A week drifted past in a haze of rehearsed smiles and half-remembered confidence before Michiko finally convinced herself she was ready to flirt again.
She knew exactly how to wield her charm: the tilt of a head, the graze of a fingertip, the slow unfurling of a smile.
And Kaede Hagihara was undeniably the sort of pretty girl who melted under that careful attention.
They met at a rooftop café two subway stops from campus, where wrought-iron chairs were shaded by pristine white parasols and the air smelled faintly of jasmine and hot pavement. Crystal glasses clinked as servers brought pastel-pink concoctions topped with sugared rims and wispy curls of mint. The drink glowed in the evening light like a sunset captured in sugar water.
Kaede was everything Michiko usually sought: a third-year fashion student in a pale lavender sundress that caught the breeze, glitter makeup dusted across her lids so that her laughter threw off tiny rainbows. Her smile was open-hearted and unstudied; her hair, a glossy chestnut wave, brushed her collarbone with each tilt of her head. Beneath that easy exterior, she was uncomplicated, her excitement spilling out in quick cadences as she described the pieces in her portfolio, the internship she coveted, the professor rumored to abscond with students' best sketches.
But today something in Michiko's chest felt hollow, like a violin missing its central chord. She lifted her straw to sip the strawberry soda, bubbles bursting on her tongue, and nodded when Kaede spoke, but the words floated past her ears like distant music. Kaede's voice was melodic, yes, but it didn't tingle at the back of her neck the way Ji's had. It didn't send goosebumps racing down her arms; it didn't curl in her stomach like a secret flame.
She watched Kaede trace lazy patterns on the tabletop with manicured fingertips and felt a sting of guilt. Kaede's was genuine, her interest in Michiko sincere. And yet every time Kaede laughed, Michiko's heart refused to feel impacted. She despised herself for the comparison, and especially despised how Kaede's kindness was simply not enough.
"You're quiet," Kaede said, tilting her head, those glittering eyes creasing with concern. "Am I boring you?"
Michiko forced a curve to her lips, smooth as satin. "Not at all," she said, leaning forward so that her waves brushed against Kaede's arm. "I'm just…listening. You have a lovely voice."
Kaede's cheeks warmed to rose-petal pink, meanwhile Michiko felt nothing.
Instead, her mind slipped to Ji: the soft command—"Close your eyes"—and the way her pulse had fallen into perfect rhythm with their words. The memory pulsed through her veins like heat. She shook herself back into the moment as if emerging from a dream.
"I know a place," Michiko announced suddenly, standing as her resolve snapped into place. "Let's go."
Kaede's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Right now?"
"It's close," Michiko assured, slipping her hand into Kaede's. "They do great cocktails. A fun crowd."
Kaede's smile bloomed. "Lead the way."
They wound through narrow streets until they reached the bar: low ceilings, coppery spotlights casting everyone with a golden hue, the air thick with the scent of oak barrels and bitters. A mellow hum of conversation wrapped around them, punctuated by the occasional tap of a shaker.
Michiko's eyes swept the room, claiming she wasn't looking for anyone, but her gaze landed on Ji within seconds.
Ji stood poised behind the bar, dark blouse fitted just so, and a single silver hoop dangled at their ear. Their posture was immaculately composed, but their eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto Michiko's with a fierce intensity that sent ice crawling down her spine.
Her hands kept tight around Kaede's hand, and she guided her gently but insistently toward a quieter corner. Ji's stare followed them, unwavering, like a silent question stretching across the room.
"So, is this your favorite spot?" Kaede asked, scanning a chalkboard menu scrawled with cocktail names: Lavender Fizz, Blood Orange Negroni, Violet Storm.
Michiko shrugged, each word measured. "Just thought you might like something different."
Kaede teased, "You don't seem like the bar-hop type."
Michiko let a sly grin slip onto her lips. "You don't know me yet."
Kaede giggled, leaning closer so their knees touched beneath the table. Heat flared in Michiko's cheeks as she lowered her voice into that practiced purr. "Would you like to get to know me?"
Kaede's nod was slow, eyes resting on Michiko's face. Michiko lifted her glass in salute and tasted nothing. No spark, no thrill. Just the faint tingle of cold carbonation sliding down her throat.
They talked on, Michiko punctuating her sentences with the right inflections, dancing her fingers around Kaede's and even offering a brief, tentative kiss on a lacy endnote. Kaede's lips were soft and sweet, like candied petals dissolving under her tongue—pleasant enough, but utterly incapable of reviving the ache Ji alone could bring.
But all Michiko could focus on was Ji.
Ji, who hadn't even kissed her but had somehow dismantled every defense she had with an unspoken allure.
Pulling back, Kaede sighed dreamily, a contented blush spreading across her cheeks like a soft sunrise. "You kiss like you're hiding something," she mused, her voice a lilting tease.
Michiko blinked slowly, absorbing the comment. "Do I?" she asked, her voice a whisper in the ambience of the room.
Kaede's eyes sparkled with a mischievous sight. "I like secrets," she confessed, her tone both light and provocative.
"I bet you do," Michiko murmured absently, her mind drifting elsewhere, her words barely tethered to the moment.
Kaede stood gracefully, smoothing her skirt with a practiced elegance. "I'll be right back. Don't get too bored without me," she said with a wink, her smile remaining in the air like a sweet perfume as she glided away.
Left alone, Michiko exhaled shakily. Then, as if conjured by her restless mind, Ji appeared beside her, materializing silently with fluidity. One hand rested casually on the table, while the other held a small, folded napkin with an air of quiet purpose.
"Your drink," Ji said quietly, their voice smooth, yet laced with a careful intensity that sent a shiver through Michiko.
Startled, Michiko glanced down, her eyes widening in surprise. It wasn't the drink she had ordered. Instead, it was a yuzu-lavender cocktail, its surface rimmed delicately with salt—exactly like the drink Ji had crafted on that unforgettable night. Michiko's mouth went dry instantly, her senses overwhelmed by the vivid memory.
Her eyes shot up quickly, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. "I didn't—" she began, her voice a gasp of confusion.
"I know," Ji replied softly, their eyes unblinking, steady as they held her gaze, the connection between them as palpable as the tension in the air.
Ji slid the napkin across the table deliberately. Michiko's eyes caught the neatly inked handwriting:
Iwai Michiko.
Her full name—clear, precise, unmistakable.
"You left something behind," Ji murmured, their stare never parting from hers.
Michiko's stomach twisted violently, panic rising. She hadn't given Ji her name, hadn't consented to this intimacy. Fear and fascination battled furiously within her.
Slowly, Ji straightened, voice soft yet firm. "Enjoy your date."
Before Michiko could respond, Ji had turned away, slipping back seamlessly into the crowd, vanishing like a ghost.
Michiko stared blankly after them. She felt unsettled—not just by Ji's knowledge of her name, but by how deeply their quiet gesture had shaken her. Ji had claimed a piece of her without effort, and she had no idea how to reclaim it.