Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The door to Mafioso’s office slammed open, the goons mumbling some annoyed words. Two of them stepped in.

Mafioso didn’t look up. His bunny ears twitched slightly, the only sign he’d noticed them. He was sitting behind his desk, doing absolutely nothing important (this was some of the times of the day when he was on break).

“You’re late,” he said flatly.

The goon cleared his throat. “Boss, we, uh… we couldn’t find him. We checked everywhere. It’s like Chance just vanished.”

That got Mafioso’s attention. His cold eyes stared up. Then the atmosphere shifted.

Timeskip: After a few more talking, the goons left to go on search again.

Mafioso had been alone, looking over some contracts and papers. The usual.

Then Chance barged in. No knock, no warning. Just walked straight in like he owned the place.

“You don’t lock your door anymore?” Chance said casually, as he went to sit on the chair across the desk.

Mafioso didn’t look up. “I don’t lock things, anyone who comes in here I know I can kill.”

“Charming. Missed me?”

“No.”

That was a lie, and they both knew it.

Chance smirked and leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “You sent goons after me… again.”

“You disappeared for a week.”

“Was I missed?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Chance stood, walked around the desk, and leaned down until their faces were inches away from each other’s. “So why do you get so nervous when I get this close?”

Mafioso didn’t answer, but Chance saw the slight twitch in his eyes and ears.

Then it happened. The next thing Mafioso knew, he was being shoved onto the couch. Chance grinned, laying himself on top of him.

“I like this seat,” Chance said, settling in. “Comfy.”

“You’re insane.”

“And you’re not stopping me.”

Mafioso sighed. They sat like that for a while before Chance decided to break the silence.

Chance laid his head on Mafioso’s shoulder. “I missed this.”

“This? You storming in, ruining my day like it’s a game?”

Chance grinned wider. “You love it.”

Mafioso didn’t respond right away. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “You make my life hell.”

“You’d be bored without me.”

He didn’t deny it.

After a pause, Mafioso opened his eyes. “You vanished for a week. Where were you?”

Chance's expression turned unreadable. “Had some business to handle.”

“You kill anyone?”

“Not really.”

Mafioso didn’t flinch. “Amateurs?”

“One was decent.”

“Next time, just text.”

Chance chuckled. “And ruin the surprise?”

“Get off me.”

“No.”

A long pause.

“Fine,” Mafioso muttered. “…Five minutes.”

Chance grinned like he won the lottery.

------

Mafioso didn’t move.

Chance shifted, making himself even more comfortable. “You know,” he said, flicking one of Mafioso’s long bunny ears, “I really missed these. Still soft.”

Mafioso flinched. “Don’t touch them.”

“Why not?” Chance grinned. “Sensitive?”

Mafioso gritted his teeth, ears twitching as he tried (and failed) not to react. “You’re pushing your luck.”

Chance leaned in close again, voice dropping just above a whisper. “You like it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“Bullshit.”

Chance caressed one of the ears again, watching Mafioso tense like someone had put a gun to his head. His entire posture was stiff, but not because he was uncomfortable.

And underneath that: something else.

Mafioso finally snapped, grabbing Chance’s wrist and yanking it away from his ear. “Do you want to get shot?”

“Not really,” Chance said, unfazed. “But I do want you to admit you like when I do that.”

“I’d rather not.”

“…So you are ticklish.”

“Don’t push it.”

Chance smirked. “You’re fun when you’re pissed.”

“I’m always pissed.”

“No, normally you’re cold. This is different. This is personal.”

That got a reaction. Mafioso’s grip on Chance’s wrist loosened, just a little. And though his face stayed neutral, his ears betrayed him; twitching once more, low and slow.

Chance leaned back slightly, loosening the tension. “So… were you really worried I was gone? Or was it just about the job?”

“I had men checking the morgues.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Mafioso sighed, fingers finally letting go of Chance’s arm. “I thought maybe you got yourself killed being reckless.”

“I didn’t.”

“I can see that.”

Mafioso said: “You could’ve said goodbye.”

Chance’s smile twitched, just for a second. “Yeah,” he said, a little bit more serious now. “I know.”

Mafioso looked away, ears lowered a bit—not in defeat, but something close to vulnerability. “Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

Chance nods. “You know… if this whole mafia thing doesn’t work out, you could probably make a fortune off people paying to touch your ears.”

Mafioso grabbed a pillow from the side of the couch and smacked him in the face.

Chance burst out laughing, almost falling off his lap, but Mafioso caught him by the waist on instinct.

Their faces ended up close again. Too close.

Chance tilted his head. “You're still holding me.”

Mafioso didn’t let go. “You’re still sitting on me.”

Chance smiled. “Looks like we’re both too stubborn to move.”

Mafioso sighed. “Shut up.”

But he didn’t push him off.

Chapter Text

Mafioso opened the door to his office, expecting silence. It was late, past midnight, and most of the targets had died out hours ago. He stepped inside without a word, ready to look over some papers or maybe just stare at the ceiling in silence like usual.

But then he froze.

There, sitting on the leather couch, was Chance.

Legs kicked up on the coffee table, a smirk on his face.

That was annoying enough.

But what truly stopped Mafioso in his tracks was what was in Chance’s lap.

Gubby.

His white, fluffy, ill-tempered, bite-anyone (he might have invented a new word) pet bunny. Gubby, who once launched herself at someone’s face and left them with stitches. Gubby, who didn't even let Mafioso touch her unless she felt like it.

And now?

She was curled up like a marshmallow on Chance’s lap. Not just tolerating him: cuddling. She was fully relaxed, eyes half-closed, occasionally flicking her ear as Chance gently scratched behind it.

Mafioso blinked. Then blinked again.

Chance looked up, grinning. “Oh hey, didn’t hear you come in.”

“What the hell,” Mafioso said, still standing in the doorway. “Is that.”

Chance raised an eyebrow. “A bunny?”

“My bunny.”

“She came to me,” Chance said, “I sat down and five minutes later she just jumped up and made herself comfortable. I think she likes me.”

“No. She doesn’t like people.”

“She likes me.”

Mafioso walked in, shutting the door behind him. “She bit a goon last week for breathing too close.”

“I mean… I probably breathe more attractively.”

“Shut up.”

Chance scratched under Gubby’s chin. She leaned into it, letting out a soft, pleased purr (I don't know if rabbits can do that but whatever, Gubby is special).

Mafioso narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

Chance looked genuinely amused. “You think I drugged your rabbit?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re wearing some kind of... rabbit pheromone.”

Chance burst out laughing. “Pheromone? You think I walked in here coated in rabbit cologne to win your pet’s approval?”

“I’m just saying, she doesn’t act like that. Ever. Not with anyone.”

Chance leaned back, getting cozy. “Maybe she can sense my charm.”

“Maybe she senses chaos,” Mafioso muttered, eyeing them suspiciously.

Gubby blinked up at him, then turned back to Chance like he was a heated pillow.

Chance looked smug again. “Honestly, I think she’s just like you. All bark, all threats. But when I’m around? Soft.”

“You’re lucky she’s on you right now,” Mafioso said, “Otherwise I’d toss you out the window.”

“But you won’t. Because I have the bunny.”

“She's not a hostage.”

“She kind of is. You wouldn't want to upset her. Look at this face.” Chance gently booped Gubby’s nose.

Gubby let out a small 'mrrp' of satisfaction.

With a sigh, Mafioso sat down in his desk chair. “This is worse than the time you tried to flirt with me during a chase.”

“You liked that.”

“I nearly killed you.”

“But you didn’t. Besides… admit it. You’re a little jealous.”

“Of what. My own rabbit?”

Chance smirked. “She picked me.”

“I’m going to revoke your access to this building.”

“No you won’t.”

“…No, I won’t.”

Then Mafioso muttered, “If she keeps laying on you, you’re buying me a new couch.”

Chance smiled, eyes warm as he looked down at the bunny snuggled into him. “Worth it.”

Chapter Text

Y'all can request some scenes with this ship in the comments and I'll most probably do them!!!

It can be an AU or some changes to the characters too as long as they're both men.

I love writing fluff and comfort, but that dosen't mean i don't know how to write smut or agnst!!!

It can include extra characters than just doublefedora aswell.

Thank you for reading this!!! <3

Chapter Text

The door burst open without a knock. Again.

Mafioso didn’t even look up from his desk. “You’re either suicidal,” he said, “or stupid.”

“Both,” Chance replied.

Mafioso set his pen down. “You better have a reason for interrupting me while I’m organizing contracts.”

“I do,” Chance said, walking straight up to the desk. “I’m here to ask you out.”

That made Mafioso pause.

He blinked. Then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Ask me what?”

“Out. A date. You. Me. Somewhere with food, fewer guns, and maybe a table that doesn’t have bloodstains on it.”

Mafioso stared at him. “Are you serious right now?”

“Very.”

“You’re insane.”

“Also very.”

“You want to go on a date with a killer?”

Chance stepped around the desk, not stopping until he was standing beside Mafioso’s chair. “No. I want to go on a date with you. The guy who feeds a 'vicious' bunny named Gubby from his palm. The guy who did so many messed up things but still gets flustered when I sit too close.”

Mafioso’s ears twitched.

“You give away every emotion with those ears,” Chance mumbled with a grin.

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Probably.”

“You’re also going to get yourself killed one day.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”

“What’s the catch?” Mafioso asked. “What are you playing at?”

“No game. Just dinner. Maybe dessert if you’re lucky.”

“I don’t do soft,” Mafioso said. “I don’t do romance.”

“You either say yes, or I break into your house and make a picnic on your rooftop anyway.”

There was a pause.

A long one.

Mafioso sighed. “7pm.”

Chance grinned, already turning to leave. “So... see you there?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.”

And for the first time in a long time…

Mafioso didn’t mind.

Chance was sitting at the table (yes, the two were actually on the rooftop of Mafioso's house and yes, Mafioso prepared a nice scene), legs crossed. On the chair next to him, Mafioso.

“You’re staring,” Chance said.

Mafioso didn’t deny it. “You’re eating like someone’s about to poison your plate.”

“Old habits.” Chance smirked. “I thought you were actually going to include some bodies in this date, but I don't mind this...”

“I thought about it,” Mafioso paused, then said, “I figured I’d at least try not to scare you off.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“Liar.”

Chance grinned, leaning in closer. “Maybe a little.”

Mafioso’s ears twitched again.

“The ears. They twitch when you're nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re terrified.”

Mafioso looked away. “This is a bad idea.”

Chance set his fork down. “So stop me.”

He leaned forward. So did Mafioso. They were an inch apart. But just as Chance tilted his head, his lips barely brushing his, Mafioso pulled back.

“…If I kiss you,” he said, “then we're officially together...”

“Sounds good to me.”

But Mafioso didn’t move.

“I kill people, Chance. I’ve ruined families. My hands are stained so red they’ll never come clean. You think a rooftop dinner fixes that?”

“No,” Chance said, standing slowly. “But I don't want you clean.”

Mafioso looked up at him, stunned. Like a child who finally found love... affection.

And finally, finally, Mafioso stood, gripped Chance’s collar, and kissed him. It was pretty clumsy, desperate, and yet had a big hint of love and affection.

When they pulled back, Chance smiled warmly. “See? Told you I wasn’t scared.”

“...Let's go somewhere more private.”

Chapter Text

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Mafioso stepped inside his house, frowning. Something felt… off. He could tell immediately: there was a faint smell in the air. Something sugary.

Something… colorful.

He walked through the entry, coat still on, fingers on the gun. His long bunny ears twitched as he moved cautiously through the hall.

The silence ended when he opened the living room door.

POP!

Confetti exploded in the air.

Mafioso flinched and immediately drew his weapon only to find himself face to face with a very proud, very chaotic Chance, standing under a banner that read, in messy, hand-painted letters:

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Behind Chance was a table with a cake, absolutely drenched in sprinkles. A ridiculous amount. The kind of sprinkle pile that made it impossible to see the actual frosting. It looked less like a cake and more like a candy-colored mountain.

“…How did you get in here,” Mafioso said.

Chance grinned. “The same ways I did before.”

“And your kitchen sucks, by the way.”

Mafioso stared at the cake. “…That is a war crime.”

“I call it Sprinklepocalypse.”

“Is there even cake under all that?”

“Maybe. Or it’s just compressed sugar. Either way, I tried.”

“You do realize birthdays mean nothing to me. I kill people for a living.”

“Yeah,” Chance said, coming closer. “And tonight, you’re going to kill a slice of cake. That’s an order.”

Mafioso looked like he was genuinely struggling to understand what was happening. “Why?”

Chance blinked. “Because it’s your birthday.”

“I never told you my birthday.”

“You didn’t have to. I did research.”

Mafioso stared.

Chance stepped closer, more serious now. “You deserve this for your birthday. No hits. No blood. Just a cake that might cause diabetes, and a guy who likes you way more than he probably should.”

Mafioso looked at him for a long time. Then at the sprinkle-covered monstrosity.

Then back at him.

“…If I eat that and die, I’m haunting you.”

“Worth it.”

Finally, Mafioso sighed, took off his coat, and muttered, “Fine. But if I find out there’s glitter inside it…”

“Only on the inside.”

“Chance.”

“Kidding. …Mostly.”

Mafioso sat down, still looking like he couldn’t believe this was real. Chance handed him a knife, beaming.

“Happy birthday.”

Mafioso paused.

Then: just a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth.

“…Thanks, idiot.”

They ate a few slices of cake, and now the floor was covered in discarded confetti. Gubby, somehow, had a sprinkle stuck to her ear and was judging them both from across the room.

Now, they sat side by side on the balcony.

“So,” Chance said, breaking the silence, “was it the worst birthday you’ve ever had?”

Mafioso responded. “No.”

“Top ten?”

“No.”

Chance smirked. “Then I guess I’m getting better.”

Mafioso didn’t reply. But he didn’t deny it either.

After a moment, Chance put his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out something small, wrapped messily in black tissue paper and tied with a red ribbon.

He held it out without looking at him. “Here.”

Mafioso raised a brow. “You already gave me sugar trauma. That wasn’t enough?”

“This is serious,” Chance said, pushing it into his hands. “Don’t laugh. Or I’ll throw myself off this balcony.”

Mafioso unwrapped it.

Inside was a small, handmade charm—a delicate, silver bunny-shaped pendant, shaped like his ears, but it wasn’t perfect. The lines were a bit crooked, clearly not factory-made.

He turned it over.

On the back, scratched in tiny uneven letters:

“Happy birthday you mafia bunny.” (I DIDNT HAVE IDEAS FOR A PROPER MAFIOSO NICKNAME HELP)

Chance’s voice was quieter now. “I know you don’t wear jewelry or whatever, but it’s got a string loop. You could keep it on your keychain. Or throw it in a drawer and pretend you didn’t care.”

Mafioso stared at it.

“…You made this?” he asked.

Chance nodded once. “Took me three tries. First one looked like a demon rat. Second one I stepped on. That’s the final boss.”

Mafioso didn’t speak for a long time.

Then: “Why?”

Chance finally looked at him. And for once, he didn’t smile.

“Because no one else will,” he said.

Mafioso gripped the charm tighter.

No sarcasm. No snark. No mocking words to push him away.

Just a quiet, “…Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Chance said.

Chapter Text

Mafioso adjusts his crimson mask, slightly looking at Chance.

“Ready to make every head turn?” he whispers.

Chance stifles a giggle, fixing Mafioso’s slightly crooked tie.

“Only if you promise not to step on my feet this time.”

“No promises,” Mafioso grins.

They step into the ballroom. Mafioso offers a gloved hand.

“May I have this dance, darling?”

Chance accepts, nearly tripping. Mafioso catches him.

“Still graceful as ever,” Mafioso chuckles.

“You love it,” Chance murmurs.

Their fingers intertwine.

They step into the dance floor. Mafioso leads with confidence.

“You’ve been practicing,” Chance says softly.

“For you? Always.”

Chance leans in, resting his head briefly on Mafioso’s shoulder. A spin. A slight jump. A kiss on the forehead.

Chance glows- wait what.

“Did you just-”

“Shh. Keep dancing.”

Timeskip: By the balcony, (they sneaked away), Mafioso brushes Chance’s hair back, pressing soft kisses to his cheek.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs.

“You’re dramatic,” Chance replies.

Mafioso smirks. Chance cups Mafioso's cheek and kisses it. Mafioso pretends to be dramatic.

“Fatal,” he gasps. “I’m slain.”

They laugh.

Chance pulls Mafioso’s mask up slightly, kisses him quick on the lips.

“Hey-” Mafioso grabs him by the waist, returning the kiss slowly. “Not so fast.”

The music changes inside. They ignore it.

“New song,” Chance says.

“Let them dance without us,” Mafioso replies.

Putting their attention to each other. Smiling. Some dancing.

“You’re ridiculous,” Chance says.

“You like ridiculous,” Mafioso counters.

Stealing one more kiss. Then another. And another.

PS: THEY'RE LIKE TWO TEENS IN LOVE <3

Chapter Text

Chance was just about to crash on the couch; half-curled up with a blanket, one sock missing for reasons even he didn’t know, when he heard soft footsteps from the hall. Unusually soft. For Mafioso, that was saying something.

Curious, he walked down the hall and saw the door to the bedroom cracked open. The light inside was on. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, okay, maybe he did, but when he heard nothing, no voice, just silence… he had to do something.

He peeked: Mafioso was standing shirtless in front of the tall mirror, his back to the door, staring at his own reflection like he wanted to look away but couldn’t. His bunny ears were dropped, like two cute airplane wings.

Chance opened the door without knocking. “You’re doing that thing again.”

Mafioso stiffened. “…What thing.”

“Staring at yourself like the mirror owes you something.”

Mafioso didn’t move. “Get out, Chance.”

Chance walked in anyway, voice quieter now. “You hate how you look?”

“No.”

Chance tilted his head. “Then what is it?”

There was a long pause.

“…I hate what it reminds me of.”

Mafioso continued, “Every mark has a memory. A horrible one."

Chance stepped closer, stopping behind him. “I’ve never heard you talk like this before.”

“That’s because I don’t,” Mafioso said. His voice was low, controlled. “It’s weakness. I can’t afford it.”

“Being human isn’t weak.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you saw what I used to be like.”

“I’d 100% still hit on you.”

Mafioso finally turned to look at Chance.

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“No, I am,” Chance said, stepping even closer. “More than you think. I just… don’t like seeing you like this. Like you’re not allowed to feel anything.”

Mafioso’s jaw tensed. “People see me and expect a killer. They don’t expect someone who- who hesitates to take off his shirt in front of the person he loves…”

They stared at each other. Then, quietly, Chance reached out and touched one of the scars along Mafioso’s side. He didn’t flinch, but his shoulders rose slightly.

“This one?” Chance murmured. “What’s the memory behind it?”

“…The first time I got stabbed. A client turned on me. I was seventeen.”

Chance’s fingers moved to another. “And this?”

“Car bomb. I was inside. Barely made it out.”

“Damn,” Chance whispered. He trailed his fingers gently across Mafioso’s skin, over healed wounds and scars. “You’ve survived a lot.”

“I shouldn’t have.”

“Well, you did. And you still are. And I’m glad,”

Chance said. His voice dropped softer. “I don’t care how many scars you have. I don’t care if your past is covered in blood. I like you. All of you.”

Mafioso’s expression finally cracked. Just a little: His bunny ears perked up like the ears of a curious kitty who saw a new kind of food.

“Even the ears?” he said quietly.

Chance smiled warmly. “Especially the ears.”

Before Mafioso could argue, Chance leaned up and pressed a soft kiss just beneath the scar on his collarbone. Then another, to one near his shoulder. And one more, dangerously close to his throat.

Each one was gentle. Like a promise.

“I don’t want you to cover up around me,” Chance murmured. “Not your skin. Not your past. Not anything.”

Mafioso breathed out shakily, eyes closing for a second.

“I don’t know how to be… this,” he admitted.

“Vulnerable.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Chance said. “Just be here. With me.”

Then, without warning, Mafioso grabbed the front of Chance’s shirt and pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn’t rough. Not this time.

It was slow. Comforting. His hand moved to the back of Chance’s neck, holding him like he didn’t quite believe he was real. Like if he let go, Chance would vanish.

When they parted, Mafioso pressed his forehead to Chance’s. “You’re dangerous,” he whispered.

Chance chuckled softly. “Says the killer with bunny ears.”

Mafioso huffed. “Shut up.”

Chance kissed him again.

Chapter Text

It was raning.

The house was dark. Cold.

The only sound was the thunders outside.

Mafioso stood in the doorway, soaked to the bone, eyes scanning the room.

Then he saw him.

Chance. Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs pulled close to his chest. His gun lay beside him, untouched. His hands were trembling: not from fear, but something worse.

Shock. Guilt. Grief.

Mafioso didn’t speak right away. He walked in silently.

Chance didn’t look up when he spoke. His voice was trembling.

“I shot him.”

Mafioso stopped a few feet away. “I know.”

Chance’s breath hitched. “I didn’t want to. I swear, I didn’t-!”

“I know.”

He finally looked up. His eyes were red. Not from crying, but from holding everything in. Like if he let it out, it would drown him.

“He made me love him,” Chance whispered. “He twisted everything. Said he needed me. That no one else would care the way he did. And I believed him.”

Mafioso crouched beside him. “That’s what manipulators do. They find the part of you that needs something… and they fake it.”

Chance laughed, but it cracked halfway through. “I told him everything. Every fear. Every stupid story. And when I finally saw him for what he was… I still hesitated.”

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of that,” Mafioso said quietly. “You had a heart. He didn’t.”

“But I shot him, Mafioso. He looked me in the eyes and said, ‘You wouldn’t hurt me.’ And I still- ” His voice (kinda) broke.

“You did what you had to do,” Mafioso said. “That doesn’t make you heartless. That makes you stronger than he thought you were.”

Chance looked away, tears finally slipping down his cheek. “Why does it still feel like I lost something?”

Mafioso was silent for a moment.

Mafioso was sitting beside Chance on the floor.

“Because you did,” he murmured. “Not him. The version of him you thought was real. The one you loved. It wasn’t your fault he wore a mask.”

Chance didn’t answer.

Mafioso glanced at him, then reached out and brushed a tear from his cheek with his thumb. “You know,” he said, softer now, “when I first met you, I thought you were an idiot.”

“Thanks,” Chance muttered.

“Let me finish. I thought, ‘This guy’s reckless, loud, and has a death wish.’”

“...”

“But then I saw you get back up. After everything. After anything. That… takes more strength than most people will ever understand.”

Chance’s breath hitched. Then, finally, he leaned into him, hugging his arm and burrying his head into Mafioso's shoulder. Crying.

Mafioso didn’t move, one hand coming up to comfortingly run through Chance’s hair. Soft. Steady.

“He told me I’d always be alone without him,” Chance whispered.

“He lied.”

“You sure?”

Mafioso leaned down, just a little, and kissed his temple. “Yeah. I’m still here.”

They sat like that as until rain the rain was slowly gone.

Three weeks later:

The apartment was warmer now.

Not just because the sun was out, but because Chance was no longer just existing. He was beginning to live again.

Sort of.

He still had bad days. Nights where he woke up gasping, crying. Showers that lasted too long. Moments where he'd stare at his phone, thumb hovering over a number he'd deleted.

But he was here.

And more importantly, he wasn’t alone.

“Dinner,” Mafioso said flatly, walking into the living room with a tray. “Try not to insult my cooking this time.”

Chance glanced up from the couch. He looked better. The bags under his eyes were still there, but fainter. His smile wasn’t all the way real yet, but it was showing up more often.

“You made grilled cheese,” Chance said, squinting down at the plate. “Twice in one week. How scandalously domestic.”

Mafioso dropped the tray on the table. “I was going to make soup, but then I remembered I’m not your mother.”

“You’d look hot in an apron.”

“I’m ignoring that.”

Chance picked up a sandwich and took a bite. “..You used too much butter.”

“You can starve if you want.”

They ate quietly for a while. There wasn’t much conversation: there didn’t have to be. Chance had learned that Mafioso’s version of comfort wasn’t grand speeches or poetic lines. It was presence.

Chance stared up at Mafioso. “You really are the weirdest person I’ve ever cared about.”

Mafioso didn’t blink. “You care about me?”

Chance gave him a small, tired smile. “Don’t push it, bunny ears.”

They sat in silence again, but it wasn’t awkward. Just quiet.

Then, after a long pause, Mafioso spoke. Softly. Carefully.

“I never trusted people.” Mafioso said. “So when I saw you curled up in that house, looking like that..”

Chance reached over and touched Mafioso’s hand. Just a light brush of fingers. “But you stayed.”

“I did."

“Why?”

Mafioso met his eyes. “Because I care about you, too."

Chance swallowed. His voice was barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

But Chance shook his head. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in.

His lips brushed Mafioso’s cheek first. Testing. Waiting.

Mafioso didn’t pull away.

So Chance kissed him (yes on the lips they're so inlove). This time, properly: soft, slow, a little clumsy from nerves. But real. It was a reaching, not just for comfort, but for something more.

When they parted, Mafioso didn’t say anything. He just rested his forehead against Chance’s.
“…You’re still healing,” he murmured. “But when you’re ready, I’m not going anywhere.” (yes I wanna do a bang bang scene soon yk yk)

Chance closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

With a small smile, Mafioso grabbed Chance by the hair, forcing his head back as he leaned in close, his breath hot against Chance's ear. "Strip. Now," he said, his voice low, but still filled with affection.

Chance's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Aww, so bossy~" he teased, even as his hands moved to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head in one smooth motion.

He tossed the shirt aside carelessly. "Is this what you wanted to see?" Chance teased.

Mafioso stared all over Chance's chest, memorizing it. "Maybe.."

Chance smirked, popping the button of his jeans and slowly dragging down the zipper. "I think we both know I'm good for it... I'll make sure you get your fill." He took off his jeans, tossing them to the side.

Mafioso grabbed Chance's hips, pulling him closer until their clothed erections brushed against each other, separated only by the fabric of their underwear. "We'll see about that," he said as he pulled Chance in a desperate kiss.

Chance moaned into the kiss. "God, you taste good," he mumbled after the kiss.

Mafioso just smiled. "Stick around, and I'll let you have a real taste.."

With a chuckle, Mafioso carries and puts Chance onto the bed, crawling over him with an affectionate glint in his eye, but he was still pent up and didn't want to waste much time.

Mafioso hovered over Chance's naked body, a small, soft smile on his face as he cherished the sight in front of him. "Mmm, now that's more like it," he mumbled, his hands roaming over Chance's chest.

Chance arched into his touch, a small moan escaping from his lips. "Glad you approve," he said still in a slightly cocky tone despise the situation.

Mafioso's hands drifted lower, teasing along the waistband of his boxers before putting his thumbs underneath. "I've seen these in my mind, but the reality is so much better," he said, slowly dragging the boxers down.

Chance lifted his hips, helping Mafioso remove the last of his clothes, his aching cock springing free, already leaking at the tip. "You've been thinking about me, huh?" he teased, reaching down to stroke himself slowly. "I knew you wanted me..."

Mafioso watched intensly how Chance touched himself. "Oh, I've thought about all sorts of things," he said, his voice filled with affection but even more with desire.

Chance spread his legs wider.

Mafioso licked his lips, running a finger teasingly along Chance's crack, circling his fluttering hole, pressing it against the entrance, not breaching it.

Chance clenched around the finger, desperate for more. "Please, I need it so fucking bad..." he whimpered, leaning into Mafioso's touch.

Mafioso pressed harder against Chance's hole, feeling it slightly. "Fuck, the way you beg..." he muttered, pressing his thumb inside slowly.

Chance clenched down, desperation etched on his face. "Fuck.. please..." he whined, trying to fuck himself onto Mafioso's thumb.

Mafioso pushed his thumb inside fully and in the same time he inserted another aswell, rubbing along that special spot that made Chance see stars. "So needy already.."

He withdrew his thumbs after a few strokes, leaving Chance clenching around empty air. Chance whined at the loss, only to gasp as Mafioso grabbed his thighs with one hand and the other his back, pulling him closer.

Mafioso lined himself up, nudging against Chance's entrance.

(Chance wasn't a virgin so he didn't need much fingering anyways.)

And with that, he put it in slowly. Chance moaned, his body flinching around the sudden intrusion, his back arching off the bed.

Mafioso gave him some time to adjust, not much though: just about 10-20 seconds, and then started to go at a pretty fast pace right from the start, but it wasn’t so fast to hurt Chance. He'd never hurt his lover.

"Fffuck, you're so goddamn tight!" Mafioso said.

Chance could only moan and take it, his body flinching with each thrust. He'd never felt so full, so perfectly used before. "Yes, yes, fuck! It feels so- AH! -good..!" he said, his voice filled with pleasure. His cock throbbed between their bodies, rock hard and leaking steadily.

Mafioso leaned down to capture Chance's lips in a dominant kiss. He swallowed down Chance's moans.

He could feel his orgasm building; he was chasing his release. He was close, so fucking close...

With a final, brutal thrust, Mafioso buried himself inside Chance's hole, his cock pulsing as he shot stream after stream of cum deep inside him.

"Fffuuckk...!" Mafioso moaned.

Chance moaned aswell, his own cock spurting untouched. His body milked Mafioso's cock for every last drop, greedy and hungry for his seed.

Mafioso collapsed on top of him, both of them panting, their hearts racing as they came down from their intense high.

Chance turned to him with a lazy, soft grin. "Damn... that was... fucking incredible," he murmured, nuzzling into Mafioso's neck.

Mafioso just laughed, wrapping his arms around Chance possessively.

And so the two cuties (😝) went to sleep.. Mafioso woke up earlier than Chance and prepared them both a nice warm bath and then ordered some food since none of them knew how to cook properly. (YIPEE AFTERCARE)

Chapter Text

ROUND STARTS: Sleeping..

The killer's intro was a black screen so Chance and the other survivors couldn't tell who it was; but one thing was for sure: it was a new killer.

Chance moved carefully through the map, searching for a generator. His gun trembled slightly in his hand: more from exhaustion than fear. The Specter didn’t really let you rest much. Not for long.

He checked the gun again. The ammo was unpredictable here. Sometimes the gun worked. Sometimes it did nothing. And sometimes…

He looked down at the faint scars on his wrist where it had exploded during a round. (Yes, the game heals you after every round, but the scars remain)

Still, he moved forward.

That’s when he heard it.

A low scraping noise—metal dragging across stone.

Then silence.

Then footsteps.

And then a voice he hadn’t heard in what felt like years.

“Chance.”

His heart stopped.

He turned.

Standing there, sword drawn, was Mafioso.

His ears...those same damn bunny ears...twitched.

His clothes were slightly torn, stained with someone else’s blood. His eyes were colder than Chance remembered.

Mafioso was a killer now..In this twisted, damned game.

“You’re one of them,” Chance said quietly. Not a question.

Mafioso didn’t answer.

Chance’s voice cracked. “How long have you been here?”

“…Five rounds,” Mafioso said.

“..They made you kill.”

“They didn’t have to make me.”

Chance’s stomach twisted. “Don’t say that.”

Mafioso stepped closer. “It’s the truth.”

“No. It’s what they want you to believe.”

“They gave me a sword and took away the guilt. That’s the deal.”

Chance aimed the gun, shaking. “Then why haven’t you swung it?”

Mafioso was quiet. “You know why.”

The silence between them thickened.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Mafioso murmured. “You’re not built for this.”

“And you are?” Chance snapped, blinking back sudden tears. “You think I wanted to survive all this? That I wanted to keep crawling through blood just to see you standing here with a weapon pointed at me?”

"I tought I'd never see you again” he said. “And now you’re—god..you’re one of them.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Mafioso whispered, voice finally breaking. “When I woke up… I had the sword.”

Chance lowered the gun slightly, trembling.

“They changed me, Chance. You don’t understand: this place eats your memories. I almost forgot your face.”

Chance dropped his gun.

It hit the ground with a dull thud.

He stepped forward, anger turning into heartbreak. “Then remember it now.”

Mafioso’s sword arm wavered.

“Remember me,” Chance said, louder now, tears streaming freely. “The idiot who broke into your house just to leave a birthday cake. The one who said he'd always flirt with you. The one who never stopped waiting.”

Mafioso’s breath caught.

His grip loosened.

The sword fell to the ground.

Chance rushed to him and grabbed his coat, burying his face in Mafioso’s chest.

Mafioso froze for a second.

Then, slowly, his arms came around Chance. One trembling hand went to the back of his head. The other clutched his waist like if he let go, Chance would dissappear.

“I didn’t want this,” Mafioso whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You haven’t,” Chance said. “You haven’t yet.”

They stood like, hugging each other for the rest of the round.

But they knew the truth.

Tomorrow, the loop would reset.

Tomorrow, Mafioso might not remember this.

And tomorrow, Chance’s gun might actually work.

Or it might not.

Chapter Text

Chance peered down through the massive hole his team had blasted in the mansion roof. His target was somewhere inside..somewhere below. The mission was simple: infiltrate, extract data, get out. No mistakes.

He took a breath.

“Lower me,” he whispered through the comms.
The rope creaked as he was slowly lowered into the dark, opulent corridor below.

Everything was going smoothly-

Until the rope snapped.

“WAIT! AHH-!”
Chance fel with a gasp, bracing for bone-breaking impact.

But it never came.

Instead, his fall was abruptly stopped by arms..strong, warm, steady.

Hi eyes met his. Wide, startled.

Mafioso.

The one who was supposed to kill him.

The most feared enforcer in the underground..In the mafia.

The man with blood on his gloves and bunny ears twitching ever so slightly.

They stared at each other in stunned silence.
Chance, frozen in place.

Mafioso, holding him bridal-style like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…You fell,” Mafioso said, voice low and deadly calm, though a faint pink touched his cheeks.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” Chance stammered, eyes darting to the guns at Mafioso’s belt. “You were… supposed to…”

“Kill you?” Mafioso finished, his arms tightening slightly. “Yeah. That was the plan.”

Chance swallowed hard, heart pounding not from fear, but from how close they were. How warm Mafioso felt. How he smelled faintly of metal and lavender.

"But now you're in my arms," Mafioso murmured, almost to himself. His gaze softened, just a bit. “And suddenly… I don't want to follow the plan.”

Mafioso gently set Chance on his feet, yet didn't move back.

Chance blinked. “So what happens now?”

Mafioso tilted his head, one ear flicking. “Now?” he said, voice dropping. “Now I have a bigger problem than collecting debt.”

Chance’s voice was barely a whisper. “What’s that?”

Mafioso’s smirk was small and dangerous, but there was something tender in it. “I think I just fell for the guy I was supposed to kill.”

Chapter Text

Chance and Mafioso ended up in the same house, after one of Mafioso's missions.

Mafioso sat on the couch, arms crossed. His usual cold glare was intact, but his twitching bunny ears betrayed him: flicking every time Chance so much as looked at him.

“You’re ruining my whole thing,” Mafioso grumbled.

Chance raised a brow, sitting on a nearby chair. “What thing?”

“My tough guy image,” Mafioso said, turning to glare at him. “People are supposed to fear me. I’m the guy that makes people vanish, not... giggle because some punk with pretty eyes pets my ears.”

Chance grinned. “I knew you liked it.”

“I don’t,” Mafioso growled.

“You totally do.”

“I don’t—!”

Chance got up slowly, walked over, and crouched right in front of Mafioso. His grin widened as he tilted his head and said in the softest, most teasing tone:

“Who’s a good bunny?”

Mafioso froze. His ears straightened, his face turned red, and for a second, the terrifying killer and debt collector of the underground vanished.

In a quiet, embarrassed, much-too-soft voice, he mumbled:

“...Meee.”

Chance blinked, then burst out laughing.

Mafioso groaned and shoved a pillow over his face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Chance said, sitting down beside him.

“You love me, good bunny.”

“Shut up,” came the reply.

But his ears were wiggling happily.

Chance sat up and was now sitting on Mafioso's lap.

“You’re heavy,” Mafioso muttered, though his hands had absentmindedly drifted to Chance’s hair, playing with it gently.

“You’re warm,” Chance replied, voice muffled against Mafioso’s coat. “And you didn’t push me off.”

“Shut up.”

Chance tilted his head up, giving him that look: the one that always made Mafioso’s heart do that stupid skip thing.

“Say it again,” Chance whispered, grinning.

Mafioso sighed. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“…Bunny.”

Mafioso narrowed his eyes, but there was no real threat in it. “You’re evil.”

Chance booped his nose. “And you’re adorable.”

Mafioso looked away, cheeks red again. His voice dropped to that same soft, reluctant tone from earlier. “..Meee.”

Chance just smiled and nuzzled against him.

“You know, for someone who was supposed to kill me, you’re really good at cuddling.”

Mafioso paused. Then, he whispered, “Yeah, well… for someone I was supposed to kill, you’re really good at making me forget why I ever wanted to.”

Silence.

Comfortable. Warm.

Then Chance blinked. “Wait, are you saying I’m so annoying you forgot your job?”

Mafioso smirked, brushing his fingers through Chance’s hair. “No, idiot. I’m saying I love you.”

Chance’s heart stuttered. He stared up at him. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Mafioso raised a brow.

“I was gonna say it first, but you beat me to it,” Chance mumbled, flustered now. “So rude.”

Mafioso leaned down, planting a soft kiss to Chance’s forehead. “Deal with it.”

Chance just smiled and whispered, “Love you too, bunny.”

Chapter Text

Mafioso sat beside Chance. Between them: a bottle of something strong and a couple of glasses.

Chance grinned as he poured them each a drink. “Didn’t peg you for the drinking type.”

“I’m not,” Mafioso muttered, suspiciously eyeing the glass like it might bite him. “But you wouldn’t shut up about celebrating.”

“Come on! At least one."

Mafioso rolled his eyes. “One drink. That’s it.”

Fifteen minutes later…

“I think the moon’s in love with me.”

Chance choked on his drink as Mafioso flinched slightly beside him, cheeks flushed red, bunny ears drooping lazily.

“…What did you just say?”

Mafioso pointed dramatically at the sky. “It’s been staring. All night. Can’t blame it though. I’m hot.”

Chance was losing it. “Oh my god. You’re drunk. You’re actually drunk.”

Mafioso squinted at him. “Am not. I’m—I'm just... looser than usual. M’fine.”

He reached over to boop Chance’s nose and missed, poking his cheek instead. Then he giggled. Mafioso. Giggled.

“You never drink, do you?”

“Nooope,” Mafioso replied, leaning sideways onto Chance’s shoulder. “I don’t like losin’ control. Makes me feel like I’m gonna… fall apart.”

Chance’s smile softened. He shifted to support him better, letting Mafioso rest against him. “You’re not falling apart. You’re just tipsy.”

Mafioso blinked up at him with the biggest eyes. “But if I did… you’d put me back together, right?”

Chance’s heart did a flip. “..that’s not fair. You’re not allowed to be this cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m dangerous,” Mafioso mumbled, snuggling closer. “I make people disappear. Poof.”

“You also just tried to drink from the bottle cap,” Chance said.

“Still dangerous…”

Chance leaned in, brushing some hair from Mafioso’s face. “You’re adorable. And totally wasted.”

Mafioso looked up with wide, bleary eyes. “Kiss me.”

Chance blinked. “Are you even gonna remember this in the morning?”

Mafioso frowned. “Probably not. But I’ll ask for a rerun anyway.”

Mafioso, still leaning heavily against Chance, let out a dramatic sigh. “The stars are spinning. Or maybe it’s the rooftop. Either way… I’m not in charge of gravity anymore.”

Chance was wheezing with laughter. “You’re unbelievable. You’re like a drunken little prince.”

“I’m not little,” Mafioso muttered.

“You’re also clinging to me like a koala.”

“I’m stabilizing myself. Shut up.”

Chance gave him a smug grin. “So, tough guy… How many drinks did it take to bring down the infamous Mafioso?”

Mafioso raised a finger proudly… then paused. “Wait. Two? Or was that one and a half? Is it illegal to count sips?”

Chance cackled. “You’ve got, like, the alcohol tolerance of a kitten.”

“Don’t say kitten. That’s insulting. I’m a—” Mafioso hiccupped, then said with complete seriousness: “—a beautiful, hot street bunny.”

Chance leaned closer, grinning. “A bunny, huh?”

Mafioso nodded solemnly. “Untamable.”

Chance narrowed his eyes, tone suddenly teasing. “So you wouldn’t melt if I did this—”

He leaned in and gently scratched behind one of Mafioso’s ears.

Mafioso froze.

And then—

“Mmmmm…”

Chance lost it. “OH. MY. GOD.”

Mafioso slapped a hand over his own mouth, ears flopping over his eyes. “I didn’t say that! You didn’t hear that!”

“You purred, bunny boy!”

“No, I didn’t! That was—uh—wind. Rooftop wind.”

Chance was crying with laughter now. “Wind doesn’t moan.”

“I hate you,” Mafioso groaned, hiding his face in Chance’s shoulder.

Chance’s heart just exploded. He wrapped his arms around the sulking Mafioso and held him tight, still grinning like an idiot.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Chance murmured into his hair.

Mafioso groaned again. “I am never drinking again.”

Chance kissed the top of his head. “That’s okay. You’re already drunk on me.”

“Ugh. I hate that line,” Mafioso said.

After a few minutes.

“You know,” Chance said softly, stroking the top of Mafioso’s head between his ears, “you’re kinda perfect like this.”

“Drunk and humiliated?” Mafioso muttered.

“No,” Chance said with a chuckle. “Relaxed. Honest. Letting yourself be soft with me.”

“…I’m always honest.”

“Really?” Chance tilted his head. “So when you glared at me and said you’d snap my neck the first time we met, was that honesty or flirting?”

“…both.”

Chance laughed, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re the weirdest mix of adorable and dangerous I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re the worst type of person to fall for,” Mafioso grumbled, cheeks still red. “Smug, chaotic, and way too pretty.”

Chance’s smile softened. “You fell for me?”

Mafioso blinked, his tipsy brain stalling. “…Shit. I said that out loud.”

“You did,” Chance said, clearly delighted. “And I’m never letting you forget it.”

Mafioso groaned and flopped dramatically onto his back, staring up at the stars. “If I die of embarrassment, tell the moon she won.”

Chance laid down beside him, resting his head on Mafioso’s chest. “Sorry, bunny. You’re stuck with me now.”

There was a pause. Then Mafioso’s arm wrapped around Chance’s waist, pulling him closer. “Not complaining.”

For a moment, the room was quiet again. The only sounds were the soft wind and their breaths.

Chance spoke again, more gently this time. “Hey… for what it’s worth? I fell for you first.”

Mafioso blinked, looking over at him. “No way.”

“Way,” Chance said with a grin. “Felt like a damn fairy tale.”

Mafioso snorted. “We’re the weirdest fairy tale ever.”

“Yeah,” Chance said, kissing Mafioso's cheek. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“I might change one thing.”

Chance raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I’d kiss you,” Mafioso said softly, “before I got too drunk to aim properly.”

Chance’s breath hitched.

Then he smiled, eyes sparkling.

“Then lucky for you…” he whispered, leaning in, “I’ll help you aim.”

The moment their lips met, it was soft—gentle, almost shy, like neither of them could believe it was actually happening.

Chance tilted his head, brushing his fingers lightly along Mafioso’s jaw.

Mafioso leaned in instinctively, his bunny ears drooping just slightly as if surrendering to the moment. His heart was pounding, but not from nerves: just from the way Chance kissed him like they’d been doing this forever.

After the kiss broke, they were both staring at each other for a long time before they burst out laughing.

Chapter Text

Chance and Elliot sat in a corner of the bar, at a table, drinking. Chance was already about ten glasses deep, blushing.

Elliot took a sip of his own drink and leaned back. "..."

Chance stretched and let out a sigh. “I think my legs gave up three hours ago. If I die, bury me under a snack machine.”

“Noted.”

They sat in silence for a bit, until Elliot asked, “Hey, speaking of death...”

"You ever run into any of the big mafia freaks? Y’know, the dangerous types?"

Chance blinked slowly.

Then laughed a little too hard.

Elliot raised a brow. “...What?”

Chance leaned in across the table, voice dropping to a hushed, mock-dramatic tone. “You have no idea.”

“Oh?”

“Well,” Chance began, slurring just slightly, “you know that guy? The really scary bunny-eared mafia leader? Mafioso?”

“...Yeah?” Elliot frowned. “Everyone knows him. You’re not about to say you met him—”

“I didn’t just meet him,” Chance said proudly, pointing at himself.

After a few seconds, Elliot kinda realized what he meant and nearly spat out his drink. “You’re joking.”

Chance shook his head, eyes wide and far too gleeful.

“Next thing I know, he’s threatening to kill me, then not killing me, and then.." Chance paused dramatically. “Kissing me on a rooftop under the stars.”

Elliot stared. “Wait. You’re dating Mafioso?”

“Shhh!” Chance hissed, putting a finger to his lips. “You can’t say it that loud, or he’ll materialize. Like a cursed bunny cryptid.”

Elliot leaned back. “This is insane."

“He purrs when you scratch behind his ears,” Chance whispered dreamily.

Elliot gawked. “That’s illegal information."

Chance hiccupped. “Mhm.”

“Oh my god."

“This is unbelievable,” Elliot muttered, hand to his forehead. “You are literally dating a walking war crime.”

“Yyyupp..."

Elliot shook his head in disbelief. “This is the weirdest romance I’ve ever heard—”

The bell above the door jingled.

Elliot froze. Chance was always relaxed.

Elliot glanced toward the entrance and turned pale.

“Chance,” he whispered. “Don’t freak out, but—uh—behind you.”

Chance turned casually, still drunk and grinning. Standing there—his gaze locked directly on him—was Mafioso.

He looked like he’d heard every single word.

Chance blinked. “Bunny?”

Mafioso’s eye twitched. “Bunny?”

Elliot was already trying to slide under the table. “I’m not here. You don’t see me.”

Mafioso walked over. The bar seemed to go quiet around him. People moved. They always did.

He reached the table and stared down at Chance, arms crossed, voice low.

“You told him I purr?”

Chance squinted up at him, flushed and cheerful. “Technically, I said you moaned. You purred later."

Elliot let out a strangled noise of horror.

Mafioso’s face was unreadable, but his ears were twitching—flustered.

Chance giggled.

Mafioso leaned in closer, tone cold as ever. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

Chance grinned. “Absolutely.”

There was a long pause.

Then—to Elliot’s total disbelief—Mafioso sighed, ruffled Chance’s hair, and slid into the booth beside him.

“I told you not to drink without me,” he muttered.

“You never said don’t, you said you’d ‘stab anyone who got me too drunk,’” Chance pointed out helpfully.

Mafioso leaned in, brushing Chance’s cheek with the back of his glove. “Good. I like being more clear.”

Elliot sat back and raised his hands. “No questions. None at all. This is your world now. I’m just surviving in it.”

(Elliot left. Or not. Reader’s choice.)

Chance leaned against Mafioso’s shoulder and mumbled, “You’re warm.”

Mafioso let out a sigh as he muttered, “You’re drunk.”

Chance grinned. “You like me drunk.”

“I like you quiet.”

Chance gave him a smirk. “Liar.”

The bar’s door creaked shut behind them as Mafioso stepped out with Chance half over his shoulder, clearly very drunk and very content.

Chance mumbled something incoherent into Mafioso’s coat.

“…You good?” Mafioso asked.

Chance tilted his head up, eyes sleepy and smile loopy. “Mmmhm. You smell like gunpowder and… bunnies.”

Mafioso didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.

He also didn’t argue. He just readjusted his hold, pulling Chance closer, one arm firmly around his waist.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, “or I’d have left you with that pizza boy.”

“You love me,” Chance murmured into his chest.

Mafioso paused, ears twitching.

Chance peeked up again, voice soft and slurred. “You dooo. You get this look whenever I smile at you. Like you're mad but also melting.”

Mafioso sighed, defeated. “You don’t shut up even when you’re half asleep.”

Chance grinned and tugged on the front of Mafioso’s coat, mumbling, “Carry me.”

“No.”

“…Please?”

“No.”

Chance gave him the most pathetic, sleepy pout imaginable.

A long silence.

Then:

Mafioso groaned and scooped Chance up bridal style.

“You’re the worst,” he grumbled.

“And you’re sooo strong,” Chance whispered dramatically, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Mafioso couldn’t help the small smile that appeared at his lips. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you into a trash bin.”

“You wouldn’t. You love me,” Chance hummed.

“Drunk you is too honest,” Mafioso muttered.

“Drunk me is a truth wizard,” Chance said, eyes fluttering shut. “I should get a cape…”

They walked like that—Chance half-asleep, arms loosely around Mafioso’s neck, and Mafioso quietly carrying him without complaint.

As they neared the house, Chance whispered, “Hey.”

“What now?”

“Do you think if I had a cape, it’d be like... sparkly? Or, or one of those dramatic swoopy ones that makes people gasp?”

“You’d trip over it.”

Chance gasped, mimicking offense. “How dare you. I’d look amazing. Like, uh… a drunk superhero of truth and... bunnies.”

“Bunnies?”

“You,” Chance mumbled sleepily. “You’re the bunny.”

Chance shifted slightly in Mafioso's arms, blinking slowly as he reached up and touched the side of Mafioso’s face. “Y’know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Every time I look at you, I think... you’d be prettier if you smiled more.”

Mafioso froze, his ears twitching in visible surprise.

Chance giggled softly. “There it is. A twitch! Almost like a smile.”

Mafioso groaned. “I’m going to drop you.”

“You won’t,” Chance said with absolute confidence, nestling closer. “You’re too nice.”

“Nice?” Mafioso repeated. “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Mmhm,” Chance murmured. “You’re Mafioso. Scary guy. Legendary mafia leader. World’s best secret cuddler."

“...I regret everything,” Mafioso muttered, though his ears betrayed him.

They reached the house. Mafioso kicked the door open lightly with his foot and carried Chance inside. Before setting Chance down on the bed, Mafioso paused.

Chance’s hand slipped into his coat's pocket and he pulled out a napkin. “Wait.”

Mafioso raised a brow. “What are you doing?”

“Cape,” Chance said with determination. “Now I’m official.”

Mafioso bit back a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

Chance blinked up at him with half-lidded eyes, grinning. “Unbelievably cute, right?”

“Go to sleep,” Mafioso said, finally setting him down.

Chance pouted but didn’t resist, curling up with the napkin still clinging to his shoulder.

Before turning away, Mafioso hesitated. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he reached down and gently took off the "cape."

“Goodnight, Chance.” he murmured.

Chance’s sleepy voice mumbled, “Love you, Bunny.”

Mafioso paused, his ears twitching again. Then he shook his head with a soft, amused exhale. “You’re lucky I like you.”

And with that, he dimmed the lights.

Chapter Text

All Chance could focus on was getting there.

His breaths were short and shallow. His leg dragged uselessly behind him, leaving a streak of blood in his wake.

One hand was clutched around his stomach, the other trembling as it pulled him forward inch by inch.

His gun was nothing more than scrap now, a misfire so brutal it blew the weapon apart in his hands when he’d tried to shoot the bastard who ambushed him.

He couldn’t think about who it was. Couldn’t focus on why.

Only one thing pulsed through his brain like a lifeline:
Mafioso.

He reached the back fence of Mafioso’s private estate—surrounded by hidden wards, traps, and death. But Chance knew the way. He’d been here enough times. He’d memorized every path, every shortcut, every blind spot in the security.

His bloody hand reached out. “C’mon… open up…” he rasped.

He didn’t even get the full code in.

The door slammed open, and there he was—Mafioso.

His eyes widened the moment he saw Chance. For one terrifying heartbeat, everything went still.

Then:

“Chance!”

He was down the stairs in seconds, kneeling as he reached for him. “What happened? Who did this?”

Chance wheezed a pained laugh. “Gun backfired. Kinda… funny… right?”

“Shut up,” Mafioso snapped, arms already moving under him, lifting him like he weighed nothing. “You're not making jokes right now.”

“I always make jokes…” Chance murmured, his head lolling against Mafioso’s chest as they moved. “..is how I flirt.”

“Then flirt with me when you’re not actively dying,” Mafioso said, kicking the door shut behind them.

Mafioso laid Chance down on the couch.

“Stay awake,” he ordered, pulling medicine and bandages from a drawer. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

Chance blinked slowly. “Wow. You’re so bossy when I’m dying… kinda hot…”

Mafioso’s hands stopped just a second—just enough to prove he heard. Then he went right back to cleaning the wound. His touch was shockingly gentle.

“I swear to god, if I find out who did this—”

“You’ll kill them,” Chance whispered. “Like always.”

Mafioso didn’t deny it.

Chance winced, fingers twitching at his side. The pain was all over his face, but he didn’t say it out loud.

“I know.” Mafioso’s voice turned softer. “I’ve got you. Just hold on a little longer.”

He tied a bandage around Chance’s wound.

When he was sure the bleeding had slowed, Mafioso sat back, breathing hard. He stared down at Chance—bloodied, pale, but alive.

And something in him just snapped.

He dropped to his knees beside the couch and grabbed Chance’s hand, pressing it to his chest.

“You idiot,” he murmured, voice rough. “You’re supposed to call me when things go bad. Not crawl through the city alone.”

Chance gave him a tired grin. “Didn’t have time to think. Just… knew I had to get to you.”

.... silence for a few seconds.

Then: “…You’re home now,” he said finally. “No one’s getting to you here.”

Chance's fingers tightened just barely around his. “Thanks, bunny.”

Mafioso leaned forward. “Rest. I’ve got you.”

Chance lay curled on the couch, shirt discarded and chest wrapped in clean bandages. He’d fallen asleep from the exhaustion and blood loss.

And Mafioso hadn’t moved.

He sat beside the couch on the floor. One hand held onto Chance’s.

His usual sharp expression was gone. In its place: worry.

He leaned his head back and whispered, “You scared me.”

No one else would’ve believed he could sound like that. So fragile. So... human.

“You’re supposed to be annoying,” he continued, “but fine, healthy. You’re supposed to dodge bullets, not catch them.”

Chance stirred a little in his sleep, brows twitching at some phantom pain. Mafioso immediately leaned forward, squeezing his hand gently.

He brushed a strand of hair from Chance’s face, slower than he meant to, like his fingers didn’t want to stop touching. (don't think about the wrong thing.. I see you...)

“I almost thought I was too late,” he said quietly. “When I saw you at the door… bleeding all over the place…”

He trailed off.

“I would've killed whoever did this with my bare hands,” he muttered. “And I will, when I find them.”

He exhaled slowly, his voice softening again.

“…But you came to me.”

A pause.

“Even like that, you came straight to me.”

He let go of Chance’s hand only to reach up and gently rest his palm against his cheek.

“You idiot,” he whispered. “You brilliant, stupid, ridiculous idiot. You always make me feel like this.”

Chance murmured something in his sleep and shifted toward the touch.

Mafioso froze—then smiled, just barely.

He grabbed a blanket and carefully spread it over him, then finally allowed himself to climb onto the couch as well. Carefully, he settled beside him.

Chance instinctively leaned in.

And for a long moment, neither of them moved.

The world was quiet. The danger was gone.

Mafioso pressed a kiss into Chance’s hair, so gently it was almost nothing, but for him... it meant everything. Every emotion, every worry...

Chapter Text

Chance sat on the couch, a sucker stick poking out of his mouth.

“I’m gonna be gone this weekend,” he said suddenly, casually, like he was commenting on the weather.

Mafioso, standing at the window, paused. “…What do you mean gone?”

Chance stood up with dramatic flair. “Gone! Away! Vanished from your adorable little life for a few tragic days.”

Mafioso narrowed his eyes. “Where.”

“Some gala thing. Big, fancy place, high ceilings, people wearing suits too tight for their egos. Got an invite. Probably a trap,” Chance added cheerfully, “but they said there’d be cake and nice, fancy food, so.”

“You’re seriously going?”

“Yeah. Why not?” Chance shrugged. “Figured I could do some poking around.”

Mafioso’s ears twitched. “It’s too public. If something happens—”

“You’ll miss me?” Chance interrupted with a grin.

Mafioso glared. “I’ll have to clean up your mess.”

“Oof, cold.” Chance placed a hand over his heart. “But fair.”

They stood there in that familiar silence—Chance smirking, Mafioso unimpressed. Then, softly, Chance said:

“Hey. I’ll be fine, Bunny. You forget who you’re talking to?”

Mafioso folded his arms. “Unfortunately, I don’t.”

“Then you know I always make it out healthy.” He winked.

“Try not to do something stupid without me by your side to stop you.” Mafioso said. He just watched as Chance waved and strolled out of the room, humming some off-key tune, as carefree as ever.

--- Timeskip: the night of the attack ---

It started like any other night. Quiet, dull. Mafioso sat in the living room, looking through documents. A faint hum of a TV played in the background—noise to keep the silence from getting too heavy.

Then the program was interrupted.

“Breaking news—”

Mafioso looked up. The anchor’s voice was shaking. “A violent attack has just taken place at the Grand [inserts fancy name] Estate—home to tonight’s elite fundraising gala. Authorities confirm there has been a mass massacre event.”

The screen cut to live footage from a helicopter.

The estate was burning.

Mafioso froze.

His hands stopped moving. His body didn’t shift. Only his eyes… narrowed.

“No survivors have been identified at this time—”

Mafioso stood up. Slowly.

The remote in his hand dropped to the ground with a thud.

He walked out of the living room without a word.

Not a sound. Not a curse. Not a scream.

Just cold movement as he entered his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and locked it.

Inside, his expression cracked.

He staggered toward the dresser and stared at the mirror. At his reflection. The one that didn’t look nearly as composed as it should’ve.

He gripped the edge of the dresser and whispered, “You idiot.”

His voice wasn’t steady anymore.

“You said you’d be fine.”

He kicked the dresser with brutal force.

“You said you'd always make it out alive.”

Glass shattered. His hand was bleeding. He didn’t care. He collapsed on the floor, elbows on his knees, blood still dripping from his palm.

He stayed there. For hours.

Saying nothing. Doing nothing.

Just… sitting in the silence Chance used to fill.

--- Timeskip: A few days later ---

The house was quiet. Mafioso hadn’t left it since the news broke. Not even to get air, food, anything really.

He sat at his desk, face filled with exhaustion.

His ears, usually twitching at the faintest sound, were motionless.

Until—

click.

The front door opened.

Mafioso’s eyes barely flicked up. Probably his goons again. Or worse, some idiot who didn’t know how close they were to being shot.

“Hey!” called a familiar voice, too loud, too carefree, too— Alive.

“Did you move the snacks? I swear I left a bag of lemon chips in here—”

Mafioso rose from the desk. His heart stopped. His pupils dilated.

No.

Chance strolled in, holding a half-eaten muffin, looking like he just crawled out of bed five minutes ago.

He paused mid-bite at the look on Mafioso’s face.

“What?” Chance asked, confused. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

Mafioso blinked once.

Then again.

“You’re dead.”

Chance furrowed his brow. “I’m… pretty sure I’m not.”

“I watched the reports,” Mafioso said, voice low, trembling at the edges. “They said everyone inside the estate was gone. Burned. Shot. Blown to pieces. You were there. You said you were going.”

“Oh!” Chance snapped his fingers. “Right! I was gonna go, wasn’t I?”

“You forgot?”

Chance rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah. I uh… got chased by a dog through five back alleys that morning. Got sidetracked. Kinda fell asleep on a rooftop after that. Didn’t realize what day it was until I saw some of the footage later and went ‘Oh crap, that was tonight?’”

Mafioso stared at him, dead silent.

“I thought you were gone.” Mafioso stepped forward. “I thought you were dead. I buried you in my mind. I mourned you. I—” His voice cracked and failed him.

“…Oh.” Chance blinked, his usual smugness fading. “I didn’t think you’d… I mean I didn’t think it’d hit you that hard.”

“Don’t.” Mafioso’s tone turned sharp. “Don’t you dare say I wouldn’t care.”

“I’m not!” Chance said quickly. “I just… didn’t know you’d be so… messed up about it.”

Mafioso was in front of him now, close enough for Chance to see the dark circles under his eyes, the faint blood stains on his gloves from punching a wall—or something worse.

“I am not messed up,” Mafioso said, low and dangerous, “I am furious. Furious that you forgot. Furious that you left me thinking I’d lost—”

He cut himself off.

Then Chance, surprisingly gentle, said, “Hey. I’m here. Alright? I'm not going anywhere.”

“…You promise?” Mafioso asked, almost like a whisper.

Chance gave a lopsided smile. “Only if you still got my lemon chips.”

Mafioso let out a ragged exhale, and then—without warning—grabbed Chance by the collar and yanked him into a hug. Desperate.

Chance’s eyes widened, then softened. His arms came up around Mafioso’s waist.

“…I didn’t mean to scare you.” (C)

“You did.” (M)

“I didn’t mean to be gone.” (C)

“You were.” (M)

“I’m here now.” (C)

Mafioso’s voice was muffled against Chance’s shoulder. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Chance whispered back, “I won’t."

They stayed like that for a long time. Until Mafioso muttered, “Next time you forget your schedule, I’m implanting a tracker in you.”

Chance snorted. “Romantic.”

Chapter Text

Chance's phone rang.

“Mafioso?” Chance answered casually. “Miss me already?”

“I need help.”

Chance blinked. That tone wasn’t normal. “Come again?”

“There’s a high-value target. Armed. He’s inside your casino.”

“…What?”

“He’s in the back, VIP area. Goes by [insterts name].”

"And you’re asking for help?”

“Yes.”

A slow grin spread across Chance’s face. “Say it again.”

“No.”

“You should say ple—” (please)

“Shut up and meet me at the elevator.”

"Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Mafioso stood near the end of a hallway, in full combat mode: he looked tense, focused.

Then the elevator dinged and Chance walked out like he was heading to a dance floor.

“I love it when you ask me for help, and mostly when you beg,” Chance said.

Mafioso gave him a cold stare. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Of course I am. You came crawling to me. Bet that burned.”

“The target’s got two guards. Looks like he's finalizing a deal.”

Chance cracked his knuckles. “You want him alive?”

“Preferably.”

"Alright."

They moved. Quiet. Mafioso kicked open the side door, while Chance ran(?) in from the opposite hallway.

(PS: Yes Chance had security and other staff members that could help, but he wanted to enjoy his time with Mafioso.)

Gunshots everywhere.

Mafioso disabled one guard with a sharp jab to the throat and a disarming twist. Chance dodged a flying chair (god knows who threw it, it was too much chaos), kicked a table into the other bodyguard, and pinned [inserts name] against the wall.

“Hello!” Chance said cheerfully. “Mind telling me what you’re doing in my casino without tipping the bartender?”

[insert name] tried to fight back. Mistake.
Mafioso pressed his pistol to [insert name]'s head, dropping him. “Next time, shoot first,” he muttered to Chance.

“I like giving people a chance, (HAHAHAHA COOL NAME DROP)” Chance replied.

--- Timeskip: [insert name] got arrested or disappeared somewhere anyhow he's not a threat nor a target anymore. ---

Mafioso sighed. “You’re the worst.”

“And you’re still here.”

"..."

“You gonna say thank you?”

“I did all the hard work.”

“I let you have the dramatic entrance!”

“You got hit with a chair.”

Chance held up a finger. “Dodged a chair. Big difference.”

Mafioso rolled his eyes. But his shoulders had relaxed.

“…Thanks,” he muttered.

Chance blinked. “Come again?”

“Don’t push it.”

Chance chuckled. “My casino, my assist, my time (IS THAT AN OMORI REFRENCE?!?!?! i'm sorry I'll shut up). You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’m not lucky,” Mafioso muttered. “I’m cursed.”

“Cursed with excellent taste.”

Chapter Text

The round was chaos.

Chance's heart was pounding. His gun was in his hand with 3 stacks (idk how yall call it I hope I said it right I only played Chance twice since I have bad luck).

Footsteps.

Getting closer.

It was Mafioso: Dressed in black like always, bunny ears twitching. He looked dangerous—lethal, but, underneath all that, still himself...In one way or another.

“Mafioso, wait—” Chance stood, gun aimed. “You don’t have to do this!”

Mafioso stepped forward. No words. Just that cold stare...He wasn't himself. The Specter (i forgot if it was Specter or Spectre whatever) changed him.

Chance panicked—

BANG.

The bullet hit Mafioso in the chest.

Mafioso stumbled back, looked down, then collapsed with a heavy thud.

Chance dealt the last blow.

He stared in horror as Mafioso disintegrated into glowing particles (i tried to be creative)… and vanished.

Back at the Survivor Cabin!!!

Chance was shaking. He stood near the fireplace, pale and silent, arms crossed tightly.

“I shot him,” he muttered. “I shot Mafioso.”

Elliot looked at Chance. “Yeah, we saw that.”

“He wasn’t chasing me—actually, I think he was just walking..—and I still shot him. I shot him. I shot the person I love." Tears formed in Chance’s eyes. "I'm worse than the killer itself." He mumbled.

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “So? Killers respawn.”

Chance blinked, tears still flowing, body still shaking. Realization hit him. “THEY WHAT?”

Elliot blinked. “You didn’t know that?”

“No one told me that!! I thought—Oh my god, I thought I killed him for real. I’ve been having a crisis for like fifteen minutes!”

"This place runs on weird magic. Killers don’t stay dead. He’ll be fine." Guest said.

Chance rubbed his face. “I can’t believe I’ve been freaking out and you guys were just over there playing board games..”

A Few Rounds Later…

“Sleeping...” (Mafioso's old intro hahahaha)

Chance froze.

“YES!” he shouted, jumping. “He’s alive! He’s back!”

Chance was grinning. “Oh thank god, I didn’t kill him—I mean, okay, technically I did, but..not permanently! I thought I was gonna have to write an apology letter or something.”

Guest raised an eyebrow. “You're gonna give him a hug mid-chase or what?”

“I might!”

The new round had begun.

Chance looked around, still smiling. “Okay, I just gotta avoid him and maybe yell ‘sorry’ really loud. That’ll fix things.”

Then he heard it.

Click.

Clack.

That familiar slow walk.

He turned.

There was Mafioso.

(Chance spawned very close to him.)

Full killer mode. Eyes glowing red. Sword in hand.

He stopped a few feet from Chance.

Didn’t say a word.

Chance raised a hand slowly. “Hey… buddy. Glad you’re… not dead.”

Mafioso tilted his head.

Chance laughed nervously. “Sooo… how mad are you?”

Mafioso took a step forward..and then another..and then charged at Chance.

“…Okay. That mad.”

Chance turned and ran like hell.

“I'M SO SORRY FOR WHAT I DID LAST ROUND!!!”

The round had gone sideways. Fast.

Mafioso wasn’t himself. His movements were off. Harsher. Slower. Like something was pulling at him.

“The Specter’s fully messing with his head now...He’s not normal anymore.” Chance already knew that. (imagine anyone saying that to him or just Chance thinking it)

The red glow in Mafioso’s eyes was wrong. He wasn’t taunting like usual. He wasn’t pacing like he did when he wanted to draw the round out. He was… hunting.

For real.

...

And now Chance was alone, bleeding, stumbling through the crumbling pizza place map (haha poor Elliot he was probably so mad when he saw this map).

“Okay, okay,” Chance muttered. “Think. Think. Can’t fight him, can’t outrun him, can’t reason with him…”

He turned the corner—and there he was.

Mafioso. Waiting.

"uh oh"

Chance took a step back. “Mafioso,” he breathed. “Please. I know you’re still in there.”

No answer.

Then, without a word, Mafioso struck.

Mafioso stabbed Chance in the chest.

He stood over Chance, not moving.

Chance’s vision blurred. His head spun. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. (He was at 1hp guys!!!)

The round was almost over.

Mafioso stood frozen, caught in the space between killer and the man Chance loved. He blinked slowly, like waking up from a deep dream (IS THAT A DREAM GAME REFRENCE?! it probably isn't..okay I'll stop for real this time). The red glow in his eyes flickered, fading just a bit.

Chance reached up with shaky fingers, his hand landing on Mafioso’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry I shot you. I thought I lost you forever and I didn’t even say goodbye."

Mafioso blinked again, confused. His hand reached toward Chance, almost on instinct.

And before he could disappear—before the teleport kicked in—

Chance leaned up and kissed him.

It was messy. Desperate. Tasted like blood, sweat and fear. But it was real.

Mafioso’s eyes widened slightly. His body jolted like static had hit him.

And then—

He vanished.

Gone. Just like that.

Chapter Text

Mafioso was adjusting the collar of his jacket, and Chance was whistling, keys dangling lazily between two fingers.

“This will be your actual house?” Mafioso asked, intrigued. “Not the fancy one?”

Chance grinned. “Nope. That one’s for people I want to impress. This one’s for people I like.”

That made Mafioso’s ears twitch. He smiled. 'People I like, huh?'

The building itself wasn’t terrible. A small, two-story place. Unremarkable. Safe.

Then they stepped inside.

And Mafioso’s expectations died.

Immediately.

“…What the hell is this?” Mafioso breathed. The hallway was dark. The walls? A mix of cracked paint and hand-drawn sketches, some of which had red string connecting them. One particularly cursed sketch was of a pigeon with laser eyes labeled DO NOT TRUST.

Chance stepped over an upside-down mop bucket like it was totally normal. “Welcome to my crib.”

They entered the living room.

Hanging from the ceiling, sometimes spinning from the wind: a full-size mannequin dressed like a butler. With googly eyes.

On the coffee table? A styrofoam head impaled with sewing pins like some sort of ritual (it was just a joke he isn't two time don't worrt guys).

Near the window sat a handmade voodoo doll—burnt, stitched badly, and eerily labeled "Itrapped" on a tiny sticky note stuck to its face.

“…Is this some kind of murder shrine?” Mafioso asked, frozen in place.

Chance shrugged. “It’s more of a ‘project zone.'” Mafioso’s gaze shifted to the shelf. “Is that a diary?"

Chance followed his eyes and chuckled. “Oh yeah. Don’t read page seven. I wrote about how I wanted to ‘murder my math teacher and eat the sun.’ It was a weird year.”

Mafioso looked like he was reconsidering everything he ever knew about Chance. “You brought me here thinking we’d have a cute date night. This is a haunted house.”

Chance blinked. “...So should I cancel the pizza?” “No,” Mafioso said immediately. “But we’re cleaning first.”

The next twenty minutes were spent tossing cursed objects into a broom closet with increasing speed and dread.

“Why is there a fake baby arm in your sock drawer?"

“Why were you in my sock drawer?”

“Because I opened the wrong door looking for the remote!”

“Stop judging me and just throw it in the closet!”

They finally slammed the door shut and Chance dramatically shoved a chair under the handle.

Mafioso, hands on his hips, let out a sigh. “I’m scared to open anything else in here.”

“That’s the spirit,” Chance replied, flopping onto the couch with a grin. “Now c’mere.”

They shared the pizza on mismatched plates while watching an absolutely terrible old horror movie.

Mafioso sat stiffly at first, until Chance threw a blanket over both of them and leaned his head on Mafioso’s shoulder.

Chance hummed. “You didn’t run. That’s a record.”

“I’m not saying I wasn’t horrified.”

“Fair. But you stayed.”

Mafioso rolled his eyes, but his hand found Chance’s under the blanket.

Later, they booted up an old game console Chance had to blow dust out of.

“Bet I’ll wipe the floor with you,” Mafioso said.

“You think I don’t train in button mashing?”

They laughed, bickered, and played until the screen went dim and the noise of the city fell away. Eventually, they both drifted off curled up under the blanket, a half-finished game still on pause.

The next morning:

Mafioso blinked slowly and saw Chance still asleep on his chest, drooling slightly.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

“…There’s still a mannequin hanging up there.”

Chance, half-asleep, muttered, “He’s named Gerald. Don’t be mean.”

Mafioso sighed, reached for a pillow, and pulled Chance closer.

“…Freak,” he whispered fondly.

Chance just snuggled in deeper. “You love it.”

And yeah—Mafioso really couldn’t argue with that.

Carefully, he shifted out from under Chance’s arm, tucking a pillow in its place. Chance mumbled something in his sleep, then went quiet again.

He walked quietly into the hallway and paused at the shelf with the diary.

Chance's diary.

He didn’t open it — not yet. But he stared at it a while, smiling to himself. Murder the math teacher and eat the sun, huh?

There were photos on the shelf, too. Old ones. Not framed, just leaned between books.

This is the real him, he thought. The parts no one gets to see.

Not the smug casino king. Not the liar. Not the showman. Just… Chance. A weirdo with voodoo dolls, stuffed closets and too many secrets. And somehow, Mafioso felt lucky.

He went back to the living room and found Chance blinking at him from the couch, his hair a full disaster, the blanket tangled around his legs.

“…You went snooping, didn’t you,” Chance said, rubbing one eye.

“I didn’t open the closet.”

“Good. That would’ve voided the warranty on your soul.”

Mafioso chuckled and sat beside him again.