#5: Panache
—Shandy had kissed her.
Last night’s incident at Antiqua had lodged itself in Mikoto’s head and refused to leave.
On the way home. Lying down to sleep. Waking up. Getting ready for work, and after she got there. Shandy’s voice, her pale skin lit up in the darkness, and the soft press of their lips meeting — all of it clung to her like a hangover.
“No, no, that was all just the game. Just a kiss for play.”
Every time the scene flashed back, she found herself muttering the curse under her breath. To Shandy, she was nothing more than “a chosen customer” — not a “special” one. For all she knew, the very idea that Shandy “chose” her customers wasn’t even true to begin with.
All of it was just a trap for love that Shandy had rigged to snare her. Switching up her tactics, trying every angle, just lip service from a shrewd businesswoman angling to get customers to spend more, drop more cash at the shop.
Yes — lip service. Exactly that.
Not just a barrage of sweet-worded bullets, but going so far as to use her own sweet-and-sour lips as ammunition—
—A Kiss in the Dark with me. You’re the only one I’ve ever served something that isn’t even a real cocktail.
“That was just a kiss for play…”
All that kept coming back to her were Shandy’s loaded words. Every time, those amber eyes surfaced in her mind. Two full harvest moons, cycling endlessly between full and crescent, had Mikoto caught and wouldn’t let go.
“That was just a kiss for play…!”
Muttering the curse to herself at every turn, Mikoto barely noticed the workday slipping away. She’d been tasked with handing off materials to the sales team, since the new product idea was being passed along to a partner company. A hollow, deflating task if there ever was one.
Stuffing the documents and the product mockup into one of the paper envelopes used for internal document routing — Meiji Stationery, drowning as it was in the wave of digitization, remained blissfully untouched by any paperless-office ambitions — Mikoto handed it off to the office clerk.
“Could you send this to Aomi-san in sales, please!”
“Um, is everything all right, Kurosu-san?”
“All right? What do you mean?”
“No, it’s just — you seem like you’re having a rough time.”
The clerk trailed off vaguely, likely picking up on Mikoto’s situation without saying so outright. Or perhaps she’d simply noticed the wild swings in Mikoto’s mood lately.
Of course, the real cause was last night’s business with Shandy — but correcting the misunderstanding felt like too much trouble. Mikoto decided to just go along with the assumption.
“Sorry. Something’s not going the way I wanted, so I’ve been on edge. I’ll be more careful.”
“It’s the project, right? I get it. That thing’s an impossible ask.”
“…Impossible ask.”
Even people outside the project thought the work was beyond her. She already knew full well it was more than she could handle — but having that truth, the one she’d been trying not to think about, handed to her by someone she hadn’t expected, left her shoulders sagging.
“…Ah! N-no, I didn’t mean it like Kurosu-san isn’t capable—”
“It’s fine. Honestly, I feel it myself — not enough time, not enough ability on my own. I wish they’d assign a few more people, but that doesn’t seem likely either.”
“I’m sorry, somehow…”
Letting the clerk’s words wash past her, Mikoto returned to her desk. She packed up quickly and, on her way out of the office — which, despite the name, was really nothing more than a wooden shack with the air of some small Shōwa-era company — wrote her schedule on the whiteboard by the entrance.
—External meeting, heading straight home after.
“All right, Shirai-san, please send those documents! Thanks for today!”
“O— oh, thanks for today.”
Watching Mikoto’s heels click off in a hurry, the office clerk, Shirai Rinko, lowered her eyes to the label on the envelope she’d just been handed.
NEXT-GENERATION FLAGSHIP PRODUCT DEVELOPMENT PROJECT — FULL DOCUMENT SET ENCLOSED — HANDLE WITH CARE
Tracing a finger over the hastily scrawled name — Kurosu Mikoto — on the label, Rinko murmured quietly to herself, too soft for anyone to hear.
“…I wish I could help out with Kurosu-san’s work.”
＊
Mikoto’s job that day was accompanying the head of the sales division to entertain a client from Hibiya Trading, a major company. Saddled with the pointless title of “the female project office chief Meiji Stationery is so proud of,” her actual job amounted to playing the part of the capable career woman while pouring drinks and showering the client rep with flattery — work so mind-numbingly beside the point it made her want to die a little.
And even the business talk only lasted through the opening. After that, it was predictions for this year’s pennant race, camping (apparently a shared hobby), and eventually — in astonishingly poor taste — cracking jokes about the group suicide of three Hibiya employees that had been all over the tabloid shows lately. Utterly disinterested in any of it, Mikoto spent the whole time nodding along with vague, noncommittal sounds.
Drinks you have for work politics never taste good.
If she was going to drink anyway, she wanted to drink at Antiqua.
Shandy’s voice, her face, the feel of her lips — all of it kept drifting across Mikoto’s mind.
—There’s no rule anywhere that says no kissing.
“I want to see Shandy-san…”
The words slipped out of her mouth before she noticed, and startled even herself.
By the time she was finally released, it was past eleven at night. Work, the client dinner — all day, all she’d thought about was Shandy. What had that kiss actually meant? The answer was simple: it was just part of the game. Shandy picked out customers likely to become regulars and gave them a little lip service, that was all.
But was that kiss really just for play? No — she knew perfectly well it had to be just play. And yet there was some part of her, deep down, that couldn’t quite believe it — didn’t want to believe it.
Why did she keep thinking about it like this? Why was she burning for her this badly?
Was this — could this possibly be — what people called love?
“No way that’s it! Ahahahaha!”
Even though she’d only gone along with the drinking session reluctantly, the alcohol had well and truly taken hold.
After a good long laughing fit, Mikoto found herself, despite the hour and the last train fast approaching, heading not home but straight for Roppongi.
＊
“Huh, it’s closed…”
A back alley in Roppongi. The door to Antiqua, tucked away on the third floor of a mixed-use building, was firmly shut.
What waited for Mikoto, who’d been counting on spending the night at Antiqua, wasn’t Shandy — it was the dead-of-winter cold, sharp enough to sober her up on the spot.
Past midnight now, technically Saturday — how easily was she really going to find somewhere to spend the night? The memory of that first day came flooding back at once — the day she’d first met Shandy. Back then, meeting Shandy had let her survive the night, even at some cost. But tonight, there was nowhere left to go.
“This is the worst…”
“You’re telling me. I’d just closed up, thinking you weren’t coming tonight after all.”
Turning at the voice, Mikoto found a pair of amber eyes peering out through a narrow gap in the door. Shandy.
She’d apparently shown up practically banging on the door right after closing. Mortified, Mikoto found herself apologizing on reflex.
“Sorry, I’ll head home.”
“Even without a last train?”
“I mean, I can just grab a taxi…”
“Wait just a moment.”
The door closed. A few seconds later, Shandy reappeared in front of Mikoto.
Tonight she wasn’t in her white jacket and suit. Instead she wore a knee-length down coat, and her hair — usually tied back — hung loose and untamed.
“How much would a taxi from here to your place run you, Kurosu-sama?”
“About five thousand yen, I think.”
“Rather than spend it on a cab, why not drink at mine instead? Five thousand yen’s worth.”
“Huh?”
Caught off guard by the sudden offer, Mikoto froze.
“…At your place, Shandy-san?”
“Not that. At the shop — my place of business.”
“Ah…”
Mortified by her own embarrassing misunderstanding, Mikoto suddenly wanted to shrink into nothing.
Sharply attuned to Mikoto’s embarrassment, Shandy did exactly what you’d expect and shifted her full-moon eyes into a waxing crescent. She smiled like a girl who’d just found herself a fun new toy — or a seductive beauty who’d found a child worth teasing.
“And what exactly were you planning to do, coming up to my place?”
“Wh-what do you think I was planning? What would you like me to do, Shandy-san?”
“Flustering yourself into acting all grown-up won’t work on me. Not you, my cute Kurosu-sama.”
“No, um, I’m not acting—”
“Yes, of course. In front of me, Kurosu-sama plays the cool, composed type. Very cool indeed.”
Unable to hold it back, Shandy pressed a slender finger to her lips and laughed.
Not only had her embarrassing misunderstanding been exposed, but the composed, grown-up air Mikoto tried to put on whenever she met Shandy had been seen straight through as an act as well.
At this rate, there’d be no game left to play. And yet — having her lie seen through, having her real feelings caught — strangely, it didn’t feel unwelcome at all.
“Standing around talking won’t do, let’s get you warmed up inside.”
“S-so tonight I have Shandy-san all to myself, is what you’re saying?”
“Yes, no interruptions tonight. Will you let me get you good and drunk?”
“I’m all yours.”
“Good answer. I’ll be looking forward to it.”
With her usual knowing laugh, Shandy took Mikoto by the hand and led her in. Passing through the same half-tatami-mat darkness where she’d been kissed the night before, through the curtain separating the entrance porch from the shop floor, Antiqua opened up before her — lit far brighter than usual.
“First time drinking with you this close.”
Mikoto took off her coat and was led to that same prized seat against the wall. Shandy sat down beside her, carrying glasses and bottles.
Tonight’s bartender Shandy was entirely off the clock. Her hair fell loose, unresisting gravity; beneath the coat she’d shed was a gray hoodie. Cocktail tools sat within reach, but as far as Mikoto could tell, only the bare minimum.
“So, what’ll it be for the first drink?”
“I’d like to get drunk on Shandy-san first, if I can.”
“Same here, honestly, but I’m out of ginger ale.”
Shandy’s brows drew into a faint, apologetic slant as she cracked open a can of beer and a bottle of Mitsuya Cider. Pouring equal amounts of each into two pilsner glasses, she produced a pale amber cocktail.
“Tonight, how about a Panaché instead?”
“Cheers.”
Their glasses met in a quiet kiss.
Watching her profile as she drank, the sharp double-hit of two carbonations felt like something special. In the glass of Panaché — paler than the Shandy Gaff — Shandy’s beautiful reflection floated. Mikoto found herself lost in the sight for a while, until the woman in the glass slowly opened her mouth.
“First time I’ve ever had a drink at the counter with a customer. And just the two of us, no less.”
“So I really am a special, chosen customer, then?”
“Saying it yourself now, are we?”
Turning the earlier bit of self-flattery into a joke, the two of them laughed together for a while.
Shandy laughed often. A knowing chuckle, a meaningfully loaded smile, a deliberately wry laugh — she had any number of expressions she switched between. Given she’d once said a smile costs nothing, all of them were presumably just for business.
But right now, Shandy was off duty. With her white jacket off and her hair down, her smile no longer looked like a lie at all.
“But you’re right. You are special, Kurosu-sama. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have served you a real Kiss in the Dark.”
The memory of last night’s kiss, there in the darkness, drifted back.
That had just been a kiss for play, nothing more than an extension of the game. Getting flustered over it more than necessary would only hand Shandy another opening.
Telling herself as much, Mikoto pressed on without touching on the kiss.
“Lovely name for it, wasn’t it — A Kiss in the Dark, I think it was.”
“Yes. Do you know where the name comes from?”
Shandy set down her glass and leaned her weight against Mikoto’s shoulder. A citrus scent — perfume, or maybe just her shampoo, Mikoto couldn’t tell — pierced straight through her nose and into her heart.
Blaming her racing pulse on her first glass of Panaché, Mikoto asked.
“Sorry, I don’t know the origin.”
“Originally, it was a secret code used by a lady burning with a forbidden love. Some overly clever bartender somewhere turned it into a cocktail with a complicated flavor to match. Asking for A Kiss in the Dark was a way of telling the one you loved, without saying it outright — I want to play with fire, with you.”
“That’s a romantic story.”
“Yes. I just made it up.”
Classic Antiqua-style joke. Laughing lightly, Shandy traced a slender finger around the rim of her now-empty glass.
“But you believed it, didn’t you. That’s the magic of a cocktail. In a place like this, with drinks like these, you get to play a different version of yourself. Get to be whoever you wish you were. Don’t you think?”
“I…”
Caught in an upward glance, Mikoto found herself at a loss for words. This was a face Shandy never showed on the shop floor, suddenly laid bare. She searched for the right answer, the one that would make that face bloom further.
“It’s only in front of you, Shandy-san, that I get to be like this.”
“You’re looking all doe-eyed, you know?”
“Wh—?!”
Mikoto’s hand shot to her face before she could stop it, and only then did she realize she’d walked straight into the trap.
“I’m joking. It’s a lovely face, faintly blushed red.”
“…What a wicked bartender you are.”
“Not a bartender tonight. Kurosu-sama — no, Mikoto-san — I’m just a fellow drunk, same as you.”
“So the game’s on hold, then?”
“That’s a separate matter entirely. Tonight, how about this — the winner has to do whatever the loser says.”
“The loser gets to make demands?”
“Well, Mikoto-san keeps losing, after all. Since you’re bound to lose to me again tonight anyway, this much of a handicap seems fair, don’t you think?”
“Mmph…”
Fixing her with a moist, waxing-crescent stare, Shandy set the bottles and mixers down on the counter. Alongside them appeared a glass, a shaker, a jigger — nearly the full lineup, no different from a working shift.
Even through the haze of alcohol, Mikoto could guess what kind of contest Shandy was about to propose.
“Since Mikoto-san’s been studying cocktails, why don’t you make whatever I order and see if you can impress me. That’s tonight’s game.”
“That’s an impossible ask…”
“Yes, going up against me in a cocktail contest, defeat’s all but guaranteed. But for Mikoto-san, this is as good a chance as you’ll ever get — if you want to make me do as you say.”
Shandy had a point. This round of the game — losing was winning.
If Mikoto made a cocktail good enough to impress her, that counted as a win — but winning meant Shandy would have to do whatever she said. And if Shandy actually ended up at her mercy, Mikoto doubted she could stay composed about it. That was the one outcome she wanted to avoid at all costs.
Which meant the winning move here was to lose — to make a cocktail bad enough that Shandy would hand it right back and say “no thanks.” Losing was winning.
Deliberately making a bad cocktail didn’t sit entirely well with her, but this was finally her chance at an actual win. Something like fighting spirit began bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her.
“…Understood. Let’s make you regret giving me that handicap.”
“Please, do make me regret it.”
Mimicking what she’d watched Shandy do, Mikoto picked up the shaker and jigger and declared, with all the dignity she could muster:
“Now then, Shandy-sama. What’ll you have?”
“Let’s see… in that case.”
The instant she said it, Shandy leaned in until her face was right in front of Mikoto’s, close enough to touch noses. The scent of citrus and the alcohol on her breath from the Panaché hit Mikoto square in the face and the heart at once.
“Kiss me now.”
Innocent as a young girl, seductive as a grown beauty, or perhaps the ultimate distillation of aesthetic perfection made flesh — Shandy’s face closed the last of the distance.
Mikoto froze all over again.