He stopped struggling a long time ago, but he finds himself fidgeting more and more often. It's all a matter of patience, he knows; he can still make it out of this without issue. Playing the part of the helpless underling has worked so far, and that girl- that captain of the Guard Team- convinced them to spare him. Hilarious, really, but he hasn't let himself laugh yet. He's got an image to keep for now, after all.
But, just because his plans haven't failed him yet, that does not mean that everything is going particularly well for him. It isn't time for him to escape just yet, and even though he's patient enough, the rest of his body doesn't necessarily agree. Which is just a roundabout way of admitting to himself that his bladder is getting rather full, and that it's getting impossible to ignore it, as much as he would like to.
It's going to be a long wait, and he can already feel his patience wearing thin as he waits for the perfect opportunity to get away. At the moment, he knows this is something he can manage without much difficulty. It's only an annoyance, not a serious concern, and he can even push the dull throb out of his mind for a little bit, and repeats this each time it comes to the forefront of his thoughts.
Time passes, and he's convinced that he's doing just fine; he's a grown ass man, and he's been in enough pinches to know that he can make it for much longer than this, but that doesn't make it any less frustrating. In fact, he seriously doubts that there's anything that can make it less frustrating, especially as it gets worse and he starts to catch himself fidgeting more and more. They switch off on who watches him, so nobody has noticed his shifting movements enough to figure out what it means.
His original guard returns after a while, telling him that it's time to, “get his ass in gear,” by which he assumes that it's time for the little event he's supposed to help them protect. The man, Zhang, unties him from the chair and drags him to his feet, holding his arms behind his back until he's got them bound again. He's sure that, if he tried to resist or escape, that Zhang could overpower him easily, but he has no plans of doing that just yet anyway. Even if it would be nice to be able to go somewhere private and relieve himself before this gets out of hand.
He tells himself, reminds himself, that it can't be that much longer. Zhang takes him to a place where they'll watch from a slight distance, and pushes him onto his stomach, binding his legs as well. Internally, he curses; laying on his stomach adds additional pressure to his bladder, something he could definitely do without right now. Wriggling a little bit, he tries to calm himself down and keep his body under control.
“There's no point in struggling like that,” Zhang mutters, and it is the first time anyone has caught onto his movements, so he must be getting more obvious. “No way in hell you're getting out of ropes I tied. You might as well settle down, cos we got a long day ahead of us, alright?”
“Just trying to get comfortable,” he replies, somewhat relieved that the other man hasn't figured out why he's uncomfortable. “You couldn't have tied me up any other way?”
“You gotta stay low. And this way I know you're not getting out when my back is turned. It's win-win, you know?”
For a moment, he's tempted to break out right then and there, to prove that he can most certainly get out of those ropes, and take this chances with trying to knock the smirk off the larger man's face. But he knows damn well he couldn't take Zhang in a fight, at least not one-on-one like this, and certainly not with his bladder throbbing like this, and if he tried, he's sure Jun would take back her promise of sparing his life. He doesn't know if she could do it herself, but she wouldn't be by herself, and there's no sense in him taking his chances.
But it's getting bad , and he really has to piss, and Zhang isn't distracted even as they watch the crowds together. He keeps turning back to talk, and nothing is enough of a distraction to get him to turn his focus completely away. Escape would be so, so easy, if only he would lose his goddamn focus . Time keeps passing, and he keeps squirming, more and more often despite the fact that it may become more obvious this way.
Clenching a fist does him no good, but he tries it anyway, and curls his toes as well, and grits his teeth. Anything to take his mind off the incessant throb of his bladder and the growing fear that he might not have enough time. Even though he has to have enough time, because this isn't going to happen, the fear is still there, and he genuinely doesn't know how much longer he's going to be able to hold on under these conditions.
When things really begin to take off, it's hard to keep his voice steady, to hide the strain that would be a dead giveaway. He manages well enough, or maybe Zhang just doesn't notice because he's starting to get nervous, and with good reason. Their little event isn't as secure as they expected, and as the shit hits the fan, he keeps playing his part perfectly, feeling himself growing hopeful. It won't be long now, he thinks, before he has the perfect opportunity to make his getaway, and he's shaking just a little bit in anticipation.
Christ , this is so bad, and when he thinks that Zhang is at last much too distracted to notice, he pops the hidden knife out and begins to cut the ropes, praying that he can move quickly and quietly enough in his current condition. He feels as though he could lose control at any moment, and he knows that he isn't in the clear until he's made it a safe distance from Zhang. Plus, he's on a fucking time crunch, there are things he has to do, so he'll barely have enough time to stop and take care of this predicament.
Once his arms are free, he quickly frees his legs and he starts off, timing his steps so that Zhang can never hear him over the sound of his own voice, until he's finally far enough away that he can break into an awkward sprint. Only a few moments into his run, he feels a hot spurt escape and he curses under his breath, stopping for a moment to try to regain his composure.
His breathing is labored both from his run and from his nerves, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot, squeezing his thighs together. He doesn't have time for this, but he knows that he's only seconds away from losing control entirely, as much as he hates to admit it. Though he had wanted to get further away before putting himself in such a vulnerable position, he knows that he isn't going to have the time to do that.
His legs are actually shaking, and he tries to steady himself, reaching for his zipper, but he's faltering, he's too damn close , and he knows, he already knows that this is it for him, and he was almost there, but he can't even move without pushing himself beyond his limits. He's waited for too damn long, and he wants to scream and swear and maybe kick something because he can't even wait the remaining few seconds to get himself out of his pants, and then it's all over and his body gives in to the relief that he's denied himself for hours and hours.
His knees buckle and he supports himself with his hands against a wall, his breath coming out in a long sigh as he soaks through his pants, his bladder still cramping even as it empties itself. The sound of liquid hitting the ground fills the relative silence until there's a sizable puddle on the ground, and when he's completely empty, he stands still for a moment, trying to catch his breath.
The relief, the release of all that swollen pressure, is better than he wants to admit when he's just pissed himself like some sort of child. It feels good to finally be empty , but he now he's soaked and he's already short on time, and there's no way in hell he's going to do anything looking like this. He wonders how quickly he can get himself into fresh clothes, and how he can avoid being seen by many people in the meantime.