(while jake sounds like he'd be much more frivolous with the cherry bombs, hei knows better. neither of them are interested in attracting attention. he wasn't keen on using them unless he ran into a situation like this, actually, getting himself harassed by way of some stupid error he should've anticipated... but the guy's got a quicker tongue, doesn't he?
the flinch didn't happen on impact, or at the sound of the man's skull caving. it didn't happen when his mouth started frothing pink bubbles with whatever hemorrhaging blood was leaking into his sinuses. but — and not for any reason he understands, all too used to situations like these — the sensation that comes with jake's moment of skin contact makes him pull closer to the wall. hard, when he can't move his hands and feet.
he feels it like a bad trip, irritation bubbling up like something acidic beneath his sternum. foreign anger that isn't his, because his is aimed at himself, and caution that's mirrored by the thief behind him.)
Shou. Hei. Tak. Whatever you want; they're all the same. (hei's compelled to answer, eyebrows raising fractionally at the glow lighting cracks in the wall his face nears, searching for the source.) Something's wrong.
(any other emotions that linger at the surface of jake's thoughts — like the inkling of worry he'd rather not relate to — are instantly shot through the bond initiated by the pat down's moment of skin contact. hei's, however, are far more chaotic, despite being underlined thrice by a strong sense of uncaring. disorientation, resignation, helplessness, an overwhelming sorrow that seems to have grown roots in each one. it's all hellish, it's all hated.
hei doesn't know who's luckier that he's prohibited from lashing out.)
Get— (the order's cut off, following jake's command.) I'll get the knife, alright? It's yours.
no subject
the flinch didn't happen on impact, or at the sound of the man's skull caving. it didn't happen when his mouth started frothing pink bubbles with whatever hemorrhaging blood was leaking into his sinuses. but — and not for any reason he understands, all too used to situations like these — the sensation that comes with jake's moment of skin contact makes him pull closer to the wall. hard, when he can't move his hands and feet.
he feels it like a bad trip, irritation bubbling up like something acidic beneath his sternum. foreign anger that isn't his, because his is aimed at himself, and caution that's mirrored by the thief behind him.)
Shou. Hei. Tak. Whatever you want; they're all the same. (hei's compelled to answer, eyebrows raising fractionally at the glow lighting cracks in the wall his face nears, searching for the source.) Something's wrong.
(any other emotions that linger at the surface of jake's thoughts — like the inkling of worry he'd rather not relate to — are instantly shot through the bond initiated by the pat down's moment of skin contact. hei's, however, are far more chaotic, despite being underlined thrice by a strong sense of uncaring. disorientation, resignation, helplessness, an overwhelming sorrow that seems to have grown roots in each one. it's all hellish, it's all hated.
hei doesn't know who's luckier that he's prohibited from lashing out.)
Get— (the order's cut off, following jake's command.) I'll get the knife, alright? It's yours.