As soon as Zitao's face was released from the other man's grip he spat blood on the floor, then watched Jiyong with wariness and confusion. That's not what he meant... But he wasn't going to argue, especially not when the gun was suddenly drawn on him, making his heart skip a beat in a flash of fear as his veins were flooded with useless adrenaline. As much as he wished to trust Jiyong fully, there were always these feelings that sometimes cropped up that he was unstable. Zitao knew he was a loose cannon, not always entirely in control, and it scared him as much as it often intrigued him. Right now it was the former. So when Jiyong turned his back on the younger man he started quietly squirming his wrists, as calmly as he had to be, trying to loosen the ties.
He immediately stilled when Jiyong finally turned back around though, like a twisted game of Mr Wolf. But he quickly noticed the mood had changed, his racing thoughts of escape plans coming to a halt too as he listened. Somehow it hurt to hear the truth a lot more than it hurt to be berated. This whole fucked up mess really was all Zitaos fault... He'd locked those guilty feelings away, but now here they were slapping him in the face again as a teary-eyed Jiyong freed him from his binds.
"Jiyong-ah.." he tried to begin weakly, before the gun was pushed into his hand unexpectedly. He glanced down at it with an air of reluctance, looking about to refuse the offer as his eyes flicked back up. But the words caught in his throat -- Jiyong needed him to step up right now. He could see that and he owed him that. So instead he swallowed, adams apple bobbing, and clutched the handle of the gun. He lifted it to wipe his sleeve across his lips to swipe away the remaining taste of blood on them before dropping his arm to hang by his side, lifting his free hand to cup at the angle between Jiyong's neck and shoulder, firm.
"Thank you," he said, for saving him once again. Then he stepped closer, hand shifting to the back of Jiyongs neck as he tilted his face downwards to press his forehead against the other's in an act of both weariness and affection. It could have seemed an almost brotherly gesture if there wasn't so much else between them, but it was just that it was all the affection he dared to show. "I'm so sorry. I know it's hard. I know. It's hard for me too. I know I fucked up bad and everything's screwed, but still, after all we've been though... I can't think of anything worse than losing you now." He confessed that last part quietly, as if afraid he'd be overheard. Saying it made him feel vulnerable but it was his turn to be honest and so he just admitted it.
Still, one thing remained frightfully clear; That Zitao had ended up where he was in life not through choice, but through pain and misfortune -- It was the world and the cruelty of fate that had made Zitao bad, while deep at heart, beneath all the scars and all the walls, he was inherently good. Given the right circumstances he could have been just like everybody else and he cursed the hand life had dealt him. While Jiyong, on the other hand, had ended up here through passion, drive, and the pure desire to be bad. Deep down in their cores they were like night and day, and that was what it all really boiled down to, what made their love so catastrophic. Zitao wanted to get out but Jiyong always kept him in. Jiyong wanted to stay but Zitao kept trying to pull him out. It was never going to work. Every single thing was against them, warning them over and over again that they were not made for each other. And every time they ignored the signs things got worse, more dangerous, they lost things... and people got hurt. Yet here they were again, letting everything crumble around them a little bit more, just because at some point they'd accidentally slipped underneath each other's skin and as hard as they tried there was no going back.
Zitao pulled back just enough to look Jiyong in the eyes. "We'll figure it all out, I promise. But you know we can't hang around here. You've still got the car keys, right?"
Just as he said that he heard the first slightest creak, pricking his ears, and immediately he sprung into action; grabbing Jiyong roughly and spinning him around so they were both facing the door. He put a choker hold around Jiyong's neck and shoved the gun against his temple, holding him hostage. The softness of only moments ago was gone in an instant, replaced with a cold fierceness that seemed to make even the angles of his face sharper, narrow eyes trained on the three flabbergasted, angry Koreans who quickly ambled back in down the stairs as soon as the first yelled to alert the others of the situation.
no subject
He immediately stilled when Jiyong finally turned back around though, like a twisted game of Mr Wolf. But he quickly noticed the mood had changed, his racing thoughts of escape plans coming to a halt too as he listened. Somehow it hurt to hear the truth a lot more than it hurt to be berated. This whole fucked up mess really was all Zitaos fault... He'd locked those guilty feelings away, but now here they were slapping him in the face again as a teary-eyed Jiyong freed him from his binds.
"Jiyong-ah.." he tried to begin weakly, before the gun was pushed into his hand unexpectedly. He glanced down at it with an air of reluctance, looking about to refuse the offer as his eyes flicked back up. But the words caught in his throat -- Jiyong needed him to step up right now. He could see that and he owed him that. So instead he swallowed, adams apple bobbing, and clutched the handle of the gun. He lifted it to wipe his sleeve across his lips to swipe away the remaining taste of blood on them before dropping his arm to hang by his side, lifting his free hand to cup at the angle between Jiyong's neck and shoulder, firm.
"Thank you," he said, for saving him once again. Then he stepped closer, hand shifting to the back of Jiyongs neck as he tilted his face downwards to press his forehead against the other's in an act of both weariness and affection. It could have seemed an almost brotherly gesture if there wasn't so much else between them, but it was just that it was all the affection he dared to show. "I'm so sorry. I know it's hard. I know. It's hard for me too. I know I fucked up bad and everything's screwed, but still, after all we've been though... I can't think of anything worse than losing you now." He confessed that last part quietly, as if afraid he'd be overheard. Saying it made him feel vulnerable but it was his turn to be honest and so he just admitted it.
Still, one thing remained frightfully clear; That Zitao had ended up where he was in life not through choice, but through pain and misfortune -- It was the world and the cruelty of fate that had made Zitao bad, while deep at heart, beneath all the scars and all the walls, he was inherently good. Given the right circumstances he could have been just like everybody else and he cursed the hand life had dealt him. While Jiyong, on the other hand, had ended up here through passion, drive, and the pure desire to be bad. Deep down in their cores they were like night and day, and that was what it all really boiled down to, what made their love so catastrophic. Zitao wanted to get out but Jiyong always kept him in. Jiyong wanted to stay but Zitao kept trying to pull him out. It was never going to work. Every single thing was against them, warning them over and over again that they were not made for each other. And every time they ignored the signs things got worse, more dangerous, they lost things... and people got hurt. Yet here they were again, letting everything crumble around them a little bit more, just because at some point they'd accidentally slipped underneath each other's skin and as hard as they tried there was no going back.
Zitao pulled back just enough to look Jiyong in the eyes. "We'll figure it all out, I promise. But you know we can't hang around here. You've still got the car keys, right?"
Just as he said that he heard the first slightest creak, pricking his ears, and immediately he sprung into action; grabbing Jiyong roughly and spinning him around so they were both facing the door. He put a choker hold around Jiyong's neck and shoved the gun against his temple, holding him hostage. The softness of only moments ago was gone in an instant, replaced with a cold fierceness that seemed to make even the angles of his face sharper, narrow eyes trained on the three flabbergasted, angry Koreans who quickly ambled back in down the stairs as soon as the first yelled to alert the others of the situation.
Fuck.