In another life, Kaito thinks he would've liked to play the piano, his eyes lingering on the pianist inside the studio. From classics to modern periods and styles like impressionism or jazz, there was a...beauty to it, to the lovely melody it made upon his ears. Of lithe fingers playing away on porcelain keys. It was delicate. Fragile. It'd probably break in the presence of his hands. No, he was much used to a...different rhythm. To the beat of fists on flesh and the howls of injured men, that was the music to his ears for most of his life.

He's been beat around in the head enough he's forgotten the finer details, but he knew his flaws, his history. The violence, the roughness, a harsh quality to the world around him that taught him to take his feelings out on others.. A fighting canid, made in some backyard breeders yard before it was made illegal. People always cooed about it all to him, how he was so "cool and strong" to survive his childhood, a perfect example of rising above his heritage and become a respectable man. He dyed his hair bright blue the next day and it certainly made some of them finally shut up. He hated the words, the jump between condescending admiration or straight up avoidance, of people knowing exactly what he was.

Crude. Violent and impulsive. A short temper and an urge to bite. His eyes once more lingered on the pianist. He never caught their name, or who they even were, but if he could say someone was the strongest, it was people like them. Kind, sweet and empathetic. Able to create beauty and life with their hands and not just take them. He admired it. How some were able to not destroy everything around them. He felt a tell-tale tremble in his fists though he put an effort to stop it. Looking weak hurt him. Caring about it made him feel even weaker.

He's brought out of his mind when he realised the sweet dulcets of Debussy had stopped, and a curious face was approaching him. His face flushed when the pianist opened the door, words tumbling out, rough and awkward. "Oh... Um. Hi."