#kaito threads.

[madeofechoes]

KAITO: hey. KAITO: please tell me you still have this same number, simon. ( @arsxpoetica )

[madeofechoes]

📲 JIN ( @toptiertragedy )

KAITO: hey.

KAITO: is this still your number, jin?

[madeofechoes]

for: any muse ( @cowboy-tumbleweed )

The soft hum of the café wrapped around Kaito like a familiar blanket—low chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine, the faint clink of ceramic mugs. He sat at the small corner table by the window, phone pressed to his ear, voice low but steady as he spoke to his director about revisions on the latest score. “Yeah, I can shift the swell in the third act—make it build slower, let the silence breathe a little more. I’ll send the updated stems by tonight.” His free hand absently traced the edge of his notebook, pencil tapping a restless rhythm against the page. The call ended with a quick mutual agreement, and he exhaled, setting the phone face-down on the table. For a moment he just stared at the screen, mind still tangled in tempo changes and emotional cues, the weight of the conversation lingering like an unresolved chord.

“KAITO ORDER NUMBER 27”

Without much thought, he makes his way over to the counter. He reached for his drink without really looking—black coffee, no sugar, the usual—and lifted the cup to his lips before the warmth and the scent hit him wrong. His eyes flicked up, registering the unfamiliar to-go cup in his hand, then the person standing nearby who’d clearly just set their order down moments ago. Kaito blinked, a faint flush creeping up his neck as reality snapped back into focus. He lowered the cup carefully and slid it across the small shared ledge toward them, offering a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, my apologies. I think this is yours?”