Eyes.

Yoongi’s are a rich brown color: deep, brooding, earthy. Cold to strangers. Warm to those he cherishes. You’re not sure where in that spectrum you fall; sometimes his eyes are cold to you, sometimes warm, other times neither, in which his gaze seems so burning hot that it feels cold, or maybe so freezing cold that it feels hot. He’s never been easy to read.

Still, when you’re able to break past the surface and really look into his eyes, you see worlds full of stories.

They always begin in a lavishly elaborate, dimly lit room, fashioned with furniture gold and shining. From the open window, you can see that the moon is full. There are no stars. Instead, there are countless pairs of glowing eyes watching from the shadows, full of scheming, malicious intent, echoing an unforgiving thirst for vengeance. They disappear when looked at directly.

What happens next always changes, but the stories always end in a red world of chaos, crumbled ruins burning endlessly in bright flames. You stare and stare into that world until the jagged edges of broken pillars shift into sharp teeth, bared in a feral snarl. The flames morph into matted fur, and the light emitted from the fires is reflected from beady eyes.

And that’s when you lose sight of Yoongi.