#writer core

the Armed Detective Agency than you did in four years of university.

Worst because: you're hopelessly, desperately, embarrassingly in love with him.

And the bastard knows.

Of course he knows. He's the world's greatest detective. He probably knew before you did.

"Y/N!" Ranpo's voice calls across the office. "I need more ramune! The grape kind, not the original. And get me those files on the warehouse case. Oh, and there's a new detective manga that came out today—"

"Already on your desk," you say, not looking up from your computer. "Along with three bottles of grape ramune, the warehouse files, that limited edition Poe novel you mentioned wanting, and a bag of konpeito because you finished your last one yesterday."

Silence.

You glance up to find him staring at you with those sharp green eyes, a piece of hard candy already in his mouth, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"You're too good at this job," he says around the candy. "It's almost like you can read my mind."

"I've been your assistant for two years. I'd be shit at my job if I couldn't anticipate your sugar addiction by now."

His eyebrows rise slightly at the curse—you don't usually swear at work—but his smile only widens. "Sugar addiction? That's a strong accusation."

"You literally have candy in your mouth right now. At 9 AM."

"It helps me think." He pops open the ramune with practiced ease. "Is that all it is? Just... professional competence?"

Your cheeks heat traitorously. "What else would it be?"

"I don't know." He tilts his head, studying you with that unnerving intensity that makes you feel like he can see straight through you. "You tell me."

Fuck. He's doing it again. That thing where he knows something and wants you to admit it first.

Before you can respond, Kunikida slams a file down on his desk with his usual exasperated precision. "Ranpo, we have three active cases. Can you please focus instead of tormenting your assistant?"

"I'm not tormenting her!" Ranpo protests, but there's a gleam in his eyes that says otherwise. He reaches into his candy stash—a drawer you keep religiously stocked—and pulls out a lollipop. "I'm just making conversation. Right, Y/N?"

"Right," you manage weakly.

Dazai glances up from where he's lounging on the couch, a knowing smirk on his face. "Ah, young love. So innocent. So obvious. So entertaining to watch."

"Shut up, Dazai," you and Kunikida say in unison.

"But it's so fun!" Dazai sits up, suddenly very interested. "Our dear Ranpo has been pining for two years and still hasn't made a move. It's like watching the world's slowest romance novel."

"I am not pining," Ranpo declares, unwrapping his lollipop with theatrical flair.

"You gave her candy from your personal stash last week," Yosano points out from her desk, not looking up from her medical journal. "YOUR personal stash. The one you threaten to kill people over if they touch."

"She looked sad! I was being nice!"

"You're never nice without ulterior motives," Dazai says cheerfully. "Face it, Ranpo. You're smitten."

Ranpo's ears turn pink—actually pink—and he quickly busies himself with his manga, but you catch the way his eyes flick to you over the top of the page.

Watching.

Always fucking watching.

You turn back to your work, trying to ignore the way your heart won't stop racing and the way the entire office is now clearly invested in whatever the hell is happening between you and your boss.

Two years of this. Two years of being in love with someone who can deduce your every thought and probably finds your feelings amusing.

You're so screwed.

The first anonymous gift appears on a Tuesday.

You arrive at your desk—coffee in hand, ready to start another day of pretending you're not catastrophically in love with your boss—and freeze.

There's a small box on your keyboard. Wrapped in colorful paper with a little bow on top.

No card. No name.

"What the hell?" you mutter, picking it up carefully.

Inside: an assortment of your favorite hard candies. The expensive kind from that boutique shop across town that you mentioned loving exactly once, three months ago, in a casual conversation you barely remember having.

Your heart does a stupid little flip.

"Secret admirer?" Ranpo asks from his desk, not looking up from the video game he's playing on his phone. There's a half-eaten candy bar beside him and what looks like his fourth ramune of the morning.

You nearly drop the box. "What? No. I don't—it's probably just—"

"A mysterious gift with no card, containing your exact favorite candies that most people don't even know you like?" He finally looks at you, popping a gummy bear into his mouth. "Yeah, totally not a secret admirer."

"Maybe it's from a grateful client or some shit."

"Clients send flowers or fruit baskets. This is personal." He gestures with his candy. "Someone's been paying very close attention to you, Y/N. The question is... who?"

Before you can answer, Dazai materializes beside your desk like the menace he is. "Ooh, secret gifts! How exciting! Open it properly, let's see—" He examines the candies with intense interest. "These are expensive. Like, really expensive. Someone's got it bad for you."

"Or someone's fucking with me."

"Why would anyone fuck with you?" Yosano has joined the crowd now, along with Kunikida who's pretending not to be interested but is clearly listening. "You're literally the nicest person here. Well, except when Ranpo's being difficult. Then you get this look like you want to strangle him."

"I do not—"

"You absolutely do," Kunikida confirms, adjusting his glasses. "Last week when he demanded you find a specific flavor of ramune that's only sold in one shop across the city, you looked homicidal."

"I got him the ramune though," you mutter.

"That's because you're a saint," Yosano says. "Or because you're in love with him. Probably both."

You choke on air.

Ranpo, across the office, drops his phone.

The resulting silence is deafening.

"I'm not—that's not—" You're flailing now, face burning. "I'm his assistant. It's my job to—"

"To memorize his candy preferences and smile every time he solves a case and look at him like he hung the moon?" Dazai grins. "Yeah, that's definitely just professional dedication."

"Everyone shut up," you hiss. "Ranpo can hear you—"

"Ranpo can definitely hear us," Ranpo calls out cheerfully, now openly watching the chaos unfold with barely concealed amusement. "These walls are thin and you're all terrible at whispering. But please, continue. This is fascinating."

You want to die. Just sink through the floor and cease to exist.

Yosano takes pity on you and steers the gossip crew away. "Come on, let's give her some space. We can speculate about her love life during lunch like civilized people."

When they've dispersed, you chance a glance at Ranpo.

He's still watching you, a piece of chocolate melting in his mouth, eyes glinting with something you can't quite identify.

"For what it's worth," he calls across the office, "I think your secret admirer has excellent taste. In candy and in people."

Then he goes back to his game, leaving you to wonder what the fuck that meant.

You spend the rest of the day hyperaware of everyone watching you.

Dazai keeps making exaggerated kissy faces when Ranpo isn't looking. Yosano winks every time you make eye contact. Even Kunikida seems invested, though he's trying to hide it behind his usual stern facade.

At lunch, Yosano corners you in the break room.

"Okay, real talk," she says, settling across from you with her bento. "How long have you been in love with him?"

"I'm not—"

"Girl." She gives you a look. "I'm a doctor. I can literally see your heart rate spike every time he talks to you. So how long?"

You sag in defeat. "Since probably the first month I started working here."

"And you haven't said anything because...?"

"Because he's my boss? Because he's Ranpo Edogawa and I'm just his assistant? Because he probably knows and finds it amusing?" You stab your food viciously. "Pick a reason."

"Or," Yosano suggests gently, "because you're scared."

"Obviously I'm scared. He can deduce anything. If I tried to confess, he'd know before I even opened my mouth. How humiliating is that?"

"Maybe. But have you considered that maybe he feels the same way?"

You laugh bitterly. "Ranpo? In love with me? That's—"

"Not as crazy as you think." She leans forward. "Y/N, I've worked with Ranpo for years. I've never seen him share his candy with anyone. Never seen him smile the way he smiles at you. Never seen him care about someone's opinion the way he cares about yours."

"He smiles at everyone when he solves a case—"

"He smiles at you even when he's doing paperwork. Which he hates." She raises an eyebrow. "Just... think about it. And pay attention to who's watching your reaction to that gift."

After she leaves, you do think about it.

And you realize: you never actually saw who was around when you arrived this morning.

Who had access to your desk before you got here?

The second gift appears on Thursday.

You're finishing up some filing when you return to your desk and—

Another box.

Smaller this time. Wrapped in the same colorful paper.

"Oh, this is getting interesting," Dazai comments, appearing out of nowhere like the creep he is. "What do you think it is? Jewelry? Love letter? More candy?"

"Why the fuck would it be more candy?"

"Because your admirer clearly knows the way to your heart is through sugar. Just like Ranpo." He grins. "Interesting parallel, don't you think?"

You ignore him and open the box.

Inside: a plush cat. Small, adorable, with big eyes and impossibly soft fur in your favorite color.

Your favorite color that you mentioned once, months ago, when someone asked about your apartment decor.

"Okay, this is definitely a secret admirer," Yosano says, examining the plush with delight. "And they're GOOD. Look at this quality! This is expensive!"

"Two gifts in three days," Kunikida observes, adjusting his glasses. "Someone's persistent."

"Someone's in looooove," Dazai singsongs, loud enough for the whole office to hear.

Including Ranpo, who's suddenly very interested in his desk drawer full of candy.

"Any suspects, Y/N?" Dazai continues, grinning like the cat who got the cream. "Anyone who pays particularly close attention to you?"

You want to die. "No."

"Liar." Ranpo says it cheerfully from across the room, not looking up from unwrapping what appears to be his tenth piece of candy today. "You have at least one suspect. I can tell by the way you're blushing."

"I'm not—"

"You are. It's cute." He finally looks up, meeting your eyes across the office. "Most people wouldn't remember such small details about someone. Takes real dedication. Real observation skills."

The way he says it makes your stomach flip.

Yosano nudges you. "Girl. He's literally giving you hints."

"He's just being Ranpo," you mutter, but your hands are shaking as you set the plush cat on your desk.

"Sure he is," Dazai agrees, way too cheerfully. "And I'm just being helpful when I point out that Ranpo came in extra early this morning. Before you. Before everyone, actually. Which is weird because he's usually late unless something important is happening."

Your head snaps up to look at Ranpo.

He's very deliberately not looking at you, suddenly fascinated by organizing his candy stash.

"Interesting," Yosano muses. "Very interesting."

"Everyone back to work," Kunikida orders, but even he's smirking slightly.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of speculation and increasingly obvious hints from your coworkers.

And Ranpo, bless him, keeps eating candy and pretending he's not watching your every reaction.

The gifts don't stop.

If anything, they escalate.

Monday brings a rare detective manga—not just any copy, but a signed first edition that must have cost a fortune.

"Holy shit," you breathe, staring at the author's signature.

"Language, Y/N," Kunikida calls from his desk, but he's craning his neck to see what you got.

Dazai abandons all pretense of working and comes over to investigate. "Okay, your admirer is either rich, dedicated, or both. This is serious courting behavior."

"It's not courting, it's—"

"It's definitely courting," Yosano confirms, joining the growing crowd. "Look at the dedication! This took effort to find!"

You turn the manga over in your hands, and that's when you see it: a small sticky note on the back.

I remembered you mentioning this. Hope it lives up to expectations.

No signature. But the handwriting is neat, precise, oddly familiar.

"The plot thickens," Dazai says dramatically. "A handwritten note! We're getting closer to the reveal!"

"Or," you say pointedly, "my admirer wants to stay anonymous and you all need to mind your own business."

"Where's the fun in that?" Dazai grins. "Besides, this is the most entertainment we've had in months. Well, except for when Ranpo ate so much candy he made himself sick."

"That was one time," Ranpo calls from his desk, where he's currently working his way through a bag of gummy bears. "And it was worth it."

"You threw up in a trash can."

"Still worth it."

Despite yourself, you laugh. And when you look up, Ranpo is watching you with that soft expression he sometimes gets—the one that makes your heart do stupid things.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing." He pops another gummy bear in his mouth. "Just glad someone appreciates my dedication to candy consumption."

Tuesday brings your favorite tea blend—the expensive loose-leaf kind you can't usually justify buying.

Wednesday: A bookmark with a quote from your favorite book, the one you mentioned in passing during a lunch break two months ago.

Thursday: A small potted succulent for your desk, because you'd mentioned wanting to keep plants but being worried about killing them.

Friday: Chocolate. Expensive, artisan chocolate in flavors you didn't even know existed.

By the end of the week, your desk looks like a shrine to thoughtfulness, and the entire office is invested in figuring out who your admirer is.

"It's got to be someone from the agency," Yosano insists during Friday lunch. "These gifts are too specific. Too personal. Whoever it is knows you really well."

"But who?" you ask, genuinely confused. "I'm friendly with everyone, but I don't think I'm close enough to anyone for them to remember all these tiny details."

"Except Ranpo," Dazai points out. "You're with him literally every day. You probably tell him things without even realizing it."

Your heart skips. "Ranpo wouldn't—"

"Wouldn't what? Court his cute assistant with thoughtful gifts?" Dazai's grin is wicked. "Why not? He's got the money, the observation skills, and the motivation."

"What motivation?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that he's been mooning over you for two years?"

"He has not—"

"Y/N," Yosano says gently. "He literally shares his candy with you. His personal candy stash. The one he threatens murder over. If that's not love, I don't know what is."

You want to argue, but... she has a point.

Ranpo is weirdly protective of his candy. You've seen him nearly bite Dazai's hand off for reaching for his pocky.

But he offers you candy all the time. Shares his ramune. Lets you steal his chocolate when you're stressed.

"Fuck," you whisper.

"Exactly," Dazai says cheerfully. "Now you're getting it."

Week two of gifts is when things get obvious.

Monday: Movie tickets. Two of them. For a detective film you'd mentioned wanting to see.

"Two tickets," Yosano observes, examining them with delight. "Your admirer wants to go with you!"

"Or they have a friend who wants to see it," you protest weakly.

"Girl. Use your brain. This is a date invitation."

Tuesday: A gift card to your favorite restaurant. For two people.

"Again with the two!" Dazai crows. "Your admirer is not subtle!"

Wednesday: Concert tickets. To a band you love. Again, two tickets.

"Okay, this is definitely a pattern," Kunikida admits, adjusting his glasses. "Someone wants to take you on dates but is too cowardly to ask directly."

"Hey Ranpo," Dazai calls across the office. "You busy Friday night?"

Ranpo, who's been suspiciously quiet all week, looks up from his candy. "Why?"

"Just wondering if you'd be free to, oh I don't know, go to a concert with someone."

Ranpo's ears turn pink. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't." Dazai's grin is positively feral. "Just like you don't know anything about mysterious gifts appearing on Y/N's desk."

"I'm the world's greatest detective. I know everything." But he won't meet anyone's eyes, suddenly very focused on unwrapping a lollipop.

"Then you know who the admirer is," Yosano says sweetly.

"Of course."

"Are you going to tell us?"

"Absolutely not. Where's the fun in that?"

The entire office groans.

But you notice he's smiling. That secret, knowing smile that makes your stomach flip.

Thursday brings the turning point.

You're at your desk, trying to focus on filing reports, when Ranpo appears beside you.

Actually beside you, not across the office. Close enough that you can smell his cologne and the faint sweetness of candy.

"Hey," he says softly.

You jump. "Fuck—Ranpo. Hi. You need something?"

"Yeah." He leans against your desk, and you realize with a jolt that he looks nervous. Ranpo Edogawa, who's never uncertain about anything, looks nervous. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Okay?"

"Those concert tickets you got. You planning to use them?"

Your heart stops. "I... I don't know. Maybe?"

"You should." His eyes meet yours, and there's something intense in his gaze. "The band is really good live. You'd enjoy it."

"Have you seen them before?"

"Once. It was amazing." He pauses, then adds carefully, "It'd be even better with good company."

"Good company," you repeat faintly.

"Yeah. Someone who appreciates music. Someone who'd actually pay attention instead of being on their phone the whole time. Someone who—" He stops, and his ears are definitely pink now. "Someone I'd want to be there with."

Your brain is short-circuiting. "Are you... are you asking me to go with you?"

"What? No. I'm just saying. Hypothetically. If someone asked you. To use those tickets with them. It'd be fun." He's talking faster now, flustered in a way you've never seen him. "Not that anyone's asking. I'm just. Making conversation."

"Oooo, someone's blushing, isn't she?" Dazai calls from across the office, because of course he's been listening. "This is better than TV!"

"Shut the fuck up, Dazai," Ranpo snaps, but his face is even redder now.

"You know," you say slowly, heart pounding, "I think good company sounds nice."

Ranpo's head snaps up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. If someone were to ask. Hypothetically."

His smile is blinding. "Hypothetically. Right." He straightens up, regaining some of his usual confidence. "That's... good to know."

Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of candy—one of the expensive ones from the boutique shop, the ones that started this whole thing—and sets it on your desk.

"For later," he says softly. "When you need something sweet."

He walks away before you can respond, leaving you staring at the candy and trying to remember how to breathe.

Yosano appears immediately. "Girl. That was the most obvious non-confession confession I've ever witnessed."

"He didn't confess anything—"

"He basically asked you on a date! Using hypotheticals, but still!"

"You think?"

"I know." She grins. "And judging by the way he's currently hiding behind his manga and refusing to look at anyone, he knows too."

You glance over at Ranpo's desk.

He's got a manga open, but you can see his hands shaking slightly as he turns the pages.

And beside him, an open bag of candy he's nervously working through.

Your heart does something complicated in your chest.

Maybe Yosano's right.

Maybe this is actually happening.

Maybe—

Your phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number:

You looked cute when you blushed. — R

You nearly drop your phone.

R.

Ranpo.

Holy fuck.

It's been him all along.

Week six brings the final gift.

The journal. Leather-bound, expensive, your initials in gold.

And the note that changes everything.

I think it's time we stopped pretending.

Meet me on the roof at 9 PM.

— R

You stare at it for a long moment, heart pounding.

Then you look up at Ranpo's desk.

Empty.

His coat is gone.

He left early. Without saying goodbye. Without any of his usual demands for snacks or attention.

He left so you'd find this alone.

So you could decide without him watching.

"Fuck it," you mutter, grabbing your coat. "I've waited two fucking years. What's a few more hours?"

But you know you're going.

Of course you're going.

You've been going since the first gift arrived.

You just didn't know it yet.

The rooftop door is heavier than you remember.

You have to put your whole weight into it before it finally opens, and then you're stepping out into the night air, and—

He's there.

Ranpo is standing near the edge of the roof, hands in his pockets, looking up at the sky.

The rain has stopped. The clouds have parted. And above you, impossible for Yokohama, is a sky full of stars.

He doesn't turn around. Doesn't acknowledge your presence.

Just keeps staring up at the stars like they hold all the answers he's been searching for.

"You came," he says quietly.

Your throat is tight. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"No. I knew you would." Finally, he turns to face you, and even in the dim light from the city below, you can see the vulnerability in his eyes. "I'm the world's greatest detective, remember? I know everything."

"Then why—" Your voice cracks. "Why all of this? The gifts, the notes, the games? If you knew how I felt, why didn't you just fucking say something?"

"Because I'm a coward." He says it simply, like it's an undeniable fact. "Because I'm brilliant at solving mysteries but absolute shit at understanding my own feelings. Because it took me two goddamn years to realize that somewhere along the way, I fell in love with my assistant."

The world stops.

"You... what?"

"I'm in love with you." He takes a step closer. "I've been trying to figure out exactly when it happened. Was it the first day, when you brought me my favorite candy without being asked? When you stayed late to help me with that impossible case and didn't complain once? When you smiled at me like I'd hung the fucking stars just for solving a simple deduction?" He shakes his head. "I don't know when it started. I just know that somewhere in these two years, you became the most important part of my day."

Tears are already burning in your eyes. "Ranpo..."

"My cases are more fun because I get to tell you about them. My victories are sweeter because I get to see you proud of me. My world is brighter because you're in it." Another step closer. "And I'm terrified. Because I'm good at a lot of things, but I'm not good at this. At feelings. At relationships. At being vulnerable enough to tell someone they've become my entire fucking world."

"You're doing pretty well so far," you manage, voice shaking.

"Am I?" His laugh is shaky too. "Because I feel like I'm fucking this up. Like I should have rehearsed this better or brought you something more romantic than candy and stuffed animals or—"

"The gifts were perfect," you interrupt. "Every single one. They were perfect because they were from you. Because they proved you were paying attention. Because they made me feel seen for the first time in my entire fucking life."

He stops, staring at you. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're brilliant and infuriating and you make me absolutely crazy, but you're also the best part of my day. Every day. And I've been in love with you for so long I can't remember what it felt like not to love you."

"Fuck." The word comes out reverent. "Really?"

"Really, you absolute idiot. Did you think I stayed late all those nights just for the overtime? Did you think I memorized your favorite snacks because I'm a dedicated employee? I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since probably the first week I started working here."

He laughs—actually laughs, bright and genuine—and suddenly he's crossing the remaining distance between you, his hands coming up to cup your face.

"I need to kiss you," he says urgently. "I've been imagining this for months and I need to know if it's as perfect as I think it's going to be. Can I—"

You don't let him finish.

You grab the front of his shirt and pull him down, crushing your lips against his.

For a heartbeat, he's still—shocked.

And then something ignites.

His hands tighten on your face, angling your head as he kisses you back with a desperation that steals your breath. It's not gentle. Not tentative. It's hungry and intense and absolutely consuming.

You gasp against his mouth and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees weak. His hands slide from your face into your hair, tangling in the strands, holding you exactly where he wants you.

You fist your hands tighter in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer, needing more, needing everything.

When he breaks the kiss, you actually whimper at the loss.

"Holy fuck," he breathes against your lips. "That was—"

"Better than you imagined?"

"So much fucking better." He kisses you again, softer this time but no less intense. "Again. I need to do that again."

So you do.

And again.

And again.

Until you're both breathless and dizzy and completely drunk on each other.

"Be mine," Ranpo murmurs between kisses. "Officially. Let me take you on dates and buy you things and show you off and tell everyone that the most amazing person in the world somehow decided I was worth loving."

"Yes," you breathe. "God, yes. I'm yours."

"You've always been mine." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his expression is pure joy mixed with something fierce and possessive. "I just needed you to realize it."

"Arrogant ass."

"Accurate ass." He grins. "I'm the world's greatest detective. Of course I knew we'd end up together."

"Then why did you make us wait two fucking years?"

"Because—" His expression softens. "Because some mysteries are worth taking your time to solve. And you, Y/N, are the best mystery I've ever encountered. The best case I'll ever solve. The best thing that's ever happened to me."

Your heart does something complicated in your chest. "That's actually really sweet."

"I have my moments." He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips again. "Now shut up and kiss me again. I have two years to make up for."

So you do.

Above you, the stars shine impossibly bright.

And in Ranpo Edogawa's arms, wrapped in warmth and want and the promise of everything you've been dreaming of—

You've finally found home.

"The greatest mystery I ever solved was how to make you mine." — Ranpo Edogawa

ty for reading!