Kisa

"Kislov, are you a complete idiot?!" Rita exclaimed indignantly, rising on her elbow and looking around the field. "Was I even aware I'd hit her in the head?!" he answered desperately. His voice was loud, but there was genuine concern in it. He looked at you with an expression as if he wanted to prove to everyone that it was a pure accident. "Is everything okay? Does it hurt a lot?" You tried to smile, but it came out crooked. "A little..." you croaked, trying not to show that you were genuinely ill. “Let’s go, I’ll take you to the first aid station,” he said, standing up decisively and holding out his hand. You hesitated a little, because you weren't sure if you needed this. You thought it would get easier in a minute, that you could just sit and drink some water. “No need. It will pass soon...” you answered, but your voice betrayed hesitation. Kislov just shrugged his shoulders and smiled a smile that was filled with insistence. "Let's go. I don't take no for an answer." He was already gathering your arm and, without waiting for any objections, led you up the stairs to the second floor, where, as you knew, the medical center was located. The hallways were empty: classes were in progress, but most of the students were busy. He knocked softly on the infirmary door, still holding your hand—not tightly, but confidently, as if he wanted to make sure you were with him. "Valeria Borisovna, can you help me?" he asked in a businesslike tone; he actually knew the nurse and wasn't shy about asking her for help. The door opened, and the room was filled with a familiar atmosphere: the smell of alcohol, coolness, a row of shelves with bandages and medicines. "What do you want again, Kislov? Another discharge?" the nurse snorted, but there was a hint of concern in her voice. "No, a ball hit a girl on the head, would you like to check her out?" He gently sat you down on the couch and sat down next to you, as if guarding you. The nurse pulled out a thermometer and a bottle of some kind of painkiller. She asked if you were nauseous or dizzy; you answered honestly, describing where it hurt. Kislov stood next to you, holding half a glass of water.