Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Even though Ranpo knew —rationally—that liking someone wasn’t supposed to be about looks, that there was more to attraction than appearance… well, that didn’t mean her feelings got the memo. Emotions weren’t like switches you could just flick off the moment they got inconvenient. And ever since that day in class, when the P.E. teacher asked them all to step onto the scale one by one, she hadn’t quite been able to shake the weight of it—pun intended, maybe.

She hadn’t even thought much about it at the time. Not until she heard it.

A whisper, quiet but sharp enough to slice through her confidence: “Oh, of course. She looks really fat. Ew.” Followed by snickers. Muffled, but not enough. Never enough.

Ranpo never used to care much about that kind of thing. She liked candy. A lot. But she wasn’t reckless about it—she knew how to stop herself. Besides, no doctor had ever said anything serious to her about her health, not in a way that made her worry. She figured she was fine. Not model-thin, not Chuuya-curvy, just… her.

But those comments—and the ones she overheard after that, the ones she pretended not to hear—
They did something.

Made her second-guess herself in the quietest, cruelest ways.

Was she really that fat?
Was she… ugly?

She didn’t usually ask herself that. She had better things to focus on. She was the best in her class—probably the best in the whole school, if she was being honest. Reading people, solving things, knowing exactly what made others tick—that was her specialty.

But beauty? Romance?
She’d never thought much about that… until lately.

Because it wasn’t like she got compliments the way her friends did. Chuuya, with her ‘flawless’ skin and striking features, practically collected admiration without trying. Dazai, who wore charm like perfume and flirted just because she could , always had someone blushing around her. Even Kunikida— Kunikida! —got the occasional compliment, even if she usually brushed them off.

But Ranpo? She couldn’t remember the last time anyone told her she looked good. Cute. Pretty. Anything.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That she didn’t care. But… she noticed .

All her friends had dated someone. At least once. Chuuya and Dazai had finally figured things out and were together. Kunikida had a short relationship. Atsushi and Akutagawa were obviously into each other, even if they hadn’t figured it out yet. Yosano had dated both girls and boys—and had a confidence Ranpo envied in the quietest, deepest way.

And Ranpo?
No one had ever confessed to her. Not once.

Maybe she just never wanted to date. Maybe. That was what she told herself, anyway. But it still stung. She couldn’t help comparing. Couldn’t stop wondering what was so different about her.

Sure, she was smart. Brilliant, even. But wasn’t she also supposed to be lovable? Desirable?
Pretty?

The more she thought about it, the more her doubts started to snowball. What if she’d misread people all along? It sounded ridiculous—she was the best at reading people. But… was she?

Sometimes, Kunikida didn’t lean in when they talked. Akutagawa sometimes avoided her gaze. Tiny things. But once the thought was there, it rooted in deep. Was it about her weight? Her face? Her presence?

When she looked in the mirror now, she still saw herself. But with more questions than before. She wasn’t as thin as Dazai—not that it was a fair comparison, Dazai had her own issues, and everyone knew it. She didn’t have Chuuya’s hourglass shape—but that was genetics, right? She wasn’t as tall as Kunikida, and height wasn’t exactly something you could fix.

Her stomach wasn’t flat. Her thighs were soft. Her cheeks were rounder than she liked. And all those little things piled up, like a list of flaws only she noticed, but couldn’t unsee anymore.

Did that make her… ugly?

She didn’t think so. Not really. But then, when she remembered the number on the scale—just a bit over the “ideal,” a few kilos too many—and those cruel words echoing in her mind…

She wasn’t sure.
Was she really that fat?
Was she really that unattractive?

She didn’t know why it hurt so much. But it did.

And as if the entire universe had decided to gang up on her, Ranpo’s friends, in their infinite summer optimism, thought it would be a brilliant idea to go to the beach.

The beach .

Was there any place more brutally focused on bodies, more unforgiving when it came to comparisons? She doubted it. Not unless someone dragged her into a changing room with a full-length mirror and fluorescent lighting.

By the time she arrived, everyone else was already there—laughing, calling to each other, setting their towels on the sand with the kind of ease Ranpo wished she felt. Swimsuits clung to skin, the sunlight bouncing off bare shoulders and tan legs. Some of them were already in the water, their laughter carried by the breeze.

And Ranpo?

Ranpo didn’t even want to take off her clothes.

She stood there, hugging her bag against her chest like it could shield her from the sun and the eyes and the heat, all of it. In theory, she liked the beach. She liked sitting on warm towels, hearing the rush of waves, tasting salty air, and feeling sand between her fingers. She loved spending time with her friends—talking, joking, people-watching. That should’ve been enough.

But now… even that felt complicated.

She just wanted to sit quietly, watch the ocean, maybe snack on some candy—
Wait. Candy .

Her thoughts hit a snag.

If she was fat—if those whispers from P.E. class were right, if her reflection wasn’t lying—should she really be eating candy? Wasn’t that one of the reasons why her body looked like this?

She frowned. She liked candy. That had never been a crime before.

But suddenly, even her favorite things felt like evidence against her.
Against her worth. Against her beauty. Against being wanted.

Ranpo blinked, her eyes darting over to the loudest voices nearby.

Chuuya was, unsurprisingly, yelling at Dazai, who looked smug about whatever trouble she had caused this time. In a weird way, the scene was comforting—something familiar, something she could count on. But even as she watched, her gaze lingered. Usually, she didn’t really look at her friends that much. Not in the full, analytical way she used to solve puzzles. One glance had always been enough to deduce what she needed.

But today?

Today, her mind was stuck in insecure-teenage-mode, and she hated it.

Chuuya’s curves were ridiculous . Not cartoonish, but bold and undeniably there. Her swimsuit hugged her body perfectly, the red of it making her hair even more vibrant. Sure, her stomach wasn’t perfectly flat and her thighs were thick—but she owned it. She worked for it, too. Ranpo knew that. Comparing herself to Chuuya was dumb.

She told herself that.

Still, she couldn’t help but think—Chuuya looked amazing .

Then there was Dazai. Not showing much skin, of course, but still striking in her way. Thin, long limbs, soft and elegant curves, a flat stomach beneath her loose shirt—she looked effortless. Boys liked her. A lot . Ranpo was sure it was because of how Dazai looked, how she moved, how she flirted like it was a game.

Kunikida was nearby, helping Yosano unfold a massive sun umbrella. Tall, poised, just the right amount of curves, the kind of body that looked like it came from good genes and strong opinions. In Ranpo’s mind, Kunikida was at the ideal midpoint—structured, graceful, not too much of anything, but just enough of everything.

Atsushi and Akutagawa were already in the water, splashing near the shore—well, Atsushi was splashing. Akutagawa looked like she’d been dragged into a warzone and was planning a quiet revenge. Ranpo couldn’t see them clearly, but she knew. They were skinny, too. They all were.

And Yosano? Sitting confidently on her towel, sunglasses perched on her face like a queen surveying her beach kingdom. Long legs stretched out, one hand delicately holding a drink, her swimsuit dark and elegant. Everything about her was composed, radiant, perfect . Ranpo could admit it: Yosano was breathtaking.

They were all… pretty. Just like that.

And then—
“Oh. Poe.”

She’d almost forgotten Poe was coming.

Ranpo spotted her a few feet away, towel wrapped around her like a shield, standing awkwardly on the edge of the group. Tall, thin, with dark hair cascading in waves down her back—it shimmered like ink in the sun. Ranpo had run her fingers through it more than once, just because it was that soft. Poe had blushed every time—but then, Poe blushed at everything. She was shy like that.

Ranpo grinned and walked toward her, leaving her thoughts behind like footprints in the sand. “Poe-kun!” she called out brightly. “I’m glad you came!”

Poe blinked at her, smile small and sheepish. “Ranpo… hi.” Then, almost immediately: “Did you put on some sunscreen already?”

Ranpo chuckled and dropped her bag onto the sand. “Nope. I was running late—again,” she said with a shrug. “Why are you standing over here? I told you already, my friends don’t bite.”

Poe looked away, fingers twitching nervously at the hem of her towel. “They seemed… busy. I didn’t want to interrupt. They were playing or something…”

“They’re always like that,” Ranpo said with a little shrug, brushing it off like it was nothing—as if the chaos between Chuuya and Dazai wasn’t something that made her feel safer somehow. Then, without letting Poe retreat back into her quiet nervousness, she reached out and gently grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

“Oh…” Poe murmured, voice soft with surprise, but she didn’t resist. Her fingers curled slightly around Ranpo’s. “Do you… want me to help you with the sunscreen?”

Ranpo snorted a laugh under her breath. “Ha, ha, I guess,” she replied, half-joking, and tugged her toward the rest of the group.

By the time they got there, Kunikida had stepped in like a one-woman peacekeeping force, expertly stopping Chuuya from actually punching Dazai, and managing to call Atsushi and Akutagawa back from the water with the authority only she seemed to have. The group finally settled down on their towels, sprawled out like lazy cats under the sun. They started chatting about nonsense—stupid stuff, funny stuff, things that didn’t matter.

Thankfully, Poe talked a little. Not much, but enough that Ranpo could tell she was trying. And for a while, that was enough. Just sitting there, listening, half-laughing. Until—

“Okay, enough, enough,” Yosano declared, rising gracefully to her feet like a queen dismissing court. “We didn’t come to the beach just to sit around flapping our mouths. If we wanted to do that, we could’ve gone to a café or a rooftop bar or something with air conditioning.” She clapped her hands with a sharp, commanding rhythm. “Up, up. Let’s go to the sea.” She turned toward Ranpo with that sharp little smile of hers. “Take all that off, darling, come on.”

The others groaned and protested, slowly dragging themselves up to their feet. Towels fell, sandals shuffled, bodies moved.

But Ranpo didn’t move.

She stayed where she was, crouched next to her bag, pretending to look for something—maybe a hair tie, or gum, or sunglasses, it didn’t matter. She just needed something to do with her hands, something to keep her head down.

Because this wasn’t like her. This —this hesitant, spiraling mess of thoughts—wasn’t her. She was the one who always moved first, always knew what was happening, what people meant behind their words. She noticed things nobody else did. She solved problems before others even realized they existed.

But right now?
She couldn’t even move .
This feeling—this doubting, insecure thing inside her—it was unfamiliar and terrible.

“Ranpo?”

She looked up, startled, and found Poe standing there, looking down at her with that soft, gentle gaze that was never demanding, never loud. Just… there .

“Yeah?” Ranpo tilted her head, trying to seem casual.

“Aren’t you… going?” Poe asked, her voice low. She was still clutching the towel tightly around her frame, as if it were armor. “Oh, right,” Poe added quickly, eyes lighting up. “You haven’t put on sunscreen yet. Let me do it.”

“I’m okay, don’t worry,” Ranpo said, waving her hand dismissively, her smile a little too forced.

Poe didn’t listen. She turned toward her own bag, digging through it with quiet determination. “You’re gonna get burned, Ranpo,” she said over her shoulder. “And that’s not pretty.”

Ranpo gave a soft laugh. “I don’t know… I’m not sure I want to swim.”

Poe paused and immediately turned back to face her. “...No?”

Ranpo glanced out at the waves, where her friends were already playing—Chuuya and Dazai splashing each other like children, Kunikida trying to avoid the chaos, Atsushi swimming circles around Akutagawa, who looked unimpressed as ever.

“I don’t know,” she said again, quieter this time. “But it’s fine. Go without me, Poe-kun.” She looked back at her with a crooked smile. “You’ll have more fun.”

“But I came… because of you,” Poe said, the words tumbling out like they’d been waiting. She sat down cross-legged in front of her, still holding onto the towel. Her expression softened, almost shy. “Your friends are really cool… but I don’t think they like me all that much. And… I like being with you , Ranpo.”

Ranpo blinked, caught off guard. Her chest squeezed a little at that. “Of course you do. I’m amazing,” she teased with a wink, giggling lightly. She reached out and patted Poe’s head in that same playful way she always did. “But don’t stop doing something fun just because of me. Don’t be dumb.”

“I won’t—if you go with me,” Poe said quickly, holding up the sunscreen bottle like it was a peace offering. “Let me help you with this, at least.”

Ranpo hesitated.

Poe’s eyes were on her—wide and kind and quietly pleading—and seriously, how could anyone say no to that face? Especially with the wind tossing her hair around her shoulders and the sun catching just enough on her skin to make her glow like some kind of summer spirit.

God, why was Poe so pretty ?

“Okay, okay,” Ranpo grumbled playfully, trying to hide the heat rising in her chest. “If you insist.”

She swallowed hard and reached for the hem of her shirt, heart thudding a little too loudly in her chest. Slowly, she pulled it off. Her swimsuit was modest—nothing flashy, covering most of her stomach—but it still felt like too much. The fabric hugged her figure in places she didn’t want it to. Her arms, her thighs, the curve of her waist—everything was visible now. Everything was open .

And under Poe’s eyes, Ranpo had never felt so seen .

But Poe wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t looking at her with disgust or judgment. In fact… her expression was soft, thoughtful. Curious.

Ranpo tried not to panic.

What if she’s just being polite? What if she’s hiding it? What if she’s thinking how awful I look but doesn’t want to say it?

No.

No. No. No .

Poe was easy to read. She always had been. She wore her feelings like petals on the surface of a still pond—obvious, delicate, real. Ranpo had to trust that. She had to trust herself .

She took a breath and held out her arm. “So?” she said, forcing a grin. “Make me sunscreen-proof.”

Poe blinked a few times, startled out of her trance. Then, cheeks darkening slightly, she opened the bottle and poured a little into her palm. Her hands trembled the tiniest bit as she reached forward and started to rub the lotion gently onto Ranpo’s skin.

Ranpo watched her, lips twitching, heart pounding.
Maybe… this wasn’t so bad.

After Poe finished smoothing sunscreen over Ranpo’s arms, she shifted, sitting back on her ankles. There was a beat of silence—just the sound of distant waves and their friends’ laughter carried by the breeze—before Poe leaned in again.

With a gentle motion, she reached up and brushed Ranpo’s bangs away from her face, tucking the strands carefully behind her ear. It was such a simple gesture—practical even, Ranpo knew. Poe probably just didn’t want to get sunscreen in her hair.

But still.

Something twisted in Ranpo’s stomach. Not in a painful way—more like a strange fluttering, like the moment right before something important happens. And her heart… it did this weird flip , like it forgot how to beat for a second, then overcompensated to make up for it.

Poe's fingers were so gentle. Her touch barely there. But it was enough to make Ranpo’s breath catch just a little in her throat.

Then Poe’s eyes met hers—those deep, thoughtful eyes—and she wasn’t smiling, wasn’t teasing. She was just… focused. Like Ranpo was something delicate she didn’t want to mess up. Like she mattered. Her gaze didn’t flick away. It stayed. It lingered .

Ranpo could feel every inch of her body tense up as Poe’s fingertips dabbed sunscreen onto her cheeks, moving with slow, careful precision.

And just like that, Ranpo felt like she was under a microscope.

Exposed.

Not physically—well, yes , that too—but emotionally. It felt like Poe could see through her skin, down into every self-conscious thought she had been trying to ignore. Her face felt like it was on fire. Her stomach knotted. Her mind wouldn’t shut up.

What if I don’t look pretty?
What if she thinks I’m weird? Ugly?
Why is she looking at me like that?
Why does it matter so much what she thinks?

It hadn’t mattered before. That was the worst part. She used to be fine not thinking about this stuff. She used to be content with just knowing she was smart, that she could read anyone, solve anything, be brilliant . That was enough.

And now, suddenly, it wasn’t .

Poe’s fingers brushed softly along the curve of her jaw, then down to her neck, applying the sunscreen in small, smooth strokes. Ranpo felt a shiver crawl under her skin, and instinctively, she looked away. She couldn’t keep eye contact anymore—not when everything inside her felt so loud and raw.

“I should, um, put some on your legs too,” Poe murmured, almost like she was asking for permission. “If not, you’re gonna have two different skin tones…”

She let out a small laugh—awkward, unsure.

Ranpo swallowed hard. Her throat was suddenly dry.

“Okay,” she whispered, almost too quietly. Then, forcing her body to move, she slowly unfolded her legs from beneath her. She kept them bent slightly—just enough so her thighs didn’t press flat against the towel. That would make them look… bigger. She didn’t like that thought. God , she hated that thought. When had she started caring about things like that?

She stared at the sand beside her as if it might offer comfort or answers or maybe just a distraction.

Poe didn’t say anything, but she made a soft little hum in her throat as she scooted closer. Ranpo could feel her shifting behind the movement—like she was trying not to make her nervous. She poured more sunscreen into her palm and began to apply it, her fingers brushing over Ranpo’s shins first, then moving upward with slow, feather-light touches.

Ranpo’s skin prickled.

It wasn’t even that Poe touched her in a weird way—no, her hands were careful, gentle, professional even. But Ranpo couldn’t stop the rush of awareness crawling through her. Every time Poe’s fingers slid over her skin, it felt like Poe might see everything . Every little bump, every tiny stretch mark, every pore. Every perceived flaw .

Her mind spun: Does my skin feel weird? Is it too soft? Is she pretending not to notice? Is she just being polite? Is she—

But then she glanced down at Poe’s hands—pale, precise—and saw no sign of disgust. Poe wasn’t recoiling. She wasn’t hurrying through it. Her lips were pressed together in quiet concentration, and her eyes looked… thoughtful.

Not judgmental.
Not cruel.

And that—somehow—made it even harder to breathe. Ranpo let her head fall back with a soft exhale and closed her eyes for a second.

Ranpo couldn’t even imagine herself in a relationship. Not really.

It wasn’t something she spent time daydreaming about. She never pictured herself holding someone’s hand in the hallways, sharing kisses behind the school building, posting couple pictures online. That just… wasn’t her.

So why— why —had her brain suddenly become so obsessed with this?

With bodies. With beauty. With worth .

It didn’t make sense. She’d always thought those things were shallow, arbitrary. The idea of ranking people based on something as random as how symmetrical their faces were or how skinny their legs looked felt ridiculous. And cruel.

In her mind, it had always been so clear—people were valuable because of who they were. Because of what they said and did, how they made you feel, what they believed in. That was what mattered .

Yes, appearance said a lot about someone. The way they dressed, moved, carried themselves—it revealed details, pieces of personality, fragments of insecurity or pride. But it was never the whole picture.

Never the important part.

To Ranpo, her friends were all beautiful. Not because they were perfect, but because they were them . Chuuya’s fiery intensity, Dazai’s chaotic charm, Kunikida’s quiet strength, Yosano’s commanding grace… Even the flaws made them human . Made them real.

So why—if she truly believed all of that—did she feel like this ?

Why did she suddenly notice the comments the girls at school made when they thought no one was listening?

The way they picked apart other people’s appearances like it was a sport—
“She should really lose weight.”
“Ugh, look at her skin.”
“I’d die if I looked like that.”

They weren’t talking about her . Not directly. But it still hit too close. Like standing next to a fire—not burned, but warm enough to be warned.

And maybe… Just for a moment…
She wished she was different .

Not because she thought other people were better. But because then maybe she wouldn’t feel this awful gnawing inside her. This confusion. This ache.

Maybe if she were just lighter…
If her stomach were flat…
If her thighs weren’t soft…
If her face had sharper angles and her skin was clearer…

Maybe then she’d be enough.
Maybe then she’d be pretty .
Maybe then, she wouldn’t have to wonder so much.

“Ranpo.”

The voice pulled her out of the spiral—thankfully.

She blinked and looked up to see Poe, kneeling in front of her with a faint smile, her cheeks still a bit pink. “Hm?” Ranpo murmured.

“All done,” Poe said gently, capping the bottle. “You’re all covered.”

Ranpo nodded slowly, trying to come back into her body. “Thank you, Poe-kun. Such a good girl.”

Poe gave a soft laugh—shy, a little nervous—and fiddled with the bottle in her hands. “Just… helping the best.”

That made Ranpo snort, and the tightness in her chest loosened, just a bit. “Okay, so now that you did all this…” she stood up with an exaggerated sigh, brushing off the sand from her thighs, “how can I not go with you?” She extended her hand to Poe. “Right? Come on. Leave the towel. Let’s swim.”

And then—like flipping a switch—Poe’s face lit up. Her whole body seemed to glow in that soft, understated way of hers as she stood and finally dropped the towel.

Ranpo froze.

The swimsuit Poe wore wasn’t flashy—it covered her from the elbows to the knees—but it hugged her form. Delicate, slim lines, soft curves, modest but elegant. Her hair moved in the breeze like dark water, and her expression, open and full of warmth, made Ranpo’s breath catch.

“You look lovely, Ranpo,” Poe said, voice quiet but sure.

…

Lovely.

The word hung in the air like something sacred. Like something Ranpo didn’t know what to do with.

Her chest tightened almost immediately—painfully. She swallowed hard, unsure of what to feel, unsure of what she should feel. Compliments didn’t come to her like that. Not often. Not sincerely. Not… gently .

And logically, she knew Poe wasn’t lying. Poe wasn’t the kind of person who said things she didn’t mean.

But still—
Her stomach clenched.

She didn’t believe it. Not fully. Not yet.

Almost instinctively, she crossed her arms over herself, pressing into her own skin. Trying to hide something that was already visible. She hugged herself tightly, clutching at the soft flesh of her sides, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch on display.

Her thighs. Her stomach. Her arms.
She wasn’t used to being seen.
She wasn’t used to being looked at like that.

She didn’t know how to receive something as simple and terrifying as kindness .

Poe had always been observant in her own gentle, quiet way. She didn’t speak up much, but she noticed things—especially when it came to Ranpo. So when Ranpo’s arms folded around herself a little too tightly, when her shoulders tensed and her gaze dropped to the sand again, Poe noticed. 

When Ranpo let out a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Poe noticed. When she shifted her weight and subtly tried to angle her body away—like if she turned just slightly, maybe she could hide more of herself—Poe noticed.

She took a small step forward, her expression softening. “Ranpo…?”

Ranpo blinked and looked up too quickly, her smile already plastered on, ready to deflect. “What? I'm fine.” Her voice was light. Too light.

Poe tilted her head, studying her. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.” Ranpo lifted her chin. “Why wouldn’t I be? I mean, sunscreen applied, sun out, friends yelling in the water—classic beach day. I'm great.”

But her arms were still wrapped around her waist, fingers dug slightly into the skin there. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes were darting—avoiding. Her usual confidence, the sharp, quick Ranpo that Poe admired so much, had dulled. She was… retreating.

“You don’t look… comfortable,” Poe said gently. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Ranpo gave a small, breathy laugh. “I’m not pretending. You’re being dramatic.” Her voice cracked just slightly at the end.

She turned away a little, just enough to hide her face. Her heart was pounding now, and she hated it. She hated feeling like this—exposed, like a nerve. She should be better than this. She was better than this. Right?

Poe didn’t push. She stepped beside her instead, not directly in front, not too close. Just there. Present.

Ranpo stared down at her own feet, toes curled in the warm sand. “I just… I know I’m not like the others,” she muttered, barely audible. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t usually care. I don’t want to care.”

Poe looked at her, eyes softening. “But sometimes you do.”

Ranpo closed her eyes for a moment. Her throat felt tight. She didn’t answer.

“You don’t have to be like them,” Poe said quietly. “You’re you. That’s why I… like being around you.”

Ranpo swallowed again, but it felt like her body didn’t know how to do it properly anymore. “You say that,” she whispered. “But you didn’t see how I looked trying not to press my thighs against the towel. Or how I panicked when I took off my shirt. Or how I still feel like you’re going to look at me and realize you made a mistake.”

Poe blinked. “A mistake?”

Ranpo shook her head. “Forget it. It’s stupid. I'm just—” She laughed, hollow. “I’m just being weird.”

Poe gently reached out then, not forceful—just her fingertips brushing Ranpo’s wrist. “You’re not being weird,” she said softly. “You’re being human.”

Ranpo let the silence fall again. It was heavy, but not unbearable. She let Poe’s touch rest there, and even if she didn’t say it, she appreciated it more than she could admit. 

Anyway…

She felt it again—that tight, clenching feeling in her chest. Like her heart had curled in on itself. It wasn’t sharp exactly, but it hurt . A dull ache, quiet but heavy. Like something pressing down on her ribs from the inside.

Something hurt.
She didn’t even know what it was.
She only knew she didn’t want it there.

“Can we…” Ranpo’s voice came out small, unsteady, almost like it wasn’t hers. She cleared her throat and tried again, softer this time. “I know I said I was going to swim, but… I don’t want to. I’m sorry.” She stepped back, arms wrapping tightly around herself again. “Really, go. I’ll be okay. I just… I don’t feel good.”

Poe’s voice came quiet, careful. “Not good?”

Ranpo nodded without looking at her. “Hm-hm.” And she turned away.

She walked quickly to where she’d left her bag, trying to move like it didn’t matter. Like she wasn’t breaking apart. Like the breath she was holding in wasn’t about to rip its way out of her throat.

She crouched down, fumbling for her shirt, and every movement felt wrong. Like her skin was too tight. Like the sun was suddenly too bright , and the sand wasn’t soft—it was grating . The air was thick, full of salt and pressure and heat, pressing down on her lungs like a weight.

The waves, once a soft, calming rhythm, now crashed like alarms in her ears. Too loud. Too much.

Everything was too much.

She pulled her shirt over her head with trembling fingers, trying not to care how quickly she moved or how desperately she wanted to disappear inside the fabric. She clutched it tight to her body, like armor, like shame.

This was pathetic. So incredibly, embarrassingly pathetic.

She felt like a child—like some ridiculous little girl about to cry because things weren’t perfect, because someone said something mean, because the world didn’t wrap itself around her feelings.

She was smarter than this.
Stronger than this.

She wasn’t supposed to fall apart like this over comments , over looks , over herself . And yet her eyes burned and her chest ached and her throat was full of something thick and hot she couldn’t swallow.

She hated it. She hated this.

She hated how she’d heard things she never should have paid attention to. Things that had burrowed into her chest and stayed there like splinters. Things like—

Kunikida saying once, offhandedly, that she didn’t really like chubby people.
That people should be disciplined with their bodies.
That being fit was a moral trait.

It hadn’t been directed at her. It had been casual. Just one of those little things people say and forget. But Ranpo hadn’t forgotten. She’d heard it. She’d stored it. She’d wondered if that meant her—if she was one of those people Kunikida didn’t like. If everyone thought like that, deep down.

Because…
Because she’d heard it all before.
“Just parents love fat people.”

That’s what someone had whispered once behind her back. She’d laughed it off, like she didn’t care. Like it was stupid. But now… it echoed, horrible and loud.

Was that true?
Was she unlovable just because of how she looked?

She clutched her bag and stood up quickly, head down. She didn’t look back. She didn’t check to see if Poe was following. She couldn’t bear to. Not now. Not when her skin felt like it didn’t fit and her thoughts screamed too loudly for her to hear anything else.

All she could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding painfully, and the rush of her thoughts unraveling.

Now Poe probably thinks I’m weird.
Weirder than before.
Too much. Too dramatic. Too insecure. Too soft.
Too everything.

She dug her toes into the sand as she walked, but nothing grounded her. Nothing helped.
She wanted to go home. To her bed. To the silence. She wanted to shrink into something small and invisible.

She didn’t know where she was going—just away .

And maybe… if she walked far enough, she could leave the ache behind too.

Did Ranpo feel guilty for spending the whole summer avoiding everyone? Yes.

Did she feel guilty for lying in bed too long, for ignoring texts she didn’t have the energy to answer, for turning off her notifications and just eating candy like it could fill some aching part of her?

Yes.

Did she do anything to change it?

…No.

Okay— maybe she didn’t totally ignore them. She answered sometimes. Sent memes. Replied with emojis. Just enough so no one would worry too much. But still, she kept her replies short, and her phone always felt heavier in her hands than usual. She didn’t want to be distant. She just was.

So when classes started again after summer break, she walked in a little slower. Sat down a little quieter. Her uniform felt too tight, her bag too heavy, her brain already on edge. She tried not to look around too much—because what if they looked back with pity? What if they knew ?

And oh, they did.

Of course they did.

Because, unfortunately, Ranpo thought bitterly, my friends are annoyingly caring.

“Ranpoooo,” Dazai sing-songed as she plopped into the seat beside her, long hair swaying with the motion, “you would not believe what I found out.”

Ranpo didn’t even look at her. “I’d believe anything you say and also nothing.”

Dazai grinned, but then tilted her head with something softer in her expression. “I saw Poe this morning… she told me you left the beach crying.”

Ranpo froze for a second. Just a second. But Dazai noticed .

“And yet,” Dazai added, lowering her voice, “you told us you had a stomach ache.” Her voice wasn’t teasing anymore. Still soft, but careful. Measured. The way she sounded when she was serious—but didn’t want to scare you away.

Ranpo tried to keep her face even. “It was really bad,” she said, shrugging. “Too much candy. Terrible crime. Very painful.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Ranpo.”

Ranpo clicked her tongue and looked away. “Really bad,” she repeated.

“You’re lying,” Dazai said, leaning in closer. “Come on. There’s basically no one in the classroom. Tell me. I won’t say anything.”

Ranpo snorted. “You tell Chuuya everything .”

“If you ask me not to, I won’t,” Dazai replied simply. “She’s my girlfriend, yeah. But you’re my friend. I get it. She actually taught me about stuff like that—boundaries and whatever.”

Ranpo glanced at her, then away. “Wow. Look at you. Emotional maturity.”

“I’m growing,” Dazai said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders with exaggerated flair.

Ranpo didn’t shrug her off. She sighed instead. Deep and heavy. “Just…” her voice softened. “This amazing girl you see before you is, tragically, human . And I guess the sea made me feel small. And scared.”

Dazai blinked. “The sea?”

Ranpo winced a little. “Panic attack,” she admitted under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck.

Dazai was quiet for a moment. Not awkward-silence quiet. Just… letting it sit. “You know I know , right?” she finally said.

Ranpo raised an eyebrow. “Know what?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re not that smooth.”

“Excuse me,” Ranpo said with mock offense. “I’m extremely smooth.”

“You are. But I’m smarter.”

Ranpo rolled her eyes. “Wow. The ego.”

“I’m serious,” Dazai said, shifting so she was looking right at her now. “I hate emotional speeches, you know I do. But I’m making one anyway, so don’t interrupt me.”

Ranpo blinked. “Okay?”

“We love you,” Dazai said simply. “I do. Like—yeah, you’re the smartest. You solve literally everything. You saved me from failing that math test, and from dying of boredom like… twice.”

“Very flattering.”

Dazai grinned. “And you’re also a pain in the ass. But you’re my pain in the ass. And I don’t like knowing you were crying. It… sucks.”

Ranpo made a small noise. She didn’t know if it was a laugh or a breath or just her body trying not to feel too much.

Dazai nudged her. “You’re also cute, by the way.”

Ranpo stared. “I don’t think your short red menace would like hearing you say that.”

“Nah,” Dazai shrugged. “She knows I flirt with people I find pretty. That doesn’t change how I feel about her. She’s my fire.”

Ranpo wrinkled her nose. “So sappy.”

“I know,” Dazai smirked. “But I’m right . And you’re pretty. And soft. And sharp. And if someone like you cries, if you feel ugly in this dumb world…” She shrugged, expression softening again. “What’s left for the rest of us mortals?”

Ranpo let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. A quiet laugh broke from her lips. “You’re so stupid.”

“And you’re cute,” Dazai said again, then reached over and poked the tip of Ranpo’s nose.

“Annoying.”

“Always.” She stuck out her tongue, grinning wide—and Ranpo, finally, let herself smile for real. Just a little. But it was a start.

Anyway…

When Ranpo saw Chuuya sit down beside her during lunch, she didn’t even need to look twice. She knew .

There were things in life that were certain: candy was happiness, Dazai would always be insufferable, and their lunch table had a very specific order.

Ranpo always sat at the far end of the bench closest to the wall—the corner she’d unofficially claimed since first year. Then came Kunikida and Yosano, perfectly balanced across from them on the other side: Dazai, Chuuya, and Atsushi. Akutagawa always dragged an extra chair so she could sit next to Atsushi like a barnacle. And if Poe was around—though rarely—she’d sometimes shyly join in. But even then, Poe usually stuck with her own classmates, the older girls who wore fancy socks and walked like they were too mature for high school.

They never broke the seating order. It was like an unspoken contract. An unshakable tradition.

So when Chuuya dropped her tray with a soft clack and sat next to Ranpo , Ranpo's brain immediately screamed:

Dazai opened her big mouth.

She didn’t need powers of deduction to know that. Ranpo didn’t even need to look at her. She just stared at her tray in despair. For once in her life, she understood Chuuya's violent urges.

Why hadn’t she seen this coming?

Why hadn’t she predicted Dazai, of all people, would go and spill her guts about the beach? Maybe she wanted to believe her friend would hold back for once, keep it private. But no, of course not. Dazai was chaos wrapped in silk. Sweet words and no filter.

Ranpo gritted her teeth.

She didn’t want a talk . She didn’t want people trying to be polite and throwing her pity compliments. She didn’t want their soft voices or concerned eyes . She especially didn’t want to be treated like something fragile .

She hated this.

And then—

“Before the other idiots get here…” Chuuya’s voice was low, almost reluctant. She didn’t look at her. “I know you know I know.”

Ranpo blinked slowly and turned her head just enough to raise an unimpressed brow. “Then if you know, shut up.”

“I can’t ,” Chuuya said simply, voice dry, but not unkind. “I’ve tried. It’s physically impossible.” She turned her body slightly toward Ranpo. “Look, I’m not gonna do the whole sappy speech. But you're smart. You know beauty's subjective. You don’t need to fit into some model to be…”

“Beautiful? Valuable? Important?” Ranpo deadpanned. “Yeah, yeah, go on.”

Chuuya snorted. “You’re such a brat.”

Ranpo smirked just slightly. “Pot, meet kettle.”

“But really.” Chuuya’s tone softened a little, fingers drumming against the edge of the table. “Don’t compare yourself. Ever. Even if you were, I don’t know, ninety centimeters around the chest, sixty at the waist, had perfect symmetry and all that bullshit—people would still talk.” She looked sideways. “They always do.”

Ranpo tapped her own fingers against the table, echoing the rhythm, quiet. Thinking.

“For example,” Chuuya continued, brushing a lock of red hair behind her ear, “people tell me all the time that I shouldn't lift weights. Because apparently muscles are ‘for men’.” She rolled her eyes. “Or that I’m not skinny enough. Or they say dumb shit like, ‘Why do you go to the gym if you’re not losing weight ?’”

Ranpo blinked, incredulous. “Do… people not understand how basic anatomy works?”

“They don’t,” Chuuya said flatly. “They just like to talk shit. Especially about people’s bodies. It makes them feel better, I guess.”

Ranpo paused. “And what do I do with all this wisdom, Chuuya?”

Chuuya shrugged again, but her voice was a little quieter now. “Nothing. I know it doesn’t fix things. Doesn’t change how you feel.” She looked away. “No matter how many times Dazai tells me she likes my thighs, how strong they are, how she likes the way they look in shorts… I still feel like they’re too much sometimes.”

Ranpo glanced over, surprised by the confession. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Her voice dropped. “Some days I just… don’t like what I see. Even if she does . Even if she says I’m perfect.” A pause. “Feeling insecure doesn’t make you broken. It doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you. You don’t have to be immune.”

Ranpo hummed.

“And yeah,” Chuuya added with a faint smile, “you can feel like shit. You can feel insecure. That’s not a moral failure. But don’t let it stop you from doing things. Don’t skip stuff you love just because someone said something dumb once.”

Ranpo stared at her for a long moment. “That… almost sounded sincere.”

“Because it was ,” Chuuya said, eyes narrowing. “Don’t ruin it.”

Ranpo huffed out a breath, more amused than anything else. “Okay, okay.”

Chuuya leaned back, folding her arms. “If people don’t like what they see? Let them look somewhere else. That’s not your problem.”

And just then, the noise of the cafeteria surged around them as the others started arriving, loud and laughing, Dazai’s voice already too much.

Ranpo didn’t say anything. Not right away. But she didn’t move away either. She just stayed still for a second, letting Chuuya’s words echo softly in her chest—because for once, she didn’t feel lectured. She felt understood.

…A bit.

Ranpo took a deep breath.
Then another. Steadier.

And then she moved .

It wasn’t like the whole world stopped spinning when she decided to walk over to Poe—but it felt like something shifted. Like she was doing something important, even if no one else could see it.

No, she hadn’t ignored Poe over the summer. Not really. Poe had texted her—soft messages, careful ones—and Ranpo had replied. But not always. Not like she used to. Poe never asked questions directly, never demanded anything. She just waited. Gave her space.

Because… well, that’s who Poe was. Kind. Quiet. Always leaving the door open without ever saying a word.

And Ranpo missed her. Really missed her.

So it was time to cut the silence between them. To clear away that faint tension—awkward, unspoken—like a wrinkle in something warm.

She walked across the hallway, steady steps, her hands shoved casually into her pockets to hide the way her fingers were twitching slightly.

But before she could even call Poe’s name—

Poe turned around.

She’d been waving goodbye to one of her classmates, smiling faintly, her fingers fluttering in the air like a soft breeze. And just as her hand dropped, her gaze landed directly on Ranpo.

And their eyes met.
Oh.
Their eyes met.

And Ranpo felt something in her chest go flip —ridiculously dramatic, horribly noticeable, and she hated how real it was. Her breath caught for half a second, because why— why —did Poe have to look so pretty today?

Her long hair was tucked back in a clip, a few loose strands framing her soft face. Her dark eyes lit up immediately, like she was so genuinely happy to see her. Like Ranpo was the one thing she’d been waiting for all day.

And Ranpo—

Ranpo did not know what to do with that. She had never felt that thing this strongly. Not with anyone. Not even in those silly crushes that never really turned into anything.

But this…? This was something else.

“Ranpo!” Poe called, her voice bright. She didn’t even glance back at her classmate. She walked toward her like the rest of the world had been erased. “It’s nice—nice to see you!”

Ranpo smirked slightly, trying to hide the way her heart was stumbling. “Hi,” she said, tilting her head just a little. “Didn’t see you all day.”

Poe laughed softly, her shoulders relaxing. “I was a bit busy,” she said, brushing some hair behind her ear. “But—oh! I found a book. An amazing one. I think you’ll really like it.” She smiled, not just politely, but proudly. Like she’d been excited to tell her that. Like she’d thought of her on purpose .

Ranpo raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Really?”

Poe nodded quickly. “Mhm. It’s about codes and mysteries and old letters, I thought of you right away…” There was a pause, then Poe looked to the side, shy again. “Do you… do you want to go to the library and read it with me? Or…”

Ranpo tilted her head, watching her. Poe’s hands were fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, her eyes flicking back up to meet hers—hopeful, cautious.

And just like that, something warm bloomed in Ranpo’s chest.

“…Why don’t you come over to my house?” she asked, voice casual. A slight shrug. “More candy. More privacy. And a comfy blanket.”

Poe blinked. “Oh—oh,” she breathed out, surprised. Then—“Really?”

“Really,” Ranpo said. “I want to. You don’t have to ask twice.”

Poe’s smile bloomed like a shy flower—soft and real and a little bashful. “Okay,” she said, barely louder than a whisper. “I’d love to.”

And Ranpo smiled back, heart still doing that annoying flutter. But this time… it didn’t hurt. This time, it felt nice .

Ranpo’s room wasn’t the kind of place that showed up in magazines or social media posts. It wasn’t pristine or minimalist, but it was hers—and in her opinion, it was okay .

The second she pushed open the door, she spotted three things that were off .
The corner of the blanket was uneven. One of her books was sticking out of the shelf by just a few centimeters. And there was a crumpled candy wrapper left near the edge of the desk, probably from a sleepless night reading.

She couldn’t let Poe see that.

So, before even taking a full step inside, she was already adjusting everything—tugging the blanket straight with one hand, pushing the book back in with the other, then snatching the wrapper and tossing it into the little trash bin beside her desk.

Behind her, Poe waited patiently in the hallway, not saying a word.

“Okay,” Ranpo murmured to herself, more to settle her nerves than anything. Then she stepped aside, holding the door open. “Come in.”

Poe obeyed quietly, stepping inside with a certain softness, like she didn’t want to intrude on something sacred. Her dark eyes scanned the room with quiet curiosity, taking in the posters of old mystery movies, a few vintage music albums tacked above the desk, and the rows of books that filled nearly every shelf and corner.

The room was full—but not chaotic. Like a mind that always had something turning, shifting, analyzing.

“Sit,” Ranpo said, flopping down onto her bed without ceremony, stretching out like a cat in the sun. Her black socks slid slightly against the comforter as she got comfortable. “Do you want something? Candy? Water? I think I still have soda.”

Poe smiled softly and shook her head, walking over with careful steps, like her feet didn’t want to make noise on Ranpo’s floor. She perched on the edge of the bed beside her, still wearing her bag on one shoulder.

Then, almost ceremoniously, she unzipped it and pulled out a book.

“Here,” she said gently, holding it out.

Ranpo sat up just a bit, her curiosity piqued. She took it and ran her fingers along the cover. “Oh…” Her eyes lit up as she tilted her head. “This looks cool.”

But Poe wasn’t finished.

She rummaged again in her bag, this time slower, more hesitantly—like she was digging for something special. And then, with a small victorious sound, she pulled out a bright, swirled lollipop wrapped in shiny, colorful foil.

“And… here,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur. “It’s supposed to have a magical taste—I don’t really know what that means,” she added with a nervous chuckle, “but I thought… you might want to try it.”

Ranpo blinked.

Her eyes flicked from the lollipop to Poe’s face and back again.

It was just a piece of candy.

But it wasn’t just candy.

It was a quiet, careful offering. A gesture that meant more than it looked like. And the moment was laced with something too tender to be dismissed.

And yes—Ranpo had been trying to cut back on sweets lately. She’d spent the last few weeks agonizing over how her body looked, second-guessing every bite, wondering if her favorite treats were part of the problem. But…

Candy was still her thing.

And Poe knew that.

It wasn’t about guilt , not really. It was about care. About Poe noticing, thinking of her, remembering what made her happy.

Ranpo exhaled through her nose, then smiled faintly. “How could I say no to that ?”

She reached out and took the lollipop from Poe’s hand with a gentle touch. Her fingers brushed Poe’s for half a second—warm skin against warm skin.

“Thank you,” she added, a little softer, her eyes not quite meeting Poe’s. “Let’s see if it’s any good…”

She tore the wrapper open slowly, almost reverently, and popped the lollipop into her mouth.

Poe watched her, smiling the kind of smile that made Ranpo’s stomach flutter for reasons she still didn’t fully understand.

“Well?” Poe asked. “Magical?”

Ranpo squinted playfully. “Tastes like… cherry. And a bit of… something I can’t name. Suspiciously magical.” She grinned around the stick. “Acceptable.”

Poe giggled quietly, visibly relieved. She slid her bag off her shoulder at last and set it gently by the bed, letting herself relax into the space.