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The morning was grey and cool, the air was macadamised with the scent of autumn leaves and the sound of shuffling feet as you, with your hair tousled and your eyes darkened, emerged from the jailhouse after finding out you could officially leave because you'd finally been bailed out.
Twelve hours later.
You blew a kiss at the officer from last night as a fuck you for having a stick up his ass and then walked out the door. Your mind was consumed with the indignity of having spent an entire night in a jail cell, only for you to check your phone the very moment you got it back from the police officers, and be forced to look at a text message from the worst possible person to ever exist, also known as the detective who managed to fraudulently convince himself he was your boss when technically, the two of you were partners, stating:
RANPO 👹:
I think I want marshmallows in my hot chocolate this time, but make sure they don't add any chocolate sprinkles to the cream because it takes away from the taste of the marshmallows.
You wanted to kill him.
And yet—the first stop you made was the goddamn coffee shop.
Once you had retrieved the hot chocolate, it took all of your fortitude not to poison it. As you walked through the doors of your workplace, you were met with inquisitive glances and curious whispers from your fellow colleagues—who technically, were only your colleagues by name. The best way to describe your dynamic was that your colleagues were the police force, and you their prisoner, the Armed Detective Agency being your prison.
However—your attention was solely focused on one man in particular as you entered the office despite everyone looking your way. There he was: Ranpo Edogawa, the World's Greatest Detective, or so he liked to believe. He sat lazily at his desk, surrounded by mounds of paperwork, and nibbled on a sugar-dusted pastry, appearing seemingly unconcerned about your predicament.
Your frustration and anger were palpable, which wasn't much of a surprise considering you had spent the entire night in a cramped cell, your clothes crumpled and your hair a mess. And now, here you were, wearing the same clothes from yesterday and still seething with anger.
You marched over to him, your rage barely contained, and slammed your hand down on his desk, causing the piles of paperwork to scatter into an unkempt mess and even the plastic lid of the hot chocolate in your hand to pop off. You glared at him with fierce eyes. Ranpo appeared entirely unfazed.
"What the hell, Ranpo? I spent the entire night in jail because you couldn't be bothered to bail me out!" You fumed, your voice sharp with anger. "What exactly were you so busy doing anyway, huh?"
