Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

After that shower—and the many random, fluttery compliments Poe kept giving her in the days that followed—Ranpo began to genuinely enjoy showering with her. Not in a sexy way, not in a dramatic, movie-scene way. Just together . Just being close, being held under the warm stream, letting her guard down while Poe rinsed shampoo from her hair with soft hands and called her beautiful for no reason.

It felt… good. Intimate, but safe. Not performative. Not something she had to “deserve.” Poe would look at her like she was the prettiest girl in the world even when she hadn’t brushed her hair, even when she had soap bubbles on her nose. And Ranpo—Ranpo liked the way her heart fluttered under that gaze.

She began to see herself differently in the mirror. Not always. Not completely. There were still days when her mind twisted her reflection into something cruel. But since those quiet mornings and quiet showers, something had shifted. When Poe smiled and said, “You’re gorgeous, Rampo,” sometimes she believed it.

And she loved that.

She found herself wearing different clothes. Not better clothes—just different. Before, she’d always leaned toward what she thought would make her look smaller, clothes that hid her softness, clothes that drew attention away from what she hated. But now? Now she just wore what she wanted.

Sometimes she wore skirts, because she liked how they swished when she walked. Sometimes she wore crop tops, even if her belly peeked out. Sometimes she dressed like a full-on detective noir character for no reason, and Poe would grin and tell her she looked dangerously cool. She felt—free.

Freedom was Poe glancing up from a book, cheeks pink, saying, “You look stunning today.”

Freedom was twirling in her favorite oversized sweater just because she liked the color.

Freedom was knowing Poe would still kiss her even on her bloated days.

Eventually, that sense of freedom made Ranpo a little restless. She loved being at home—especially when Poe was around—but sometimes it got boring. Poe had to work outside sometimes, and though Ranpo did like annoying her when she was home and busy, there was only so much she could do before she ended up lying on the couch, dramatically sighing into the void.

So she started looking for a job. Nothing too intense. Just... something to do.

She wasn’t desperate. She didn’t rush. She clicked through listings when she felt like it, sent out her info, and waited. And, surprisingly, she got called. A lot. Apparently, word of mouth had spread about her mind—cases she’d solved online, even anonymously. And now actual people from actual offices were calling her in.

Cool.

Exactly what she needed.

No more unsatisfying Reddit threads or random internet puzzles—this was real. Real murders. Real robberies. Real missing people. Real blood on real floors. Crime scenes with tape and officers and everything. This was living .

So that became her routine.

She’d wake up, shuffle into the kitchen to make a messy breakfast (or just steal a bite from Poe’s plate), then call a taxi to whatever location had hired her that day. After hours of solving whatever puzzle they had dumped on her desk, she’d head home, sometimes exhausted, sometimes buzzing with adrenaline. She and Poe would have dinner, sometimes takeout, sometimes Poe’s weird homemade vegetable creations, and then curl up on the couch or bed, wrapped around each other until sleep took over.

Some days, there were no cases. She stayed home. Sometimes she was lazy. Sometimes she spent the day dancing barefoot in the living room or beating the same video game for the fifth time. Sometimes she did literally nothing , and that was okay. Sometimes, she would poke her head into Poe’s office repeatedly until Poe—who rarely ever snapped—finally sighed and let her sit in her lap while she typed.

And every now and then, Poe would take her out on dates. Fancy museums, quiet bookstores, strange restaurants, or even just night walks to look at the moon. Ranpo loved those nights.

And then—Karl happened.

One day Poe came home with a raccoon.

“A raccoon,” Ranpo had said flatly, standing barefoot in the hallway, blinking slowly.

“He followed me,” Poe said innocently, like that explained everything.

The raccoon sat curled up in Poe’s arms like a baby, staring at Ranpo like she was an intruder.

At first, Karl was Poe’s tiny, scruffy shadow. He followed her everywhere —even to the bathroom—and when Ranpo got too close, he’d physically wedge himself between her and Poe, like some overzealous bodyguard. He once knocked a cup off the table when Ranpo reached for Poe’s hand.

Ranpo had sworn they’d have a rivalry forever.

But eventually, Karl began tolerating her. Then... seeking her out. Sitting beside her on the couch. Pawing at her hoodie strings. Following her into the kitchen. One night, he fell asleep on her lap while Poe was still at work, and she hadn’t even realized until Poe came home and whispered, “You won him over.”

Ranpo had looked down at Karl, then at Poe, and smiled a little. “Guess I’m irresistible.”

“You’ve always been,” Poe said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

In the end, Karl loved her. He’d curl against her legs at night, or sprawl over her laptop like a cat. He even brought her little leaves like gifts. And Ranpo, who never expected to co-own a raccoon, couldn’t help but love him back.

Her life wasn’t perfect—but it was hers . Strange, quiet, chaotic, soft. Messy. Beautiful.

Like that one time… It happened on a quiet Sunday evening.

They had gone out to a tiny, overly-decorated café Poe had discovered online, tucked between two bookstores downtown. It was themed after some old Victorian novel neither of them had read, with red velvet curtains, candlelight, and antique cups so delicate Ranpo was afraid to touch them.

They were halfway through dessert—Poe sipping a strange lavender tea, Ranpo absolutely demolishing a slice of cherry tart—when Poe’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, went still, then blinked. “Oh no.”

Ranpo squinted at her, mouth full. “What do you mean , ‘oh no’?”

Poe slowly turned the screen so she could see. It was a blurry photo. Taken from their neighbor’s phone. It showed the kitchen window of their apartment, wide open.

Inside, Karl was standing on the counter.

Covered in flour.

His little bandit face was almost unrecognizable under the powdery chaos, and—more importantly—he was paw-deep in what appeared to be an entire bag of sugar, with his tail sticking straight up in victory.

Underneath the photo was a message that read:
“I think your raccoon is baking.”

Ranpo stared at the screen for a solid ten seconds. Then: “How the hell did he open the cabinet.”

Poe pressed her napkin gently to her mouth. “I… I think he learned how to climb the fridge.”

“Of course he did,” Ranpo groaned, grabbing her bag. “He’s possessed.”

By the time they got home, it was worse.

So much worse.

The kitchen looked like a winter wonderland—if the snow was made entirely of flour, sugar, oats, and the contents of one very unfortunate spice rack. Karl sat in the middle of the floor like a gremlin king, proudly holding a wooden spoon in his sticky paws.

He squeaked when he saw them, and scampered under the table like he hadn’t just committed a federal crime.

Poe knelt down and sighed softly. “Karl… were you trying to make cookies?”

Ranpo stood there, absolutely stunned, blinking at the powdered chaos. “We’re going to need a priest.”

“Or a vacuum.”

“A vacuum and a priest.”

They spent the next two hours cleaning. Ranpo chased Karl down with a damp towel while Poe scrubbed cinnamon off the ceiling. The raccoon tried to escape through the bathroom window at one point, but Ranpo caught him mid-leap and dramatically declared, “You’re under arrest.”

Karl looked thoroughly unrepentant.

Eventually, when the kitchen was back to somewhat normal, they collapsed on the couch, limbs tangled together, with Karl curled like a smug loaf between them.

Ranpo leaned against Poe’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. “We are never leaving him alone again.”

Poe smiled faintly. “He just missed us.”

“He destroyed the spice rack.”

“...Love is chaos.”

Ranpo laughed, tired but soft, and looked at Karl—who was licking powdered sugar off his paw with zero shame. “…He’s lucky he’s cute.”

Poe hummed. “You say the same thing about me sometimes.”

Ranpo smirked, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. “Yeah, well. I guess I have a type.”

Anyway, despite Karl’s normal chaos—ripping up newspaper, chewing on socks, knocking down Poe’s precarious tower of sticky notes—Ranpo’s thoughts drifted, as they often did, into strange territory. This time, it was… sex.

They were both going to turn twenty-four soon. Twenty-four. That number sounded weird when she said it in her head. Adults. Real ones. And she knew—not because anyone had told her directly, but because it was everywhere, in the air, in the world—that people her age had already done it. Sex. First times. All that.

Ranpo didn’t really care much for “normal,” anyway. But still, there was this little itch in the back of her mind.

She was pretty sure Poe hadn’t done it either. Not that she’d ever asked, but—no, no. She just knew . They were both a little late to that party, and they’d been just fine about it. More than fine. They were happy . Balanced. In sync, like a pair of planets quietly orbiting one another.

But what if… what if that changed?

What if Poe woke up one day and realized she needed it?

Ranpo frowned. She sat on the floor, curled up in a blanket like a sleepy dragon, with Karl snoring softly beside her. And she felt… weird.

Because when she thought about it—not in the abstract, but really thought about it—it didn’t sound that bad. Awkward? Probably. Messy? Definitely. But… not awful. Not impossible . Not anymore.

It would be with Poe. And Poe was safety, was trust. Was quiet and soft and warm and full of sleepy “I love yous” in the morning when she thought Ranpo was still asleep. People always said that sex was about connection, about feeling close to someone—not just the whole orgasm thing.

So maybe… maybe Ranpo could make it work. Maybe she could even like it.

But then, what did that mean ?

She’d been thinking she was asexual—or at least somewhere on that spectrum. And she still thought she was. But the lines were blurry. The spectrum didn’t come with a map. Did wanting to try make her less asexual? Was she faking? Pretending?

Ugh. Life was hard.

She’d just have to ask. Just talk to Poe. That was the right thing to do. Because if there was one person in the universe she could be honest with, it was Poe.

So she scooped Karl up like a shield and marched to Poe’s office. The door was open, as usual, but she knocked anyway. Twice. “Can I?” she asked, peeking her head in.

Poe glanced up from her laptop. “Hm? Yes!”

Ranpo looked down at Karl. He blinked back at her, no help at all. She sighed, heavy and dramatic, and walked in. “Are you too busy?”

“No,” Poe replied automatically, her fingers still clacking away on the keys.

Ranpo frowned, pouting slightly. “I wanna talk.”

That made Poe stop. She blinked, turned slowly toward her. “Oh.” Her eyes went wide, her posture tense like she was expecting something terrible. “Oh—yes, give me a sec.” She typed something quickly, closed a couple tabs, and spun in her chair to face Ranpo fully, hands in her lap.

Ranpo stared at her, clutching Karl. Then, after a pause, she placed the raccoon gently on the floor, stepped forward, and—without a word—climbed into Poe’s lap.

Poe’s hands found their way to her thighs, still uncertain.

“I’m just curious, okay?” Ranpo murmured, eyes narrowing slightly as if warning Poe not to overreact.

Poe blinked slowly. “Okay…”

“Be honest,” she said, pointing a finger at her. “I’ll know if you lie.” Then she took a breath. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

The silence that followed was long . Weirdly long. Poe’s eyebrows rose. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

Ranpo's stomach twisted.

But then Poe exhaled, a tiny, soft laugh escaping her. “...Yes. I do.”

“You hesitated,” Ranpo said, narrowing her eyes again.

“Because I didn’t expect that from you,” Poe said, smiling faintly. She reached up, brushed her fingers along Ranpo’s cheek. “Sorry. But I do.”

Ranpo leaned into her touch. Her eyes fluttered half-shut. “Have you ever, I don’t know… felt frustrated because I don’t?”

Poe didn’t answer immediately. “...Yes,” she said at last, quietly. “I have. But it’s momentary. It passes. I’m not unhappy, Ranpo.”

Ranpo’s gaze dropped to her lap. “Would you like to… try?”

“Try?” Poe repeated gently.

“To try to have sex,” Ranpo said. Her voice was so soft it was barely audible. She bit her lip and looked up, like she was bracing for something.

Poe didn’t flinch. She didn’t overreact. She just looked at her for a long moment. “Darling,” she said softly, brushing a thumb over Ranpo’s cheek, “you don’t have to force yourself. We don’t have to have sex. I won’t die without it. I’m not staying with you for that.”

“I know,” Ranpo murmured. “I just… I want to try. To see if I can want it. If I’ll like it. If it’s something we can share.”

There was no hesitation this time. Poe cupped her face with both hands now, leaned forward, and pressed a soft, tender kiss to her cheek. “Okay,” she whispered. “Then we’ll try.” She smiled at her—small, reassuring. “But the second you don’t want to anymore, the second anything feels off, we stop. No questions, no pressure. You say ‘stop,’ and it stops. Deal?”

Ranpo nodded slowly. “Deal.”

Poe kissed her forehead, holding her close. And for a moment, there was no confusion, no labels, no pressure—just the quiet safety of choosing something together, step by step.

They moved to the bed once Poe organized the scattered papers and closed her laptop. She tidied her space with precise gestures, always meticulous even in moments like this. Ranpo waited in silence, sitting on the bed with her legs crossed, arms wrapped loosely around her knees. Her mind was a storm of half-formed thoughts and memories—everything she knew about sex from books, whispered conversations, too-curious internet searches... but that knowledge felt distant, disconnected from this. This wasn’t theory. This was real. And she was nervous.

She didn’t want to ruin it.

She didn’t want to disappoint Poe.

But she really didn’t want to force herself, either—not when she knew that would hurt Poe more than anything.

Poe finished, then reached for Karl and gently set him in his little round bed near the foot of the bookshelf. Karl—miraculously—stayed still, curling up like a soft puff of chaos contained. Ranpo smiled slightly. A tiny blessing.

Poe returned to the bed and laid a folded towel over the sheets with an ease that made Ranpo bite back a question. It made sense, she supposed. Practical. Poe gestured for her to sit on it, and Ranpo did, sitting stiffly at first. Poe gave her a soft kiss on the cheek and then, wordlessly, left the room.

Ranpo blinked, confused.

From the hallway came an exasperated groan. “Why don’t I ever have—oh, wait, no, here—no, never mind—ugh!” She returned moments later with a small bottle and a determined expression, closing the door with her foot.

Ranpo didn’t ask.

Poe leaned down, resting her hands on the mattress on either side of Ranpo’s hips. “Relax,” she murmured against her lips. “If you tense up, it won’t feel good.”

Ranpo gave a low groan—half embarrassment, half anticipation—and kissed her back.

Making out was the easiest part. Familiar, safe, like a ritual they had perfected between giggles and teasing over the years. It helped. It grounded her. Poe’s kisses stayed soft, warm, slowly deepening but never rushing. There were no sudden movements, no hands roaming too quickly. Just lips and warmth and Poe’s scent, her presence, anchoring her.

Ranpo felt something flicker low in her belly—tiny sparks, dull at first, then stronger, more electric. She tried to press her thighs together, out of habit maybe, but Poe’s knee was there. Not pressing. Just there. She frowned internally, not sure if it was comforting or annoying.

Probably both.

The heat didn’t subside. In fact, it kept building, unspooling slowly like a wire tightening with every kiss, every careful brush of Poe’s tongue against hers. Then Poe’s hand moved—gently down Ranpo’s waist, under her shirt, her fingers just ghosting over skin. Barely a touch, really, but so hot , so real it made Ranpo gasp softly into her mouth.

Overwhelming. She clenched her jaw.

Poe didn’t rush. She moved like this was just another kind of conversation—intimate, yes, but one where every word mattered. Her hand traced circles on Ranpo’s belly so gently it almost tickled. It made her flinch a little, giggle a little, then sigh. Her other hand slid to Ranpo’s back, grounding her again.

Then Poe moved down, trailing kisses along Ranpo’s neck. That was new. Ranpo had never thought much of her neck before, but now it was all sensation. Poe’s lips moved lower, leaving barely-there kisses, soft and soothing—until she bit down.

Not hard. Gentle. Careful.

But followed by a soft suck that made Ranpo squirm and shiver. Heat surged in her cheeks. In her chest. Everywhere.

She tangled her fingers in Poe’s dark hair, her breathing picking up, trying to focus—on something, anything—to not let herself spiral with how much she felt . It was too much. Not bad. But much.

“You okay?” Poe whispered, barely audible against her skin.

“...Yes,” Ranpo breathed. “It’s just that—I…”

She didn’t know how to explain it. The pressure. The strange tightness low in her belly. Wanting it, not knowing how to want it. Not knowing what it meant .

Poe seemed to get it. Of course she did.

Then, gently, with silent understanding, Poe shifted. Her knee, which had been resting idly between Ranpo’s legs, pressed forward—just a little.

Ranpo gasped quietly, blinking.

She didn’t know what to do with it. But she shifted her hips—instinct, not decision. And something flared inside her. Just something. A pull. A moment of relief from the ache in her core.

So she did it again. A small roll of her hips against Poe’s thigh. Then again. Her breath hitched.

It felt…
It helped.

She didn’t even notice when Poe’s hands moved until she felt them again—resting over her chest, fingers hesitant as they brushed against the fabric of her top. Then, slowly, with a question in her eyes, Poe started to undo the buttons. One by one. Her pace slow, letting Ranpo feel every second, giving her time to stop her if she wanted.

Ranpo didn’t. She just stared, breathless, flushed and blinking hard, heart racing like she’d just solved an impossible case. But she wasn’t solving anything here.

She was just trying.

Trying to feel. Trying to understand what her body could do when it was held like this, loved like this. And Poe kept holding her. Like she had all the time in the world.

It was warm. Not just the room, or the soft light peeking through the curtains—it was Poe’s hands, her breath, her eyes. It was how she paused after undoing Ranpo’s top, like asking for permission with nothing but a glance. Ranpo answered with a little nod, still biting the inside of her cheek. Still nervous. But… still there.

And Poe was still slow.

She leaned in, leaving soft kisses on Ranpo’s shoulder, brushing her lips across bare skin with a gentleness that made Ranpo shiver. Her fingers moved with patience, touching and pulling just enough to make Ranpo feel her chest rise without noticing, her hands twitch as they reached up and held onto Poe’s arms.

“You’re trembling,” Poe whispered with a smile against her skin.

Ranpo pouted. “So are you.”

Poe pulled back, eyes wide. “I am not—” but she looked down at her own hands, which were in fact trembling slightly. “Okay, a little. Maybe a lot.”

That made Ranpo giggle, some of the tightness in her shoulders easing. “We’re pathetic.”

“We’re trying,” Poe murmured with a soft grin, and she leaned in again, kissing between her ribs. “We don’t have to do anything beyond this if it’s too much.”

“I know,” Ranpo said, breath a bit shaky. “I just wanna… try.”

They moved slowly—kisses, touches, the way Poe adjusted the towel beneath them again, like she wanted Ranpo to feel safe even if it was all new. And it was new. But it wasn’t bad. Her skin felt oddly sensitive—like every kiss, every touch, lingered longer than it should. Like she wasn’t used to being seen like this, but also didn’t want Poe to stop.

There were awkward things too—Poe’s hair tickling her neck, Ranpo’s foot twitching at the wrong time and almost kicking Poe’s thigh, a moment when Poe accidentally elbowed the wall and whispered a very serious “Ow” , and Ranpo couldn’t help but snort.

“I’m ruining the mood,” Poe mumbled, blushing.

“You’re not,” Ranpo whispered, brushing Poe’s bangs aside. “I’d rather laugh a little than pretend it’s some perfect… thing.”

That made Poe’s face soften.

And so, they kissed again. Slower now. Calmer. Poe’s hands kept moving, but never rushed—exploring, adjusting, pressing in all the places that made Ranpo arch or hum or blink too fast. It was so much, but not too much. She didn’t feel pushed. She felt… guided. Every second, Poe was listening to her body like it spoke in whispers. And maybe it did.

Ranpo didn’t know if she liked everything . But she liked the closeness. She liked Poe’s voice when she asked, softly, “This?” and “Okay?” and “Do you want me to keep going?” She liked the way Poe kissed her inner wrist like it was holy. She liked the flush in Poe’s cheeks and the way her glasses kept slipping down until Ranpo reached up and gently pushed them back up her nose, making both of them laugh again.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. Sweet. Kind. Full of that unspoken promise Poe always gave her: I’ll wait for you. I’ll move at your pace. I’ll never ask more than you can give.

And as Poe’s hand moved between her legs, slow and cautious, Ranpo let herself breathe into it—tentatively, unsurely, but willing. Because it wasn’t just about sex. It was about them. Their softness. Their rhythm. Their oddities. Their love.

And in that moment, even trembling and nervous, Ranpo knew—this wasn’t ruining anything. It was just another way to learn each other.

And she wanted to learn.

It was… a little messy.

Ranpo wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t quite this. There was no dramatic music swelling, no perfect cinematic moment. Just the sound of the sheets shifting, their unsteady breaths, and Poe’s soft murmurs—some of them nervous, some apologetic, and some very, very unsure.

Because truth be told, Poe didn’t entirely know what she was doing either.

She wanted to guide Ranpo. Wanted to take care of her. But after a few minutes of trying different angles, different touches—too fast, too light, too weird , Ranpo had to stifle a laugh, which made Poe freeze.

“Was that bad?” Poe asked, blinking in mild panic.

“No, no,” Ranpo managed, covering her face with both hands. “Just… confusing?”

“Oh no,” Poe whispered, visibly deflating. “I studied so much .”

That made Ranpo snort. “Of course you did.”

“I took notes.”

“You took notes ?”

“There were diagrams,” Poe whispered, horrified.

Ranpo laughed harder, hands still over her face. Her whole body shook with it, but she wasn’t laughing at her. She was laughing because it was so perfectly Poe—wanting to get it right, to make Ranpo feel good, to memorize it like it was a riddle she had to solve.

And somehow, that broke something inside her—in a good way. The tension melted. The nerves softened.

“Poe,” she said, lowering her hands to peek up at her. “It’s okay. We’re both weird.”

“That’s true,” Poe admitted, brushing hair from Ranpo’s cheek. Her fingers were still trembling.

But she didn’t stop.

She kept trying.

She kissed softly. She adjusted her position. She moved with a little more confidence after each whispered breath from Ranpo, after each sigh or quiet gasp. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth. But after several minutes—and a few quiet “Oh—wait, no—ah, yes, there” —something clicked.

And Ranpo felt it.

That slow, rising feeling, like a spark catching fire. The way her body arched before she even realized it, chasing the rhythm, leaning into Poe’s steadying hand on her hip. Her thoughts blurred, her breath caught—and Poe, sensing it, didn’t ask again. She just watched . Attentively. Sweetly. In awe.

It worked. Somehow. Even if they both had to stumble through it.

When it was over, Ranpo just lay there, blinking at the ceiling, limbs loose and heart pounding—not in panic this time, but in a kind of stunned quiet. Poe was beside her, one arm under her neck, the other curled loosely across her stomach.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Just breathing. Sharing warmth.

Then Poe spoke up, voice small:

“So… no notes next time?”

Ranpo let out a soft laugh. “Maybe just less diagrams.”

“Understood.”

They both chuckled again, and it wasn’t awkward anymore. Just sweet. Honest. Full of something brand new that didn’t need to be defined yet.

Ranpo shifted closer and buried her face against Poe’s neck. “You did good.”

“I was guessing half the time,” Poe whispered.

“I know.” Ranpo smiled. “Still good.”

And Poe, with all her awkward grace, wrapped both arms around her and kissed her temple, letting that be enough.

Saying sex became a normal thing between them would’ve been a lie.
Not a bad lie—just a soft, quiet truth Ranpo kept for herself.

After their first time, even though Ranpo had liked it— really liked it—she didn’t come out of it feeling like it was something she wanted to do again the next night. Or even the next week. She remembered the way Poe’s skin felt against hers, the heat, the shivers, the closeness. She remembered the overwhelming rush in her chest and belly, and how her limbs had trembled in the aftermath. But just thinking about doing it again made her stomach twist—not in fear, exactly. Just... too much.

Don’t get her wrong. It had been a good moment. She’d felt safe. Seen. And Poe had been wonderful—so gentle, so thoughtful. But when she tried to imagine starting from the beginning again—all the tension, the nerves, the uncertainty—it didn’t appeal to her. Not really.

Still, something about it lingered with her. Not desire, but confidence.

Because Poe had looked at her afterward like she was something beautiful . Even in the mess. Even with tangled hair and flushed cheeks and awkward half-laughter. She’d kissed Ranpo’s shoulder and whispered something about her being radiant . Ranpo hadn’t said anything in return—she never knew what to say to compliments—but she remembered it.

It had made her feel so… pretty .

So even if she didn’t feel the pull , the need to do it again anytime soon, she kept the memory close. Because it mattered. Because it had been hers.

And Poe didn’t pressure her. Not even once.

Maybe she’d noticed Ranpo’s quiet retreat. The way she would smile and cuddle close but gently shift away if Poe’s hand wandered too far under her shirt. The way she preferred soft kisses and long talks on the sofa, hands tangled in Poe’s hair, rather than anything more heated.

If Poe ever felt disappointed, she never showed it. She just smiled, curled her arm around Ranpo, and kissed the top of her head.

Sometimes she’d ask, softly, “Is this okay?”
And Ranpo would nod. “This is perfect.”

They built something else in that space.

Shared books late at night, reading aloud and pausing to make fun of the characters. Morning kisses when Ranpo was still half-asleep, her face buried against Poe’s collar. Long, quiet evenings when Poe braided Ranpo’s hair while humming softly under her breath.

It wasn’t sex.

But it was intimacy.
And it was more than enough.

And for Ranpo, maybe that was the part that mattered most.