#11: Bellini
Mikoto, having come into the office earlier than usual, walked in on office clerk Shirai Rinko mid-change. Rinko, whom she’d only ever seen in the company-issued uniform, turned out to have the kind of figure the world at large would call built to appeal to men. Everything filled out exactly where it should.
“K-Kurosu-san?!”
“Oh — sorry.”
Meiji Stationery’s women’s changing room. An unspoken rule among the female staff had everyone taking turns through a space barely bigger than a fitting-room stall.
Forgetting that unspoken rule for a moment, Mikoto had opened the door out of pure habit, and paid the price. Rinko, standing there in her underwear.
Feeling vaguely awkward about it, Mikoto scurried off toward her desk.
Sitting on top of it was a document that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“Um, Kurosu-san. The changing room’s free now.”
“Oh, right. Sorry, I should’ve knocked. I forgot I got in early and just opened it on reflex.”
“N-no, no, please don’t worry about it! I mean, my underwear’s hardly something worth looking at anyway— ah, why am I even saying that?!”
Mikoto could tell Rinko was flustered. Seeing a reaction like this had a way of waking up a particular version of herself — the more composed, grown-up self she brought out at Antiqua.
“No, you looked lovely.”
“O—! I’m terribly embarrassed now…”
Deliberately playing it cool, Mikoto watched Rinko shrink into herself.
If this had been Shandy, Mikoto thought, it wouldn’t have gone anywhere near this way. If anything, she’d have pushed straight back, turning it into a provocation of her own. Something like—
—the instant she pictured it, all the blood in her body rushed to one place. She shook her head hard to scatter the thought.
“Ah, that’s right! I put together a draft of that survey you asked about yesterday. Could you take a look?”
“Already?”
The document on the desk was Rinko’s draft. Forgetting entirely about changing, Mikoto skimmed through it. A few things needed adjusting, but it was hard to believe this had come together in barely a day. Genuinely well thought out.
“…This is impressive, honestly — I could basically use this as-is. It really does help having someone with real experience on the team.”
“Oh, not at all, it’s nothing. I just studied a bit and— huh?”
“Something wrong, Shirai-san?”
Rinko, standing beside her, was sniffing lightly at the air.
“No, it’s — this is completely unrelated, but… are you wearing perfume today, Kurosu-san? Something citrusy, I think…”
“Citrus…”
Mikoto thought it over for a moment before it clicked. The shampoo she’d borrowed from Shandy.
Realizing immediately that telling the truth would only invite an unnecessary misunderstanding, she reached for a convenient lie.
“Ah, no. I switched shampoos, actually. That’s probably it.”
“Ah, that makes sense! I was surprised, since you’re not usually one for perfume.”
“I’ve got a few, but it’s hard to tell yourself what actually suits you, right?”
“Totally get that — classic perfume problem.”
Mikoto only ever wore the stuff sparingly, on dates or days meeting up with friends, or when she was worried she might smell. More out of a sense of basic etiquette than any real interest in dressing up with scent.
“I actually go by mood, myself. Peach when I want to feel upbeat, ylang-ylang when I want to calm down. Can you smell it?”
Rinko leaned her head in close. She’d apparently dabbed it behind her ear — a sweet, peachy scent drifted over. Faint as it was, it seemed to cut straight from her nose to the back of her skull, leaving Mikoto’s head spinning slightly.
“…It’s a lovely scent. Peach, you said?”
“Yes! I love peach. Actually, this one’s my own custom blend.”
“You really know your stuff. I’m hopeless with this kind of thing.”
“Then, um!”
Rinko traced a finger behind her own ear, then reached out and brushed it lightly against Mikoto’s.
A moment later, that same peach scent drifted, soft and faint, into Mikoto’s nose.
“A little share of the scent.”
Rinko’s expression eased into something faintly bashful.
That sweet peach note rewrote, bit by bit, the way Mikoto had thought of Rinko until now — someone she’d only ever considered an ordinary coworker.
“…Well then, Kurosu-san. Shall we save the draft revisions for after work starts?”
“Sounds good. The changing room’s free now too — I’ll go get changed.”
“Yes!”
Leaving her desk behind, Mikoto pushed open the changing room door.
Inside, the faint, lingering trace of Rinko’s peach scent still hung in the air.
＊
Roppongi, the girls’ bar Antiqua, tucked into its back alley. Pushing the heavy door open, Mikoto sensed Shandy’s presence in the darkness near the entrance.
“Welcome — well, I’d like to say that, but—”
Shandy continued in an apologetic tone.
“We’re actually completely full tonight, which almost never happens. Would you mind waiting a little?”
“Not at all. Antiqua doing well is a good thing.”
“Yes, it would be a problem for you too, Kurosu-sama, if this place went under — oh?”
Something shifted in the darkness. Mikoto felt a warm breath close against her ear. Then came the faint sound of someone inhaling through the nose, once, twice.
“…This scent — perfume, isn’t it?”
“Ah, yes. Peach.”
Caught out over Rinko’s little “share,” Mikoto’s heart skipped.
She’d left the peach scent as it was, enjoying the faint drift of it whenever she moved. She’d assumed it had all but faded by now — but Shandy, apparently, had caught it without fail.
“How unusual. You don’t normally wear any.”
“I haven’t changed yet, you see. A girl’s got to try not to disappoint you, Shandy-san.”
“Hmm?”
Shandy’s hum carried a faintly probing note.
Some instinct told Mikoto it was best not to bring up Shirai Rinko’s name. Close against her ear, Shandy whispered.
“…Rather forward of you tonight, aren’t you?”
“Huh?”
Before Mikoto could answer, the sound of a chair scraping back came from inside the shop — a customer leaving their seat, most likely. Shandy stepped away to settle the departing customer’s bill and see them out.
“Your usual seat, if you would, Kurosu-sama.”
Even in the darkness, her voice had carried a faint, prickling edge. That didn’t change once Mikoto had taken her usual place against the wall at the counter’s end.
Unfortunately, Antiqua was fully booked tonight, and Shandy’s attention stayed fixed on the other customers’ glasses. Whatever tension hung about her was probably down to being too busy to spare much room to breathe. When she finally had a free moment to come take Mikoto’s order, she wore a small, wry smile, as if to say exhausting, isn’t it.
“Now then, sorry for the wait. What’ll it be, your first of the night?”
“I’ll leave it to you — something that won’t take much effort.”
“Ha, much appreciated, the consideration.”
Shandy thought it over briefly, then pulled a peach compote from the fridge. Blending it into a purée, she worked it further with a pestle-like rod, mashing away any remaining chunks of fruit.
“A peach cocktail?”
“Yes, I thought I’d make something to suit you tonight, Kurosu-sama.”
Careful not to arouse suspicion, Mikoto gave a small shake of her head and checked for any trace of the perfume. The scent Rinko had shared, dabbed behind her ear, had already faded completely. All she could pick up now was the alcohol hanging in the air and Antiqua’s usual sweet, cigar-tinged musk.
“You just checked, didn’t you? Whether the perfume was still there.”
“There’s no fooling you, Shandy-san.”
“People-watching’s my hobby, after all.”
With an enigmatic little laugh, Shandy produced a tall, narrow glass. Into it, over rising carbonation bubbles, went peach purée, peach nectar, and a splash of pomegranate (grenadine) juice.
The finishing touch was sparkling wine. Stirred lightly to keep the bubbles intact, the glass was served.
“Here you are — a Bellini.”
Bellini.
Same as the Leonardo from before, a cocktail named for a painter. The Leonardo, along with the Raphael and the Tiziano, were all offshoots of this original.
While Mikoto savored the faint scent of peach and wine rising from the glass, Shandy leaned in close to her ear, quiet enough that no other customer would hear.
“…I made this imagining a Peach Lady, sneaking up on you, Kurosu-sama.”
Mikoto instinctively studied Shandy’s expression. In Antiqua’s dim light, her amber eyes had curved into a waxing crescent. A smile that seemed to say, I see everything.
Mikoto reflexively changed the subject.
“Come to think of it, there’s a cocktail called the Peach Lady, isn’t there?”
“Yes. Peach, strawberry, milk, and white wine, shaken together. Though — a milky, overly sweet woman doesn’t really suit you, Kurosu-sama, if you ask me.”
Just how much had Shandy already pieced together?
Mikoto considered taking her place at the table of push-and-pull, and gave up on the idea almost immediately. Being honest outright would do less damage than trying to talk her way around it.
“Impressive as always. I never expected you to guess I’d borrowed someone’s perfume.”
“Oh my, confessing that quickly? And here I was thinking of turning tonight’s game into whether you’d be honest with me or not.”
A terrifying game. Mikoto quietly breathed a sigh of relief at having avoided that particular table of push-and-pull.
Rinko was just an ordinary coworker, after all — there’d have been no real harm in saying so. But Mikoto had only just sworn, here at Antiqua, to love no one but Shandy. Better to steer clear of talking about anyone else entirely.
“Yes, unfortunately the match doesn’t even get to happen this time. Though I really am impressed you figured it out.”
Her claim of “people-watching as a hobby” probably wasn’t just one of Antiqua’s usual jokes. Given how many different people she saw through her line of work, her powers of observation and deduction were probably genuinely exceptional.
After trading a light word or two with another customer, Shandy drifted back in front of Mikoto once more.
“Would you like to hear my deduction?”
“Yes, by all means — I’d love to.”
Smiling, Shandy propped a finger against her chin, detective-style, and continued.
“It’s simple, really. Someone who never wears perfume suddenly wearing some. It’s February — hardly perfume-as-etiquette season. Which means the true identity of the Peach Lady who lent you the scent is a female coworker, tied to that project of yours. Am I right?”
“Yes, that’s her. What gave it away?”
“Kurosu-sama, someone who never bends her own style, changing like this means her surroundings must have changed. Which brought to mind that coworker you mentioned once before. And peach perfume — I’d wager nine times out of ten, that’s a woman’s choice.”
“I see.”
“Though there’s one thing that doesn’t quite add up.”
Glancing at the Bellini glass, now half-empty, Shandy pressed further.
“…Why would the Peach Lady go out of her way to recommend perfume to you, Kurosu-sama?”
Mikoto caught her breath.
She’d seen straight through it — that Shirai Rinko had shared her peach scent with her.
Doing her best to look unbothered, Mikoto searched for the right words to avoid giving herself away.
“Ah, no, nothing like that. You know how I stayed up all night here yesterday — I just mentioned to a coworker that I was worried about the smell.”
“But Kurosu-sama, you’ve stayed up all night here at Antiqua several times before now. And you never seemed particularly bothered by it on any of those occasions.”
Mikoto found herself startled by the sheer sharpness of her memory and observation. She recalled, from some bartending guide she’d once read, a line about how a bartender ought to watch their customers closely.
Even at a girls’ bar — a notch below a true authentic bar or shot bar in prestige — perhaps this was simply Shandy’s own professional pride as a bartender at work.
“Well, that’s — I just happened to be more conscious of it. Especially since I used a different shampoo than usual this morning.”
“Oh my, so you dislike sharing a scent with me?”
“Not at all. I’m honored to wear the same scent as you, Shandy-san.”
“That’s exactly it, Kurosu-sama.”
“Huh?”
Shandy, finger still poised near her chin, snapped it upright — the classic pose of a sudden realization.
“What you were wearing today was my orange. And yet the Peach Lady overwrote it with peach. Why do you suppose that is?”
“Why, meaning…?”
Mikoto wasn’t playing dumb. She genuinely couldn’t follow Shandy’s reasoning.
When she asked again, Shandy leaned in over the counter and whispered close to her ear.
“…You’re liked, you know. By the Peach Lady.”
“Excuse me…?”
“And it seems I’m the one being envied, too. Ha.”
Mikoto let out an unguarded, almost childish “huh?” before she could stop herself. Meanwhile, Shandy’s amber eyes shone bright and full, like a full moon.
“The Peach Lady is probably sensitive to scent, given she wears perfume regularly to begin with.”
“Ah, well, yes — she did mention picking peach or ylang-ylang depending on her mood.”
“And yet, up until now, the Peach Lady never once suggested perfume to you. Which means even your scent right after an all-nighter here never bothered her much.”
Wiping the water from a freshly washed glass, Shandy went on.
“But the moment you started wearing the same shampoo as me, she moved to overwrite it. Which leaves a few possibilities: she dislikes the change in your scent, she simply dislikes the smell of orange, or — the person behind that orange scent. Me. She dislikes me.”
Naturally, Rinko had no way of knowing Mikoto came to Antiqua every single night. Which meant even if Mikoto had carried the scent of orange on her, there’d be no way for Rinko to connect it back to Shandy’s existence at all.
“…I think you’re overthinking this. I haven’t told her anything about you, Shandy-san.”
“Yes, it would just be interesting if it were true, that’s all.”
“Interesting?”
“Yes, very. The more complicated the situation gets, the more enjoyable the push-and-pull becomes.”
Leaving a smile behind, Shandy moved off to take another customer’s order. Switching back into her bartender’s expression, she measured spirits with the jigger and shook them in the shaker. Amid the classical strains, the clink of ice, and — unusually — the sound of other customers chatting away, Mikoto lifted her now-empty Bellini glass.
“A little share, huh…”
The faint, lingering scent of peach clung sweetly to the glass.
Tonight’s game of love: match void.