After just two more drinks, Michiko felt her guard beginning to slip away. Not completely, never completely, but just enough for the sharpness in her words to mellow into something almost playful. Her fingertips tingled with a pleasant buzz, her knees loosened beneath the barstool, and her thoughts seemed to flow like warm honey, pooling gently inside her mind.
Ji remained steadfastly by her side. They orbited around her, returning after each round of customers with a sly smirk or a witty comment that coaxed a smile from Michiko's lips before she could resist. They never demanded her attention, merely offered it, like they instinctively understood it would eventually be accepted.
There was an undeniable magnetism about them. Their androgynous allure. Their serene composure. It was the sort of self-assured confidence that didn't seek approval.
Michiko loathed how much she was drawn to it, yet she couldn't deny the attraction.
Ji returned with a new cocktail—this one lavender-tinted with a lemon twist—and set it down in front of her with a small, knowing smile.
"I didn't ask for another," Michiko said, though her fingers were already curling around the glass.
"I felt like you needed one," he retorted.
"Oh? And what else do you think I need?"
Ji shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "Hard to say. You're not easy to read."
"I've been told that before," Michiko mumbled, taking a sip. Her mouth puckered at the citrus, but the sweetness followed quickly, balanced and bold.
She swirled the straw of her drink between her fingers for a moment before setting it down, feeling brave from the alcohol but cautious from experience. She inhaled softly and leaned in slightly, raising herself on the edge of the bar to whisper into Ji's ear, "You want to know why I'm here tonight?"
Ji tilted their head, genuinely intrigued. "I'm listening."
"My best friend—Fumi—thinks I'm… limited."
Their brows lifted in quiet amusement. "In what way?"
Michiko's lip curled bitterly, her voice low. "In the way I like girls." She lowered herself back down into her stool, eyes locked firmly on Ji's face.
"Ah." Ji's expression remained neutral, though inside something shifted.
"I like feminine girls," Michiko clarified firmly. "Really soft, pretty ones. The type that wear perfume and glitter and matching bras."
Ji chuckled softly, watching her closely. "And?"
"And she thinks I should 'expand my palate.'" Michiko made exaggerated air quotes. "So she made a bet. Said I should try something… different. Something not so traditionally feminine. See if it still grosses me out."
Ji's expression twitched subtly. Their thoughts shifted beneath the surface, unreadable yet suddenly heavy. "And does it?"
Michiko paused, leaning closer again, suddenly honest despite herself. "So far—no. It doesn't gross me out."
A small silence followed. Ji watched her closely. Behind their calm, something heavier stirred—a pulse of recognition. This wasn't just flirtation. This was a bet. A test. And Michiko believed she was testing herself on a woman.
She thinks I'm a woman.
The full truth settled into Ji's chest with a quiet, surging enjoyment mixed with a sudden pang of hesitation. It was thrilling to be seen this way, but also unsettling.
Michiko had made the bet under the assumption Ji was female—had looked Ji in the face, heard their voice, watched them move, and seen only what she wanted to see. Ji's fingers tapped lightly on the bar, remembering how many times people had imposed their assumptions onto them, and how seldom Ji had corrected them. But this was different; this was a woman who was almost desperate for that belief to be true.
Ji didn't correct her. Didn't dare ruin the delicate tension between them. Instead, they leaned just a little across the counter and said, voice smooth, "So I'm the test?"
Michiko smirked, confidence returning slightly. "Don't take it personally."
"I'm not offended," Ji said, lips curving faintly. "Just wondering how I'm doing."
"You're doing fine."
"Just fine?"
"I told you, I don't give out compliments easily."
Ji laughed gently under their breath. "Maybe you're just scared you'll lose the bet."
Michiko's eyes glittered defiantly, her voice dropping lower. "I never lose when it comes to women."
"Well," Ji said slowly, fingers tracing the rim of Michiko's glass, voice softening, "if it helps you win, I can keep playing along."
Michiko paused—just for a second. The air felt suddenly charged, the pleasant buzz in her head sharpened into alertness. A distant echo of laughter from another table momentarily tightened her throat, dredging up fleeting, ugly memories of another time, another place. Her stomach twisted, remembering being cornered, pinned, mocked by voices just like those behind her. She took a steadying breath, fighting back the unwanted flashbacks, grounding herself in Ji's steady gaze.
Ji was watching her carefully now, their posture unchanged, but their eyes alert.
"You'd help me win?" she asked, tone tight.
"If you're that desperate," they said, voice light but measured.
Michiko narrowed her eyes, grasping for control. "Why would you agree to that?"
Their smile softened—less playful, more real. "Because you're interesting."
It was simple. Unadorned.
And it sank deeper than she liked.
She didn't like how that felt—exposed, uncertain. She wasn't supposed to feel vulnerable, not here, not now.
Before she could reply, a familiar voice broke the tension.
"I'm heading out," Fumi said, appearing beside her and gently placing a comforting hand on Michiko's shoulder. "Try not to seduce the entire staff while I'm gone, Michi-chan."
Michiko waved her off distractedly, not noticing the way Ji's expression flickered at the name.
"You're the only one who lets me do that," Michiko mused, briefly allowing affection to slip into her tone.
Fumi leaned down and whispered softly into her ear—too quiet for Ji to catch. Michiko nodded slightly, a faint blush warming her ears. Then Fumi smiled sweetly at Ji, eyes sparkling with gentle warning. "Don't let her bully you. She bites."
"Noted," Ji said with a quiet laugh, eyes following Fumi thoughtfully as she disappeared into the crowd.
Michi-chan, they thought carefully, tasting the name silently, filing it away like something precious and secretive.
Michi.
Michiko turned back around, looking briefly dazed, vulnerable for only a fraction of a second before her familiar confidence returned. "So."
Ji raised an eyebrow expectantly. "So?"
"Still in?"
They reached forward and adjusted her glass, not for necessity but for ritual. A quiet gesture. Then they leaned just a little closer.
"I'm in," they said softly, "as long as you let me surprise you."
Michiko hesitated.
Something about the way they said it made her stutter.
Ji didn't look eager. They looked certain. Like someone who'd already imagined all the ways this could unfold.
She finished her drink in one swallow.
"Let's get out of here," she whispered firmly, needing desperately to reclaim some control, even if it was fleeting.