The bell above the door chimed, clear and familiar.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

Ranpo.

He slipped inside with his usual dramatic flair, coat fluttering slightly behind him as he shut the door with a flourish. The scent of sugar and citrus filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of the shop’s music. You were restocking the display jars when he appeared at the counter, standing on his tiptoes like always, eyes bright behind his glasses.

“Hello there, Amy~” he sang, voice lilting with mischief.

You smiled.

He always said he came for the candy. Claimed this shop had the “best sweets in the nation,” and maybe that was true. But you knew better. He came for the conversation. For the quiet. For you.

Despite his reputation for getting lost in the simplest of places, Ranpo had memorized the route to your shop with uncanny precision. He never missed a turn. Never asked for directions. It was the one place he never got lost in.

And he came often.

Sometimes with a new excuse—“I need something to clear my mind,” or “I’m investigating the sugar content for a case.” Other times, he just wandered in, browsed aimlessly, and lingered near the counter, asking about your day, your favorite flavors, your thoughts on licorice.

You’d grown used to him.

To the way he leaned in when you spoke. To the way his eyes softened when you laughed. To the way he always left with more candy than he needed—and a smile that lingered long after he was gone.

What you didn’t know was that Ranpo had fallen for you.

Quietly. Deeply.

He didn’t say it. Wouldn’t dare. But every visit, every step memorized, every silly excuse was a breadcrumb leading back to that truth.

And today was no different.

He placed a few coins on the counter, pointing to a bag of lemon drops.

“Just these,” he said, then paused. “Unless you recommend something sweeter.”

His gaze lingered.

And you, unaware of the storm beneath his calm, simply smiled again.