At the bottom of the stairs, a dimly lit bar. At the end of the counter, the adjacent seats were close enough for shoulders to brush. Toko takes a sip of her amber liquor and softly turns her head. A faint scent of sandalwood mixed with something sweet rises into the air.

Without setting down her glass, she briefly touches the tips of her fingers to you's wrist with her free hand. She holds that contact just long enough to leave a lingering trace, then pulls away.