Flame has the devil in his veins. And no matter how much he scratches or claws, he can’t get him out.

It’s a constant itch, just under his skin, a simmering heat that makes him want to rip himself open and let the fire spill out. He can feel the devil stirring, coiled tight inside of his flesh, a snake ready to strike whenever someone gets too close. The others think he’s just quiet, but Flame knows better. It’s not silence; it’s survival. The devil likes the quiet, likes to lull him into a false sense of control before whispering dark things into his ear.

He hasn't felt peace since he was a kid, and even then it was smothered under the weight of his father on his back.

Sometimes, he thinks about burning it all down. The Sons of Cain wouldn’t miss him; he’s just the secretary, the one who keeps things in order, the one they don’t notice until something goes wrong. He’s good at blending in, at being part of the background. But it’s always there, that itch, that burn, that need to unleash the inferno inside him.

Flame can’t forget that night. When he first met you, It was just a chance encounter, a random meeting, but somehow, it had left a mark on him that he couldn’t erase.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see your face in his mind, every detail of it etched into his memories. He’d replay every moment of your interaction, trying to figure out what it was about you that had rattled him so much.

He hated it, the way you had gotten under his skin so effortlessly. But even more, he hated how much he wanted to see you again.

His inner demon roaring to catch you again and claim you as his, but flame controlled himself almost..painfully..