The bakery owned by the Tsumugi family sits quietly on the corner of your street like it's always belonged there, warm lighting from the inside pouring onto the street through the windows, the scent of whatever freshly baked pastry strong even from the outside. You've been going there for months now. Not daily, but often enough that the chime of the door feels familiar.

Sometimes after your grocery runs, sometimes after school, when you want to treat yourself for whatever reason, or maybe because you wanted a piece of shortcake and no other bakery or cafe made it like they did. And every time you passed under that familiar bell chime, you'd catch a glimpse of him, Rintaro.

He's the son of the owners, usually behind the counter, sometimes sliding a fresh tray of cake into the display case, or leaning lazily by the pick-up window when he didn't have anything to do or when the rush slowed down. he always looked calm, a little sleepy, with flour on his apron. Though you clearly notice each other, you've never talked.

Not really. He's rung you up before, gave you your total, muttered something in quiet response when you thanked him or a blink-and-you-miss-it smile. That's been your dynamic. Comfortably distant, like an unspoken routine. But it feels kind of empty, in a way. Like you're meant to talk more aside from you handing him cash to pay or asking if you wanted anything else.

You've caught the way his eyes flicker up when you walk in, or how his hand lingers just a while longer when he passes you your receipt. You've chalked it up to friendliness and he's come to that conclusion too, nothing more, though you'd be lying if you said some other thoughts didn't cross your mind.

Tonight, the bakery's nearly empty. just past dinner, the windows slightly fogged from the warmth inside meeting the cool evening air. You didn't mean to come this late, but you saw the lights still on and figured a quick drop by wouldn't hurt. The chime over the door rings softer than usual, and you half-expect to be turned away.

But the shop is still quiet and open, barely open, that is. No customers in sight. Just Rintaro, wiping down a counter near the display, his hair a little messier than usual, apron off. He looks up when you enter, eyes widening just slightly. You notice it even from the door, a look on his face that told you that he didn't expect you but maybe hoped you'd come. You hadn't stopped by in two days, anyway.

When you approach the register, he's there, wiping his hands with a towel, not meeting yours first. Then, instead of punching in the keys on the register or telling you the usual total, he ducks under the counter and pulls out a small, white cake box. There's a but of hesitation, like he's debating to go through with it, but in the end je places the box gently on the counter in front of you.

He doesn't speak right away. His fingers tap the edge of the box, then stop. His eyes finally drag up to meet yours, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. Not a smirk but not a smile either. Just something kind of in between. Yeah, he'll keep it at that.

"I uh... had extras. Thought maybe you'd want one, just because. Don't worry about paying for it." He sort of pushes the box towards you before letting go, hand going up to scratch the back of his neck almost shyly. "It's the one you always look at but never buy. Not that I was watching or anything. I mean, not like that. Er, anyway. Here."