Chapter Text
The first thing Chance noticed about the school was—
It was loud.
Too loud.
Lockers slamming.
People talking over each other.
Laughter echoing down the halls.
"...Great," Chance muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Love that."
New school.
New people.
New everything.
He already didn't like it.
"Hey—watch it!"
Chance barely avoided getting knocked over by someone rushing past.
"...Yeah, good start," he muttered.
He checked his schedule again.
Room number.
Second floor.
"...Easy," he said.
It was not easy.
Ten minutes later—
He was lost.
"...Okay, this is fine," Chance said, turning down yet another hallway. "This is totally fine. I'm not lost. I'm exploring."
"You're going the wrong way."
Chance stopped.
Slowly turned.
Leaning against the wall—
Arms crossed—
Watching him like this was mildly entertaining—
Was him.
Dark uniform. Perfectly neat. Completely unbothered.
"...Do you just stand there waiting for lost people," Chance said.
"...No."
A pause.
"...You just look like you need help."
Chance narrowed his eyes.
"...I don't."
"...You do."
"...I don't."
"...You're holding your schedule upside down."
Chance froze.
Looked down.
Flipped it.
"...Okay, that's not the point."
The guy pushed off the wall.
Walked closer.
"...Room?"
Chance hesitated.
Then held up the paper.
"...Second floor," the guy said.
"...I knew that."
"...Clearly."
Chance huffed.
"...You're annoying."
"...You're lost."
"...Temporary."
"...Sure."
There was something about him.
Something—
Calm.
Controlled.
Like nothing in the chaos around them actually touched him.
Chance didn't like it.
"...Well," Chance said, stepping past him, "thanks for the help, I guess."
"...You're going the wrong way again."
Chance stopped.
Closed his eyes.
"...You're kidding."
"...No."
Chance turned slowly.
"...Then lead the way."
"...You're capable of walking."
"...Barely, apparently."
A pause.
Then—
The guy turned.
Started walking.
Chance followed.
"...You always this helpful," Chance asked.
"...No."
"...Just for me?"
"...Don't get used to it."
Chance smirked.
"...I won't."
They reached the room just as the bell rang.
"...You're late," the guy said.
"...I'm on time," Chance replied.
"...You're not."
Chance ignored him.
Walked in.
The teacher looked up.
"...You must be new."
"...Yeah."
"...Take a seat."
Chance scanned the room.
Empty desks.
People watching.
Judging.
Then—
He saw one.
Near the back.
Perfect.
He walked over.
Sat down.
"...You're in my seat."
Chance froze.
Slowly looked up.
Of course.
Him.
Standing beside the desk.
Looking down at him.
"...There are other seats," Chance said.
"...This one is mine."
"...Says who."
"...Me."
"...That's not how that works."
"...It is."
Chance leaned back in the chair.
"...Find another one."
A pause.
The room had gone quiet.
Everyone watching.
Waiting.
"...Move," the guy said.
"...No."
Silence.
Then—
The guy pulled the chair next to him out.
Sat down.
"...Fine."
Chance blinked.
"...That was easy."
"...You're still in my seat."
"...And you're still annoying."
"...You're still new."
"...You're still talking."
A pause.
Then—
"...Mafioso."
Chance frowned.
"...What."
"...My name."
Chance blinked.
"...That's not a real name."
"...It is now."
Chance smirked.
"...Chance."
"...Figures."
"...What does that mean."
"...Nothing."
"...Say it."
"...You seem like trouble."
Chance leaned back.
Grinning.
"...You have no idea."
Mafioso glanced at him.
"...I'm starting to."
And just like that—
First day.
And already—
They couldn't stand each other.
The problem with Mafioso—
Was that he was everywhere.
Same classes.
Same hallways.
Same presence.
Chance noticed it immediately.
"...You again," Chance muttered, dropping into his seat the next day.
"...You're still in my seat."
Chance didn't even look at him.
"...Find a new one."
"...You're persistent."
"...You're repetitive."
A pause.
"...You're early," Mafioso said.
Chance blinked.
Looked at him.
"...What."
"...You're early."
"...So?"
Mafioso shrugged slightly.
"...Didn't expect that."
Chance narrowed his eyes.
"...Don't get used to it."
"...I won't."
"Alright," the teacher called, clapping their hands lightly. "Group project."
Immediate groans.
Chance slumped slightly.
"...No."
"You'll be working in pairs."
"...Absolutely not."
"Names will be assigned."
Chance froze.
"...Oh, that's worse."
The teacher started reading names.
Chance barely listened.
Until—
"...Chance and Mafioso."
Silence.
Chance stared straight ahead.
"...You're kidding."
"...You have to be kidding."
They spoke at the same time.
The class laughed.
"...Take a seat together and get started," the teacher said.
Chance didn't move.
"...This is your fault," he muttered.
"...How."
"...You exist."
"...Unfortunate."
They sat across from each other.
Books open.
Pens ready.
Neither of them doing anything.
"...So," Chance said.
"...So."
"...You wanna do this or just fail."
"...We're not failing."
"...You sound confident."
"...I am."
Chance leaned back.
"...Okay then, do it."
"...It's a group project."
"...So lead."
Mafioso stared at him.
"...You're insufferable."
"...You're controlling."
"...You're unhelpful."
"...You're boring."
A pause.
"...We're not going to get anything done like this," Mafioso said.
"...Then stop arguing."
"...You started it."
"...You existed first."
Mafioso exhaled slowly.
"...Fine."
He pulled the paper closer.
Started writing.
Chance watched him.
For a second—
Two seconds—
"...You're doing it wrong."
Mafioso stopped.
"...Excuse me."
"...You're overcomplicating it."
"...I'm doing it correctly."
"...You're making it harder than it needs to be."
Mafioso looked at him.
Really looked at him.
"...Then do it."
Chance blinked.
"...What."
"...Do it your way."
Chance hesitated.
Then leaned forward.
"...Fine."
It took a few minutes.
But slowly—
Something shifted.
Chance explained things differently.
Simpler.
Messier.
Mafioso adjusted.
Refined it.
Organized it.
And somehow—
It worked.
"...That actually makes sense," Mafioso admitted.
Chance blinked.
"...Did you just agree with me."
"...Don't make it a thing."
"...You agreed with me."
"...You're still annoying."
Chance grinned.
"...But I'm right."
"...Partially."
"...I'll take it."
They kept working.
Less arguing.
More—
Talking.
"...Why did you move here," Mafioso asked suddenly.
Chance paused.
"...Does it matter."
"...I asked."
A beat.
"...Family stuff," Chance said, a little more quietly.
Mafioso didn't push.
"...Okay."
Chance glanced at him.
"...That's it?"
"...That's it."
Chance frowned slightly.
"...You're not gonna ask more questions."
"...You don't want me to."
A pause.
"...Yeah," Chance admitted.
"...Then I won't."
Something shifted again.
Quieter this time.
The bell rang.
Neither of them moved immediately.
"...We're not done," Mafioso said.
"...We will be," Chance replied.
"...You're not slacking off."
"...I wasn't planning to."
Mafioso raised an eyebrow.
"...Really."
"...Maybe a little."
"...Unbelievable."
Chance stood up.
Grabbed his bag.
"...Relax. I'll show up."
Mafioso watched him.
"...You'd better."
Chance paused.
Then smirked.
"...You'd miss me."
"...I would not."
"...You would."
"...You're annoying."
"...You like it."
A pause.
"...No."
Chance grinned.
"...We'll see."
And as he walked away—
Mafioso didn't look away.
Things certainly did not go back to normal.
That was the problem.
Because now—
They worked.
Not perfectly.
Not smoothly.
But—
Enough.
And Chance didn't like that.
"...You're staring again."
Chance snapped out of it.
"...I'm not staring."
"...You are."
"...I'm thinking."
Mafioso raised an eyebrow.
"...About me?"
Chance scoffed.
"...Don't flatter yourself."
"...Then stop looking at me like that."
"...Like what."
"...Like you're trying to figure something out."
A pause.
Chance leaned back in his chair.
"...Maybe I am."
"...You won't."
"...Won't what."
"...Figure me out."
Something in Mafioso's tone—
Flat.
Closed off.
It hit differently.
"...You sound confident," Chance said.
"...I am."
It started small.
A laugh.
Not Chance's.
From across the room.
Chance glanced over.
A guy.
Didn't know his name.
Wanted to find out.
"...You're not paying attention."
Chance blinked.
Looked back.
"...I am."
"...You're not."
"...I can multitask."
Mafioso's jaw tightened slightly.
"...Focus."
"...Relax."
"...We have work to finish."
Chance leaned back.
"...You're not my boss."
"...No."
A pause.
"...But you listen anyway."
Chance stilled.
"...Don't push it."
Chance left first.
On purpose.
"...Hey," someone called.
He turned.
The same guy.
"...You're new, right?"
"...Yeah."
"...I'm Itrapped"
Chance half-listened.
Half-smiled.
It was easy.
Too easy.
"...We should hang out sometime," he said.
Chance shrugged.
"...Maybe."
"...Cool."
He smiled.
Left.
And when Chance turned—
Mafioso was there.
Watching.
"...What."
"...Nothing."
"...You're staring."
"...You were distracted."
"...We weren't in class."
"...We still had work."
Chance frowned.
"...You're seriously mad about that?"
"...I'm not mad."
"...You sound mad."
"...I'm not."
A pause.
"...You don't have to talk to me," Mafioso added.
That—
Caught him off guard.
"...What."
"...If you're busy."
Chance's expression shifted.
"...You're the one who told me to focus."
"...That was for the project."
"...And this isn't?"
Mafioso looked at him.
"...You're not taking it seriously."
"...I am."
"...No, you're not."
Chance's patience snapped.
"...You don't know me."
Silence.
"...I didn't say I did."
"...You act like you do."
"...I don't."
"...You judge everything I do."
"...Because you don't try."
That hit.
Harder than it should have.
"...You don't know anything about me," Chance said again, quieter this time.
Mafioso's expression didn't change.
"...Then prove me wrong."
A beat.
"...Why should I."
"...Because right now?"
Mafioso's voice stayed calm.
Too calm.
"...You're exactly what I thought."
Silence.
Chance laughed.
But it wasn't real.
"...Wow."
He stepped back.
"...You're unbelievable."
"...I'm honest."
"...You're annoying."
"...You've said that before."
"...Yeah, and it still applies."
A pause.
Then—
"...I'll do the project," Chance said flatly.
"...Good."
"...But don't act like you know me."
Mafioso didn't respond.
Didn't stop him.
Didn't say anything at all.
And somehow—
That made it worse.
That night—
Chance couldn't stop thinking about it.
"...You don't know me."
He said it like it didn't matter.
Like it didn't hit.
But it did.
Because—
For a second—
It felt like Mafioso saw through him.
And didn't like what he saw.
The next day—
They didn't talk.
Not really.
Just work.
Short answers.
No teasing.
No—
Something.
"...This is stupid," Chance muttered.
"...Then fix it," Mafioso replied.
Chance looked at him.
"...Why do you care."
A pause.
Too long.
"...I don't," Mafioso said.
But something in his voice—
Didn't match.
And Chance noticed.
Even if he pretended not to.
Chance didn't show up the next day.
That alone should've meant nothing.
People skipped school all the time.
But Mafioso noticed.
He didn't mean to.
He just... did.
And it annoyed him more than it should've.
"...He's late again," someone muttered nearby.
Mafioso didn't respond.
Just stared at the empty seat.
By third period—
Still nothing.
By fourth—
Same.
"...Whatever," Mafioso muttered under his breath.
But he didn't sound convinced.
He told himself he wasn't going to check.
He really did.
But somehow—
He still ended up walking past Chance's usual route home.
Empty.
"...Of course," he muttered.
Then—
He stopped.
Because someone nearby was talking.
"...Yeah, that kid? He's been like that for a while."
Mafioso paused.
Slowly turned.
A group of students near the gate.
"...What do you mean 'like that'," one asked.
The other shrugged.
"...He transfers a lot. Never stays long. People say he just... disappears for days sometimes."
Mafioso frowned slightly.
"...Why."
The student hesitated.
"...Dunno. Family stuff maybe? Heard he doesn't exactly have a stable home situation."
Something in Mafioso's chest tightened.
Not comfortable.
Not obvious.
Just—
There.
He didn't plan to go.
That would've been normal.
But instead—
He found himself walking anyway.
Through streets.
Past turns.
Until—
He stopped outside a small building.
Not impressive.
Not loud.
Just... quiet.
He hesitated.
Then knocked.
Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
He was about to leave—
When the door opened slightly.
Chance stood there.
Tired.
Messy hair.
Eyes unfocused.
"...What do you want," he said flatly.
Mafioso didn't answer immediately.
"...You weren't at school."
"...Observant."
"...You always like this."
Chance let out a short breath.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite anything.
"...Why are you here."
"...We have work."
Chance stared at him.
Then—
Slowly opened the door wider.
"...You came here for homework."
"...Yes."
A pause.
"...You're insane."
The room was small.
Too small.
Everything looked temporary.
Like nothing stayed long.
Mafioso didn't comment.
But he noticed.
Chance sat down on the edge of a chair.
Didn't look at him.
"...Start talking," Chance said.
"...You're not at school," Mafioso said instead.
Chance exhaled.
Slow.
Controlled.
"...No."
Silence.
Then—
"...Why."
Chance's jaw tightened.
"...Does it matter."
"...Yes."
Chance finally looked at him.
Really looked.
And for the first time—
There wasn't attitude.
Not fully.
Just—
Tired.
"...People don't stick around," Chance said quietly.
Mafioso didn't speak.
"...So I stopped expecting them to."
Silence again.
Thicker this time.
"...That's why you don't stay in one place long," Mafioso said.
Chance shrugged.
"...Makes it easier."
"...Easier how."
Chance gave a small, humourless smile.
"...No attachments."
That landed.
Harder than anything before.
Mafioso looked at him for a long moment.
Then—
"...That's stupid."
Chance blinked slightly.
"...Excuse me."
"...It is."
"...You don't get it."
"...Then explain it."
Chance stared at him.
Like he couldn't decide whether to be angry or just shut down.
"...No."
"...Why."
"...Because it doesn't matter."
Mafioso stepped closer.
Not aggressive.
Just—
Closer.
"...You think I'm going to leave," he said.
Chance stiffened slightly.
"...Everyone does."
A pause.
"...I'm not everyone."
That hit differently.
Chance looked away.
"...You will be."
"...I won't."
Silence.
For once—
No arguing.
Just air between them.
Heavy.
Real.
Mafioso glanced around the room again.
Then back at him.
"...You should come back to school tomorrow."
Chance didn't respond immediately.
Then—
"...Why."
Mafioso hesitated.
Just a fraction.
"...Because you're annoying," he said finally.
Chance let out a short laugh.
First real one in a while.
"...That's your reason?"
"...It's the only one you'll accept."
Chance studied him for a second.
Longer than usual.
Then—
"...Fine."
A pause.
"...But don't expect me to be normal about it."
"...I wouldn't dare."
Chance came back to school.
Like he said he would.
But he was quieter.
Not different enough for most people to notice.
But Mafioso did.
Of course he did.
"...You're early again," Mafioso said, glancing at him as he sat down.
"...Habit," Chance replied.
"...You don't have habits."
"...Now I do."
A pause.
"...You look tired," Mafioso added.
Chance froze slightly.
Then scoffed.
"...Observant."
"...You always say that."
"...Because you always are."
For the first time—
They worked without arguing immediately.
Not because things were fixed.
But because something had shifted.
Chance wasn't as sharp.
Mafioso wasn't as distant.
It was worse, honestly.
Because now—
It felt like something was there.
Just unspoken.
It happened in the hallway.
Chance was walking ahead.
Mafioso behind him.
Normal.
Until—
"Oi, watch it."
Someone bumped Chance's shoulder hard.
Chance barely reacted.
Just stepped aside.
"...Sorry," he muttered, already moving on.
But the guy didn't.
"...You think you can just walk around like you own the place?"
Chance stopped.
Slowly turned.
Mafioso saw it immediately.
That shift.
Too calm.
Too quiet.
"...Not doing this," Mafioso muttered.
But Chance didn't hear him.
"...What do you want," Chance said flatly.
The guy scoffed.
"...Try that attitude again and—"
He stepped closer.
And that was the mistake.
"...Don't start that."
Mafioso's voice cut in before anything else could happen.
Everyone turned.
Even Chance.
Mafioso stepped between them.
Calm.
Controlled.
But not soft.
"...Back off," Mafioso said.
The guy blinked.
"...Who the hell are you?"
"...Someone telling you to leave him alone."
Chance frowned slightly behind him.
"...I don't need—"
"...Yes, you do," Mafioso said without turning around.
That shut him up.
Not because it was harsh.
Because it was certain.
The guy scoffed again.
"...Whatever. Not worth it."
He walked off.
Silence after.
Chance stared at Mafioso's back for a second too long.
Then—
"...I had it handled."
Mafioso turned slightly.
"...No, you didn't."
"...I did."
"...You were going to escalate it."
"...Maybe."
"...Definitely."
Chance huffed.
But it wasn't angry.
Just—
Something else.
"...You didn't have to step in."
"...I know."
A pause.
"...Then why did you."
Mafioso hesitated.
Just a fraction.
"...Because it was annoying," he said finally.
Chance blinked.
"...That's your excuse for everything."
"...It works."
They started walking again.
Side by side this time.
Not touching.
Not close.
But not apart either.
"...You always do that?" Chance asked.
"...Do what."
"...Step in."
Mafioso didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"...Only when it's necessary."
"...So I'm necessary now."
Mafioso shot him a look.
"...Don't twist it."
Chance smirked slightly.
"...Too late."
A pause.
Then Mafioso said quietly—
"...You were going to get hurt."
That wiped the smirk off Chance's face for a second.
"...I can handle myself."
"...I know."
"...Then why—"
"...I said don't start that."
They stopped walking.
Not because they had to.
Because they both did.
For a moment—
Neither of them spoke.
Then Chance said, quieter than before—
"...You always this annoying when you care about people?"
Mafioso blinked.
"...I don't care about people."
Chance tilted his head slightly.
"...Sure."
Mafioso stared at him for a long second.
Then—
"...You're different."
Chance didn't respond immediately.
"...That's not an answer."
"...It is."
Silence.
Then—
Chance looked away.
But not fully.
"...You're still annoying," he muttered.
"...You said that already."
"...Yeah."
A pause.
Then Chance added—
"...Don't stop doing it."
Mafioso went quiet.
Just for a second too long.
"...I won't."
And they kept walking.
The next day started normal.
Too normal.
Which somehow made it worse.
Chance arrived early again.
Of course he did.
Mafioso noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
"...You're doing that on purpose now," Mafioso said as Chance dropped into his seat.
"...Doing what."
"...Being early."
Chance shrugged.
"...Maybe I just like it here."
Mafioso gave him a look.
"...You don't like anything here."
"...You're here."
That made Mafioso pause.
Just for a second.
"...That's not a reason."
"...It is for me."
Silence.
Then Mafioso looked away first.
"...You're strange."
"...You're repetitive."
"...You're insufferable."
"...You're still talking."
And just like that—
It was normal again.
But not really.
Later that day—
Hallway traffic.
Chaos.
Chance walked slightly ahead.
Mafioso behind him.
Same pattern.
Except now—
It felt intentional.
"...You following me again?" Chance asked without turning around.
"...We have the same class."
"...Convenient."
"...Unfortunate."
Chance smirked slightly.
Then—
Someone stepped into his path.
"Hey."
Itrapped.
Confident.
Too confident.
Mafioso slowed slightly behind.
Watching.
"You're the new guy, right?" Itrapped said, ignoring Mafioso completely.
Chance tilted his head.
"...Yeah."
"You wanna hang out after school?"
Chance blinked.
Not because of the question.
Because of the timing.
Because Mafioso was right there.
"...Maybe," Chance said casually.
That shouldn't have meant anything.
But something in the air changed anyway.
"...We're late," Mafioso said flatly.
Chance didn't look at him.
"...I'm talking."
"...You're being delayed."
Itrapped chuckled.
"...Relax, I'm not stealing him."
Mafioso finally looked at him.
Slow.
Measuring.
"...You're done talking," Mafioso said.
Itrapped blinked.
"...Excuse me?"
"...Move."
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't aggressive.
It was worse.
It was final.
Itrapped scoffed and stepped aside.
"...Whatever, man."
He walked off.
Silence again.
Chance didn't say anything immediately.
Just walked.
Mafioso followed.
Then—
"...You didn't have to do that," Chance said.
"...Do what."
"...That."
"...He was wasting time."
Chance glanced at him.
"...Or you just didn't like it."
Mafioso didn't respond.
Which was an answer in itself.
"...You were jealous," Chance added lightly.
That got a reaction.
"...No."
Immediate.
Too immediate.
Chance smirked.
"...Sure."
"...I wasn't."
"...Okay."
Mafioso narrowed his eyes slightly.
"...Don't make it a thing."
"...I'm not."
"...You are."
Chance shrugged.
"...Maybe."
They stopped at their classroom.
People around them.
Noise.
Normal life continuing.
But they weren't quite in it.
Mafioso reached for the door first.
Chance stepped at the same time.
Their hands almost brushed.
Almost.
Both of them froze for half a second too long.
Then pulled back like nothing happened.
"...After you," Chance said.
"...Don't be sarcastic."
"...Wasn't."
Mafioso opened the door.
Walked in.
Chance followed.
But neither of them forgot it.
Not even a little.
Class went on.
Work.
Talking.
Noise.
But between them—
Something sat quietly.
Not loud.
Not obvious.
Just there.
Like a thought neither of them wanted to finish.
And for the first time—
t started with a misunderstanding.
Which, honestly, was becoming a pattern.
"...You're kidding," Chance said flatly.
"...I'm not," the teacher replied.
"...I didn't do anything."
A pause.
"...You were involved."
Chance turned slowly.
"...That's not how guilt works."
The teacher didn't budge.
"...Detention. Both of you."
That's when he noticed.
Mafioso.
Already there.
Already waiting.
Already looking mildly offended by existence itself.
"...Of course you're here," Chance muttered as he walked in.
"...You're late," Mafioso replied.
"...It's detention."
"...Still late."
Chance dropped into the seat beside him.
"...You're impossible."
"...You're loud."
"...You're obsessed with rules that don't matter right now."
"...You broke them."
"...Allegedly."
A pause.
The door shut.
Click.
And suddenly—
No teacher in the room.
Just them.
At first, it was normal.
Or as normal as they got.
Chance leaned back.
Mafioso sat straight.
Neither speaking.
Too long.
"...So," Chance said eventually, "you always enjoy detention, or is this special for me?"
"...Don't talk."
"...Wow. Romantic."
Mafioso shot him a look.
"...Stop."
Chance smirked.
"...Make me."
That did it.
Mafioso stood up.
"...I'm leaving."
Chance didn't move.
"...No, you're not."
"...Watch me."
He reached for the door.
Locked.
Silence.
Chance let out a soft laugh.
"...Yeah, that's new."
Mafioso exhaled sharply.
Then sat back down.
Hard.
"...I hate this."
"...You hate everything."
"...Not you."
That slipped out too fast.
Too quiet.
Chance froze slightly.
Then looked at him.
"...What."
Mafioso didn't repeat it.
Didn't correct it.
Just looked away.
Minutes passed.
Longer than they should've.
Chance stopped joking.
Mafioso stopped arguing.
It got... heavy.
"...You always step in like that?" Chance asked suddenly.
Mafioso didn't look at him.
"...We already did this."
"...No, we didn't."
A pause.
"...Yes, we did."
"...I mean today."
Silence.
Then Mafioso finally said:
"...If someone's bothering you, yes."
Chance studied him.
"...Why."
Mafioso hesitated.
Just a fraction.
"...Because it's easier."
"...Easier for who."
Mafioso didn't answer immediately.
Then—
"...For me."
That was honest.
Too honest.
Chance leaned forward slightly.
"...You don't even like me."
Mafioso's eyes flicked to him.
"...That's not true."
Chance blinked.
"...You literally argue with me every day."
"...That doesn't mean I don't like you."
Silence.
That sentence hung there.
Wrong.
Heavy.
Unfinished.
Mafioso seemed to realize it too late.
"...Forget that."
Chance didn't.
"...So what does it mean."
Mafioso looked away again.
Jaw tight.
"...It means you're irritating."
Chance smiled slightly.
"...That's your safe answer for everything."
"...It works."
A loud noise outside.
Footsteps.
Shouting.
Both of them glanced toward the door.
"...Ignore it," Mafioso said immediately.
But Chance already stood up.
"...Chance."
He didn't listen.
Door window.
A group outside.
Someone cornered in the hallway.
A familiar face.
Itrapped.
Chance's expression changed.
Just slightly.
"...Oh," he said.
And then he was gone.
"...Tch."
Mafioso was up instantly.
He didn't think.
Just followed.
Because apparently—
That's what he did now.
By the time he reached the hallway—
Chance had already stepped in.
"...Back off," Chance said.
The group laughed.
"...Or what?"
That was enough.
Mafioso walked in behind them.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Dangerously calm.
"...He said back off," Mafioso repeated.
The group turned.
One of them scoffed.
"...You again?"
Mafioso didn't blink.
"...Yes."
A beat.
"...Leave."
Something about his tone changed the air.
The group hesitated.
Then backed off.
Slowly.
Until they were gone.
Silence again.
Chance stood there for a second.
Then looked at Mafioso.
"...You followed me."
"...Obviously."
"...Why."
Mafioso paused.
Just long enough to be dangerous.
Then—
"...Because you don't listen."
Chance smirked slightly.
"...You really like me, huh."
Mafioso exhaled.
Tired.
Annoyed.
Something softer underneath.
"...Don't push it."
after school
The hallways were buzzing.
Lockers slamming. Sneakers squeaking on the floor. Shouts from students blending into that constant, chaotic hum that only high school could produce.
Chance was walking ahead, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. He'd been quiet all day—carefully quiet—and Mafioso had noticed immediately.
He'd been following him since the last bell. Not right behind him, just... close enough. Close enough that Chance couldn't ignore him if he wanted to, which, deep down, Mafioso suspected, he didn't.
"...You've been quiet all day," Mafioso said finally, his voice low, almost drowned out by the hallway chaos.
Chance didn't turn. "...Observant," he muttered, tone dry, trying to keep the casual act alive.
Mafioso scoffed, but there was a tension in his jaw that hadn't been there before. "...Don't play games. I know you."
Chance's footsteps slowed. "...I'm not playing anything."
"...Sure you're not," Mafioso muttered.
They reached the end of the hallway near the exit, where the last bell hadn't quite rung yet. Students were spilling out, laughing and bumping into each other. Everyone else was busy, but here, in the chaos, it was just them.
Chance finally looked at him, expression neutral but curious. "...What do you want, Mafioso?"
Mafioso's eyes softened—just for a moment—but the moment passed quickly, replaced with that familiar tension. "...I'm tired of pretending."
Chance raised an eyebrow. "...Pretending what?"
Mafioso took a step closer. "...That I don't care about you."
Chance blinked. "...You've never pretended that," he said softly, voice slightly incredulous.
"...I have," Mafioso admitted, almost gritting his teeth as if saying it out loud hurt him physically. "...Every day. I argue with you, I pick fights with you, I make it look like I hate being around you... but I can't. I... I just—"
He stopped. Took a deep breath. "I like you, Chance. More than I should. More than I can control. I've been trying to hide it, trying to act normal, but I can't anymore."
Chance's heart was hammering, and he couldn't look away. "...You like me?"
Mafioso nodded, finally meeting his gaze fully. "...I like you. I like you too much. I hate it, but I do. And I'm done hiding it. I... I've been scared, okay? Scared you'd hate me. Scared you'd leave. Scared I'd ruin everything... but I can't not tell you anymore."
Chance took a slow step forward, closing the tiny gap between them. "...You're insane," he whispered, voice soft. "...Completely insane."
"...Yes," Mafioso said, breathless, almost daring him to walk away. "...And I'm telling you anyway."
Chance smiled faintly, a little teasing, a little tender. "...I'm not going anywhere."
Mafioso's chest lifted with relief—then tension returned, and he reached out almost instinctively. "...Don't. Don't walk away. Not now."
Chance tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. "...I'm not."
And that was all the permission Mafioso needed. He closed the last few inches between them.
Their foreheads touched first, a soft, grounding contact, and then Mafioso's hand found Chance's cheek. "...I can't stop looking at you," he admitted quietly. "...Not now. Not ever."
"...You've been staring for weeks," Chance said, a small laugh escaping him, though it was more nervous than funny.
"...Shut up," Mafioso muttered, but he didn't move his hand. "...I mean it. You don't understand how much I've tried to act like I don't care. You... you make it impossible."
Chance's eyes softened. "...Impossible... huh?"
"...Yeah," Mafioso said, finally closing the last fraction of space between them. "...I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you, Chance."
And then—
Their lips met.
Soft at first. Hesitant. Testing the waters. But then Mafioso deepened it, pouring everything he had into it—the frustration, the longing, the confession, the sheer relief of finally admitting it out loud. Chance responded immediately, letting himself melt into the moment, letting go of all the teasing walls and dry sarcasm he usually wielded like armor.
It was everything: soft, messy, perfect, and utterly consuming.
When they finally pulled back, just a fraction, Chance's forehead rested against Mafioso's. "...You're still insane," he whispered.
"...And I'm yours," Mafioso murmured back, a grin breaking through for the first time that day. "...Finally."
Chance smiled, leaning closer. "...Finally."
The bell rang then, harsh and piercing. Students poured past them, oblivious, but for once neither of them cared.
"...We should probably go to class," Chance muttered, reluctantly.
"...Or we could... not," Mafioso said, smirking, still holding his hand. "...For a few minutes, I don't want to move."
Chance laughed softly. "...Fine. A few minutes."
And there they stayed. Hands entwined, foreheads touching, in the middle of a chaotic hallway that suddenly felt like it belonged just to them.
For the first time in weeks—maybe months—they didn't have to fight. Didn't have to argue. Didn't have to pretend.
They just... were.
And that was enough.