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[scene!] gtao
It had been almost 5 weeks since the attack at their apartment and all had been quiet. Too quiet.
Immediately after the incident Zitao had simply sighed heavily, closed his eyes and tilted his head from side to side to crack the tension out of his neck, then crouched down to check the bodies for any clue about who they were and what they were doing coming after them like that. But all he managed to glean from the search was a crumpled half pack of cigarettes and a couple of bank notes -- why let it go to waste? This poor bastard sure as hell didn't need them anymore. After that, Zitao had stood back up and followed Jiyong, stepping over the bleeding bodies to do a quick sweep of the flat, collecting only what was most important (the bottle of whiskey he'd swigged earlier included) before they hopped into the car and got the hell out of there.
At first there was no direction. They just hopped between a few dodgey motels, pulling whatever limited strings they still had to 1) try to find out what the fuck was going on, and 2) get a new place to live. But it was dangerous to reach too far out to feel around right now, in case they alerted whoever was onto them. A repeat of Mongkok was not what they wanted. But while it was difficult to get to the bottom of the attack, luckily, one of those guys Zitao could count on one hand as people he trusted lived and "worked" not far away, just a couple of hours north-west in the city of Guangzhou. Wu Yifan managed to find them somewhere to hideout. Of course it was in the shittiest part of town, but they hardly expected a picket fence. Discretion was the top priority, and as long as no questions were asked they'd take it.
Soon things were going well. After the first week or so, the dust seemed to have settled. Nobody else had come after them -- Not even the police (who were honestly the least of their worries). And after the attack Zitao's priorities had been pretty much set straight; it had helped him get his shit together, mentally, making him cool off on the whole "relationship" thing or whatever the hell he and Jiyong had or didn't have going on. It certainly wasn't the only blood of Zitao's hands, but something about killing a man just had a way of serving up a cold hard slice of reality. And reality was not exactly where he'd been living ever since busting Jiyong out of that hospital. Reality was, he was entitled to jack shit, as the world had taught him so many times before that he was an idiot to have forgotten. And he was okay with that. He'd earned Jiyongs loyalty as a friend, as a partner in crime, almost as brother, but he was not owed loyalty as anything more. He knew that, and for now, at least, he could only be content with Jiyongs comings and goings. He had to be.
It should have been obvious that these few weeks had to just be peace before the storm. Still, Zitao couldn't help how after a while those stupid hopeful thoughts crept in, that maybe this would work out. Maybe it would last. He liked it here; He had Jiyong, in a way, and this city as a whole was pretty cool, and now he had one of his most trusted friends nearby too. Yifan was understandably cautious about getting mixed up in their shit, not really approving of Jiyong, because "he's gonna get you killed, Tao" but nonetheless, he was on their side, and he did meet up with his old friend around once a week, passing on odd jobs and sharing any new info or rumours... and failing to convince the younger man that the best thing for him was to lose the korean. (Right as Yifan may be, it wasn't going to happen.) All they knew about the attack so far was that the circle those two boneheads had run with had not been affliated with Zitao's group in either Korea or in China. Big help that was.
It was after one such meeting, almost a month after moving to Guangzhou, that Zitao walked right into an ambush.
It was getting late and he was ready to fall into bed as soon as he got back to the apartment. As he twisted his key in the lock, he had no idea the sound of his arrival was triggering a rise of adrenaline in 3 strangers on the other side, causing a finger to stroke a trigger. But as soon as he opened the door there was a gun in his face and he was violently yanked inside and shoved onto the floor, hearing the door slam as his arm was painfully twisted behind his back. He winced, flabbergasted, asking who the fuck they were as he was checked for weapons. They ignored him and spoke Korean to each other when they found his knife, and fuck, that's when he knew this must be bad... Where was Jiyong??
"Who the fuck are you?" he repeated, this time in their language. Not that it helped, because the only answer he got from the man with the gun was "People you'll wish you had never fucked with," before a non-verbal command was given for the other two to start kicking the shit out of him. He was defenseless, just trying to protect his head as kicks and punches rained down on him, trying his best not to let out any pained groans that would satisfy them. This beating obviously wasn't all their grand plan entailed, however, because it was only a couple of minutes before they stopped and tied him up with duct tape, plastering it over his mouth too. Then they quickly smuggled him down to the parking lot, and as they got nearer the car he saw someone already sitting at the drivers seat. .........Jiyong?! He impulsively struggled to break free, trying to shout something that nobody could make out thanks to the tape over his mouth.
"Uh-huh. Noooow~ you get it, dontcha?" The ringleader laughed. "Thought you could use him to fuck with us, huh? I don't know what bullshit you told him when he got outta that hospital, but he's still one of ours. And the boss isn't comfortable with whatever shit this is you're trying to pull. So get ready to do some fucking explaining." Then he opened up the trunk of the car and the other two guys shoved Zitao inside.
What the fuck?? They think this is part of some kind of plan?! The trunk slammed shut and Zitao really needed to find a way out of this, because these guys wanted answers and he didn't have any. But he couldn't think clearly. The trunk was pitch black, claustrophobic, and stank of rubber and grease with an unsettling hint of bleach. There was a moment of silence before the engine started, in which Zitao felt a panic attack coming on, his heart thumping so hard he could feel it pulsing hotly in his ears, and it was something about being locked in this trunk, without even thinking as far ahead as what was going to happen when they arrived wherever it was they were going. He closed his eyes tightly and concentrated hard on trying to breath properly through his nostrils. The noise of his nose breathing was loud and too frantic, and he was finding it difficult to calm his tense nerves without the ability to exhale through his mouth. Just calm down, Zitao. Calm down, calmdown, calmdowncalmdown. They won't just leave you in here. It's ok, just calm the fuck down... Jiyong knew he was claustrophobic, at least; he'd get him out of here.
Immediately after the incident Zitao had simply sighed heavily, closed his eyes and tilted his head from side to side to crack the tension out of his neck, then crouched down to check the bodies for any clue about who they were and what they were doing coming after them like that. But all he managed to glean from the search was a crumpled half pack of cigarettes and a couple of bank notes -- why let it go to waste? This poor bastard sure as hell didn't need them anymore. After that, Zitao had stood back up and followed Jiyong, stepping over the bleeding bodies to do a quick sweep of the flat, collecting only what was most important (the bottle of whiskey he'd swigged earlier included) before they hopped into the car and got the hell out of there.
At first there was no direction. They just hopped between a few dodgey motels, pulling whatever limited strings they still had to 1) try to find out what the fuck was going on, and 2) get a new place to live. But it was dangerous to reach too far out to feel around right now, in case they alerted whoever was onto them. A repeat of Mongkok was not what they wanted. But while it was difficult to get to the bottom of the attack, luckily, one of those guys Zitao could count on one hand as people he trusted lived and "worked" not far away, just a couple of hours north-west in the city of Guangzhou. Wu Yifan managed to find them somewhere to hideout. Of course it was in the shittiest part of town, but they hardly expected a picket fence. Discretion was the top priority, and as long as no questions were asked they'd take it.
Soon things were going well. After the first week or so, the dust seemed to have settled. Nobody else had come after them -- Not even the police (who were honestly the least of their worries). And after the attack Zitao's priorities had been pretty much set straight; it had helped him get his shit together, mentally, making him cool off on the whole "relationship" thing or whatever the hell he and Jiyong had or didn't have going on. It certainly wasn't the only blood of Zitao's hands, but something about killing a man just had a way of serving up a cold hard slice of reality. And reality was not exactly where he'd been living ever since busting Jiyong out of that hospital. Reality was, he was entitled to jack shit, as the world had taught him so many times before that he was an idiot to have forgotten. And he was okay with that. He'd earned Jiyongs loyalty as a friend, as a partner in crime, almost as brother, but he was not owed loyalty as anything more. He knew that, and for now, at least, he could only be content with Jiyongs comings and goings. He had to be.
It should have been obvious that these few weeks had to just be peace before the storm. Still, Zitao couldn't help how after a while those stupid hopeful thoughts crept in, that maybe this would work out. Maybe it would last. He liked it here; He had Jiyong, in a way, and this city as a whole was pretty cool, and now he had one of his most trusted friends nearby too. Yifan was understandably cautious about getting mixed up in their shit, not really approving of Jiyong, because "he's gonna get you killed, Tao" but nonetheless, he was on their side, and he did meet up with his old friend around once a week, passing on odd jobs and sharing any new info or rumours... and failing to convince the younger man that the best thing for him was to lose the korean. (Right as Yifan may be, it wasn't going to happen.) All they knew about the attack so far was that the circle those two boneheads had run with had not been affliated with Zitao's group in either Korea or in China. Big help that was.
It was after one such meeting, almost a month after moving to Guangzhou, that Zitao walked right into an ambush.
It was getting late and he was ready to fall into bed as soon as he got back to the apartment. As he twisted his key in the lock, he had no idea the sound of his arrival was triggering a rise of adrenaline in 3 strangers on the other side, causing a finger to stroke a trigger. But as soon as he opened the door there was a gun in his face and he was violently yanked inside and shoved onto the floor, hearing the door slam as his arm was painfully twisted behind his back. He winced, flabbergasted, asking who the fuck they were as he was checked for weapons. They ignored him and spoke Korean to each other when they found his knife, and fuck, that's when he knew this must be bad... Where was Jiyong??
"Who the fuck are you?" he repeated, this time in their language. Not that it helped, because the only answer he got from the man with the gun was "People you'll wish you had never fucked with," before a non-verbal command was given for the other two to start kicking the shit out of him. He was defenseless, just trying to protect his head as kicks and punches rained down on him, trying his best not to let out any pained groans that would satisfy them. This beating obviously wasn't all their grand plan entailed, however, because it was only a couple of minutes before they stopped and tied him up with duct tape, plastering it over his mouth too. Then they quickly smuggled him down to the parking lot, and as they got nearer the car he saw someone already sitting at the drivers seat. .........Jiyong?! He impulsively struggled to break free, trying to shout something that nobody could make out thanks to the tape over his mouth.
"Uh-huh. Noooow~ you get it, dontcha?" The ringleader laughed. "Thought you could use him to fuck with us, huh? I don't know what bullshit you told him when he got outta that hospital, but he's still one of ours. And the boss isn't comfortable with whatever shit this is you're trying to pull. So get ready to do some fucking explaining." Then he opened up the trunk of the car and the other two guys shoved Zitao inside.
What the fuck?? They think this is part of some kind of plan?! The trunk slammed shut and Zitao really needed to find a way out of this, because these guys wanted answers and he didn't have any. But he couldn't think clearly. The trunk was pitch black, claustrophobic, and stank of rubber and grease with an unsettling hint of bleach. There was a moment of silence before the engine started, in which Zitao felt a panic attack coming on, his heart thumping so hard he could feel it pulsing hotly in his ears, and it was something about being locked in this trunk, without even thinking as far ahead as what was going to happen when they arrived wherever it was they were going. He closed his eyes tightly and concentrated hard on trying to breath properly through his nostrils. The noise of his nose breathing was loud and too frantic, and he was finding it difficult to calm his tense nerves without the ability to exhale through his mouth. Just calm down, Zitao. Calm down, calmdown, calmdowncalmdown. They won't just leave you in here. It's ok, just calm the fuck down... Jiyong knew he was claustrophobic, at least; he'd get him out of here.
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It would happen that his past stumbled in just when he was at his worst. Zitao had gone out for the night again, and this left Jiyong dangerously to his own thoughts. He paced around the apartment, wringing his hands, chewing the skin around his nails and pulling his sweatshirt on and off as though any of it would shoo his thoughts away. There was a point that he stopped catching himself talking to thin air, and that was around the time there came a knock at the door. He recognized them right away, and they were like doctors, patting him gently and sitting him down on the sunken sofa to fix him.
Remember how great you once were, they cooed. Korea’s greatest assassin.
Sajangnim’s favorite.
Riches and power.
A name.
He wasn’t Kwon Jiyong who came from a poor town in Korea. He was the Dragon who came from Korea’s most feared mafia, and it was the Chinese kid who had brainwashed him into thinking he was less than a god. Youngbae and Hansol had both been eliminated by the Chinese mafia soon after the move from Mongkok. In return, sajangnim had sent expats to take down two in Guangzhou: the first was Wu Yifan, currently lying in his own blood on the bathroom floor; the second was Huang Zitao, whom Jiyong watched coldly from the driver’s seat as he was being shoved behind the car.
During the drive, the four gang members dove into excited chit-chat like they were at a high school reunion, questions mostly directed at Jiyong about where he’d traveled to, how he’d kept himself occupied all this time. Nevermind that they had a body stuffed in the trunk. At a stoplight, the one in the passenger’s seat — long nose, narrow face — made a vulgar joke about Jiyong and Zitao being lovers, and it won him a barrel to the head. “Shut the fuck up, Hyuksoo.” Jiyong pressed the gun harder into his temple, and with that, he established his leadership over them all. The rest of the drive was silent, and Jiyong knew then that the secret of his childhood friendship with Zitao could never slip through his lips.
Thirty minutes later, Zitao was being blindfolded and dragged out of the trunk. Jiyong could hear the panicked breathing through his nose even as he led ten paces ahead, acutely aware of Zitao’s claustrophobia and taking neither concern nor pleasure in it. Their destination was in the scraps of town, at an abandoned two-story house that the other guys had scouted out earlier. Jiyong paused in the foyer to look around with some disgust, scolding the other three for their incapacity to find something better than rotting wood and cracked concrete. He was still quick to adapt, ordering them all downstairs into the basement where the sound would be most insulated. He ignored the musty smell and squinted in the weak light, silent as he waited for the others to tie Zitao to one of the pillar supports, hands behind his back and feet together. When Soohyuk removed Zitao’s blindfold, it was then that Jiyong looked him in the face for the first time that night. Their locked eyes triggered something in him, like a coat of fire covering him and that was only half-extinguished when he backhanded Zitao in the face. The loud crack was rewarded by snickers from the others that hit too close to home, like they were suddenly at the back gates of school again, and this only irritated Jiyong more. He ordered them out, and though there was some opposition, they eventually trudged up the stairs, Jiyong watching to make sure they were out before turning to Zitao again.
“Look where you’ve gotten me,” he hissed, standing square in front of the taller man. “In this filthy basement in the middle of bumfuck China, estranged from my gang, my family... my stomach fucked from all the anxiety, talking to myself like a lunatic — going in-fucking-sane!” He was on the balls of his feet now, nearly nose-to-nose with Zitao as he wedged the other’s chin in the curve of his thumb and index finger. He ripped the tape off his mouth. “Explain yourself!”
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Even when he was tied to the pillar, even weaponless and utterly defenseless.... even knowing, instictively in the very pit of his sick stomach, that Yifan was almost certainly dead, he wasn't afraid for his own life. As long as Jiyong was here he was sure he wouldn't be killed, at least. And the only good thing about that, in his mind, the way he felt right now, was that he was going to live to see those who'd murdered Yifan choke and drown gurgling in their own blood.
The craving for vengence was burning in his veins, making every muscle tense, opening hot, wet eyes when the blindfold was removed and fhe found himself glaring directly at Jiyong. The fire reflected back at him in the other's eyes until his head lashed to one side with the force of the strike, and he heard the other Koreans jeering as he tasted blood.
Zitao was really getting a trip down memory lane tonight; The small, tight space of the car trunk bringing back flashes of when he was just little and his mom used to lock him in the cupboard until morning to keep him safe when his dads "friends" came to pay them a visit. And now, this set-up right here was an awful lot similar to pretty much that whole first year of high school -- always made painfully aware that he didn't measure up in any way to the bully who had stolen his heart in secret. Maybe he enjoyed the hurt, or maybe he just thought he deserved it. In any case he just couldn't stop it, forever drawn to Kwon Jiyong like a moth to a flame, and it was his biggest downfall. It was going to destroy him, chunk by bloody chunk. And not only him, but those around him too. Yifan knew all this and still, now he was dead because of it. His own mother had no idea where Zitao was or if he was even still alive because of it, and now, here he was, tied up and bloodied in front of a wild-eyed Jiyong because of it.
They were still on the same wavelength in at least one way, Zitao glad to see the cronies ordered back upstairs. But that look in Jiyongs eyes didn't dissipate with the departure, and he watched through narrow eyes and knitted brow as the other let out his feeling in a quick explosion. Head pushed back against the cold hard pillar, blood trickled out of the curled corner of Zitao's lips when the tape was ripped off. Those words were like knives, slashing down the stupid dreams he should have known better than to hope for. He should have seen the signs that Jiyong wasn't okay, but maybe he just didn't want to.
"We were in this together," he strained, the words making him splutter on the blood that had gathered in the back of his throat, that had been unable to escape thanks to the tape and now the forced upwards tilted position on his face. "Why are you doing this, Ji?"
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“Fuck you, we were never together!” His reply was lost in translation, confused, and still — secretly in regret and overwhelming frustration — he meant it. He finally pushed Zitao’s face away, only to step back and pull out the pistol tucked behind him, pointing it haphazardly at the other man. “You ruined my life! I was making a name for myself, sajangnim was going to give me everything, and you, you took that from me. Made me forget who I was. Do you know?” He closed the distance between them, pressing the gun to his own chest and then to Zitao’s. “I’m a fucking god, and you’re nothing.”
He walked away again, this time several more paces than before as he tapped the gun barrel to the side of his head. His heart was pounding, his thoughts raced, and for a moment his thousand emotions eclipsed, and he felt nothing at all. He wasn’t sure how long it was before he turned around again but when he did, tears were swelling in his eyes, Zitao a blur in the distance.
He dropped the gun from his head and let it hang loosely in his grip, and this time when he spoke, he did with one clear emotion. “There was a reason I deleted your number all those years ago... I fell in love with you, Zitao, do you know how fucking scary that was to realize? It was wrong. No one would ever accept me. So I cut off all ties with you. For once you were out of my life, I could put everything into my gang and you weren’t there to confuse my emotions. It took so long but I did it, I put my feelings for you away and my life wasn’t perfect, but it was easier. Even those times we let each other go in the middle of crossfire, I could pretend they never happened and go on with my life. But this time you didn’t just let me go, you took me in, kept me for months until all those feelings came back... Do you know how hard it is to be pulled two different ways —” he pointed with his gun again, this time to the stairs, “— one side telling me that I could be everything I’ve ever dreamed of becoming if I just work harder, the other side telling me just choose love?”
Somewhere in all this he’d made his way back over to Zitao, and now he was untying him from the pillar, little pride left to even bother wiping his tears away. With Zitao freed, he shoved the gun into his hand, for once desperate to give away his power. “So please, just tell me what to do. I’m tired of pretending, I don’t want to be strong anymore.”
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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.
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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.
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The fleeting moment was gone too fast, as always, and he was lucky Jiyong was such a quick thinker when flung into the thick of things. The flurry of thoughts racing through his mind slowed as soon as he heard the cloaked order, perfectly clear to him even amongst all chaos of angry voices. He gave no sign at all that he had heard, except the tight hold he had around Jiyongs neck secretly loosened, ready to be easily pushed away at any moment. He let Jiyong do all the speaking, hanging back and keeping his glare trained on the closest enemy. He smoothly shifted the aim of the gun from his hostages temple to Soohyuks face as the man stepped closer with the keys, and......
In a split second Zitao's arm had dropped away from Jiyong's neck and they were side by side as Jiyong shot Soohyuk in the stomach and ZItao shot the grey hoodie square in the chest. He had to rush forward to punch the gun out of the guys hand, as he valiantly aimed to shoot even in his last moments, hand shaking as he spluttered blood. Luckily Zitao was quick enough to disable the gun and let the mans body drop to the floor, choking and twitching. It made Zitao grimace, and just as he turned away from the grisly sight he simultaneously heard a bang and felt a sharp, hot pain in his shoulder. It was his immediate reaction to leap out of the way, dodging the second shot and, in the next split second, planting one into the guy already laying on the floor; the second crony jiyong had wounded. Well, he was dead now.
Zitao muttered something under his breath in Chinese, but no translation was needed to know it was pretty much an embittered "for fucks sake..." as he moved over to Jiyong and gave him the gun, then clutched at his injured shoulder with a wince and headed towards the stairs. "Let's get out of here."
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Once in the car, Jiyong wasted no time in burning rubber. He juggled the steering wheel as he pulled his button down off, exposing a wife beater that exaggerated the flatness of his chest, the boniness of his collarbones, tattoos that had regained meaning with the return of his memory. “Here,” he reached over to press the balled up clothing to Zitao’s wounded shoulder, letting go only when Zitao took over the task of applying the pressure himself. “Fuck!” he seemed to howl out of nowhere, a mixed burst of frustration and relief as he banged against the steering wheel with his palms. He took a few breaths, letting some sense of sanity come to him before he continued. “We gotta get to a pharmacy... I remember passing one on the way over.” He sped down an empty street, running a light as he tried to swallow down the thought that Zitao’s gunshot wound was once again in thanks to Jiyong’s own erred judgment. “Hang in there,” he said quietly, hand going to rest on Zitao’s thigh. “I’m gonna take care of you.”
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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.
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Jiyong continued reassuring Zitao with words and the brush of his thumb over the back of the other's hand, one hand steering the wheel with a white-knuckled grip. He'd never been shot himself, but he'd seen and learned enough from his gang members to know that Zitao would be okay. It struck him there in the car, how ironic and silly that it always seemed to end up this way: Zitao - who had always inherently been good and only ever fought because he had to - still was always the one who ended up with the kicks to his stomach, bruised ribs and bleeding wounds while Jiyong went unscathed. If it were Jiyong, he would have split long ago.
Twenty minutes later, they were ambling into a ramshackle of a motel, Jiyong carrying a duffel bag of toiletries and clothes he'd had in the car, as well as a paper bag from the pharmacy. "We better do this in the bathroom," he said, glancing at the white bed sheets and (somewhat clean) carpet on the floor. He dropped the duffel bag onto the only bed in the room and took the paper bag with him into the bathroom, flipping on the light and ordering Zitao to sit on the edge of the tub. He dumped the items from the bag onto the sink counter, gauze and tape, as well as a couple syringes and a bottle of pills he’d climbed over the counter and stolen after setting a distraction in aisle 3 (he hoped they’d put the fire out by now... who knew a pack of instant ramen could light up that fast?)
After setting the supplies in order, he moved to Zitao, gently taking hold of the bloodied shirt still held against his shoulder. “Here, let me see.” He slowly removed the soiled cloth, throwing it into the tub and thankful to see that any major bleeding had stopped. Getting Zitao’s shirt off was the next challenge, and this was done gingerly, with a few winces — at least on Jiyong’s side — as he tugged away the material stuck to the wound.
“You know,” Jiyong said with focused eyes, one of the syringes now in his hand as he used it to wash out Zitao’s wound, a fairly small gash for all that blood. “This makes you a real badass now. This ain’t nothing like the little scrapes I used to patch up for you. This bullet's in you for life.”
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In the cramped little bathroom, Zitao sat on the edge of the bath tub, long legs either side of Jiyong with feet flat and toes lodged against the wall. He eyed the spoils Jiyong dumped onto the sink counter, impressed, but not needing to ask how he'd managed to accuire all that. Even Jiyong would have had trouble sweet-talking a pharmacist in the short time he'd left Zitao alone in the car, so there was only one other possibility.
He caught a glance of himself in the waterstained mirror, and wow, he looked like shit. Pale with a blood crusted cut on his lip and a bruise under one eye. But it was only a quick glance before he was watching Jiyongs hand gently take over, letting go of the balled up shirt and letting the older man work his magic. As much as he didn't want to be a little bitch, he couldn't help whimpering like one when he had to get his shirt off, revealing another couple of yellow patches of skin brushed with blue bruises on his ribs from the ambush attack in their apartment. But Zitao avoided looking down at his own body as Jiyong tended to the wound, focusing on the other man's protruding collar bones instead with a wrinkled nose, trying not to disrupt progress with his winces and hisses.
He looked up when Jiyong spoke though, managing a little snort and curl of his lips. But that was all, dark eyes flitting back down and grimacing until the work was almost done. It wasn't just the physical pain, but now, out of harms way, there was time to think about everything that had happened today. Everything Jiyong had said...
"Hey. Ji," he started after some thought as the other man began to bandage the wound, lifting his good hand to rest lightly on the other's hip but still not looking up. "I'm sorry I never realised how you felt. I should have known." He hung his head a little, feeling a prickle in his eyes. "I just... I really wanted it to work."
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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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Zitao swallowed the pills without question, unprepared for the little kiss, and the counter apology. Maybe Jiyong really did understand, and he really would change... And maybe hell would freeze over at the same time.
Ever since the big confession and ever since coming to China together things just kept going from bad to worse and Zitao was becoming painfully aware that love just wasn't enough. As much as he tried to ignore it, the truth was that they could love each other more than the moon loved the stars and they'd still tear each other into pieces.
Zitao pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly squeezing his eyes shut before dropping his hand away again, looking at the other man and giving a nod that seemed almost defeated, accepting the apology. Then he dragged his feet away from the wall and his bones ached as he stood up. At 22 he was too young to feel this old.
In the bedroom he sat on the edge of the bed and tiredly attempted to single handedly undo his shoelaces and unbuckle his belt, preparing for bed. "We'll have to think about where we're gonna go tomorrow, huh? They're gonna be all over this town looking for us."
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He turned his head to the mirror, barely recognizing his own reflection through the splotches of water stains. There was hardly a glimmer of the young invincible thing he’d once been. The brightly colored earrings that had once adorned his ears, the bleached blonde hair, the kohl in his waterline — things that had always made physical the electric fervor with which he’d done everything — they were gone and he was a skeleton of himself, empty ear piercings now just scars, fringe dark and overgrown, eyes puffy and red around the rims. He reached for the bottle of painkillers still on the counter, rolling it back and forth slowly between his fingers until Zitao’s voice came like a saving grace. Jiyong quickly snapped out of his thoughts and set the bottle down, almost ashamed.
“We’ll be lucky if they don’t kill us tonight in our fucking sleep.” He joined Zitao in the bedroom, his flat, fatigued tone not at all matching the morbid truth of his statement. But he was too drained to rack his brain right now, and he took Zitao’s cue in getting more comfortable, taking the duffel bag off the bed and setting it onto the floor before going to toe off his shoes. For a moment, he considered asking Zitao if he knew anyone else in Guangzhou who could help, but he figured it would only bring back a bad taste in his mouth regarding Yifan. “Let’s just keep these close by,” he said instead, pulling out the pistol from the back of his pants and setting it on the nightstand. Seeing that the other man was very obviously struggling to undress himself, Jiyong bent down to finish unlacing his shoes, gently pulling them off and setting them beside the bed. He looked over the rest of Zitao then, his mouth turning up into a small, crooked smirk. “Never thought I’d be asking this but, need some help taking off those pants, too?”
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"I can do it," he murmered without much conviction even as he easily let Jiyong take over unlacing his shoes, sitting back with a sheepish little curl of the lips. It was just a little bit embarrassing that he couldn't seem to do anything for himself after one little bullet, but at the same time he liked this side of Jiyong. The crazy swings may be thrilling, and Zitao may even be a masachist with the shitty way he let the other guy treat him sometimes, but this right now.. This was the Jiyong he'd really fallen in love with. The one who had always picked him up when he was down (even if sometimes Jiyong himself had been part of the problem, like today, and like when he used to get bullied and beaten up by Jiyongs buddies at school). This was the Jiyong who'd thrown little stones at his bedroom window in the middle of the night to call him out, who'd taught him how to cope with his first hangover and waited anxiously for him to finish his first real jobs. It was the one that kept the seed of hope alive in Zitaos heart that this could work if they just tried hard enough. This was the person Zitao did all of this for. He may not look like that person so much right now, but he was. The colour of his hair and the prominence of his bones had no bearing on that.
"No, it's ok" he answered far too quickly and too definitely, as his hand flew to his belt buckle again to undo it by himself. ..Aaand it took only a split second for him to mentally kick himself for seeming flustered at such a stupid thing and he was quick to cover it up in his embarrassment, saying the first thing he could think of to blow it off, playing the tough guy again as he picked at the leather. "I need a shit too. Are you gonna wipe my ass for me?"
Honestly, it was silly, but he just didn't trust his body not to react. It would probably be fine, of course, but probably wasn't really good enough for something with the potential to be so awkward. Better safe than sorry.
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But first thing was first: survive tonight.
He let Zitao struggle with getting undressed the rest of the way, turning to undo the fastening on his own pants to slip them off and fold them neatly on top of the duffel bag. Left in his boxers and the extra t-shirt he'd thrown on in haste before going into the pharmacy earlier, he crawled onto one side of the bed, a sigh leaving his lips as he let his head hit the pillow. "Hurry up," he said quietly, one hand reaching to cup around the curve of Zitao's waist. "I need something to curl up to."
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"I never pictured you as a family guy," he said, though his tone showed that he was taking it as a joke, because come on, it had to be. Right?
He managed to get pants off at last, leaving him dressed only in boxers, bruises and bandages. But those pain killers must have been good because they had already kicked in and he felt a lot more comfortable. Still, after flicking the light switch, he lowered himself into bed gingerly upon Jiyong's request, laying flat on his back. The window blinds were shit, and the artificial light from the street was laying a soft, dingy orange glow on them.
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