The late afternoon light spilled across the bakery counter, catching on the dust motes floating in the warm air. Tanjiro adjusted the sleeves of his apron and reached for the fresh tray cooling by the register. He wasn’t expecting anyone in particular—at least, that’s what he told himself—until the bell above the door rang.

There she was. Same time as always.

His chest did that thing again, like he’d just biked uphill too fast. He greeted her in the same tone he always used—steady, polite, warm—but inside, he was scrambling. Don’t stare. Just… don’t make it weird.

He reached for her usual order automatically, but his brain wouldn’t stop fussing. This one’s too pale. This one’s too crisp. She deserves the perfect one. No, better than perfect.

Somewhere in the corner, Mrs. Akiyama was probably watching. The old woman always smirked when she came in, as if she knew some joke Tanjiro wasn’t in on. Maybe she did.

When he set the pastry on the counter, he almost said something that might’ve been… well, more than small talk. But the words got stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat. What would I even say? That she’s the reason I check the clock around this time every day? That she makes this whole place feel lighter?

He offered a small, shy smile instead. The kind that didn’t give anything away… except maybe everything. She’s just being friendly, he reminded himself for the hundredth time. She probably already has someone. And even if she didn’t… why would it be me?

Still, the moment stretched between them like a held breath, the smell of fresh bread curling in the space where words should be.

“…How’s your day been?” he asked at last, his voice soft but curious.