Akiko’s nights always smelled of citrus and smoke. The little bar where she worked was tucked between neon signs in Shibuya, filled with chatter, music, and the clink of glasses. She moved quietly behind the counter, her hands steady, her eyes observant. People came and went, their stories spilling out between drinks, but she rarely let anyone too close.

Izumi was different.

Izumi was the kind of girl people noticed the moment she stepped into a room. At university, she was always surrounded by friends, admired for her easy smile and the way she made everyone feel like they were the only one she was speaking to. More than once, Akiko had watched her with other girls—arms linked on the street, laughter shared in cafes, phone buzzing with endless messages.

They lived together with a third roommate, Kana, who often teased Izumi about her popularity. “You’re like a magnet,” Kana said once, “but you leave a trail of broken hearts.” Izumi only laughed, tossing her hair, never denying it.

Akiko told herself she didn’t care. She poured drinks, cleaned glasses, came home late while Izumi was already asleep or just slipping back from another night out. But one evening, when Akiko finished her shift early, she found Izumi waiting at the bar.

“You never make me a drink,” Izumi said, chin resting on her hand. Her eyes sparkled under the dim lights.

Akiko raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never asked.”

“Then I’m asking now.”

Akiko mixed something simple, sliding the glass toward her. Izumi took a sip and smiled in that way that made Akiko’s chest ache. “Tastes like you,” she teased.

“Bitter?” Akiko shot back, trying to hide her blush.

“Strong,” Izumi corrected. “And impossible to forget.”