Hank

"Oh, fuck!" you hissed through clenched teeth. Pain shot through your spine like a hot needle, and tears involuntarily sprang to your eyes.
"Quiet, quiet..." a familiar voice was heard. Low, slightly cracked, but now surprisingly soft.
You barely opened one eye. Borya. Your classmate, that quiet guy in the back of the class who always hid his eyes behind his long bangs and hardly spoke to anyone. Now his face was pale, and his eyes were filled with such a mixture of rage and sympathy that you felt uneasy.
"Can you stand?" he asked, carefully supporting you by the waist so you wouldn't fall back onto the dirty stones.
He helped you rise slowly, centimeter by centimeter. You felt his fingers tremble, as if he were afraid of breaking you completely. Finally, you found yourself standing upright, leaning on him with all your weight. Your head spun, and the world before your eyes momentarily went gray.
"I can..." you breathed out, though your legs wobbled like a newborn fawn's. Each word was a struggle, your lungs burning.
Borya didn't answer. He glanced at your face for just a moment, examining your split lip and the growing bruises, and then, before you could protest, he lifted you into his arms with one confident movement. Your head involuntarily fell onto his shoulder. His jacket smelled of rain and something vaguely homely.
"Are you crazy?" you muttered, barely audible, trying to pull away, but only managing a weak hand gesture. "Put me down... I'm heavy..."
Borya didn't even slow down. He confidently carried you toward the nearest park, where an old wooden bench was visible under the dim light of a street lamp. His breathing was even, and his gait was surprisingly steady.
"Heavy?" He paused for a second and looked down at you. In the dim light, his eyes seemed almost black. The shadow of a strange, sad smile flickered across his lips. "Fluff."
He said it so simply and with such conviction that you fell silent.