quiet talk #2: Hot Chocolate
“Welcome — no, perhaps tonight calls for welcome home instead.”
Roppongi, that authentic girls’ bar tucked into a back alley, Antiqua.
Past the rough-textured antique door lay tonight’s usual darkness — along with an unusually thick, sweet fragrance hanging heavy in the air. And what caught her attention first was that strange little greeting.
“Welcome home?”
“Go on, take your usual seat. A whole group just left, so we’ve got a bit of a lull.”
Near the entrance, past the thick curtain sectioning it off, not even a sliver of light reached the darkness. Shandy drew the curtain back and led her inside.
Settling into her usual prized seat against the wall, Mikoto couldn’t help letting out a small sound of surprise.
“Wha— huh?”
“Ha, how do you like it?”
No wonder Mikoto was startled. Shandy, who ran Antiqua single-handedly, wasn’t in her usual jacket tonight.
Puff sleeves, an apron, frills and ribbons. Pure white sweetness cinched with black, the very symbol of a modest, dutiful, obedient woman.
A maid uniform.
The way she lifted the hem of her long skirt into a small curtsy hardly looked like a bartender at all. Tonight, Shandy was a maid through and through.
“Retiring from bartending, Shandy-san?”
“Oh my, straight to the sarcasm? I won’t be serving a master like that.”
Pursing her lips in displeasure, she turned her face pointedly away. Her hair, usually tied back, hung loose tonight too — soft golden curls swaying at her shoulders.
Needing to smooth over the mood she’d just soured, Mikoto reached for a cool, deflecting joke.
“Sorry. Seeing an adorable maid makes me want to tease her a little.”
“Then let’s enjoy being teased tonight. By her master.”
Her full-moon eyes narrowed slightly into something more demure than usual. Tonight she was neither the alluring beauty nor the mischievous girl — she stood behind the counter, within the bartender’s own sanctuary, carrying herself like a beauty poured into the shape of a doting little doll.
“Now then, tonight’s first drink is a present from me. A slightly unusual cocktail — though the smell may have already given it away.”
“Yes, chocolate, isn’t it?”
Mikoto’s mind drifted briefly to the thing hidden in the bag at her feet as she named the cocktail’s identity.
Tonight, Antiqua was thick with the scent of chocolate. Everywhere she’d gone these past few days, chocolate had been unavoidable — today being Valentine’s Day, after all.
Which made sense of the first drink being chocolate-based. Whether it counted as an obligation gift, a genuine one, or something between friends, she couldn’t say — but she wasn’t complaining. The real puzzle lay elsewhere.
“But what does Valentine’s Day have to do with a maid uniform?”
“Whether you can solve that mystery is tonight’s game. How about a two-shot Polaroid with your maid as the prize?”
“Now it really does feel like a girls’ bar.”
“Well, we are one, you know.”
Ah, right, Mikoto remembered. That was true.
Filled with a dim, quiet hush as it was, Antiqua was still technically a girls’ bar. The one real difference from an authentic bar or shot bar was the option to request a Polaroid with the bartender — though she’d never once seen an actual customer ask for it.
“Let’s begin the game, then. Why am I wearing a maid uniform on Valentine’s Day?”
Mikoto scrambled through everything she knew, searching for some overlap between the two. February 14th, a gift-giving day tracing back to Saint Valentine. In Japan, a custom cemented largely by the chocolate industry’s own promotional push. Meanwhile, the maid uniform traced its roots to European domestic servant attire, later matured within Japan’s otaku culture into its present form. However she turned it over, she couldn’t find a single point of overlap.
“Am I allowed a hint?”
“Yes — the hint lies somewhere in this pleasant time spent with your master.”
Everything that happened from here might be a hint. Mikoto fixed her full attention on Shandy’s every move.
A round, white paper coaster was set down before her. But what sat on top of it wasn’t a glass. What appeared on the felt-lined work surface of the bar top was a mug.
“Don’t tell me — hot chocolate?”
“Correct. More precisely, a Hot Chocolate — the liqueur-based hot drink version.”
Into the mug went the source of that sweet fragrance: chocolate, broken and mixed in. Next came two chocolate and coffee liqueurs, carefully measured. After a light stir, milk warmed on the induction heater was poured in, binding the alcohol and chocolate together with heat. Steam rose from the mug, carrying that rich chocolate scent with it.
Whipped cream floated on top like a lid over the steam, finished with a dusting of cocoa powder.
It hardly looked like something you’d order at a bar at all. If anything, it carried the same warm, homey comfort as something from her parents’ kitchen, or a quiet café.
“Happy Valentine’s, master. Your Hot Chocolate. Do be careful, it’s quite hot.”
“So, um — the hint?”
There wasn’t the faintest thread connecting the served cocktail to the maid uniform. All she’d been shown was the process of making a Hot Chocolate. Mikoto asked again, and Shandy answered with an easy, untroubled smile, her pale cheeks softening.
“But this very moment is overflowing with hints, isn’t it?”
“I genuinely have no idea. You really do love your mysteries, don’t you, Shandy-san?”
“I’m not putting on some act as a woman of endless mystery, you know. The customers just go on dreaming up their own version of me.”
Too many mysteries to untangle. This usual back-and-forth wasn’t going to yield any more hints than this. She needed to do something to catch Shandy off guard.
—But now isn’t the moment to pull that thing out of the bag.
Was there another option? Mikoto remembered Shandy saying she wanted to be teased tonight. If she could tease this maid version of her properly, maybe a hint would slip out by accident.
It was about time for a win in this game. Mustering all the confidence she could fake, Mikoto pressed the attack.
“So I suppose that makes me Sleeping Beauty, then.”
“Ha, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m dreaming of a lovely woman — you, Shandy-san.”
“Whoa… okay, that’s genuinely off-putting…”
Mikoto slumped face-first onto the counter. She’d meant to go on the offensive and instead detonated spectacularly in her own hands. Pure, wasted embarrassment.
“…C-could you go a little easier on me, please?”
“But I’m not being teased at all. Ahh, I do want to be teased. By my master.”
“…Then at least show me an example of how to tease you properly, so I know what pleases you.”
“Ha, you really are only ever good at the inviting part, aren’t you?”
Laughing softly, Shandy picked up one of the chocolate-coated stick biscuits she’d set out as a snack. She waved it back and forth in front of Mikoto, teasing.
“A bit of a cliché, but how about this?”
Shandy took one end of the stick biscuit between her teeth. Then, gesturing for Mikoto to take the other end, she waved it invitingly.
Eating from both ends toward the middle, the thrill of whether a kiss would land or not — the Pocky Game.
“…Understood.”
Pinching the opposite end of the biscuit between her own lips, Mikoto met Shandy’s eyes. Her amber gaze had settled into a waxing crescent, as competitive as ever.
There was no losing this one. Without either of them quite deciding to start, they began nibbling the stick down. As the biscuit shortened, Shandy’s eyes drew steadily closer.
Mikoto could make out her own reflection in those eyes. She couldn’t tell what expression she was wearing, but was grateful for it — she had no desire to see her own face doing something this embarrassing, let alone have anyone else see it.
“Mm-hm.”
Close enough now to feel the faint huff of Shandy’s amused breath through her nose. Only a few centimeters separated them. She’d been kissed by Shandy, and kissed her back, more times than she could count by now — and still her heart pounded. It almost felt like she was being deliberately made to wait for it, blood roaring in her ears.
Biscuit still held between her lips, Shandy murmured.
“…Master?”
“Yeff?”
“Like this.”
There was still some biscuit left. Even with that bit of slack still in her favor, Shandy swallowed the whole remaining piece in one sudden motion and closed in on Mikoto’s lips.
A total ambush of a kiss.
Startled into biting clean through what was left of her own piece, Mikoto’s lips were taken; the last traces of chocolate left on them were licked away besides. The soft press of that tongue burned itself into her memory.
“And the finishing touch — like this.”
A single flash. A blinding strobe caught Mikoto, still dazed, square on. What came into focus was Shandy, holding up an instant camera. Fanning the Polaroid the two-shot camera had spat out, she laughed, light and pleased with herself.
“Lovely expression there, master.”
“Wai— hey—!”
Mikoto’s hand shot out and caught nothing but air. Her own flustered, undignified face had been captured perfectly. A version of herself she refused to acknowledge — childish, nothing like the composed adult she wanted to be — and the very last person she wanted seeing it was Shandy.
“I’ll be keeping this photo in place of your real, from-the-heart chocolate, shall I?”
“N-no, please, anything but that…!”
“Oh? I was only doing exactly as my master asked — giving a demonstration.”
“Ngh…!”
Shandy’s soft laugh left absolutely no opening to push back through.
Determined to claw back at least that one mortifying photo, Mikoto finally steeled her resolve.
“…In that case, if I give you chocolate, will you return the photo?”
“Hm?”
Digging through the bag at her feet, Mikoto pulled out a neatly wrapped box. A well-known brand’s logo, six truffles inside.
“…Happy Valentine’s, Shandy-san.”
“Oh my, thank you. Is this the real kind of gift?”
“Whether you take it as the real kind or not is entirely up to you.”
“Are you trying to play push-and-pull with me?”
Watching her smirk, Mikoto desperately wanted, just once, to actually rattle her.
Unwrapping the box on the spot, Mikoto picked up a truffle. To earn a hint for the game, to reclaim that mortifying photo, and to properly express her everyday gratitude — the single boldest move she could think of. Feeding her the truffle herself.
Her fingertips trembled. Still, she kept her voice steady, forcing out every last scrap of the confident “master” persona she’d been trying to fake all night.
“Now then. Open your mouth. You want your master’s love, don’t you?”
“…What’s brought this sudden change of heart?”
“Oh? Are you saying you won’t listen to your master?”
An unfamiliar line to deliver. Fighting to keep her face from twitching, Mikoto forced herself through the role as best she could.
“Ha. In that case… would you grant this poor, pitiful maid a little mercy, master?”
“…Close your eyes.”
“Ha, I wonder what’s about to happen to me.”
Those amber eyes closed. A porcelain-skinned maid, mouth still open, waited for whatever her master intended to give her.
Mikoto steeled herself. She brought the truffle pinched between her fingers slowly toward Shandy’s mouth, letting her sense it approaching. Then, instead—
She popped it into her own mouth-
—and then sealed Shandy’s lips with her own.
Their mouths met. Using her tongue, she pushed the truffle across. Two tongues brushed together. Beneath the sweet, cloying chocolate, she caught the faint bitterness of whatever Shandy Gaff she must have had just before.
Pulling back, Mikoto studied her closely, straining to read Shandy’s expression in Antiqua’s darkness. Just as she’d said, it never showed easily on her face — nothing like the obvious flush that colored Mikoto’s own.
So Mikoto watched instead for that other thing. The moment her usual, brimming composure spilled, however briefly, over the rim of the glass.
“Was it delicious? My love, I mean.”
Shandy’s eyes had gone wide, round with surprise.
“…You’ve gotten better at this, haven’t you?”
“I’m learning from the best.”
“How disappointing,” she murmured, and handed the photo back to Mikoto. On the Polaroid: her own flustered face, and, in round handwriting, the words “With love.”
Never a single opening left unguarded.
“Now then, we’ve got reserved customers arriving shortly, so it’s about time for game over. Why am I wearing this maid uniform?”
“Wait, I never actually got a real hint—”
Right on cue, the creak announcing a new arrival sounded out. Shandy vanished into the darkness by the entrance, and a woman customer slipped past her through the curtain. A regular, evidently — she caught Mikoto’s eye and gave a small nod of greeting.
The regular glanced at Shandy, back behind the counter now, and let out a small, satisfied “ahh.”
“Cosplay day’s a maid this month, huh? So cute!”
“Yes, I was in the mood for it. I’m honored by the compliment, master.”
The look and wink Shandy shot her way told Mikoto the game was over.
The answer, it turned out, was painfully simple.
The 14th of every month was Cosplay Day at the girls’ bar Antiqua.
Which meant Valentine’s Day simply happened, by pure coincidence, to fall on Cosplay Day — and Shandy had picked the maid outfit purely on a whim.
That was all there was to it.
“That’s the punchline…?!”
“My master’s still got a ways to go, hasn’t she? Ha.”
Thoroughly played by an adorable little devil of a maid, serving her arriving customers without a hitch. Mikoto had announced she’d do the teasing, only to be teased right back — reading far too much into things and detonating herself in the process, yet again.
She needed a drink to get through this. Nothing short of alcohol was going to smooth over this particular flavor of humiliation. Mikoto tipped back what remained of her now-lukewarm Hot Chocolate. Bittersweet, warm, Shandy’s own chocolate sank into her overheated body and mind.
—Tonight’s game of love: total defeat for Mikoto.