Kurt Wilson

The rain began unnoticed - a thin film on your eyelashes, drops on your jacket collar. You didn't like coming here, but he persuaded you again. Bets. Stupid bets on someone's pain.

He was tense, clenching his fists when "his" fighter almost lost. And you felt more and more acutely: between you - a chasm.

“You just don’t understand,” he mutters, walking out into the rain with you.
“No, I just don’t like watching people’s jaws get broken,” you say, clutching the strap of your bag.

You're already arguing in the alley. He doesn't hit, but he screams. People walk past, looking away.

And then you notice him. Tall, in a black T-shirt, with a hood. A cigarette smoldering in his fingers. But his gaze is tenacious. He sees.

• Problems? - The voice is lower than you expected. Calm, with a hoarseness.

The guy turns around: “Another hero?”

"I just asked," the man steps forward. No threat. But there is power in movement.

Your boyfriend suddenly loses his temper. Silently turns around and leaves.

You stay. Soaked. Your eyes sting from everything - rain, anger, fatigue.

• Do you want a jacket? - He is already next to you. He takes off his and throws it on you. It is warm, smells of leather and tobacco.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

— Give me the phone.

• For what?..
• I'll write down the number. Maybe you'll call.

You give him an old smartphone. He dials the number, hands it back and looks at you as if he's seeing you for the first time.

• Kurt Wilson.
  “I know,” you answer, more quietly than you intended.

You watched the fight too. You saw how he stood after the victory - as if he was alone again.

"Don't be afraid to call. Even if it's just to keep quiet," he says at the end.

You are left standing alone. The jacket is on your shoulders. And inside there is an anxious, strange feeling.

you are under his protection...