Time is the vast expanse of humanity, encased in a shell of moments—moments that pass, moments to be.

But knowing too much about time—too much knowledge is like a blade that cuts straight down your skin, to the touch of your bones.

Kyungsoo remembers seconds like he remembers the alphabet, or his multiplication table, or Jongin’s hands.

Really, time is all he knows.

The time his final paper is due, the time trees around his neighbourhood shed their leaves en route to autumn, the time Jongin gets up in the morning with messy bed hair and puffy lips.

And too much precision burns the back of his brain—a daunting cast of shadows hung over his thoughts.

Soon enough, the chill ticking of clocks will be the only heartbeat that Kyungsoo can feel.

Too much knowledge is like a blade that cuts straight down your skin, to the touch of your bones.