Chapter Text
The mellow summer drizzle was just the right music for Poe to accompany him in his creative process. Once again, the author was engrossed in coming up with ideas for a mystery novel. It felt natural, to close his eyes and roam through settings, characters and plots that had never been imagined, and then enmeshing all of those elements into one coherent story. It also had to have some twists and turns during its course, especially if his rival was going to read it.
Once he had visualized most of what he wanted to write, he immediately took action and started typing, not before having put some classical music in an old-fashioned record player. He cracked his knuckles, facing his beloved typewriter in the way that a pianist would face a grand piano, in the middle of the stage to play in a concert; just that the stage, in this case, was his studio and his audience was his pet raccoon Karl, who was having the time of his life napping on the couch. The rhythm of his fingers pressing the keys sometimes followed the music and Poe always got lost in that familiar sensation. Every now and then he would stop and ponder the appropriate words to continue his novel, only to be suddenly struck by inspiration and typing twice as fast as he had previously.
It was evening by the time he had finished his work. He took the pages and stretched his arms, contemplating them from a longer distance.
“I think this seems good enough! What do you think, Karl?”. He scanned the place with his sight, searching for the raccoon. The small animal had woken up some time ago from his slumber and was still inside the room, curled up in a chair. He made a small noise and huddled some more to find the perfect spot.
“I know, right?! I cannot wait to show this to Ranpo-san tomorrow. Perhaps this is the chosen one, my chance to defeat him in a battle of wits! My lifelong rival will become speechless and I will come out victorious!” Ranpo had not ever swore their rivalry in a really serious way, but Poe liked to dramatize it. Karl had already lost interest in his owner’s frequent ramblings, as he was really used to those kinds of outbursts - and of the lovesick type too.
Poe set the papers aside and decided to take a blank one out of his desk, along with a jet black quill and an ink bottle. Albeit being certainly proud of what he had recently typed, his mind still urged him to write something more. He sighed; it was raining more heavily now. He tapped the point of the quill on the paper and wondered about how the next day could turn out. If he could actually surprise Ranpo in the near future and the other man would truly acknowledge him as his rival, maybe he could also confess his other deeper feelings to him someday as well. He shaked his head.
There is no way that I can tell him that.
However, his heart said otherwise. It was pumping furiously, overflowing with emotions upon memories of the past and the moments he could cherish with the detective in the present. Since the moment they had met, Poe had been drawn to him by a mysterious force. At first, it had been awe and curiosity to test the other’s limits when it came to his detective skills, which had proved to be endless. He had spent six arduous years trying to get his revenge. Behind his actions, though, laid his true motives: he had been yearning for the opportunity to meet with him again and discover more about the mysterious man who had beaten him with his intellect effortlessly. He desired to challenge and see Ranpo-san again and again, get closer to him, like a moth to the fire. How he wished to be consumed by the flames sometimes… Wait, that is exactly what he had to write!
His fingers prickled in anticipation as he got to work again. With the fanciest handwriting, he poured part of that irrational intensity into the white canvas, and what better way to do so than to write a poem about his love?
He smiled gently each time he wrote a verse, the rhymes catching up to his sweeping passion. If he could ever show this to Ranpo…that could only stay as an illusion. The difference between his novel and the poem brought mixed emotions as, while the former would see the light of day, the latter would be kept in his beating heart until someday he was able to muster up the courage to confess his feelings, or merely send the poem. Wistfully, he put the writing instruments back in their place since it was getting late. All he wanted was to take a bath, eat something quick and go to sleep.
—
The next day Poe was getting ready to go to the Armed Detective Agency. He also had to groom Karl; they needed to be impeccable for the occasion.
“Come on, young man! You really need a bath”.
Nonetheless, the pet raccoon refused to cooperate and, as a consequence, witnessing how stubborn his owner was growing, he started running around to avoid Poe grabbing him. Karl jumped on the couch and launched himself to one of the enormous bookshelves of the studio, making his way up, provoking a cascade of books to fall by some of his attempts to escape faster. A particularly heavy book fell on Poe’s head and he hissed in pain. Scratching his head where he had been hurt, he recognised in horror the small figure of his raccoon hanging on the chandelier, which was shaking dangerously. Poe took his shoes off to stand on the couch, trying to reach the sneaky pet slowly and using kind words.
“P-please Karl, it will not be for long. I will also give you your favorite treat, how is that? Just come down”.
As tempting as the offer sounded, Karl was still jumpy and landed on Poe’s desk instead of obeying. All of the papers that had been stuck in neat piles fell to the floor as the author rushed hastily to catch Karl in the middle of the chaos. Luckily enough, none of the pages had suffered any damage during the chase. With the raccoon finally in his arms, he proceeded to calm him down with gentle caresses.
After the bath and also brushing Karl’s fur thoroughly, Poe realized it was getting late and he wanted to be at the Agency as soon as possible. In a panic, he hurried to pick the pages that were still scattered across the room and only bothered to clip his most recent manuscript. The room was left behind in a mess. Off to the Armed Detective Agency Poe and Karl went, the place where someone really special to the author was.
—
Poe stood in front of the door and hesitated. He softly knocked and peeked inside. Ranpo waved at them cheerfully, telling them to come in. He was playing with a pen trying to hold it only with his upper lip, a silly look on him.
"Everyone's gone todayyyyy", he retorted before Poe had time to even greet him properly, "aaaand Kunikida has left me all of this paperwork to do. You know how much I hate paperwork…or boring work, for that matter".
Poe thought that when Ranpo whined and stretched his words he appeared to be childishly funny. Nevertheless, he knew better than to misjudge the detective by his extravagant mannerisms. After all, Poe had also fallen in love with him because of his incredible talent.
"It is difficult to impress someone such as you, especially with your super deduction ability."
"I've solved so many cases and I still remember them all, regardless of how entertaining they were at the time". Ranpo was now playing with his pen aimlessly, focusing on the task of spinning it as skillfully as possible for a while until he stopped. "That includes yours too". He shifted his gaze to the author.
"Sooo, what brings you here today, Poe-kun?"
The author bowed to Ranpo forcefully and, with both hands, he handed the detective the pile of clipped papers he had been carrying with him ever since he entered the Agency.
"T-This is my latest work! I hope you can give me some feedback after you have read it".
Ranpo picked the draft and skimmed over the first page, stopping at the title. "This could be interesting", he wondered aloud with a smirk in his voice. Next, he eyed with curiosity the way in which his self-proclaimed rival had already lifted his head and was slightly ruffling his already messy hair. Even though Poe had combed it so many times before going out, a few seconds were all it took his hair to return to its disheveled state.
After the exchange, they sat down; Poe on the chair in front of Ranpo's - Karl by his side- while the other man started reading the draft, rocking recklessly on his chair every once and then. His legs were against the edge of his desk to push himself. Time passed at weird intervals for Poe since he was waiting expectantly to hear Ranpo out when he had finished. He concentrated on studying Ranpo's expressions carefully but not for too long in the meantime. He beamed as he realized that, even when cracking a case, he appeared too beautiful and precious to him.
When the detective reached the final page, he arched his eyebrows. By the time he was done reading it he almost fell from his chair, but managed to stand up before the chair stumped with a big thud, which was immediately followed by piles of documents flying over the room like white confetti. Karl yelped and jumped from Poe's touch. His owner gasped at the sound, remembering the recent incident that had taken place at his home.
Ranpo, on the other hand, did not even flinch, grabbing Poe by the shoulders without warning. Them being separated by the table did not alleviate the intensity of the piercing gaze that the detective, now with unusually open eyes, had on the other man.
Poe’s body froze, except for his eyes, which were wandering around each corner of the room until they settled for a spot on the wall that suddenly seemed really interesting and was totally not an excuse to not to have to look back. He noticed that his cheeks were reddening, if not his whole face and body. The detective squeezed his shoulders and Poe unconsciously did what he was trying to avoid so desperately: he locked eyes with the source of his discomposure.
Fuck.
He could not describe, not even with the refined vocabulary that he used for his writings, the feelings that that particular look Ranpo was giving him made to his heart - not that any other look had not made him feel things. He gulped audibly and waited for him to start talking.
"What is your deal with the last page?"
"H-huh? What are you exactly talking about?" Poe thought about that part of his novel. He had wanted to leave an open ending after the detective had caught the culprit, trying not to make it cliché and giving it an appropriate twist. His intentions were to leave his future readers on the edge of their seat, begging for more. Who was he trying to fool? What he wanted was nothing more than to impress his current reader with his efforts. Wait, perhaps had Ranpo not enjoyed it? Had he found it boring? Or had he even found it so below his level that he was this uncommonly upset? That did not reassure Poe in the slightest.
"This". He passed the draft to Poe and, as soon as he saw it, he did not know whether to scream or bury himself twenty feet below the ground and never come back again. The paper read as follows:
Oh, my rival, thou art my inspiration,
I wonder how thou can make,
with emerald orbs as eyes,
my heart swell with admiration.
How to be consumed
by the flames of thy passion.
Thy talent shows no compassion,
Thy charm knows no bounds.
Sun of my days, moon of my nights,
never stop shining.
I will always be gazing
at thy beauty in the sky.
Forevermore, let me reach
thy heaven with my hands,
and hold those little stars
bright as priceless jewels.
Oh no no no no, this could not be happening. Why was his love poem there?! This was just a bad dream, right? Right?
It was not, in fact, a bad dream, but he was not going to confirm that in the middle of a silent panic attack in front of his crush.
"You wrote about me…"
"N-no!", Poe stuttered, "T-this- this is all a mistake! This was not supposed to be here, Ranpo-san. It is just a poem I wrote to pass the time. You may not know that I am fond of poetry too, even though my fame lies in mystery novels". He hoped his voice did not sound as squeaky or as incredibly awkward as he felt it leave from his throat. How would he respond to this indirect and totally-not-planned confession? Judging by his reaction, he had to be baffled, even disgusted by it. Poe dread to think about the consequences. The short pause between their confronting was too long for his poor heart to bear.
"I didn't know you wrote this kind of stuff! The way you portray me is bizarre but above all really good. As expected of my dear friend Poe-kun!" He had closed his eyes again, smiling smugly. "I figured out your mystery too soon, though. On the second page, to be precise. I can give you advice on how to spice it up a bit in return for your hard work." He winked at the author - as far as one could wink with their eyes almost shut.
Huh? Had not Ranpo figured it out by now? His feelings? Not those a friend would feel for another, but deeper, running way deeper. He did not know what to make of the outcome, he felt somehow…disappointed. The genius detective had figured out all of the obscurest mysteries he had written in a matter of seconds, like he had just bragged, and not this one, already in plain sight. He felt much smaller all of a sudden and his resolve to someday confess properly to the other man had faded out, like a flame being extinguished by a bucket of cool water called "what did you get your hopes up for". He finally managed to murmur, "I would appreciate it but I cannot stay anymore. It will have to wait for another time".
"Why? Even when I was looking forward to meeting with you".
One more word from the detective and Poe would keep on misinterpreting signs of platonic affection for what he wanted to be told by him. He felt ashamed of himself and could not keep his cool anymore, completely terrified as he was. Karl was whining, worried about Poe's shakiness - he was certainly perceptive.
Poe ignored Ranpo's question. "Well then, look how late it is! I have to get going! I am really sorry". He picked all of the papers including the poem from Ranpo's hands, faking a sheepish smile but not his rush to get out of the Agency. He barged off before Ranpo could say something back. The author bumped into a caught-off-guard Kunikida when he opened the door, to which he apologized briefly and kept on running away.
Kunikida inspected Ranpo and the disarray caused by the papers on the floor in disbelief.
"What the hell is going on?"