Chapter Text
You’re a pond and im an ocean.
All my emotions feel like explosions when you are around,
And I’ve found a way to kill the sound, oh.
Line Withought A Hook -Ricky Montgomery
Ranpo stared at the canvas in his hands, it was a painting of Poe in the garden. He looked so lost in thought, so elegant like always, Ranpo felt like it was the best painting he had ever done. Something about Poe was just unexplainable. And even though Ranpo drew the piece for an assingment, he didn’t want anyone in the world to see it.
Every portrait that has been drawn with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not the model. The fact that the model is there is merely a coincidence, an excuse. The thing the artist wants to display isn’t the model but the artists personality. The reason i don’t want to submit this is because i don’t want to betray my soul..
The sun had fully set and what was left for the eye was merely candlelight. Ranpo’s house felt empty withought his father, he wasn’t used to being so away from him. He walked towards his bed as it was late and he was beginning to grow weary. He layed down on his silk sheets as he started to let his thoughts take over, thinking about his dad, his assingments, his art, Poe..
Ranpo groaned as he burried his head deep into his comforter.
Why him, out of all people, why him..
He woke up around twelve as there wasn’t class that day. Missing the familiar scent of fresh boiled eggs his father cooked every morning before leaving to take care of the coffee shop. He dangled his legs off his bed and stood up on the cold flooring. Ranpo looked around the room and his eyes landed on the painting of Poe in the garden. Why did Ranpo draw that? Ranpo hates Poe. Ranpo hates..
He looks mesmerising.
Ranpo facepalmed. He wasn’t ready to deal with these stupid thoughts at twelve in the morning. He put on some clothes and started walking towards his dads cafe. The walk there was silent, no one bothering him except his never shutting up brain. And only when he arrived did he realise there was a huge chance Poe was going to be there. Ranpo’s emotions were confusing him. He hated Poe didn’t he? But if he did, how could he explain the tightness in his chest whenever he saw Poe’s illegally pretty eyes, which resembled clouds before a thunderstorm? Too many unanswered questions.
Ranpo eventually decided to not open the coffee shop that day as he didn’t feel ready to face the taller just yet. He walked down the road to the campus by himself, soft music playing on his headphones as the sun hit the pavement, causing the lights to reflect onto Ranpo’s face. It was a nice morning. Ranpo could finally relax, the loud music blocking out the inconvenient sounds called thoughts.
Soon, the colons which blongs to the campus could be seen and as Ranpo got closer he stopped in his tracks. Poe was there sitting at one of the colons base, sun reflected on his face, a book in his delicate hands, his hair tucked behing his ear. Ranpo couldn’t help but stare at the boy as he suddenly regretted not opening the coffee shop that morning, because if he had, he would get the chance of seeing Poe for a few more minutes.
Ranpo contemplated whether he should say something or not to the boy for a few minutes before deciding not to as he made his way to his class. Ranpo skimmed through the halls very quickly, keeping his gaze on the floor. He opened the door to his class, and as predictable, most students were already seated. Ranpo went ahead and took a seat next to someone random as he didn’t have any friends from his own course. He placed his backpack below his desk and started getting out his needed materials as he heard the door shut close, indicating that the teacher had came in.
Today’s assingment was drawing nature, something Ranpo was very used to already, mainly from cram school and all the art classes he took from a very young age. People always found art inspired by nature more fascinating than others, Ranpo never understood why. He huffed as he starting sketching out the base of the painting. He already knew what he was going to do.
As the class ended, Ranpo placed the rough draft of his drawing in his file, stuffing all his belongings in his very carefully decorated backpack and exited the classroom. And as he turned the corner he was faced with another shock wave.
“Hey Ranpo-san, i know we didn’t walk here together but i wanted to still make sure if the rule still counted?”
What will poets do,
When people realize,
That peotry consists of random words that rhyme.
What will poets do,
When they lose the person who keeps them away from time?
What will poets do,
When they run out of fancy lines?
And what will the world do,
When poets lose interest in words that ryhme?