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“There’s an agency event in a few weeks.”
Edgar looks up from his book. Ranpo is sitting across from him, feet hanging off the arm of the small chair and hands under his head on the other end. There’s a sweet that Edgar doesn’t know the name of in his hand, dangerously close to sticking to the side of his armchair. He hums in acknowledgement, knowing this is Ranpo’s way of inviting him.
“Is that so?”
Truthfully, the thought of going to another agency event after the last one makes him quite uneasy. He frowns at the memory of bright lights, loud sounds, and, God forbid, the smells of all sorts of food flooding the room.
Receiving Ranpo’s message had made him feel both warm and confused, but when he asked why he had been invited, Ranpo only replied with the address to the agency. While expected, he was met with the faces of only strangers at the party and left to fend for himself when Ranpo had gotten distracted. Motivated by the invitation to the party in the first place, he had tried to approach someone through the rapidly passing bodies, but he could barely get a word out before they had walked away.
Still, Ranpo's invitation to an event is something that must not be taken for granted, given that he rarely attends these things aside from stopping by to grab any sweets that may be offered.
A hand touching his lips breaks him out of thought. Edgar looks up at Ranpo, who is now in front of him, with a question in his eyes. The brunette is frowning — slightly, but enough for Edgar to notice after years of watching him — and pulls his hand away.
“Biting,” is all the detective needs to say for Edgar to realize he was gnawing on his lip again. Nodding, he licks the small drop of blood that’s started forming off of his lip, and Ranpo’s frown eases. It’s a habit Edgar’s been trying to break since he left the Guild.
Edgar had never really thought he would leave the guild — or, more accurately, that it would disband. Even when the organization was at its peak, he often felt like a ghost within it. He proved no true use, merely a member in name that elevated their status and a tool on the rare occasion that his very rigid ability was required, and could rarely be present at organization events due to his reluctance to fly.
Even with his lack of engagement, the asset of notoriety he held encouraged them to sponsor the publishing of many of his books — with a royalty, of course. It was an arrangement that left him comfortable, if not a bit lonesome.
When the guild disbanded, he was left at a loss. Edgar has never been one to hold much value to anyone; his habits and mannerisms are off-putting and he lacks any charisma that could make up for them. He’s tall and lanky and looks like a baby deer whenever he is trying to walk, tripping over himself due to a lack in his spatial perception.
He was lucky to have found the guild. He should have known it was only a matter of time before he was left to fend for himself once again. It was an act of divinity that Edgar was somehow able to reacquaint with Ranpo, and even more surprising that the detective seems to have plucked him up and deemed him worthy of his time.
Even so, Edgar doesn’t know what to make of their relationship. It’s a fleeting, fragile thing built upon the foundations of his own insecurities and Ranpo’s intrigue. Ranpo is eccentric, a man that breaks through walls of stigma he has no regard for — the same barriers that have always held Edgar back, standing at a safe distance lest a brick of the wall fall upon him. He has a craving for enrichment, mind running far too quickly to truly be engaged in anything.
However, he has an even stronger desire for praise. He sinks his teeth into appreciation in search of something simple: acknowledgement. Proof that he exists — a tether to the world he feels alien to. Edgar gives him that. His novels ground the boy in reality, a stark contrast to the way others see his stories as an escape, and give him room to breathe.
Edgar finds the same reprieve in Ranpo. The boy who will always read his novels, no matter how late at night it is. His anxiety is quelled by Ranpo’s easy-going demeanor that shows him there's nothing to worry about, and he’s pushed beyond his limits when the boy decides to throw him into situations he never would have conceived of. Ranpo plays with him like a marionette, and Edgar is happy to let go and give him that control.
For a long time, Edgar wondered when this would end. When the man would move onto more interesting sights. When he would decide that Edgar’s insistent mutterings weren’t worth the headache. He’d find himself lying awake, thoughts of scenarios in which the man would finally realize that Edgar isn’t worth the effort.
It wasn’t until Ranpo started sleeping on his couch — and then, his guest room — that Edgar finally realized the man wasn’t just here for what Edgar gave, but rather Edgar himself. In the dark of his apartment, Edgar had nothing to offer him, and yet he stayed. Even more, he came over just to share the night with him.
It’s now, with Ranpo staring over him, that he realizes he has caught the man's attention enough for him to notice his biting habit. To care enough to point it out and stop him from further shredding the skin of his lips. Unconsciously, he swipes his tongue over the wound once again when Ranpo pulls away — the ghost of his finger imprinting in his lower lip.
He shifts around, thoughts settling once again. He’s expecting the detective to return to the chair across from him when he feels the couch sink at his side. Ranpo yawns, one hand still holding onto the sweet, and Edgar ducks to avoid the sweet getting into his hair. That would be far too messy.
Ranpo scoots closer and leans over his shoulder in protest. “What’re you working on?”
Edgar doesn’t have much — or any, really — romantic experience. This is not a surprising fact. When his parents died, he was left to fend for himself in the system. He was far more worried about surviving the torment from his peers than finding any sort of romantic partner.
His peers grew bored of picking on him as they grew older. The bruises faded into whispers, and those took much less effort on his part to ignore. His shaggy, overgrown hair was now the most pressing issue on his mind. He had no one to teach him how to take care of it and the longer it grew the more unsettled he felt.
Aside from the oversensitivity he would get whenever a matted part of his hair brushed his neck, the most pressing issue what it’s length. It didn’t feel right. The first and only time he went to his foster parents to ask for a haircut, they had told him that girls needn’t cut their hair and that he’d grow into it.
He didn’t.
His first year of high school was the tipping point in his unease. The need to do something was overwhelming, so much so that he began snipping an inch or two off segments of his hair every week. Eventually, this built up into his body on the bathroom floor and a pair of kitchen scissors in his hair, tongue sticking out as he focused on his reflection while shearing his hair into a style befitting of a boy.
All this to say, Edgar had much more pressing issues in his childhood than romance. On the rare occasion he’d speculate over the topic, he’d find his mind filling with emptiness when trying to imagine a romantic partner. He’d conducted experiments sometimes at school, observing his classmates and attempting to conjure up any sort of affliction to no avail.
So, when Lucy asks him if he’s dating Ranpo, he has no idea. Well, first he splutters, frazzled at the seemingly out of nowhere implication. Then, when he stops being flustered and starts to think about it, he really does have no clue. It’s true that they spend a majority of their time together, that they sought comfort in each other’s demeanors, but he’d never thought about being romantically attracted to Ranpo.
Was he?
It’s this thought that leaves him unprepared when Ranpo slips his key into Edgar’s door and stumbles in, already ranting. He jumps out of thought and ignores the squeak that he may have let out in favor of placing his tea on the kitchen counter in front of him. Karl jumps on his shoulder and Edgar shudders at the feelings of his tail running across his back. As much as he loves Karl, he will never get used to the feeling of feather-light pressure on his body.
“-why can’t I understand him!” Ranpo’s vicious pace halts when he sees Edgar. He puts his hands down and looks him over. An anxious shiver runs through Edgar under his scrutiny.
Ranpo’s in his standard uniform and it dawns on Edgar that he must have just gotten off of work. In his shock, he didn’t manage to hear much of what the man was talking about but he’s gathered that it must have been about his coworker, if the mix of frustration and awe on his face are anything to go by. In the small amount of time they’ve spent within the same vicinity, Edgar has noticed how the detective looks at the other man.
“What’s wrong with you?” Said detective tilts his head, startling Edgar out of thought.
“Nothing!”
Ranpo stays silent, only moving to look closer at Edgar. He raises his shoulder on instinct and looks away from Ranpo to the ground.
The clock across from them cycles through another minute before Ranpo sighs. He hops onto the kitchen counter Edgar is currently sitting at and tightens his hands on the edge. Edgar watches him lean over to peer at him from a new angle.
He takes this chance to look at Ranpo as well. Edgar can’t deny that he definitely feels something towards the man. He finds his intellect and general demeanor admirable. When Ranpo turns his attention on him, he feels… worthy. How such a man chooses to spend his time with him, Edgar will never understand. While he can’t deny that Ranpo is physically attractive, he knows what he feels isn’t sexual. He doesn’t think it’s romantic either. Edgar admires him in a way that transcends any of that.
“Oh, hey.” Ranpo reaches down to pet Karl and it’s only now that Edgar realizes Karl has left his perch on his shoulders. The raccoon chirps and hops into Ranpo’s lap, causing the detective to lean back to allow for more space.
Edgar knows the ball is in his court. Ranpo’s sure to have figured it out by now. The man can read him with ease, yet he is never the first to speak when it comes to Edgar’s feelings.
Edgar once asked him why that is. Why the detective gives him the decision to broach a topic when he never gives others the chance. He’d answered that Edgar needed to learn how to speak for himself, how to express the things stuck in his throat — else he’d choke. Sometimes Edgar wishes he could be on the other side of Ranpo’s considerations, where he wouldn’t have to taste the words in his mouth.
“You should pursue him.” It’s not at all what Edgar had meant to say. He says it regardless.
A look of surprise runs across Ranpo’s face. “What.”
“Your coworker. Dazai. You should… ah, goodness, I’m not sure how this works. But you sound… passionate. Perhaps you should nurture that.”
Ranpo’s silent for a moment. “Aren’t we dating?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, thank god.”
Edgar winces. It’s not that he doesn’t know he’s undesirable, but hearing it said that blatantly still stings. Ranpo tilts his head.
“It’s not you. I just don’t want to date anyone. I simply thought you had assumed we were dating, and while I don’t actually care if you think that, I certainly wouldn’t prefer it-”
“What are we, though?” Edgar blurts out. Ranpo clicks his mouth shut and rolls his eyes.
“Us? Something in the realm between… outside of romance? I hate labels for this stuff. It doesn’t matter.”
“Everyone thinks we’re dating.”
“Who cares? Do you?”
“I don’t know… I don’t think so. I just don’t want to have to tell them we’re not.”
“Then don’t. Their one-dimensional minds can think what they want. We know better than them.”
It still doesn’t sit right with Edgar. He likes things to be black and white. Every mystery move of his has clues and an answer. Either they’re dating or they’re not. This isn’t so simple, though. He sighs and gets up to grab a cup of tea for Ranpo.
When a peaceful lull settles in the kitchen and they’re both tending to their own drinks, Karl nipping at Edgar's arm, he brings it up again.
“What were you saying about Dazai when you came in?”
Ranpo groans and tilts his head back. “Weren’t you listening?”
“I’m afraid I was a bit startled and didn’t catch it all. I’m sorry, Ranpo-kun.”
The look on Ranpo’s face is conflicted. He bites his lip and stares at the ceiling before perching back up in his chair and looking at Edgar as though he’s a child in need of explaining. It’s rather strange if Edgar to find the look endearing, and yet he does.
It’s somehow possible for Ranpo to both smirk playfully and be extremely disinterested at once. “Uhg. Well, if I have to repeat myself, I was talking about how frustratingly attractive Dazai is.”
Edgar chokes on his tea and moves to wipe his mouth. “Is that so?”
“What I don’t get is how annoying he is! He’s… too smart — not as smart as me, of course — but he acts like he’s dumb and it’s infuriating! Why doesn’t he tell everyone when he figures something out?”
“Perhaps he’s not had good experiences expressing his intelligence in the past.”
“Well I didn’t either, but I don’t hold it back!”
Edgar wonders if he should say what he’s thinking. He decides to say it anyway, he’s spent far too long locking his thoughts away from others. “…I don’t think that’s entirely true.”
Ranpo looks up at him shocked. Confused. Vulnerable. “What?”
“You may tell people when you figure out simple things, things that don’t carry much of a significance, but you hold back when it’s important.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because we’re not on an equal playing ground. They’re like puppies, they need to figure it all out one step at a time. I’m just giving them a head start.”
“…No, there’s more to it. Do you want to know what I think, my dear?”
“I don’t care what you think.”
Edgar slides off his chair and stands in front of Ranpo, contemplating. Reaching out, he gently places his hand on the hands Ranpo is currently fidgeting with and leans close to him, not letting him escape his attention.
His expression softens at Ranpo’s tense look. “I think you’re scared to show all of it, too. You might not care in the places where it doesn’t matter, but when it comes to showing any semblance of your true intelligence you’re left vulnerable. So you don’t. You run and solve the case yourself without telling anyone, because if they do they might discredit you. You need to prove yourself before letting anyone in.”
Ranpo stares at Edgar, frozen. It’s like everything holding him together is taught on their strings. Edgar steps back. “I think you and Dazai are more alike than you think. If you’re attracted to him, you should pursue it.”
He grabs his mug and moves to enter the living room, intending to leave Ranpo to think and give him space. A hand grabs at his wrist and he turns.
“It’s not… romantic. You know that right? I don’t get that stuff, don’t understand it. He’s infuriatingly hot and I hate that I want to jump him but…. I don’t want to date him.”
Edgar nods. “I understand. Not fully… I don’t often find people attractive at all but… I understand, Ranpo.”
Edgar truly meets Dazai for the first time when he’s sitting in Ranpo’s apartment waiting for him to return from work.
It is not very often that Edgar will enter Ranpo's apartment unannounced, and even rarer that he will enter the mans apartment without him being there at all. Ranpo is the one that usually takes fully advantage of their unspoken open-door agreement. Edgar's entrances are reserved for days such as these one's, where everything is simply too much and the comfort of not sitting alone in his own apartment is just enough to hold him over.
Karl's laying at his feet, just far enough to avoid further upsetting Edgar with the feeling of his presence while Edgar's mind won't cease in it's buzzing. He reaches out to grip the fabric of the couch under him, but it immediately scratches at his palms and he pulls them away and into the safety of his lap. The plushness of the cushions under him are just not right.
Today is, decidedly, the sort of day that leaves Edgar unsettled and unsatisfied. No matter what he does, his mind will not clear up. Every sensation, every inkling of presence leaves him crawling in his skin. It builds and builds until he reaches a shameful peak, snapping in overwhelm.
It's when he's started rocking in his seat that the front door slams open and he winces, his back hitting the head of the couch hard. Once he is able to gain a semblance of a grip on his surroundings, he whips his head to look at the front door.
It's one thing for Ranpo to come barging into Edgar's apartment, but the man has no clue that Edgar is even here in his. There's no reason for him to enter his own — presumably empty — home in such haste.
Through the sound of his mind still floating in overwhelm, Edgar somehow manages to catch the sound of fabric shuffling past the door.
Oh.
His mind locks itself up. An instinct to hide floods through him, rushing and rushing while he's now sat so very still on the couch.
Ranpo is shoving Dazai against the front door, the taller man's shirt collar in his hands. The door closes with a finalizing crash and Edgar is staring at the scene like a deer in headlights.
He had known, of course, that Ranpo and Dazai had started an intimate relationship. That their tension had finally escaped them in a bout of physical passion. Ranpo has been talking his ear off in far too much detail the last few weeks because of it. The sinking feeling in his stomach isn't due to any sort of dislike regarding their affair, no.
His stomach is growing cold because he shouldn't be here.
Edgar's holds his breath when he watches them kick their shoes off.
They can't notice him here.
He resists the soothing hum that wants to escape him when Ranpo starts leading him to the bedroom.
If they see him, he'll ruin this for Ranpo.
His mind feels as though it's sludge. His processing is delayed ever so slightly, and his thoughts have started moving at a painstakingly slow pace. He’s trying so, so hard to be still. He doesn’t know why he can’t be noticed, just that he knows he shouldn’t be. That Ranpo would resent him if he ruined whatever this is for him and Dazai, and if he's noticed it surely will be ruined.
He slips his hands under his thighs and bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t realize it’s blood yet, every sensation is cloudy and prickly as though his entire body has fallen asleep the way one’s leg might.
Edgar doesn't know that Karl's left his side until he realizes he's watching a flushed Ranpo fall trip over him and fall to the floor.
He's going to be sick.
He's not sure if it's due to the way his brain is lagging in it's perception of time, or if it truly is passing this slowly, but the three people in the room are still for a few moments. Frozen and unsure what just happened, all for different reasons.
Edgar doesn't realize he's making any sort of noise until Ranpo looks up at him from the floor. He's not able to decipher the mans expressions in this head space, but the face he's making manages to make the buzzing ease just a bit. He catches Dazai looking at him curiously and flits his eyes to the ground just as quickly.
He really should say something.
Ranpo shifts to sit in a comfortable criss-crossed position, Karl — the devious thing — has started chewing on Dazai's pant leg.
Edgar opens his mouth, desperate to say anything that might stop this silent stare-off, but all that comes out is a puff of air followed by a whine.
Ranpo raises his eyebrows knowingly. He turns to look at Dazai, who is now switching his gaze between the two of them. “You’ll probably want to take a seat. Or leave.”
Edgar wants to curl away in embarrassment.
Dazai nods, most likely eager to see how this plays out, and moves to sit at the bare kitchen table.
At this point, the buzzing has been mostly drained out of Edgar and replaced with an overwhelming fatigue. He moves to grab his coat, which had been hastily thrown to the floor near the couch in his unease, but a hand stops him. It's firm in the way that settles him, unlike light touches that leaves him scratchy and anxious.
"Stay." Ranpo says simply, looking down at him. He must have gotten up while Edgar was distracted trying to manage a grip on the coarse fabric.
He doesn't bother to look up at the man when he croaks out an apology.
Ranpo rolls his eyes and huffs. "Ed. Stay." He repeats and Edgar sinks himself further into the couch, desperately trying to ignore the eyes on him from the kitchen.
Ranpo moves to grab a sweet out of his pocket and shoves it in his mouth before plopping next to him, making sure not to leave any space between them.
"So…" Dazai drawls and Edgar does his best not to flinch. "What are we having for dinner?"
"Shut up."
"Come on…" He leans over his chair to peer over at Ranpo. "You're not going to make me go home hungry, are you?"
Ranpo groans. "I'll order something. What do you want Ed?"
"I-" Is all Edgar managers to get out before Ranpo turns to him.
"Never mind, I already ordered."
Edgar coughs. He doesn't doubt that Ranpo knew what to get him. Aside from the fact that Ranpo is smart, Edgar also only has a few different things he enjoys eating after one of these days. Still!
Ranpo slumps over Edgar's lap, a comforting weight, and yells over to Dazai. "Hey Dazai!"
Dazai perks up, intrigued. "Hm?"
"Bring me that bag of gummies." He says, pointing to a bright green bag on the counter behind Dazai.
Dazai smiles in a way that's far too wide and pops up, walking one, two, three big steps before turning to toss it to Ranpo. Edgar squeaks, ducking behind Ranpo's already outstretched hand.
Ranpo catches it and immediately rips the bag open, sifting through it to find the colors he likes to eat first. A blue gummy worm dangles in front of his face, Ranpo's least favorite color. Edgar takes it and nibbles on it until it's gone.
Dazai moves to sit in the chair next to the couch, his too-long legs hanging off of it in a way that Edgar can't imagine being uncomfortable. Any unease he may feel doesn't show on his face, however, and he leans back to rest his head atop his outstretched palms.
Looking at him like this, Edgar can't say he doesn't see the appeal of the man. His hair falls in his face in a way that directs attention to his sharp jaw. His slim figure is interrupted by points in the fabric that Edgar thinks are barely-there muscles in his biceps but that are there all the same.
He can't see himself ever dating the man. His demeanor is far too intimidating for Edgar, his mind-games much too overwhelming. Ranpo's told him that he has a partner too, and Edgar can't imagine the type of person it takes to date the man. Still, he can see the appeal in a grotesque sort of way.
It's not long before the take out arrives. Ranpo jumps up at the sound of the bell, leaving Edgar alone with the man who's now staring directly at him. He curls his shoulders inward just a bit.
When Ranpo returns, he hands Edgar the box with his food and takes a seat on the arm of the chair Dazai's currently sitting in, splitting the other boxes between them.
Edgar feels awkward watching them, so he stares for an unreasonable amount of time at his gyoza, pushing back the urge to fidget with his hands. Dazai's already seen too much of him today, any more and he'll surely scare the man away from Ranpo.
He feels Karl burrow in the small space between his back and the couch and lets out a small chuckle. The conversation between the other two stops at that, and he looks up to see them staring at him.
One pair of Ranpo's all-knowing gaze is enough. Two is torture.
"I've never seen you laugh before." Ranpo says it like the fact it is, nothing else lingering behind his words in subtext. That's something that Edgar truly appreciates about him, if he has something to say he'll simply say it.
This doesn't help ease the wave of self-consciousness that comes over him again.
"You should do it more." Is not what he expects Ranpo to say, but he doesn't anyway.
"W-what?" Edgar fumbles, losing grip on the gyoza currently resting between his chopsticks. Ranpo shrugs.
Edgar moves his gaze to Dazai next. The man is simply looking at him with an open expression, curious but not harsh. Simply the look one may have when they're not a direct participant in a conversation.
"Okay…" He nods. "Uhm. So…"
Coming up with conversation is easy when it's only him and Ranpo. He can ramble about the book he's working on, or ask the detective questions about his current case, or talk about any number of things on his mind. Talking with him and a new person is out of his skill set.
Thankfully, Dazai senses this and continues the conversation he was having with Ranpo prior, complaining about Kunikida and how much work they have to do. This time, however, he includes Edgar in the conversation.
"-and the paperwork is going to be a pain. I don't know how you write all that stuff, Poe-Kun. It's got to be boring, isn't it? I remember when I met an author who I truly thought was the one before she-"
His voice fades into a subtle buzz, unlike the screaming buzz in his mind just an hour earlier. He listens to the two while he eats his own food, sometimes quietly interjecting the conversation with his own thoughts, and slowly comes to realize his nervousness has drained away by the time Dazai leaves.
When the door clicks shut behind Dazai, Ranpo turns to Edgar.
"You don't have to do that, you know." He says, placing his empty container on the coffee table.
"Huh?"
"Hide that stuff. I know you have this weird complex about you weirding him out or whatever, but you don't need to do that. Do what you need to do." He says.
"It's… strange," Edgar protests.
Ranpo rolls his eyes. "And I'm not? And he's not?"
Edgar thinks of the whispers following him. The laughing echoing off the walls as he rocks further and further with each giggle. The looks his mentors would shoot his way, telling him just how disruptive he is. An adult passing by and commenting on how disgusting his actions were.
He shakes his head.
"That's different."
Ranpo lets out a loud, long sigh. "If you weren't so caught up in your own mind, you would have noticed his things. There's a reason he paces around like that. It's the same reason why I always have something in my mouth, and why you like repeating stuff."
Edgar feels his face heat up and hunches over to look at the ground. He's noticed their habits, of course, but has never thought twice about them. Especially not in the same way he regards his own. He's never thought the other's ought to feel shame for their traits as he does his own.
Maybe…
Edgar is not one to expect others to look at him for anything other than what he is, an awkward, gangly man with the cadence of a newborn fawn. Still, it's here that he realizes the possibility that not everyone sees him like this, that Dazai and Ranpo may think about his behavior in the same way he regards theirs, without a second thought.
By now, Ranpo has already drifted away from this train of thought and moved on to aggressively tapping the game on his cellphone. Edgar's lips quirk into a smile.
After the overwhelm at his presence eased, Edgar found Dazai quickly integrating into a larger part of his life. More often than not, he'll find himself looking at the man as though he's a mystery; the genre of which he can't quite place his finger on.
Ranpo has only stepped out for a moment when Edgar realizes Dazai has been in the bathroom for almost ten minutes. While he's not one to worry about trivial matters such as this, nor one to judge what goes on in the privacy of such spaces, something feels off about the silence radiating throughout the apartment.
It's not until Karl nudges him in the direction of said room that Edgar gets up to check on the man. He's not one for impulsive confrontation, much preferring taking the time to plan out his battles, but Ranpo has been out getting their take-out for a while now and has surely gotten himself lost among the streets, so Edgar is left on his own for this one.
He stands in front of the door, wondering if this is truly something he must do. One part of him hopes the door will open itself, Dazai trailing out perfectly fine and whining about Ranpo being gone for so long. Another, more instinctive part of him knows that nothing is that easy with this man.
He hears a sigh come from the other side of the door and takes a breath. His chest is buzzing with anticipation and a pit falling deep within his stomach as it sinks in that something is definitely wrong. Edgar raises his hand and raps a single, loud knock on the door. He can feel the man freeze on the other side of it without even seeing him.
The door is cold when he leans his side against it, arms clutched to the lower part of his torso. "Is everything alright?"
Dazai remains silent, but Edgar can feel something in the air shift. He swallows, giving the man space to take initiative if he so wishes.
If not, well, Ranpo will be back soon. Maybe he'll have better luck. They know each other far better, after all.
The door handle squeaks in protest not a moment later, and Edgar watched Dazai's face slowly reveal itself from behind the opening door. Generally, it's the same as ever. Edgar would never call the man in front of him soft. He's rough; his skin is aged far past himself, scabbed pores red and angry under the fluorescent bathroom light, and his gaze is unmistakably violating. His clenched jaw pulls his skin taught. The look in his eyes, however, is different that usual.
More than that, Edgar recognizes it.
It's the same look he's seen in the mirror for as long as he can remember. It's the look of someone carrying a burden deep within themselves. An inherent, insatiable distinction sewn into the layers of his skin, and an exhaustion that can not be soothed with time.
It's only when Edgar manages to rip his gaze from the man's eyes that he realizes Dazai is shirtless, his shoulders hunched in on himself and his arms wrapped around his chest. Edgar feels his face heat up, and looks behind the man in avoidance.
His stomach sinks at the sight. The drawers of his bathroom seem to have been hastily opened and forgotten about in favor of the open medicine cabinet. Although he doesn't store much in said cabinet — preferring to keep his only medically prescribed medication locked within his dresser — Edgar still scans the rest of the room for any signs of anything that may have been taken from it. All he finds is the oddly familiar sight of a pair of vaguely cup-shaped, dirty kinesthetic tape thrown next to the trashcan.
Oh.
Oh, dear.
He feels a wave of relief crash over him at this being a situation he's somewhat familiar with, followed by the feeling of guilt sinking into his bones for being relieved at such a predicament. If this is what he thinks, he knows far too well that Dazai is surely feeling terrible in this moment.
The man must have noticed something flickering over his face, because he looks up at Edgar from the space between his drawn shoulders and whispers, "I couldn't take it anymore."
He doesn't elaborate further, but Edgar doesn't need him to. He's sure the man is surprised when he simply gives the man a slight nod and steps away to rifle through his drawers.
Edgar would be lying if he said he wasn't all too familiar with the skin-crawling feeling of weeks-old chest tape. While it's been a long time since he's had any sort of feminine anatomy — his wealth from the Guild taking care of every procedure he's desired — he's still held onto his baggiest of clothes for the days that simply no longer having a chest is not enough and he must seek comfort in a loose top to reassure himself that nothing remains.
He hums when he finds a blue sweatshirt — his favorite — and is thankful that it's already clean and folded. Stepping back down the hall, Dazai is still in the spot he was in before, the foggy look in his eyes increasing with each moment. Edgar passes the material to him wordlessly.
The man looks up at him, blinks, and turns to shut the door behind him.
Edgar finally lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and walks to the kitchen to set out plates for the three of them. When Dazai wordlessly returns to his spot at Edgar's kitchen table in his sweatshirt, Edgar doesn't bring it up and neither does Dazai.
Ranpo returns soon after, whining about how hard to navigate the city is, especially at night, and Edgar shakes his head in empathy. After dinner, the three of them settle by watching an episode of the quite morbid show Dazai's been talking about recently.
Ranpo's sat in the middle of them, arms laid out across the couch and, while his hands barely brush at the back of Edgar and Dazai's necks respectively, he finds it quite endearing and ends up falling closer into Ranpo's side. Dazai remains propped up, hand grazing at Ranpo's thigh but otherwise completely invested in the show. Edgar found himself equally as entranced with the episode, but Ranpo had figured out the plot soon after it started and eventually fell asleep between them.
When the screen fades to black, credits running for who-knows how long, Edgar stands carefully so as not to wake Ranpo up and heads to the kitchen to start tidying up. Dazai follows not far behind him, taking a few minutes to extract himself from where Ranpo had fallen into his lap, and Edgar looks at him with a puzzled look.
Dazai simply picks up a plate and dishcloth next to where Edgar's began scrubbing at their dishes and reaches a hand out for the dish Edgar has just finished washing. They quickly fall into a quiet routine, Edgar's mind racing in an attempt to figure out what Dazai's motive was for joining him. He knows from Ranpo's stories that Dazai isn't one to pick up work when he doesn't have to, or work in general, yet here he is standing next to Edgar in quite a… domestic scene, not for a lack of better words, but because that truly is what it feels like.
They finish the dishes quickly, Edgar remaining still in his current spot next to Dazai and waiting for the man to speak. He knows there's more to this — more to say — and Dazai confirms this when he sighs and props his hip against the counter, turning to face Edgar's side. "You know, you're a lot more confident than you look."
Edgar feels his face heat up and beginnings to stutter out a protest when Dazai holds his hands up and chuckles. "No, no. You can't deny that when you handed me your shirt to wear."
The humor in his face suddenly fades in favor of staring him down. "So, what did you see?"
Edgar licks his lips. He figures this isn't something Dazai is very open about, so he knows he needs to tread carefully with what he says. He's also aware that Dazai can read him as well as he can write a book, so there's not option to lie — not that he would particularly want to, anyway.
"Nothing I haven't seen before in my bathroom."
Dazai cocks his head. "That's vague, for a writer."
"I supposed there's not much to say. I've been in a similar situation, after all."
Dazai's lips curl at that, interested. "Seems we are more similar than we think, Poe-Kun. I trust this will stay between us? And Ranpo-san, of course."
Before Edgar can answer, Dazai reaches a hand out to fluff up Edgar's hair in a petting gesture. Edgar lets out a squeak, making the man laugh cheerfully while heading to the cabinet in search of snacks.
Edgar sighs. "We just ate."
"You sound too much like the Slug. Oh, that's right! You haven't met yet, have you?"
If he's anything like Dazai, Edgar isn't sure he could handle another one him. Still, he nods and Dazai claps gleefully. "Well, you'll meet him soon!"
At Edgar's confused look, he raises his brow. "You didn't forget about the party right? It's tomorrow."
Chuuya is nothing like Edgar expects. From how Dazai speaks about him, he'd expected someone small and cute. While he is one of those things, any preconceived notion flies out the door the moment it slams open and Edgar seems him storming through it and heading straight for Dazai.
They squabble to a point that the rest of the room has quieted down and moved to the sides of the room staring at them. The rest of the agency looks shocked at his mere presence, Edgar supposes they weren't told that Dazai's partner would be coming today. Or that this was his partner. Edgar's not sure which it is, but he watches as the tiger — somehow currently the bravest of the group — peeks out from behind the two of them and squeaks out something that sounds like an "Excuse me," "I'm sorry," and "What the hell Dazai-san" all squeezed together into word mush. The two of them ignore him in favor of continuing their argument and it's not until Fukuzawa walks in that they calm down.
Edgar watches in interest as the redhead tenses at the older man's presence, bowing toward him in respect. Oh?
"Nakahara-Kun," Fukuzawa greets in return, amicable but curious. "I didn't know we'd be expecting you today."
The redhead grits their teeth. "I didn't know I'd be here today either."
The elder's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but he nods. "Regardless of the circumstances, I do hope you enjoy the event."
Chuuya straightens and Fukuzawa moves on to greet the rest of the agency. Edgar slides back into a corner, hoping he can avoid the man — it's not that he dislikes him, he's just terribly intimidated by him and would rather not become nervous this early into the evening. Thankfully, the man can understand this and simply gives him a curt nod as he passes by.
Eventually, the group gets over the surprise from the presence of Dazai's partner and continues with their socializing. Edgar remains in the corner, uninterested with interacting with anyone and hoping that Ranpo will get bored of the event soon.
Unfortunately, the boy only comes to him to drag him deeper into the room and shove a plate in his hands demanding he get some food.
"You'll waste Fukuzawa's money if you don't," he drawls, knowing all too well that Fukuzawa did not pay out of pocket for the event, yet still managing to make Edgar feel obligated enough to pick at some of the hors d'oeuvres regardless.
It's here that he manages to stand next to Nakahara, almost bumping into the man's shoulder as they move towards each other. He lets out a small apology and watches the redhead turn to look at him, their gaze sharp. They look him over and Edgar thinks he's either about to leave or teach him a lesson when the man simply blinks and asks "You're the small one's partner, aren't you?"
Edgar sucks in a breath. "Ah, well, not really partner, but the sentiment remains true."
The man nods and reaches out a hand. "Hm. Well, seeing as I've been in your fucked up book, we might as well actually know each other. Chuuya Nakahara."
Edgar ignores the way his stomach flips with both anxiety and… something else… at the man's words and moves to take their hand in his own. Bowing is quite awkward at their heights, Edgar's head simply meeting at the peak of the others, but he does so anyway. "I'm terribly sorry about that. I'm Poe — Edgar Allen Poe."
Chuuya rolls their eyes. "Don't be sorry. You didn't even do shit, it was the agency's golden boy that put me there."
Edgar isn't sure if he likes how they talk about Ranpo, but given the way Ranpo has talked about "Mr. Fancy Hat" after his nights that the duo's apartment, he thinks it's most likely something for the two of them to understand.
When Edgar returns to full standing, he gives the man another nod and retreats back to the space near the wall he's claimed as his own. He watches Karl hop off Ranpo's shoulder and skitter across the room to him.
Edgar leans down to pick him up and pets him as he watches Chuuya bicker with Dazai while sneaking food onto the brunette's plate. He's almost never attracted to people, but as he watches the flush blossom at the base of Chuuya's neck, he wonders if this is something he may want to pursue.
He's learned recently that to further an interesting story, he must take initiative over the narrative rather than simply sticking to the formulaic circumstances he finds himself falling into. Formula's can be just as fun, but they'll get old if he doesn't add his own initiative to the mix.
He'd need to talk with the others about it first, of course, especially as he does not know where Dazai and Chuuya's boundaries lie, but if there is an opportunity to pursue him, the swirl in his chest tells him it may be nice to get to know the executive better.