When the gun was shoved back into his hand Zitao felt the sharp urge to turn around and shoot Soohyuk straight in the forehead, muscle twitching visibly in his cheek as his jaw tensed, forcing himself not to look back even as the poor bastard cried. He and his buddies had fucked everything up for them, and he was part of the reason Yifan was dead. But Zitao contented himself with the fact that the fucker was just gonna lay there and bleed to death anyway. He had to, for Jiyong's sake. He simply shoved the gun into the back of his jeans and headed up and out of the building.
Zitao fell heavily into the front passenger seat, letting go of his shoulder to pull the door closed before placing it back over his wound with a wince. It hurt more now that they were safely on the road, the natural pain blocking hormones that came with all the excitement quickly draining away, revealing a pain that felt like a red hot poker had been hammered into his shoulder, the path of the bullet burning all the way through. He'd never actually taken a bullet before, and it hurt a lot more than he thought it would, being only a flesh wound. Well, no wonder, the gang members he did know who had ever been shot were't exactly going to cry that it hurts like hell and risk looking like little bitches. But fuck, it did, it hurt like hell. His skin blanched pale for the second or third time tonight, and he was leaning his good shoulder against the door, head resting on the window without caring that it kept bumping against it with the movement of the speeding car.
"Ah--!" he winced in pain when Jiyong pressed the balled up shirt against his wound, sucking in a sharp breath as he pulled his bloodied hand out from underneath and put it on top instead, applying the necessary pressure, too busy with that to react to Jiyongs frustrated outburst, or his plan. The change to softness, however, caught Zitao's attention. He glanced across at the man besides him and regardless of how shitty nd crazy everything increasingly got, Zitao was so thankful they still had each other. It hurt to move it, but he inched his free hand forward just so that the tips of his fingers overlapped Jiyongs on his thigh. "I feel like I'm gonna die," he complained with a tight, difficult smile, both making light of the situation while at the same time feeling no need to belittle his own suffering without any audience.
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Zitao fell heavily into the front passenger seat, letting go of his shoulder to pull the door closed before placing it back over his wound with a wince. It hurt more now that they were safely on the road, the natural pain blocking hormones that came with all the excitement quickly draining away, revealing a pain that felt like a red hot poker had been hammered into his shoulder, the path of the bullet burning all the way through. He'd never actually taken a bullet before, and it hurt a lot more than he thought it would, being only a flesh wound. Well, no wonder, the gang members he did know who had ever been shot were't exactly going to cry that it hurts like hell and risk looking like little bitches. But fuck, it did, it hurt like hell. His skin blanched pale for the second or third time tonight, and he was leaning his good shoulder against the door, head resting on the window without caring that it kept bumping against it with the movement of the speeding car.
"Ah--!" he winced in pain when Jiyong pressed the balled up shirt against his wound, sucking in a sharp breath as he pulled his bloodied hand out from underneath and put it on top instead, applying the necessary pressure, too busy with that to react to Jiyongs frustrated outburst, or his plan. The change to softness, however, caught Zitao's attention. He glanced across at the man besides him and regardless of how shitty nd crazy everything increasingly got, Zitao was so thankful they still had each other. It hurt to move it, but he inched his free hand forward just so that the tips of his fingers overlapped Jiyongs on his thigh. "I feel like I'm gonna die," he complained with a tight, difficult smile, both making light of the situation while at the same time feeling no need to belittle his own suffering without any audience.