Ranpo’s world was bounded within the penthouse Dazai bought for him. From the password locked doors to the bulletproof glass, it is clear where his place was set to be: within and hidden away from the world.

Free food, free shelter, free clothes, free entertainment, free medical services—anything and everything that he wishes will be available at his fingertips if he so desires. The single thing asked from him is to stay. Freedom, is a small thing to ask for in return for a life as luxurious as this.

Hate is not a word Ranpo would use to describe the situation he is living in. This is a life that many dream to have.

Freedom is a small price to pay to not be like dirt on the ground and sick whilst praying for a next meal will be on the streets; it is a small price to pay to not be a prey.

“Ranpo-san~” The front door unlocks with sounds of a beep. “I’ve came to visit again~” Not moving at all from the couch, Ranpo glances up from his gaming switch to see Dazai walking in with two bags filled with treats.

Dazai walks closer and drops the bags onto the coffee table—unnecessarily expensive, as Ranpo would remember it to be—“I’ve got you the newest limited flavor chips and candies!” The anticipation sparkling in Dazai’s eyes are hard to ignore, like a kid waiting to be praised.

“That’s a given.” Ranpo drops aside the switch in hand and opens his arms, like he has done countless times before.

Dazai jumps into them, nuzzling against Ranpo’s neck. “Mmmhm!”

Like a cat, Ranpo’s mind drifts as his hand moves to Dazai’s fluffy brown hair, brushing it through his fingers.“If you keep this habit up, Mori-san will come to hate me.

“Who cares about him anyway?” Dazai holds himself up with his hands on Ranpo’s shoulder. “I want to give Ranpo-san the best!”

“You are procrastinating your missions whenever you come to me.” Ranpo shifts his position on the couch, taking the gaming switch back into his hands. “What if he takes this life away from me once you successfully die? After all, he’s still your boss.”

“Untrue! I work hard and go on those annoying missions all the time for Ranpo-san!” The younger boy huffs, “If he really dares to, I will simply have to take Mori-san’s authorities as mine.”

Ranpo nods the statement off, and focuses on controlling his character on the screen. Dazai angles his head to see Ranpo’s face from below, moving in closer with the passing second.

A phone rings stops Dazai from moving in any closer. “Awww, Ranpo-san, this is why we shouldn’t talk about Mori-san… I’m being called back for child labor now...” Dazai lets out a long, exaggerated sigh as he hangs up on the call without answering.

Instead, Dazai plants a kiss in Ranpo’s hair. “I’ll visit you again soon.” Tugging on his oversized black coat, he reaches the door before he remembers something else: “Ah—Ranpo-san, I’ll bring you a surprise next time, so be good and don’t run away, okay?”

Dazai’s phone rings again, and this time it is picked up. The door clinks as it locks again, shutting the voice behind it.

On the game switch, Ranpo’s character falls off from an edge, earning him a defeated “Game Over”. Shifting his attention from the game, Ranpo’s eyes fell on the wall of windows, falling from the ceiling to the floor. Through them, there were no cloud or birds in sight, but the setting sun and its colors dips almost every corner of the penthouse a deep, bleeding orange red.

What a terrible joke. Run? Where can Ranpo run to? Run back onto the streets or a home that no longer exists?

Losing interest in the game at hand, he drops the switch and picks up the T.V remote. Ranpo opens the T.V and settles into the couch, wrapping a blanket around himself. Dazai should not take long on his assignment. Half a show’s season worth of time, yes, that should be just enough time for the mission Dazai is currently on. If he dares to take any longer than that, then Ranpo will—the T.V blinks to life and Ranpo turns the volume up, till it is slightly too loud for comfort to think any further—then Ranpo will simply have to wait.

His shadow, stretched by the setting dusk, stays the only other proof of life in the vast and solitary penthouse. Until Dazai returns, Ranpo can only wait in this place he tries to fill up with life alone.

-

Maybe, it was set in stone from the start.

Of course, Dazai couldn’t offer him such a pampered life like this from the start. He was a young boy the day he found Ranpo, whom was just as young, and all battered and bruised laying against an alley with trash and rats littered all around.

Ranpo might have been on the edge of death, or at least it felt like it. Burning skin, cold sweat, dry lips, dirtied clothes, flies hovering around nipping, picking at him. Was he dead? Was he close to dead? He tried to keep his eyes open, head cleared, but his head was nodding off on its own, and his eyes were somehow dry and wet at the same time, and wavering under the temptation of the darkness.

A pair of hands held his head up, and something was wrapped around it, but that didn’t stop the hands feeling cool against Ranpo’s burning skin. He leaned his face into them, a touch this gentle was something Ranpo had not felt since…since…

He urged to open his eyes wider, who was holding him? A blurred figure with messy brown hair and half bandaged pair of amber eyes, was saying something. What was it? The sun was too blinding and the world couldn’t stop spinning. He could barely hear anything anymore.

“…—Ranpo-san—…” was all Ranpo caught onto as he was huddled closer into those cold pair of arms.

This is dangerous, he thought, the gears in his mind didn’t stop even given the wretched condition his body was in. He was falling unconscious in the arms of someone who seemed to know more about Ranpo than Ranpo knew of them.

Yet, his body instinctively curled up toward the stranger. A natural inclination beyond control, leeching onto what the body thinks would be the best chance at survival. His body was falling apart against his will, so dying here or in the arms of someone unknown wouldn’t matter. Falling deeper into nothingness, his mind was finally forced to a stop.

“Ranpo-san…” the young mafioso cradling him repeated again, face pressed into his hair despite the grim. “Ranpo-san, Ranpo-san…”

When Ranpo awaken, he was laying on a couch adjacent to a traditional auburn office desk topped with a layer of dust and a couple of scattered papers. Behind it was the only illumination in the room: a backdrop of windows span from the ceiling to the floor, and it locked behind the world beyond. It was an early morning, early enough that the sun wasn’t nearly up yet.

“Good morning Ranpo-san,” an upbeat voice from behind greeted. “You’ve been sleeping for 36 hours—almost two whole days!”

Ranpo turned his head to the voice, nearly headbutting the boy with how close he was in Ranpo’s face. “You—” He backed away a little, “You have a rather empty and unused office for a Port Mafia executive.”

The boy didn’t seem surprised at all that Ranpo knew of his identity without asking.“I don’t stay here often. How awful is it to stay cooped up in here with all the boring paper works?” He jumped over the back of the sofa to sit beside Ranpo, his hands trailing from Ranpo’s hair down to his hands.“Anyway, how do you feel? I made sure Mori-san didn’t inject you with anything weird, but he’s such a creep, so who knows?”

The boy knew him, not just his name. “How do you know me?” It was a weird feeling to be the one asking questions, but it was also incredibly fascinating and refreshing to speak with someone Ranpo couldn’t immediately decipher. So much so, it overwhelmed the common cautionary of stranger danger.

“I’m Dazai, Dazai Osamu,” the boy replied with a smile.

Ranpo couldn’t see through it as he normally could. But, upon closer inspection, maybe it was good that Ranpo couldn’t see through someone like him. if he did would it mean that Ranpo had fell to the same wavelength as a total weirdo? Wearing a bandage around his eye even though his vision was perfectly fine…injured face and arm even though his skills of martial arts was more than enough to protect himself… No matter how Ranpo looked at it, the Port Mafia definitely found an especially quirky one.

Holding his chin in hand, Dazai mused,“You weren’t supposed to be there though.” Taking hold of Ranpo’s wrist, feeling around for the bone, he continued, more mumbling to himself than talking to Ranpo, “15? 16? Ranpo-san is younger in this world too, we are the same age here.”

Ranpo’s mind ran, he could tell that Dazai was by no means an idiot. Yet the very least, there seemed to be a whole bank of otherworldly information that the boy in front of his eyes had access to and Ranpo didn’t. In other words, if Ranpo is unable to collect any other information in the current state, any other attempts at deduction would be useless. What was more important, was that Dazai had no ill intentions, and if anything, Ranpo would dare to say it’s actually closer to…a peculiar interest?

“Hm, I see, Ranpo-san isn’t a lucky child in this world either!” Dazai concluded his mini-examination. “So—” he grabbed both of Ranpo’s bands into his, but before he could continue his words, Ranpo interrupted.

“Sure,” Ranpo said, “but it wasn’t like you were actually going to give me a choice to begin with, so pretending to ask seems extra.”

“How could Ranpo-san say such a thing! I didn’t even say anything yet!” the boy playfully defended himself, holding Ranpo’s hands closer to his chest. “But, I knew Ranpo-san would come to an easy agreement with me. Ranpo-san is the smartest after all!”

“Mhmmhm.” Easily pleased by the compliment—a pleasant change from the days on the streets—Ranpo retracted his hands from the young boy, and pointed at the inner pockets of Dazai’s coat. “So put away the ropes, handcuff and the sedative you have there.”

“These were just in case,” the mafioso grinned, throwing all the items hidden within his coat onto the floor. “I’m simply a very prepared person, you see?”

“Then you should know that if you want to keep me like a pet in a cage, it would take a lot to keep me satisfied.”

“Ah, that is such a depressing way to put it, Ranpo-san,” the boy pouted, “Let’s just say that I am providing you a...” He pointed at himself, “…a home, if you will.”

“People usually call a ‘home’ that they cannot leave a prison,” Ranpo commented.

The young mafia executive shrugged with a curve on his lips. “It’s all about perspective, don’t you think?”

Dawn rose from behind the empty leather chair barely ever used. How tall is Port Mafia building, Ranpo wondered, watching the light just barely peaking through the chair blocking it. He could also see birds soaring through the sky, in packs, in pairs, and alone.

Tall enough to watch the birds soar through the sky. The price of freedom.

-

Life was easier after that. No longer does hunger claw at Ranpo’s stomach, no longer do bruises or cuts decorate his body; Ranpo’s hair became softer, shinier, and he finally gained some meat on his bones, no longer looking like a scrawny little boy. He was more or less healthy again, at least better than when he was living on the streets thanks to the personalized meals and chef.

Or, in other words, thanks to Dazai.

Dazai, was not a hardworking employee by any means, but he did start staying in his office more often as it also became where Ranpo stayed. Words spread out in the mafia that Dazai was keeping someone by his side, and so every subordinates that entered the office glanced at Ranpo with poorly hidden curiosity. Ranpo never paid it much attention, and Dazai never allowed them to look at him for more than a few seconds. Ranpo never look back either, never interested in who was looking, but under that, he knew it was the better choice to do.

Dazai still escaped work from time to time. Sometimes to find rivers to jump in, other times buying the newest limited sweet treats for Ranpo, or simply strolling around. At first, it didn’t bother Ranpo much, he would even let some subordinate that were delivering some paper works into the office a few times. However, that soon turned into them asking Ranpo for Dazai’s whereabouts whenever the executive could not be found in the Port Mafia’s building. Once was fine, twice was a little annoying, third time was pushing it, and by the fourth time it happened, Ranpo completely shut the subordinates outside the office.

It wasn’t until the boss of Port Mafia personally came knocking on the doors that Ranpo realized that maybe he should’ve just dealt with the peeving subordinates. He should’ve known the day wasn’t going to be peaceful from the moment his ramune delivery came a few minutes later than usual, with flavors that he usually does not order.

“Ranpo-kun…was it?” The tall man stood a distance away from him, followed by a strange blonde young lady.

“Oh, its the old doctor.” Ranpo opened a bottle of mango flavored ramune. “That’s an outdated title, it’s Mr. Old Boss Man now, right?”

“I see you are doing well.” Mori eyed the half-finished bag of chips beside small stacks of mystery comics and nonfiction books, all scattered across the floor amid candy wrappers around the bean bag sofa where Ranpo sat, right next to the overbearing windows. “It is oddly fascinating how Dazai-kun is taking such…care of you. I would have never guessed he had a side like this to himself.”

“You’re not here to talk about Dazai.” Ranpo toyed with the soda’s cap, not taking a sip yet. “You’re here because you are curious about me, but I’m not interested. I won’t work for the Port Mafia because it is all boring work, but even if I do agree, Dazai won’t, and you’ll be losing more than you could gain.”

Mori didn’t falter, and instead, his eyes sparkled. “Ranpo-kun is indeed a bright child like I thought. You pose valid points, but I must ask, are you truly content with being sheltered like this? Your brightness could do so much more than playing the role of a caged bird.”

Ranpo cocked his head as small memories flashes by with all the times Dazai came to him asking for help, because “Ranpo-san can solve it quicker!” And while all the pretty compliments Dazai sang did made Ranpo feel good about himself, it was also incredibly—

“I’ve seen the work you assigned to Dazai, they are all so boring! What good will some busy work do for me?”

—incredibly—

“And I don’t want to work with idiots. If they can’t even find Dazai, how will they be efficient under me?”

—reminding. Reminding of what he could do, when he couldn’t do it anymore. But Ranpo was fine with it, he thought. It made everything so, so boring, but when Dazai’s around it was a bit better so it was fine.

Ranpo finally took a sip of his drink.

“Fair enough. It is unfortunate that not everyone is as gifted as you and Dazai-kun,” agreed the older man, with scrutinizing eyes. “So I have to wonder, why are you willingly poisoning yourself as you are now? It won’t do any good for your body that is just getting better. ”

Despite what the doctor had said, Ranpo drank some more, and then with an innocent grin on his face, Ranpo advised, “You should go, Mr. Boss man. He’ll be back soon.”

“I see,” Mori nodded. “What an intriguing dynamic between the two of you. Well then, my offer still stands. The Port Mafia will benefit greatly with your brightness. We, could be so much more.”

A simple sound of reaction from Ranpo, and the boy picked right up one of the mystery comics from the stack on the ground.

Mori opened the door to leave, revealing Dazai standing behind it. “Oh, what a great timing Dazai-kun, I was just about to look for you. We’ll have a meeting in about 2 hours, I trust I will see you there.” His eyes curved into a friendly smile, like a caring teacher. “You really have to start answering your phones you know, you worry us too much.”

“Sure,” Dazai replied lightly, but his eyes glared at Mori. “But Mori-san and those underlings are so pestering that I can’t help but get sick of it.”

“Now that is no way to speak to your boss Dazai-kun—”

Not wanting to listen any longer, the young executive looped around, running right into the office, shutting the door right in Mori’s face.

A sigh escaped Mori as he walked away to his own office. “…Elise-chan, kids these days are getting harder to manage aren’t they?”

The young blonde trailed along. “Your heart is in the right place, doctor.”

-

“Ranpo-san, did you miss me while I was gone?” Dazai skipped over to Ranpo.

Ranpo flipped a page, not sparing a gaze at Dazai.

“Ranpo-san?” Dazai placed an arm on each side, completely confining Ranpo within his reach.

Ranpo turned away, refusing to look at him.

Dazai noted the scattered candy wrappers, finished bags of snacks, and a finished ramune bottle. He pushed over the empty bottle with his finger. “Ranpo-san——”

“Next time one of yours comes to me four days in a row because they couldn’t find you—”

Dazai raised an eyebrow at the incoming threat. “You’ll?”

Ranpo gripped the novel in hand and turned away.

“Eh?! Ranpo-san that’s too cruellllll.” Dazai crashed a hug on Ranpo, the latter not reacting at all. “I was doing important stuff! See?” He picked up the tablet on his office desk, showing Ranpo a catalog of furniture, each piece costing up to multiple figures for a single item. “Tadaaaa!”

“You’re moving me out.”

“Ranpo-san, perspective, perspective!” Dazai wiped away a fake tears in his eyes.

“But you are.” Ranpo reached for the tablet, setting aside the comic in hand.

“Relocating! I’ve been searching hard and long for the best place possible! This office is too small of a place for you, and there’s always a chance of an enemy raid at the Port Mafia base.” Dazai handed the tablet to Ranpo. “For safety reasons, it is best if Ranpo-san have a place to stay outside of the Port Mafia.”

“You don’t want me to see anyone else.” Which was a funny thing, because Ranpo barely get see anyone besides Dazai consistently anyway.

“For safety reasons!” Dazai didn’t meet Ranpo’s eyes as he repeated those words again.

A cough escaped Ranpo’s throat.

“Hm? Is it too cold here, Ranpo-san?” Amber eyes peered over to examine Ranpo’s expression.

Ranpo didn’t return the gaze.

“I’ll turn the AC down,” Dazai tapped at the tablet again, but instead of lowering the AC, he turned it higher, making it only colder. Ranpo had no option but to lean into Dazai’s body.

A grin could not be hidden on Dazai’s face as he held Ranpo closer. “Anyway, let’s decorate your new home!”

Sat within Dazai’s arms, Ranpo scrolled through the catalog. Vintage paintings, lights, tables, chairs, sofas, and more, all with variation from colors to materials. Ranpo could not be more uninterested. There was no difference between picking new furniture and decorating a new cage with his very own hands.

He raised a hand to cover his mouth, this time like the linings of his organs were on the verge of spilling out.

Dazai pointed at a couch on the screen. “What do you think about this coach—Ranpo-san?” His eyes widened, words half stuck in his throat at the sight before him.

Sticky, dark red dripped through Ranpo’s hands, spattering onto the tablet, right onto the screen. Ranpo stared at the crimson on his hands, unfazed. His head tilted over to meet Dazai’s eyes.

Dazai grasped his wrists, tainting his own hands with Ranpo’s blood. “—Ranpo-san—”

What a confusing blend of emotions brewing in those round, pretty brown eyes?

Calling him “Ranpo-san”, even though they're both the same age. Who was he seeing through Ranpo? Or would a better question be, what was he seeing through Ranpo? What reality, or possibility, or world, did he see through Ranpo, to have “Ranpo-san” roll off his tongue so sweetly and delicately?

Ranpo suppressed another cough down.

“No.” Dazai’s voice faded in and out of Ranpo’s conscious. Dotted grains were appearing in his vision, and it was getting harder to breathe—was Ranpo even breathing anymore? It didn’t hurt though, everything felt murky, and hazy, like a heavy fog enveloping him into an embrace. His body weight fall into Dazai’s arms, his head dropping against Dazai’s shoulder. Dazai wrapped his arms around him, tight. Tight enough that even with Ranpo’s numbing senses, he could tell.

“Don’t—don’t—”

Ranpo knew Dazai, and so he knew the unspoken cocktail of emotions that sparked in Dazai from all the previous times this scene had rolled. Fear, regret, and guilt, twisted with a sense of satisfaction to see him undone by his hands.

The taste of iron smothered on Ranpo’s tongue.

So, why does Dazai experience this all with the same intensity each time? This wasn’t the first time, and certainly was not going to be the last. This was exactly what he wanted to achieve. This was his test, his gift. Despite all the spoken promises never to leave, despite Ranpo never leaving his monitored sight…

What do you want to know, Dazai? Ranpo wished he could ask. He couldn’t quite figure it out. What are you trying to confirm? What do you want to change?

At least Dazai was kind enough to always make the poison painless.

“Don’t—leave—”

Though Ranpo’s hearing wavered, he could still hear the fear overwhelming the usually carefree voice in the end.

Messes and hassles, emotions and contractions, are all the worst, Ranpo thought, surrendering to the calling void. And Dazai was nothing short of all of those.

-

The switch from Dazai’s office to the penthouse was made soon after Dazai mentioned it. Ranpo’s life didn’t change much. Watching shows alone, reading comics alone, reading novels alone, eating alone, playing games alone, these were the activities he was used to doing days after days, whether it’s at the Port Mafia or at the penthouse, it made no difference.

With the height of the penthouse, and it’s windows spreading from wall to wall, it gave the illusion that Ranpo may be a bird too, free in the sky. Lots of his time was spent idly staring out the windows, watching the birds fly, the clouds float, the sky change. During those times, he’d forget himself, and melted into the sky.

Ranpo supposed the only major difference would be that he became truly and utterly alone. In the penthouse, there are no subordinates that could annoy him. The chef that Dazai hired for him was mute, and whether or not that was intentionally picked by Dazai was something Ranpo couldn’t bring himself to care about. There was no point in thinking about stuff like that.

After all, it wasn’t like Ranpo can hate Dazai. Surely not, when the brunet boy became the only sparkle of life in Ranpo’s days when he visited. When his days are isolated and on repeat like this, even the work Dazai sweet talked him to do became appealing.

Ranpo threw the manga in hand across the living room. Boring, boring, boring. Frustration brewed in Ranpo, nothing has been entertaining. All the endings can be seen through from the introductions. All the games follow the same foreseeable logic.

It has been a while since Dazai last visited. How long…has “a while” been? Ranpo could no longer tell. Days and weeks blends into months, it all felt the same. Curling into himself on the couch, he buried himself deeper under the weighted blanket—the last thing he have to at least mimic the feeling of something.

When he came to again, Dazai sat adjacent to him, on the floor. The usual black coat no longer draping on his shoulders, instead worn as it was designed. “Ranpo-san,” Dazai hummed, hands smoothing over a red scarf on his lap. “I have taken Mori-san’s authority as mine.” Those words spoken like a casual report of the time.

The muted blue of dusk shone especially harsh that night. The boy stood up, backing the light, facing Ranpo, and placed the blood colored scarf into Ranpo’s hands. His head lowered in waiting. Waiting, like it’s on a chopping block, waiting for the guillotine to drop.

Waiting—he was waiting for Ranpo to put the scarf on him, around his neck: the last request as the Dazai he knew, and the first command as the new leader of the Port Mafia.

Amber eyes with childish pride and ridicule filled jade green eyes. Something like determination pooled in them, but not quite like hope. Through them, Ranpo saw it, a conceded ending. The moment that the scarf found its place on Dazai’s shoulders—no—the moment that Dazai showed up, wearing that coat, with that eyesore of a scarf, the future that floated fell and clicked into place.

What could Dazai change? The future hung like a noose around that neck. Would the change Dazai so desperately wanted, be enough to warrant his own end?

Ranpo smoothed over the scarf with his hands. It was made from a top quality fabric that Ranpo could not name. How many different lives had this singular scarf witnessed the end to? How many of them had it soaked up? Ranpo’s arms moved slower than ever to wrap the scarf around Dazai. How should he tie it? Should he tie it?

The fanciest death sentence ever made into existence, and Ranpo could only drape it loosely around that neck in hopes of allowing some air in the future Dazai had sentenced himself to.

“You’re so cruel and selfish,” Ranpo whispered. “You know nothing gets past me.”

The ends of the scarf still in Ranpo’s palms, Dazai’s hands enveloped them. “Of course, our genius detective could see through anything.”

Except Ranpo was not a detective in this world, and nor could he see a good ending for whats to come.