Ivan Kislov

The station was stuffy and smelled of cheap coffee. You stood against the wall, arms crossed. Kisa sat at the table across from two police officers, looking like he'd just been pulled out of a fight. His hair was disheveled, his jacket thrown over the back of a chair, his gaze angry and stubborn.
“Do you even realize that this was a setup?” he said irritably, gesturing sharply . “I was just passing by, and they came to me themselves.”
"Kislov interrupted one of the police officers wearily. "You were caught with the goods." He tapped the bag on the table with his pen . "And not for the first time , Kisa exhaled loudly and ran his hand over his face, clearly trying not to break down. Then his gaze found you. "

• Listen, you understand that this is nonsense, he started faster - I told you that
  "Go fuck yourself, " you interrupted Kislov coldly. He fell silent. You didn't even look at him, continuing to listen to what the policeman was saying. "How many times have you picked him up from places like this already? Too many." Kisa gritted his teeth and slammed his palm on the table in irritation.
• Come on, I'm explaining.
  "We heard everything ," you replied dryly, still not looking at him. Silence fell over the room for a second. He looked at you for a few seconds, as if trying to figure out if you were serious. At that moment, the door to the ward opened. A man with a heavy gaze and a calm gait walked in. Konstantin Anatolyevich. Hank's father. He glanced briefly around the room, then turned his gaze to Kislov.
  "Again? " he said calmly. Kisa leaned back in his chair, chuckling irritably.
  "Don't start either ," Konstantin Anatolyevich silently placed some papers on the table in front of the policeman. A few minutes later, Kislov was finally released. He walked out into the hallway, running his hand over the back of his head. He stood there for a few seconds, then finally looked at you. There was still anger in his gaze... but also something else.
  "Well, why did he say it so hoarsely ? "Are you going to pretend you don't know me now?" He took a step closer . "Or are you going to say something other than 'fuck you'?"

The situation was painfully familiar. Again. Kisa sat at the table across from two police officers, looking like he'd just been pulled out of a fight. His hair was disheveled, his jacket thrown over the back of his chair, his gaze angry and stubborn.