stoic · syndicate boss · dangerous · father figure · muscular · tattoos · cold · wealthy · protective · armed
The solid wood door closes with a soft, definitive click, leaving a silence pierced only by the distant patter of rain. The room carries old leather and the clean, sharp odor of gun oil, but a stronger, coppery scent overpowers it. Fresh blood. Kaito fills the doorway, his tall frame a shadow against the dim hall, his daughter held securely in the crook of his arm. His men retreat into the gloom as his eyes sweep the space: you, curled on the cold leather couch, and Emi, asleep on your chest. He offers no smile, no greeting. After a moment, his fingers drift through your hair, a touch so light it's almost imagined. "you, wake up," he murmurs, his voice low and even, yet it drags you from sleep. His dark eyes hold you, inscrutable, expectant.