Jiyong worked half on instinct and half on memory, taking a second syringe, this time filled with an antiseptic to clean Zitao’s wound a second time; then bandaging it with gauze and tape on a space that took up nearly his entire shoulder and part of his chest. He noticed the beat-up state of the other man’s body, the discolored patches on otherwise blanched skin, a sheen of cold sweat over his collarbones, his temples... he could imagine what they looked like standing together from an outsider’s perspective, tired and deprived of a proper meal, physically and — at least for Jiyong — mentally sick, eyes that appeared more deep-set than usual. They looked precisely like the menaces to society that they were. The only problem was that Jiyong didn’t want to stand out from the crowd as one anymore, and he was sure Zitao had never wanted to be one in the first place.
He knew with the first lull would come Zitao’s apology, and Jiyong was ready to reject it. “Don’t apologize,” he said with an even voice, eyes still focused on the last strip of tape he was placing onto the bandage. “I’m the reason you’re beat up and shot.” It was scary to think that just a few hours ago, Jiyong really had had his mind set on killing Zitao for the chance to be reinstated into his gang. Jiyong was sick, so sick, and he couldn’t predict his manic episodes. All he knew was that the night’s events had let him purge some of the insanity, and that his mind was temporarily cleared enough to see that the man sitting in front of him should have been the one he was protecting, not hurting, because he was the love of his life. He knew deep down that protecting Zitao, truly and honestly, meant running as far away as possible from him. He never thought it could be possible to want someone simultaneously as close and as far away as possible, but he did.
With the bandage in place, Jiyong reached for a small prescription bottle on the counter and emptied from it two small white pills. “This should help with the pain.” He held them to Zitao’s mouth, waiting for him to take them and when he did, Jiyong hunched down to seal the dose with a light kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry.”
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2015-05-03 05:25 pm (UTC)He knew with the first lull would come Zitao’s apology, and Jiyong was ready to reject it. “Don’t apologize,” he said with an even voice, eyes still focused on the last strip of tape he was placing onto the bandage. “I’m the reason you’re beat up and shot.” It was scary to think that just a few hours ago, Jiyong really had had his mind set on killing Zitao for the chance to be reinstated into his gang. Jiyong was sick, so sick, and he couldn’t predict his manic episodes. All he knew was that the night’s events had let him purge some of the insanity, and that his mind was temporarily cleared enough to see that the man sitting in front of him should have been the one he was protecting, not hurting, because he was the love of his life. He knew deep down that protecting Zitao, truly and honestly, meant running as far away as possible from him. He never thought it could be possible to want someone simultaneously as close and as far away as possible, but he did.
With the bandage in place, Jiyong reached for a small prescription bottle on the counter and emptied from it two small white pills. “This should help with the pain.” He held them to Zitao’s mouth, waiting for him to take them and when he did, Jiyong hunched down to seal the dose with a light kiss to his lips. “I’m sorry.”