My Safe Person (X Drake x Hawkins)

{IX}

He cursed when the door creaked open. 

After a few, awful seconds he tried again, this time even slower - and when the gap was wide enough for him to sneak through, he entered his house. 

It was around 5 a.m, both him and Hawkins choosing this hour as the least dangerous one; most of the people were deeply asleep, which must have included his father as well. 

As he tiptoed through the corridor, avoiding the panels on the floor that he knew had the tendency to squeak, he prayed to his mother, to God himself, to anything that is out there to let him survive this - he had to get out of his house unnoticed, preferably not beaten to a bloody pulp and on a stretcher. 

He almost laughed; the situation was so dreadful, it started posing as more of a hysterical one. 

Drake left his father's room behind him, directing his steps towards his own place. It was so quiet, the silence ringed in his ears. 

All he had to do was grab his backpack, stuff all of the school textbooks as well as items that held some kind of sentimental value in it and leave. The last point was definitely his favorite.

Maths, history, physics, chemistry - it all followed as he feverishly shifted to packing his valuables; not that there were many. A sketch journal hidden behind the chest of drawers, few of his favorite books, a wallet with all of his savings and an ID, as well as dinosaur figurines and a baby seal plushie he couldn't fall asleep without.

His gaze stopped on the Jurassic Park poster on the wall - he dismissed the thought immediately. Tearing it off would have made too much noise. 

Finally, the last thing was secured inside the backpack. Drake sighed with relief, his back facing the door. 

Calm down, he thought. Follow the plan. 

Hawkins was waiting in the car outside. He was so close; a kind person, his literal lifeline. Drake couldn't believe he got to meet a friend like that, let alone that he was worthy of someone's help. But maybe, just maybe, there was some hope left for him. 

The door closed with a loud Bang!. 

"There you are." 

He flinched in horror and turned around as quickly as he could - but not quickly enough. A harsh tug caused him to stagger and a familiar grip clenched on the collar of his jumper. 

"So you came back now, huh?" his father hummed, pushing him towards the wall with force. "You hung up on me. You didn't return my calls. You didn't text me. I couldn't sleep, I was worried sick!" 

He accented the last word with grabbing him again, this time throwing him off balance to almost smash against the desk. 

Drake's heart felt as if it was about to leap out of his throat - his whole body went from behaving as stealthily as possible to suddenly shaking with dread. Even without his father's grip on him, his legs were barely able to support his weight. 

He kept quiet due to the familiar bump preventing him from forming out his voice, let alone calling for someone's help. 

He noticed his father's eyes flickering to the stuffed backpack, somehow still tightly held in Drake's hand. 

"Oh, playing a runaway?" he asked again, grabbing him by the collar and lifting up from the floor. "And where were you planning to go? You wouldn't survive a day on your own." 

Help me, Drake prayed. Please, help me. 

He knew Hawkins couldn't hear him, he doubted he would even if he screamed - his pride pushed him to at least show a little bit of resistance, but his body refused to cooperate. It was overrun with fear, completely paralyzed, his lungs clenched. 

"How could you even do this to me? After everything I've done to raise you," the man continued, his voice coated with emotion. "I've never heard an apology, for all those nerves that you cost me." 

With the last bit of common sense, Drake remembered about the phone in his pocket. But even if he managed to pull it out, his father would just snatch it away. 

His gaze swept along the window - what if he jumped out? It was the second floor, he might have even avoided breaking his limbs. 

No, this is madness, he thought, and a painful burn exploded in his side. He tried to get out of his father's range, and maybe it was the adrenaline rushing through his veins, or maybe just pure desperation - his body finally listened to his pleads and lifted his weight. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

Drake tried to ignore his father's stinging words - treating them as incoherent sentences without any real meaning. He dove from a swing of his fist and launched towards the door. 

Run, his brain gave a familiar command. Run. 

His nails dug painfully into the strap of the backpack as he sprinted onto the corridor and to the exit - when something hit him on the shoulder, throwing him off balance again and causing to scrape against the wall. 

He didn't dare to turn around, yet alone take a deeper breath - he ran into the furniture, faltered and knocked it over, but it all smeared into a blur; his gaze was stuck on the door. 

"Come back here!" 

It was a miracle his legs didn't buckle underneath him yet as he commanded them to work, just for a little bit longer. 

Please, he thought. He's waiting for me. 

He bursted outside, immediately making his way towards the Impala parked nearby. When he saw his friend waiting with the door to the passenger's seat already opened, he almost broke down. Almost - he still wasn't safe. 

Drake first threw the backpack inside and slammed the door behind him as he staggered into his seat, the car taking off in an instant. 

For a long while, the only sound audible in the small space was his ragged breathing. His friend's eyes stuck on the road. 

"It was your last visit in that house," Hawkins finally said, hands clenching on the wheel. "Believe me."