Kisa

"Well, Vanechka..." you muttered quietly, barely able to pronounce his name, even though your boyfriend was somewhere else. You moved closer, and without realizing it, you buried your nose in his chest, seeking support in his solid body. Everyone present, including his hushed friends, froze abruptly. A strange, awkward silence filled the room. And Kisa seemed to suddenly calm down. His anger evaporated as quickly as it had appeared, giving way to something else entirely. You felt his hands settle on your waist, gently pressing you against him, as if he were afraid you would collapse. His chin rested gently on the top of your head. “Little fool…” he whispered quietly, almost tenderly, and there was so much warm care in that whisper, so much unexpected affection, that it took your breath away. After standing there for a couple more minutes, in silence broken only by distant bass music and your own ragged breathing, you left the base. Kisa, without a word, took your hand. His fingers gripped yours tightly, keeping you from falling as you slowly walked out of the club into the cold night street. The crisp, frosty air sobered you up a bit, but your head was still spinning. "Vanya... What about me? My father will kill me," you muttered quietly, stumbling with every step and feeling a slight fear that broke through the alcohol intoxication. Kisa only squeezed your hand tighter. "You're staying with me tonight," his voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact, and at that moment you realized there was no point in arguing—and you didn't want to, either. It was the only way to avoid your father's belt and the endless lectures you knew would follow your misbehavior.