Chapter Text
Edgar didn’t quite remember how he got to his apartment. One moment he was outside the Agency, the next he was leaning against the inside of his front door trying to fight down the rising panic. His phone was vibrating in his pocket. Karl was whimpering against his neck.
Edgar absentmindedly reached up and pulled Karl into his chest.
He was fucked. Ranpo may have not followed him, but the long vibration of a call switching to the buzzing of text after text let Edgar know he would not get out of this unscathed.
He ran his fingers through fur. His throat tightened.
What should he say?
How was he going to lie to Ranpo, and not be obvious?
You can’t.
Little paws cupped his face. Edgar vaguely knew that Karl was trying to get his attention, but everything was so far away and time was both syrupy and super sonic speed. The raccoon chatters and buzzing (back to those of a call) fought to gain his focus.
Maybe if he ignored Ranpo, then he would realize Edgar was not worth the time or effort. That they were not rivals, but a simpering wannabe-author and a world-class detective.
He couldn’t come up with a satisfactory mystery in a month.
Pathetic.
Pinpricks of pain jolted him back to the present. Karl seemed to have resorted to hissing and scratching, very rare.
He brought a hand up to bring Karl’s head to his chest, trying to focus on the rough texture of the fur underneath his fingertips. He needed to calm down or his poor raccoon would lose his mind.
“Shhh, it’s okay Karl. I may have just ruined my life here, but it’s all okay .” He couldn’t have kept the hysterical tinge out of his voice even if he tried.
Finally taking in the mess of his apartment, it hit him.
What has become of me?
Every surface was covered in stacks of paper, books, and files. There were clear walkways to the kitchen, the couch, and the front door. Around the couch was a mix of trash, used dishes, and the densest stacks of research. The mess struck Edgar as that of his rooms in the past. It usually took more than just a couple months for where he was living at that moment to become so cluttered. His room in Moby Dick only got to this level thrice.
He needed to clean.
That thought had niggled at the back of his head many times since he moved here, but it was always too easy to pass that responsibility onto his future self.
But…
A part of him felt as though his time in Japan hinged on Ranpo’s response. His whole life since he first had a battle of wits was hinged on how this panned out.
That story revealed an uncomfortable amount of Edgar’s feelings and thoughts, if Ranpo actually read through it. If he looked into the way the main couple was written, then desires that Edgar only indulged under the cover of night would be revealed. His past could be teased out from the main characters’. In his fit of inspiration, he exposed his soul, and it felt as though Ranpo was too smart not to understand.
Everything was teetering on the edge.
So, instead of thinking anymore, Edgar sat Karl on the floor, and started the grueling process of cleaning.
Before digging into the mess that was in the living room, he walked into the bathroom. He took a shower before heading over to the agency, but his mouth was still days old, and he figured his physical health should come before his home.
Karl followed him into the bathroom, and they stared each other down as Edgar scrubbed at his teeth. Karl cocked his head when he spit his bloody toothpaste foam out, only to apply more onto his toothbrush. Maybe if he brushed hard enough, it would make up for his negligence (he knew better, especially since he was also skipping flossing).
Spitting out once again, he looked into the mirror. Normally he avoided it, but it was hard when it was right in front of him.
His eyes looked dead.
The color could be described as a gray, but there were clear undertones of purple. The best way he would describe them would be a dull, dirty purple. The purple of deep bruises like those under his eyes. The purple of a drowned man’s lips. Rotting asters stared back.
Disgust twisted at his gut.
He quickly brushed his bangs over his eyes, relying on muscle memory to get to the kitchen, and Karl’s attentiveness to avoid stepping on his companion.
His phone fell silent as he was pulling out a trash bag to start the cleaning process.
He paused briefly, before brushing it aside. He needed to focus.
Starting at the couch, he threw away everything that wasn’t research, poems, or drafts. He felt a pang of guilt throwing away dishes that could be cleaned, but the dried and rotting food almost made him want to quit and hide under the covers, so he decided he would cut his losses and buy paper plates next time.
Karl tried his best to help by grabbing or sliding things towards him. Edgar’s heart warmed watching those little hands scratch and scrabble. Karl’s eyes may be black, but they were so warm and kind. Any time Edgar started to slow down, Karl growled and brought him more paper, until he started to sort again.
The bag was over half way full, and the table was sorted into stacks, when the buzzing or rapid texts started up again. The floor was clean of the scattered papers when the buzzing switched back to calls once more.
He took a break before tackling the kitchen. Sweat made the hair on his forehead and on the nape of his neck tickle. It was quite embarrassing how much it took out of him just to tidy up his living room. The trash bag was ready to be tied off, and the stacks of papers, files, and books were startling tall. Karl settled across his lap, purring in contentment.
Normally during this process, Lousia would gently kick him out of his room as she cleaned, but now he couldn’t stop the pang in his heart. He missed her more than he thought he would. She truly was a great friend, and he took her for granted.
Before his thoughts wandered much farther, his door rattled with banging knocks. “Poe-kun! Open up!”
His blood froze in his veins. Karl skittered to the door. Traitor .
His initial panic then escalated to full out terror when he realized Ranpo was here .
He contemplated how easy it would be to slip out of the window and book a flight back to America. Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Karl looked back at him and growled.
“Karl! Is that you in there? Can you open the door?” Ranpo sounded much too cheerful in light of Edgar’s world ending because Karl did know how to open the door. He couldn’t unlock a door, but Edgar didn’t remember locking the front door, so he watched in horror as the furry menace jumped, and on the way down, pulled the knob down enough to unlatch and start to swing open.
Traitor
Ranpo’s face popped through the door, his eyes closed in a big grin, his hat askew more than normal atop his head. ”Knew I could count on you, Karl.” A crinkle of plastic and a sugar yellow candy bounced out from behind the door, tiny clawed hands quick to snatch it up.
Conspirators
Edgar knew he was gaping at the situation, but what the hell else was he supposed to do.
Ranpo nudged the door further open, Karl got the hint, and moved out of the way, waddling back to the couch. Ranpo’s head slipped back out for a bit, while Edgar took a deep breath. Voices rumbled on the other side of the door as Karl plopped down on his lap, content.
Edgar hissed at smiling eyes, “I can’t believe you.”
Karl purred like he was a cat instead of a raccoon, and closed his eyes as though he was about to take a nap.
“Traitor.”
“No, he was just doing the right thing.”
Edgar jumped. He must have missed him walking in because now he was standing on the other side of the coffee table.
Shock gave way to embarrassment. Even for someone who struggled in the intelligence department, it would be hard to miss how Edgar was in the middle of deep cleaning his atrocious apartment. There's a tied off trash bag, stacks on the table, and a dusty floor. No doubt Ranpo could even see the awful state of his kitchen from where he was standing.
In one of the detective’s hands was the manuscript. It caught his eye when Ranpo waggled it at him. “You can not just give me a confession like this, and leave before I can answer.”
Embarrassment deepened even further until he curled in on himself. His stomach and heart twisting and aching against the truth of it all. He knew it would be an exercise in futility to deny.
It was a romance about two detectives.
Just at the face description, it was probably obvious to Ranpo what the story was. A confession in the only way Edgar felt comfortable communicating by.
He covered his face with his hands, hoping against hope that Ranpo didn’t know he was hiding pooling tears.
But to hope against Ranpo, well, it was obvious Edgar was once again to lose.
“While I found the murder quite straight forward, I think you wrote the emotional messiness of the love interest being the murderer. This one was much more… poetic… than your previous works. The figurative language and literary devices you used were quite beautiful.”
He pushed down the searing pain those words brought because the compliment was everything he could hope for. The murder was not supposed to be complex because that was never the focus. The confession was, and Ranpo was hedging around that, probably trying to word a rejection.
Hot tears dripped onto his palms.
How pathetic.
He was going to be one of those that couldn’t hold composure during rejection. He had always hoped he would be able to stay calm in order to make the whole thing easier (because why would he ever not be rejected), but instead he was weeping before the words even came.
“Poe-kun, why did you leave before I could read it.”
A rock settled in the churning boiling pot of his stomach. Why was Ranpo dragging this out?
He cleared his throat in hopes that his voice wouldn’t crack under emotion. “You know why.” Damn it. His voice was nasally.
The tears traced warm paths down the center of his inner arms. Karl shifted up against his belly.
Ranpo cheerfully hummed. “I think you are missing the point.”
Anger surged through him, liquid magma igniting his nerves ablaze.
His hands drew into fists and slammed down onto the couch, revealing his teary face. Karl squeaked in surprise, burrowing further into his belly. He yelled, “I’m not missing anything! I just couldn’t stand there in front of everyone, waiting to be rejected and mocked, but I guess you dragged one of your co-workers here to do that anyway!” His breaths came out heaving, but borderline panicked.
Ranpo was no longer smiling.
His eyes were open, and staring at him. His face was wiped of emotion.
“I wouldn’t mock you about this. I sent Yosano home.”
“If you aren’t here to mock me, then stop dragging this out.”
Ranpo stared. His brows drew into a furrow. A hand slipped into his pocket before pulling out his glasses.
Edgar’s heart stopped.
Thin frames could not obscure the mesmerizing emerald boring a hole in Edgar.
“Ah. Dear Poe-kun, I’m not rejecting you.”