GTao <3

[xiongmaox]

It hadn't even been a week since their tryst on the rooftop and Zitao was still a little apprehensive about the new territory he and Jiyong were getting into. He desperately wanted more, yet he'd been burned so many times by now that something deep down in him had changed; He wasn't so naive and so quick to get caught up in whirlwinds of dreams anymore. He was still hopeful, but it was with more caution than before and he was taking this one step at a time. He wasn't blind to all the problems and pitfalls in their way, but still... He couldn't deny that he felt like their connection had deepened since that night. It was really nice, and that was part of what scared him. The other night they'd even talked a little about getting matching tattoos, and only been half joking. It felt like they belonged to each other a little bit more, and neither of them could take it back.

Tonight, Zitao had only been out getting groceries (if multipacks of ramen, steamed Chinese dumplings from a street vendor, tobacco, and beer could be considered groceries), and had one of the held between his lips as he fished his key out his pocket to open the door to the flat and kick it closed behind him, before bypassing the tiny kitchen area towards the beaten up old sofa.

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[xiongmaox]

It really wasn't like him, but Zitao felt sickly pleased with himself during the quiet lull after he'd said his piece, hoping it had hit home. He was feeling spiteful, even if the earlier rage that had propelled him out of the apartment an hour or so ago had died down. Perhaps it was because he wanted to start a fight. He wanted Jiyong to deny it and hit back and lose control and prove Zitao's point, just so that he could scream back at him and go crazy and lose control himself. Because he was sick of feeling like the only one really trying to hold everything together, and he was sick of being the reliable, level-headed one. He just needed Jiyong to push him over the edge.

But he didn't. At least not that way.

Usually such sore accusations would have evoked a much stronger and much less controlled reaction from the older man, and Zitao had been geared up for that, not for the calm and tired reply he actually received instead. The unexpectedly cool tone of Jiyong's voice halted Zitao's irritation so suddenly, replacing it with a quiet seed of concern that quickly grew. What did he mean 'as long as he's here'? Why just stop? Why wasn't he gonna try to fix this?

Maybe Zitao wasn't good at being the the one quick to fly off the handle after all, because now, after hearing Jiyong out, there was a silent tear rolling down each of his cheeks. He didn't know what to say now, the spiteful comments running dry, and he lingered too long before he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Jiyong, I..."

But the other man had already given up and hung up the phone just a second earlier. So Zitao did too, and he quickly got up, wiping his face into the inner elbow of his jacket sleeve and not giving a shit that a few people were looking at him strangely as he left the little bar.

He jumped into the car, probably over the legal BAC limit but he'd done a lot worse, and drove back to the apartment. Jiyong was right; nothing good was going to come of this. Let's just stop. He was still hurt, and everything still wasn't okay, but he'd cooled off by the time he reached the place they'd been calling home, and it was a little gingerly that he entered the front door.

[perignons]

Jiyong took as little as possible — a few shirts and pants, a toothbrush, a notebook in a small duffel bag; the sweatshirt on his back, the shoes on his feet, the pistol tucked into his waist. The only thing he simultaneously hated himself for taking and felt he couldn't go without were the pain meds. He didn't take the fresh pack of cigarettes he'd gotten earlier in the day; that he left for Zitao, along with the 20,000 CNY stashed away in the closet. He couldn't have lived with himself knowing he'd taken anything from Zitao, and besides, he wouldn't need much. Once he was out of China, he would have it made. As far as he knew, sajangnim knew nothing of how the Guangzhou massacre really went down, and no matter how exhausted Jiyong's mental state, he would always be a good liar: Soohyuk and the others were dead, sure, but Jiyong had taken down both Zitao and his partner Yifan in retaliation; lost his phone and all contact in the scuffle, but he was back and ready to claim his stake as sajangnim's top assassin.

He was gone before Zitao could return, and he was glad for it. No chance to see Zitao's face one more time, no chance to second guess himself and fall back into the same destructive hole he was finally gaining the strength to climb up from. He was glad, too, that his last words to Zitao had been spoken from the heart, and he was sure Zitao knew he meant it when he said he loved him. That would never change. Even if somewhere down the line Jiyong found himself on the side of the road at the mercy of Zitao's gun again, it wouldn't change.

And so he found himself in another dingy motel room in another strange town. Phone muted because he couldn't bear to hear potential calls. The entire night spent crying, purging a weak heart, until dawn shone through the cheap curtains and cast him new skin, as wild and callous as he'd been as a new blood to his gang.