Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chance barely knew the man; he occasionally saw him at his favorite bar, yet that's all he knew about him other than the fact that he wore a black fedora and had a ridiculously large fur coat. Though something about him clicked. Chance sought out mindless scenarios in his head about the man, whom he didn't even know by name, and he was already a lovestruct?

Chance was sitting at his usual seat in the bar, drinking one of his favorites. He wouldn't admit it himself, but he was buzzed. A couple of feet away from him was the man with the fur coat. Chance couldn't keep his eyes off the man; he just hoped the man wouldn't catch him looking. Though he noticed he was dining with another person. A beautiful woman, one who could lay all eyes upon her. Yet Chance wasn't looking at her, he was looking at the handsome man across from her.

“Pass me another martini, Ace.” Chance waved over to the bartender he knew by name.

“Alright, this is the last one though; you seem kind of out of it, wouldn't want to have you call another taxi again.” The bartender chuckled as he made his way to prepare Chance’s drink.

Ace passed Chance his drink across the table, Chance smiled at him.

“So, want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what Ace?”

“About the man whom you keep eyeing across the bar.”

“Wha- What man?!” Chance batted an eye with a grin.

“He comes here at least 4 times a week, though that woman always accompanies him.”

“Is he..you know..single?”

“Not sure, you would have to ask him that yourself.”

“No way, I wouldn't do that.”

“Alright, man, well, I'm going to serve the others.”

Chance nodded and gave him an awkward wave.

Chance downed his martini in one big sip, he winced as the vodka hit the back of his throat. He glanced back over at the man in the silly fur coat. Oh shit, he was looking directly as him; did he see how he was staring at him every second?! Chance shuffled to the side in his chair as he quickly turned his head back around, looking outside the huge bar window, trying to play it off.
Sweat formed on Chance's forehead as he fidgeted with a random coin he had stored in his pocket.

-

“Listen to Mafioso, I know you hold a grudge against her, as well as many other debtors, but-”

“Eunoia, you're talking about a woman who keeps pies stuffed in her pockets?!”

Eunoia couldn't help but let out a chuckle at Mafioso's response,

“I talked to her personally at my shop, she isn't that bad!”

“Are you fucking serious? You dragged me out to a worn-down bar to tell me this? Why would you even want or need my approval of this?!”

Mafioso gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed he was dragged out of the comfort of his own home just for his boss to yap on about one of the people he has held the biggest grudge against since day one.

“Is that approval I hear? Mr Oso?” Eunoia teased.

Mafioso eyed Eunoia across the table, his jaw clenched,

“Sure, I approve!”

Mafioso mocked louder than he intended, attracting many usuals around the bar to bat an eye. But there was one person who wouldn't stop eyeing Mafioso; he practically felt the stranger's eyes bore into the back of his head.

Eunoia got up from the booth,

“Alright then, I guess that settles it; I'll see you at the office!

Mafioso remained slumped in the uncomfortable, cheap wooden chair that the bar provided. He sighed, needing something to take the edge off.

Mafioso made his way over to the bar, sitting down right beside the man who was previously staring at him.

Mafioso signaled the bartender over,

“You, pass me a Heineken, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Ace went over to the back to prepare Mafioso's drink.

Mafioso noticed the man side-eyeing him,

“Can you not keep your eyes to yourself?”

“O-Oh shit, sorry about that.”

“What's your name anyways? I want to know who's been practically breathing down my neck the entire time I was here?”

“My name-? Chance! Yeah, I'm Chance!”

“Nice to meet you, Chance..I'm Mafioso.”

Ace passed Mafioso’s beverage across the table, it slid into Mafioso's hands. Mafioso dipped his head back and started to chug the alcohol, enjoying the burn on his tongue.

“Woah, slow down, big guy, the drink's not going anywhere-” Chance expressed with concern as he watched him down the drink.

Mafioso finished the drink and set it on the table with a clink.

“Yeah..yeah- sorry, carried away a bit,” Mafioso spoke as he tapped his foot to the ambient jazz that the vintage jukebox played just a couple of feet away from the stools.

-
3 hours later
-

“Pass... pass me.. Another-Hicc..shot..” Mafioso slurred, relaxing his head on the counter. He was obviously intoxicated and at his limits.

“Hey, let's cut the booze, mkay Maf?” Chance voiced as he patted Mafioso's shoulder gently.

Mafioso tried to sit up from the stool, but immediately tumbled down and hit the floor with a thump.

Chance shuffled out of his chair and quickly gathered Mafioso in his arms,

“Alright, we are getting you out of this bar…” Chance said as he leaned Mafioso on his shoulder. He half-carried, half-dragged Mafioso out of the bar into the welcoming night cool air.

Chance dragged Mafioso towards his (chances) car.

“Can you tell me your address..?”

“192..hicc..mnpghh..”

“Okay, I'll just take you to my home instead. Just take it easy..” Chance said as he unlocked the car door gently, setting Mafioso in the front seat, arranging his limbs so he would be comfortable. Chance shut the car door gently as he made his way over to the driver's seat.

Chance slid into the driver's seat as he shut the door, revving the car up.

“Your..hicc..kin-da…hicc…hands-hicc..ome..” Mafioso slurred his eyes meeting Chance’s with a dazed gaze.

“What? What's that now..?” Chance awkwardly rubbed the nape of his neck as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Chance drove into the night, in awkward but welcoming silence. The only noises in the car were the occasional murmur and Mafioso’s soft snoring.

Chapter Text

The car came to a halt outside on the pavement of Chance's driveway. Mafioso was fast asleep in the passenger seat, Chance took a look at him. In sleep, he looked almost..boyish, young in a sense.

Did he really mean that..? Is it mutual..? No, no, he's drunk..yeah.. he's intoxicated..

Chance opened the car door and stepped out, gently shutting the door. It was pouring, it started raining hard as soon as they left the bar. Chance walked around to the passenger door, he gently opened it. He didn't want to wake Mafioso, not when he looked so..at…ease. Chance gently got Mafioso’s limp, resting form out of the car, he hauled him around his shoulders. Chance locked the car and then made his way up to the front door of his muted home.

“Alright..in you go..Maf..” Chance said, more talking to himself than to Mafioso. Chance gritted his teeth, struggling with the pure weight of Mafioso on his shoulders.

Chance managed to unlock the door, his keys rattling against the aged wooden door. He was welcomed by the warmth of his own home, he walked in, his dress shoes patting against the wooden floor as he made his way over to the couch. He gently set Mafioso’s sleeping form down on the couch, reliving the weight that was on his shoulders.

Chance sighed as he took a glance at Mafioso’s resting face, admiring how lovely he truly was when he wasn't all tensed up. Chance made his way over to the front door, closing it and locking it. Then, he made his way over to the washroom, throwing his drenched clothes inside the washing machine and kicking off his dress shoes and uncomfortably damp socks.

He wrapped a towel around himself, trying to warm himself up. Then, Chance walked out over to Mafioso; he was drenched, and Chance practically used him as an umbrella on his shoulders, for he was more drenched than he was. Chance rushed over to his side, he didn't want to undress the man, at least without permission. But he was passed out, snoring and tossing and turning like he owned the place. Though he was drenched on the couch and trembling, he would surely freeze if Chance didn't take measures. So, Chance started to undress Mafioso down to his boxers. Chance marveled at Mafioso’s figure, he looked like a god in his eyes; he was perfect… gorgeous. Chance peeled off Mafioso’s boxers and brought his soaked clothes to the washroom. He threw them into the washing machine, then tossed and turned with his own.

Then, Chance went over to his bedroom, grabbing two pairs of cozy PJs. Chance dropped the towel he kept around his waist and dressed himself. He popped on his slippers, then gathered the other pair of PJs he got for Mafioso and made his way out to the couch. He sat Mafioso up and started to clothe him. First, he slid on a pair of boxers he owned; they were quite tight on Mafioso, but at least they were dry. Then, Chance threw a cozy oversized shirt on Mafioso; it wasn't oversized on Mafioso, though it was practically a blanket for Chance. Lastly, Chance dressed Mafioso's muscular legs in a pair of plaid pajama pants.

Chance stepped away from Mafioso, admiring his hard work. He looked so handsome, though he was still shivering. Chance made his way over to his bedroom once again, this time grabbing a couple of extra blankets off his bed.

“Alright.. let's get you all comfy..” Chance murmured as he set Mafioso’s drenched fedora, which had fallen on the floor a long time ago, onto the coffee table in front of the couch. Chance tucked Mafioso into a cocoon of blankets, tightly wrapping him in them to make sure he wasn't cold. Chance plopped down on the couch next to Mafioso. He reached for the remote, turning on the TV, shuffling through the channels till he found one of his personal favorites. He didn't want Mafioso to be alone when he awoke, in case he would panic upon rousing in a random home. Mafioso’s head rested on Chance's thigh, and Chance couldn't help but gently massage his damp hair.

The TV played, Mafioso snored and murmured in his sleep, while instinctively nuzzling into Chance’s thigh, seeking warmth. Chance obliged, finding it adorable.

“Lil' bun... don' hop 'way... m'soft... 'm comin'...” Mafioso slurred in his sleep.

“You listen... better than people do…”

Chance drifted off to sleep to the soft hum of the TV and the rather cute murmurs coming from Mafioso.

“Alright, bun-boy… don’t snore too loud…” Chance murmured, nuzzling into a pillow.

There they were, Chance and Mafioso, two men who had only crossed paths by chance at a dimly lit bar, now nestled together on a worn-out couch as if the universe had always meant for them to end up like this. The room was quiet except for the low murmur of the TV and the occasional sleepy sigh. Wrapped in each other’s warmth, they spoke in hushed, dreamy tones, half-lucid talk about bunnies, of all things, soft, silly nonsense that somehow felt like the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t just the booze anymore; it was the comfort, the closeness, the odd sweetness of being seen by someone who had been a stranger only hours ago.

Chapter Text

“I'll be there in two.” -Nashatra 3 Read 9:43

“Okay! I'm already here, it's not too windy, and the stars are very bright tonight.” -Eunoia Sent 9:45

“Maybe we were destined to happen.” -Nashatra 3 Read 9:45

“Haha, you're right.” -Eunoia Sent 9:46

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There they both were, on the rooftop of Eunoia’s workplace. The stars danced in the sky, guided by laughs and giggles.

“This tastes way better than the dream sphere food for sure!” Nashatra joked,

“You're right, it does; though I don't have a sense of taste programmed into me yet,” Eunoia replied.

Suddenly, Nashatra set down a square blue box with a pink ribbon onto the table where they were sitting.

“I have a present for you; go on, open it,” Nashatra voiced, her manner heartfelt.

“Really? For me?” Eunoia replied, she wasn't used to getting cute gifts. Typically, some of her men would haul in the occasional wad of studs, although that was it.

Eunoia unwrapped the present, displaying 2 matching bracelets and necklaces and 2 matching flower hair clips. Eunoia picked up the clips and clipped one onto Nashatra’s hair, giggling. Then she clipped the matching clip onto her pastel blue, flowy hair.

“I love them! They are all so cute, I'm not used to getting gifts.” Eunoia heartwarmingly replied.

Nashastra just stared at Eunoia, her face flushed and a soft pink. The glimmer in her eyes shone upon Eunoia. She looked lost in Eunoia's eyes, although they were mechanical.

“I'm glad, I made them myself. The clip looks pretty on you.” Nashatra replied, reaching her hand out to tuck a piece of hair behind Eunoia's ear.

Eunoia cupped Nashatra’s face, inviting her into a genuine embrace.

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Mafioso stirred with a small grunt, his brows twitching as the dreams shifted under his skin. Chance blinked awake at the movement, eyes hazy and bleary with sleep. For a moment, he couldn’t tell where he was. Then he felt it: Chance's warmth. Mafioso shifted, this time more intentionally. He blinked slowly up at Chance, one eye squinting open. For a moment, the room stood still. Just the hum of the TV and the sound of rain against the window.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” Mafioso asked, voice hoarse, eyes still glazed with sleep.

Chance shook his head. “No, you’re not dreaming, I'm here.”

Mafioso looked at him, really looked at him, and Chance could feel something pulling tight in his chest, like a thread being tugged, gently but insistently.

“I said something, didn’t I?” Mafioso’s voice was low, rough with alcohol and something else. “Back at the bar.”

Chance hesitated. “You did.”

“I meant it.”

Chance’s heart skipped.
“You sure?” he asked, quieter than he intended. “Because you were pretty far gone, Maf.”

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was full. Dense with meaning.

Chance swallowed. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing against his chest like a question.

“You’re not gonna remember this in the morning,” Chance said softly, a poor attempt at humor. “Or you’ll pretend you don’t.”

Mafioso gave a sleepy, crooked grin. “Guess you’ll just have to remind me.”

Chance blinked. Then he smiled—barely, but it was real.

“Alright, bun-boy,” he whispered. “I will.”

Mafioso cringed at the nickname, but he shrugged it off.

Mafioso yawned and leaned into Chance’s side again, already half-asleep. This time, his hand brushed against Chance’s, and it didn’t move away.

Chance didn’t move either.

The rain outside softened, fading into a gentler rhythm. The night stretched on, still and quiet, holding space for what might come next, uncertain, unspoken, but full of something new.

Something soft.

Something beginning.
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Chance didn’t fall back asleep, not really. He drifted in and out, his mind hovering just below the surface, lulled by the rhythm of Mafioso’s breathing and the flicker of the TV casting pale, shifting shadows across the room. Every so often, Mafioso would murmur something, nonsense words, the occasional name, a string of sleepy murmurs, but his hand never let go of Chance’s.

The rain ended around 4:35. The silence that followed was almost louder than the downpour, leaving the world in a kind of hush that only existed in those fragile hours before dawn.
Chance gently eased himself off the couch, careful not to wake Mafioso. He tucked a pillow beneath his head to replace his leg, then he tiptoed toward the kitchen. He moved on autopilot, his fingers working the coffee pot while his eyes stayed fixed on the narrow window above the sink. The sky was just beginning to shift, inky black giving way to muted greyish-blue.

The aroma of brewing coffee filled the house, warm and grounding. Chance stood with his hands wrapped around the mug, letting it burn his palms just enough to feel real. The events of the night replayed in his head like a strange, beautiful movie. Surreal. Too gentle to be a memory. Too raw to be fiction.
He heard rustling in the living room.
Chance walked back to find Mafioso sitting upright now, hair a disheveled messed, blankets still wrapped around his shoulders like a makeshift human burrito. His eyes met Chance’s slowly, blinking as though still waking up.

“Good morning, handsome.” Chance winked.

“Mmph..morning.” Mafioso groggily answered as he sat down on the countertop stools.

Chance handed Mafioso a fresh mug of coffee, steam curling between their hands as their fingers brushed for just a second too long.
“You survived the night,” Chance said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Mafioso took a sip, winced at the heat, and nodded slowly. “Barely. I think I fused with your couch.”

Chance laughed and leaned against the counter beside him, his mug held close. “I could’ve tossed you in the bathtub, y’know. You should be grateful.”

“I am,” Mafioso muttered, still groggy, “But if you ever undress me in my sleep again, at least put me in something cooler than plaid pants and an oversized shirt.”

“Noted. Next time, I'll put you in a silk robe, velvet slippers, maybe a tiara,” Chance teased.

Mafioso snorted into his coffee, half-choking on it. “Jesus.”

They stood like that for a moment, just drinking, just breathing, while the rain outside picked up again, soft but persistent. The kitchen windows fogged gently from the inside, catching reflections of the two men side by side, quiet, blurry.

Chance reached for the loaf of sourdough on the counter, slicing a few uneven pieces and dropping them into the toaster. “Hungry?”

“Starving. But if you make me anything green or gluten-free, I swear to God I’ll crawl back into the rain.”

Chance raised an eyebrow. “That’s how you thank the guy who carried your dead weight across a parking lot in the pouring rain?”

Mafioso gave a half-smile. “Did I say ‘thank you’ yet?”

“Nope.”

“…Thanks,” Mafioso said quietly. And not just for breakfast.

Chance glanced at him, catching the shift in tone but choosing, for now, not to press it. The toaster popped, breaking the silence. He moved with a kind of easy rhythm, grabbing butter and a jar of cherry jam, setting everything between them on the counter like it was second nature.

Mafioso watched him for a moment. Watched.
“You do this a lot?” he asked.

Chance tilted his head. “Make toast?”

“No. This. Wake up with strangers on your couch. Make them coffee. Let them drool on your leg all night.”

Chance took a beat before answering. “No, not a lot; Not like this.”

Mafioso looked down at his mug. His fingers drummed along the side. “Felt like a dream, honestly. Last night. Being warm. Letting someone-” He stopped himself.

Chance slid the toast toward him, cut into quarters. “You don’t have to finish that.”

Mafioso met his gaze. “But I want to.”

Chance didn’t respond. Just gave him space.

“I don’t… do soft,” Mafioso said. “I do guarded. I do stern. I do ‘keep your hands where I can see em.’ Last night was… strange. Good-strange. But I keep waiting for the twist, y’know? The moment it gets ugly.”

Chance, without looking away, said, “Maybe there’s no twist.”

A silence followed. Not cold. Just full of unspoken thoughts.

Then Mafioso slowly reached across the counter and stole one of Chance’s toast slices.
“Then maybe I could… get used to strange,” he said, mouth half-full, tone lighter.

Chance let out a soft laugh. “Greedy."

“Starving,” Mafioso corrected again, but this time his voice was gentler. Calmer.

Outside, the rain hit a little harder, drawing long streaks down the windows. It wasn’t gray, though, not really. The light was soft, and the room felt like its own world. Safe. Still waking up.

Chance turned toward the stove. “I’ve got eggs. Pancake mix. Bacon, probably expired but only by a week.”

“Make the works,” Mafioso said, settling into the stool like he’d lived there forever. “If I’m dreaming, I want the full fantasy.”

Chance smirked. “You got it, bun-boy.”

Mafioso cringed at the nickname once again, though he didn't mind it too much.

And as the rain danced on the roof, the scent of coffee and frying bacon filled the air, and for once, for both of them, the morning didn’t feel like something to survive.

It felt like something beginning.

Chapter Text

anyways! hiii hiii its mee

uhm so like i hope u liked the recent chapter!

i wont go that long without posting again, my mental health has been like crashing recently. its probably since its summer, I don't have much to do other than hang out with my friends. kind of off schedule.

so yeah C: