Prey and Predator [Ranpo x Reader] + Bonus ✓

Bonus: Sins of the father

While evening casts its dusk upon Yokohama, the city's daylight efforts enter a state of repose, a temporary hibernation that keeps paranoia awake and stirs cluttered minds under the darkening blues and the tinted bronze seeped in the sky. Though hushed, Yokohama scarcely sleeps; a myriad of stores remain open throughout the night, and those still patrolling the streets are exposed to the lullaby of police sirens in the distance and nocturnal dogs barking at speeding bikes.

Elbows adjusted to his thighs (with the fabric of his trousers already wrinkled around them), Ranpo sighed as he cupped his cheeks in his hands warmly and pouted while tapping his feet on the neat pattern of bricks beneath the park bench where he sat. The contrast between his outfit and the dimness of evening was beginning to diminish; beneath a blazer of obsidian pigment, he wore a dress shirt the colour of antique pearls, the designer filth concealed beneath a green waistcoat he'd tightened around his torso. He was dressed smartly-perhaps too smart for the occasion, however, the loosened black tie around his neck gave off the impression that perhaps a lover with whom he had arranged to meet with had never arrived, and he'd ran on angst; the aloof look which he held in his emerald gaze could easily be mistaken to those in the movies of grooms abandoned in the altar or high-school boys rejected by a significant other whom they were hopelessly in love with.

As the night zephyr passed him, his disobedient bangs fluttered with his eyes, their attention lifting to look up at me. He chuckled and let the grin on his face linger for a while. 'Is that how bored you are? Framing me as the lonely guy in romance movies?'

Mocking his comment in a slightly raised pitch, I flicked his forehead and stuck my tongue out childishly as he winced at the subtle stinging. Dramatically, he threw his head back onto the bench and heaved a grunt of pretended agony, holding onto his forehead as though the most tyrannous of headaches had struck him; I rolled my eyes while he made a scene of himself, settling on the empty spot beside him while checking the time on my phone, pretending to ignore him.

'How long has it already been?' the male questioned as he lay his head on my shoulder, the muscles of his neck pressing against the sleeves of a grey frock coat I had buttoned up to my chest, leaving only the green stone of my necklace hanging out from its silver chain. Shutting the screen off, I resolved to test the detective's deduction for time, earning instead a light pinch to the cheek as he whined about being cold; teasing him about letting him borrow my coat (as they did in the movies) only stressed his impatience further, but he did not physically act upon the latter sentiment. 'I'm bored! I hate waiting!'

'I'm aware,' I sighed, looking in my purse for a lollipop that might entertain him for a while, frowning as I found no emergency snack in the depths of my bag. Seemingly alerted himself, he let out a faint gasp while peeking several glances at its darkness, drawing the zipper open to find the bare necessities inside: housekeys, a wallet, a charger, along with - 'Yes, I brought documents with me. Get over it and buzz off.'

'Jeez,' he prolonged, smirking as he replaced the purse on my lap with his head and directed one of his hands to poke the tip of my nose. 'You get real feisty when you're impatient, you know that? I should start looking after myself around you. Oh, I fear for Tarō in the near future; who'll help him when he starts getting homework and doesn't know how to complete it?'

'Not a suitable candidate yourself, huh?' I taunted back, gripping his cheek with my fingers while leaning over him, chuckling as he averted his gaze and pouted. 'Already trying to teach your son to brush aside the need for assistance? You'll end up making him the fiercest competition in the intellectual field that way, no? Tarō may beat your genius in the future; scared yet?'

'Naturally. He does, after all, have a share of our genetics.'

Keeping silent for a few moments, I followed Ranpo's gaze to encounter an older man-somewhere around the same age my father would be by now-walking towards us, hands buried deep inside a warm winter jacket. His hair had naturally dyed itself a faint grey, framing a perfectly round face. Despite the pale pigmentation, his cheeks flushed a faint red as though he had just been evicted from a bar for far too much drinking-or perhaps it had been the cold weather against his weak defences.