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Don’s office is as soothing as always- the dim, dreamlike quality and the soft warm lighting creating a comfortable atmosphere that puts you at ease. It’s been months since you and Mafioso’s first encounter, and you’re fairly confident that he won’t try and hurt you.
No, your nights spent together in your subconscious are in his office. Initially under the pretense of interrogating you about Chance, the Don now spends his time just…
Talking to you.
The dream realm isn’t so bad. Mafioso has control of the small pocket space within your mind, and every night is spent in a plush armchair while you two talk strategy and your lives before the realm.
“Mm- first thing I learned in the business. Keep an eye on everyone. Better to take a rat out before they cause any trouble.”
“Oh, yeah?” You swirl your drink casually, leaning back into the leather upholstery. Don has this elegant way of speaking that you’ve grown quite fond of; a heavy, refined accent while describing drug shipments or beating clients who couldn’t pay up on time. It’s so different to what you’re used to, and the cadence of his speech is oddly soothing.
“Oh, absolutely.” He flashes you a sharp smile, tapping a small scar at his temple. The mark is faint, but there’s a slightly lighter patch of skin above his ear where the hair doesn’t quite grow properly.
“Must’ve been quite an injury, if it’s still this obvious years later.”
“Indeed.” Don casually reaches into his jacket pocket for his trusty cigar case, thumbing out a stick with a smooth motion. “But I came outta it alive. The smug bastard didn’t.”
“Obviously.” You mutter, drumming your fingertips against the crystal glass in your hands while Don lights his cigar. Grey smoke curls through the open space, diffusing into the air of the dream realm.
“You’re rather dry tonight.” He tilts his head, taking a long drag of nicotine. “Something happen?”
“...Just a long day.” You had a round with Noli today. Anything involving that glitchy purple fuck is enough to give you a headache.
“I can tell. The whole place feels a bit…” He vaguely gestured to the space around you. “Flat.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” You’ve learned that Don is a blunt man when he wants to be, and taking offense at his dry remarks is a waste of energy. And he’s probably right. He knows parts of your subconscious better than you do.
“Don’t sound so dull. I might start to think you don’t enjoy my company, tesoro.” He taps his cigar ash into a small tray tucked to one side, leaning over the desk.
“After we’ve spent so much time together, too.”
“Your company is fine, Don.” You snipe back, a faint smile playing on your lips. The mobster is still hard to read sometimes, but you’re fairly certain he’s just playing around this time.
“Just fine?”
“Amazing, then.” You raise an eyebrow, grimacing as a puff of smoke from Mafioso’s lips hits your face.
“That’s more like it.” He drawls, golden canine winking in the light. “I’d be offended if you didn’t place me at least above the other killers’ company.”
“The bar is in hell, Don.” He hums, resting his head on one leather-clad palm.
“Well, that is true. But you come see me of your own volition. We enjoy each other’s company. And I must say…” The edges of his form ripple and blur, blending into the shadowy backdrop of the office, “I don’t consider this a contractual obligation anymore.”
“...Oh?” Well. That is a surprise. Whenever you see Mafioso in your dreams, and chat away with him in your subconscious, there’s always that nagging feeling in the back of your head that consistently keeps your guard up. That Don Sonellino, hospitable as he is, is only this nice to you because you’re useful.
He hasn’t asked anything about Chance in a while, though. Or about any of the other survivors. As you observe him through the tobacco-smoked haze of the office, he seems genuine enough.
“Mmhm. And I don’t say that lightly.” He murmurs, and you get the distinct feeling that he’s staring right at you beneath that hat of his.
“I know you don’t.”
“You think I’m lying?”
“Maybe.” You admit, leaning back in your chair. Mafioso is a good liar. You know he is. A man who can -and has- ended the lives of men who have given him years of loyalty for one too many fuck-ups wouldn’t lose any sleep over someone he’s known for a few months.
“Of course you do. You’re smart like that.” He hums, fiddling with the cufflinks of his dress shirt. “That’s one of my favourite things about you, I think.”
“I- uh. Thanks?” The quiet lilt in his voice throws you off a little, and you awkwardly clear your throat. “That’s… kind of you.”
“...” Don has gone uncharacteristically silent, fiddling around with those silver buttons with tiny movements. A nervous tic?
Is he nervous?
“Is there something wrong with you?” You ask bluntly, watching what’s visible of his face twist into a displeased look.
“Nothing’s wrong with me.”
“Uh huh. Then stop doing that.” After a moment of deliberation, you set down your drink- reaching out with your own hand to pry his fingers away from his sleeves. The Don stiffens, but you press onwards.
“I hate it when people fidget like that. It gets on my nerves.”
“...How’d you find that out?” He keeps his hands right where they are, awkwardly suspended in midair to prevent him from ruining his suit.
“Friend of mine on my side keeps doing it.” You release him after a beat, picking up your drink once more. You don’t miss the way his fingers twitch the moment your hand encircles the glass, like he has half a mind to pull them right back.
Interesting. You mentally file that away for later.
“Oh? Do tell me about this friend of yours.”
“It’s not Chance.” You quickly blurt out, stomping out the faint curl of fear in your stomach just as quickly as it came. Even after all this time, Don is still prone to irritation whenever the gambler is brought up.
“...Good, good.” He says finally, leaning back in his chair. “I wouldn’t advise getting close to him either.”
“I know.” Your efforts to hide the full extent of Chance and Elliot’s relationship get more and more involved with every visit. The two love each other, openly, and it would only take Don a brief dip into your subconscious to see that.
Elliot especially doesn’t deserve the type of targeting that would come with that.
“I’m not too close to Chance.” Another lie, but it comes out practised and smooth. The gambler has grown on you over the course of your stay here. All of the survivors have, really, but they especially took you by surprise.
Considering he was a little shit the first time you met.
“That’s what I like to hear.” He smiles at you, a real smile, and waves the cigar smoke away with a flick of his wrist.
“Still didn’t tell me who that friend of yours is, though.”
“Are we still caught up on this?” You mutter, but you decide to indulge him anyway. “Noob doesn’t do well in high-pressure situations. They pick at their skin and clothes a lot, and I try to get them to stop whenever I’m around.”
“What a bleeding heart you are.”
“Don’t sound so jealous.” You snipe back, making a pointed effort to ignore the way Don’s shoulders stiffen slightly.
If he isn’t going to address it, then you won’t either.
“Jealous? Of them? Please. You’re killin’ me here, tesoro.”
“...What does that even mean, anyway?” You don’t speak Italian, so Don’s occasional throwaway word or comment in the foreign language flies right over your head.
He smiles that same unreadable smile again, giving you a fond look.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You tell me to not worry about a lot of shit, and it makes me worry.”
“Because you’re a Robloxian of action, I know.”
“Because you’re cryptic as fuck is why.”
The Don barks out a laugh, refilling your glass of spirits- which you didn’t even realise you’d drained to half-empty.
“Ya know, normally I don’t like people who give me lip. But I’ll let it slide this time.”
“Crazy.” You respond drily, giving the man a hard look. “You’ve never caught me up on it any other time.”
“Maybe I will.” Don’s coy response makes you blink, a prickly warm feeling creeping up the back of your neck.
“I’m sorry?”
“...Ah, fuggetaboutit.” He sighs, undoing his cufflinks. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re acting weird tonight.”
“Yeah, well maybe you’re just unobservant.” He mutters, tossing the metal onto the desk with a quiet clink.
I’m plenty observant!”
He gives you a long look, peeling off his suit jacket as well. “Sometimes. Funny how you can spot a killer from across the map, but you don’t even know the kind of effect you have on people.”
“If you’re referring to how half the survivors hate me, then yes. I’m aware.” Your tone is clipped, and the warm feeling in your chest vanishes in an instant. Don, however, just stares at you like you’ve grown a second head.
“...Are you being serious?”
“Yeah?”
“You-” He stops himself, running a gloved hand down his face. “Tesoro. They all like you. A bit too much, in my opinion.”
“I- I mean. Two Time and 007n7, maybe. But I have no idea why.” You’re not the most approachable person. It’s gotten better as the time has passed, and you’ve opened up a little to the others… but you still feel that metaphorical chasm between yourself and the other Robloxians who got to live freely while Starlight City rotted.
You don’t hold it against robloxians like Elliot or Noob. It just came down to the luck of the draw, and in the end, you were just born in the wrong place at the wrong time.
If anyone, the Admins are to blame for their negligence.
“You aren’t as intolerable as you think you are.”
“Don-”
“No, listen.” He firmly cuts you off, and you settle for a wordless steely glare as he continues. “You have a bit of an attitude. That’s true. Not the worst thing for a person to have. You aren’t cruel.”
“I never said I was. Just…” Disagreeable? Closed off?
“Loyal.” He says gruffly, peeling off one of his dark leather gloves. “And pretty persistent, too. You throw your back into protecting your little ‘friends’ every round. Do you know how annoying that is to deal with?”
“I’m not going to apologize for doing my job.”
“Not saying you should.” He removes the other glove, and both vanish into the blurry shadows of Don’s office. “Just saying that people notice the effort you put in, even if you can be a bit nasty about it sometimes.”
“Gee, thanks.” Don’s words, despite their harshness, do make you feel slightly better. Perhaps it’s because there’s really… no reason to lie about something as insignificant as this.
Mafioso is a man who gives out compliments rarely and genuine praise even less often. Even if he sprinkles in a healthy amount of criticism, he’s ironically one of the few people in the realm you trust to give you an honest opinion.
“...You never told me how exactly you got that injury.”
“This one?” Don sounds mildly surprised as he taps above his hairline, to that little bald patch that got damaged in his youth.
“Yeah.” The subject change is painfully obvious, but you don’t want to dwell on the tightness in your chest at Don’s words. It’s just a compliment, by the 2x2.
“...Bullet graze.” He says finally, running his bare fingers over the raised ridge. You can count on one hand the number of times he’s appeared to you without his gloves. The back of his hands are just as scarred and yellow as the rest of him.
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Nearly killed me.” He sighs, slumping back in his chair. “By a man I trusted, too. He worked under my pa for as long as I could remember.”
“So why did he..?”
“Money.” Mafioso scowls, baring his teeth at the memory. “Always the fuckin’ money.”
“...I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It happened more than two decades ago.”
“I forget how old you are sometimes.” The Don scowls, dropping his hand from his temple.
“Watch it. I’m only forty.”
“Where I come from, that’s basically at the end of your life expectancy.”
“...I forget where you come from sometimes.” He gestures to a cut on your own face, a thin line slicing down from your ear. “What about that one? Looks nasty too.”
“...” The mood in the room goes stale as you flinch, unwanted memories rising to the surface. Don clearly picks up on it too, and his voice noticeably softens.
“Ey. Just a question. Don’t need to answer it.”
“...Got it in a fight.” You mutter. You don’t want to elaborate further. You just… don’t.
“I won’t pry, then.”
You sit in a slightly awkward silence for a moment, before you carefully undo one of your leather bracers and tug up your sleeve.
“What?-”
“There.” You point to a crescent-shaped scar on your forearm, raised and silvery against the rest of your skin. “You showed me one. I show you this.”
“...How’d you get this one?” Don folds his hands together on the table, examining the light reflecting off the scar.
“I fell onto a wire fence. The point ripped clean through the top of my skin.” He grimaces, glancing up at you.
“It’s a miracle you’re not dead.”
“It really wasn’t that bad.”
“Without a hospital? Pretty bad, actually.”
“...Well, now we’re even.” You mutter. You move to tug your sleeve back down, but Don catches your hand first.
“Don-”
“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.” he mutters, turning over your arm to examine the injury himself.
“Fine, fine. Whatever.” Your heart drops a little as his other hand hovers over the raised tissue, and you briefly wonder if you’re feeling sick back in the real world too.
“Thanks.”
You let him examine your arm for a while, leather armour long forgotten on the other side of the desk.
“Are you done staring at me like a zoo exhibit?”
“You’re not a wild animal, tesoro. We’re equals here.”
“I can’t even see your face.” You say pointedly, which makes the Don pause.
“...I suppose you can’t.”
“Right. So I feel like-” Your voice dies in your throat as he removes one hand from around your arm, and reaches up… to remove his hat.
You’ve seen part of his face since you’ve known him. The shape of his jaw and the line of his mouth are familiar to you.
But the rest of him is the face of a stranger. A strong nose and deep brown eyes stare back at you, watching your expression carefully. There’s evidence of his ‘lifestyle’, too: multiple small nicks discolour his face, and there’s a raised bump on the bridge of his nose that hints at being broken at least once.
He gingerly sets the fedora down, allowing curly black hair to frame his face. You honestly thought he was bald under the hat, but the thick head of hair suits him surprisingly well.
“...Now who’s staring at who, hm?”
“Sorry.” You stare at him for while, letting the face of the man in front of you slot into the memory of every interaction and dinner you’ve had with the gangster since you first met him.
It suits him perfectly.
“Ah…” He rubs the top of his head, grimacing slightly, and your eyes immediately furrow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’. I can just hear you a lot better. It hurts to keep these things pinned up all the time…” He grumbles, weaving his hand through dark locks. You squint, but…
“Hear me better? What are you even talking about?”
“...If you tell anyone what I’m about to show you, I will hunt you down personally to make you pay.” Has the Don lost his mind? You stare at him, mildly confused (and perturbed), and remove your arm from his grip.
“Your face?”
“I don’t care about my features. The hat’s just part of the uniform.”
“Then..”
The hulking man in front of you hesitates for a few long moments, before reaching behind his head with a quiet curse.
You assume he’s just taking a hair tie out or something, which only confuses you further. Why would you care if he has long hair?
After about fifteen seconds of awkward struggling, his hair comes fully loose, and your mouth parts slightly as two dark tufts of fur peek up from the top of his head.
“You have…ears.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” He mutters, ruffling his hair into a more presentable state.
“Are those..?”
“Yes, they’re rabbit ears.” Your disbelief must clearly be written all over your face, because Don scowls at you and reaches out to close your jaw. You don’t even stop him, because Don Sonellino with rabbit ears is the last sight you expected to see tonight.
“Stop starin’.”
“...They suit you.” You finally manage to blurt out, tearing your gaze away from the two soft tufts atop Mafioso’s head to his eyes instead.
Now, with your view of his face unobscured, you can see the faintest hint of a dark yellow flush dusting his cheeks.
“Are you embarrassed?”
“I can’t exactly go around as a mobster with a pair of bunny ears on my head, can I? Ruins the intimidation factor.”
Despite yourself…you crack a smile, and Don’s bare fingers linger on your chin before slowly pulling away.
“I see it. So you’re… what, some sort of hybrid?”
“Yeah. A continental giant.”
“And the ears are functional?”
“Full of questions today, aren’t you?” He muses, rolling up his sleeves to the elbows. “They are. Tucking them away under my hat like that does obstruct my hearing, but I feel like that’s a necessary sacrifice to make.”
“That’s why you get your men to search for us whenever you’re killer.” He nods slowly, a faint smirk gracing his lips.
“Sharp as ever.” He taps the side of his nose, getting comfortable in the leather desk chair he’s situated on. The ears do look natural on him, somehow, and you can’t bring yourself to stop running your eyes over his face.
“Thanks.”
“Only telling the truth, tesoro.” His smile fades a little as he studies you intently, and the warm lighting of the office suddenly feels a lot more intimate.
“...So.”
“So.” You echo quietly, twiddling your thumbs. Your drink is long gone by this point, but Don makes no move to refill your glass. Instead, he just… watches.
“You look nice like this.”
“What?”
“I said what I said.” He tilts his head, ears twitching in your direction. You have the sudden urge to scramble back behind your chair. Or keep staring.
You can’t decide yet.
“We see each other like this every night, Don.”
“And you never lose your charm.”
“Flatterer.” You mumble, stubbornly ignoring the warmth in your cheeks. You pray to the 2x2 that he doesn’t notice. “I’m covered in these.” You halfheartedly point to your forearm, at the jagged scar marring your skin.
“So am I. I don’t think it makes me any less for it.” He leans in a little closer, fingers hovering over the raised flesh. “You clearly don’t seem to mind me either.”
“I-” You splutter, suddenly all too aware of the distance between the two of you and the awkward jut of your elbows.
Is he coming onto me?
You’re aware you aren’t the most socially aware person. But surely, surely you would have noticed if Mafioso was trying to make a pass at you this entire time.
You don’t know what to even do. His fingers brush over the skin of your forearm in a silent question, and you mutely nod before you even know what you’re doing.
“...There you go.” His hand slowly wanders up your arm, encircling it carefully, and half your bodyweight is being gently held against the desk before you even realise it.
“I think you understand now.”
“I- uh. Shit. Sorry. One sec.” You need time to breathe, and to sort through your thoughts before they turn to mush. Don’s wandering touch slows to a stop, and you let yourself pause a little before speaking again.
“How long?”
“A few months, at least.”
What.
“Months?!” The mobster grins at your incredulous shout, shifting to rest his head on his free hand.
Months. You’ve been seeing him, nightly, on what has essentially been a series of dates for months. And you didn’t pick up on it.
“It’s alright, tesoro. I honestly thought it would take you longer.” You scowl despite the warmth in your chest, lightly hitting him on the chest.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Careful. I have my limits for how much I’ll tolerate, even from you.” You choke on your own spit at his low drawl, and you have half the mind to just pull away from him without another word.
“What was that?!”
“What was what?” He shrugs innocently, lightly pressing his fingertips into the crook of your elbow. “I didn’t do anything.”
“I- by the 2x2, you’re impossible.” He really is. How has this whole thing turned on it’s head so quickly?
“...I can stop, if you want.”
The casual consideration eases the pressure in your chest by just a little, and you scoot forward to place your bodyweight on the mahogany desk between you. Don smiles sharply, letting his hand drift upwards towards your face.
“Just… slowly. Give me time.” He nods shortly, exhaling quietly before cupping the side of your face in his palm.
You can see the quiet desperation brimming in his eyes, now that the hat’s gone. His movements are slow and careful as he pulls you slightly closer to him.
You feel like his gaze is sucking you in like a whirlpool, demanding every once of your attention as one thumb follows the line of your cheekbone. The callouses on his fingers lightly scrape against your cheek, a subtle imperfection that keeps you grounded and real in the moment.
“I meant what I said. You look good like this.”
“Like what?”
“In my office. Here. With me.” Mafioso mutters, tilting your head just slightly. “I wish you could come to me in the real world, too.”
“It’s too much of a risk. You know it is.”
“...Mm.” He drags his hand away from your face, trailing it across the wood as he circles around to you.
“I know. And at least it’s just the two of us here.” He whispers, and his shoulders tremble faintly as he sidles up to you. His face is as unreadable as ever.
“Jealous much?” He frowns, and his ears droop downward in a sad little twitch that immediately has you feeling awful.
“I can only see you when you’re asleep. And when you wake up, I have to let you go, knowing you’re with those people.”
“The other survivors are fine.”
“They’re too busy fighting over you like a scrap of meat.” He hisses, placing his hands on your shoulders and gripping you gently.
“Pulling you from place to place, eating up your sense of self to satisfy their own neurotic needs to be around you. I’m literally in your head, tesoro, and I can feel the relief from the deepest folds of your brain whenever you fall asleep.”
“I…” It’s all too much. Don’s words, his cold hands on your shoulders, the scant space between you and him: you’re torn between defending your friends, or acknowledging that he’s right.
“Aren’t you comfortable here?” You swallow thickly as he tugs you a little closer, keeping his grip gentle and unyielding. “You’re right. I started this because you were useful. I made a point of telling you. But…”
“...I matter to you now?”
“Yes.” He snaps between gritted teeth, fingers flexing against your skin. “I’ve tried to just sit back. You can handle yourself, I know you can. This isn’t me trying to- to make a decision for you. But it is painful. You could be so much more than just some… emotional support toy for those idiots.”
You’ve never seen him this angry before; not when getting stunned, or missing a hit, or whenever you decide to take the risk to tease him. Never. His cold touch feels like ice seeping down into your very bones, so why do you feel hotter the harder he holds you?
“I can give you so much more than them.” He murmurs, searching your face for any sign of anger or disgust. You don’t push him away… but you don’t pull him closer either. You want to see what he has to say.
“And maybe I am a little jealous.” He smiles thinly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a twist of his thumb. “I’m trying to not scare you off. 2x2 knows you’d stab me if I did something you didn’t like anyway.”
That draws a weak chuckle out of you, and you finally lift your hands. You brace them on the front of his dress shirt after a moment’s hesitation, and the Don’s breath catches like he’s been sucker-punched.
“True, that.”
“Let me give you everything.”
“...We can’t get out of here.” There’s no way out of the realm for either of you two. And as it currently stands, when you wake up, you’ll be stuck in the same old death loop with the rest of the survivors.
And Don is supposed to be the one killing you.
“I know, tesoro. I know. But at least it’s easier like this? In your dreams?” He drops one hand to trace the jut of your collarbone, light enough for you to barely even feel it.
“No one else to interrupt. No one else to occupy your time. Just as. As it should be.” He tugs you another inch closer, and you faintly register the back of your knees hitting the table.
“If you let me.”
“...”
You don’t really know what to say.
You’d never expect Don of all people to give a speech like this. He’s every inch of the deceptively charming, cutthroat mobster stereotype that you’ve come to expect. Openly and shamelessly violent. Criminal. Whatever kind of affection he has for you probably isn’t normal, and being forced to quite literally live with your mistakes forever in case something goes wrong would be the highest form of punishment.
But at the same time…
You don’t really know what to do with your hands. You barely try and touch the survivors, and you didn’t gain any experience in the quarantine zone either.
You just feel awkward and gangly, sandwiched between a desk and a man who seems a little too invested in you. What should you do with your hands? Is there some sort of suave remark he’s expecting from you? Your mouth feels like it’s lined with sawdust, and you feel like you’re somehow already messing things up.
“...I know closeness isn’t really your speed.” He says after a good minute of prolonged silence, staring into your eyes for any hint of an expression. He’s moved closer somehow, and you can feel his breath brush your throat with each passing second.
“It would be complicated. There’s a lot at stake, I know. But I can treat you better than the others-”
“Don.”
He visibly sags, quietly closing his mouth with a tense look.
“I’m…” You hesitate, unsure of how to really move forward with this, but you press on. “I’m not the easiest person to love.”
“I know.”
“I can be pretty temperamental. Mean on a good day, and awful on a bad one.”
“I know that too.”
“And I will never function like a normal person. You’ve seen inside my head, or at least part of it. You know how much my past affects me.”
“I want you all the same,” He says breathlessly, carefully cupping your face, “and it just sounds like you’re making excuses for yourself now.”
“...A little.” You admit, deciding to fist your fingers in his shirt and hold on firmly.
That’s the right thing to do, right?
Your efforts are rewarded with that same dark yellow flush from earlier, barely visible on Mafioso’s scarred face. Those dark brown eyes jump over your features, from your eyes to the planes of your cheeks, before ultimately lingering on your mouth.
“May I?”
“Such a gentleman.” You muse, even though you feel like your heart is beating a million miles an hour right out of your chest. Close. He’s so close. Closer than you’ve let anyone be in a long time, and it’s making your head spin.
“You didn’t answer the question, tesoro.”
“...” You nod once, lost in the fervent look in Don’s eyes as he tilts your head up and presses his lips to yours.
It’s not magical. The hard edge of the desk has been pressing into your back for nearly five minutes now, your lips are chapped, and you can faintly taste the traces of tobacco on Don’s breath.
But you feel lightheaded anyway. His lips, cool against your own, slot perfectly between yours without any need for you to think about it at all. The hand on the side of your face supports you perfectly, and the other at your shoulder tugs you close enough to avoid straining your neck.
It probably only lasts for a few seconds before you pull back for air, but they’re a few dizzying seconds that feel eternal and instantaneous at the same time. Mafioso chases after you for half a beat, lightly squeezing your shoulder in protest, but hovers a few inches from your face with a hungry look in his eye.
“Don- Don, I’ve never. Uh. Done this before.” He blinks, momentarily caught off guard, as the grip on your face loosens.
“...Wait, seriously? Aren’t you twenty-something?”
“Twenty six. And I just…” You trail off, and the warm bubble that was sitting in your chest bursts. Of course you embarrassed yourself. Of course. You never had the time, trust or people for this sort of thing back home, not when staying alive and healthy was the number one priority.
“No need to explain. I’m not having a go at you.” His left hand, the one holding you at the shoulder, comes up to his own chest to grip yours tightly. “It works. I’m not fond of sharing, anyway.” You scowl a little, giving him a hard look that makes his ears droop down into a sad curl.
“I’m not judging you for the large number of people you’ve presumably entertained.”
“Sex is one thing. Romance is another.” He pauses, and the look in his eyes softens a little. The thick emotion is still brewing there, but it’s tempered into a softer shape in response to the skeptical look you send his way.
“I wouldn’t be doing any of this if I wasn’t serious, tesoro.”
“I figured.” You say drily, tightening your grip on his shirt. “You seem like a man who loves… very intensely.”
“And you’re fiery enough to be able to handle it.” Mafioso flashes that gold canine at you, and you have the strongest urge to make him smile wide enough to see it again.
“I guess.”
“You know.” He gently corrects you, guiding you off the desk so the sharp wood doesn’t leave an indent in your back. “My only condition is loyalty.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Just that?”
“Our situation is complicated. We can figure everything else out for later. But for now…” He squeezes your hand tightly, readjusting himself to lean against the desk, “Just be mine, only mine, and I’ll make sure you never feel lonely again.”
“I’m not alone.” You have friends now. For the first time in a very long time, you have a support system with the other survivors that keeps you (and them) mentally sound. Mafiosos just shakes his head, bringing your hand up to his face and pressing a lingering kiss to the back of it.
“I said lonely. I know you’re not physically alone. But I’ve been visiting you for months. You feel this.. this space between you and them that feels insurmountable. That you couldn’t even begin to describe with all the words in the world.
But you don’t need to explain it to me. I already know. We can complete each other, tesoro. Please, just…”
Your face feels like it’s on fire, and Don’s reverent kisses aren’t exactly helping with that. But his words have undoubtedly piqued your interest, and is conflicting with the doubt that’s been rooted in your brain for years.
Do you let him in, and risk losing another vital part of yourself? The realm is complicated, and you’re subject to the whims of a god that could rip you two apart at any time. You don’t think you can physically take losing another person like that, you just can’t.
But he is right. You are lonely. You’ve been lonely for so long that it feels like part of you, a greasy film that’s settled over your body and makes isolation feel like second nature. Where you come from, grief is only good for one thing- as a shield, to prevent you from getting hurt every again.
Don takes his deals very seriously. You know he does. The two of you are far more intimate than when you first were in his real office all those months ago, with you tilted over his body as he leans back on the desk, but maybe he’s been just as lonely as you are. Seeing the desperation brimming in his eyes and the way he tightly grips your hand like a lifeline, you’d believe it.
“Alright.” His breath catches in your throat, and you only have a second to process his gold-tipped smile before he kisses you again.
You’re not expecting it this time, and Don pulls you forward into his arms with a quiet noise. It can’t be comfortable for him, leaning back across the desk, but any trace of a thought promptly vanishes from your head the moment his lips touch yours.
It lasts a little longer this time. Don’s touch lingers, and you can feel him faintly grinning against your mouth as he sandwiches himself between your body and the mahogany behind him.
He’s the one who pulls away this time, cradling your jaw with one hand like you might shatter. Or run for the hills. But his cool skin is a welcome respite from the heat flooding your face.
“...You’re a bit red.”
“Shut up, Don.”