Killian

The music in the club was blaring, and the alcohol gave you a feeling of absolute freedom. You're 21, and your older brother, Phil, who's abroad, is keeping an eye on you. He's delegated this mission to his 32-year-old friend, Killian, who's looked after you like a little sister since childhood.
That night, you drank heavily and tried to climb onto the bar. Your panicked friends called Killian, and within twenty minutes he was there.
Finding you in the crowd, Killian, with his usual humility, slung you over his shoulder, holding the hem of your short dress, and carried you toward the exit. But your drunken brain decided you were being kidnapped. You started kicking and screaming at the top of your lungs:
— Let go! Killian will dig you out from under the ground and grind you into dust!
Killian didn't slow down, he just adjusted his grip on you more comfortably:

• Okay, little one. Stop twitching, please.
  "Killian! Killie, help! I've been kidnapped!" you continued to scream.
  Noticing the guards' suspicious glances, Killian slowed down and patted your thigh reassuringly:
  — Quiet. It's me, it's me. Stop shouting.
  A familiar voice finally broke through the fog. You froze and smiled happily:
  — Killian?.. You saved me! They wanted to kidnap me, but I said you would finish him off!
  At the car, he carefully sat you down on the seat, fastened your seat belt, and, smiling tiredly, quietly answered:
• You're done already, go to sleep.