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The bar was hushed and expectant as Aiba manipulated the shaker with an attempt at expert ease.
Shihori thought he looked nervous. She didn't seem to make him nervous with anything but her strongest teasing, which was a bit of a blow to her ego, so she figured it was his leading role in the upcoming drama that was stressing him out.
Otherwise there was nothing and no one there for him to be anxious about. Their managers had left the bar to them, and Shihori suspected they were napping in their respective cars outside if not talking shop with each other. The bar's owners had left hours ago, right after the director, who'd inspected the bar from every possible angle, and the set design staff, who'd taken an astonishing number of pictures. Aiba and Shihori had been there running lines when not needed to look pretty in some lighting or other.
Aiba had requested to stay after to practice his bartending skills, and Shihori had followed suit, glad when no one questioned that. If she'd had an early morning the next day, she might not have stayed, but as it was it felt like a good use of her time. After all, she'd had Aiba on her mind for quite a while, and now they were working together.
She watched Aiba's face closely as he finished up his shaking. He seemed determined not to let his expression change at all even with the most vigorous movement.
She opened her mouth to say something just as Aiba snapped out of his trance to ask once more, "What are you practicing again?"
Closing her mouth, Shihori considered. She'd deflected the question before, when Aiba seemed too engrossed in his practicing to engage with her much, but she was starting to get impatient.
"Looking at you," she answered, letting her expression take on a fair amount of dreaminess.
Aiba blinked hard. "Huh?"
"Miwa's going to fall in love with Ryu, yes?" She let that stand on its own for a second before adding, "I'm trying to find the appeal."
"Now wait a second--" he started, caught between frowning and grinning.
She sighed, "I guess that's why it's called acting."
He put up some laughing protests for a while before she gestured sharply to the shaker. "What, are you done practicing?"
She watched his lighthearted smile fade into unease as he picked it up and began again. This time, she talked to him.
First she told him a long story, clearly material for a joke, that led right to the perfect opportunity to do a Rola impression. By that point, Aiba's eyes were helplessly intent on her face, though he kept the shaking motion up. When she lingered before the punchline, lifting her eyebrows at him meaningfully, he broke.
"Okay~~" His high-pitched voice was punctuated by his free hand coming up to his cheek to make the OK sign. Then he poked his tongue out, trying to look cute.
Shihori shrugged. "Score? 6.5 at best." Before he could react to her judgment, she pointed at the shaker. "Are you done with that?"
His tongue disappeared, face going serious again as he started practicing at once.
She left him to it while browsing the internet on her phone. Then, when she found the cutest picture of a sloth she could, she held the phone out so that it was right in his line of sight.
"Ah, so cute!" he exclaimed, once his eyes focused on the sloth involuntarily.
"Right?" Shihori said, smiling back at his pleased face. She twitched her phone at the shaker in his hands. "Don't let me interrupt you."
His face was suspicious for a moment, but then he focused, losing the suspicion in favor of that familiar graveness with underlying nerves.
Shihori told him a story about her best friend's toddler, a little boy obsessed with Arashi. His movements slowed as he listened, waiting to hear who the boy's favorite was, and finally they stopped.
"And Rina-chan is worried that he'll be an airhead, with such an example, and--"
"Who is it," Aiba burst out, excited.
She kept her face serene. "Ohno-kun, of course."
"Honestly," he complained. "Now you're just messing with me."
"That's right," she agreed, smiling as if to praise him for figuring it out.
He put down the shaker, still staring at her. "What? Why?"
"You're being so serious." She considered broaching the topic of his perceived responsibility for the drama's success, but discarded the idea. "It's not some precious concoction in there, you know."
"Sasakura takes bartending extremely seriously--" Aiba started.
Shihori interrupted him, "Well, maybe I don't want to be with Sasakura-san right now! Maybe I want to be here with you."
They stared at each other for a minute, both flustered by her words. The bar's lighting turned his skin golden, with his hair and eyes a dark, elegant contrast. Despite all his professionalism, he wasn't yet in costume: his long, slim legs were in faded jeans; his neat button-down shirt had been reduced to a few buttons closed over his old concert t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his strong forearms. It hadn't been hard to seem dreamy when she looked at him.
Shihori broke the silence, feeling like he might just wait her out indefinitely. "Aiba-san."
He smiled a little. "Kanjiya-san."
"Make me a drink?" Her voice was blunt and a little shy at the same time.
"Of course," he said automatically, but she qualified her request before his eyes could go all solemn again.
"Not one of Ryu's."
After a beat of confusion, he grinned, eyes crinkling with enjoyment. "One Aiba special, coming right up!"
Gathering ingredients, his face got brighter and brighter with excitement, until finally Shihori couldn't hold it in any longer and said, "It does have to be drinkable."
With the arm not burdened with bottles and fruit and the much beleaguered shaker, Aiba clutched at his chest as if she'd wounded him, but his smile only got impossibly wider.
When he'd assembled an intimidating line of alcohol and other ingredients, some of which Shihori was sure were meant as snacks and not for drinks at all, he began pouring from the bottles into the shaker.
"Aren't you going to use the shot glasses?" Shihori asked, worried and fascinated. Aiba had a manic gleam in his eye.
"Sasakura-bartender would," he agreed immediately. "Aiba-bartender uses his instincts."
"And talks about himself in the third person, I see. Just what are you planning for those peanuts, Aiba-san?"
He popped a few in his mouth, smirked at her wordlessly, then sliced a green apple in swift, careful strokes.
Some of the bottles he'd selected seemed to be there more to obscure her view than anything else, but she saw him pour in some kind of rum, a caramel liqueur, and at least one type of juice. He carefully dusted the surface with the lightest layer of cinnamon, then perched three apple slices on the rim.
He was sliding the glass over to her, drawing her attention to his pretty hands, when he stilled with a jerk.
"I almost forgot! These really should have gone in before the cinnamon, but..."
As Shihori watched with suppressed horror, Aiba grabbed a small handful of peanuts and dropped them in the cocktail glass, where they promptly sank to the bottom.
"Aiba-san," she said through gritted teeth, but he just smiled at her reassuringly as if he were entirely trustworthy.
Shihori raised her eyebrows, unimpressed.
"Your drink, Kanjiya-san," he said reprovingly. His eyes twinkled.
She sighed and tugged the glass closer, then leaned over to take a small, careful sip.
The tastes took her a while to process, and before she offered a review, she went back to try it again. She could see Aiba giving in to tiny bounces of impatience, but she was so surprised by her initial estimation that she wasn't going to say anything without more evidence.
Finally, she couldn't pretend any longer. "It's delicious."
He fistpumped with a half-voiced exclamation of triumph, then turned around to rest his elbows on the bar behind him as if to revel in his own skill.
Shihori took another drink, enjoying the sweetness of caramel, the sourness of the apple, and the slight salty finish from the peanuts.
"Very nice, Aiba-san," she said sincerely, giving his back and shoulders a bit of an ogle while he couldn't see. "What's it called?"
Abruptly, Aiba's stillness changed from basking to frozen. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, face blank in a complete lack of comprehension. "Called?"
"Yeah," she said, smiling sharply at him. "All drinks have names, you know."
His deer in headlights look vanished as he snapped his fingers and promptly invented a name for her. "It's called Kiss the Chef!"
He looked incredibly pleased with himself.
Shihori rolled her eyes. "Chefs only make food, Aiba-bartender."
He leaned his elbows on the bar and moved closer to her, near enough that he could have touched her hands with his by moving forward one more inch. His movements were leisurely, his expression unperturbed.
"I only told you the name; I didn't make it up," he lied brazenly, swaying even closer to her side of the bar.
Her jaw dropped open at his gall. "You totally did! You made it up right in front of my eyes!"
He shrugged and took her glass up so he could try her drink. As she watched, so close she could see the laugh lines around his eyes, his cool expression vanished, leaving in its wake a dumbfounded expression completed by the rounded O of his mouth.
"This is amazing! Do you think I could be a natural genius at bartending?"
He was so close and so silly and so handsome. Shihori leaned in and kissed that soft, open mouth.
To her pleasure, Aiba didn't seem stunned at all. Instead, he kissed her back urgently, lips warm and responsive. One of his hands found her chin and cupped it with his long, graceful fingers.
Pressing her forehead against his to take in air, Shihori said sweetly, "You're definitely a natural at something."
His smile curved smugly in her peripheral vision, though his voice was hoarse when he responded. "At kissing?"
He'd lost his breath from one little kiss, she thought, smug in turn. She said only, "Sure. Let's go with that," so dryly that he could only take it as an insult.
Then she kissed him again to stop his objections.