Chapter Text
"Wake up, Ranpo."
The man suddenly woke with an audible gasp; sitting upright in his bed and holding his head in his hands, in both pain and an overwhelming mixture of emotions twisted and contorted until they bring him to feel such pain and confusion it’s labouring to breathe. Ranpo looked nervously around his dark room. The light was off, the lamps were off, there were clothes and books and random nick-nacks or doodads scattered across the floor. You couldn’t even see the floorboards anymore. Drawing in a deep, shaky breath - almost as shaky as Ranpo himself - he slowly came to realise what had happened. It wasn’t the first time this had gone down, and hopefully it wouldn’t be the la-
"Where are they? No. No. No.." Something was dreadfully wrong. You see, usually Ranpo kept a stack of books his past lover had written as a profession. Due to his ability, said lovers books could transport the reader into that very world written about on those paper pages. But currently, all that stood there was a pot of pills he had been prescribed.
This was unfortunately Ranpos unreliable way of coping with the overwhelming grief of losing his lover, Edgar Allan Poe. While still perusing the living realm, Edgar had written many a romance novels and poems in his time - many of which being awfully tragic or having a deep meaning. But when it came to Ranpo, the author was able to cast his tragedies and such aside, for he was truly happy loving and being loved by such a wonderful person. Edgars short stories and poems about their relationship were often filled with joy and sweetness, and much fondness for cute little habits his partner might have. The last novel he had written had been about Ranpo dragging Edgar off on a date to go shopping, the day before the formers birthday. Despite the latters feeble attempt at disagreement. First they had went to a large book shoppe, Edgar having even referenced Fyodor Dostoyevsky. And secondly they went and visited a small little hole-in-the-wall sweets shop, where they ran into a coworker of Ranpos.
But alas, this was all just yet another fiction.
Ranpo was suddenly thrown into a spiral of fear and anxiety. What will he do now? Can he cope living without the one person who made him feel such immense joy? Is there anywhere for him to survive on his own?
All of these questions, all of this fear and anxiety and pain built up inside of him and started to eat him from the inside. Piece by little piece.
His stomach was in immense pain from how anxious he was, like it was being ripped apart and torn to shreds before being pitifully sewn back together again.
His mind raced at the thought of his time forgotten lover, it was like someone and stolen is brain and brutally strapped it to a treadmill on maximum speed and never put it back or turned it off.
And his heart. Oh, his heart ached, and wrenched at every painful twist and turn his thoughts underwent. It was beating as fastly paced as his mind was moving. It was enough to make him want to vomit.
Ranpo, in his dishevelled panic spiral, began to laugh. At nothing in particular; perhaps he was even laughing at himself, for being so pathetic he couldn’t even begin to imagine how he could exist without the man he loved so dearly. It was like all of the oxygen in his bedroom was being drained, and he was trying to gasp and claw desperately at every last drop of it he could get into his lungs.
But then, an electronic ringing sound went off. He ignored it. Again. Ignored, again. There was a long beep after a moments silence, with a voicemail from Kunikida, asking where he was and if he was okay. Ranpo didn’t answer.
Everything ached. Everything was spinning. His mind, his stomach, his heart, the room, himself, was spinning and spiralling into an endless abyss of anxiety filled panic that seemed never-ending.
Except…There’s always a way out.
You just have to be willing to try it.
And under the empty, moonlit sky..
Ranpo Edogawa reached for the pill pot.