HIT

4: boy toy

The first thing Jimin realized when he woke up was that he had a horrible headache and needed to piss, the second thing was the smell of coffee. With a groan he opened his eyes and tried to recall what had happened yesterday, but when he saw an all too well-known back with a black mop of hair at a table across the room he shot up in horror and frantically looked around. He was with the Hawk! And he could not move his arms nor legs properly.

His heart began to thrum like a drum, and he could feel how adrenaline was released into his blood. It was an almost painful sensation. "Let me go, let me go, let me go," he muttered panicked, and tried to get rid of what was restricting him.

The hitman turned around and looked at him. Not concerned nor mad, he just looked at him, and Jimin froze with terror, almost pissing himself. For a moment his quick breathing was the only sound in the room and he was unable to slow it down.

"It is a blanket, not rope," were the first words that left those thin lips in the ever-same bored tone, of which Jimin knew that it must be a mask.

But when the words settled in and he looked down at himself, it was confirmed that he, indeed, was only wrapped tightly in a thin blanket. Apparently, the Hawk had taken care of him. Because he had been drunk. And apparently had passed out. Because why else would that man take him to his place? Panic constricted his chest once again when a nasty idea crossed his mind, but a quick check proved his clothes were still on his body and no weird places hurt. It seemed that the Hawk was not that bad of a person after all.

That still did not explain why he had brought Jimin into his own four walls instead of calling the police to get him escorted home, but first things first. "Could you free me, please, Sir?" he dared to ask, encouraged by the glimpse of (questionable) decency he apparently had had directed at him last night. His voice was still hoarse from the unhealthy amount of liquor yesterday.

Waiting just that tad bit too long that proved that he was always on his toes, the Hawk stood up and slowly came closer. Jimin's body tensed and his hands formed into fists underneath the blanket.

"You are honestly telling me you cannot free yourself from a blanket?" the raspy voice asked. He crouched down in front of Jimin to brush back some strands of hair that hung into his eyes. The gesture could have been sweet, had there been any emotion in the other's face. "What are you even capable of, Jimin?"

Jimin's heartrate picked up another nudge. His name coming from those lips was disturbingly off-putting. Had they exchanged names last night? They must have, but he could not remember whether the Hawk had introduced himself.

"But my arms are-"

"Think, Jimin. Think," was all the other said bored before getting up again and walking back to the desk. Perfect. Had Jimin really thought of the Hawk as decent for taking him home instead of leaving him? That must have been a wild thought of his hungover brain.

Furious but still intimidated by the hitman's presence, Jimin tried to get out of his silly prison. Weeks and weeks of training at the academy to get out of ropes and handcuffs and now he was struggling because of a damn coverlet. And, yes, the asshole had made him sleep in a coverlet on the floor. This was how much he was worth in the Hawk's eye. He was nothing. Deadweight at most. Probably not even worth a fuck.

Frustrated but with a clearer mind he thought about an escape. He could roll over the floor until the blanket was off him, but that would be embarrassing. There had to be a more elegant way. Maybe he could get an arm out? He tried and it proved to be rather difficult because of the tightness with which the blanket was slung around him, but a minute later he had freed his right arm and his left followed, enabling him to slip out of it.