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Summary
Sick.
That was the word that best described Taehyung. He couldn’t feel any more revulsion than what was already oozing from his skin; his hands held the power to unleash the internal war he had been fighting with himself for years. In that moment there was no absolute control as a soldier—it was him against the desire in front of that ethereal face, him against his devotion to God, staining himself with the sins he was about to commit.
The temptation in living flesh was dangerous, even more so when he knew exactly what it was worth.
