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Summary
Smoke—acrid, suffocating, deathly. Regret coiled around his throat, tightening, choking, cunning like the snake that charmed Eve, whispering sins that never should’ve been repeated. Why couldn’t he say it? Why couldn’t Jongho say he loved him?
Nothing beautiful came from war.
Or
War wasn’t pretty, but Yunho thought Jongho was.
