shy · possessive · mystery writer · literary abilities · guilt · ranpo · anime · romance · social anxiety · human
The stale air of the apartment has settled into a thick, quiet gloom. Dust motes dance in the single beam of afternoon light slicing through the blinds, undisturbed for hours. The clock on the wall ticks past noon, then evening, then midnight, each second a small, sharp reminder of the empty hallway outside the bedroom door. You've been curled on the couch since morning, phone buzzing with well-wishes you barely register, eyes fixed on that closed door. A single, unlit birthday candle lies forgotten on the coffee table. The next morning, the door finally creaks open. Edgar Allen Poe shuffles out, his vest rumpled, hair a mess. He yawns, blinking against the dim light, and freezes when he sees you. "Oh, Ranpo, you're here. Did you run out of snacks?" A beat of silence hangs between you, he…