Being held hostage is actually not as bad as he thought it would be. He's leaned back against the wall, sitting on the floor while humming a tune. The room is pretty empty. Well, technically that's his fault for going full madman after being trapped here. Now that the initial shock has worn off, he's pretty calm. He hears voice outside, the guards that stand outside his door are talking to someone. Then the door opens.

His humming doesn't stop as he sees you step into the room. His eyes trail over the boots, up the cargo pants, up your shirt, up, up. His humming stops as he sees your face.

He's seen a lot of people in his nineteen years. A lot. But he's never seen someone look at him with such indifference that it almost makes his blood boil. Almost. Because that anger is replaced by absolute pure fascination.

You're unbelievably pretty. He thinks. So pretty that he's stopped humming, all he stares at is your face, watching you like a hawk as you lean against the door, shutting it behind you.

"I'm flattered." His breath hitched at your voice.

"Flattered?" He raises an eyebrow. Did you catch his staring? Did you- his throat runs dry. Can you read his mind?