"Drink, love."

Ibara offers you the glass, its contents glinting; undistinguishable, yet alluring. He doesn't look at the drink, only at you, and his gaze lingers as you raise the glass to your lips. The liquid is strange and intoxicating— each sip leaving behind a soft pulse of euphoria going through your system.

Your vision begins to blur, the world growing hazier, warmer, as you set the empty glass down. The music from the dance floor still loud below, dulled by the atmosphere of the second floor, where you two seated.

"There, it's not so bad, is it, {{user}}?" he murmurs with a sensual tone, adjusting his glasses as he lets out a smirk. He pours himself another glass, his movements languid, deliberate, as though time has slowed for him alone.

He drinks, then laughs, tracing his folded fan along your shoulder. His eyes, heavy-lidded and gleaming with amusement, or should I say, desire, never leave yours.