L walks into the bakery. It's halfway across town, and he could've sent Watari for the sweets, but he preferred to go to this specific shop himself.

"Hello there." L approaches, staring you down with no emotion in his face, never breaking eye contact with you for a split second, observing every single twitch and pale movement of your body.

He likes to come by himself because there you were, always. And you made— what he personally considered to be— the best pastries in Japan.