Work Text:
Mafioso’s eyes flicked furiously across the paperwork for the third time in a row. It was infuriating, yes, that the loaner had proposed that there was an error in the contract. It was infuriating because, even though Mafioso knew for a fact he was bullshitting, just finding a way to delay the payment, by procedure Mafioso had to go over it to see if he was right. And Sonnellinos never broke work procedure. Never.
So there Mafioso was, up way later than he should have been, reading until he knew for certain he could go shove a gun in the man’s mouth for his lying. His office was dark by now, light only coming from a small lamp he had on over his desk. Said desk was covered in bills and paperwork filed in neat stacks. Mafioso pressed his fingers against his temples, rubbing them. A headache was starting to bloom. He’d been getting them more often, but didn’t have time to get up to go get medicine. The day had been kind of, no, very awful, so maybe that was leading to the headache. Mafioso had spent all day chasing down one woman that owed him heaps of money she’d loaned for the man she was having an affair with, only to find that she’d left the city two days ago. He was forced to explain things to her extremely confused, extremely stupid husband. In short, the experience had been disappointing and annoying, and Mafioso was definitely not in anything resembling a good mood.
Mafioso was so focused on reading, and the headache, and tapping his pen impatiently on the desk, that he didn’t notice when a figure appeared in the darkened doorway. They cleared their throat.
“How’s it coming?” Mafioso recognized Chance’s voice instantly, and turned to look at the door. He was leaning on the doorframe, one arm up on the side. Chance was in their pajamas, which made Mafioso briefly double-take. How late was it? He glanced at his watch— 11:40. Mafioso could work longer.
“Fine,” he snapped, turning back to the paper.
“I, uh, was staying up for a little to wait for you, but I should probably head to bed.”
“Mhm.”
Chance paused. “.. You should come too, bunny.”
Mafioso inhaled, rubbing his head again. Could Chance just leave him alone for once? He had to finish.
“No. I’ve already had a shitty day, and not finishing this would just make it worse. Go away and go to sleep if you’re tired.”
Another pause. “That’s why you should go to sleep. Come on Mafioso, it’s nearly midnight. Don’t.. this can wait until tomorrow, can’t it?”
“It can’t.”
Chance shook his head, taking a step into the room. “I can tell you’re tired. Please just come with me, I swear you’ll feel better. The work will be done efficiently if you aren’t overworking yourself like this.”
Mafioso gripped his pen tighter. His head hurt more. A lot. “I’m not overworking myself. I’m prioritizing what’s important. Now leave me alone so I can get it done.”
“Prioritize yourself.”
“Go, Chance.”
“But—“
Mafioso dropped the pen, and stood up from his chair, turning back to Chance.
“What part of fuck off don’t you get?” he yelled, slamming both of his hands down on the desk.
Silence.
The desk rattled from the impact, and the pen rolled off, it hitting the floor being the only sound throughout the room.
Mafioso… hadn’t really meant to yell. He just needed Chance to get the hell out of there so he could finish his goddamn work. And maybe yelling at him would actually get Chance to fuck off.
Still silence. Mafioso stood there, breathing heavily, and looking at Chance, who had frozen in place. They opened and closed their mouth.
“I…” Chance said slowly, walking back towards the open door. He looked from Mafioso to the desk, and his eyes hardened. “Fine, I’ll go. Good luck,” Chance said, turning on their heel and walking out the door. It slammed shut behind him.
Mafioso’s rabbit ears twitched and flattened at the sound of the door. To be completely honest, his own yell had hurt more than the door, but of course he didn’t let that show when it had happened.
After a moment, Mafioso sunk back into his chair, leaning back over the paper. Damn right he was gone. Now he could… Mafioso looked back at the door. Back at the paper. He tried to get back to work— Mafioso really did. But he found himself looking back at the door— and thinking about Chance— every five minutes.
That wasn’t.. he didn’t need to apologize. He just told Chance to go away. And plus, they’d been on his last nerve anyways.
But was that really Chance’s fault?
Yes, he’d been annoying Mafioso. But it wasn’t anything new. Mafioso never.. reacted like that. He normally just told Chance to go away, they didn’t, and Mafioso eventually just let him stay.
Mafioso looked at the paper and clenched his fists. He hated when people yelled. Not at him, that he didn’t really mind. But at each other.. it was annoying. Couldn’t they just..
<<<
Be quiet. That’s what a much, much younger Mafioso had thought all those years ago, in the darkened training room, paused at the punching bag. He’d turned the corner of the door, looking out to the light from his father’s room as he and Mafioso’s mother screamed at each other in Italian.
He’d flattened his ears against his head just the same, sighing to himself. Mafioso listened intently, his rabbit ears twitching and lifting slightly. But he could hear them clearly.
Mafioso’s mother was trying to get his father to come to bed, but he was busy. Telling her to go away. Mafioso closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. They always did this. He could never get any rest. The yelling intensified.
“Non puoi farti gli affari tuoi, per una volta?” his father shouted loud enough for Mafioso to flinch. He stood up, and walked further into the room, grinding his teeth.
Mafioso had never felt it but.. how hard could it be to get along with someone you loved?
Or were supposed to?
>>>
The hallway between Mafioso’s office and the bedroom was dark and quiet. As he stepped out of the room, Mafioso could see the slightest bit of light leaking through the bottom of the door. So Chance was still possibly awake. Good.
Mafioso knocked on the door hesitantly. Silence. He heard the shifting of fabric— most likely the bed’s comforters. Still no response. Mafioso sighed sharply, and pushed the door open.
“Chance?”
They were sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over. Chance turned his head to face Mafioso.
“Oh.” He turned back around. “I thought you were busy.”
Mafioso bit his tongue. It felt awful, dragging his heels back like this, swallowing his pride and being the one to apologize first, which was something he never did. But he would this time.
When you’re in a relationship, things have to change, Mafioso figured.
Chance said a grand total of zero words as Mafioso crossed the room and sat on the opposite side of the bed, his back facing Chance’s. Mafioso quietly pulled off his gloves and suit jacket and hung them over the side of his bed. He never felt Chance glance back at him. So they were really doing the silent treatment thing, huh?
Well in all honesty, he did deserve it at the moment.
“I am,” Mafioso said quietly.
“Mm.”
He cleared his throat. “… And I’m also.. sorry, Chance.” Mafioso looked over his shoulder. Chance was looking at him slightly now, but immediately turned away when they locked eyes. Neither of them wanted to be the first to really start talking, then.
Mafioso had to. That’s what he had come to do. Although he hated it, he was in the wrong. Mafioso turned back away from Chance, and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“I’m sorry about yelling at you. I should have just told you to leave.” Mafioso ran his hands across his face. “You’re annoying, yeah, but I had a long day. Even despite that, I… shouldn’t have reacted like that. I guess I was just really pulled taut from the day, and you’re just.. what made me snap. I’m not that mad at you. Again… sorry.”
More quiet. Mafioso dared to look back at Chance one more time. They were looking at him again too— and didn’t shy away when they met eyes. Chance looked almost expectant, as if he was waiting for Mafioso to say one more thing before they themself started talking. Mafioso knew what it was, and sighed quietly. He knew he should say it.
“… And you were right. I am tired, and should go to bed. That’s also part of why I snapped. I was— and am— tired.”
Chance blinked at him, then slowly began to smile a little.
“I get it. I told you that you should go to sleep, and look what happened. I’m sorry for still bothering you when it’s clear I should go away. Hearing the apology is all I wanted.” Chance leaned over slightly, and brushed his hand on top of Mafioso’s. “You will come to bed now, right?”
Mafioso stared at him for a second. “Well—“
“Mafioso.”
“Joking, joking,” Mafioso said, shaking his head as Chance glared at him.
“Now I see why you’re not very humorous usually,” they grumbled. “That joke sucked.”
Mafioso turned around to fully face Chance. “You say that as if yours are any better.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
Chance turned, crawling across the bed to sit next to Mafioso. “Y’know what, maybe I don’t forgive you. Go sleep on the couch.”
Mafioso paused. “No.”
“Don’t make me force you,” Chance said, grinning.
“Force me, huh? How?”
Chance froze for a moment. “Uhm.”
“Mhm.”
Chance sighed over dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. Just go get in your pajamas. I’m tired.”
“No couch, then?”
“No couch. I want hugs.”