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bleachification · 8 months

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⸻ CHAPTER FIVE; ALL MEN ARE EQUAL

pairing: dazai x f!reader (fantasy au)

warnings: mentions/themes of depression

chapter list: this is CHAPTER FIVE of a multi-chapter fic series. PLEASE read the chapters below (in order) before this one or you will be very lost!!

prologue

one

two

three

four

word count: 3.5k

+ + + + + + + + + + + + +

Back in your homeland, at the Imperial Palace, the largest constructed facilities are ones of sport and training. Sharpened swords and polished armour take the place of bookshelves on bedroom walls, and the practice of scripture is seldom found. Higher education, though no less important than warfare, is strictly limited to scriveners, court officials, and the professional erudites of your father’s choosing. In the face of current conflicts, most of your father’s people are far more absorbed in military affairs and bureaucracy than arithmetics, the sciences and the humanities.

Although, when it came to you, it was like a switch went off and all those sentiments were turned upside down.

By a certain age, your tutelage switched from scholarly knowledge to that of etiquette and what he referred to as ‘womanly affairs’. Those usually consisted of things like sewing, music, and art classes. The only one you ever enjoyed was the horseback lessons.

But thankfully, your father’s one track mind meant you were never discovered for—or suspected of—possessing further-education books and studying politics, diplomacy, and military tactics on the days general schooling lessons were cancelled. It is why you find yourself in the royal library, hours before you are due to meet Dazai for dinner.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of marble shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling. Each one is stacked, end-to-end, with leather bound tomes and tea-stained manuscripts. There is a fireplace in the right corner, carved from blackened stone and crackling with warmth. Around it sits a pair of dark-green, thickly-cushioned armchairs, along with a matching sofa that is wide enough to fit at least four people.

You walk further in and are greeted with four arched windows spanning the length and height of the space, each one clear as the summer sea. You squint, momentarily blinded by a sudden passing ray of sunlight. Birds are chirping underneath the morning sky, and branches of a looming willow tree sway in front of the left-most window. You take in the sprawling garden view; a labyrinthine maze of hedges take up the centre, and a large assortment of decorations speckle the grounds. Smaller fountains, rainbow flower beds, and iron-wrought benches are only a few of what you can see.

You look around a bit more, noting the study tables anchored to the floor and the winding staircase that leads to the open-plan second floor. The library is well-kept, as shown by the pots holding blooming flowers along the window sills, but the dust lining the shelves indicates that no one has used the archives in a long time. You wonder why—it is the first and only comforting place that you have found in the cold, lonely palace.

You make your way down the stacks before a section catches your eye.

A Comprehensive Guide on Abilities and a Meta Analysis on their Structural Archetypes;

The Scholar’s Circle’s Codex on Yokohama’s Political Affairs;

North vs. South: A Dynastic Tale of Continental History.

You grab all three and almost lose your balance from the weight of each text. More and more books are added to the pile in your arms until you can no longer see straight ahead.

With a huff, you drop the mountain of pending research onto an oak-stained study table and quickly get to work.

Hours pass, the concept of time long faded as you lose yourself in the world of preternatural powers, warring states, and the cluttered institutions that make up the Kingdom in its most present form.

The striking differences between Yokohama and the Northern Empire are more vast than you had ever imagined. It's a stark contrast—governance, industry, arts, religion and everything else you've come across so far. Not a single commonality to be found.

“How has…? But wouldn’t the roots originate from the dark ages? Let’s see…” you mumble, talking to no one in particular.

“Have you found a specially interesting read?” A particular person asks.

You fall out of your seat in surprise.

“General!” You squeak, reeling from his sudden appearance.

The mild-mannered Fukuzawa gives you a gentle smile and moves to help you up. He hooks two large arms under your own and lifts you back onto your chair. The scene reminds you of a mother cat picking its kitten up by the scruff of its neck.

You drop your head onto the table in embarrassment, refusing to make eye contact until, hopefully, a meteor comes falling onto earth and crushes you to death.

“Good morning, General,” you mutter.

“Hmm.”

You peek up at him with one eye. “What?”

“It is five in the evening,” he replies, bemused.

“What?!” You bolt up, shame long forgotten.

It takes you a second to realize how orange the library is, cast in the hues from the setting sun.

You drag a hand over your face, rubbing the fatigue from your eyes. “Shit, I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Fukuzawa raises a brow.

“What? You’ve never heard a noble cuss before?”

He taps his chin. “I can’t say I have. You truly are a breath of fresh air, Your Highness.”

You grin. “As are you, General. And please…”

He listens, head tilting in curiosity.

“It is [name]. We are friends, are we not?” Your false sincerity coats your words like a second skin.

The sun dips far below the horizon, robbing the world of its light. You take in the storm clouds in the distance, absentmindedly wondering if the Empire would experience the same downpour later in the night.

Fukuzawa ponders your question for a moment longer before answering. “We are, but I am also your subordinate, so I am afraid I must decline.”

“And if it is an order?”

Fukuzawa’s eyes sparkle. “Then I am under aristocratic obligation to comply.”

In a tone laced with authority and bemusement, you proclaim: “I, acting Monarch of Yokohama, hereby order General Yukichi Fukuzawa to act beyond propriety and address me by given name only. No titles, no fancy designations. Just [name].”

“As long as you are willing to grant me that same honor, [name].”

You grin. “See? Isn’t that so much better, Yukichi?”

The General only laughs and turns to take a seat across from you. The armour he dons makes a clanging noise as he settles himself. Patches of dirt litter the surface of the metal while other areas sport minor indents—likely from the force of a blade's flat or hilt.

“Did that hurt?” You nod towards the largest dip in the steel.

He looks down at his left side, around the area between his upper ribs. “Couldn’t even feel it.”

“Of course not,” you wave, returning your attention back to the pages.

“I see you are interested in…” Fukuzawa leans over the table, peering at the emboldened titles of each tome. “Yokohama politics, history, and culture?”

“The pen is mightier than the sword, as they say,” you muse. “And a bright mind is far mightier than those stumbling blind in the darkness of their own ignorance.”

“I do wish more members of the court shared that sentiment. It would certainly make my migraines less frequent.”

You faintly recall the term from a book you finished earlier. “The… inner court?”

“The very same. A parliamentary round table of aristocrats and representatives, headed by the Four Noble Houses.”

“The Four Noble Houses? You mean…” You cringe, an unpleasant memory resurfacing.

Fukuzawa’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Ah, yes. I recall a certain purple-faced duke drenched in the colours of His Majesty’s most favoured cabernet sauvignon.”

You smile sheepishly. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“Formally? Yes.”

You groan and drop your head in your hands.

Fukuzawa lays a palm on your shoulder and gives you a gentle pat.

“But reasonably? Absolutely not. He deserved ten times worse than what he got.”

“Someone needed to stand up to him,” you point out.

“Sadly, there are not many people who can.”

You sigh at that and go back to your research. The moment you set your eyes back on the book, the pages in front of you begin to blur and mesh into a whirlpool of ink.

“Maybe it is time for a break…” you murmur.

Fukuzawa leans forward and studies your fatigued expression.

“What have you learned so far?”

You snort. “You mean other than our sordid history? The decades of hatred and conflict brewing between our countries?”

“Ah, yes. Besides that fun little facet of our politics.”

You run through the miles of information you had just absorbed, each little bit coming together piece by piece to paint a very clear picture of the modern world—one where mystic abilities, gods of old, and monsters coexist in disharmony.

‘Abilities’ as you have come to know them, are practically non-existent among the lower caste in the Northern Empire. The only ones who wield them are of noble blood, aside from the rare few commoners—unfortunate individuals who would be executed for merely holding power outside of their status. Even then, barely anyone manifests one. In recent years, the only ability-user you know of is Chuuya.

In Yokohama, these powers are respected, admired, and much more plentiful. In your textual observations, it is noted that the military and governing leaders are chosen for their abilities.

“Hm… what is yours?”

You are curious. What sort of fate-bending, death-defying power could this seasoned warrior have?

“Mine?”

“Your ability. You must have one, being the head of such an elite corps.”

“My ability…” he pauses.

You raised a teasing brow. “What? You’re not going to tell me?”

“Just considering the risks of doing so. You have proven yourself to be both smart and deceitful. A deadly combination.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” You place a hand on your chest in mock offence, scoffing in indignation.

Fukuzawa laughs—that familiar smooth rumble that you have come to find placating. “Would I be wise to?”

“Of course not.” You wave a dismissive hand. “But you should tell me anyway because I am curious and stubborn and will likely find out on my own regardless.”

The general’s gaze is filled with a kind of warmth that is unknown to you, only interrupted by a flicker of a melancholy that twists his expression momentarily." It happens so fast you almost mistake it for a trick of the light.

“You remind me so much of her…” He mumbles under his breath so softly you pass it off as a whisper of the wind. “Very well. I will tell you.”

The sun has all but disappeared from the horizon, the shimmering moon slipping in its place. The dark, glittering night falls onto Fukuzawa’s features beautifully, making him seem a little more weathered and a little less mundane as he explains his decidedly non-mundane powers.

“It allows me to control my soldiers’ own abilities. I am able to manipulate their capabilities, help navigate their potential, and expand the boundaries of what they can do. That is my ability,” he explains.

You mull over Fukuzawa’s words, a bit surprised at the nature of it all. The powerfully built military veteran looks at you like he knows what you are thinking—knows that you are confused on why someone with his battle prowess has such a passive skill.

“You forget, Your Highness, that before I am a warrior, I am first and foremost a leader. Without my men, I am nothing, and without me, many of those men would not have survived until now,” he states. He says it like a fact, and perhaps in some ways, it is. It makes more sense the longer you think on it, his ability is almost perfectly suited to his position. You wonder what yours would be if you manifested one. What about Dazai? Would his ability reflect bloodthirst and coldness? Or would it be the opposite of what you know him as?

You make a mental note to come back to that question later, and direct your attention back to the conversation at hand.

“[Name],” you correct.

Fukuzawa blinks. “Sorry?”

“You called me ‘Your Highness’ just now.”

“I apologize. Force of habit,” he drops his head in a slight bow and the moonlight streaming through the open windows reflects off his gray hair, transforming it into a silver mane.

Fukuzawa apologizes to you a lot, like a father fumbling for words in front of his newborn, careful not to be anything but kind. If anything, you find it endearing. As well as a little… disappointing.

“General.”

Fukuzawa’s smile drops at your change in tone. The worry in his eyes is clear. “Is something wrong?”

You give him a small smile, a tad tense. “No. Not really. Though, I would like to ask you something. Would you humour me?”

“Of course. I will answer anything within reason,” he reassures.

You rest your cheek against your palm, curiosity and wariness burning bright.

“Why are you so kind to me? I know how this country views the Empire—views me. I am not blind to the scornful glances nor hidden insults thrown around. I am numb to them. But you… Kunikida… that peculiar doctor as well, you are all much too cordial with a sworn enemy. Is it pity? Some misplaced sense of duty? Or perhaps it is all fake and you are all laughing behind my back as we speak.”

Silence spreads through the empty library, the only noises are the crackling of the fireplace and the gentle swishes of the willow branch behind you. The only thing you hear is your pulse thrumming against your skull.

If Fukuzawa is taken aback by your bluntness, he does not show it. Despite only knowing you for this short period of time, he is probably already used to your brusque manner of speech. He folds his hands in front of him and leans backward, taking some time to come up with a suitable answer. You can practically see the gears turning in that head of his.

A few moments pass before he finally speaks in a serious, yet gentle, voice.

“Do you think yourself undeserving of our respect?”

You shake your head and answer: “Not at all. I am only surprised you would willingly impart it to me.”

“I cannot speak on Sir Kunikida or Dr. Yosano’s behalf—although, I imagine they share the same thoughts—but I am kind to you because it is common sense. I am kind to you because I am honoured to serve under your reign,” Fukuzawa assures. His expression softens. “I am truly sorry about the harassment you have had to endure. I will do my best to keep them in check, but if it happens again, do not be afraid to use your status. You are their ruler. Do not let them forget it.”

A lump forms in your throat and you force yourself to swallow it down. The support eases your heart, but the anxiety does not fully disappear, nor does the cold tingle of resentment in your chest. They probably never will. For now, you will accept his words, but with caution, as you are still very much in enemy territory. You will need to lead with your mind to survive, not your heart.

And Fukuzawa? The gentle general is merely a stepping stone, not a friend.

“I… am grateful. Tha—”

“General Fukuzawa!” In a very familiar fashion, the doors to the library burst open to reveal a man, effectively cutting you off.

Kunikida stands beneath the frame, face alarmingly red and breaths coming out in short, laboured puffs. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Fukuzawa grimacing.

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?.” The minister spits out each word with barely contained anger—more accusation than actual question.

“Chief Minister.” Fukuzawa bows and slowly inches himself towards the door, closer and closer to the fuming blonde. “I see you are… upset.”

Kunikida’s eye twitches. “Upset? Upset?!” His voice hits an impressive octave and you briefly wonder if he’s ever considered a career in opera. He certainly has the knack for it.

“I—”

“The outdoor arena is on fire.”

The general clears his throat.

“Right. I did tell them not to try out those new techniques without me around, though His Majesty’s soldiers were never ones to adhere to the rules.”

“A black hole opened up in the ceiling and swallowed three stable boys. They were… fully nude when they fell out an hour later.”

Fukuzawa blinks.

“That’s… new.”

“You have five seconds,” Kunikida says flatly.

“Well. Duty calls. I shall have to put out some fires… er… literally.” Fukuzawa makes his way to the open doors and is about to leave when he adds: “Have a wonderful night, [name].”

“Good luck,” you laugh.

He gives you a small wave before disappearing down the hall.

You turn your attention to Kunikida who is now slightly less red, though still glowing a nice shade of pink.

“Good evening, Chief Minister. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask.

“I am here to bring you to dinner service. Perhaps you have forgotten? You seem to be engrossed in our literary offerings,” he answers plainly.

Kunikida stays standing, but has walked further into the room, hands clasped behind him as he studies the books you chose with furrowed eyebrows.

“I enjoy reading. Is that such a crime?”

“I am only surprised you were able to find this place. After His Majesty banned entry, most just ignore it as they pass by.”

You cock your head to the right. “I was curious about that. Why? It is a beautiful library—a sunlit treasure trove of knowledge. I would imagine most people would be clawing at the doors for just a glance, yet it is as barren and untravelled as the deserts in the West,” you muse.

Your curiosity is only a mild interest until Kunikida’s gaze sharply turns away from yours, blatantly avoiding your poking and prodding. His averted eyes cause what little inquisitiveness you had just felt to balloon into a wave of eager investigation.

“Kunikida.”

He adjusts his glasses and nervously glances at his timepiece. “We are going to be late if—”

“Kunikida.”

He sighs, relenting.

“If nobody uses this place, why is it so well kept? There are no dirt patches or cobwebs, but the dust between pages suggests that no one has opened them for many years. ”

“If I were to make an educated guess…” Kunikida stops for a moment to think. “I would wager that His Majesty misses what it used to be, and is only trying to preserve the last of that magic. Though the memories here are much too vivid and much too painful for him to come back to.”

What it used to be…

A flicker of something… a fleeting feeling… No. A memory. At the very back of your mind—

“But I do not think he will continue to do so.”

It vanishes, and you fall back to reality, grasping at nothing and nowhere.

You shake yourself out of your daze, a bit peeved at the interruption, but curious all the same.

“Do what? Preserve this place? You believe he will let it just… crumble to ruins?”

Kunikida takes a seat and folds his gloved hands together. The lines on his forehead appear as he tenses, preparing his next words with careful precision. He works his jaw, tension releasing and forming with each movement, as if he is warring internally, fighting to either let the words out or keep it in.

You hope he chooses the former. The more information, the better.

His expression settles and a stern look replaces his calm visage. Whatever he has to say must be serious.

You catch yourself tapping the side of your thigh anxiously under the table and clamp your fingers down on your leg… hard. Your father did always say that a royal must be poised and perfect, and he made it extremely clear that such emotions were to be erased and forgotten.

And if they weren’t…

A chill runs down your spine at the memories.

“I am well aware that you are, and pardon my candor, untrustworthy.”

You almost snort. Not the first time you’ve heard that and it certainly won’t be the last.

Kunikida continues. “But I believe it is only right to tell you as His Majesty’s spouse. King Dazai is… he is…” Kunikida pauses as he fumbles for the right word.

A clock ticks. Kunikida settles on a phrase.

“Unwell. A disease of the mind and heart that has stolen his will. He is here only to serve a purpose and that purpose is not to live out the rest of his life. He exists, but for years now he has not been… here. Almost as if one wrong move and the line His Majesty balances upon disappears and takes him with it.”

Time slows. The air thickens. Are you breathing?

“Slowly but surely, he is fading away,” Kunikida pauses and swallows as he tries to work out his next words.

“Some days I believe he is better. Most days I do not allow myself to indulge in such a lie.”

—

˚ · . tags: @zjarrmiii @aiizenn @emyyy007 @letsliveagaintoday @bejeweledgirl @nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf

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silvfyre-writings · 10 months

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Learning About Ranpo (BSD Fanfic)

Hello, welcome back to another Fukudad fic! This one is connected to "What Don't I Know" but you don't have to have read it to understand this one! And in case you were wondering, yes I have read 108 and no, I am not okay. But anyways!

This fic has dark themes and I wasn't sure what exactly to tag, but I will have a content warning, so please be mindful. There is nothing graphically described, but I will still list what is mentioned.

With that being said, I hope you enjoy, and that if you enjoyed, you'll leave a like or even reblog (or both!) :D

Happy reading!

CW: Disordered eating, references to child prostitution ((at the very end) if I miss something you feel needs a warning, please, let me know!)

It had only been three days, and Fukuzawa was more tired than he’d ever been before in his life. Before that night at the theatre, he’d been tired, moving from job to job, protecting the lives of others; and even before that, he’d been tired, ending the lives of those that he had been asked to kill. Of course, there’d been other times when he’d been tired—what adult hadn’t been tired at least once in their life?—but for some reason those two were the only thing that came to mind when looking for a comparison with his current state. Although it seemed right, to compare his current exhaustion to the kind that his jobs usually gave him.

Because looking after a fourteen year old boy was nothing if not difficult, especially when one had never interacted with children in such a way before now.

Not that Edogawa Ranpo was a normal child, not in the slightest.

When he’d first met the teenager only a few days ago, Ranpo had been loud and confident, and even a little arrogant at times, making demands regardless of how out there they were; for example, when Ranpo had demanded to be carried by Fukuzawa after he’d fed the boy at the restaurant, who had been nothing more than a complete stranger at the time. Yes, he’d given in in the end, but that wasn’t the point.

The point was, that Fukuzawa was at a loss in how to proceed with taking care of this child.

Fukuzawa watched Ranpo carefully from his spot in the kitchen, being mindful as to not burn the food he was cooking. The teenager was sat on the couch, staring at nothing in particular as he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt like he had been since Fukuzawa had come into the kitchen. He had to wonder, just what it was exactly that Ranpo was thinking so hard about to produce such a look on his face, and whether or not it was a good or bad expression. Fukuzawa tried not to linger on it, and turned back to the food on the stove, stirring the pot a few times before the noodles he was boiling could stick together or overflow.

It'd been three days since Ranpo had come to live with Fukuzawa, and two days since that dreadful shopping trip that had shown Fukuzawa just how unprepared and unequipped he was to raise a child. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try his damn best of course; he’d promised Ranpo a safe place to stay, and there was no way he was going to go back on it now. It would be cruel and heartless of him to do such a thing, especially when Ranpo was so obviously attached to him for reasons he didn’t quite understand.

Yet, since that shopping trip, Ranpo had grown distant and quiet, taking up residence on the couch and only getting up to go to the bathroom, or when it was time for sleep—regrettably, still in Fukuzawa’s room since there wasn’t really anywhere else for the boy to sleep, although Fukuzawa had started to look at apartments with an extra bedroom so that Ranpo could finally have his own space. He was starting to get used to waking up in the morning with Ranpo clinging to him, but he was starting to miss his room being his room, so the sooner they found somewhere more suitable, the better.

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa called out as he pulled the noodles off the stove, now fully cooked, and set about preparing the rest of their lunch which was nothing more than a simple soba noodle dish. His reasoning behind the dish was that it was Ranpo’s first proper meal since he’d started to live with Fukuzawa; he’d noticed that Ranpo didn’t really eat outside of his snacks, and that whenever Fukuzawa offered to cook the boy a meal, he was politely rejected. He didn’t know why that was, considering that when he’d first offered food to Ranpo, back at that first murder case, the boy had agreed to it instantly without any hesitation. Fukuzawa had an idea that it was something to do with Ranpo not wanting to feel like an annoyance or a burden, so he’d figured that if he cooked the food beforehand, and then offered it, that Ranpo might be more willing to eat it.

Ranpo looked up when his name was called and hummed to show he’d heard.

“I have made some soba for lunch. Would you like some?” Fukuzawa asked, even as he carefully split the dish apart into two servings. Even if Ranpo didn’t end up eating all of the meal, the dish that Fukuzawa had cooked was chosen for that specific purpose since it could always be reheated later on. But he was still hoping that Ranpo would actually eat all of it; he was so scrawny that Fukuzawa was actually worried about the boy’s health.

Ranpo’s eyes—closed by choice as far as he knew for yet another reason Fukuzawa wasn’t aware off—flicked open to look from the bowls in Fukuzawa’s hands to Fukuzawa’s face before slipping closed again. The silence between them extends for another minute as Ranpo just sat there before the boy is smiling wide, sliding off the couch to sit at the low table in front of it. “Sure thing! I’m so hungry I could eat yours as well!”

Fukuzawa blinked at the sudden change in attitude; he’d almost gotten used to the silent Ranpo, as unnatural as it was, but even though Ranpo looked happy, there was something tickling the back of Fukuzawa’s mind that not everything was okay, that maybe the young teen was trying to force that smile in order to reassure him. Stop looking for problems that aren’t there, Yukichi, he told himself, trying his best to push his concerns away, Ranpo is clearly just adjusting to a new environment still, and probably recovering from that disaster of a shopping trip.

He’d expected lunch to be a quiet affair, like every other meal had been the past few days, but it seemed that whatever thoughts or worries that had been plaguing Ranpo’s mind were gone, because the boy was chatting away, so fast it was amazing he still had enough air in his lungs to keep talking. And it wasn’t even about anything important, like what was going to happen next, or complaints about the new living arrangements like Fukuzawa had been expecting; it was literally about mundane stuff; the birds that had been perched on the balcony that morning, the lack of sweetness in the soba—Fukuzawa had to wonder that if he stuck straight sugar in front of Ranpo, whether the boy would just eat that instead—and the tiny size of the apartment.

Which gave Fukuzawa the perfect opportunity to butt into the rambling.

“The apartment being small is something I intend to rectify in time.” Fukuzawa swallowed the last of the noodles in his mouth and set his chopsticks on top of the bowl. “But first, we need to figure out what it is that you are doing.”

Ranpo froze in his seat, good mood vanishing completely, as he continued to swirl his own chopsticks around the bowl in front of him. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve already told me you wanted to stay here, but you haven’t seemed very happy to be here the past few days. I am simply wondering if you’ve changed your mind?”

“I haven’t.” Ranpo nibbled on the noodles. “I do want to stay here, it’s just… new.” The boy shrugged and pushed his food away from him. “I’m just adjusting to all this still.”

Fukuzawa can read the unspoken words in the way the tension lined Ranpo’s shoulders, and the way that Ranpo refused to lift his gaze from where it was focused on the table. “You fear that this is temporary, and that I will grow sick of you, and throw you out just like others have done to you before.”

“I don’t fear, I know.”

“I have no intentions of throwing you out, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa frowned at the way Ranpo sounded so certain that he was going to return to life on the streets despite Fukuzawa already promising not to do that. “I meant what I said when I said you were welcome to stay, and I will continue to mean it. I refuse to be like those adults that you despise so much, who rather than take the time to help you, just threw you out onto the streets.”

His words caused Ranpo to draw his knees to his chest and hide his face into them, but he couldn’t see any signs that Ranpo was crying so he stayed where he was and just waited patiently. “You don’t know me.” Ranpo said after several minutes. “You say all these things now, but once you get to know me, you won’t be saying those things.”

Fukuzawa’s frown deepened, and Ranpo curled up even smaller.

“Adults always say they care, you know? But it’s all lies. They put on a smile and talk to you even though they just think you’re some stupid kid not even worth their precious time. They promise you food and a safe place to sleep and a job, but then a few days go by and they’re throwing you out onto the streets because you did something they didn’t like. And before you say ‘not all adults’, it is. It’s why I know that if I’m not careful, you’ll grow sick of me too and just throw me out, and… I don’t want to be discarded again. It’s tiring.”

It made sense to Fukuzawa in that moment, why when he’d met Ranpo, the boy had always made comments about hating the adult world, and not understanding adults when they spoke to him. For so long, Ranpo had been failed by the adults that were supposed to help and support him. He recalled the moment at the restaurant where Ranpo had told him he’d only come to Yokohama in the first place was because the director of the police academy had been good friends with his father. And instead of being cared for, Ranpo had found himself on the streets in a city he was unfamiliar in, with no one to rely on but himself. And it made sense now, why Ranpo was so skeptical and annoyed when other people didn’t just say what they meant to begin with, because why drag out the pain to begin with? Why not just say the cruel words and be done with it regardless of how cruel they actually are?

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa waited for Ranpo to acknowledge him. “You are right, I don’t know you, but you also don’t know me despite what you may have already deduced. And you may not trust my words, but they are the truth. I will not throw you out. I do care about your wellbeing. If someone you do annoys me, I will tell you so. And if something I do annoys you, you can tell me as well. I understand your mistrust, it is well deserved after everything you have been through, and I don’t expect you to trust me right now, but when you are ready to trust again, you can trust me.”

Ranpo nodded, and returned his head to his knees. “Communication, huh… I’m not good at that.”

Fukuzawa shrugged. “And neither am I. We’ll just have to figure it out as we go, alright?” He leaned over and pushed Ranpo’s half-eaten bowl back towards him. “But first, finish your lunch. You haven’t been eating.”

Ranpo gave him a look, but dragged the bowl closer and began to nibble on the noodles once again whilst Fukuzawa stood to dispose of his own bowl. From the corner of his eye, he watched Ranpo eat, well sort of eat really since all Ranpo seemed to do was take a bite or two and then push his food around a bit, and then repeat. It worried him a little, but Fukuzawa wasn’t going to say anything right now, not until he was certain it was something he truly needed to worry about in the first place. He reached into one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out some clingwrap. “If you can’t finish it, Ranpo, just cover it and put it back in the fridge. You can eat it later.”

“Thanks.” Ranpo sighed as he pushed the bowl away once again, this time standing and coming to stand beside Fukuzawa while he wrapped his lunch to put it away.

Fukuzawa was about to leave and get started on finding his next job, when Ranpo spoke. “What’s… happening now?”

“What do you mean?” Fukuzawa asked.

“When you agreed to take me in, you said you’d give me work and that we needed to do things. You know, like shopping.” Ranpo looked up at him. “And we’ve done the shopping part, so what’s next?”

“That is what I am going to figure out.” Fukuzawa explained as he made his way over to his laptop that resided on the low table in the living room. “The important part for that trip was getting you some clothes and food, but now that you have those, we can slow down and take things one at a time.”

Ranpo followed him over and returned to his spot on the couch, grabbing the glasses that Fukuzawa had given him and just holding them. “Okay, but what are you planning?”

“Well,” Fukuzawa angled the laptop so that Ranpo could look over his shoulder. “I am looking at a bigger apartment so that you can have your own space—”

“And so you can have your own room back?” Ranpo interrupted with a grin on his face. “Not used to sharing space are you, old man?”

Fukuzawa rolled his eyes. “I am not, and sharing my room is not the issue. I am getting used to waking up with you drooling onto my sleepwear. The issue—”

“Hey, I don’t drool!”

“—is that you are a growing teenage boy that needs space of your own.” Fukuzawa looked over his shoulder and levelled Ranpo with a stare. “Besides, I am only renting this apartment so we will have to move eventually anyways. So I will start the search now.”

“Okay, okay, fine, but that’s not all you’re doing are you? You’ve got other tabs open. I can see them.” Ranpo leaned closer, almost falling off the couch to do so if it weren’t for his grip on the arm of it.

“I am looking for a suitable doctor to take you to.” Fukuzawa said, and before he can say anything else, Ranpo shoved himself into the back of the couch, that guarded look from a few days prior slapped onto his face.

“Why?”

“Because you have lived on the streets for over a year without any kind of medical care.” Fukuzawa answered carefully, on edge himself from the way that Ranpo had drawn away from him so fast when only seconds ago, they’d been bantering. “It will be nothing more than a simple health check, Ranpo.”

Ranpo was silent, body tense and eyes glaring, not from anger, but from fear. Fukuzawa made sure to keep his expression neutral even though he wanted to frown at the boy’s behaviour. It’s normal for people, especially children, to be fearful of doctors. The memory of what happened in the grocery store crossed his mind, of Ranpo shutting down and yelling because too much was going on around him. Maybe the sensory issues are the reason?

“Do you fear that the doctor’s office will be like the grocery store?” He asked, just to be certain.

After a moment, Ranpo gave a slow nod. “They aren’t nice places.” He sounded hesitant, like it was shameful of him to be admitting that he was scared of something. “Bright and lots screaming children.”

“Alright, I’ll see if I can find one that’s better for you.” Fukuzawa said. “Is there anything else you require to make it easier on you?”

“Not going at all would be best.” Ranpo mumbled under his breath, but then louder, he answered Fukuzawa’s question. “A female doctor. One that’s nice.”

“Okay.” Fukuzawa reached behind him to ruffle Ranpo’s hair, smiling softly. “I know you don’t want to go. If it helps, this is the only visit you’ll need to make unless the doctor finds something wrong.”

Ranpo hummed and stood. “I’m going to take a nap.”

Fukuzawa nodded and watched as Ranpo left the room, observing the way that the teen still seemed on edge, and waited until he heard the sound of the bedroom door closing before he let out the sigh that he’d been holding back this entire time. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back to rest against the couch. His eyes opened a second later and he stared at the ceiling. I’m not cut out to raise this boy.

Over the next week, almost two weeks since they’d first met, Ranpo’s mood seemed to improve, for the boy had finally begun to emerge from the shell he’d sequestered himself away in and the Ranpo that Fukuzawa had first met returned. Fukuzawa wanted to put it down to that Ranpo had simply grown comfortable in the apartment, and that he’d realized that Fukuzawa wasn’t going to throw him back into the streets, but that would make him a fool and a fool he was not. Because the past week had taught him a lot, and caused him to realize that he was very much in over his head with this parenting gimmick even though he was doing his best to not let that get to him. But it was hard, when he’d realized that despite the way Ranpo presented himself to others was just for show, and that underneath that mask, lay a very fragile and uncertain boy.

He’d learnt this on the sixth night of them living together, when he’d woken during the middle of the night to find that Ranpo wasn’t in the futon next to him, and that the apartment was deathly silent. Panic had been quick to fill him, and Fukuzawa had thrown himself out of bed and out into the hallway, ready to tear down his apartment to find the missing boy, only to see the bathroom light on, and the door cracked just enough for him to hear the whimpers and sobs coming from within.

It’d torn his heart into pieces, to push open that door and find Ranpo pressed into the corner with tears streaming down his face and a hand covering his mouth because he hadn’t wanted to disturb Fukuzawa with his crying. Not even a second passed before Fukuzawa was sitting on the floor next to Ranpo and drawing the boy into an embrace.

“Talk to me, Ranpo. Tell me what’s wrong?” Fukuzawa asked.

Ranpo cried into his chest. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s stupid.”

“No it’s not. But if you don’t want to talk though, that is fine, but if you do, I will listen.”

Ranpo had continued to cry for a while into Fukuzawa’s shirt before he finally opened up about what had brought on the tears, and as promised, Fukuzawa had listened. He’d listened as Ranpo told him about how he hadn’t really been given the chance to process everything that’d happened to him since his parents death, that so much had happened to him in such a short amount of time that all he could do was lock the emotions away until an appropriate time. A time that had decided to come at two in the morning.

Fukuzawa felt like crying alongside Ranpo as he listened, heart clenching at knowing that for almost two years, Ranpo had been holding his emotions back because he hadn’t felt safe enough to let them out, not until Fukuzawa had come along and provided him the safe place he’d needed to just break down. But he didn’t. He just sat there and held Ranpo close, one arm providing a firm and reassuring pressure, and the other running through Ranpo’s hair to soothe him.

The sun had been rising by the time that Ranpo had calmed down enough to drift back off to sleep, so Fukuzawa had taken him back to bed and covered the boy in blankets. He wanted nothing more than to join Ranpo in sleep, staying up most of the night providing comfort was tiring apparently, but Fukuzawa had been called for a job, so instead of getting some much needed rest, he’d woken Ranpo enough to tell him he would be gone, but to call if he was needed, and gone to work after Ranpo acknowledged him.

He'd still left a note, just in case Ranpo hadn’t been awake enough to remember what Fukuzawa had told him.

After Ranpo’s breakdown in the bathroom, he’d taken that as the perfect opportunity to open up to Fukuzawa, apparently deeming Fukuzawa worthy of knowing a few things about him—not much, but enough to make Fukuzawa’s life a little easier.

Not that Fukuzawa had been expecting Ranpo to do that, since he’d come home from work and been dragged to the dining table, and having some tea that had been steeped just a little too long shoved at him. Fukuzawa had blinked, but accepted his fate and sat at the table, tea resting in front of him as Ranpo fidgeted across from him. Twenty minutes passed before Ranpo finally spoke. “I can tell now that you aren’t going to throw me out, and because I know that, I want to tell you some things. About me.”

Fukuzawa sipped the tea Ranpo had made for him. “I’m listening.”

Ranpo took a deep breath, clutching a glass of water close to him in order to still his restless hands. “I have issues with sounds and lights, which you already figured out, but they aren’t all.” Ranpo looked up and waited for Fukuzawa to nod before continuing. “It’s… hard to explain, but food and sometimes clothing… are also annoying.”

“Annoying? How do you mean?” Fukuzawa asked. He made sure to give Ranpo his full attention as he spoke, grateful that Ranpo was finally trusting him enough to open up to him. He wanted to understand the boy in his care better, and knew that whatever Ranpo told him would help, he just had to be open minded and listen.

“I dunno.” Ranpo shrugged. “Clothes are easier to deal with I guess; they just need to be soft and not tight. Food is… harder. I can’t really, I dunno, tell you what I can eat and what I can’t eat.”

Fukuzawa hesitated, before carefully speaking. “Is that because of your time on the streets?”

Ranpo nodded once. “It was either eat what I could get, or starve.”

“And that’s why you snack.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, and it was one that had Ranpo nodding.

“Yeah. Snacks are easy, and accessible. And, I appreciate when you cook, but it’s… hard. Right now at least.”

“I understand.” And Fukuzawa did. He didn’t fully understand the reasoning why Ranpo was averse to certain things, and he had a feeling that Ranpo didn’t quite understand either, but he did get why food was difficult for the boy at this point in time; living on the streets for any amount of time was harsh and sometimes cruel, and it one’s next meal wasn’t always a guarantee. And while snacks were easy, like Ranpo said, most were not nutritious enough to be sustainable. “I will stick to simple meals for now; noodles and rice, and you eat what you can.”

“And… what if I can’t eat the meals you cook?” Ranpo asked slowly, dropping his eyes to the table as his hands began to fidget again.

“Then you tell me and we’ll make you something you can eat.” Fukuzawa said.

“Okay.” A pause. “I’m a little hungry now.”

Fukuzawa stood from the table and made his way towards the kitchen. “I’ll cook dinner then. Eggs and rice sound good?”

Ranpo opened his eyes and smiled. “Yeah, sounds great.”

And after those rough couple of days, things were fine.

Until now.

Because it was time to tackle the last thing on his internal checklist; the doctor.

“Breathe, Ranpo. Just breathe.” Fukuzawa placed his hand on Ranpo’s back, feeling the way Ranpo trembled underneath his palm. The doctor’s office was in sight, literally only a few metres away, but Ranpo had taken one look and frozen dead in his tracks, and had been unwilling to move no matter how much Fukuzawa tried to coax him to keep moving. Thankfully, there’d been a bench close by that he’d managed to lead Ranpo to, and now he was just doing his best to try and calm Ranpo down so that they could actually get into the office.

Ranpo took a breath and brought his knees to his chest, hiding his face into them a moment later. “I want to go home, Fukuzawa-san.”

“I know you do.” Fukuzawa sat on the bench next to Ranpo, and frowned when the boy pulled away from him, curling into the corner of the bench to face away from him. He watched Ranpo carefully, trying to understand what he’d done to cause Ranpo—who’d always reacted to physical comfort well from what he’d witnessed—to withdraw when things had finally been getting better between them. There was tension in Ranpo’s entire body, and although his face was turned away, it didn’t take a genius to realize that Ranpo was afraid.

It reminded him of that time in the grocery store when Ranpo had become so overwhelmed he’d lashed out, only instead of lashing out like he had back then, he was withdrawing completely. Only, unlike the grocery store, Fukuzawa didn’t know how to help this time, not when Ranpo had made it clear he didn’t want to be touched.

“Can we please go home?” Ranpo’s hands clutched at the arm of the bench, eyes squeezed shut, and all the air in his lungs leaving in a singular breath.

“You told me not to let you.” Fukuzawa was gentle with his words, reminding Ranpo of their conversation that morning where Ranpo had quietly told him that his fear of the upcoming appointment was more than enough for him to become irrational, and that he would most likely try to convince Fukuzawa to just go back home. They’d sat on the couch for an hour, and Fukuzawa had gone over everything he knew about the office and the doctor; going on to tell Ranpo of his own experiences as a child, because despite it being many, many years ago, he figured the words might help to soothe Ranpo’s fears.

And they had, at least, that’s what Fukuzawa had thought, but apparently he’d been wrong.

“So? I can change my mind. I don’t want to go. I don’t need to go. Let’s just go home, alright?” Ranpo’s grip tightened as he grew more anxious.

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa said. “Take a breath for me.”

Ranpo did.

“Another.”

A deeper breath this time. Ranpo’s hands loosened.

“Again.”

This breath relieved the tension in Ranpo’s shoulders and very slowly, the boy turned to face him, lifting his head to meet Fukuzawa’s eyes, his own flicking open.

“Do you feel better?” Fukuzawa asked.

Ranpo nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry though.”

Fukuzawa reached over with his hand and held it out, leaving it up to Ranpo to decide if he wanted the extra support or not. Ranpo eyed his hand carefully before he slid across the bench and threw himself against Fukuzawa, much like he had the night at the warehouse, only this time, there were no tears involved. And this time, Fukuzawa knew what he was supposed to do, and wrapped his own arms around Ranpo’s tiny frame. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“You’re just trying to help me, and I’m not making it easy.”

Fukuzawa gave Ranpo a reassuring squeeze. “It does not bother me. You are frightened for a reason, and that is fine. If you wish to tell me what scares you so—”

“I don’t.” Ranpo interrupted, pulling away from the embrace, some of that earlier tension returning. “And you can’t make me tell you.”

“I have no intention of making you tell me.” Fukuzawa raised an eyebrow and stood. “Forcing you to tell me would be counterproductive and do more harm than good. I simply trust that in time, you may trust me enough to tell me, but even if you don’t ever tell me, I will continue to support you as best I can with what I do know.”

Ranpo ducked his head and mumbled. “I do trust you…”

“Not fully. We have only known each other for two weeks, Ranpo, and while you may trust me enough to tell me some things about yourself—which I am grateful for—I do not expect you to trust me enough to divulge everything you haven’t yet told me.” Fukuzawa explained, not quite sure if he was making much sense, but if there was anyone that would understand the point he was trying to convey, it was the teenage genius sitting in front of him.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Ranpo nodded and stood. “Okay. Thank you. You know, for not pushing me.”

Fukuzawa nodded and took a step towards the doctor’s clinic, relieved when Ranpo fell into step behind him. The boy was quiet, and remained quiet as they entered the building, only stepping closer to Fukuzawa and grabbing onto his sleeve with a death grip. And he was still quiet as Fukuzawa spoke to the receptionist, and when they took a seat in the quietest part of the waiting room. There were only a few other people in the waiting room with them, which Fukuzawa had expected, considering he’d made the appointment for the end of the day; it was a small attempt to make Ranpo feel more comfortable in an already uncomfortable environment.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Fukuzawa asked.

Ranpo shook his head. “I can do it on my own.”

“Alright.” And just as he’d said that, a nurse stepped out of the room and called for Ranpo, the teen jerking in his seat beside him. Fukuzawa placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’ll be right here if you do need me, okay?”

Ranpo nodded, and slowly shuffled off after the nurse, disappearing into one of the rooms. Fukuzawa watched the door with focused eyes, worried that Ranpo had been putting on a brave face and that he’d only rejected Fukuzawa’s offer to not feel like he was being a burden. But there was a feeling deep inside him that said that wasn’t the case at all; when Ranpo had walked past him, there’d been a look to his eyes, one that Fukuzawa had seen before but not been able to place at the time. And he still couldn’t, but it wasn’t a coincidence to see the same haunted look twice… right?

Fukuzawa fought the urge to get up and start pacing as the time ticked by and there was no sign of Ranpo emerging—it’d only been perhaps ten minutes, but still—yet somehow, he managed to stay in his seat, still as stone as he tuned out his surroundings. The other people in the waiting room went to their own appointments and left, and soon enough, it was just Fukuzawa and the receptionists left in the vicinity.

Worry was starting to grow within him, because the few doctors appointments he’d been to as a child himself, had never gone on for more than a few minutes, no matter how sick or injured he’d been when dragged there by his parents. Although… Fukuzawa had never been forced to live on the streets at any point in his life, so it was highly likely that the doctor was just making sure that Ranpo was okay. Fukuzawa took a breath to try and clear the worry from his mind; it’d only been two weeks and already, he was worrying about Ranpo like he’d known the kid for years.

A door opened and Fukuzawa stood just in time to catch Ranpo in his arms, the boy burrowing himself into his yukata in an attempt to hide. Fukuzawa doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Ranpo to hide him further, lifting his head to meet the eyes of the doctor Ranpo had been speaking to. The doctor is young, and has a kind face, so Fukuzawa was at a bit of a loss as to why Ranpo’s clinging to him like his world has just ended.

“You must be Ranpo’s guardian.” The doctor stopped in front of him, keeping a respectable distance, yet still exuding a friendly aura as she hands him a piece of paper. “Aside from being deficient in several vitamin’s and underweight, Ranpo is quite healthy, considering he’s been living on the streets for as long as he told me.”

Ranpo’s grip tightened, and Fukuzawa moved one of his arms so that his sleeves were almost ensconcing Ranpo entirely. The other arm reached out to take the paper that had the names of some vitamins scrawled onto it, along with a few other things that Fukuzawa would look into later. The doctor continued on, “I’ve written down some supplements that I recommend Ranpo start taking to try and get his levels back up, which you can get at pretty much any pharmacy, and then in, let’s say… three months, come back and we’ll see if he’s doing any better and if we need to do anything more.”

“Okay.” Fukuzawa gently toyed with Ranpo’s hair as the boy tensed further. He wasn’t particularly fond of talking about Ranpo as if he wasn’t right there listening—if he even was in the first place—to them do so, but it also didn’t look like Ranpo would react well at all if they even gave the slightest inclination of trying to include him. Still, Fukuzawa was reluctant as he asked, “And what about the underweight part? How can I help with that?”

“With time and patience mostly, but if you can get the kid eating regular meals, then he’ll put on weight.” The doctor explained. “Any concerns, you can call the office and they’ll put you straight through to me, but if there’s nothing else, I’ll see you back here in three months.”

“Thank you.” Fukuzawa guided Ranpo out of the building quickly once the doctor returned to her office, and crouched before the boy once they had gained some distance. “What’s wrong, Ranpo?”

Thin arms wrap around his neck, and Ranpo buries his face into the crook of Fukuzawa’s neck; he understands immediately what is being asked of him despite Ranpo not saying anything, and lifts the teen into his arms and began to set off for home. “What’s wrong?” He repeated.

“Nothing.” The words are croaked into his neck, and Fukuzawa could feel tears beginning to fall against his skin. Ranpo sniffed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright. But I’m here if you do, okay?”

Ranpo nodded, and the rest of the walk home was filled with silence, only broken by the occasional noise that Ranpo let out as he quietly cried. Fukuzawa tried his best not to worry, and focused on soothing Ranpo instead, but he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened with the doctor to make Ranpo feel this way.

Whatever it was, he didn’t like it.

Fukuzawa sat next to Ranpo’s futon, a book in one hand while the other ran through Ranpo’s hair. He wasn’t really paying attention to what he was reading, no matter how much he forced himself to try and read more than the same few sentences over and over again. But he couldn’t focus, not when Ranpo was still so upset. The teen was asleep now, curled up underneath his blankets with his face hidden; when they’d arrived home, Fukuzawa had put Ranpo down, only for the boy to collapse and break entirely. For twenty minutes, they’d sat there on the floor in the entryway, Fukuzawa just holding Ranpo and shushing him gently as he cried. But for twenty minutes, Ranpo had continued to cry until the exhaustion became too much and he’d passed out in his arms.

So, he’d taken Ranpo to bed, and tucked him in before sitting beside him, ready to keep watch until Ranpo woke just so the kid didn’t have to wake up alone wondering where he’d gone. And so far, it’d been just over two hours; the sun had set and Fukuzawa knew he should get up and cook something, but he just couldn’t bring himself to, not until he knew Ranpo would be okay. And even then, he wouldn’t let Ranpo out of his sight.

He paused in his ministrations when he felt Ranpo stir underneath his palm and just waited. Ranpo curled up as he struggled back into the waking world, before his eyes blinked open, revealing those green eyes to the world. Fukuzawa was patient as Ranpo tried to gain his bearings, the teen looking around the room, and at him before he resorted to staring at his lap, eyes slipping shut.

Fukuzawa stood. “I am about to get started on dinner, Ranpo. Would you like something in particular?”

Ranpo shook his head. “’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure?” Fukuzawa frowned, the worry that had never truly faded since arriving back at home, returning in full force, especially after the doctor had told him he was supposed to be trying to get Ranpo to eat proper meals again. When Ranpo didn’t answer him, Fukuzawa continued to try getting Ranpo to agree to eat. “I believe I may have some apples. I’ll cut one up for you.”

Still, Ranpo said nothing, and Fukuzawa quietly left the bedroom, leaving the door cracked open while he quickly moved to the kitchen to do as he’d said. While he sliced the apple—just one, like he’d said—he tried to grapple with this new situation he’d found himself in. Ranpo’s silence reminded him of those few days after he’d taken the boy in, where Ranpo hadn’t quite believed that Fukuzawa was going to keep him around; only this time, it felt like a completely different kind of silence, one that didn’t promise anything good.

Once Fukuzawa had cut up the apple and placed it on a plate, he returned to the room and knelt beside Ranpo, coaxing the boy into sitting up. “Take as long as you need, but try to eat it all if you can.”

Ranpo just stared at the plate, before he picked up a slice and nibbled on it.

Fukuzawa felt himself breathe a little easier in that moment.

And that was when the proverbial shit hit the fan.

Five days. That was all it took for everything Fukuzawa thought he knew about Ranpo to become completely and utterly useless. In just five, short days, all the work Fukuzawa had put into learning how to be an effective parental figure for Ranpo over the last couple of months was completely undone, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to fix it.

The first issue was Ranpo’s complete lack of appetite. Gone was the boy who snacked all day; now Ranpo refused to eat anything, no matter how much Fukuzawa tried to convince the boy to eat something, anything. The best he’d been able to do was get Ranpo to eat half an apple, and that had been on the second day, but he still continued to try, leaving apples and other fruits on a plate next to Ranpo’s futon in the small hope that Ranpo would eat at least a little bit. But, it didn’t work, and Ranpo began to lose weight he didn’t have to spare, and Fukuzawa grew more worried.

The second issue was that Ranpo had stopped sleeping, or if he even did get to sleep, it was restless and poor. Several times, Fukuzawa had woken up to find Ranpo awake and on the couch, tired eyes focused on the television, and none of those times had he managed to convince the boy to go back to his futon and attempt to get some rest. The first night it’d happened, Fukuzawa hadn’t known, although he had noticed the eyebags that slowly got worse the more time passed. Now, on the fourth and fifth nights, Fukuzawa had sat at the dining table, just watching Ranpo and providing him with some company. No words were ever said, and Ranpo never told him to leave, but he never seemed to acknowledge Fukuzawa either.

The third issue was the fear. And admittedly, it was the hardest for Fukuzawa to manage, because anytime he tried to approach Ranpo to try and find out what was wrong and whether he could help, Ranpo just froze, and that haunted look emerged from whatever dark corner of Ranpo’s mind it originated from before the boy was fleeing from him, leaving Fukuzawa to stand there awkwardly wondering just what it was that he’d done wrong. There was a feeling, deep inside him, that told him that it wasn’t actually him that Ranpo was suddenly afraid of, but something or someone else that he didn’t know about. And he didn’t know which one scared him more.

With each issue just piling on top of the others, it wasn’t a surprise when Ranpo fell ill. Fukuzawa woke up on the sixth day to find Ranpo curled up in the bathtub of all places, face flushed red from fever, with the shower spraying his body.

“Oh Ranpo…” He sighed, running a hand down his face before reaching over to turn the shower off so to stop the boy from giving himself hypothermia or, even worse, drowning himself. Ranpo shivered the moment the water stopped, and subconsciously curled into a ball. Fukuzawa didn’t hesitate to pluck Ranpo from the tub, ignoring the way that water dripped from sodden clothes onto the floor and carried the teen back to their shared room with the intention of getting Ranpo into some dry clothing and tucked into his bed. He only managed to get as far as undoing the first few buttons of Ranpo’s sleepshirt before Ranpo’s eyes flew open and he was promptly shoved away by the boy.

“Get away from me! Don’t touch me!” Ranpo scrambled to get away, going until his back pressed against the wall where he continued to shake and stare at Fukuzawa with pure, unadulterated fear.

Fukuzawa frowned and stepped forward to place a calming hand on Ranpo’s shoulder, only realizing his mistake too late. “Ranpo, it’s just me. I’m trying to—”

A tiny fist collided with Fukuzawa’s nose and he recoiled immediately, bring a hand to clutch at it. Ranpo curled up, and screamed at him. “Don’t touch me!”

Fukuzawa took a step back and blinked away the tears that had formed from being hit; Ranpo might not have held much power in that punch of his, but he’d landed it in just the right spot to make it really hurt. Once he could see clearly, he began to lower his hands, before thinking better and raising both of them so that they were visible to Ranpo. It was clear that Ranpo was spooked, and spooked bad, so he was willing to do anything to help lessen that fear no matter what it took. He slowly fell into a kneel a respectable distance from Ranpo. “You’re safe, Ranpo. Safe.”

Ranpo shook his head and pressed himself further into the wall. The movement caused his shirt to slip down and Fukuzawa froze.

A scar, long healed but still new, located on Ranpo’s shoulder, but that wasn’t what caused Fukuzawa’s dread. It was the fact that the scar was in the shape of human teeth that had Fukuzawa wanting to hunt down whoever had dared to leave such a mark and eviscerate them, leaving their corpse so unrecognizable that not even Ranpo would be able to solve it. Fukuzawa paused as realization dawned on him, gaining a little more understanding as to why Ranpo was so untrusting of others. Why he’d been so unsure about Fukuzawa’s intentions of taking him in.

And why, after an innocent visit to the doctor, was so scared of him.

The only issue is, while he has a better understanding, it still doesn’t help him understand how to help Ranpo now, not when he doesn’t know the whole story, and he knows that Ranpo will mostly likely never tell him; had probably never ever intended to tell him in the first place. Fukuzawa took a breath and shuffled backwards that little bit further, hands still raised until he sat cross legged and rested them—palms up—against his knees. “Ranpo. Can you look at me, please?”

Ranpo lifted his head just enough from where he was curled up, his eyes hazy from the fever, but still focused on him.

“I’m going to stand, and grab you a towel and some clothes to change into. Then I am going to leave the room. I will wait outside until you are ready for me to come back in. Okay?” Fukuzawa watched Ranpo carefully, doing his best to keep his expression calm. He could see Ranpo thinking, or trying to at least, despite the fever and exhaustion that was clouding the boys mind.

Finally, Ranpo nodded.

Fukuzawa kept his movements as he stood, leaving the room momentarily to grab a towel before he returned to the room. He made sure to move just as slow as he crossed over to the singular wardrobe and pulled out Ranpo’s most comfortable clothes, and carefully placed the clothes and towel in front of Ranpo without getting too close before backing away. And, still moving slowly, he left the room, taking care to shut the door behind him.

He’s just a boy. A child, and someone dared to leave such a mark. He sighed and slid down the wall, burying his face into his hands as he focused on just breathing and calming down from this newest discovery. Because for six days, he’d been so focused on trying to take care of Ranpo that he’d neglected to take care of himself and only just now, he realized just how much it was affecting him. Fukuzawa was exhausted, right down to his bones. It wasn’t an exhaustion like any other, brought on by all the stress and worry that he’d been doing because of Ranpo’s condition. But he tried to push that exhaustion away, because right now, Ranpo needed him at the top of his game, which meant that there wasn’t time for him to fall apart.

Not yet anyway.

The door cracked open after an hour, and Fukuzawa’s head shot up so fast from the light doze he’d found himself in, and stared into Ranpo’s eyes. There were many emotions running across Ranpo’s face right now; fear, uncertainty, acceptance, but mostly fear. Fukuzawa threw the boy a soft smile with the intent of making himself appear as less of a threat. As if I’d ever harm Ranpo in the way that someone else even dared to. If I ever find out who did that, I’ll use my sword on them. “If you’d like, we can keep the door between us for now.”

Ranpo shrugged, and the door opened a little wider. An invitation. “You saw.”

“I did.” Fukuzawa made no attempt to get up and enter the room.

Ranpo fidgeted uneasily.

“How about I grab some medicine for that fever of yours, and then—”

“You aren’t going to ask?” Ranpo interrupted, hands clutching at the door in a white knuckled grip. He was afraid, scared of being forced to talk about it before he was ready to.

“I want to help you.” Fukuzawa began, rising to his feet slowly. “So I would like to ask you about it. But, I am aware that is probably something incredibly traumatic and hard to talk about, so I will not force you to talk. I will never force you, Ranpo.”

Ranpo let go of the door and disappeared inside of the room, and Fukuzawa made a quick stop to the kitchen to grab some fever medicine and water before also entering. Ranpo was sitting on his futon, arms wrapped around his legs and the hood of the hoodie he was wearing pulled over his head. The boy continued to shake, but it was no longer from cold, but from the coming conversation. Fukuzawa knelt on his own futon and held out a couple of pills and the water. “For your fever.” He explained when Ranpo stared at them.

Ranpo nodded and swallowed the medicine. A silence fell between the two of them, and Fukuzawa waited for Ranpo to be the first to say something. “The doctor made me remember things. About life before you and I met. Bad things.”

“I see. So that is why you’ve been unwell?” Fukuzawa asked.

“Yeah.” Ranpo admitted, and tightened his grip on himself. “I don’t want to tell you about it, but… you’ve been trying to help me without knowing what’s wrong, and, so, you deserve to know.”

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa waited for the teen to lift his head and look at him. “I only want you to tell me if it what you want to do. Not because you feel like you have to tell me.”

Ranpo ducked his head again. “It’s not like you haven’t been able to figure out part of it at least.”

Fukuzawa nodded, because had figure out part of it, but he also didn’t want to assume anything in case he was completely off base, but from Ranpo’s words alone, it appeared his initial thoughts had been correct—as much as he’d wanted them to not be true in the first place. “Then if you want to tell me, I will listen. Would you like to be hugged?”

He watched as Ranpo thought about it before he shuffled over to wrap his arms around Fukuzawa and hide his face into his yukata, letting out a shaky breath. Fukuzawa waited a moment to return the embrace, first laying a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder to make sure that the boy was actually comfortable with being touched before he hugged Ranpo tight. Ranpo tensed underneath him, but relaced into the hug after a moment.

“Winter’s harsh in Yokohama, especially when you have to spend it sleeping in the warmest alleyway you can find.” Ranpo whispered after a moment, although in the silence encompassing the room, it was the loudest sound in existence. “Well, street life is hard in general, you know, lack of food and friends, and there’s a lot of mean people who are also in the same boat as you, but winter is the hardest because you are always cold, and a lot of people die. No one is kind during winter.”

Fukuzawa hummed to show he was listening.

“But you know… I’m a young boy that just so happens to look pretty… pretty enough to attract attention.” Ranpo shuddered in the embrace, and Fukuzawa ran a hand down his back to soothe him. “I saw another street kid once. He went with some rich guy and came back dressed in in proper winter clothes. He was pretty too, so I gave it a try because I was cold and hungry.”

Ranpo stopped talking, and Fukuzawa had to fight to keep himself still, his heart pounding in his chest the longer that Ranpo spoke.

“I just didn’t realize what I’d have to do to get the nice things.”

Fukuzawa couldn’t stop himself from holding Ranpo just that little tighter, struggling to come to terms with how despicable some humans could be. Since the war, the amount of homeless youth had increased drastically, so he wasn’t surprised to learn that some of them had had to resort to such measures just to survive, but to learn that Ranpo was one such youth… it hurt more than it had to see a gun trained on the boy back at the warehouse the day they’d first met. He wished that he could go back in time to protect the boy from ever having to offer himself up just to get food, but he couldn’t. All he could do was listen, and help Ranpo now. “You should never have gone through that. You are just a child, and someone dared to take advantage of that.”

“Yeah, well, it happened. Can’t really change that. It’s not that bad really, all I have is a scar.” Ranpo shrugged, but despite the boys dismissive words, Fukuzawa could feel his yukata starting to get suspiciously damp, so he held Ranpo closer.

“No, we can’t change it, no matter how much we would like to.” Fukuzawa murmured. “But I promise you, that it will never happen again. You are safe here, Ranpo, safe with me, and if we ever run into the person who took advantage of you, he will regret ever doing so in the first place.”

His words caused Ranpo to laugh, and the boy pulled away to wipe his eyes with his sleeves. Ranpo didn’t say anything, but the relief on his face was enough evidence to tell Fukuzawa just how the boy was feeling. And Fukuzawa himself felt relieved after hearing Ranpo laugh, to know that despite all the pain and stress he’d been going through these last six days with the memories he’d been reliving, that there was still hope of him being able to overcome it.

Out of all the things he’d learnt about Ranpo so far, this wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

He just hoped that it would be the worst of what he could possibly learn.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd fanfic #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #dad fukuzawa #fukudad #hurt/comfort #comfort #angst #writing #fanfiction

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