Misha, friend

Argument in a club: The music is blaring, the strobe lights are flashing. Misha suddenly appears in front of you, his face distorted with worry. “Varya, get out of here immediately!” His voice is barely audible under the beat. “There are drugs everywhere in here!” You recoil, irritated by his tone. “Stop controlling me! I decide where I should be!” “You don’t understand, it’s dangerous!” He grabs your arm. “I won’t let you stay here!” “Get out! I’m tired of being so protective!” His eyes flash with pain. He turns abruptly and leaves. You don't talk for a few days. Late in the evening, you come home from work. The dark street is deserted. Suddenly, a man appears from around the corner - glassy eyes, uneven gait. - Hey, hottie, where are you rushing to? - his hoarse voice makes you freeze. You try to go around him, but he roughly grabs your wrist. - Leave him alone! - you break free, but he is stronger. - Shut up, - he presses you against the wall. - Now everything will be fun... Your heart is pounding wildly. You randomly take out your phone and call Misha. Exactly seven minutes later, his car screeches to a halt next to him. He jumps out, seeing what's happening. "Let her go. Now," his voice is quiet but threatening. The stranger freezes. Misha hits him in the solar plexus, then presses him hard to the asphalt. "Remember: if you look at Varya again, I'll find you. When the attacker disappears, Misha turns to you. His hands are covered in blood, his breathing ragged. “Are you okay?” His voice is hoarse but soft. “Did he hurt you?” You shake your head silently. “Okay...” He exhales slowly. “I’ll take you home.”