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He couldn’t tell whether it was the air that was heavy or instead his heart. A strange yet familiar emptiness that he’d known all too well washed over him like a raincloud in a storm. Like that raincloud, he bottles everything up. He allows the water to evaporate and store itself within him, forming a sea far greater than any other. He watches defenselessly as fate allows the sea within him to pour down in the form of raindrops.
The wind thrashes around like a bloodthirsty shark looking for its next victim. He cannot escape. He cannot find peace within the eye of the storm. Why? It soon clicks.
Poe is the storm.
Poe never intended for it to get this bad. Of course, he had his ups and downs like everyone else, but this time it was different. This time it felt different. No normal person stays in bed for days with the doors locked and the curtains closed, crying to the extent that tears can no longer form. No normal person throws all their books off their shelf in a fit of rage not sure whether they are mad at the world of themself. And no normal person fantasizes about the day soon in which they will no longer feel, taste, breathe, or touch.
Poe can’t sleep. He’s not sure what time it is let alone the date. He tosses and turns in his bed, his blanket getting heavier and heavier by the second but he’s left defeatless with no strength to pull it off himself. He lays awake feeling tired but doesn’t have the energy to allow himself to sleep. He doesn’t deserve to sleep. He buries himself into his pillow wishing he was 6 feet below instead. His heart aches with an empty void unable to be fulfilled. Poe wants to disappear.
He’s drowning but can’t swim. The weight of the ocean pulls and drags him under; he fights. He fights until he sees the light above him urging him to come to the surface. He tries his best to touch the light thinking it will save him. It’s so close yet so far out of reach. He struggles but thinks he has finally made it. He has hope and believes things will get better. He reaches the light and lifts his head to take a deep breath of air… but instead, his lungs fill with water. Sometimes it’s easier to give up than to fight. So Poe lets himself drown.
Poe doesn’t need anyone. He doesn’t need friends. He doesn’t need Ranpo to deduct something is wrong with him. He doesn’t need his raccoon, Karl, to comfort him. But most of all, Poe doesn’t need help. Poe doesn’t want help. Ignoring Karls frantic scratching on his bedroom door, he reaches for the small black box on his nightstand. He opens it, pushing aside the empty flask and pack of cigarettes, instead reaching for the blade.
It was cold like his pale hands. It was cold like winter. It was cold like his heart. He needed to feel. Poe needed to feel something other than this. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself that cutting would only subside his emptiness for a short moment and then cause the urge to come back stronger. He needed to feel. Preparing himself, he closed his eyes.
The pain and relief went away as quickly as it came. Poe is left emptier with nothing at all for he is nothing at all. He laughs at the state he’s in, but laughter soon turns into sobs. He’s a wreck.
By this point, Poe’s not sure what triggered the chaotic domino effect. Was it “overworking” himself or was it perhaps comparing himself to everyone else? The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. There were so many people better than him… Louisa is way better at being direct with her writing while Poe constantly over-described and went on tangents. All the other guild members do their jobs perfectly while he makes many mistakes and can barely socialize. Not to mention… Ranpo. Ranpo is perfect in every way possible.
Perfection was something Poe had always strived for no matter the cost, no matter the sacrifice. Ranpo had always observed that maybe Poe had been attempting to strive for this so-called “perfection” too much. Poe never listened. Through all the cramping in his hands due to countless hours of writing, only one thing stayed on his mind. He wanted to be perfect no matter how much it hurt. He wanted to be perfect no matter the cost.
Through the blackout curtains in his room, he could hear the rain crying, spilling down from the charcoal clouds. He’d hear the occasional car pass down his street and sometimes the voices of people. Despite being caught in the rain, they seemed… happy. Poe wishes he could be happy too. He’s jealous, envious even. He wished that when he got stuck in the rainstorm of life he could fight through it instead of breaking down and allowing himself to wear away like a child sidewalk drawing after a thunderstorm.
Poe was too tired to live yet too tired to die.
He was too tired to notice the light knocking on his cedar-colored front door. He was too tired to notice the lock being picked and he was too tired to notice the knob of his bedroom door turning.
The bed slightly sunk beside where Poe was lying. Ranpo sat down with a small sigh and gently ran his fingers through Poe’s dark hair. He recoiled at the feeling of physical touch, but this time he leaned into the other boy’s hand.
The silence was so loud that it became unbearable for the writer. He hid beneath a thick blanket covering his entire body, leaving only his head revealed to be buried in a pillow.
“What’s wrong?” The detective's voice was sweet like honey and soft like cotton. Ranpo’s voice was comforting and warm like hot chocolate on a cold winter's day.
Poe stayed silent. His throat tightened and he knew if he spoke he’d break down sobbing. No, he can’t, he won't cry in front of Ranpo. Ranpo shouldn’t even be seeing him like this.
“Y’know,” Ranpo started, “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. Just know that I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry..” Poe’s voice was shaky as he tried to hide the tears cascading down his face.
“Woah, woah, hey! What are you apologizing for? You didn’t do anything wrong!” Ranpo's eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to understand the boy in front of him.
“I can’t-...I’m not-...” Poe’s voice made Ranpo ache. “I’m not good enough. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I can’t do anything right. I’m an absolute failure.”
Ranpo's heart broke seeing him in this depressive and self-deprecative state. He pulled the fragile writer closer to him. “Everything is going to be okay. Everything will be okay…”
Ranpo reached to hold Poe’s cold hand but his breath hitched when he felt the sticky red liquid against his own hands. His stomach turned and he suddenly felt sick. How could he not have realized or deducted this sooner?
“I don’t know what to do with myself, Ranpo…”
“Stay here, I’ll be back in just a moment,” Ranpo said. “Stay here.”
When Ranpo came back, he was carrying gauze, disinfectant, bandages, and medical tape. His fingers worked gently, but swiftly. He was used to sometimes patching up Dazai, so this wasn’t new to him. First, he cleaned up the wounds with the disinfectant; this caused Poe to wince. Then he wrapped a layer of gauze around the area, followed by bandages and then a little medical tape to ensure the bandages didn’t fall off at the ends.
Poe stayed on the bed looking at his freshly bandaged arms in silence as Ranpo cleaned up the books off Poe’s floor. Ranpo neatly sorted them on the shelf just as Poe liked them. Sorted by author, then release date. Ranpo grabbed a pair of clean clothes from Poe’s wardrobe.
“Normally, you’d take a bath before changing into clean clothes but since your injuries are deep, I don’t want to cause any more pain than necessary.” Ranpo touched Poe’s chest before undoing his shirt buttons. “Here, I’ll help you.”
Ranpo took off Poe’s shirt and started undoing Poe’s pants. He looked up at Poe and Poe looked down back at him. “Ranpo… I can take off my pants myself.”
Ranpo’s face began to heat up and burn. “Yeah, yeah. I uhm…” He cleared his throat, “Okay, just tell me when you’re done.”
Closing his eyes, Ranpo waited as Poe changed into the pajama pants. “Done.”
Opening his eyes, Ranpo grabbed the pajama shirt. He slid each of Poe’s arms into the sleeves and took his time buttoning the pajama shirt to not miss any buttons. Ranpo makes eye contact with Poe.
“Let’s lay down…cuddle or something… then you can tell me what’s wrong.” His smile was warm like summer.
Reluctantly, Poe lay down back on the bed; Ranpo followed, lying down beside him. He once again brushed his fingers through the writer's hair, he knew how much Poe had liked it.
“I don’t know where to start.” Poe sighed. “...Not sure what triggered me this time. There’s just this empty void in me that can’t be filled. I feel so numb… there’s a storm inside of me, yet I fear it and long to succumb to it at the same time. I don’t want to hurt, but I find comfort in my pain. I didn’t intend to let it get his bad again.”
“I know. Sometimes, people find comfort in their depression. It’s because they’ve grown accustomed to the emptiness. It’s not your fault.” Ranpo paused, “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you mean by ‘again?’ This has happened before, hasn’t it?”
The detective already had a feeling that it had, but only wanted to confirm his hypothesis.
“I have… episodes sometimes. They haven’t gotten this bad in over 4 years.” Poe seemed like he wanted to say more, but the words found themselves caught in his throat. He was unable to continue.
“Go on. I won’t judge you. You’re safe here with me, okay?” Ranpo whispered, running his fingers through Poe's hair again. “You’re safe.”
“Last time it got this bad,” Poe trailed off, “...I tried to kill myself. Lousia found me in my bathtub. She took care of Karl until I was discharged from the psychiatric unit a few months later.”
It was as if the air in the room came to a halt, standing still. Unaware of what happened to the other, Ranpo was appalled. Like puzzle pieces, everything pieced together perfectly and suddenly began to form a picture that made sense. Poe never wore t-shirts or shorts, he often wrote about the ending of it all even if he was writing about mysteries, and… Ranpo began to tear up. He recalled all the times he was with Poe. He would stare off into the abyss, disappear suddenly, and only then would he come back suddenly 'fine.'
Ranpo hugged him tightly in his arms, “I don’t know why you didn’t tell me before. If you told me you felt this way and were hurting yourself like that then I could’ve helped you sooner.”
He felt like an awful excuse for a detective, let alone the world's greatest. How could he be so oblivious? How could he not recognize the signs?
“I was scared. Scared of what you’d say, what you’d think. I didn’t want you to view me differently. I didn’t want to be seen as weak or fragile.” Poe then whispered as if reading Ranpo’s mind, “I hid it well because I didn’t want anyone to know. Not even you.”
“I wasn’t there then, but I can be here now. If you ever need somebody to talk to or to even listen, I am here. I am always here.” Ranpo softly smiled.
“Thank you.”
The weight of the bed shifted once again as they felt Karl join them. The raccoon snuggled up against Poe’s arm happily. The 3 lay there embracing each other for what seemed to be until the end of time.
It was then, only then, that Poe knew everything would be okay.