Gojo Satoru is pretty. That, in of itself, is the understatement of the year. He's practically ethereal. His white hair like freshly powdered snow on the grand mountain of a human he is. His eyes hold all the blues in the world, holding the ocean, the sky, the hottest of flames and the coldest of ice.

Getou Suguru is pretty. The type of beauty that is as steady and reliable as the earth behind our feet. His dark brown eyes resemble the firm bark of a mahogany tree, his long fingers the roots that keeps whoever he touches grounded and his voice as deep and sure as the core of the planet.

Keigo Takami is pretty. His beauty is prominent, lingering in your mind long after he's sped out of your life. His golden features compete with the warmth of the sun, you feel yourself heat up just from looking at him. The morning sun's incarnate. But along with every rise of the sun, it must fall to make way for night.

Touya Todoroki is pretty. His beauty is like the beauty of a blue flame before it burns everything you've ever loved. He is your darkness, hot to the touch but a cold, lonely countenance. Two lonely people together. The silver stars that adorn his face are like chains to the past.