There was no fear in handing over the gun to Zitao, not when he trusted Zitao more than he trusted himself. Jiyong would kill himself before Zitao killed him — he knew because he had tested Zitao’s limits before. No kicks to the stomach, slaps in the face or verbal forms of public humiliation could make Zitao lay a finger on him. Jiyong had taken cruel advantage of this for as long as they’d known each other. This moment in the basement was not the first time he’d drawn blood from Zitao, and while Jiyong hoped it would be the last, he couldn’t rely on his own mind, half-mad, to make any bets on it. If he’d had just a pinch of the level-headedness Zitao had, his own life might have turned out better, but he had to be loud, he had to set fire to everything he did, he had to show his fangs to show his strength. Because Kwon Jiyong wasn’t weak. No one would accept him if he were.
Except, of course, Zitao, who knew just what to say to pierce right through his heart, and all Jiyong could do was cry more. Even after hitting him so hard that he’d bled and berating him with words he didn’t mean, Zitao still came back with a gentle reply, accepting the fault that Jiyong put on him out of blind anger. Jiyong didn’t deserve this unconditional love, but he wasn’t any less thankful.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My mind is fucked.” He let his forehead rest on the younger’s, tears falling between them as he reached for Zitao’s sides to cling to the material there. “But I promise I’ll change, Zitao, I’ll do whatever I need to control it. I’ll never hurt you again.” But Jiyong could promise the sun, moon, and stars, and it would all be the same. They both knew, he was sure, that they were empty words.
Just as he was going to feel for the keys in his pocket, he was being spun around into Zitao’s hold, and a second later Soohyuk and the others were stampeding to the bottom of the stairs. He looked to his members and their pointed guns with wet cheeks and glassy, panicked eyes, gripping Zitao’s arm as he involuntarily leaned back into the taller body behind him. There was a tornado of voices, profane and threatening as they yelled at Zitao to let him go, but Jiyong was blocking it all out. Wheels turned, seconds like minutes in his mind, and he was quick to think of an escape plan — which was, like all his plans ever, risky at best. But there was no time for an intricately mapped out strategy.
There was no way his gang members would simply watch Zitao walk out of the building without a fight, whether or not he used Jiyong as a hostage. The stakes were too high, the monetary reward for Zitao’s life too great. That idea immediately scratched out, Jiyong’s mind then turned to the car keys...
...which he’d handed to Soohyuk on the way into the building. The keys would be the bait.
Through all the commotion, Jiyong managed to squeeze Zitao’s arm and whisper with barely moving lips, “You get the gray hoodie.” If they were as in sync in action as they’d been in the past, Zitao would get it. And then, his voice grew ten times as he hollered over them all. “He wants the keys! Hand them over!”
There was a drop of silence, and then Soohyuk’s face twisted in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Fat fucking chance! I ain’t handing him a way out.”
“And sajangnim won’t let you live past a day once he finds out you let him kill me. Now do what I tell you or he’ll fucking shoot!” Jiyong, very purposely, held a hand out.
Soohyuk continued aiming the gun firmly a head above Jiyong at Zitao, but after a moment his arm loosened and he breathed out a quiet profanity, fetching the keys from his pocket. The other two moved a few steps closer at Soohyuk’s back, guns pointed as Soohyuk fell for the outstretched hand; it had distracted him completely from merely throwing the keys, and Jiyong smiled devilishly inside.
Right before their hands could touch, Jiyong jumped into action, freeing himself from Zitao’s hold so he could twist the gun out of Soohyuk’s hand and into his own. In the following seconds, shots were fired, two from Jiyong’s newly possessed weapon into Soohyuk’s shoulder and then into the gun-wielding hand of the next nearest crony. They were down but not dead, Jiyong instinctively (and most probably stupidly) retaining some semblance of loyalty to his gang. A bullet whirred past his head just as he bent down to snatch the fallen car keys, and if he was lucky, two things would have happened behind him: Zitao would have dodged the bullet, and he would have taken his cue in taking down the last crony with the gray hoodie.
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Except, of course, Zitao, who knew just what to say to pierce right through his heart, and all Jiyong could do was cry more. Even after hitting him so hard that he’d bled and berating him with words he didn’t mean, Zitao still came back with a gentle reply, accepting the fault that Jiyong put on him out of blind anger. Jiyong didn’t deserve this unconditional love, but he wasn’t any less thankful.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My mind is fucked.” He let his forehead rest on the younger’s, tears falling between them as he reached for Zitao’s sides to cling to the material there. “But I promise I’ll change, Zitao, I’ll do whatever I need to control it. I’ll never hurt you again.” But Jiyong could promise the sun, moon, and stars, and it would all be the same. They both knew, he was sure, that they were empty words.
Just as he was going to feel for the keys in his pocket, he was being spun around into Zitao’s hold, and a second later Soohyuk and the others were stampeding to the bottom of the stairs. He looked to his members and their pointed guns with wet cheeks and glassy, panicked eyes, gripping Zitao’s arm as he involuntarily leaned back into the taller body behind him. There was a tornado of voices, profane and threatening as they yelled at Zitao to let him go, but Jiyong was blocking it all out. Wheels turned, seconds like minutes in his mind, and he was quick to think of an escape plan — which was, like all his plans ever, risky at best. But there was no time for an intricately mapped out strategy.
There was no way his gang members would simply watch Zitao walk out of the building without a fight, whether or not he used Jiyong as a hostage. The stakes were too high, the monetary reward for Zitao’s life too great. That idea immediately scratched out, Jiyong’s mind then turned to the car keys...
...which he’d handed to Soohyuk on the way into the building. The keys would be the bait.
Through all the commotion, Jiyong managed to squeeze Zitao’s arm and whisper with barely moving lips, “You get the gray hoodie.” If they were as in sync in action as they’d been in the past, Zitao would get it. And then, his voice grew ten times as he hollered over them all. “He wants the keys! Hand them over!”
There was a drop of silence, and then Soohyuk’s face twisted in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Fat fucking chance! I ain’t handing him a way out.”
“And sajangnim won’t let you live past a day once he finds out you let him kill me. Now do what I tell you or he’ll fucking shoot!” Jiyong, very purposely, held a hand out.
Soohyuk continued aiming the gun firmly a head above Jiyong at Zitao, but after a moment his arm loosened and he breathed out a quiet profanity, fetching the keys from his pocket. The other two moved a few steps closer at Soohyuk’s back, guns pointed as Soohyuk fell for the outstretched hand; it had distracted him completely from merely throwing the keys, and Jiyong smiled devilishly inside.
Right before their hands could touch, Jiyong jumped into action, freeing himself from Zitao’s hold so he could twist the gun out of Soohyuk’s hand and into his own. In the following seconds, shots were fired, two from Jiyong’s newly possessed weapon into Soohyuk’s shoulder and then into the gun-wielding hand of the next nearest crony. They were down but not dead, Jiyong instinctively (and most probably stupidly) retaining some semblance of loyalty to his gang. A bullet whirred past his head just as he bent down to snatch the fallen car keys, and if he was lucky, two things would have happened behind him: Zitao would have dodged the bullet, and he would have taken his cue in taking down the last crony with the gray hoodie.