Two fedoras, two lives

by LocalCrazyPerson

Summary:

Mafioso has to deal with his new emotions, while Chance has to confront his past.

There was no tag for it but this is written on Chance's lore before the Mafioso rework.

Notes:

This is my first work so sorry if it's bad. All forms of constructive criticism are appreciated!

This is based on Chance's lore before the Mafioso rework.

May be ooc because it's more my headcanons on them than how they actually act. If people want to know what my headcanons are I can make a chapter for them or another work.

Chapter 1: Main story

Mafioso had scheduled another rendezvous with Chance, which wasn't out of the ordinary given the recent turn of events. However, the timing was peculiar - it was the quiet lull between the chaotic storms of their illegal dealings. Chance, still new to the shadowy tapestry of the city's underbelly, couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. Yet, the allure of the unknown was like the siren's call to him; he couldn't resist the urge to show up, to stay in the game, to keep the thrill of danger dancing just a step away. After all, saying no to Mafioso wasn't exactly in the cards.

With an air of confidence that seemed to permeate the very fabric of the room, Chance saunters into Mafioso's office. His fedora casts a shadow over the gleaming chrome of his shades as he looks around, taking in the familiar sights of opulence and the faint scent of cigar smoke. The door clicks shut behind him, punctuating the silence like a gunshot. He glances at his host, his smirk playing at the corners of his lips like a cat with a secret.

"So, Mafioso, to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected summon?" Chance says, smirk growing wider, "Is there another high-stakes game you need a wild card for? Or perhaps you just couldn't bear another night without my charming company?" The question hangs in the air, wrapped in a cocktail of sarcasm and genuine curiosity.

Mafioso looks at Chance with an empty stare that seems to bore into the very essence of his being, unimpressed by the charm that often dazzles others. Yet, his bunny ears twitched slightly, a tell that Chance wasn't quite sure how to interpret. The crimelord's eyes, a piercing blue, seem to gleam with an unspoken message.

"Surprisingly, you've managed to gain my attention." Mafioso motions to the plush chair opposite his desk with a flick of his wrist, the sound of the leather chair squeaking ever so slightly as it awaits Chance's presence. "Please, have a seat. This is not about our usual business endeavors. I wish to understand you, Chance, beyond the facade of the gambler and the charmer you present to the world. Who are you, truly?" His voice is smooth as silk, but the underlying tension in the air is as palpable as a coiled spring.

Chance's heart skips a beat, his mind racing as he tries to discern Mafioso's true intentions. Someone wanted to know him? The real him? And that person was a Mafia boss, no less. This must be a lie; Mafioso's just trying to get him to be vulnerable. He takes a moment to compose himself. Sitting down with a grace that belies his unease, he tilts his head slightly.

"Interesting reason for a meeting." His tone is nonchalant, but his eyes dart around the room, searching for any signs of a trap. "But as you're the one holding the cards here, I suppose I'll play along. You want to know the real me, huh?" He laughs, a sound that's as fake as monopoly money. "Well, let's see, I'm a thrill-seeker, a bit of a rebel, and I've got a knack for making my own luck. What else is there to know?" He leans back in the chair, his hands steepled in front of him, trying to maintain an illusion of calm. "But what makes you think you're the first to ask?" Mafioso leans back in his chair as he watches Chance's every move, every twitch. The silence is thick and suffocating.
"The way you froze up when I asked is what makes me think I'm the first." He smirks, the corners of his mouth tugging upward like the flaps of a cardboard box hiding something deadly. "You froze up again when I said that." He states plainly, his gaze unwavering. "I know it's what you do. try to keep me guessing. You're hiding your true self from everyone, and I want to know why."

Chance's smirk fades, and for a moment, there comes a memory of someone Chance thought he left behind. The facade cracks, revealing a hint of irritation. He straightens up, his eyes narrowing behind the shades.

"I see you're playing mind games now, Mafioso." He stands up, his movements swift and precise, the chair scraping against the floor. "But I've got better things to do with my time than to sit around and spill my guts to someone who's only interested in using my secrets against me. So, unless you have something concrete to discuss, I'd like to take my leave." He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. "Do you have any actual business to conduct, or shall I consider this meeting concluded?"

Mafioso remains silent, his expression unreadable, other than his ears being completely straight up. Chance takes the opportunity to slip away. He opens the door with a smooth motion, the cool metal of the handle feeling like a lifeline back to the chaos of the city. Without looking back, he strides out of the office, leaving the heavy silence in his wake. The Mafia boss sits in the now-empty room, lost in his thoughts. The quiet whispers of the rain outside seem to echo his contemplative mood as he considers the puzzle that is Chance. The unanswered questions hang in the air like cigar smoke, lingering and tantalizing.

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Back in the safety of his apartment, Chance opens the door with slightly more force than necessary. His thoughts are a tornado of doubt and frustration.

"I definitely let him get to me too much." Chance didn't get angry easily, but when he did, it was like flipping a switch. He knew seeing him frustrated would only pique Mafioso's curiosity further. "After seeing me like that, he's even less likely to let it go." Chance sighs, running a hand through his hair. His eyes widen in surprise when something soft brushes against his shoe. "Spade!" He bends down to pick up his giant black pet bunny, booping her nose gently. "Hey girl, did you miss me?" In the comfort of his own space, his mood shifts immediately. The warmth of Spade's fur and her gentle nudges are a stark contrast to the cold steel of the underworld he's just left behind.

"You must be hungry, huh?" Chance says to Spade as he strokes her soft ears. She lets out a contented squeak in response. "Got some carrots for you in here." He opens the fridge door, the light spilling into the room, and grabs a handful of baby carrots from the crisper. As he holds out his hand to her, she eagerly takes it, her whiskers tickling his palm. "Good girl, Spade." He smiles, watching her munch happily. For a moment, the world outside and its secrets seem a million miles away.

Chance lets out a contented sigh as he watches Spade nibble away at her carrots. The weight of the day's tension slowly releases from his shoulders, his mind temporarily at ease. Spade finishes her snack and hops off to her favorite cushion by the window, where she often sits and stares out into the night, as if contemplating the mysteries of the city herself.

"Looks like it's bedtime for both of us." Chance murmurs, his voice low and soothing. He makes sure she's comfortable before heading to his own bedroom. As he climbs into bed, the softness of the sheets envelopes him like a warm hug. For a brief moment, he contemplates Mafioso's words, but exhaustion quickly wins out. With a final yawn, he flicks off the light, allowing the sweet embrace of sleep to take him.
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"I must have pushed too far," Mafioso murmurs to himself, something close to regret in his words. His hand clenches into a fist at the thought. "Feelings are a liability in this line of work." He paces the room, his reflection gliding across the rain-dotted windows like a ghostly specter. His eyes, though hidden beneath the brim of his hat, seem to hold a glimmer of something unfamiliar. "I can't afford to entertain them." His voice is as cold and final as the steel grip of fate. "It was a mistake to think I could understand him on a personal level." The crimson tie sways slightly with his agitated steps. "Chance... You're a puzzle. One that I can't allow to keep drawing me in."
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As the days stretched into weeks, the silence between Chance and Mafioso grew as vast as the ocean. The thrill of their usual encounters had been replaced by an unsettling quiet that Chance found himself oddly craving to break. One evening, he reached out to Elliot, his closest friend in this world of shadows and secrets.

Chance texted Elliot a quick "Meet me at the bar tonight, we've got some catching up to do," and waited impatiently for the sun to set.

The sound of clinking glasses and hushed conversations greeted Chance as he stepped inside. He spotted Elliot at the corner booth, swirling a drink in his hands. The warmth of friendship and shared secrets was a beacon in the cold to the indifferent world outside. Chance slid into the booth with a sigh, the scent of aged oak and spilled whiskey wrapping around him like an old, comfortable coat.
"Hey Chance!" Elliot's voice is a welcome reprieve from the tension that's been coiling around Chance like a snake. "It's been a while, buddy. Just to let you know, I've got a shift at the pizzeria early tomorrow, so no heavy drinking for me tonight." He winks, the corners of his eyes crinkling with good humor. "But I'm all ears for whatever you've got going on." He takes a sip of his soda, the ice cubes clinking against the glass, his gaze never leaving Chance's face. "So, what's the reason behind this little get-together?" There's an undercurrent of concern in Elliot's tone, his hand absently fidgeting with the edge of the table.

"Every time I ask you to hang out, you always think it's about business or trouble," Chance chuckles, his smirk returning, but it's softer now, tinged with something akin to nostalgia. "Can't a guy just want to see his friends?" He waves a hand dismissively. "What's new with you, Elliot? How's life at the pizza place?"

As the night progressed, the bar grew louder, the whispers turning into laughter and the clinking of glasses becoming a cacophony of sound. Chance's hand reached for his drink more frequently, and his stories grew more exaggerated with each sip. Elliot watched him with a mix of amusement and concern. Finally, when Chance slurred his words so badly that they were barely coherent, Elliot knew it was time.

"Come on, buddy," He said, placing a firm hand on Chance's shoulder. "Let's get you home." Chance's head lolled slightly, a grin still plastered on his face. "Can't just leave you here like this." With a sigh, Elliot pulled out Chance's phone and scanned through his contacts. 'Grumpy Bunny. ' He snickers. The name seemed friendly enough to be someone Chance trusted.

"Chance got wasted at the bar. Can you pick him up?" Elliot's thumb hovered over the send button before pressing it down firmly. "Now, let's just wait for your ride, okay?" He looks up at Chance, his expression a blend of care and responsibility.

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"I'm here for Chance." Mafioso's voice cuts through the noise like a knife, and the atmosphere around the booth shifts slightly. Elliot freezes up in the presence of power and authority. Chance looks up, bleary-eyed. Mafioso’s gaze flicked to Elliot for a moment before returning to Chance. "Let's get you out of here before you say something you'll regret tomorrow." Elliot, recognizing the urgency in Mafioso's voice, helps Chance to his feet, and with surprising ease, Mafioso scoops him up and starts to walk towards the exit. "What did you get yourself into this time?" Chance chuckles incoherently, his eyes half-closed.

The drive to Mafioso's penthouse was quiet except for Chance's occasional giggles and slurred mutterings. Mafioso's car, a sleek black sedan, glided through the neon-lit streets of the city, the rain outside a rhythmic backdrop to the silence inside. When they arrived at the penthouse, Mafioso carried Chance inside with the care of a parent for a child who had had too much sugar. He laid Chance on the couch, the leather cool and unyielding against his cheek.
"You're going to hate me in the morning, but it's not my fault you never showed me your house," Mafioso murmured, his tone a blend of exasperation and something softer. He placed a blanket over Chance, the fabric whispering against his skin, and handed him a bottle of water. "Drink up, you'll need it." The penthouse was an oasis of calm in the storm of the city, the only sound being the soft pitter-patter of rain on the windows. Chance's laughter faded into snores as Mafioso took a seat in a nearby chair, his eyes never leaving the young gambler's face, a complex web of thoughts spinning in his mind.

"So hiding from you doesn't make these feelings go away..." Mafioso's eyes narrow, his expression tightening with self-directed irritation. "These feelings, they don't mean a damn thing. I'm the one who sends people to meet their ends, not the one who holds their hand when they need it." His voice grows louder, the words echoing in the stillness of the room. "But here I am, playing nursemaid to a fool who thinks the world's a game." He stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I can't care for someone. It's a luxury I can't afford. Not with what I am." He paces the room, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "A murderer, a monster... that's all I've ever been..."

Mafioso stops in front of the window, the rain outside a blurry canvas of regret. Hours later, with Mafioso still struggling to sleep, his ears twitched at the sound of a soft sob. Chance is still on the couch, his body curled into a tight ball, face contorted with pain. He's crying in his sleep, the tears staining the pillow beneath his cheek. Mafioso's heart clenches, an unfamiliar sensation. He's never been good at comforting people—his line of work rarely called for it. Yet, as he watches Chance's trembling form, something stirs within him. He can't stand the sight of someone in pain, especially not someone who has become... significant to him. With a sigh, he crosses the room, his movements surprisingly gentle for a man of his reputation.

"Chance," he whispers, his voice a soothing balm in the stark silence. "It's just a nightmare, you're safe here." He reaches out, his hand hovering over Chance's shoulder before finally making contact, his thumb tracing soothing circles. It's the closest thing to comfort he can offer. "You're okay." Mafioso's eyes are heavy with an emotion he can't quite name, but he pushes it down, focusing on the present. He can't let himself get too attached—it's dangerous for both of them.

As the tension in the room ebbed away, Chance's grip on Mafioso's hand tightened, pulling him closer with a desperation that seemed to come from a place deeper than just friendship. His eyes were wide and pleading, a stark contrast to the usual mischief that danced in their depths. Mafioso felt a strange mix of discomfort and... something else he wasn't sure of. He leaned in, the scent of whiskey on Chance's breath a stark reminder of the situation's unpredictability. Despite the alarm bells ringing in his head, telling him to maintain his distance, Mafioso found himself moving closer, climbing onto the couch.

Chance's arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace, his head buried in Mafioso's chest. The crimelord's heart thudded erratically, and he paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. This wasn't a part of their usual cat-and-mouse game. It was something more intimate, more... vulnerable. But as Chance's body relaxed into his, Mafioso convinced himself that it was just to offer comfort, to ease the fears of a friend caught in a troubled dream. Right? That's all it could be.

"Sorry... about all this..." Chance's voice is hoarse from crying in his sleep, and the warmth of Mafioso's embrace is the only thing grounding him in reality. "Thanks for... this. And last night, I probably got drunk." He sniffles, the scent of alcohol still lingering on his breath. "I don't know why I keep doing that to myself." He looks up, his eyes red and puffy. "I just... I don't want to think about it, you know?" Mafioso's gaze holds a flicker of understanding, something that makes Chance's heart ache even more. "But thanks for being here, even though you probably have more important things to do." He tries to pull away, but Mafioso's arms tighten around him slightly, keeping him close. "You don't have to stay, though," Chance mumbles, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I'm fine now." But the way he says it, the tremor in his voice, tells a different story.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mafioso asks tentatively, his voice low and soothing. His thumb continues to make gentle circles on Chance's shoulder, trying to offer comfort. He pauses for a long moment, searching for the right words. "I'm worried about you, really." Chance's grip tightens briefly before he nods, his eyes still avoiding Mafioso's gaze. "Okay, let's get you to bed," Mafioso says decisively, gently peeling himself from Chance's embrace. "You're safe here." With surprising tenderness, Mafioso helps Chance to his feet, guiding him to the bedroom. He lays him down on the bed, the sheets cool and inviting. "Rest now," he whispers, pulling the covers up to Chance's chin. "We'll deal with whatever it is in the morning." He turns to leave, but Chance's hand snatches at his sleeve, stopping him.

"Don't go…" his voice a tiny whisper. "Please, stay." Mafioso's heart skips a beat, and he nods, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand finding Chance's again, entwining their fingers together.

"I'll be here," Mafioso murmurs, the unspoken promise hanging in the air like a lifeline.

"Can you…” Chance paused. “Never mind..." Mafioso looks at Chance with worry and confusion, silently asking him to continue. "Can you hold me again...?" Chance's voice is barely audible as he puts his head into the blankets. "It's weird, I know, but I felt... safe." Mafioso hesitates for a brief second before slowly lying down next to Chance, wrapping his arms around him again.

"It's alright," Mafioso whispers, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet room. "I'm here." Chance's tense body relaxes into the embrace, his breathing evening out as he clings to Mafioso like a lifeline.

"Thanks," he mumbles, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm sorry for being such a mess." Mafioso's grip tightens, his thumb brushing comforting circles on Chance's back. "Don't be," he replies gruffly. "Everyone deserves to feel safe, especially you." The room is silent except for the steady rhythm of their breathing, the rain outside a gentle lullaby to soothe their troubled minds. In the quiet, something unspoken passes between them, a bond strengthening in the face of shared vulnerability.

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Chance opens his eyes to a room bathed in the soft glow of early morning light. The pounding in his head is a stark reminder of the night before. He's lying in an opulent bed, the sheets a silky cocoon around him, and for a moment, he can't recall where he is. The events of the previous night slowly return to him, and he sits up with a groan. The penthouse is eerily quiet, and Mafioso is nowhere to be seen. Chance pulls himself out of bed, his legs unsteady. He notices his clothes are neatly folded on a chair, and he can't help but smile at the unexpected consideration. The scent of fresh coffee fills the air, and he follows it to the living room, where he finds Mafioso sitting at the table, sipping from a cup.

"You're up," Mafioso says without looking up from his newspaper, his tone a blend of amusement and concern. "Feeling any better?" Chance nods, taking a seat across from him and accepting the offered mug with a grateful sigh.

"Thanks," he says, taking a tentative sip. "I guess I had a bit too much last night." Mafioso's eyes flick to him briefly, his expression unreadable.

"I've got some ibuprofen in the bathroom if you need it," he says, returning his attention to the news. "And maybe some water." The air between them is thick with unspoken words, but for now, they sit in silence.

Hey, Mafioso..." his ears flick towards Chance, the only sign that he's listening. 'His eyes are so cold and distant, like the first time we met,' Chance thinks to himself before continuing his question. "When you said all that stuff last night... did you mean it?" Mafioso's gaze sharpens, and he takes a deep breath before responding.

"I did what I had to." his voice is cold steel, his grip on the newspaper tightening. "You were scared. It's part of the job, Chance." Chance's eyes widen, and he pulls his hand away, feeling a sudden chill. "It's nothing personal," Mafioso adds, his tone devoid of warmth. Chance nods, swallowing hard, trying to push down the hope that had briefly flared within him.

"Okay," he murmurs, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I understand." The silence stretches between them, charged with the weight of unspoken emotions. "But thanks for... last night." Mafioso nods curtly, his gaze never leaving the newspaper.

"It's all in the past," he says, his voice final. "We've both got more important things to deal with today." With that, the conversation seems to be closed. A cold, final, no.

"I'll get going now," Chance says, his voice barely above a whisper as he carefully picks up his hat and straightens his tie, his facade back in place. "Thanks for... everything." Mafioso nods without looking up, his eyes still on the paper.
"You know where to find me," he replies, his tone neutral. With a heavy heart, Chance turns to leave, the weight of the night's revelations pressing down on him.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, his voice echoing in the vast room. "See you around." As he exits the penthouse, Chance can't shake the feeling that something has irrevocably changed between them.

Eventually, Chance made it back to his apartment, his legs feeling like plastic as he stumbled through the door. Spade, his pet bunny, looked up at him with concern, but Chance barely registered his presence. He collapsed onto the floor, the impact jolting through him, and suddenly it all spilled out. The tears started as a trickle, but it wasn't long before he was sobbing uncontrollably. His shoulders shook with the force of his emotions, and the pain in his chest felt like it might crush him. He'd never felt so exposed, so raw. The penthouse's grandeur seemed so far away, and all he wanted was to feel something real again. Spade hopped over, nuzzling his face gently, but even his comfort couldn't break through the storm of thoughts in Chance's head.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Chance choked out through his sobs. "I did it again..." He curls into a ball, his shades slipping off to reveal his red-rimmed eyes. "I let someone in and they use my emotions as a toy for their success." Spade's soft, comforting presence was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality as he allowed himself to fall apart.

Chance retreated into his favorite escape, the world of high-stakes gambling, where the thrill of victory could briefly fill the void inside him. The clatter of chips and the murmur of the crowd were a balm to his bruised soul. His every waking moment was consumed by the rush of adrenaline, the spike of excitement when he won, because it was the only sensation that could pierce the numbness that had taken hold.

Spade watched him with worried eyes, sensing the shift in his human's demeanor. But even his furry embrace couldn't banish the ghosts of the past that haunted Chance's every thought. Mafioso and ITrapped remained ever-present specters, a reminder of the trust he had placed in them and the ways they had both, in their own ways, used him as a pawn in their games. He vowed never to let himself be vulnerable again, to be used by those who didn't truly care for him.

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Almost a month later, Mafioso found himself standing outside Chance's apartment, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The rain had let up, leaving the city streets gleaming like a fresh canvas. He knew he had crossed a line, and he wasn't sure if he could ever find his way back. With a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway. His palms were slick with a mix of rainwater and sweat. The moments stretched out like a tightrope as he waited for the door to open, hoping that Chance would hear him out. He knew that Chance's forgiveness was a gamble, and the odds were not in his favor. But love, or whatever twisted version of it had grown between them, was a risk he was willing to take.

"Coming!" Chance called out, his voice strained and forced. He'd been expecting anyone but Mafioso. When he swung open the door, the sight of the crimelord standing in his doorway sent a bolt of shock through him. His hand shot up to slam the door shut again, but Mafioso was too fast, his grip on Chance's wrist firm but gentle.

"What do you want?" Chance spat, his eyes narrowed into cold slits. The warmth from last night's embrace was a distant memory, replaced by the icy grip of anger and betrayal. "I'm busy," he lied, trying to pull away. Mafioso's eyes searched his, and Chance felt a flicker of fear that he might see straight through the facade. He'd spent weeks crafting this shell, and he wasn't ready to let it crack again.

"Chance, I'm sorry..." Mafioso's voice was a low murmur, filled with a sincerity Chance had never heard before. Chance rolled his eyes, looking anywhere but at Mafioso. 'Another fake apology,' he thought, his chest tightening.

"I didn't come here to play games," Mafioso continued, his grip on Chance's wrist tightening slightly. "I came to tell you the truth." Chance looked back, his heart racing. He wanted so badly to believe him, to trust him again.

"What truth," he choked out, his voice barely staying together. "That you used me?"

The shade Mafioso’s fedora put over his eyes reminded Chance of ITrapped. Wait no. Why was he thinking about this? He thought he left those memories behind.

"Chance... you're crying." The gentle observation from Mafioso was like a knife twisting in Chance's gut. He hadn't realized he was crying, but the wetness on his cheeks was unmistakable.

'You're letting him get to you, again. He's just going to use this against you,' his mind screamed as he felt his knees buckle. He dropped to the floor, his thoughts a whirlwind of pain and anger. 'Get up, get up, get up, get up, GET. UP.' Chance couldn't move, his thoughts growing louder. He heard shades clacking on the floor. He heard someone calling out to him. He was lost in his mind, in his memories of that night with ITrapped.
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ITrapped standing before him, Darkheart in hand, a sadistic smile playing on his lips as he watched Chance's blood dribble onto the floor. The gun felt heavy in Chance's hand as he raised it, his heart racing. The sound of his own blood rushing in his ears was the only thing that seemed real in that moment.

"Do it," ITrapped taunted, his laughter echoing through the room. The gun shook as Chance's hand tightened around the grip. He didn't want to... "You know you won't," the killer goaded, his voice cold. Chance's eyes closed, and he pulled the trigger; the sound deafening. The room went still as ITrapped's head jerked back, a crimson spray painting the wall behind him. Chance's body convulsed with sobs as he took in the sight, his hand trembling.

'You had to do it, You had to do it, You had to do it. YOU HAD TO.'
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"No, no, no, no..." Chance mumbled, snapping back to the present. He struggled to break free of Mafioso's hold. But his body was exhausted, his mind reeling from the tumultuous emotions that surfaced. "You're just going to use me... you're going to try to kill me just like he did..." The words hung in the air, a desperate plea to be heard. Mafioso's eyes searched Chance's face, trying to figure out what and who he was talking about.

"I'm not him," Mafioso said firmly, his grip never wavering. "I'm here, and I'm not letting go." Chance's eyes searched Mafioso's face, desperately seeking the truth.

"Please..." he wasn't sure what he was asking for, but he asked anyway. The weight of his doubt and fear pressed down on him. "I- I don't know if I can do this again." He took a shaky breath, the tremble in his hands mirroring the tremor in his voice. He leaned into the embrace, his body trembling with sobs. "I shouldn't trust you... But I do..." The words tumbled out, a confession torn from the very core of his being. He needed Mafioso, needed the warmth of his arms, needed to believe in something that wasn't just a fleeting gamble. "I just... I want it to be real." his voice was barely audible; the hope in his eyes stark against the backdrop of fear. Mafioso's heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in Chance's gaze, and he swore to himself that he would do anything to be worthy of that trust.

"Chance." Mafioso's tone was solemn as he stroked the tear-stained cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, wiping away the salty tracks. "I'm not him, I never was. The lies… they were only because I was scared." He took a deep, shuddering breath, the words sticking in his throat like shards of glass. "Scared of losing you, scared of what would happen if you got caught in my work, if you…" He trailed off, his gaze lingering on Chance's face, "But I'm here now, and I'm telling you the truth. I want to be here for you, genuinely."

Chance felt the tension slowly melt away from his body as he allowed himself to be cradled by Mafioso's arms, his breathing evening out as the storm of emotions began to subside. The exhaustion of the day, the fear, the doubt, all of it seemed to dissipate as he found comfort in the crimelord's embrace. His eyes grew heavy, and his muscles relaxed into Mafioso, the warmth and safety of the moment lulling him into a much-needed slumber. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Chance allowed himself to let go, to trust someone other than himself. And as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 2

Summary:

Chance and Mafioso cuddle and are cute little guys

Notes:

I wanted to have a scene where Chance also comes to terms with his feelings and figured I owed some fluff because of all the angst I had in the story.

Chance woke up gradually, his eyes fluttering open to find Mafioso still there, his arms securely wrapped around him. The sight brought a genuine smile to his face, one that reached his eyes.

"You stayed..." He murmured, snuggling closer, his voice filled with a warmth that was as surprising to him as it was to Mafioso.

"Of course, I did," Mafioso responded, his own smile soft and gentle. Before Chance could say another word, Mafioso leaned in and placed a kiss on his forehead. "I promised you," he reminded, his voice low and rumbling. Chance's cheeks flushed a deep red.

"You can't just do that!" Chance protested, trying to wriggle away from Mafioso's embrace, his heart racing. However, he found himself immediately missing the contact.

"And why can't I?" Mafioso's tone was playful, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched Chance's reaction.

"It's my job..." Chance mumbled into the pillow, feeling his cheeks heat up even more. He could feel Mafioso's chuckle resonate through the apartment, his fingers gently carding through Chance's hair.

"If you wanted to, I wouldn't stop you," Mafioso replied, his voice a gentle purr.

They stayed like that for a while, the quiet of the room filled only by the sound of their synchronized breathing. Eventually, Mafioso broke the silence.

"What're you thinking about?" Chance shifted slightly, just enough to look at Mafioso. Without his fedora, his eyes and bunny ears were fully exposed. Chance searched his gaze, seeing the concern etched into Mafioso's features.

"What is this? What are we?" Chance asked, looking away again. Mafioso's response was quiet but firm.

"I think we both know. Even if we aren't ready to come to terms with it yet." Chance took a deep, shaky breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

"But what if I want to come to terms with it? What if I want to hear you to say what this is..?" He paused, his voice trailing off. "What we are..." There was a moment of tension, the air thick with unspoken words, until Mafioso leaned in.

"I love you Chance, I have for a while now."

Chance's heart was pounding in his chest. "You... you just... said it outright." Mafioso's arms tightened around him slightly, and Chance felt the warmth of his breath against his neck.

"You asked me not to lie to you,"

"I love you too... Mafi..."

With a tremble in his hand, Chance cupped Mafioso's face, pulling him into a tender kiss that seemed to bridge the gap between their two worlds. They broke apart.

"You said I could if I wanted to," Chance's usual confidence returned, now underlaid with affection. "And I do." He kissed Mafioso again, his heart fluttering with a newfound hope. Maybe, their worlds wouldn't have to be so separate after all.

 

"You hungry?" Mafioso asked, his tone light, trying to diffuse the heavy emotions that lingered in the air.

"Yeah," Chance nodded, his eyes still locked onto Mafioso's. "A little bit." Mafioso pulled away, standing up with a gentle smile. Chance sat upright in bed, watching him, a hint of sadness in his eyes as the moment of had ended. "Where are you going?" Mafioso looked down at him, his ears perking up slightly.

"You said you were hungry, I was going to make you something." Chance nodded be fore he searched the room with his eyes, looking for something familiar. "What're you looking for?" Mafioso inquired, curiosity tinting his voice.

"Spade," Chance replied, as he looked back to Mafioso. "My pet bunny, black ears just like yours."

"You never told me you had a bunny,"

"What you jealous shes my favorite bunny and not you?" Mafioso didn't react except for a slight twitch of his ears, which Chance was finally starting to understand as one of Mafioso's tells.

"I'll tell you if I see her."

"Spade is going to be so mad at me." Chance laughs as he sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "I definitely forgot to feed her, she's gonna kill me when she wakes up." He stands up, stretching out his limbs. "I'd better go apologize before she starts chewing on my favorite shoes again." He walks out of the bedroom to find Spade asleep next to her empty food bowl. "Looks like she's out cold," he calls back to Mafioso.

"How about feeding yourself first?" Mafioso sets down the plates on the kitchen counter, his gaze following Chance.

"Grilled cheese? How cutely domestic of you," Chance says with a smirk as he looks down at the food. "You're really going all out to win me over, aren't you?" Mafioso's ears twitch again, but he maintains his poker face, letting the quiet victory of Chance's smile be his reward. Chance takes a seat at the kitchen counter, watching Mafioso work. He picks up a sandwich and takes a bite, his eyes widening with surprise.

"This is... really good actually." He looks up at Mafioso with genuine amazement. "Where did you learn to cook?"

"Mostly from my mother," Mafioso says, dropping another sandwich onto the plate. "She was keen on teaching me." Chance's smile broadens as he Continues eating. He liked this side of Mafioso he liked that Mafioso felt same enough to share it.

(Time skip)

"Can I touch them?" Chamce asked randomly while Mafioso was watching the news. Chance had his head in Mafioso's lap, letting his mind wander while Mafioso carded through his hair, until an idea came to him. "Your ears," Mafioso looked down at Chance with slight confusion, but there was a gentle curiosity in his gaze. "They look so... soft." Chance touched the bunny ears tentatively, feeling the velvety fur beneath his fingertips.

"Mhm, they are," Mafioso murmured, his voice low and a bit husky. He didn't pull away or react with the usual sharpness that Chance was accustomed to.

"Are you going to fall asleep?" Chance teases, continuing to ghost over Mafioso's ears, enjoying the way Mafioso's eyes fluttered slightly with every touch.

"If you keep touching like that, I might..." Mafioso's voice was meant to be sharp, but it came out quiet, betraying his vulnerability.

"Well, in that case," Chance says with a mischievous grin, his hand still playing with Mafioso's ears. "I'll keep going for a while longer."

Notes:

All the scenes were written a couple days apart so the pacing is kinda weird, sorry about that. Thats also the reason I dont mention Mafioso's ears a lot after the first scene.

I might add another chapter of pure fluff as an apology if this gets traction, and if I remember at all.