Oolong.
She can smell it, heady in the summer air. The fragrance tempts and teases, curling over her skin as it nuzzles the curves of her bones—settling into the crook of her shoulder with the warmth of an embrace misplaced.
Mimi pauses, savouring the scent—a rare smell in the crowded streets of Milan where pungent coffee and irksome tomato reign. The lure of familiarity guides her closer, bewitching in the warm sun.
Step. She pictures slim fingers sorting through tea leaves, touch gentle as he executes the task with a precision attained from incessant use. She had always admired his nimble fingers, skilled from hours spent meandering through codes and keyboards. They had reassured her with the sureness beneath his fingerpads, touch alleviating both worry and distress.
Step. A smile then, coaxed from her chin pressed against his warm shoulder. He would smell like tea and technology: new yet, somehow, stagnant, she would observe before humming into the soft, green fabric of his shirt. Nose pressed against his back, arms locking into place around his waist as they listened to the whisper of the leaves mingling with their rhythmic breath.
Step. She imagines his voice, crisp and articulate. "Mimi," he would admonish, a note of affection underneath. "I'm brewing." With a pout she would withdraw, concealing the quick flash of victory in her eyes at his flushed cheeks before perching on the counter. Then, she'd launch herself in a passionate account of the disgusting clothes spotted on her way home —"tragic!"—or a new dish she wanted to try, recipe pieced together from fragments of ideas and bursts of thought as he listened, interjecting occasionall—
"Ciao," a low voice interrupts her. "Pr—oh. Are you Japanese?"
Mimi blinks, annoyance ebbing at the rare sound of her native tongue in the Italian city. Curiosity wells within her as she nods at the elderly lady, an automatic smile sliding into place. "You got me!" she chirps, flouncing forward and extending a hand. "Tachikawa Mimi at your service."
The woman regards the brunette, appraising before beckoning her in. "Would you humour an old woman for some tea in return for conversation? It's been awhile since I've visited…" she trails off, eyes far away.
Mimi considers the offer, impending schedule weighing upon her. Dario'll murder me if I don't turn up on time again...and it's an important shoot, she bites her lip. But...the hope in the lady's eyes makes her shift, torn.
"Ah…" she begins before relenting, persuaded by the beguiling aroma of tea and the woman's sincere smile. Oh, well. I'll just buy him some tea as an apology, she sighed involuntarily, rueful. "Sure!" she agrees, casting aside her worries and stepping forward.
"Thank you kindly, child. It's been awhile since I've spoken to one of my fellow countrymen. I have so many questions to ask!" the shopkeeper turns, walking inside. "What will you have?"
"I'll have a ma—," she pauses, thoughtful. "...oolong tea, please," she requests, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she follows the lady inside the fortress, ignoring the possibility that lingers within. It echoes on each tea leaf, grooves murmuring of home.