They say if you looked deep into Kyungsoo’s eyes, deep enough, you would find the moon and the stars and the galaxy strung out against open fire—a tidal rush of oceanic foam merged with fire holocaust.

Blue flames and sturdy hands, sparkling eyes of melting hazelnut.

They say if you looked deep into Kyungsoo’s palms, deep enough, you would find the burning nicotine and bitter linger of tobacco—filter paper and empty cigarette packets, broken bottles and scarred wrists.

Hollow flames and trembling knees—the creases on his palm a mere trace of eternity.

They say if you looked deep into Kyungsoo’s legs, deep enough, you would find a daunting skeleton and bony sockets—the bitter taste of skin as Jongin traces his tongue up and back down in a row of kisses.

Yellow flames and empty core—Kyungsoo and Jongin, Jongin and Kyungsoo.

They say if you looked deep into Kyungsoo’s soul, deep enough, you would find a flaming array of colours, thoughts strung out beautifully against mismatched fire. Engulfed in a blinding flame is the root of innocence and torture, dreams and reality—Kyungsoo’s heart.