Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

        I was always a hard worker. Whether it be overtime shifts or rush hours on Sunday, I could handle it all. Not to brag, or anything, but I’ve been employee of the month three years running. Anyways, it was a slow day today. Mondays usually are. I had a blank expression on my face, laser focused on wiping the counter the I worked at. Some customers leave their greasy prints as they order, and everything must be spotless! I didn’t realize the large shadow looming over me until it grunted.

“You missed a spot.” The voice was oddly calm. Practiced. Reminded me of the sound our delivery bike engines make before they spread our cheesy goodness. I looked up, and up, and up some more until I reached a face. The man staring back at me was dressed in a suit that was way too expensive to be anywhere near the sloppy etiquette of the rest of our patrons. His eyes were not bored, like most other customers, stressed like mine, but instead cold. Calculating.

“…No? The counter is clean, sir, I assure you.” I blurted out, sucking in my breath. “But, uhm, thanks! I’ll double- triple check that for you, right away sir!” I expected a nod, but he didn’t budge. Not an inch.

“I prefer things to be spotless…” He murmured. “They tend to last longer.” I wasn’t sure if he was complimenting me, or threatening me. Or both? We stood locked in eye contact, a showdown. Obviously, he won.

”I’ll take your order now… sir.” My voice trembled as I broke contact, scrambling for my notepad. He didn’t answer. I made my long journey up to his eyes again.

“Two pepperoni pizzas.” He said flatly.

“Yes, of course. Will that be all for today?” I asked, scribbling in his order.

“Five sodas.”

“You got it! Expect the best service at Builder Brother’s Pizza!” I cheered, reciting my favorite company slogan.

He turned back, swift. His coattail swerved behind him as he marched for his table, containing other, surprisingly fresh customers. Who was this guy? He strode along, as if the floor owed him money. He didn’t sit at his table, he claimed it. The other guys seemed to straighten themselves at his presence. I blinked. Quickly reminded of my job, I fumbled around trying to not drop my notepad like an idiot. I slammed the door to the kitchen open, and talked to a trembling cook.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost! What happened?” I interrogated, clueless.

“That was… but he… Mafioso!” He stammered, obviously struggling to get his words out. Then it dawned on me.

I’ve heard stories about him. He collected debt and reigned as the leader of the mafia. If you couldn’t scrape up the money, you’d end up in the ocean by nightfall. Locked in the freezer. Actually just choked to death. I almost died on the spot remembering the way I talked to him. I told him no! But, quickly yes- but also no! He might be ordering hits instead of pizza soon. Right! The order!

The cook had noticed my own realization, and had prepared the order for me to serve already. He handed it to me and patted me on the back roughly, almost making me drop it. “Try not to die out there, you’re the best employee, after all.”

Shuffling towards my fate, I carried the tray through the swinging doors of the kitchen, and moped all the way to his table. A few of the guys looked up, and grinned. They must be taunting me before I die. Mafioso himself noticed my hopeless look, and smirked a sly smirk, showing off his fangs that glinted in the warm light of the restaurant.

“Here’s your order, sir.” I said flatly, sliding the tray onto his table. I half expected the ground to consume me then, other half he would just stand up and topple me over with his pointer finger.

Instead, his smirk softened into a smile, and he reached a gloved hand out to tip me! “For your service.” He said. For my service? I thought he would break my kneecaps!- “for my service”.

He opened up the pizza boxes and served some to his men, while I stood there, stunned. Eventually, I was able to walk away, my jaw dragging along the floor.

I returned to my little cashier post and immediately noticed everything wrong with me. I was breathing louder than the AC unit in summer, hunched like a sad pepperoni someone dropped behind the oven, and redder than the sauce we use for the deep dish. I yanked myself upright, smoothing my apron like it would erase the sheer humiliation of existing.

Not that there were any customers to impress.

Except… him.

Mafioso.

Even just thinking the name made my brain short-circuit like the soda machine on a busy day. I wanted to be perfect for him. Why? I didn’t know. He was terrifying! Yet somehow- elegant? Like if a shark wore Gucci.

But also? I kind of- REALLY- wanted to crawl under the sink and never see him again? What was wrong with me?

And why did he smell like fear and sandalwood? That was weird, right? That was a weird thing to notice. And his shoes were nice. And his gloves were nice. And he was nice too.

In the meantime, I took a few more orders, a weird tightness in my chest stopping me from doing my best. Sure I could still smile, but the stars behind my eyes were dimmed. I occasionally glanced in ‘that’ table’s direction, as most other guests and staff were. I’m sure they could tell, too. It’s not like it was our fault. Who knows, maybe if we look away too long they’ll have a gun to our heads. Better to just be safe.

When Mafioso got up, I sighed a sigh of relief. Phew! They were finished. Oddly enough, the pizzas seemed untouched. What were they doing for so long besides eating? Suddenly, I vacuumed my sigh back up. I’d need the breath for what happened next. Mafioso walked up to the counter.

Adjusting his glove, he spoke in a casually stern voice. “One of the boys had a complaint with the pizza.” His eyes remained blank, expression unreadable.

I tensed, praying he wouldn’t bake me into his pizza for this. “Oh!- I’m so sorry to hear that, please tell me what the issue is and I’ll have it fixed right away! On the house!” I spewed out phrases I heard in training to save my skin. Mafioso, however, seemed to enjoy this?

I looked back at the table his buddies were at, and noticed one of the guys was scraping off the cheese with a plastic fork? I guess when he asked for pepperoni pizza I should’ve known to be more specific.

”So, this time no cheese… right?” I asked, bowing my head down ever so slightly.

He lifted his head to speak. “Yes… that would be correct.” For the first time, his arctic glacier of an expression soften a bit. He gazed at his squad contentedly. I took this moment to examine him. Definitely lives up to all the rumors, that’s for sure. While I was… “analyzing” his face, I noticed a red stain on his collar. Someone like him wouldn’t just let that happen. He probably didn’t even realize it was there!

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but you’ve got something on your shirt.” I trembled. I would either be celebrated or killed for this, there was no in between. I pulled a rag out of my pant pocket.

He checked the truth of my statement, and his golden face flushed to a more warm rose color. Reminded me of the sunset on my favorite beach. “It appears that way.” He grunted, obviously uncomfortable.

“If I may.” I braced, holding the rag up.

Mafioso leaned over the counter, allowing me to delicately wipe and straighten out his collar. His eyes roamed elsewhere as I worked. Once I had finished cleaning him up, he made a short, incoherent mumble. I’m hoping it was in approval?

”Thank you… I’ll have to talk to the boys about that.” He glared over at his table which was growing exponentially more rowdy by the second.

”And, I’ll have those pizzas ready for you before you get there!” I exaggerated, something usually done in my line of work. Hopefully he didn’t take it literally and I wasn’t taken out back for lying.

One quick talk with a very confused chef later, and I was carrying my tray with two pizzas with nothing but sauce, crust, and pepperoni. I’m not one to judge.

“Here you are.” I said, laying the pizzas down and opening the boxes up to reveal to them their unique tastes. “Enjoy!” I beamed, somehow feeling more comfortable around them, even confident!

Mafioso was looking at me, I don’t know why I was paying attention to that of all things, but I was.

Anyways.

The rest of the day was slow as usual. Soon, the guys had cleaned up and headed out. I watched them leave, unable to shake the wistful feeling inside. When I had the time, I went to clean up their table. I noticed there wasn’t much for me to do, as apparently they had gotten their dishes stacked and their trash lined up for me already. I wasn’t going to complain.

My shift was nearing its final hour, and when the bell tolled it promptly ended. Shrugging off my apron, I jogged over to the punch clock to record my hours. I waved goodbye to the rest of the staff, and drove home.

Today was a good day, maybe my best Monday ever.

But… why was something still missing?

Chapter Text

        Sunday. My favorite day, yet also the day that makes me want to quit my job. It’s complicated. What else is complicated are these feelings I refuse to unpack. Why would I need to, anyway? It’s not like I’ll ever see Mafioso again, so why bother. I had enough on my plate already. It felt like almost everyone who could scream, was screaming, and I was stupid enough to slam into my coworker while she was carrying our specialty bottomless deep-dish. Safe to say my three year streak might be broken in seconds.

After a long while of mopping, wiping, apologizing, and struggling, things began to slow down. Of course, that wasn’t saying much since the restaurant was the going the equivalent of a maglev train gone off the rails. Yeah, it was that busy.

Somehow, things seemed to go into slow-motion. Why was it suddenly so quiet? Why were the customers tensing up? Why did that guy pause mid-bite? Then I saw him. He swung open the doors of the restaurant with a practiced confidence, the kind you get when you’re used to having the eyes on you. His crew followed suit, flattening any dramatic air he may have wanted to build with their natural… “charm”.

He strode up to the counter, up to me. What’s different is today he had a wicked grin, and I had a pounding heart. Why was he smiling like that? Was it at me? No- Why would it be? Or maybe it was. Was he excited to see me too? Not that I was excited to see him!- It’s just…

"I... wasn't sure if you'd still be here." He said, in the softest tone I'd ever heard come from him. Not that it was saying much.

It was silent for a beat. Besides the fact my heart was pounding me further into the floor, quiet. Mafioso's gaze flickered. An unfamiliar warmth found its way to my face. These short seconds made me want to duck behind the counter and never see him again.

Mafioso cleared his throat sharply, and stiffened quicker than a gold plated rubber band.

"We’re here for lunch. Same order as last time. And I expect the same level of service." I thought his face was cold before, but by now I was slowly getting frozen into the clumsiest popsicle just from standing in front of him!. I blinked, my pen dropped, my jaw dropped, even I dropped! Metaphorically, of course.

"Yes!- Of course! I'll have that for you immediately!" I blurted, having his order already memorized for reasons I can't comprehend. "Would you also like me to clean your shirt, in case of any stray clumps of pizza sauce?" I joked, already feeling the same confidence as Monday.

I guess he couldn't tell I was being sarcastic, because he started to blush slightly. "I won't let that happen again... apologies." He muttered.

Whoops.

He quickly fled the scene of his order, and sat at his table, any aura he may have had before, gone.

This made me feel worse than it should have. Sure, it always hurt to see a customer having a bad day at Builder Brother's Pizza, but with him it was different. Aside, even, from his dark background.

I took a few seconds to calm down, and put my best smile on, and serve! Avoiding having my eyes meet his table like the plague, the rest of the day was usual to say the least. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me, though. More than just a patron.

As I was heading back to the counter, one of my coworkers was carrying two boxes of pizza. Okay, normal. The pizzas had no cheese.

She was headed straight to his table. And that's fine! It's really okay, a relief even. I don't have to serve every customer!... But this was killing me.

I kept a close eye on them, despite my promise to wrap myself up in a cocoon if I ever make eye contact with him again. She did okay. Gave them their pizza and drinks, smiled. Not as wide as mine. She left with a tip.

I forgot what I was doing, and maybe I shoved a pizza in someone's face, who knows. That wasn't important, but what was is how I would be the one serving him instead. For... a bigger paycheck. Even though I'm paid by the hour. I quickly noticed one of his little goons was upset with something. Thankfully I'm good with kids, kids being grown adults. I rushed over to help.

"Hey!" I panted. "I just noticed you looked dissatisfied. Is there any way I could help?" I spoke to the table, looking at Mafioso.

One of the guys, the one with fancy headphones, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, pouting. My boss taught me this lesson a while ago, it's either we give them free stuff, or they never come back again. I prefer giving them free stuff.

"How do we feel about a free brownie? I can add sprinkles or whatever you like!" The man sat up a little, but still seemed disgruntled.

"Give me a corner piece..." He started, I could tell he was warming up. "If it's not, I can tell." He glared at me like I had just eaten every corner piece in existence. "Oh!- And add a little smiley face on top, in powdered sugar. But don't make it too happy." He added, smiling himself.

"Of course! Would anyone else like a brownie? Or something different?" I asked, shifting slightly in Mafioso's direction. It was unintentional.

Suddenly, a cacophony of only four voices was yelling out a grocery list from space. I could handle this, the customer was always right! Copying down their order, I took it to the chefs who were already tired from their long day. Good thing they owe me some favors.

Once I had finished personally apologizing to each cook for ruining their day with my absurd requests, I was able to bring out their newly improved order, free of charge. Not that any "charge" could put a dent in the mafia's salary, but still. It's the thought that counts.

I set down the food on their table, and their bored expressions lit up. Did they eat like this all the time? Huh. Even though Mafioso didn't order anything himself, he did have a sort of... amused smirk on his lips.

"What do you say, fellas?" He said, in a flow that makes me think it's not the first time he had to remind them.

"Thank you, Elliot." They mumbled, not looking up and probably chewing. But the nice thing is they knew my name. They don't necessarily seem the type to care about formalities like: washing hands, being polite, or even just using names. Not saying all of them do, Mafioso is quite good at that type of thing. Leads me to believe he made sure they knew my name. Or they just took a glance at the name tag on my uniform, hah...

I stood there, waiting for something to happen, I guess. But they just kept on eating like I wasn't there, and it was too risky to steal a glance at Mafioso right now. It was too lonely with nobody saying anything, so I turned to leave.

A leather hand gripped mine. Hard enough to yank me back, but not in a way that it hurt. "Hey."

I whipped around doing 360's in my mind. It was him, he was holding my hand! Not in *that* way... but maybe it was in *that* way?

"Haha! Wow! That's a good grip you've got there! Definitely a hand!... Um, can I get you anything? Do you need... something, anything, ELSE?" My cheeks got hotter each word I said and it didn't help I was an ornate fountain except the water was a slurry of incoherent babbling.

"I- No..." He started, his breath catching. "You just... they don't listen to anyone. Besides me. And you." He admitted, that same beautiful sunset of a face starting to deepen. If this is how I die, hand held by a wanted criminal in front of a table full of mobsters while standing next to a brownie with a powdered sugar frown, so be it. He was pretty.

Quickly as it came, his hand slipped out of mine with an intensity that might've left a mark. He started fumbling around, playing with a napkin tucked inside his pocket.

"Whatever... just thought you should know." He spoke faster than the disclaimers in medicine commercials, covering it up with a cough. It was silent, but only for a few seconds. The usual bustle of a Sunday taking no time to swoon over surprisingly cute mobsters.

"You do okay. I... think I'll bring the boys out here more often." He squared his shoulders like he hadn’t just gone soft for a second, like he wasn’t still a little pink in the ears. Then he turned on his heel and returned to his table—just in time to stop one of his guys from jousting with a breadstick.

I drifted back to my station like I was walking on clouds and expensive cologne fumes, stars in my eyes and the kind of stomachache that wasn’t from the pizza.

Maybe I could get to know him better. You know. Off the clock.

Yeah. I could come back for seconds.

Chapter Text

        A blur of lights and sounds illuminated the city skyline. The world was so busy up here, where you could see everything all at once. A thin ray of light cast on my face, one that I was familiar with. My phone screen. I had a file pulled out, another nobody "forgot" to pay-up. I was supposed to be tracking them, but for some reason I had the service hours for Builder Brother's Pizza typed in the search bar. Worst pizza I ever had. Service was okay, though. There was a cute cashier-

"Tch..." I muttered. I had to stop thinking of him. Him and his face. Why did he smile so much? Why was it a problem for me? Why did I hold his hand like it was the most fragile set of house keys? And there I go again. I needed to distract myself. I got up off the couch overlooking the city, and started for the kitchen. It was never stocked up with anything besides the scotch only I drank. The boys made sure of that.

Pouring myself a glass, I noticed something wedged in my suit pocket. It was a napkin. The very same napkin I used to distract myself from-

No.

I sighed a hard sigh. Taking a sip and letting the smoky flavor envelop my senses. Better than the weird knots and sick feeling I was having. Slouching back into the couch, I barely held my glass up. It was lonely up here, even with the fellas being as loud as they were.

I pick up my phone again and open up the tabs, seeing nothing but images of sloppily made pizza and... Elliot.

I slam it back down into the cushions in disgust, accidentally spilling my drink all over my calloused hand. I'm suddenly reminded of his fingers. The way I could feel the warmth of his palms through my black leather gloves. The fact that-

"Boss?"

A small, croaking voice snapped me out of whatever trance I was in.

"We were watchin' you n' we thought you was havin' some troubles." Soldier informed me. Wishing I knew of their presence, but unable to change the past, I was about to speak.

"Are you thinking about that pizza place again? The food wasn't even that good there." Caporegime interrogated, his tone much too stern to be talking to me with.

"I'm NOT thinking about the pizza place!" I fumed. I was sure smoke was coming out of my ears. "I'm thinking about the-" My breath caught before I could say something I'd regret. "Thinking about tomorrow..." I muttered.

Contractee eyed me suspiciously, but didn't say anything. As usual. I could always trust him to lock his lips when things got sticky. Can't quite say the same for the other three.

"Oh! What's going on tomorrow, do we get to go on another ocean fishing trip with the scared people? What's confusing is why they always go scuba diving before we head back. And why there aren't any fishing poles. And-" Soldier was muffled by an anxious Consigliere.

I rubbed my temple in annoyance. I loved the guys, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought about throwing them out through the penthouse window.

"Guys, let's just give Mafioso some space right now." Caporegime started. I perked up because it was unusual for him to suggest doing anybody a favor. He usually asked if we could crush them into the dirt. "He needs time to think about his new boyfriend..."

Time slowed down to a snails pace. I could get up off this couch and strangle him before anyone could even blink. He had on a satisfied smirk and was elbowing the rest of the guys who had sweat beading up on their foreheads. They were safe, for now. Caporegime wouldn't be joining us next time we go out, for medical reasons.

After I had dealt with him, I turned to the rest of the goons who looked like sad orphan puppies who got kicked a little too much out on the street. They weren't going to try anything funny.

The rest of the night, I was pacing, meditating, punching! The wall, of course. Well, right now I was. The tiles on the floor reminded me of his neatly arranged teeth. The soothing music in meditation brought me back to his calming voice. Even the cracks in the wall resembled his messy apron after a long day's work.

I collapsed onto the couch, throwing a cushion at the ceiling. Police lights lit up the sky outside. A faint siren could be heard. My boys joined me on the couch.

"Whaddya figure's wrong with him?" Soldier wondered aloud. I guess he thought he was whispering quiet enough for me not to hear.

"He's got the love sickness. I seen it on TV. Makes ya sigh real hard and don't punch nobody. Well, I guess not Cappy." Contractee noted.

I was sick of it. I didn't like him! I was too dark for that. Too mature for a... "crush". But...

"Anybody else craving some pizza?"

Chapter Text

        The door to my “house” creaked open with its usual dying cat sound. But I could barely notice it over the ruckus inside my head. In one swift motion, I kicked off both my work shoes karate-style. I should probably stop doing that, one day I’ll make the roof crumble in. Anyways, I locked the door with the same honor a samurai would have sheathing his sword after war.

The pizza place was ROUGH. Like, more chaotic than usual. Drinks spilling, orders- among other things- being yelled, and for some reason a weird kid who had stolen parts to the ice cream machine while we weren’t looking. It escalated. So yeah, there was that, and also-

Him.

I slumped into my faux-leather futon that I used in place of a couch. I stared up at the ceiling. There was a familiar water stain I’d gotten a couple years back. It sort of looked like a rabbit wearing a sleek fedora. I had named it Kyle. Despite his cute formality, he wasn’t very comforting tonight.

The radiator that rested under the only window was doing its weird clattery noises again, but it was easily drowned out.

I was too busy thinking about that one moment in my day.

The hand-holding.

Not even the awkward interactions before it!- Just that brief, weird, inexplicable grip. Like he held onto me, because he didn’t want to let go.

Gosh, I was lonely! How creepy do you have to be to think stuff like that? I’d better stop before…

I groaned and threw a pillow over my face. “He was JUST a customer…” I moaned, smothering myself in cheap fabric. “A dramatic, well-dressed, felon customer who I’d probably never see again.” Except I would. He told me so.

“You do okay.” He said. To me. I pressed the pillow deeper into my face until it was a struggle to breathe, and I was worried I’d end up dead and on the news the next morning: Local Pizza Clerk Dies Dreaming About Hot Mob Boss. I can already see it. My mom would still be proud. This made me giggle and kick my feet up like a flustered schoolgirl. “Nooo!~” I whispered hoarsely. “Get OUT of my HEAD, sir!” I wasn’t being cute, this was just unhinged. I’ll admit it.

A buzz on my phone interrupted me while I was doing… whatever it was I was doing. It was my manager. He texted some nothing about the ice cream machine. I guess we never got all our parts back. Ugh… And he would probably make me fix it too, since “What can’t you do?”.

I tossed my brick of a phone onto the couch, and in three steps flat traveled across my house into the kitchenette. The mirror above the sink caught my eye as it glinted in the dim moonlight. Who nelly. My apron was still firm along my waist, some stray ketchup still smeared on my chest, and something yellow… hopefully mustard to match.

Another thing I noticed was my messy hair, cascading down my head in unkept wisps. Eyes puffier than the light-as-air crust we just put out on sale a week ago. And… I was smiling? Why was I smiling?- I had no reason to. I never was grinning like this when I got home.

I squinted at myself. “…No. We are NOT doing this. You will not have a crush on that man, okay? Capiche?” It really does get lonely cooped up by myself in this dingy old flat. Talking to myself always helps, no matter how heavy the subject may be… “He is literally a CRIMINAL! There’s no way this could turn out well.” I scolded myself.

My heart did a cartwheel on the walls anyway.

I sighed and fell backwards onto my bed. Which was unfortunately also the couch. The silence of my life settled in.

The hustle of the neighborhood halted. My stupid grin plastered on my face.

In this moment, I let myself admit the tiniest smidge of a thing.

I wanted to see him again.

Chapter Text

        The dingy lighting and the occasional fly buzzing past my face was bad. What was worse was the fact that my crew had abandoned me here to find some bills to toss in with the load. Not exactly what I meant when I mentioned money laundering. I don't even know why I insisted on tagging along! This is beneath me. This... place. People like me shouldn't be here. The rest of the people at the laundromat must've thought so too. They eyes me as if I was some sort of exotic mosquito who would slip away and give them 40 different diseases if they looked away. It's not my fault our regular dry cleaner got too lippy with me last time, and got permanently shut down. Reasons unknown.

I took out the clothes the men had folded as punishment for laughing along with Capo's little wisecrack. Elliot wasn't my "boyfriend". He didn't even know my name. I shoved a chunk of clothes inside the machine as if it were a gag. That didn't stop my subconscious from running its mouth halfway across town. I snarled back at anyone who looked at me funny, and that's when I saw it. Undeniably red. Undeniably him.

I ducked behind the washing machine door, the big glass bubble window taking no part in helping conceal me. He looked different. This wasn't the same Elliot I'd seen earlier today. The one who helped me with my goons when they got too rough. He was out. Tired. Exhausted. I hope he is taking care of himself. I snapped back to what I was doing and realized I had gotten some detergent on my tie. Ugh.

I heard some frustrated groans and the hollow bang of metal in the otherwise silent building. Some rude old lady sort of sneered at me as I spied on him again. What does she know. Elliot was having some trouble. It appeared his machine ate his quarters and his clothes, refusing to spit anything back out. Of course he was in trouble. But... why did I want to help?I should be laughing in his face right now.

"If you've got any sense you won't let him go."

I jumped, and it takes a lot to scare me. Was someone talking to me? Or was that just another thought to toss in the jar of "Let's not think about it". The old woman and her soft-ish sweet-ish smile were locked onto me. She clutched a floral coin purse alongside a pocketbook.

"What?" I said, but she only laughed from atop her wooden stool throne. She wasn't phased by my naturally and unintentionally terrifying looks, I suppose. Could say the same for another person in the room.

"I've seen men like you before. You're all the same." She laughed, and got to wrangling her own laundry.

I gazed over in his direction once more. He seemed to be trying to charm the machine into submission. I sighed, and got up to go help. Immediately, I was hit with a wave of sickness. The kind that made you freeze on the spot, but also run and spin around in a panicked frenzy.

I bravely fought my instincts all the way over to him, and scared him when I knelt closer than I should have. My arm brushing against his shoulder. I hated the way it made me feel. More alive than ever. Surprisingly, a smile flooded its way onto Elliot's face. Like a downpour of genuine glee had just drowned him. Or- what I hope is genuine glee.

"Oh!- You're the... guy who ordered cheese-less pizza, right?" He started, and I noticed he had shifted away slightly. Damn it. It also didn't help that he only remembered me as the guy with the weird order.

"That would be correct..." I muttered, straightening my coat. "It appears you need assistance." I quickly changed the subject, jumping at the chance to get the spotlight off me. I felt more comfortable in the dark, anyway.

I noticed Elliot staring at my chest, and I felt a rush comparable to one you get after making someone beg for mercy under your heel.

Invigorating.

I cleared my throat sharply, and spoke again. "If I may." I gestured toward his wild bull of a washer.

Elliot slid aside, smiling all dopey. I don't know why, but I puffed up a bit, then promptly deflated when I realized I had no idea what I was doing. I had never even seen one of these, how would I fix one! I tried to remain calm, poker faced, and started slamming my fingers into random buttons hoping one would do something. This was a mistake. I should have stayed home. Maybe get my sixth new identity while I was at it.

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead reached for the coin slot. What was he trying to do? Reach his soft, delicate hands that smelled faintly of lavender in there to get his money back? Idiot.

"Guess neither of us know what to do, huh?" He awkwardly chuckled, and I hated the way it sounded. All sincere and cute-like.

I remained stone faced. I didn't know what to do besides hide myself behind my fedora.

"Well, it was nice of you to try and help. I thought that was really kind of you. But there isn't enough rainbows in the world to get a stubborn laundry machine to work..." He complimented me. He said something nice. About me! I didn't even have to dunk his head in the mud for him to crack a smile like the rest of them. Why would he say that? He doesn't know me. I'm not... sweet. He should hate me!

Someone walked by and stepped on my coattail, snapping me back into reality. I'd been sitting here doe-eyed staring at some pizza boy. I couldn't watch as the light in his eyes turned me into someone... soft.

"I'm not who you think I am." I mumble, gripping the brim of my fedora and pulling it over my eyes.

I leave, forgetting my abandoned laundry pile at the machine. The boys were waving at me outside, a few crumpled 20's in their hands.

"Let's go." I grumbled, in the way that they knew better than to ask me any questions right now. We filed into the limo, their friendly banter easily drowned out by something else.

A receipt tucked in my coat pocket. It had a smiley face scribbled on it, courtesy of Elliot. Who even does that? I didn't mean to take it. Well- I did. But I didn't mean to keep it. I started at it like it was a photo taken at a crime scene I had caused. I should've walked out the moment I saw him. But I didn't. So what does that make me?

I wasn't supposed to feel this way. About him.

So why does it feel the city's gone quieter all of a sudden?

Chapter Text

       After that interesting encounter with Mafioso a few days back, I somehow ended up with his laundry receipt. And the thing smelled just like him. I'm starting to suspect he sprayed cologne on it on purpose—some mysterious scent laced with dried blood, charred wood, and something criminally expensive. Still not sure how he pulled that off with paper, but I'm also not sure he’s entirely human. Anyway. I squealed after he drove away. Audibly. Right there in the laundromat, like a girl in a cheesy soap opera watching her rival get hit by a bus. I didn’t even care who saw. Everyone stared like I’d lost my mind, which—fair. But this grandma smiled at me like she had just pulled a fresh tray of cookies out of the oven and saved the biggest one for me. So. Mixed reviews.

At first, I left the little slip of paper lazily hanging off my dresser, flapping in the breeze like a dramatic scarf. It nearly fell into the trash a couple times, but I always rescued it. Eventually, I decided there was no way I could throw it out. So I tucked it under my pillow. You know—for safekeeping. Like a normal person. Still not a crush on him, by the way. Just… deeply unhinged sentimentality. Then I started bringing it to work. In my back pocket. Because I’m a waiter, and receipts in pockets are standard uniform, right? Totally reasonable.

That was, until today, when my manager handed me a delivery order the size of a small asteroid. I didn’t mind. Zooming around on the little delivery bike was fun. Today, though? My destination was the fanciest complex in the city. Like, diamond-crusted lobby, golden elevator buttons, doormen who judge your shoes in French. The kind of place where even the pigeons wear suits. Ugh. Whatever. At least they usually tip well. But I do feel a bit out of place going to places like that.

I was cruising along, humming in tune with the engine, when I arrived and started hauling the delivery up to the front desk. That’s when I heard them.

Laughter. Heavy boots. The kind of presence that bends the air like gravity.

I froze. My song died in my throat. Every hair on my body went ding! Pin straight. Because I just knew. I knew that voice, that sound. I do this dramatic gasp every time I see him, but it’s earned. He makes the whole world go grayscale except for him. Mafioso. Stepping into the lobby like he owned it. He actually might. Behind him, his usual four. Meh. But he? He looked like a dagger carved from obsidian and wrapped in velvet. More beautiful than any flower. More dangerous than any venom. And I had a little piece of him folded in my pocket.

I tried to blend into the marble tiles like a nervous decorative houseplant, praying he wouldn’t see me. But of course, one of the goons—a guy with sunglasses and a freshly shaved head—spotted me. And like a gremlin with a death wish, he immediately started tapping, slapping, poking at Mafioso, trying to get his attention like, “Hey boss! Pizza boy’s here!”Great. Just great.

Mafioso turned to snap—mid-scolding, eyes already narrowed—but then he stopped. He saw me. And in that one split-second, the whole room fell silent. Like a switch got flipped.

It felt familiar.

The one in sunglasses started laughing like a maniac. The others joined in, cracking up like I was the punchline to an inside joke. Were they about to kill me? Was I part of the “business” today? What was happening??

But then Mafioso said something sharp—quiet but lethal—and just like that, the four of them were shuffled out of the building like misbehaving toddlers. He stayed. Alone. For a “smoke break.”

Who even smokes indoors anymore? And why did it suddenly look so cool when he did it? Not that I’m endorsing it! Or... whatever! But like. The way he leaned against the marble wall, lighting up like he was posing for a noir film? Kinda hot. Unreasonably hot. I hated that I thought it was hot.

Was he doing this on purpose? Like, showing off...? For me? No. He was probably just fed up with his handful of outruly goons. Yeah. Even though there was a very clear no-smoking sign right in his view. He blew a singular puff of thick smoke, and gazed off into the distance... into a wall. Maybe he was showing off.

But maybe that wasn't the worst thing? I guess he wanted to talk- I did too. It's not like I would be buzzed in for delivery any time soon. Anyone who lived in this place always took upwards of 10 minutes just to answer the door. No way they were that busy. I made a move towards Mafioso's direction, but I halted when I saw his regular four smearing their snotty faces against the window closest to us. A bush shook its fists behind them.

This was enough for the front-desk guy to audibly moan. First, the obvious rule-breaker smoking inside. Not like he could do anything about it, though. What was he gonna do? Tell him no? Then there was me. Me and my sweaty face, combined with the dirty uniform, I couldn't be any more out of place. Lastly, the actual adult men probably three years older than me, fogging up the glass. Not his best day, I'll tell you.

Nonetheless, I stayed true to my post, not stopping until I got this order done or Mafioso comes and swoops me into his protective arms. Ahem. Either is fine. He should probably make the first move. Not like dating-wise! But... just to break this awful silence that ate me like a midday snack. We would probably talk about each other, that's all we know we have in common right now.

I would mention the stain on his tie and laugh about how he always seems to be getting dirty, and I would need to clean him up. He would probably clear his throat harder than a centenarian in an antique bookstore who inhaled too much dust off a certain book. Then his face would flush a brilliant tropical color, and I had to stop daydreaming before the warmth in my own cheeks melted the gooey cheese of the pizzas in my hands right now.

It had been a while now. Probably one of the shorter wait times, but it felt like eternity. If something was gonna happen, this was it. It was now or never.

Still, what was I supposed to say? "Nice brooding"? "Cool cigarette"? "I stole your receipt and it's in my pocket right now?" Yeah, that would go well. Fantastic.

But I didn't care. Okay, I did, but not enough to stop myself from trying.

I scooched a little closer, drawn into his gravity well of tobacco and tragic charisma. (?) “Heyyyy… uh. Fancy seeing you here? In your... own building?” Kill me.

Mafioso turned his head, slow and deliberate, like he’d just noticed me for the first time. His eyes, sharp enough to cut glass, flicked down to the pizza bag like it had personally offended him, then back up to me.

“Builder Brother’s Pizza,” he said, like he was announcing it at a funeral. “You’re quite the delivery boy, aren’t you?”

He took another drag of his cigarette and exhaled a perfect ring of smoke like he practiced it in the mirror. His voice dropped low. “This place does attract interesting clientele. Shame this order wasn’t for me…”

I blinked. Was that supposed to be flirty? Intimidating? Some combination of the two?

He stepped forward ever so slightly, cigarette dangling between his fingers now. “If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve ordered something. Something… personal.”

My brain short-circuited.

"Y-you mean like… another frownie?” I babbled. For those who don't know, a frownie is a corner-piece brownie with a frown drawn in powdered sugar. I made it up when I was "recalling" that day with him in the pizzeria.

There was a pause. A silence so awkward that the potted plant to my left began wilting.

Mafioso coughed once. Cleared his throat. Looked away like someone had just lightly slapped him with a soft palm.

“…Sure.”

I wanted to crawl into a floor tile. He definitely hadn’t rehearsed for that response. He definitely didn't rehearse at all!-

Uhm.

And I definitely needed to get this delivery over with before I asked him to define what “something personal” meant and fainted in the hallway. Or maybe I did want to know. I have a good intuition.

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, stomping on it with his midnight boots.

"Frownies..." He finally spoke, leaning against the wall. His fedora obscured whatever emotions he was feeling behind a thick shade. His voice was low and deliberate. As if he was speaking in some sort of code. Obviously, I couldn't intercept.

"Mhm... yeah. That's an experience. One that's hard to forget..." His words lingered in the air, like the smoke that was somehow still fuming from the crushed cigar beneath him. "Like certain delivery boys."

I completely shut down. If I was a computer there would be millions of error or whatever virus messages blaring across my screen. What!?- Did he just? Was that? Maybe. No???

His smirk told me he meant everything he said. 

Chapter Text

        It was just a smirk. Just a perfectly measured, camera-ready curve of the lips. So why was he grinning like an idiot? Did he think I was being stupid and was smiling to save his skin? It’s not like I would hurt him! Even though I should. If it wasn’t for his dumb, glittering eyes that glowed when he beamed. Which was always.

Elliot adjusted the strap of his bag a little further up his shoulder. Was it away from me? Did I go too far? Is this his way of telling me I should leave him alone and never talk again? Or was he flexing? Maybe he wanted us to kiss. No.

He maintained his eye contact, and I could feel my ears getting hot. I wasn’t supposed to be the one getting flustered! Tough guys don’t. At this point in the script he would be melting into the floor while I bottled him up and carried him away. Why was it that I started to feel my shoulders droop? I adjusted my hat in a way that I hoped made me look unbothered more than constipated.

“Ahem.” I grunted. Clearing my throat as I usually did any time I needed a distraction. I stroked my stubble, and prayed to cupid he saw it as mysterious and not like I had fleas. “I’m not supposed to feel anything.” I let my words mingle with my cologne in the air. I put on an extra spritz before I walked out today. “Yet here you are.”

I braced quietly for his reaction. His smile faded, and he kind of stepped back? I opened up too much. I shouldn’t have opened up at all. Maybe he only finds when I’m smoking attractive. Or he doesn’t find me attractive and I’m harassing a stranger. It’s fine, it’s fun anyways.

I mentally prepared myself to say something again. “You flinch every time I speak. Should I start whispering instead?” I wanted to yell. Punch someone. It was like talking to a wall! I should’ve practiced more on my body language in the mirror, my entire body suddenly felt out of place and useless. Elliot might feel the same way. It would make me feel the slightest bit better if he did. I wanted more than anything to leave. But also with him.

I put on my deepest and calmest voice, leaning in the slightest bit. “I should probably get going… the boys need me.” I waited for him to say no, or yes? Or kiss me. But he just did a squeak. As if he had transformed into a mouse and was signaling to his friends that he was getting verbally abused by the mafia. I was going to say one last thing before I called it quits and made up a new identity to flee to Australia with. Out of embarrassment shared with only one clumsy pizza boy.

“You know, I could stay a bit longer…” My speech stretched on. In my head I was the hot guy in the underwear commercials. But that little voice in the back of my head, nagging me. It told me how I sounded like a cat that just got thrown into a pool but was also going through puberty? I shoved the thoughts away and focused on him. He was still flinched like I had a gun to his forehead and was about to pull the trigger.

“Maybe I’d even behave, if you asked nice enough.” I was about to take out my imaginary grappling hook and use the rope to sedate myself. Elliot blinked once, twice. He seemed to be processing something. He smiled at the floor and blurted;

“…If you start behaving now, I might forget how much I liked you bad.”

Spinning. I shut down, rebooted, then shut down again when I remembered where I was. My entire body did flips around the room, in the air, outside and around the world. I stared, gawked. When my mouth finally remembered it had a job to do besides look stupid, I muttered the worst sentence ever through a shaky breath.

”Fuck… Marry me?” I visibly recoiled. What the hell did I just say!? I was actually punching myself in the throat, punishing my vocal cords for screwing me over like that. But Elliot didn’t notice because I guess he had just realized what he said, and was praying that Satan wouldn’t just open up the crimson gates to him right now. It physically hurt how much control that same funny little man had over me. I was supposed to be the dominant… one. I was!- Am!

Eventually, we managed to make eye contact and silently agreed to block this out of both our memories forever. Someone would say: ‘What went on over there with you two?’ And my mind would go to static. And I would knock their teeth out.

”So- Pizza, huh?” Elliot mumbled. I wanted to ask for his number just to see him all flustered like that again. It was such a rush. It made me feel like the king of the world to have him so sick. That was bad, wasn’t it?

I thought I should say something romantic, or unhinged through Elliot’s eyes. But when I remembered where that got me last time I shivered.

“Yup… It’s good.” I returned. We both nodded our heads slowly in sync. Some sort of forbidden agreement.

A beat of silence. This one was different from the rest. It wasn’t so much in regret, but anticipation. I sucked up all the air in the room to barely bring myself the courage to ask the question that could very well change my life.

”So-“

A very loud ‘BZZZRT-‘ and the sound of an intercom shut me down instantly.

“Delivery from a… Builder Brother’s…? Mr. Rieper is ready to collect.” I whipped my head around faster than I should have, and saw a smug-looking front desk worker. Was he listening in on our conversation? Was he waiting for this? In all my years in this line of work, I’ve never wanted to kill someone so badly. I hoped the glare I gave him was enough to make him collapse.

Elliot ran off towards the elevator, and I outstretched a hand. I let it linger, all dramatic like in the movies. When Elliot turned back I had to retract it almost immediately and pretend to be looking elsewhere.

Watching the doors of the elevator close, I stood frozen to my spot. I waited for what felt like a lifetime, but I knew if I was still there when he came down things wouldn’t exactly be the best for either of us. Turning to leave, I heard a snicker from on the intercom. I was about to go over and strangle him right there, but something stopped me.

I wasn’t turning soft, was I?

Chapter Text

‘Click, click, click.’
The sound of pacing on perfectly waxed floors filled the air—anxious rhythm overlaid by the gentle tapping of rain on the windows. Every so often, a brief flash of lightning lit up the room, revealing my disheveled state. A rumble followed, loud enough to topple me over. If I wasn’t so focused.

My phone was in my hand, screen still open to that restaurant’s website. An alarmingly frequent sight these days. I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before—or maybe I had, just hadn’t been desperate enough to follow through.
The order was small. Pitiful, really. But let’s be honest—I wasn’t hungry for food. I was starving for something else.

Another crack of thunder flickered through the window, spotlighting me like a bad actor in some noir movie. Only I wasn’t a detective—I was the crime.
The crime? Obsession. With a pizza guy.
And I’d been staring at that cheerful little pizzeria logo for twenty minutes like it was the Mona Lisa. It was... inviting. Mockingly so.

“This is insane…” I muttered, jaw clenching. “I’m not some schoolboy with a secret crush. I’m a mob boss with millions in blood money.”
But the ache in my chest only squeezed tighter. My thumb hovered over the “confirm” button, trembling. I hesitated. Again.
That was the sixth time this minute.

“You’re not ordering pizza. You’re hunting him down.”

That voice wasn’t mine. Not really. Just the squatter in my head—familiar, nagging, and never shut up.
“You saw him four hours ago. Four. You know his schedule. This isn’t a coincidence, it’s stalking.”

I dragged a hand down my face, fingers digging into my stubble like I could scrape the need out of me.
This wasn’t like me. I didn’t pursue—I conquered. I wasn’t some puppy waiting for a treat and a pat on the head.

And yet…

His startled laugh echoed in my mind. The way his eyes flicked down to his shoes when he smiled too hard. That little thing he did with his hands when he got nervous. Or maybe he always did that—because that’s all I ever saw him do.

A groan rumbled deep from my chest. I was already resigned to going to hell.

I never knew what to do anymore. I’d been my usual, brooding self… until that scatterbrained waiter in a nowhere pizza shop waltzed in and cracked open my entire psyche like an egg.
Now? Now I second-guessed everything.
The voice in the back of my mind? I’d started listening to it.
I could barely keep it together whenever I saw him—and the urges were getting harder to control.

The boys weren’t exactly subtle, either. Constantly reminding me every time I sighed too hard, or stared up at the clouds like I’d see his face in them. Even the tiniest smile? Called out.
But I wasn’t obsessed. I wasn’t desperate. I was discerning.

Eventually I broke my endless pacing and made my way to Consigliere’s bedroom to blow off some steam.
It wasn’t hard to find them—with all the noise inside, you'd think they'd rigged the room with explosives.

“Uno!! I win, sorry!” Soldier crowed, proudly displaying a fan of seventeen cards like they were a royal flush.

Consigliere opened his mouth, then closed it again. Best to let Soldier believe.

“Dang it! Soldier always wins…” Contractee flopped his remaining cards dramatically onto the pile, arms crossed, pout engaged.

I hovered in the doorway like a stray cat in the rain, waiting for a gap in the chaos.
These dolts weren’t exactly a fountain of wisdom, but right now they were all I had.
My only... therapists. God help me.

“...Hey.” I said, and the room fell quiet. “You guys want any special toppings on the pizza tonight?”

The moment the words left my mouth, I braced for impact.

“Oh, we’re having pizza again?” Caporegime groaned. “It’s like the fifth time this week! And it’s Thursday.”

I grumbled. Okay, technically he wasn’t wrong. Maybe we could try good Italian someday.
Just… not tonight.

“Yes. Again,” I muttered. “It’s… cheap.”
The world’s lamest excuse. I winced.
I finally walked in and sat stiffly at the edge of the bed, while they were all huddled in a chaotic knot at the foot of it.

“And this has nothing to do with that little crush of yours, right?” Capo raised a suspicious brow.

I could’ve told him off. Again. For the millionth time. But they already knew. Everyone did.

The other boys usually stayed silent when Capo roasted me about Elliot. Even when we weren’t seeing him, somehow it always came up.
Honestly? I felt a little sad they didn’t join in the teasing too. Was I being too harsh? Or not harsh enough?

That’s how it used to be before pizza entered our lives like a grease-stained Cupid.
And it still is… right?

“I’m gonna order it now,” I announced like I was defusing a bomb.
I forced my finger down on the button and held my breath—like the penthouse had flooded and we were all suddenly fish.

“So, this’ll be your… third date?” Soldier asked, eyes wide and innocent.

That caught me off guard. I stared daggers at him—but softened instantly when I met his stupidly sweet gaze.
None of us could stay mad at Soldier.
Actually, none of us could stay mad at anyone here.
Well… except me, maybe. I should be more forgiving.

“So... you guys having fun?” I asked, motioning toward their cards.
Every day, I felt more like the tired dad in a sitcom no one asked for. Like they had their own group, and I was just a guest appearance that interrupted for plot.

Not that it mattered. I was better off alone.

“Mhm!” “Yeah!” came a chorus of casual replies.
And then Soldier launched into an enthusiastic play-by-play of his Uno strategy like he was giving a TED Talk.

It was stupid. But they all seemed so close.
I was with them all the time... but somehow never really with them.

I need to stop being so distant.
I need to start living.
...Oh god.

He has me sounding like one of those inspirational quote books your mom buys for Christmas and forgets in a drawer.

I stood with a grunt, like I had to prove I was still edgy.
Marched out of the room. Sat alone in mine. Brooding. Festering.

It wasn’t long before I heard a knock at the door.

Chapter Text

        Back at the pizzeria, I just couldn’t concentrate. I was doing my job… just not well. Folding pizza boxes with shaky hands, carrying ingredients with wobbly legs, and slicing pepperoni pizzas with a distant, dreamy grin. My coworkers noticed, of course. How could they not? Usually, I was moving with purpose. As if there was a mini gust of wind shoving me along. But now? That gust had turned into a cloud and was fogging up my vision. His cool, relaxed edge. The way he smoked like the heartthrob in some campy rom-com. He was so into me.

I could die right now and be happy. Like if I just came down with some incurable disease I would still have my cheeky smile on. “Worth it…” I would say as the doctors wheel me over to my deathbed.

It was my break. I shared it with a few of the others, but I might as well have been alone on a satin chaise, wistfully gazing out a rain-streaked window. They glanced at me suspiciously—maybe because I kept sighing every seven minutes—but I didn’t care. I was still high off that conversation from literally four hours ago. Still drifting on every syllable like a lovesick gondolier.

Outside the break room door, I could hear the chaos. Crying babies. An elderly couple yelling at everyone but the pizza. And then—

A voice.

“Delivery to… that one rich place… I dunno?”

I sat up like someone just announced a lottery winner, and it was me. An address was being read off again, faint and fumbled, but unmistakably his. My eyes widened. My heart did parkour.

I burst into the main room like a man possessed. My favorite coworker—an actual angel—was holding the ticket and a small delivery bag like they were sacred relics. She waved the receipt in the air like an underpaid prophet.

I lunged.

“Oh—Hey, Elliot?” she blinked. “Aren’t you on break?”

I flushed. “No! I was just… uh… looking around the break room. Lost my… keys.”

She didn’t believe me, but bless her, she played along. Still, she held the ticket above her head like I was a toddler and that slip of paper was a very expensive cookie.

“Yeah… Sorry, Elliot. You do so much! Let someone else take the job for once, haha.”

She giggled, patting my soul on the head and pushing me gently back. And that’s when a shadow peeled away from the wall. I hadn’t even noticed her there.

Kira.

Phone in hand, hoodie up, exuding pure “I hate it here” energy. She plucked the ticket from my coworker’s fingers without even pausing whatever half-conscious scroll she was on.

“Hey, Kira!” my coworker chirped, sliding the bag into her other hand.

“Hey,” Kira mumbled, her eyes never leaving the glowing void of her screen.

“You’re not supposed to be on your phone right now, by the way. Sorry.”

“I know,” Kira said. She looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but that would’ve required effort.

As she made her way to the bikes, I panicked. Again.

“Hey! So… if you don’t feel like taking this order, I could do it?” I offered, pouring on the polite like syrup on sad pancakes.

Kira finally looked up. Her eyes were dead. Her soul was probably watching Netflix in another dimension. “I need to get paid too,” she said flatly.

And I swear… if she cared enough to stick her tongue out, she would’ve.

I froze. “O-Okay… yep! That’s… fine. Totally. I’m… tired anyway…”

Kira grunted and walked out.

I didn’t move until I heard her bike rattle to life and buzz off into the distance like my dignity.

I dragged myself to the break room like a soggy rag doll and collapsed onto a stool. It creaked under me, like it, too, was mourning. Betrayed. Emotionally compromised. But catharsis never came. The heartbreak sat stubbornly in my chest like a wet sock.

That was my one chance. My order. My Mafioso. And I blew it.

Now he probably thinks I’m avoiding him. That I’ve moved on. That I—God forbid—don’t care. Maybe I should. Maybe that’d be healthier.

Everyone was staring at me. All of them. But they’d understand when Mafioso bursts through the doors, wind machine at his back, tuxedo freshly pressed, and sweeps me into his arms. Bridal-style. Straight into his Thursday limo.

I giggled at the thought.

Then remembered I lived in hell.

Sitting still made me feel like a soggy pretzel of regret, so I threw myself into busywork. Stacking cups. Sweeping floors that didn’t need it. Untangling the phone cord like it was a metaphor for my soul. But no matter how hard I tried, I kept spiraling back to him. That moment. His half-lidded eyes, that stupid cigarette, the way he said—

"Marry me."

Technically, he also died and came back to life immediately after, so… maybe we just start with an engagement. Keep it casual.

Time passed like a dream sequence. One blink, and it had been hours. I came to just in time to hear the front door creak open—and in shuffled Kira, back from the sacred delivery.

She didn’t say anything to me. Of course she didn’t. Instead, she slunk off to her corner of goth teen co-workers and immediately launched into gossip mode.

I ducked behind a shelf and eavesdropped like the emotionally compromised mess I am.

“…Yeah, he was weird,” she was saying, the sound of soda fizz and chip crunches surrounding her like an aura. “Had all these dumb flirty notes in his order and then acted all embarrassed. Like he thought I was gonna be impressed?”

She snorted. Snorted.

“Gimme a break…”

I saw stars. Flirty notes? He left flirty notes??

For her?

I almost started hyperventilating. My lungs were staging a coup. My brain was spiraling into theories. Maybe… maybe Mafioso was into Kira. Maybe he liked the aloof teen girl who doesn't even make eye contact. Maybe he never meant those things for me. Maybe—

Who’s even heard of a mafia boss that was… you know. Gay.

I slipped out of the building like a disgraced sitcom character. Grabbing a trash bag for cover, I slipped out the back door, one hand on my heart and the other gripping plastic like it could save me.

The alley was exactly as grim as I needed it to be. Faded graffiti. A dumpster that somehow reeked of betrayal. And… a car?

No, not just a car. A sleek black luxury beast with a chrome hood ornament that practically winked at me.

Then the doors opened.

Four men stepped out. Black suits. Sunglasses. Bad vibes.

I knew them. I’d seen them before.

His goons.

They fanned out like a choreographed nightmare, and I swear I stopped breathing. He’d sent them. Was I going to die? Get disappeared? Be publicly scolded?

One stepped forward. Sunglasses lowered. Expression unreadable.

“Get in,” he said.

And before I could squeak out a syllable, they each grabbed a limb and yoinked me into the car like I was nothing more than a lovesick raccoon.

Chapter Text

        The door creaked closed, and I winced with every sound it made. I felt pathetic. I slumped down onto the floor in front of the door. I don’t know what I was thinking, writing those notes. I just got carried away. I was so angry. Not at anyone, or maybe just myself.

After I was done with my little tantrum, I picked myself up off the floor and marched into my room to mope dramatically. It always made me feel better, somehow. Sinking into my velvet armchair, I rested my elbows on my knees and buried my face in my hands. It gave me time to think. About… things. I was floating up into the night in my own little bubble.

Inside my soapy retreat, I reflected on my life. I had seen things so much worse than anything anyone could imagine, done things… I regret. It had hardened me. Made me closed off, secluded. Nobody would ever see me smiling or even talking. Besides the boys. I was like a lock.

Yet…

Somehow, every time my mind lost its focus. I got distracted. I couldn’t help but be brought back to him. I would be listing off my favorite things about him, if I wasn’t so disgusted. With myself. He hated me! He was avoiding me, why would I still be… thinking about him.

Eventually, I heard the suppressed footsteps of a certain gang. They always thought I couldn’t hear them, and I wasn’t going to tell them. It was nice to get a little head-start on them when they were up to something. I was still too tired to try and stop them, so I let whatever their plan was happen anyway.

“Boss?”

A familiar sound nowadays. I don’t know if that’s a good thing…

”…Yeah?” I sat up in my chair, fixing my disheveled hair, and collecting my suit coat that somehow found its way off my shoulders.

”We was gonna go…” Soldier started.

“Get some ice cream!” Consigliere interrupted, shoving the poor guy behind him.

That’s nice. At least someone was able to enjoy something sweet. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for me to have some ice cream too.

”You guys wait for me downstairs. I’ll come too, just give me a minute.”

The boys faces flushed uncomfortably, and they huddled even closer together.

”No! Let us bring you the… treat. Okay?” Contractee insisted. I assumed they weren’t getting ice cream.

I grunted in approval, and they shuffled out.

I really did want to get out of here, though. Do something, you know? Blow off some steam. Maybe I’d go collect some debt…

There was this one guy, a scrappy fellow. He kept on borrowing and borrowing… Not the best for him. Good for me, though. Meant I had lots of room to toy around with him. I couldn’t bring myself to smile like I usually did, in anticipation of a job.

I dressed myself, throwing on my best fedora, and straightening my coat. I reached out to grab a pair of brass knuckles, but I hesitated.

Took them anyway.

Peeling out of the lot, I had his address burned into my mind. Along with a few other things…

When I finally reached his place, I was buzzing. But not exactly with excitement. It’s been a while since I’ve done a job like this myself. I usually got one of the boys to do it for me. I’m sure I still had it in me.

It was a pitiful sight. A shabby apartment building, I could practically see it sway in the night breeze. I stepped out of the car, movements slow. Deliberate. Controlled.

I slammed the doors out the way and worried for a second the rest of the complex would come crashing down with it. Pretty sure Ricky lived on the third floor? But I didn’t have to check, since I heard him pounding down the staircase anyways. When we finally met at the bottom of the steps, it was like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Except the immovable object was busy thinking about a clumsy pizza boy with marinara on his cheek and a cute smile that shouldn’t still be stuck in his head.

He and his dirty t-shirt that smelled slightly of boiled cabbage slammed into me. It didn’t hurt, but I did stagger a little.

I wouldn’t have before.

An avalanche of apologies was launched at me, and I was briefly reminded of him again.

“It’s fine. It’s…” I remembered who I was talking to. “Where’s the money.” I forced my voice to sound more dramatic and gravelly. Like I wanted to mean it.

“L-Look, I’ve got your money! I was gonna- would drop it off tomorrow! Swear-“

I cut him off. I’ve heard him and excuses a million times before. Different face, same story.

”You’ve said that four times. Last time you said ‘next friday’. It’s been three weeks since then.”

Ricky fumbled around, taking the stack of bills out of his pocket, almost dropping it.

”Here! Here, just take it!” He pleaded.

I took the money from him, and glanced over it.

”Not enough.” I pocketed them anyway. “You know our deal.”

”I know… I just-“

I shoved him against the wall. Not hard. It felt foreign. As if I was playing a part I hadn’t rehearsed for in years.

Ricky had a scared look on his face. Of course he did! But… he wasn’t in any danger. It’s not like I could do anything. The brass knuckles clinked around in my pocket.

Without another word, I stormed out of his building. Muttering something under my breath, I heard Ricky thanking me a mile a minute. It made me want to turn around and knock him straight on his face.

The car rumbled to life, and I sped away. Why did I have to be so cruel all the time anyway?

God.

Wonder what the boys had for me back home.

Hopefully some good news.

Chapter Text

        A faint “Ding!” of an elevator snapped me back into reality. I was still shaking from excitement. I couldn’t wait for him to walk in, but also I think I could. Did he know I was here? What if he kicked me out. Through the window. I shouldn’t say that, if his men got me, I’m sure he wanted me here!

I sat up on his couch, and took yet another moment to look around his suite. He actually lived here. In this penthouse of glittering objects. Things that shined their golden shine. Beautiful artifacts that I didn’t recognize. The pillow next to me could probably pay my rent for a year. Or more.

This made me want to fix my shirt.

The sound of a door being unlocked made me jump. It was him! He was here. His boots echoed against the otherwise quiet of his home. The boys ditched me on the couch and left to peek from their bedrooms. I mean, I guess I didn’t want them to embarrass Mafioso in front of me, but also it was scary being alone. Breathing suddenly became a conscious activity.

He didn’t notice me right away, probably because I was pretending to be a throw blanket, but that’s not the point. He looked rougher than I’d ever seen him. Still, not saying much. He had his usual coat draped over his shoulder, and he looked panicked. I could make out blotches of dried blood on his knuckles. I knew his job wasn’t anything like mine but… I never thought about the reality of it.

He was busying himself with tossing his coat onto a nearby stool and washing the night off his hands. He was muttering something under his breath, and I was surprised he hadn’t noticed me yet.

I froze, suddenly hyper-aware of every sound in the room. I let go of a breath I never realized I was holding.

”Elliot…?” He gasped, hiding his hands behind the sink as if I wasn’t here the entire time.

I wanted to say something. Hi? What’s that on your hands? Still got that receipt? I remained silent, swallowing the lump in my throat.

We had a moment together. He was halfway across the room yet it still felt like he was breathing down my neck. The only sound was a frantic “shh!-“ coming from a bedroom somewhere.

One of us had to do something soon, right? We couldn’t just sit here… forever. Right? The longer we stood locked in place the more I thought it could be true. My entire life, spent staring at some hot Mafioso who was still totally into me. Somehow. I smiled at the thought.

This made Mafioso flinch, he abruptly turned away and coughed into his arm. He was hunched over a kitchen counter, and seemed particularly interested in a floor tile.

“What… Why are you here?” His voice boomed, but it was rougher than usual. Was he upset? Or just… tired?

”I… They took me? Sorry, I shouldn’t have… come.” Why was I apologizing!? As if I could tell the mafia no.

Mafioso seemed to be upset. Angry, even. I could just barely make out the whites of his knuckles from where I was. At me…? I’ll have to hope not. I wanted to make it better.

”They said you’d be happy to see me! I…” I wanted to believe what they said, but it was hard considering his reaction. Maybe I should… ask to leave. Or just leave. It was clear nobody wanted me here.

Mafioso turned back to face me, his jaw tight. He clenched his fists.

But…

He exhaled, his shoulders slumping in a way I’d never seen before. The white of his knuckles softened, almost imperceptibly, like a storm passing.

”Stay. You’re already here.”

His kitchen wasn’t what I expected. I mean, the guys did give me a little house tour. Except of Mafioso’s bedroom, for obvious reasons that weren’t so obvious to me. He moved with purpose, pulling out all the ingredients he needed for a perfect dinner.

Oh my god.

I was having dinner with him! Well, sort of. He was cooking, I was existing in the kitchen, mostly as a confused bystander. Every time I got too close, his hands would gently but firmly guide me away, sending a strange shiver down my spine. Was I doing this on purpose? Maybe. But definitely not in a weird way. Or maybe it was? I couldn't tell anymore.

Real, copper pots decorated his kitchen, and fancy knives lined up like they were an exhibit at some museum. Not to mention the marble counter clean enough you could eat off it. My daze of admiration was interrupted when he asked me a question.

Mafioso cracked his neck with a grunt, and promptly opened up the fridge and pulled out the cleanest cut steak I’d ever seen. Not that I had seen many steaks, but still.

”How do you like your steak?” He asked, barely looking up.

I blinked.

”Oh… from a cow? I dunno, that’s what steak is from, right?”

His eyes fully met mine, his brow slightly furrowed. “…Yes?” Ugh… I totally screwed up.

“I like it cooked! I guess?”

He slowly looked back down at the steak on the counter, and squinted at it.

“Right.”

Mafioso turned back around to grab various spices from a rack so organized it looked criminal. He let out a grumble that was in between a laugh and a sigh. Phew. I’m back in this!

He seasoned the steak with a marksman’s precision. Salt. Pepper. Something smoky that made me sneeze. Then the skillet sizzled to life with a dramatic ‘whoosh’. It almost made me jump. Well, I did. Just barely.

”You okay?” He asked, setting the steak on the pan.

I was zoned out for a second. “Sorry- Yeah, I’m okay.” I bit my lip. “Just… never seen someone actually cook meat like this before. Usually it’s a microwave thing.” I let out an awkward chuckle that was louder than I wanted it to be. Why? I was always perfectly composed everywhere. Just not around him. Well, I knew why. Just don’t like to admit it.

Mafioso stared at me, too long. For a minute I thought he forgot about the steak. “What kind of childhood did you have?” He asked me. The corners of his lips twitched. Up.

“Lots of sharing, and I didn’t even have siblings!”

I thought for a second. I wanted to ask him how his was, but I saw how that could quickly go downhill. Or uphill. Let’s be safe, it’s only the first not-date we’ve had. Haha.

Mafioso plated the food like he was serving royalty. I was his royalty. Tossing in cloudy mashed potatoes, and sautéed asparagus. It smelled like temptation and Michelin star quality reviews. Not that I knew what that smelled like… I can assume.

Swiftly setting the plate, along with me at the table, he poured us drinks. Joining me at the table, he gave me a glass of beer or something. Do you normally drink it in a fancy glass with more ice than the actual drink? I wouldn’t know.

“Eat.” He said. I suddenly felt rude for not digging in before. It was irresistible.

I blinked at it. “This feels like a trap.”

“Just eat it.”

I did.

And then I stared.

Because it was good. Like… scary good. Like, “I’m gonna fall in love with you over mashed potatoes” good.

“Holy crap,” he said, mouth full. “You’re like… actually a good cook.”

Mafioso didn’t look up. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I just thought you lived off, like… cigars and danger. Not… Not this.”

The tiniest twitch at the corner of Mafioso’s mouth. “Used to.”

We didn’t talk for a minute. Just the clink of my fork and knife.

And when I looked up to say thank you, Mafioso was already watching me.

Leaning in.

Eyes asking a question… I wasn’t sure if I could answer.

And everything blurred.

Chapter Text

When I woke up, I thought I’d been hit by a truck.

No, like—not in a painful way. Just… every inch of me was aware of itself. My spine felt like a question mark. My neck was stiff like it had seen things. And my legs? They weren’t even on speaking terms with me anymore.

It took a second before I realized I wasn’t in my own bed. Or any bed.

I blinked at the ceiling. Gold trim. Ridiculous. Definitely not mine.

Oh.

Oh no.

I was still in his place.

I groaned as I shifted. My back cracked like a glowstick and I winced. Then froze. Because there was a blanket over me.

And I definitely didn’t put that there.

It was soft. Heavy. Not like the paper-thin things I was used to. This one felt expensive. Like it probably had a backstory. Like it was probably stolen from a fancy hotel in Italy or something, and had wine stains from a mob war. Or worse—designer embroidery.

But it was tucked around me. Like someone had—

Oh, God.

I sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. My hair was sticking in twelve directions, my shirt was wrinkled like a failed origami project, and something in my shoulder popped. I looked around the suite, half-expecting him to glare at me from a distance in a dark corner, or the actual police.

Instead, I saw the glow of the TV still faintly buzzing in front of me. Volume low. Remote half-fallen off the coffee table.

And then—

From down the hall, a door opened. Quiet. Gentle.

Mafioso stepped out, barefoot, in a plain black shirt and loose sweatpants. He looked… normal. Sort of. If normal included cheekbones sharp enough to assassinate someone and hair that still somehow obeyed gravity.

He stopped in the hallway when he saw me. His eyes crinkled. Not smiling, but not not smiling.

And in that moment, it all came back.

The food. The drink. The steak I might actually write poetry about.

We’d put something dumb on the TV. Some ancient black-and-white movie he called a “classic,” but it just had a lot of hats and yelling. He sat at the opposite end of the couch. Until… he didn’t.

And then—

I’d leaned against his shoulder.

And then—

Warmth. Laughter. Something like a hand brushing mine.

And then—

Nothing.

Just darkness. Sleep.

Like a nerd.

I think I snored.

“Morning,” Mafioso said, his voice still deep and raspy from sleep. “You didn’t drool on my couch, did you?”

I opened my mouth to answer. But all that came out was: “I think my bones are gone.”

He frowned, and came over to sit next to me again. The couch straightened itself as he sat. Almost like even it was afraid of him. Not me.

”You okay? I know it was rough.” He looked embarrassed, and squinted at the carpet beneath his feet. “Having the boys “collect” you like that, of course.”

I stifled a smile recalling how serious they looked. Normally, they were always goofing around. I wondered how Mafioso could keep up with them all the time, just those few encounters at the restaurant had my eyes baggier than usual.

”Yeah, it was nothing, though! They were gentle. Enough.” I said, stretching and feeling about half my joints pop simultaneously.

Mafioso stared the stare he did when he had something to say, but couldn’t quite get it out. Eventually, he cracked.

”You… need a massage?” He cocked his head a little, and in the silence I could hear his chest rise and fall.

”Oh, this place has a masseuse too? I should’ve guessed.” I scoffed, but in amazement instead of disappointment.

”Well, not exactly… But yes.” Mafioso cracked his knuckles, and I was tired of playing dumb.

“You want to…? Well, that’s… new. I’ve never had one before.” I paused, thinking about it. It couldn’t be too bad? Why not. “Be gentle?” I said through a nod.

A smirk found its way onto Mafioso’s lips, and he lifted me off the couch.

His grip was welcome, but also unnecessary. I could still walk, it wasn’t that bad… I hope. I made a small yelp of surprise as he carried me to a doorway. His.

Mafioso paused outside the door, hand on the knob like this wasn’t his house. Like he had to check first that it was safe. Like there was something in there he hadn’t quite prepared for—except it was just his room. Just four walls and a bed.

Still, he looked at me, then back at the door.

“You’ll be more comfortable in here,” he said. His voice sounded like it came from deep in his chest, warm and muffled against my body. Like a confession sealed under velvet.

He opened the door.

The room was—unsurprisingly—immaculate. Dark walls, clean lines. The bed at the center looked like it had never been used. Tidy, crisp, and somehow giving the same energy as the roman colosseum.

And when I sat on it?

Rock. Hard.

“Whoa, you sure this is your bed? Or am I just going insane and this is a table.” I poked a finger into it, and pressed it no further than the thickness of a hair.

”Soft beds breed weakness.” He grunted, his arms hovering over me. I knew what he was waiting for, but I wanted to stall.

”Pretty sure comfort wont kill you.” I punched the bed, sending a shock through my body. I’d be better off hitting an actual wall. “But this might actually.”

“You’ll live.” He was smiling again, and suddenly I wanted to do nothing more than keep him happy.

”Barely…” I groaned, rolling over onto the bed. I could hardly keep an eye on him without straining my neck. Not that I had to, though.

”S-So… You’ve done this before. Right?” I stammered, struggling to get my words out with the pressure of being on my stomach.

Mafioso didn’t answer at first.

I heard the soft scrape of his rings being removed, one by one, and the dull clink of them landing on what I assumed was a nightstand. The sound made my ears twitch. Like I shouldn’t be hearing this. Like it was something private.

“Yes.”

Short. Clipped. No room for questions. Which, of course, meant I had so many questions.

“Like, professionally? For fun? In a former life?” I asked, cheek smushed against the mattress.

Silence.

“Is there a certificate somewhere?”

Still nothing.

Then a sudden weight on the bed behind me. His knee, I think. The mattress didn’t dip so much as tremble under him. And then… his hands.

They started at my shoulders, slow and methodical. Palms first. Broad and deliberate, like he was smoothing tension out of clay. It was… surprisingly good. Too good. Suspiciously good. I squeaked at the sensation.

“Oh,” I said, voice muffled into the pillow. “Okay, so this is real. This is real massage behavior.”

Mafioso didn’t respond. He just kept working.

His thumbs pressed into the base of my neck and I swear I nearly let out an embarrassing little meep. The muscles there had been tight for days, but the way he eased into them like a sculptor with perfect control—what was he hiding in those sleeves??

“This is really professional, I have to say,” I mumbled, trying not to melt. “Very… trained. Very... licensed assassin.” His fingers lingered at the junction of my spine, pressing a little too long.

“Are all massages like this?” I asked again, voice higher this time.

Still nothing.

And then—

His hands slid down the ridge of my spine, slow and intentional. They didn’t need to. There was no knot there, no reason for touch. But he went anyway. And stayed. And pressed.

When his fingers brushed over my lower back, they paused. Not long. Not enough to accuse him of anything. But enough that my stomach flipped.

“You know this is insane, right?” I said, into the mattress. “Like I’m getting the world’s best back rub right now from a guy who eats bullets for breakfast.”

Mafioso said nothing, but I heard him exhale. Just barely. A slip.

Then, very quietly:

“…You’re tense.”

“Oh! Yeah. Thanks?”

He moved closer. I could feel the heat of him now, the fabric of his sweats brushing against my thigh. One of his hands stayed planted on my lower back, firm and grounding. The other drifted up again, to the back of my neck.

And then—I don’t even know what happened—he leaned in and I felt something warm press right behind my ear.

It wasn’t a kiss, exactly.

But it wasn’t not a kiss.

“Hey—HEY, what was that?” I asked, suddenly flailing half off the bed. “Was that part of it?? Was that, like, part of the massage?”

Mafioso stayed perfectly still, his hand hovering midair like he’d just remembered what it was made for.

“…You’re tense,” he repeated. But his voice sounded different now. Hoarse. Thin. Like he was trying not to let something out.

”What muscle… did that loosen up?” I didn’t expect an answer by this point.

”One of mine.”

I blinked.

What!?- Did he? Did he just? No, no, no. Not again.

I mean I get it’s too late for all the “Is he into me?”’s because he was actually on top of me and currently giving me a very unique massage.

Or it was normal and all masseuses give their customers not-kisses. But is he?

And…

Am I?

Chapter Text

“One of mine.”

He didn’t respond immediately, and my hand still was hovering over his body. I waited. He was probably blushing… or something, I hope. So I waited. Longer and longer until I thought he was dead. He was melting into the mattress, his face was half-squished in a way that should’ve looked ridiculous. It did look ridiculous! Like always, yet…

Damn.

I stared at my hand. The one still floating. Trembling. I curled it into a fist, like I was about to punch the memory out of myself. It wasn’t even a kiss. It really wasn’t. I couldn’t figure it out either.

A lapse.

A moment…

A mistake?

Elliot was too quiet now. This would be okay, if it was anyone besides him. I was terrified. Why wasn’t he flailing around like those goofy tube men in front of the limo dealerships? Monologuing as if he owed me money? No out-of-pocket commentary? Just the low hum of static electricity. The kind that comes after lightning strikes close. Too close.

I should say something.

I should finish his massage.

I should flee the country.

I settled on clearing my throat.

“That was… the final technique. It’s traditional in some cultures.”

Traditional!? What the hell was I saying? That wasn’t anything. It meant nothing. I was just casually inventing folklore to hide the fact I was breathing louder every time he laughed. That my heart stuttered when he smiled his widest smile. That my hands weren’t moving on routine, but instinct.

Elliot shifted, mumbling something into my pillow. It might’ve been a moan, or a grateful sob. I wanted to stand up. I did, quickly. Too quickly. The bed creaked as if it was calling me a coward. I wasn’t hiding! I was… plotting. I turned my back to Elliot and scrambled to put my rings back on. With the steadiness of someone who wanted something-anything-to do with his hands besides touch that idiot’s spine again.

About as calm as a raging hurricane.

It wasn’t long before I noticed the warmth. Not just Elliot. Me. My neck, palms, my entire torso was buzzing with a foreign glow.

Focus.

I took a long breath, deep. A grounding inhale that my therapist suggested once, before she mysteriously disappeared into the alps to a remote monastery only after our second session together.

Exhale.

”You can stay as long as you need.” I was talking to a wall. Like, literally. I was facing away. I wanted nothing to do with him, but if he left, I’d cry.

“I- uhh.” Elliot breathed into the pillow. “You sure? ‘Cause I could head out, right now. Fast.”

I winced at the sound of Elliot scrambling to stand, my sheets rustling, limbs flying.

“You’re welcome to leave, too.” I had to drop my words into a glacier, add just enough ice to bury the longing in me. The longing for him.

Elliot didn’t answer. I wanted to know if he was okay. So, I turned. Slow, methodical, obsessed. Turned to see him seated at the edge of the bed. His shirt was rumpled, hair messy as ever, and his eyes were wide and searching.

There it was, that thing… in my chest. Begging me forward.

I resisted.

“I’ll… ah, I’ll leave you to rest.”

With that, I turned to leave him. Faster than I should’ve. Every muscle in my back was tight, like I was only managing to carry myself with my pride and some prayers.

I shut the door softly behind me.

In the hallway, alone, or so I thought.

”What the hell was that…?” I whispered, rubbing my temples.

A tower of eavesdropping goons collapsed in front of me, making me actually jump. I shouldn’t have. I was just tense. They scrambled to their feet and saluted for some reason.

“Hey, boss! We was just checkin’ to see if he was gonna try somethin’ funny.” Soldier reported.

Contractee pushed himself to the front of their little huddle, and spoke. “Yeah! You guys was takin’ so long in there. Both was making all sorts o’ funny sounds.”

I was embarrassed, but also livid. I didn’t trust myself to speak, though. I might say something too revealing. Or yell. Can’t have Elliot hear.

“Just…” I clawed at my stubble. “You go make sure he isn’t falling asleep… get him whatever he asks for. Consi, you’re with me.”

The heavy stampede of footfalls pounded into my room, and me and Consigliere filed into his.

I sat down on his bed, and he pulled a chair over to sit in front of me. He pulled out a clipboard, and a pencil as if he was my therapist. Pretty funny, I thought.

“Consigliere, you’re my right hand… I trust you with things I couldn’t even pray about.” He nodded, starting to set the supplies aside.

”So…” I don’t know why this was so hard for me. I’ve told him about crimes worse than anything even he could have imagined. “This pizza boy, you know. Elliot.” I hesitated. This conversation started bad and was growing progressively worse with every word I said.

”How could I… possibly, get him to stay. Here.”

Consi pursed his lips. I barely heard his voice unless I was speaking to him directly, and it kind of scared me.

“I’m not an expert, but…”

He was interrupted by panicked voices growing louder from across the house. Soft footfalls coming closer.

He appeared in the doorway.

“Hey! Sorry, I, uh… didn’t mean to interrupt your mafia therapy session, but… I kind of need to go.” Elliot shifted uncomfortably. “Like, now.”

He gave us a small wave, and I couldn’t make a single sound, even if I wanted to scream. I kind of did.

”It’s just for work, I’m late for the lunch rush… and if I’m late again I’ll probably get demoted. Or worse.” He laughed nervously. Louder than he wanted to, I think.

“But!” Elliot perked up. His smile like the sunshine beaming through storm clouds. “I’ll be back soon… I-If that’s okay! Of course. With you.”

Silence, except for some rustling in the distance. Elliot shifted his weight from his right foot to his left.

“Anyway! Thanks again for the massage, and the night, and the dinner… Yeah. Okay. Bye-“

He fled like a frightened cat.

Door click. Gone.

And, for a moment, all was still. Almost.

A trio of panting men slammed themselves into the doorway.

“Hey boss!- We lost…” They gasped. “Elliot was… missing. He might be coming here soon!”

I had no room in my heart for anger right now. All I could think about was what he said. He would be back.

Soon.

Chapter Text

        A long sigh escaped my chest as I lounged on the couch. Where he slept. Me and the boys had been having a lazy week. Besides that encounter with Elliot three days ago… He said he’d be back. Soon. Yet, I’ve been waiting here. For him. And there hasn’t been as much as a knock to my door. Was he okay? I had to know. I need to keep him safe.

Being a part of the… mafia, I had access to certain resources. Resources that I could use to… surveil. It isn’t too unethical.

I called in the boys from whatever it is they were doing to talk.

“Fellas, we’ve got a job to do.” I announced, as they were still stumbling into the room. “A certain type of reconnaissance is required.”

Caporegime, still tight with his mouth after that night at the pizzeria, was the first to speak up.

“We doin’ that stalky-talky thing again, where you make us tell you what Elliot’s doin’?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not complaining!- Y’know, last time he saw us, an’ he even…” Capo was probably still talking, but after a while you can tune it out.

“…Yes?” I responded, when the volume subsided.

He looked a mix of confused, and upset. Nodded anyways.

“Just… try to be quiet. This time. Blend in.”

There’s no good way to say: “I need to know if the pizza boy is okay.” Without sounding at least a little insane. So, I didn’t. Instead I just paced. Paced around the room while my men scurried off to the pizza shop. Pacing was good. Powerful men pace. Titans of industry. Crime bosses. Ones like me, waiting on someone to show up at my door.

After a while of mulling, waiting, pacing. I managed to sit. Or… perch. Rather dramatically on the edge of the cough. Eyes trained on the ancient receiver that I’ve been seeing more often lately. I wasn’t nervous. Only interested. Invested in the wellbeing of a valued citizen. Who happens to have soft eyes. And an only slightly crooked smile. And he makes weird little sighing-squeaking sounds when-

Focus. He’s just a pizza boy.

A cute one

Who maybe, maybe… Said he’d be back soon.

I was brought back to life by the crackling of a receiver that I’d somehow already forgotten about.

“Boss?-“ A voice could be heard over the radio. It might have been Soldier’s? “It’s him!- Elliot! He’s on-site. I don’t get what you see in him. He looks so tired right now. Rougher than you!”

Definitely Soldier.

That didn’t matter, though. What did?- Elliot looked tired? Was he okay? Did something happen to him? Did someone hurt him.

I gripped my end of the receiver, and spoke into it.

”Is… he okay? Check if he is okay.” I put it down, and was about to relax. Until I had to pick it up again. “Don’t ask him.”

I groaned as loud as I possibly could. Hopefully Elliot heard me and he would come over so we could be miserable together. Groaning, moaning… No. Nope- shut up.

God.

After some time, close to none, a shriek of static came through.

”Uhh, boss?” That was Capo now. I could tell by his shaky breathing, has been since… you know. “You’re not going to like this.”

I straightened up on the couch. Listening to Caporegime for long enough will do that to you.

“What did you do…?” I said it slow, threatening. Still, a slight wobble came through.

There was a shuffle on the other end. A familiar surprised yelp.

And then-

“We’ve got the target! Boss!” Contractee cheered. “Mission was a success!”

“What!?”

”He didn’t even resist! After he saw us, he kind of just sighed and went limp.” Soldier announced proudly. “I think he might be dying.”

Capo cut in, sounding like the most sensible one there. For once. “We didn’t kidnap him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just… extracted him. From the counter. Forcefully.”

There was silence. Dreadful silence. On both ends.

Elliot was there. With them. Under the protection of the men im closest to.

This could not get any worse.

“I’m coming over.”

Then louder.

”Don’t- Do NOT… Say anything to him.”

“Too late.”

Chapter Text

I wasn't sure when I stopped resisting.

I mean—I was never really resisting in the first place. Mostly just asking “why?” out loud a lot. Maybe it was when the quiet one threw a burlap sack over my head. Or when they shoved me into a “car seat” that I’m pretty sure was just a shopping cart tied to the back of a family bike. I wonder what that scene looked like from the street.

Anyway—now I was tied to a chair in a place dusty enough to make me sneeze through my mask, and it smelled strongly of beef jerky.

Somewhere nearby, I heard faint shuffling. Radio static. And... was that Mafioso’s voice? Was he here too?

“We’ve got the target, boss!” one of them yelled. I think it was the funny one. “Mission was a success!”

Mafioso did sound upset. Wherever he was.

There were more voices, but I was too tired to care. Besides that dinner at his place, I hadn’t really been eating right. Turns out instant ramen isn’t exactly the most nutritious. I probably looked and sounded like a malnourished Victorian child.

My train of thought screeched to a halt when the sack was yanked off my head. I blinked against the light.

First thing I noticed: no Mafioso.

“What—where are we?” I croaked.

The short one with the funky hair grinned like a raccoon who just found a toaster in a dumpster. “Welcome to the Backup Base!” He gestured grandly. “Or—as Capo calls it—‘my aunt’s garage.’”

One of the others sighed from the corner. Sunglasses Guy. He always wore those. Even indoors. Even now.

“Am I getting kidnapped again?” I asked, testing the ropes. “You could just invite me next time.”

“No, not this time. Unless the boss tells us to. Then yeah,” one of them said. The silence after that was... weirdly soft, just the hum of a flickering ceiling light. I wondered how long we’d be here. What we were even waiting on. Mafioso?

...Kind of hoped so, honestly.

Something else was weird. The boys weren’t acting all chaotic like they did around him. Were they tired? Like me?

I was about to ask, but one of them spoke first.

“If you’re gonna be around more often,” he said gently, like a parent gearing up for The Talk, “we should probably talk.”

I blinked.

“I know we seem a bit... weird,” he continued, biting his lip. Was that sweat on his forehead? “But we’re really not! Mostly.” He glanced at Dumpster Raccoon Goon. “We just act that way. For him.”

Wait—him as in... Mafioso?

“But... why?” I asked. “Why cause a ruckus on purpose?”

He exhaled, his eyes drifting around the garage like he was watching a sad home movie only he could see. “It’s been a rough couple years. It gets lonely sometimes. We didn’t expect it, but... it was starting to get to him.”

He looked back at me, and suddenly he wasn’t just some guy in sunglasses. There was something in his eyes I recognized.

Loneliness.

The same kind I’d seen in Mafioso. And, well... in me too.

“So... you get where we’re coming from, right?” he asked softly.

My mouth opened. Then shut. Then opened again.

It was like someone dropped an emotional bomb in my chest and now I was halfway through an emotional surgery. Or a coma. Maybe both.

Mafioso was lonely?

Yeah. I get it. Even though I’m surrounded by people at work, it’s not like I know them. Or that they know me.

“That’s... kind of you?” I said. My voice cracked. Hard. I might’ve been sweating too.

But instead of rolling their eyes or barking at me, they smiled. They pulled over chairs and sat beside me, like we were just a bunch of guys hanging out. My ribs loosened a little. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath.

The rest of the night was stories and laughter. I was getting to know them. Mafioso’s friends.

And... they were kinda great?

I felt like I could break these ropes and just soar into the sky. But I didn’t. I was happy here.

My favorite was definitely Soldier. He was so funny. And kinda cute.

(Don’t tell the other guys.)

I was just about to tell them a story of my own when—

The door burst open.

A familiar black coat swept in like an omen.

Mafioso.

His eyes swept across the room like a storm cloud with feelings.

“What. Are. You. Doing.”

For the first time ever...

I felt scared.

Chapter Text

What the hell is wrong with me.

I stalked him. That’s actually all this was. It’s not cute. It’s not funny.

…Kind of hot, though.

Still got me in trouble.

I don’t know why I trusted them around him. What did I think they would do? Listen? God. I thought if I disguised this little ‘accident’ as a routine check-up, maybe they’d behave. It’s not fooling anyone.

It’s not fooling me.

I stared at him. Not at the boys. Not at the ropes binding him to the chair. Only him.

They could’ve hurt him.
What were they thinking—tying him up. For fun!?
It’s like they’re actively trying to make me lose my goddamn mind.

They could’ve hurt him. And it’s my fault.

I should end this. Really end it. This time, I’ll make sure they never forget. I have to get them away from Elliot.

He’s got that look on his face again. Like a stray dog left by the side of the road, splashed by one too many passing cars running over a puddle.

I want to kiss him until he forgets what sadness is.

…Maybe I don’t have to hurt the boys this time.
I’ll just tell them not to bother me when we’re back at the suite.
The bedroom.
They’ll understand then. He looks cold.

I’d warm him up.

The brass knuckles in my coat pocket chimed against each other as the fabric of my coat settled.
The sound echoed through this… garage-base-hybrid hellhole.
It woke me up.
Guess it unfroze the rest of the room, too—because suddenly, they were talking again.

‘We was just tellin’ Elly here how much we—you—love him!’

…I wasn’t planning to hold private interrogation sessions to figure out what exactly was said.

But that may be necessary.

Starting now.

Elliot’s chest was rising and falling. Fast. Too fast. Was he okay? Did he have a condition or something? Was I supposed to get him medicine?

Or was he scared.

Of me.

He doesn’t need to be scared, everything is fine! He should never be hurt. Ever. I’d make sure of it.

Personally.

But, he didn’t know that. Who knows what he thought? There was so much I wanted to say. Had to say. But I can’t. How could I ask him?

…Ask him if he wanted things to be serious.

Maybe I would send a letter his way. Then disappear to the shadows. Permanently. Or just for a day. Then I’d come and see him again.

His eyes were wide, for some reason I felt mine growing too. Seeing him scared made me a little scared. And I never got scared.

”What did you say.” My voice was rougher than I wanted it to be. If he really was afraid, the last thing I needed to do was be… ‘intimidating’. Someone get me a bouquet of flowers. And a box of heart-shaped chocolates. Still, the edge of anger tinged my speech.

Contractee shrunk beneath me. He was the only one who could barely match my height, but right now I could’ve mistaken him for a lost child. If I had any sense I would drop him in the Sahara and see what he does then.

”We just…” Contractee bit his lip. The rest of his words came out as a barely coherent mumble. “Asked em’ to stay a bit…”

I don’t even know why I asked. I could’ve just assumed the worst and went with that. Elliot was shivering in the center of the room. Why didn’t I just go over there right now? Take him somewhere better. Someplace nice.

I pushed past the rock of a person in front of me and crossed to Elliot. He gasped when he saw me approaching, and kind of braced himself.

This made me frown.

Kneeling behind him, I started to untie his ropes which I’m pretty sure he could’ve just wiggled out of. Not much of a surprise, considering I’ve never seen one of the guys tie their own shoes.

”You okay?” I asked. I tried to sound detached. Indifferent. When in reality this was the only thing I cared about.

”Yeah. I’m good.” He blurted. He said it confidently, but also unsure. Like he was in a play and forgot his lines.

I had no idea what I was supposed to do from here. I know what I wanted to do, but that didn’t matter.

What did he want to do?

“You… uhm, you wanna come back? To my place?” I threw my words out, not even attempting to make myself sound sure anymore.

Elliot grit his teeth. Was I pressuring him? Oh, god. I shouldn’t have even asked, I’m such a jerk-

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

WHAT!?

Chapter Text

The drive started with a click.

Not of a seatbelt, or even the engine. But instead of Mafioso’s blinker. I guess he signaled out of habit, because he was turning into a void.

There was no music, and no words. Just me, him, and four adult-ish men who were probably threatened with execution if they exhaled too hard. I dunno, I wasn’t there when Mafioso pulled them out of the room and told me to sit tight.

Me?

I was stuck sitting stiffly in my seat, hands properly folded across my lap. I couldn’t stare anywhere except the dashboard. I was trying to quiet as possible, but something inside that damp garage place’s air was caught in my throat.

I kind of had to cough—the worst kind. The trapped, traitorous kind that builds and builds until it explodes out of you like a soda bottle someone shook too hard.

Between stifled grunts that sounded like a mouse going through puberty, I stole a glance at Mafioso. His hands gripped the wheel firmly, like it was the only thing keeping him alive right now.

So, he looked calm.

But to be fair, I noticed this same expression while his goons zip-tied a customer to the front doors of the pizzeria. It meant nothing.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. The silence was too much.

I considered saying something, anything! I mulled over the options in my head.

”Nice night out.” No. Too mushy and sappy. We aren’t there yet.

“What kind of mileage does this thing get?” Definitely no. Way too nerdy, and this ‘thing’ might have more of a backstory than even Mafioso.

”So! Been kidnapping anyone else lately?” Jesus! Okay, maybe talking isn’t for me.

I cleared my throat instead, loud. The kind of cough that sounds like you took a bite of the crunchiest apple.

Behind us, someone let out a tiny, involuntary squeak. Probably Soldier. Then, nothing again. It was so quiet I thought the vents were on mute. Gosh.

It was kind of like driving through purgatory. We all know what’s coming, but for some reason nobody seems to have anything to say about it. The kind of silence that makes you think.

My knees were pressed together like the strongest magnets. Mafioso hadn’t looked at me since we started the car, not once. I probably would have been thinking about that, if I wasn’t actually spiraling right now.

Why did I say yes?
Was that a date invite? It sounded like a date invite. I think I just agreed to a date with the loneliest mafia boss.
But he untied me. That was nice. Right?
He looked so worried. Like, actually worried. I think he would’ve punched someone if I asked him to. Maybe even if I didn’t ask.

Why this made the butterflies in my stomach multiply, and flutter their wings harder than industrial fans, I don’t know.

I was interrupted when Mafioso sighed. Loud. But it was probably barely audible anywhere else. Too bad this car was the equivalent of a sound-proofed recording studio right now. His sigh echoed off the matte leather seats, and reverberated like thunder. I flinched.

”Are you okay?” God, of course he is okay! I was screaming at myself and had the urge to climb out the window.

“…Yeah,” He said, softly. Almost like a whisper. “Just concentrating.”

On what? Driving? Me???

I couldn’t stop the words before they came rushing out. “Cool. Yeah. Same.” I blurted, I might have sounded like I was on my millionth push-up in a row and tried talking on the next. What was I supposedly concentrating on? The windshield? The road? Mafioso??? Yeah.

There was shuffling behind me, and maybe some whispering too? They were good whisperers. Before long, I’m pretty sure the four of them were playing patty-cake simultaneously. Mafioso’s eye twitched and he glanced over at me.

Oh god, what do I do? I should smile. I’m actually kind of happy to be noticed, so this is nice. And also because I don’t want to accidentally kill one of the guys back there by seeming upset.

Mafioso’s eyes flicked back to the road, and he grunted like he was embarrassed. He shouldn’t be, this was sweet. And I always thought his little buddies were endearing.

Amid their little school-girl games, one of them whispered; “I think they’re courting.” I almost laughed, and I thought Mafioso was too.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

He looked like he was about to combust into an explosion of fists and yelling. I almost thought the steering wheel would snap off with how hard he was tugging at it. Honestly, it might’ve.

“NOBODY COURT ANYTHING.” He barked, calming down a notch. “EVER.” Calm starting now.

Another squeak. This time from the leather as I sank down into it. I don’t know why I was embarrassed, these five have known each other longer than my own parents probably have. It kind of felt like I was a guest at a dysfunctional family’s house.

I stared out the window into the sea of bright lights, my cheeks were glowing brighter than all of them combined. I could tell we were getting closer, the way the buildings got taller, and the boys louder. I was stuck slouched in the most expensive chair I’ve seen, whimpering like a permanently embarrassed cat.

This night was cursed. Or perfect. Hopefully both. I had no idea what to feel. I just knew one thing.

I would absolutely, definitely, be saying yes again.

Chapter Text

        My heart was still pounding long after the drive had ended. Long after I insisted to open Elliot’s door for him. After I held the door to the elevator open for him while he was inspecting a piece of art I hadn’t even noticed. Even after he sat on my couch again, looking just as embarrassed as last time.

I had the words ready in my throat, but my lips were sealed shut tighter than any vault. Why couldn’t I just ask him? I basically already have, I just… can’t. Seeing him, staring into those tired eyes that held so much more kindness than they would let on, something changed.

I paced around my bedroom, staring at the spot he laid not too long ago. Why didn’t I just ask him then? It wouldn’t be special enough. I had to bring him somewhere. Get him something. Then he’d say yes.

The boys were busy distracting him in the living room. I guess I could trust them to entertain him for a second if what they said back there was true. If Elliot really did know how much he… means to me. It wouldn’t hurt for them to be closer with each other, since they will be seeing Elliot around much more. After tonight.

I finally decided on dinner. I’d take him somewhere warm, and cozy. Like the finest Italian restaurant he’d ever seen. Oh, but I couldn’t serve him pizza, he’s probably sick of it.

I held back the urge to punch through my wall. Back to the drawing board.

Maybe the boys had some ideas, they did owe me for that stunt they pulled earlier.

Sucking in my breath wasted on useless muttering from the room, I stepped out into the living room.

Elliot seemed bored. Or bothered. Likely both. His face did light up, however, when I came into view.

I’m suddenly remembering why I’m trying so hard for him.

Feeling comfortable enough to sit next to him, I sank into the plush velvet of the cushions. I thought I could hear a heart beating, and it wasn’t mine this time. I craned my head slightly to the side, to smile at Elliot. He grinned back.

Would it be terrible if I placed my hand over his?

“You hungry?” I asked, leaning back into the couch to try and hide how red I was getting.

Elliot paused for his second, then shook his head. Dang it. That’s like half of my options gone already. I-

An enormous GROWL rumbled from deep inside Elliot’s stomach.

Elliot’s eyes widened in embarrassment, and Soldier gasped somewhere in my peripheral. So he was hungry! But, why did he lie? He doesn’t have to. He shouldn’t feel like he has to.

”…You hungry?” I asked again, this time Elliot nodded ever so slightly.

”A little.” He squeaked, looking down at the carpet beneath him. This was just the moment I’ve been waiting for.

I sat up straighter, matching Elliot’s posture. Leaning in closer, I extended a gloved hand to gently pull his chin to face me.

“Hey.”

HEY!?

And I didn’t even smile. I wanted to scream, yell, shout, but I just stared blankly while Elliot gaped and transformed into a human puddle of crimson blood.

Someone behind me snorted.

But I was too embarrassed to be mad.

Quickly letting go of Elliot’s face, and turning around so fast I never got to see it crash into a pillow.

I tried, honestly I did. Maybe it worked? I hope so. I just know that I have to ask him. Now.

”Elliot… I’ve been thinking…”

I cocked my head over to face him again, he had barely recovered from that ‘moment’ just a second ago. Contractee flashed me a big smile and two thumbs. Elliot saw.

God.

“…About installing security cameras behind the pizzeria.”

It just gets worse.

”I like you too… Mafioso.” Elliot laughed his hearty laugh. It was nothing like the ones he gave customers. This one was special. I was too excited to get flustered again. I had to ask now.

”You uh, you wanna go somewhere? Together?” I couldn’t breathe. The entire house went silent. Awaiting. But not impatient.

Elliot’s face was frozen up. Like he saw a ghost. Or the mafia asked him on a date. Like clockwork, it softened up into the warmest smile.

”Like… on a date?” His eyebrow perked up, a challenging smirk playing on his lips. I think I stared at it too long.

”…Yes. A date.”

Elliot’s features suddenly detached from his face, he was sitting on my couch, but he wasn’t here. Was I not supposed to say that? Should I kick him out?? Why did he look so upset???

”I would like that. Very much.” He was pursing his lips, so why did it feel like a smile? Why did I want to… part them.

I fluttered my eyes closed, and leaned in. This was really happening. Elliot woke up, eyes bursting open, then slamming shut. I had to stop myself from smiling too hard. Elliot struggled closer. His nose brushed against my stubble.

We found each other.

And then we didn’t stop.

It was a kiss that made the boys in the other room shut up. A kiss that felt like a truce after years of invisible war. He tasted like panic and cheap lip balm. I didn’t care.

I felt his fingers tangle into the collar of my shirt like he needed something to hold onto. I gave it freely.

I gave him everything.

Chapter Text

        Four months. Two weeks. Six days. I don’t want to pressure him to do anything, but… Aren’t we at that point by now? Are we? I try to initiate something, but he just laughs. He kisses my shoulder, then falls asleep. Always. Sometimes I want- need more than just a kiss.

It was morning. The sun glared at me through the smallest crack in the curtain. I groaned and rolled over, half hoping to roll onto Elliot.

Nothing.

He always does this. Leaves to work before I get to say something real.

He knows.

I think.

I grunted as I slipped out of bed, rubbing my eyes. I took a second to fix my appearance even though it never mattered too much anymore. Elliot saw how I looked when I woke up. Restless eyes, hair sticking up in the same spot, and chapped lips.

After cleaning myself up, I took a quick shower, as usual. I don’t usually have a morning routine, but I find a cold shower to be quite invigorating. The water cascaded down my back as my fingers tangled into the roots of my hair, massaging in soap. Cold water always stings at first, but you’ll get used to it.

I just wish I could say the same for Elliot.

I brushed it off, and continued scrubbing.

Pretending he was watching.

Oh, god. I’m not really that desperate. I just… It’s pathetic, I know, but I miss him more when I’m alone.

I thought about him the rest of my time under the water. I was lucky to even have him, I should be grateful. But, when he stares back at me, eyes half-lidded. Weak smile succumbing to sleep.

I almost can’t help myself.

When I snapped out of my trance, who knows how long it’d been.

And…

I tried to tell myself it was just for release. Something to take the edge off. But every time my thoughts drifted, last night, his hands.

That smile.

I had to cover my mouth with my free hand. I felt desperate. Shameful. But I couldn’t stop. He flashed through my mind, pictures of him filling in the gaps. It’s gross, but I pretended it was Elliot. I wanted to save myself for him.

I needed him.

With a stifled moan, I gasped and let go. The sound of water, among other fluids, puddling up beneath my feet managing to be eerily quiet.

Yet I was anything but calm.

My heart slammed out of my chest. Loud and raw. Then dropping straight to the floor and getting sucked up into the drain with everything else. All of it was swirling around me as I shut off the water and wrapped a towel around my waist.

I took a second to inspect myself in the mirror. Usually when I did this, it was in admiration. Confidence. But right now this was anything but affirming. It was disgusting. I winced as I dried off and dressed. Crisp. Clean suit. But I felt dirty.

The goons were oblivious. I think they were just happy that I finally got him. “We did it! Boss!” They’d say. And, they are right. I guess I did “Do it”. So why can’t I “do” him?

The four of them were in the kitchen trying to cook. Elliot thought it would be a good idea for the boys to be more independent, and not rely on me so much. Things like that make me love him. He had these mini-lessons for them even though he isn’t exactly a chef himself. He was always good at picking up after himself, though. And me. And the four of them.

“What’re you making?” I asked, leaning on the counter with my right hand. I picked it up soon after. Didn’t want to dirty the counter as well. Peering over at the stove, they seemed to have a milk and egg mixture sizzling in a skillet.

”We’re making pancakes!” Soldier exclaimed dumping a bag of sugar inside while Contractee dusted specks of flour on top.

Another thing Elliot had done during his time here was bring us closer together. He was kind of like a bridge between us. Me and the boys. It’s kind of funny how that worked out.

“You be careful. Remember what Elliot said about fires.” I warned them, too nauseous to stop them. But not exactly nauseous of their ‘cooking.’ It was something else bothering me.

Him.

I washed my hands for the fifth time, before strolling over to the boy’s bedrooms. I never usually come around here, but Elliot and I like to tell them goodnight together sometimes… Every night.

It took Elliot a while to come live with us. He never showed me his own house, either. I’ve seen it though. Nothing to be embarrassed about. I just wish he wasn’t so reserved about his personal life. Or a certain conversation. We are dating, after all. Right?

After I finished running my finger along every single piece of furniture in Consi’s bedroom, I decided to head back to my own room to tidy it up. It was something that must’ve slipped my mind while I was… reflecting. In the shower. With my hand.

Elliot slept like an actual baby. It could be cute sometimes. Or annoying, when his leg was suddenly choking you with how much he shifted around in his sleep. He says he dreams about work, but sometimes he mutters something like a moan that makes me suspicious. I might have to tie him down. While he sleeps, of course.

Right.

I picked up a pillow off the ground and tossed it back into place. Elliot made me get rid of my collection of 39 throws when he first slept here, probably for more room to flail around. Tucking the comforter back into the mattress, I noticed a considerably dark spot on the blanket. I ran the back of my clean hand over it. Cold. Wet.

I laughed. More like a chuckle, it almost hurt when it came out. When I said “like a baby”, I meant it. He drools sometimes. It’s cute.

I laid down on his side of the bed. It used to be mine. Then he moved in. It shouldn’t be “his side” or “my side”; it could be our side. I just wish he could see that. On the first night I almost thought he would build a wall of pillows between us like a strict dad during a sleepover.

I wasn’t even tired, but I closed my eyes anyway. I could faintly smell Elliot just from laying here. This told me that the blankets definitely needed a wash.

…Later.

Right now, I was waiting. Waiting for his shift to be over. Waiting for him to return.

Waiting for him to say yes.

Chapter Text

        Today was my day to sleep in. Out of the seven days a week, I could afford to have a day off! I mean, Mafioso always tells me I could take every day for the rest of my life off. He’s probably right, he is right. But I kind of enjoy working.

…And the excuse to flee from him in the morning.

I know what he wants, and he knows I know. I want it too! Don’t get me wrong. But, I also want to be perfect for him. And right now, I’m not that. Far from it. Maybe if I had more time. If I could fix myself. Then I’d be able to say yes.

I was stuck lying here in bed. Lately, Mafioso has been having the bright idea to drape an arm over me so I can’t escape until he says so. Too bad he’s such a heavy sleeper. And I’m a master of sneaking out. It makes me laugh. Every time I have to wriggle out of his arms it reminds me of my old boyfriend a little.

Ouch.

Thumping onto the cold wooden floor, I padded my way to his bathroom. Mafioso had all these products, he was such a princess when it came to his skin. Some days, when I felt like I most needed it, I’d steal some. Don’t tell him.

Today was one of those days, there was so much wrong with me. I’d fix myself once I’m done showering.

…Another thing, he has five separate conditioners! Every time I see them, I can’t help but giggle. He tries getting me to use them too, but I insist on using just one. It gets the job done just fine.

With my damp hair, and fresh face, I shrugged on a shirt and stepped out into his room again. He was still dead asleep, his hands clinging to a pillow. Six months with him, and he still loves those pillows. I honestly don’t get it. The boys should see the way he looks at them, like they are his first-born child.

I wonder how he looks at me.

I would look at my old boyfriend like that, but for some reason I can’t remember ever seeing that same expression on his face when he stared at me. I’m sure he did, though. I just never noticed it.

It’s not hard to see Mafioso in that way, and your eyes get lost in him. Him and his perfect-in-every-way abs. I need a map. That way, I could always find my way back before things went too far.

The rest of the guys weren’t up yet. I remember how they used to be, all chaotic and wild. Nobody could get a leash on them, besides Mafioso. But they’ve actually been behaving as of late, and Mafioso keeps telling me how much they are talking with him now. Outside of work. It’s cute. “You did that, babe.” He’d say, in his rough voice, while he strokes my hair softly.

Down the hall, I heard someone stirring.

Something thing that always bugs me is that I never learned their names. The guys. With Mafioso, I don’t mind so much since I have the privilege to call him “Honey”, and “Babe”. But with them, it’s different. Jogging over to go check on the noise, I was surprised to meet a slouched Caporegime with puffy eyes.

“Good morning!” I beamed, while Capo rubbed his eyes vigorously.

”…Hey, Elliot.” He finally stood straight. “What’s for breakfast?”

Capo was childish. In the way that he was so spoiled and expected most things to be done for him. Me and Mafioso joke around about how we would have to parent him if he didn’t step up. Mafioso would have to do most of the talking, though. I’d be ready with a lollipop.

”I just woke up!” I huffed. “You’ll have to ask Mafioso, unless you feel like making pancakes again.” I crossed my arms and gave him a look.

Oof, I still remember the day when they tried making pancakes. I guess they didn’t know what batter was, so they mixed the ingredients and cooked in the same pan, at the same time. It was up to me to clean their mess since Mafioso was acting weird about his hands and wouldn’t stop washing them no matter how many times I said they felt clean.

Soon, the rest of the guys were up. Contractee was already dressed to kill—as usual—while Soldier smelled strongly of olives. And sweat. I almost told him to shower.

Almost. That is, until I remembered him again. My old boyfriend.

He used to nag me all the time. I guess I understand why now—but he could’ve been nicer about it.
“What happened to your face?” he’d say, when I woke up.

Like it- I was a joke.

It was… funny.

With all the noise in the house, it was a miracle Mafioso wasn’t rolling in bed like a pissed-off god. He has the sleeping habits of a glacier, which is either a blessing or a curse depending on whether you’re trying to sneak out or cuddle. But not even he can sleep through the rock concert of pots and pans just outside the bedroom door.

Eventually, he stepped out—grumpy as ever. And still looked majestic.

I always tease him that he has a sleeper build. Y’know, because he sleeps so much, but he could probably bench press a car.
Sometimes I forget just how powerful he looks… until he looks at me like that. His eyes cut straight through me, and it sends the good kind of shivers down my spine.

I could make out the lines in his shirt where his muscles were. It helped that I had them memorized. I’ve seen him shirtless a million times, but it still stuns me every time.

...It just makes me feel worse that I can’t take mine off for him.

Mafioso waltzed over to me. Off-days were his favorite days, I could tell. My hand slipped into his as he pulled me in for a kiss. Casual. Cool.

Still can’t believe this is normal.

Leaning back, he stared into my eyes. I stared back.

”You look like you slept well.” I jabbed a finger into his chest, slowly trailing it down. This wasn’t me. I don’t do things like this. He didn’t seem to mind though, since he had this devilish smirk on his face.

”Good morning to you too, Ell.” He scoffed, and turned to control the ruckus the boys were making before they bashed another hole in the wall. I hoped I wasn’t making him uncomfortable. I know that’s the worst feeling. You’re tired of hearing it, but my old boyfriend was bad about that.

He would get all touchy and I wasn’t able to tell him no. He used to whisper; “You want this”, and “You’re lucky to have me”. I believed him- tried to. Wanted to. I did.

I did.

Sometimes I wonder what Mafioso would do if I ever told him about my old boyfriend.

After all the cookware was put away, gently tucked inside cabinets, safe from the prying hands of aspiring musicians, Mafioso returned to me. I felt awkward floating in the doorway, watching the goblins that lived here find something to do, so I wiggled over to the couch.

He followed.

One of our traditions was to order sloppy food from the closest restaurant. Mafioso spends all week bossing around a kitchen. Off-days mean greasy takeout, and I think he likes that—food without effort.

Beating me to sit down, he spread his legs and motioned for me to sit. I obliged, of course. Mafioso wrapped his arms around me and flicked on his phone, scrolling through the list of nearby restaurants.

“This one okay, babe?” Mafioso clicked onto the page of a pancake house. “I think the boys’ll like it.”

After looking through some photos, the answer was an obvious yes. Mafioso pressed on with questions, what I liked, what the rest of the guys like, the works. He would lean in closer with each ask, his rough stubble tickling my ear.

I tried to focus on the restaurant menu, not the weight of him around me. Not the way his voice dipped low. Not the slow, stupid ache curling somewhere below my stomach. Not the sudden tightness between us. Not the friction… down under.

I wanted to be perfect for him, but I wasn’t made of stone.

The rest of the day was spent with Mafioso, we’d talk and watch his show. Occasionally, he’d ask me to help him with something. The first time, I said yes. Of course I did. Until he drifted toward the bedroom. That was when I panicked. I ducked into the bathroom and stayed there, trying not to breathe too loud.

Alone meant a talk.

Alone in his room meant that talk.

Panting, I hunched over the mirror to check myself out. I thought I’d done a good job of fixing myself in the morning, but there was still so much wrong. I could go on and on, but why bother? I just could never understand why Mafioso would want this in his bed.

I was being cruel. Why couldn’t I say yes? I just need more time. Then I would be ready for him. Mafioso said he was okay. He would turn away fast, like he used to do. He thinks I didn’t catch it, but he was frowning.

I hope he didn’t catch mine.

Soon enough, the sun blinked goodbye, and Soldier’s favorite bedtime story was read. I tried getting Mafioso to try and read too, but he said no and told me I had a better reading voice.

I wonder if this is what he feels when I keep saying, “Tomorrow.” Every time. Like a promise I don’t know how to keep.

I was snuggled up under the covers, all the lights were out in the house. Besides a warm glow emanating from the bathroom. Mafioso was brushing his teeth, and I was contemplating. My old boyfriend would undress the few times we slept together. Always trying something.

Always pushing.

Mafioso was different. He rarely ever changed, and when he did, it was because it was strictly necessary. The boys like to sleep warm, but me and him know being chilly is better. Nevertheless, they force us to crank up the thermostat some days.

Today was one of those days.

He has to take his shirt off. For the breeze, of course. Totally practical. Nothing intimate about it. Still, my eyes lingered. I wouldn’t mind, with him at least. I don’t think I ever would.

Eventually, the rushing water from the sink was shut off, and Mafioso laid next to me in bed. I guess he assumed I was asleep, because he groaned dramatically, and held me flush against himself. Then, he started muttering something you’d need a stethoscope to hear, but I swore I could make out “tomorrow” and “talk”.

It was silent again. Space for me to think. He’s probably angry with me for taking things so slow. That’s why he was grunting so much. When comes the point when it’s better to just say yes?

My train of thought came to screeching halt when Mafioso started talking again. This time louder.

“I wish you knew…” He whispered, playing with my hair. “How beautiful you are.” And he let go, flipping over to face the wall.

At first I wanted to respond, he was being so sweet. I know I’m beautiful! …I just might not feel it all the time. Something my old boyfriend used to say, “Nobody deserves to feel good all the time. Especially not you.” And now I knew.

Mafioso was nothing like him. He waited this long for me, he was so patient, it was so wrong of me to ever compare the two. I had to show him how much he meant to me. I didn’t care about the lies I was told before. Not anymore.

”Babe?”

I called out into the dim light, not waiting till tomorrow for a response. I knew he was awake.

”I think… I’m ready for you.” 

Chapter Text

        At first his eyes widened, then they relaxed. But they still seemed surprised. And in a way, sincere. His smile was so soft and genuine, I thought he would cry. Maybe he did, it was a little hard to see. The gentle rustling of the sheets could be heard as Mafioso adjusted to cup my cheek.

”Are you sure?” He started, tangling the fingers of his free hand with mine. “I don’t want to pressure you.” His face darkened, into a grimace of sorts. He seemed guilty.

”Yes!- Maf, I’ve never been more sure.” I blurted, hoping to erase any doubt in his mind. I think it worked.

He brought my hand out from under the covers to kiss it, his scratchy beard grazing my knuckles. Meanwhile, his other hand swooped a few stray strands of hair out of my eyes. But most importantly, he smiled again.

”As you wish…” A devilish smirk came upon his features as he lowered his head.

He’s kissed me so many times before, but these felt different. He shifted from kissing my hand to my cheek, practically making me beg for him to just kiss my lips instead.

My eyes were locked onto his, maintaining eye-contact throughout his onslaught of kisses, massacring my neck and chin. I felt useless lying here while he did all the work. I hesitantly brought my hands up, up, and over his shoulders. Sweat rolled down my forehead as he got more and more bold with his moves. Teeth nipped, lips traveled, eyes darted. I flinched, slightly. Nothing. But he noticed.

”Do you need me to slow down?-“ He stiffened, fingertips running across his face like it was a weapon at a crime scene.

”No! No, not at all.” I spoke, fast. Too fast. Probably wasn’t helping with the voice in his head. The one that told him I wasn’t okay.

I need to prove I want this. Because I do. How, though? The memory of his lips was still fresh on my skin. Just lingering long enough to scream at me. I would take my shirt off, it’s only fair. I say this like I’m curing cancer or something.

I don’t know why I decided to wear a work shirt on my one off day, and I was surely regretting it now. Mafioso’s eyebrows curved upwards as I attempted to take it off.

”Sorry- This is the least sexy part…” I grunted through the fabric of my shirt which was starting to strangle me.

Mafioso didn’t reply. Not with words, at least. His hands gripped the collar of my shirt, and lifted it off effortlessly. The hem came soon after.

He was smiling warmly maybe even laughing, and I was shivering in the cold. I felt so exposed, revealed. I was about to raise my arms to cover my chest when a force came upon me. Weight crushing me in the best way.

He hugged me.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just pressed his face into the crook of my neck and held me like I was something precious. Like I was something fragile. Like he was terrified I might disappear.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into my shoulder. “Not just now. Always.” And he kissed it.

This was too much, he says that to me all the time, but I never heard him. I did now, and it meant more to me than it should’ve. I had to think of the best memories with him to stop myself from crying like a nerd. But for some reason, that just made the feeling in the back of my eyes sting more.

“You don’t have to be fearless,” He started again, just as I thought I had composed myself. “Just let me be the one who holds you when you’re scared. That’s what I want most.”

So much for holding back tears.

My back shook softly as the tears rolled out. I couldn’t cry, and he couldn’t know. My hands lifted off his back to wipe the evidence away. He tensed, maybe he knew.

Mafioso eased out of the hug after what felt like the entire night. Pulling back, he set his hands firmly onto my shoulders again. A confident smile was glued to his face, which made the glistening droplets streaming from my eyes a little less overwhelming.

After a long while of staring at me, Mafioso spoke. “We can take a break, if you need to.” And his smile widened.

I had to say no for the millionth time, I wasn’t sure if it was because I was too sensitive or he was too tender. Too perfect.

“Mafioso, I’m fine!-“ I said through a laugh. “Trust me, I want this as much as you do.”

Mafioso looked around the room, pondering. He’s so unreadable it annoys me, I never know if he’s gonna yell or snicker.

Never know what he’s gonna say next.

”I don’t just want this,” He started, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “You’re everything to me, Elliot.” He whispered, fingers trembling slightly on my shoulder. He was unsure, cautious. Something I’ve never seen in him before.

”I love you.”

My breath caught in my throat, my heart raced further and further away from me every second that passed. An eternity of waiting, frozen in the ice of his confession. But my insides felt so warm. Fuzzy.

I chuckled through my tears. ”Of course you do.” And I leaned in.

He met me in the middle, capturing me in kiss that demanded all of my attention. A kiss that took what little breath I had away. A kiss that melted the glaciers surrounding me. One so passionate, captivating, I couldn’t let it end. My fingers tangled with the hair on the back of his head, and he ran his hands down my sides. His touch was foreign, yet perfect.

Mafioso groaned into the kiss while his palms continued to roam, tickling my skin with their callouses. I squeaked every time he passed over the most sensitive spots, forcing me to tug on his hair. He didn’t stop, he got bolder. Tongue fighting deeper, hands sliding further. It got cloudy whether he was worshipping me or devouring me.

It wasn’t anything, it was an accident. The sensation of having him all over me like this was overpowering. Dominant. It was short. Quick. But it was everything.

I moaned into his lips.

The sound drove him crazier, fueled him like gasoline to a match. Like it flipped some switch he’d been holding back. His mouth dragged lower for a moment, tasting my jaw, my throat, then came back up to kiss me harder. I could feel him shiver, like my voice alone could undo him. His hands trembled as they slipped down to fumble with my waistband.

I pulled away from the kiss to gasp, only now realizing how close we were. Our bodies had clicked together like magnets, the fabric of our pants feeling like a burden. Mafioso leaned in once more to bite my ear and whisper.

“…Are you ready for this?” He spoke, the words falling off his tongue with a restraining rasp. They came out almost like a growl. The pure sound of it was enough to make me jump, let alone listen. He could get me to do anything as long as he talked like that.

My lips quivered in response, and the words tripped out. “Yes!- I’m ready.” A shiver ran down my spine as his lips curled onto my neck. “Ready for you.” A shaky hand hovered just above the band of my slacks. It was mine.

I tugged them down, underwear soon following, kicking them off my feet. For once, I didn’t purse my lips in embarrassment, or gnaw on my fingernails in anticipation, I was proud. Confident. The way his eyes traveled my body was enough to make my heart soar and send me to sleep with the best kind of dreams.

Mafioso let out a shaky breath. His eyes burned into me—like I was something sacred, something meant to be touched only once in a lifetime. He reached for his belt with trembling fingers, but stopped just short of undoing it. His gaze flicked up to meet mine.

“I want to remember this,” he said softly. “Every part of you. Every second of this.”

I swallowed, chest tight with so many feelings I didn’t know how to name. And then I reached forward, closing the distance between us again, whispering back.

“Then don’t stop.”

Mafioso had been cautious, reverent. Careful not to overstep any boundaries. But right now? The lines were blurring, morphing, mixing around until it was just him.

The buckle of his belt jingled as it slipped off. His hands moved quickly, precise. Like he had practiced for this moment for months. There wasn’t any awkward pauses, just the rushed frenzy to make those clothes soar. Flung around like they were nothing but toys.

His teeth sank into my collarbone just as kicked off his pants. I tried to manage a shaky glance down below, but his ceaseless assault on my neck made it hard to focus. My hands slapped onto his bare back, searching for the band of his underwear. They traveled lower, further. But they never found it. I realized why just as something hot and heavy brushed against my knee, making him moan in wavering patience.

I didn’t need to look anymore. I could feel all of him, pressed to me like he was begging not to fall apart. His hands hovered, like he was asking a silent question, even now. So I answered—without words. I arched into him, slid my fingers into his hair again, and kissed him like I’d die if I didn’t.

One of his hands found the back of my thigh and pulled me closer, like he needed me closer, like there was no such thing as close enough. I gasped again, but he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him. And maybe it did. Maybe I did.

Another hand gripped my back, forcing me into him. We stayed like that for a moment, embracing each other. Each time his tongue pressed over mine he would groan deep into my throat.

Eventually, he broke out of the kiss to roll over on top of me, pinning me against the mattress. Like I was going anywhere.

“You look so pretty right now,” He grunted, a smug grin finding its way onto his face. “All needy, squirming beneath me.”

He’s talked dirty to me before, but usually it only made me feel worse. Right now, though, I would do anything to hear him keep talking. Anything, for that scratchy voice of his, dripping with lust.

“Yeah, well—you're one to talk,” I shot back. “You’re the one growling like a rabid dog!”

Any confidence I may have built up before was immediately flattened. Crushed, as he leaned down to graze his teeth against my ear. When his voice rolled out of his throat, swirling and spinning the air around us into a vicious snarl that I wouldn’t recover from.

He pressed one last kiss to my lips, one that left me dazed, so tender he meant it. Saying something words can’t express.

With a silent snicker, he slid downward. Eye contact remained constant as he slipped lower and lower down. I held my breath, I was about 99% sure what was happening next, but with him you never know.

His hands followed, palms hot and steady, mapping me like he was learning me by heart. I twitched beneath his touch, nerves flaring with every brush of his fingers, every drag of his mouth. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until he bit gently at my hip and exhaled against my skin.

Mafioso finally broke the silence that cloaked the room like fine mist. The tension thick enough to slice through and watch it drip. He licked his lips and spoke, a predatory smirk playing on his lips conflicted with his soft and caring words.

”Let me take care of you.”

That made me jolt.

It made him smile.

He dipped lower.

I gasped again—this time not from surprise, but from the sheer gravity of his stare as he settled between my thighs. Like he was praying. Like I was sacred.

His hands slipped beneath my knees and lifted, spreading me open like he’d done this before. Like he’d dreamed of it. Practiced it. His lips parted, and for a second, I thought he might say something. Tease me. Growl. Mock.

Nothing.

Instead, he kissed me there.

Like I was the most beautiful thing he ever tasted. He savored it, applying just the right kind of pressure.

My fingers scrambled into his hair, not to guide him—just to hold on. My back arched, breath staggered, legs twitching every time he moaned against me. Like the worst-best kind of rollercoaster ride. He tasted like he was starved. Ate like it was the air he needed to breathe. The sounds he made, low, deep, and desperate.

I tried to bite back a whimper.

Failed. It just made it come out stronger, louder.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. If anything, it only made him hungrier. He groaned into me like he wanted the sound to live there.

I didn’t know how long it went on. Minutes? Hours? Lifetimes? My head was spinning, my body trembling, and he just kept going. Like he wouldn’t stop until I shattered.

And I was so close to breaking.

Suddenly as he came, he pulled out of his work, saliva trailing off of his tongue. He seemed satisfied, smug, while my entire body quivered like a sad little puppy left out in the rain.

But on the inside?

I was seeing stars, the sensation of his tongue burying itself inside me was burned into my mind like a catchy song. My head was spinning, even though the world went perfectly still.

My legs seized up on me, and he hadn’t even started. It was like trying to get jelly to withstand a punch. He leaned over me again, his chest brushing mine, voice dropping into that honey-drenched growl.

“How’s that?” he purred, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “From the way you’re shaking, I’ll say pretty good.”

I wanted to respond. With a punch, a quip, something. But my brain was still rebooting.

He chuckled, low and smug, before brushing a hand down my side—slow, patient, like he was easing me back to earth. But the second I met his eyes, the hunger in them undid me all over again.

He hovered above me now, one hand still resting on my thigh. He leaned in, kissed me softly—gently—and whispered, “Your turn.”

I blinked up at him, dazed, heart thumping.

Then I shoved at his shoulder.

Not hard. Just enough.

Enough for him to fall back with a surprised little huff, sprawled out across the bed like a gift.

I crawled over to him, sighing like it was a chore. Sighing, to remind myself to hang onto the little control I had. Stop myself from giving him what he wants.

What I want.

He was sitting up, perched on his hands. He stared down at me, at my spot bowed beneath him, smiling. He would rarely smile, but each time he did it was the world to me. The warmth creeping up my cheeks was undeniable, the urge to please him even more so.

He opened up his legs, slightly, barely. But I saw everything. A strong scent of musk overwhelmed my senses as he claimed my head, fingers intertwining with the very roots of my hair.

“Tell me what you want.” He demanded, tugging on my hair just enough to let me feel it, but right before it started to hurt.

I’d say what I wanted, but my brain short-circuited somewhere between “please” and the part where I stopped pretending I didn’t want his—well. You know.

Mafioso was getting impatient, I could tell. The way his hips bucked involuntarily each time I exhaled too hard. The way his smirk faltered when I paused too long. The way his hand gently guided me forward. Onto it.

My hands found footing on the outside of his thighs. I was ready for this. Mafioso stopped pulling. It was up to me now, and I hesitated.

Froze.

I didn’t feel scared!- It’s just been a while. I wasn’t sure if I would be good. I got a little overwhelmed. Mafioso’s fingers threaded through my hair, playing with it. It was soothing, calming me down.

”Take your time,” He murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But I could only stare. He was so perfect, beautiful, I couldn’t mess this up.

And yet—he had messed me up. Earlier. With that damn smirk and those sharp words and the look like he could swallow me whole and not even blink. Calling me needy when he was the one twitching every time I looked in his direction.

My hesitation melted, replaced by something else. Hotter. Meaner. Not cruel—but purposeful. Fine, if he wants to be worshipped, he’s gonna feel every second of it.

I leaned in, slow, eyes still locked on his.

My lips brushed against his tip, my body screamed at me to push down further, but the grudge in my mind told me to lift. Starve him.

So I did.

He tried to hold me there, but let go when he realized what I was doing. Smart.

I looked up at him, all lashes and innocence. “Something wrong?”

Mafioso’s jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. His fingers gripped the sheets like they were the only thing tethering him to this world. But he didn’t pout. He didn’t beg. He just looked at me—like I’d just rewritten the rules of the game, and he was absolutely feral for it.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said, voice tight and low. Like it was a struggle not to force me.

This was the closest to angry I’ve seen him in a long time. So why was it so hard to hold back my smile?

”I know.” I said, trying to seem as confident as possible. “Hope it burns.” I added, my lips starting to curl up.

I hovered there, lips brushing skin, giving him just enough to taste the heat of it. Then I pulled back again. Slow. Teasing. Intentional. He twitched. A full-body flinch, like his nerves were short-circuiting just under the surface. His breath came out in a hiss.

“I could make you regret that,” he muttered, eyes darkening.

His hand flexed, twitching like it wanted to reach out and grab me—pull me in, take control, end this. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. He was trying so hard to hold back, to let me have this moment. And that restraint, the struggle?

It made him beautiful.

“You think you’re in control right now,” he said, tone trembling on the edge of desperate. “But I’m letting you.”

I licked my lips. “Then stop me.”

He said nothing.

Did nothing.

Just watched, with that hungry, haunted stare like I’d peeled something raw open in him.

And that silence? That stillness?

Was louder than anything he could’ve said.

I never expected my plan to work out so flawlessly, it was almost too easy. But it was that easy. He loved me so much, too much. Too much to do anything. And… maybe that made me want to tell him I felt the same way.

I smirked, pulled back again—barely touching. His breath stuttered, chest rising. I could feel the tension in his thighs under my hands, every muscle coiled like a threat.

He let me. He watched me. Still. Silent.

Until I whispered, all sweet and snarky, “You’re being so good for me.”

And that was the moment he snapped.

One movement. Fast. Precise.

He grabbed my wrists, still gentle, still him, but undeniably final. I didn’t even have time to yelp before he had me flat against the bed, his body caging mine like he’d always planned this. Like he'd been waiting.

“Enough,” he said, breathless, voice low and molten. “You think you’re in control right now?”

His mouth was on my throat, hot, possessive, trailing kisses that felt like claims.

“You’re not.”

I could feel it—his restraint breaking at the seams, all that hunger he'd been holding back like a tide behind glass.

“I let you play,” he said, lips brushing my ear. “But your turn’s over.”

Then he kissed me so deeply I forgot how to breathe.

I thought he put everything into his kisses before, but this was on another level. His lips battling mine for dominance. I think I put up a pretty good fight, for the first three seconds. At least.

I could’ve lost myself in that kiss. Forget everything else but the way his tongue flooded my mouth like he would die if he didn’t.

Could’ve.

If he wasn’t so close. His hips locked against mine, pressing himself onto me. At times, he would grind against my entrance, making me moan even harder into his flood of a kiss, swallowing it up in a hurricane of desperate emotions.

He rolled his hips again, slow and deep, and I gasped into his mouth. I could feel him, hot and hard, pressed exactly where I needed him most, taunting. Testing. Not yet.

“Still so smug?” he asked, voice barely a growl. His fingers tightened around my wrists, just enough to remind me who was in control now.

I shuddered. Couldn’t even think of a comeback. Could barely breathe.

“You wanna keep playing?”

His hand slid between us. Guided himself. This was happening.

My breath caught.

“Or do you want me?”

And god, I hated him for making me say it. My mind was scrambling to think of another rant to blurt out to stall even further.

“You,” I whispered, voice breaking like the rest of me. “I want you. I want—”

I didn’t get to finish.

He pushed in with a slow, devastating thrust, eyes locked on mine the whole time.

And I swear I saw something in him break open when I let out that first desperate, shaking moan.

Like that was the moment he realized I was really his.

Truly, his.

I needed to grab onto something if I didn’t want my arms to flail around in the air like streamers in the wind. They grappled to the skin of his back, fingers digging in like I would be blown away if I didn’t. It only brought us closer together, somehow. Pushed him further inside, somehow.

He filled me in one smooth stroke and I arched up into him, dizzy from the sudden heat. My body welcomed him like we’d been made for this our entire lives.

He pushed in, inch by inch, until I could feel every part of him stretching me open. I gasped, nails digging into his back, legs shaking.

He groaned, low and broken. “So tight…”

Then he pulled back, almost out, and slammed back in.

And again.

Until I was gasping, writhing, saying his name like it was the only thing I had left to give. Every thrust knocked the air from my lungs, but I didn’t care. I held on. I kissed him like I needed him to survive.

And when he grunted my name, like it meant something…

I believed him.

I could finally just let go. Free from the fear and doubt that plagued my mind. It’s stupid, but this single, breathless moment is the moment I realize. Realize I’m his perfect. And that was enough for me.

Apparently, not enough for him. I was halfway to the pearly white gates, meanwhile he seemed to be functioning perfectly fine. A few stray beads of sweat betrayed that idea, but that’s to be expected.

It was almost like he only got more energized. His strained wince morphed into a devilish grin, and his grip on my wrists tightened, like he had to hold me in place. Like I could move without throwing my back out right now.

The anger left his movements, his motions became sweeter, yet just as rough. Like a strawberry colored square of sandpaper. He collapsed onto me, breath hot on my neck. I could still feel him twitching inside me.

“You good?” he whispered.

I nodded. Or maybe I just trembled. Either way, he pulled me tighter.

“You’re mine, now,” he said again, quieter this time. “You know that, right?”

And for once… I didn’t argue. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. And I definitely didn’t want to.

I stopped thinking.

The words ran out. The thoughts, the games, the bite—gone. All that was left was the sound of him pounding inside me, of skin on skin, of my voice breaking in ways I didn’t know I could make.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. I think if he did, we both would've shattered.

So I held on.

And he gave me everything I’ve ever wanted.

When I woke up…

…everything felt soft.

The sheets, the pillow, my body—my mind. Like someone had scooped me out and left me weightless. Like I’d been… erased and redrawn in finer lines. A warm glare blinded me through my eyelids. Fluffy and fuzzy feeling, like sunlight.

I couldn’t open my eyes. Not yet. Too heavy. But there was something, someone, close.

Warmth pressed against my temple. A towel. Damp. Folded just right. It smelled like hotel laundry and him.

And then I heard it.

A hum.

Low, off-key, not meant for anyone to hear. Familiar. Distant.

“I love you.”

That was his voice. Echoing. Not from right now, but then.

He must’ve been thinking about it too. Because his humming broke for a second, like a pause in a heartbeat. And then—

A kiss.

Just one. Right on top of my head.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again. Like it was a secret this time. Just for the air between us. My throat closed up. My chest stuttered.

He thought I was asleep.

And god, I didn’t know whether to keep pretending or start crying.

So I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stayed there, limp and dumb and ruined, soaking it in like heat from the sun.

“I could keep you here,” he muttered, chuckling under his breath. “Right here. Feed you, fuck you, tuck you in. Make you mine for real.” He laughed, guttural, loud. Then quieter, like it was a secret for the air around us, “I should wreck you more often…”

Then the memories came rushing back.

His satisfied smirk, looking down at me like I was a plate of food. An earthy taste on my lips, musky, but it was still hazy from what exactly. The shivers that I was still feeling, even now in the morning. But from what? A warm feeling, buried somewhere deep inside.

It hit me. Like a bullet train off the rails. Or just an actual bullet.

It was enough to make me groan, wince, vomit all over the not-so-fresh sheets. But also? Beg for it to happen again.

Maybe I did grunt or something, because Mafioso sounded panicked, yet also relieved.

”Elliot!-“ He shouted, like I had forgotten my name. I kind of did. “…You’re awake?”

I tried saying yes, but it came out as a sort of creaky floorboard moan.

The weight of my eyelids decreased, and I could flutter them open. The first thing I saw? Him. Peering over at me like I was an unidentified creature that found its way into his bed. Second? He didn’t have a hair out of place. Which was unfair, honestly, considering I felt like I’d been put through a paper shredder and taped back together with hope and bodily fluids.

His eyes locked on mine, wild and searching. There was something about the way he looked at me—like I was a crime scene and a cathedral at the same time.

"You okay?" he asked, voice suddenly low. Careful. Like if he spoke too loud, I might break again.

I blinked at him. Once. Twice.

“You look like shit.” I croaked.

He grinned. Full teeth. First I’ve ever seen.

I tried to sit up. My body laughed at me. Not in a fun way. More like in a ‘you thought’ kind of way.

He caught me before I could crumble into a boneless heap. Hands under my shoulders, gentle but firm, pulling me into his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we’d done this a thousand times.

“Easy,” he muttered. “You’ve been out for… a while.”

I didn’t ask how long. I didn’t want to know. The buzzing in my head made it feel like it had either been ten minutes or ten years.

“You—uh…” He cleared his throat. “You said some stuff.”

Oh god.

“No I didn’t,” I mumbled into his collarbone, hoping to distract him long enough to forget about whatever I said and kiss me instead.

“You said you loved me.”

I froze.

He didn’t sound smug. Not even a little. Just… quiet. Shaky.

I stayed silent. I wasn’t ready to confirm or deny anything that might have happened in the throes of brain-melting pleasure. He pressed his forehead against mine, breath warm and steady.

“I won’t hold you to it,” he said. “If you didn’t mean it.”

I closed my eyes again.

It was easier than looking at him. Easier than admitting that yes, I meant it. Yes, I said it. Yes, he ruined me, and yes, I’d let him do it again.

Instead, I just whispered:

“Can I eat breakfast first?”

He laughed.

And kissed me.