[scene!] gtao

[xiongmaox]

 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.

Comments

[perignons]

The shots rang in his ears, and when he turned around, he hardly had the time to feel relieved at the sight of Zitao standing alive before his excited nerves kept him moving in action. “No, keep the fucking thing,” he insisted, forcing the gun back into Zitao’s free hand, however weak, before glancing back at the still — some barely breathing — bodies scattered on the floor. An apologetic gaze was directed at Soohyuk, the thin man curling his body up in a fruitless attempt to save the blood pooling from his stomach, and he was crying, really crying as he managed to crane his neck and return Jiyong’s gaze. This was it. Jiyong had really burned all bridges back to his gang now, and the only way was forward. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants, and without another glance over his shoulder, followed Zitao up the stairs and out of the doomed building.

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.”

[xiongmaox]

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.

[perignons]

"Stop being a little bitch," Jiyong teased, rubbing soothing circles over Zitao's thigh before turning his fingers up to take the younger man's hand into his own. "For all our fighting, it's good to know we still make a good team when it comes down to the wire."

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.”

[xiongmaox]

This was starting to become a pattern, Zitao thought as they trudged into the umpteenth crappy motel with new wounds to lick - this time literally as well as figuratively. They would have to start from scratch yet again, and each time the rug was whipped out from beneath them they were left with fewer and fewer resources, friends, and options. And right now, honestly, they were pretty damn screwed.

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."

[perignons]

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.”

[xiongmaox]

In spite of everything it wasn't difficult for Zitao to love Jiyong. Quite the opposite, in fact, it was the easiest thing in the world. Even when he wished he didn't, and even during all those years he'd spent trying to smother the flame set in his heart, it just would not burn out. There was no choice to be made about how he felt, only about what he did about it. But those feelings kept on and on pushing him to throw self preservation to the wind, leading him to skip over all the bad parts that made Jiyong ugly, terrifying, or strange. He knew it was all there, and there was a lot of it too, but still, he couldn't help the fact that he'd rather be besides Jiyong in a hurricane than safe and warm all by himself. What did he have left if he didn't have this?

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."

[perignons]

Jiyong had never been the best at reading people, but even he could tell that Zitao’s nod was forced, done more out of weariness than determined belief. And why wouldn’t it have been, when deep down, Jiyong didn’t even believe himself? He hung his head low, stepping aside to let Zitao squeeze past him in the small space, feeling pretty fucking pitiful when he was left by himself.

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?”

[xiongmaox]

It was the kind of thing normal people said with sarcasm, but there was none in Jiyong's voice or in the gun he whipped out to stow on the night stand. When they said shit like that they really meant it, and it only sounded crazy to Zitao when he really really thought about it. Unlike now. He just agreed and breifly gave up on the shoe laces to do the same.

"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.

[perignons]

Jiyong laughed, gums flashing at Zitao's flustered movement for his belt, and then at his retort. "Fuck that. The only ass I'm wiping is my own kid's." Because yes, despite his largely fucked up life, it was still Jiyong's wildest dream to one day have a family and be a father, to spoil his children rotten and give them everything he never had.


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."

[xiongmaox]

Zitao couldn't help but smile when he saw that familiar gummy laugh, snickering at the response. No matter how bad things got, as long as they always ended up laughing at each other then fuck it; the world could do it's worst.

"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.

[perignons]

As soon as Zitao lied down, Jiyong drew like a magnetic towards him, arm around waist, ankles hooked. The blanket under them was useless, thin and itchy at the stitching, but Zitao’s body against his, tattered as it was, still warmed and comforted him that sleep was already starting to take over his senses. “I’m going to be a father, one day...” he mumbled against Zitao’s good shoulder, eyes closed, fingertips idly grazing his hipbone. He continued smoothing over the bare skin there, more and more slowly until he slipped out of consciousness for a few seconds; but he forced himself awake again, just long enough to press a kiss to the round of Zitao’s shoulder, and only then did he give in to sleep for good.