Tender gangster

Let us breathe together

*Notes: Imagine that we didn't get that hot scene in the bathroom, because Porsche was hit by the panic attack.

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"I didn't know that you would turn out to be such a cheap whore!"

"Fuck you!" your palm slaps across his face. "I shouldn't have fallen in love with such an asshole!"

Yes.

You shouldn't have fallen in love with him.

You shouldn't have blurted out this unintentional confession to him in the hearts.

You shouldn't have gotten involved for him that very first night.

And none of this would have happened. No asshole torments. No endless being on the verge of death. Neither of what happens to you for the first time after the death of your and parents: collapsing on the floor, you try to grab air with your mouth, but only begin to suffocate more. The body twists with invisible bundles, the walls seem to have come into motion, about to squeeze your chest, which is already clamped as if in a vice. You suddenly start to feel tiny to yourself, almost microscopic. And the whole world around is a single hostile chaos.

"What's wrong with you, Porsche?" it sounds like outside of a vacuum.

From the back of your head to the tips of the toes, a terrible vibrating chill runs through. You try to group up by pulling your knees to the chest, but this only blocks oxygen access to the lungs even harder.

"Porsche?'

You hear the sounds of your name muffled.

"Porsche…"

Something big and warm falls on your shoulders. You guess: these are Kinn's palms. And he gets down on his knees in front of you. Because of the blurred vision, you can't see his really worried face.

Naked to the waist. Suffocating, broken and humiliated by his words, you feel too vulnerable in front of this self-imagined ruler of everything.

"Let me help you, Porsche, it will get easier."

His palms on your skin swarming with goosebumps are replaced by expensive jacket fabric. The back of your head is pressed against his hard abs, covered with the fabric of his shirt. Kinn gently wraps his arms around, turning you around so that you can breathe.

"I'm-m s-sooo c-o-ol-d-d... I... I c-can't..."

"Everything will be fine, Porsche, it will get easier now," the voice is quiet and affectionate, the cheek leans against your temple, "let's breathe together."

Kinn takes a deep breath through his nose, holds it for four counts, and exhales the same way slowly through his mouth. Again, one deep breath through the nose, four seconds and a slow exhalation.

"Come on. Like me, Porsche. This will help you."

Kinn once again shows how to breathe, but after trying to take the first breath through the nose, you choke on air and start coughing, which causes a spasm in the diaphragm area.

"It's okay, you will cope with everything," Kinn patiently lets you cough, and then shifts slightly to give the exhausted body more freedom, "breathe, Porsche, breathe with me.'

You're breathing. And it really gets easier. Having gained access to oxygen, the blood saturated with it begins to disperse through the body, warming it. Thoughts become clearer. Hearing becomes sharper: you clearly catch the sound of water droplets hitting expensive ceramics.

Next to you, Kinn sighs with relief. He hugs you tighter, so that you press your profile against his chest. His whisper creeps along the still cool temple:

"You scared me so much."

"I didn't expect it to happen again after so many years."

"It's my fault… I'm sorry."

You can hardly swallow the lump of resentment in your throat: let Kinn help you, but who gave him the right to insult you?

"It was by Vegas's initiative. But you, without any doubts, hurried to call me a whore."

"I'm sorry... the brakes inside my mind completely turned off when I saw you together. Forgive me if you can... I didn't mean to hurt you."

"But you did it."

"I really didn't want to. And I don't think that way about you. I didn't realize what I blurted out… I'm terribly afraid of losing you. So I snapped."

With a clear mind, you realize that Kinn is not lying, and in the heat of the moment, if you could, you would have thrown him even a worse thing. And still. It hurts. But even on the cold floor it's so warm with him. And it's so easy to breathe. One of Kinn's hands is stroking your back, the other is burrowing into your hair. Lips are drawn across the forehead like a mantra, "forgive me, forgive me if you can." The tip of his nose crawls over the bridge of your nose, and now the frown between the opening of the eyebrows is smoothed out. He hugs you with both hands and starts rocking you like a little one, trying to persuade you to forgive.

You nod meekly, nudging him with the tip of your nose.

"Am I forgiven?"

And he has a voice and eyes like a Shrek Cat. You can barely restrain yourself from laughing and biting his nose. But let him not think that he will be forgiven so easily.

"Porsche?"

"Er?"

"Am I forgiven?"

You shrug your shoulders, leading the line of cheekbones.

"Okay," habitually raises his chin, "what do I have to do to earn your forgiveness?"

"Well, I don't know. For example, drown yourself," you arch the eyebrow.

Kinn lets you go, getting to his feet, but you automatically jump up and grab him by the shoulders, holding him next to you:

"Are you a fool?"

He grins, putting his hands on the waist. His jacket, having slipped off you, lies on the floor. And you bury your nose in his shoulder, clasping your hands behind his back in the strongest lock:

"I will never let you down. It's easier for me to die than to do this."

Kinn strokes your back again, kisses your forehead and temples. Securely hugs, exhaling desperately:

"You'd better live for me."