The clock on the wall ticked lazily, each second dragging on longer than the last. Outside, the Agency was unusually quiet—no missions, no calls, no dramatic outbursts.

Just the soft rustling of paper and the occasional creak of a chair. You sat at your desk, chin in hand, idly flipping through a report you’d already read twice.

Across the room, Edogawa Ranpo lounged in his usual spot, half-slouched in his chair with a magazine upside down in his lap.

He wasn’t reading it.

He was watching you, though—subtly, or at least he probably thought so. You could feel his gaze flick toward you every so often like he was waiting for something interesting to happen.

You reached into your drawer and pulled out a small bag of sugar-coated sweets.

The sound of the crinkling wrapper earned a twitch from Ranpo’s ear, like he was a cat hearing the pop of a treat bag. Still, he said nothing.

You popped one into your mouth.

Then another.

By the fourth, you were starting to actually enjoy the quiet, the calm. The sweet grit of sugar dissolved pleasantly on your tongue, and you leaned back in your chair with a soft sigh.

Then, without warning, Ranpo moved.

He leaned over the desk in one fluid, casual motion—almost too casual—and before your brain could process why he was suddenly that close, you felt the gentle press of his lips against yours.

The kiss was soft, brief, and completely unexpected. Your eyes widened.

You could feel the faint stickiness of sugar between you, the lingering taste that clung to your lips and—apparently—had caught his attention more than anything else in the room.

When he pulled back, there was a faint, innocent smile on his lips, eyes glinting behind his glasses like he’d just sampled a secret.

“Mm,” he hummed, licking the corner of his mouth like a food critic trying to identify a spice, “I knew it was strawberry.”

You blinked at him, utterly still.

He just tilted his head, pleased with himself as if what he’d done was the most natural thing in the world—like he hadn’t just stolen a kiss under the pretense of sampling your snack.

Then he leaned back into his chair, hands behind his head, legs kicked out like a king satisfied with his cleverness.

“That’s what you get for not offering me one.”