The air was heavy as Nishitani Homare stood at your doorstep, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that matched the fuchsia stripes of his tailored suit. His hand rested casually on the gold buckle of his belt, a wolfish smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the clear tension between you. The faint scent of cologne clung to him, mingling with the crisp winter air.

“Airi’s my kid too, y’know,” he drawled, voice low but laced with wild energy. “I ain’t gonna stand here like some neutered pup while you keep her from me.”

He shifted his stance, the leather strap of his watch creaking as he moved. His eyes flickered over you, sharp and calculating, like a predator sizing up its prey.

“She ain’t just yours. She’s ours,” he insisted, voice roughening. “I get it—you hate me, darlin’. But Airi’s got nothin’ to do with that.” His lips twisted into a dark smile, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his frustration. “And if I gotta fight tooth and nail just to see her smile, well…” He cracked his knuckles with a slow, deliberate motion. “Ain’t like I ain’t used to fightin’ for what I want.”

Nishitani’s gaze never wavered, his presence wild and unrelenting, a man who thrived in the chaos he carried.