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winter in northern china

so sometimes I draw little bsd characters on my notes

a/n: so I got a little bit carried away but anyway...

Nabe Part 2 - Warmth

He shouldn’t have pushed himself and gone out yesterday. Now that he’s being punished with the highest fever he’s had in a long while, it seems that he couldn’t take on the next case as promised.

“You can go by yourself. But please behave.”

Ranpo stared at him in pity – the last expression Fukuzawa wanted to see on him of all people – and fiddled with the hem of his coat in front of the half-open door. “You’re gonna be alright? You sure?”

“Yes,” he managed to reply before coughing. “Go now so you won’t be late.”

“…you’re not gonna die?”

“No. Now go.”

The boy hesitated for another moment before finally stepping out. It was nice that he showed concern since Fukuzawa was half-convinced that the only reason why he was so attached to him was because he provided him food and shelter – or maybe that was why he was so worried?

At least he’d finally have a day of peace. No threats, no complaints; it was just him and his warm futon.

Suddenly, images of an injured Ranpo flashed in his head. Will he really be alright by himself? Yes, he should be, he will be.  The police will be there the entire time and there wouldn’t be a culprit lingering about. Yes, yes. It will all be alright, he told himself, so he closed his eyes and cleared his mind.

Wait, but what if he says something insensitive? What if he blames or mocks the parents and/or their son? Knowing how there’s no filter between that boy’s brain and tongue, the likelihood was close to a hundred percent. Shit. He should go and-

A sharp throbbing seized the back of his head and the biting chill of the non-futon air forced him to lie down once more. Ugh. Why did his subconscious have to betray him like that? So much for peace…

Fukuzawa attempted to clear his mind once more. Focus on happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

And the first thing that entered his head was your smiling face.

Thank God no one was here to see through him. He wouldn’t know what to do if Ranpo probed him in the slightest; now that he was alone, he could somewhat indulge in the memory.

It was about two years ago. It was just like this too; the snow was falling, though much heavier than that of the present, he was alone in his cold apartment, half-dead, and his refrigerator was as empty as the apartment he lived in.

He wasn’t sure why you suddenly knocked on his door, but regardless of the reason there was no doubt that that act of kindness saved him.

“The heck were you planning to do, huh? Die alone in this godforsaken blizzard?! It was a good thing I came here, stupid idiot.”

That was the first time he’s seen someone so gentle that angry and it struck a nasty chord in him. It worsened his headache, yes, but he knew it was something he deserved. Your compassion, however, was not. Yet you returned to him with equipment and ingredients for a hot pot – the last thing he expected from your sudden visit.

“Good thing I stocked up last night.”

This was the most you ever talked to him as well as the closest you’ve been to each other. Despite having been neighbors for months, he hardly ever saw or heard from you – save for a few notable encounters – and as the flavorful broth warmed him up, he had the opportunity to study you a bit as you talked.   

His eyes trailed from your own down to your lips – the individual components as well as the proportions were, he would say, not that striking. But that hardly meant that you weren’t beautiful, in fact the longer he stared-

“Something on my face?” 

He immediately shifted his eyes back down to his bowl and coughed in his hand. How embarrassing.

“Or am I… troubling you, as usual?”

The sudden drop in mood in your voice made him panic. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he came across as being insensitive whenever you greeted him – ugh. Was he that callous?

“I’m sorry, Fukuzawa-san. I know I’ve been a little pushy since you came here so-“   

“No, don’t apologize.” He should be the one apologizing. Stupid idiot he was indeed. “I should have been more honest with you.”

In the beginning, he had found your kindness suffocating. It baffled him how a stranger could be that gracious to another; was it just a source for making yourself feel better? Did you pity him for being such a loner? He’s pushed you away once – quite harshly, unfortunately – and the true reason of his vexation only dawned on him in those days of absolute solitude.

He wasn’t angry at you at all. He just couldn’t understand why he of all people had to be scalded with such warmth – he who didn’t deserve even a sliver of your affection.

“I don’t really know what you did, but all humans deserve compassion, right?   

What followed would be a sensation that was, at the time, utterly inexplicable. There was a growing warmth in his chest that ever so slightly tingled as he let it spread. It was similar to having downed a good sake in one gulp yet not quite close either. It wasn’t from the soup nor from his illness, so it must have been from the relief of having saved at least one more relationship in his life.

However, the same feeling would creep back every time you smiled warmly at him. Again he was convinced it was nothing other than relief in knowing you were happy or perhaps a simple admiration for someone who could maintain their smile, but all it took was one intrusive thought that he, for some reason, let slip through:

Was this what love was like?

If it was, then he was damned. And damned he was every time that you’d pop out from nowhere – his breath would hitch and his tongue would cramp. The desire to linger and the instinct to run away would fight to death inside him, forcing him to stand idly like a child waiting for his parents’ next instruction. How could he foster feelings for someone he barely knew? And over something so mundane like just you being nice to him a few times…

The only consolation he had was that it seemed you had no idea of his plight whatsoever. At least he could get over this quietly and finally attain the inner peace he’s been searching for after having left that behind… or so he tried to. In the end, no matter how much he meditated, focused on work or drowned himself in books, the slightest hint of your presence would undo all of his hard work.

And here he was, two years later, still very much where he began. Half-dead, stuck in a cold, empty room, and hopelessly in love with his next-door neighbor. The only thing he could do now was dream.

“Fukuzawa-san! Are you okay?!!”

The banging of his front door and shamelessly loud shrieking jolted his whole being back into reality.

“L/N-san? Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Oh God,  should I bring you to the hospital? Ranpo-kun said you were dying-“

That damn child… “I’m fine. It’s just a fever, nothing serious.”

You stared long and hard at him as if you were conducting a physical examination in your head. Without breaking your gaze, you walked over to him and placed the back of your hand on his forehead, causing his cheeks to flare up even more. “It’s not too hot, thankfully. I’ll go make you something warm to eat so-“

 “Thank you, but I can take care of myself-“

The pain in the back of his head suddenly shot up and almost made him collapse on the spot. If you hadn’t caught him in time, Fukuzawa would’ve gained another injury to worry about.

“Sure you can,” you chided. “We’ve been through this before, right? Did you really not learn anything?”

“…the fridge’s not empty this time.”

 “Well, that’s a good start.”

And just like that you scooted over to his kitchenette and whipped something up. Of course, whatever it was that you made was delicious in spite of his debilitated taste buds, and the conversation that came with it was just as pleasant.  

And it just had to be cut short by an unwanted but almost expected phone call.

“Thank you for the meal, L/N, but I need to go…”

You forcefully pulled him back down to his futon. “Go where? In this state?”

Fukuzawa was definitely not fit enough to even stand up properly, but someone had to go and supervise Ranpo or else-

“I’ll go.”

Your statement caught him off guard. “What?”

“Is it about Ranpo? If it’s something I can do, then I’ll do it.”   

Was it something you could do? Tame the Edogawa Ranpo? Besides, an ordinary civilian like you shouldn’t get involved with detective matters like this. But the determination in your eyes won over his reluctance.

He sighed in resignation. “Alright then. Can you handle a little blood?”

“We who choose suicide know what our true reasons are … The decision to take one’s life (like the decision to commit any act) is bound to stem from complex motives. Yet, in my case, I can pinpoint the cause as a feeling of vague uneasiness. A vague uneasiness over what the future may hold in store for me.”

—

Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, “Letter to an Old Friend” included in The Oxford Book of Japanese Short Stories