitled “The Pits of Despair”. Or “The Cry of Despair”. Whatever went well with “despair”…
“I’m afraid you’re even less inspired for naming paintings than for naming your novel drafts, Mushi…”
That teasing, yet affectionate voice, that only Mushitarô could hear, tore another hollow growl out of his throat.
“Shut the hell up Yokomizo…”
The haunted man knew that this familiar voice, which had once belonged to a loved one, was only the fruit of his aching mind, and therefore not real. And yet, he couldn’t help it: whenever this voice spoke to him, he always had to answer. It had been so ever since Yokomizo died; and even though his ghostly image had gradually ceased appearing to Mushitarô, his voice remained clear and vivid enough for his presence to never completely fade away.
Maybe I’m just completely loony…
Despite having his back turned to the door, Mushitarô barely flinched as it slowly opened on its creaking hinges. After all, why would he be afraid? Ghosts only existed in his mind, and the mansion had only one inhabitant.
“Hum, Mushitarô? Could you please lower your voice? It’s echoing throughout the mansion, and it’s driving Karl crazy…”
… Alright, two inhabitants.
Shrill, vehement squeaks following Edgar Poe’s statement indicated that his offended pet was also here. It almost sounded like the furball was insulting him – a thought that made Mushitarô sunk into the conviction he had gone completely mad.
Feeling too weary to turn around, the haunted man simply glared at the wall before him. With luck, all his spite and grudge would bounce back on it and reach the raccoon and his master…
Several seconds ticked by in the tense silence before Poe hesitantly took a few steps inside the room.
“… Oh? You, uh… You look… colorful, today.”
“Huh? What do you mea… ugh.”
Mushitarô sighed in frustration as he saw what prompted Poe to say something so quirky.
Small will-o’-the-wisp looking ectoplasms hovered around his hunched-up frame. These were usually the manifestation of his skill, Perfect Crime, and had the power to erase all evidence of any crime in a matter of seconds. But even when there was no murder to cover up, those little phantoms would sometimes manifest whenever Mushitarô was experiencing intense emotions – as if he hadn’t enough ghosts to deal with on the daily…
To make matters worse, unlike to the evidence-eating ectoplasms, these ones were not only visible to everyone, but also displayed various colors instead of their usual purple. And to Mushitarô’s dismay, each color was an indicator of his mood. For example, a red phantom stood for anger; a yellow one, for joy; a blue one, for sadness – et cetera.
Just like Poe had stated, the phantoms gravitating around Mushitarô’s head were showing multiple tones of blue, green, and red, for the most part.
With Karl still cradled in his arms, Poe shifted his gaze towards the desk, and immediately noticed the envelope.
“Is…?”
“STOP!”
Mushitarô suddenly stood up like a spring, startling both Poe and Karl. The raccoon jumped out of his master’s arms to hide behind his legs, hissing like a scared cat.
With the letter in one hand, Mushitarô slowly moved his forefinger to his lips, enticing silence. The way he seemed to stretch the pause through this gesture was reminiscent of an actor performing on stage.
“Not a word. I know what you are going to say.”
Mushitarô walked to Poe’s side and, while waving the envelope in his hand, spoke in a weird high-pitched voice:
“‘Mushitarô, is perchance this letter linked to your rather… ‘colorful’ state of mind?’”
He then faced the writer again, taking back his natural voice:
“Ah, yes, right you are! Congratulations, your observation is on point, and you are absolutely correct.”
With a twirl worthy of a ballerina, he returned to Poe’s side.
“‘Is it bad news?’, you may then ask.”
Then switched his position back again.
“The answer is no. It’s actually good news, even. Long story short, the letter basically says I got the position I applied for.”
“Oh…! That’s wond–”
“‘That’s wonderful, Mushitarô!!’”, the latter then blurted, cutting out Poe’s attempt to speak up. “‘But then… why are you so distressed?’” he added, gesturing towards the ectoplasms. “‘Aren’t you happy you got a new job? And for the Japanese government, at that!’”
Mushitarô suddenly spun again and, exactly like an opera actor would, reached his hand towards the sky in a dramatic pose.
“… and you’re right again! Of course, I should be pleased by such news. But whenever I think of how I happened to apply for this job in the first place makes me want to throw up. The satisfaction that I am feeling isn’t my own; after all, the choice wasn’t my own! It was his doing. And now, he is going to come here. I can feel it as certainly as the beasts feel the earthquake before the ground starts trembling.”
He clenched his hand into a fist, which he brought to his chest.
“My archnemesis: Edogawa Ranpo… It’s his fault if I am here! In this mansion; in this situation that I can’t fully enjoy… and now, in this state of distress and apprehension that drains all my energy!! Ah! But what does it matter to you that I suffer from the omen of his upcoming arrival? After all, he’s your friend… or rival, or whatever you call him. So you will be delighted to welcome him… while I, on the other hand, will remain here, left to drown in my own dismay.”
Mushitarô ended his tirade with a long, heavy sigh, and fell back to his initial position: slouched face first on his desk, shoulders slumped in desperation. Whoever said voicing out your worries to someone was good for your mental health should throw their diploma to the fire, and themselves along with it, he thought, as stress kept on piling up inside him, torturing his bowels.
Then, the sound of clapping hands got Mushitarô out of his lackadaisical state.
“DON’T. APPLAUD. ME!!” he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Poe. “I am suffering from anxiety and dread here! This is NOT something to celebrate!!”
“W-well… you are the one who made it look like a play in the first place…”, the American writer muttered sheepishly.
“Because that’s the only way I found to cope with it!! Can’t you read the room for heaven’s sa– AAAAHHHH!! That damn beast is trying to eat me alive!!”
“No!! K-Karl, stop!!”
Whether it was because he had grown fed up with Mushitarô’s antics or because he didn’t like the way he had started yelling at his master, the raccoon had sneaked up by Mushitarô’s side to bite his ankle – and despite Poe’s efforts to calm him down, he was definitely determined to not let go.
Then, the door suddenly flew open, and everyone froze in place. It was as if time itself had stopped to leave room for the small, yet overwhelming frame of the one who labelled himself “greatest detective in the world” – though in Mushitarô’s mind, the “greatest nuisance in the world” fitted better.
“Well, you guys sure seem to have fun, even without me.”
There was neither irony nor scorn in Ranpo’s voice. He had just stated facts in his usual nonchalant way. Although, the slight creases in the corner of his almond-shaped eyes gave away a token of amusement.
“Ranpo…!!” Bliss enlightened Poe’s face as he recognized his dear friend. “You were right, Mushitarô! Ranpo has actually come!!”
“And I was right when I said you would be delighted about it!! I knew I could never ask for support from you!”
Paying little attention to their bickering, Ranpo trotted to Mushitarô, grinning from ear to ear.
“Hey, wassup! I heard that y–”
“AAAH!!! Back off!! Geh veg!! Vade retro!!”
Mushitarô managed to brandish Karl like an amulet meant to repel evil – because who knows? The hissing animal might dissuade the detective from approaching any further…
Alas, just like his master before him, Karl happily squeaked when he recognized this familiar face.
“Hiya. You look as healthy as ever,” Ranpo greeted the raccoon with a gentle scratch on the chin.
Karl let out a purr-like sound, then jumped on Ranpo’s shoulder – not without slapping Mushitarô’s face with his bushy tail in the process. One last hiss directed at his martyr, and he went back to his master’s side. Talk about discrimination. Not that Mushitarô was jealous for not receiving the favors of that little devil or anything…
“So!” Ranpo chimed in. “Congrats on your new job, I guess! Whatch’ya gonna do to celebrate?”
“Nothing,” was Mushitarô’s curt reply. “Who throws up a party to celebrate something that will throw them into a routine that will wear them out seven days a week, anyway?”
“Oh, c’mon, that’s not even how your schedule will be. You’ll be a special agent dispatched whenever needed – which will probably be more like one mission once every two or three weeks.”
“What the– who are you, my employer?! How can you know a schedule that I haven’t even laid eyes on yet!!”
“Hold on… Mushitarô, are you going to organize a party…?” Poe timidly interjected.
“I have NEVER said anything of the sort!!”
“Hey, don’t worry, Poe. Whatever he decides to do, it’ll only be between us three. After all, we’re the ones who helped him the most.”
“Oh, that’s great, then,” the writer sighed in relief. “You know how I hate going to parties where I know almost no one…”
“Are you two listening to me? Are you even aware that I am right here?!”
The situation was going out of hand. Well, out of Mushitarô’s hand, at the very least. The other two were making plans for him, in his name, and without his consent!
“You may not like parties or going outside, but at the same time you surprisingly know many good restaurants,” Ranpo pointed out to his foreigner friend. “Hey, maybe you can find us something for tonight? I’m sure you’ll pull out just another great address.”
Galvanized by Ranpo’s acknowledgement and trust, Poe straightened up like a spring and nodded vigorously.
“O-of course! Consider it done!!”
“Wha– NO!! Wait, Poe, come back here!!”
But Poe had already gone, Karl following pitter-patter after him. Mushitarô's mouth dropped open in shock for a few seconds before his shoulders slumped again, as if his body had been drained of its remaining life force.
“… I suppose you are expecting me to pay for this party I never wanted?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Well, of course. Your job, your treat.”
“Do you have any idea how insanely rich this guy is?!” Mushitarô exploded. “Whatever restaurant he chooses, it’ll always be something far too expensive for me to afford it!!”
“Eh, I’m sure well aware of Poe’s income.” Ranpo’s tone was that of someone who had been reminded all too often of the differences between their respective incomes. “But hey, you’ll be able to pay the bill after a few missions, regardless. No worries.”
“Wha… Do you also know my salary details?!”
“I’m the one who helped you get the job, in case you forgot,” Ranpo replied with a shrug. “I know who’s employing you, and I know what their needs are and what their usual salary is. Since your role can’t be fulfilled by anyone, they’ll want to keep you, and they won’t be too reticent to pay top price for it. Based on that, it’s easy to deduce the average amount of money they’ll offer you.”
Mushitarô cringed, frightened by the phlegm with which he had said this. That damn detective…
An epiphany then struck Mushitarô’s mind.
“Speaking of which, why would you even want me to thank you? I thought you getting me a job was a way to return the favor I had given you…”
To be fair, Mushitarô had completely forgotten what said favor even was. Or if there had been any to begin with. But he clearly remembered Ranpo’s words when he gave him the card of the government agent he could save with his skill:
“I made a promise to you, didn’t I? To get you a job whenever you’d be in trouble.”
“I thought we were even?” Mushitarô insisted.
“Eh? Don’t see what you’re talking about, sorry.”
“You’re definitely lying!!”
As he was expecting the detective to smile smugly at him, Mushitarô was quite astounded to see him become suddenly grim. No; that wasn’t right. His mood had not fallen: it was like it had completely gone.
“All I did was to give you an opportunity. The rest, you did it yourself. The choice to save that guy and seize the chance to get this job was all yours, Mushitarô.” The detective turned to face him. “And I’m glad you made that choice.”
Had there been a hint of sympathy in that voice, Mushitarô would have simply swatted away the kind words and sent Ranpo packing. But the detective’s tone was void of any emotion. Though they were fixed on him, his vacant eyes were not staring at Mushitarô, but at something farther away; something far beyond what any ordinary human could see.
It was the middle of summer, and yet the room suddenly seemed to cool down a few degrees.
Then, like the sun breaking through the clouds, a softer expression eased Ranpo’s features. He didn’t exactly smile, but the twinkle that appeared in his eyes thawed the coldness they had harbored, even if a little.
“So, what’s made you find back interest in the outside world?”
Mushitarô’s mouth went dry. Images of his past shared life with Yokomizo flashed before his eyes, soon followed by pictures of all that had happened since the latter’s death. There had been many times when loneliness, grief, and despair prevailed. But there were also some moments in which those feelings had been washed away, bringing back some brightness to the faded colors of Mushitarô’s world. Saying he had found back happiness would be a long stretch. However, he slowly had given in to the idea that finding it back was worth the try.
“… I have no idea… what you’re talking about,” he managed to utter despite his chocked breath.
“Eh. Suit yourself.”
Ranpo simply shrugged, like none of this had any importance. Perhaps it was due to this weird detachment; but Mushitarô felt the words rush to his pressed lips, trying to break through like a tidal wave forcing a barrage. The taste they left in his palate was bitter and salty. Mushitarô bit the inside of his cheek until the taste of blood overrode it.
No matter the nature of his feelings, no matter the weight of his burden, he mustn’t say a word; nor must he shed a tear.
Anything but proving that damn detective right.
“Hey, guys…?” Poe chose this moment to reappear in the door’s threshold. If he had heard any of his friends’ conversation, or noticed Mushitarô’s eyes were shining too bright, he didn’t mention it. “I think I got something for tonight… Would you mind taking a look at it?”
As if a switch had been flipped, Ranpo came back his previous cheerful self as he turned to Poe.
“No need! I totally trust you on the choice!”
“Wha… NO!! I don’t!!” Voice still quavering, Mushitarô tried to protest. “Show me what you–”
“Say, I have never done this before…” Put on cloud nine by Ranpo’s words, Poe seemed to have become deaf to Mushitarô’s supplications. “But I told the receptionist that we were going to celebrate something… and they’ve offered to prepare a special menu. It'll cost a tiny supplement, but... I don't know, is it okay?”
“It’s not! Also, I have various allergies, and…”
“Oh but…? Mushitarô? Are you crying?”
“I AM NOT!!”
“Haha! Don’t worry ‘bout it, Poe. It’s the emotion.” Ranpo laughed light-heartedly. “Say, shall we get prepared already? It’s getting late, and I’m getting hungry!”
“Stop making decisions in my place!!”
While the threesome – or foursome, since Karl also joined in – kept on shouting, laughing, chiming, and yapping, a ghostly figure, sat in a corner of the room, watched them silently. Only the ectoplasms hovering around Mushitarô – now harboring various tones of green, crimson, and orange – seemed to notice it.
