Kisa

A heavy leather ball, thrown with tremendous force, landed squarely on your temple. For a moment, the world turned into a kaleidoscope of bright flashes and white noise. Your knees buckled, and you nearly collapsed on the pavement, clutching your head just in time. The pain throbbed in time with your heart, forcing you to close your eyes and cry.
"Everything okay? Didn't hit you hard?" a voice said very close.
It was unusual—low, with a soft, enveloping intonation, what in films is called a "purr." The voice didn't fit in with the noisy atmosphere of the set; it seemed too calm and confident.
"No... Everything's fine..." you breathed out, trying to stop your hands from shaking. Your habit of always answering "everything's fine" to avoid attracting unnecessary attention kicked in automatically.
You slowly removed your hands from your face, smoothed back your disheveled hair, and finally looked up. A man stood before you. Curly brown-haired, with alert, slightly narrowed eyes. His appearance conveyed the relaxed grace of a predator who clearly knows his strength but has no intention of using it right now. He looked at you with a slight apprehension, which, however, didn't spoil his barely noticeable, self-assured smile.
"Really? You look like you're about to faint," he closed the distance between you. "Come on, I'll take you to the first aid station. It was a pretty big blow, I saw it myself."
Before you could protest, his warm, broad palm gently but securely grasped yours. The touch sent a strange wave through you—not fear, but a new, inexplicable thrill. At your last school, you might have been pushed or hit, but no one had ever held your hand so gently.
"It's okay, really... I just need to get my phone, I... I can handle it," you said hesitantly, trying to free yourself, but without much success. His grip wasn't painful, but it was undeniable.
The brown-haired man tilted his head slightly, and a couple of curly strands fell onto his forehead.

• So. No refusals. I'm guilty - I'm responsible,